For now, she wanted Katie to go back to her room and chat up Mistake. Katie would tell Mistake that she planned to have a little get-together the following night so Dorotea—we had to be careful now during this stage of the plan not to risk calling her Mistake—could really get to know Alda and Pina who, of course, wanted to apologize for being brusque the other day. Katie would add that Pina is really a sweetheart; she just had a toothache, that’s all.
Katie said she got all that and that she would lay it on thick. I almost gagged.
“Next,” commanded Alda. “Katie, you tell Dorotea you need a little walk by yourself, and you leave. Once I see you in the hall, out of the room, I go and knock on Dorotea’s door and pretend I’m looking for you.”
Alda then turned to the both of us, clasped our hands together and tinker-belle-style, pranced around, saying, “And that, my dears, is lesson number one in how to get you some privacy. Enjoy! You’ll have ten minutes alone in the room.”
She explained that during this “chance meeting” with Dorotea, she would begin “Mission Friendship.” We were all going to befriend Dorotea. Yeah! I was on board if it meant Katie and I could be alone together. I couldn’t believe we would get a good ten minutes alone. Alone! I couldn’t wait to feel her next to me, in bed, like in Maine. Yes! And how did Alda know what our fondest wish was? Nothing could happen in ten minutes.
The plan was working. Katie came into my room, slithered her way up the door, flipped the key, and burst out half-laughing, half-crying. I ran to her, and we clasped each other, crying for real now. Katie kissed every inch of my tear-stained face and finally found my mouth. Her kiss was not the summer Katie kiss. This was new and greedy, one hand around my hips, pulling me tight to her, the other hand stroking my lips apart as her lips pulled each of my lips into her mouth. She pushed me onto the bed, and I felt her tongue enter my mouth as her hips set off a series of throbbing vibrations from my thighs up to my throat, setting off mini eruptions at all the sites in between.
I started to slip my hand under her shirt and caress the swelling of her breast. I was beginning to lose all touch with the time and the room—evening, dusk, chenille, maple frames. I only knew my craving for Katie, deeper and deeper. Was there any way we could inhabit each other’s being?
Bells rang out. Everything froze. Damper Hall’s bells were ringing. I had a flash vision of the Head Mistress. I felt a stinging sensation on my bare leg like the whipping flick of a toreador’s cape. Only this cape was black.
“Stop!” I pushed Katie.
Stunned as much by her newfound assertiveness as by my thrust, Katie screeched to a sudden stop, perched on the edge of this sensual cliff. She gasped crimson-faced and shook me.
“I’m so scared,” I mumbled. “Craney. I know she’s here.”
Katie stroked my head; her eyes calmed with a new look of caring and concern. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” With that, Alda tiptoed in, telling us to shut out even the nightlight. Craney was patrolling the hallway, her black garb swishing from one doorway to the next.
Chapter Ten
Heart to Hearts
Katie slid off the bed, pressing her fingertips to my lips. “Ssh” was all I heard before a dusty whoosh of the door. Katie left on tiptoes.
Alda slipped into her bed and reached across for my hand. Her warm touch calmed me, and after a few moments of silence, I started to tell Alda about the summer, about the first sparks of romance between Katie and me.
“You know, about Katie and me,” I started off slowly. “I think I’ve always been in love with her, for like these past seven years. But, well, I didn’t have a clue.”
“Not ever?” asked Alda.
“Well, like she’d say these really sweet things to me, and I’d just brush them off. I thought she couldn’t really like me.”
“So, Katie knew?” In the dark, I saw Alda’s eyes grow wide.
“No. She was just herself. Like she’s always nice, but I started blushing around her, and…if she accidentally touched me…”
“Katie? No!” Alda put her hand to her forehead in exaggerated shock.
“No, c’mon. I mean like if she brushed against me or grabbed my arm, God, I’d get all tingly, and I was afraid she’d see.”
“And? You were chicken? You?”
“I was panicked I’d lean over and kiss her. And then, I thought to myself, ‘Holy crap! I’m a lezbo. I can’t be. I don’t want to be—like they’re gross.’”
Alda sat up straight and got real serious. “Really? I don’t think you are.”
I hoped she wasn’t saying more than that. I really didn’t want her to touch me, but she was sexy, and sometimes when she touched my hand, I got the tingles. I had to tell her again that Katie was the only one for me. I kind of snapped back at her, “Yeah!”
“I started to get that same ugly feeling I used to get in my stomach, the one when I suspected I was a queer. It was that feeling—and my fear Katie would get that same yucky feeling about me—if I told her how I felt about her.
“I finally made up my mind. Alda, I could never pretend to be someone I’m not. So I told Katie. It took a few days, but in the end…”
“What? Don’t stop. C’mon, Pina.”
“Well, in the end, she agreed she loved me too.”
“And? C’mon, get to the punch line.” I had the feeling Alda was hanging on my every word—and maybe getting off on it.
“Alda, stop! Yeah, we made out, but it’s like sacred.”
“Just made out?”
“Well, some more.”
“But you’re still…I mean the two of you didn’t really do it?”
“Alda!”
“Dio mio! Pina, am I going to give you a birthday present! Wait till you see what I’ve got in store for you and Katie.”
“Oh God, Alda, please don’t tell Katie I told you. It’s not like swapping guy stories, guys bragging who got to third base. It’s really private.” I sighed. “C’mon, Alda, can I trust you?”
“Yeah, Pin. Sorry. I’m just so crazy about the two of you. Never been in love. Never had anyone love me.”
I think Alda’s voice quivered a bit when she admitted that. I still didn’t dare hug her. I puffed myself up, saying I’d go to work on finding her an inamorato. I asked nonchalantly if she wanted a guy or a girl.
She just laughed and said she would be too busy fanning the flames between Katie and me. We were quiet for a few minutes. I felt safe now. I actually told her more about my dreams and how they helped solve a twenty-year-old murder this past summer.
Then, Alda almost pitched herself out of her bed, trying to grab my arm. She swore me to secrecy to what she was about to tell me. I almost landed on her in a heap on the floor. By now, I expected her to tell me she was a queer too. Instead, she bit her lower lip, whispering, “My father…he’s different.”
I laughed and said, “That’s all? Mine is strange too. And Katie’s? Why, he’s a queer, and so is Joe Gallo, his boyfriend.” I was giggling, quiet belly laughs; it felt good to goof around after all that tension. First my make-out scene with Katie and then? Was it really Craney?
Alda pulled me back from my mini convulsions and wrinkled her brow. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes to say, “Scary.” She had begun to tear up. “I’m not sure, but I suspect that he does really scary things. I don’t want to believe…”
I blew out and scrunched up my face. All I could say was, “Is he scary with you?” I figured it would allow her to say, “No,” and she did. Her father, Wolfie, sounded a lot like Fifi, Joe Gallo’s dad, an ex-Mafia guy and a real sweetheart. I promised not to say a word and added that loving families and loving friends were what life was all about anyway, wasn’t it?
We agreed that making nice-nice with Dorotea the next day was going to take a lot of energy and that we needed our sleep for that. I crawled back to my bed, curled up under the covers, and thanked her for her ten-minute gift to Katie and me, a real gift from the heart.
Chapter Eleven
A Brighter Day
Well, if yesterday was a day of blackness and gloom, today seemed rosy in comparison. When Katie, Alda, and I finished eating in the refectory and lounging in the sun-filled loggia, the three of us went over plans for the party that night. Katie and Alda swapped their versions of Dorotea’s swooning for joy, reacting to their invitation to the get-together. Things were not just rosy; they were peachy-keen.
Alda had gone back to her room to gather goodies for the evening’s festivities. As we walked towards my French class, Katie started to lecture me on my best manners towards Dorotea.
“Pin, you’ve got to be sweet. C’mon, you can be nice when you have to.”
“Gee thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“You know what I mean. Just smile, chat her up about her strudel, and don’t, absolutely do not strut or act butch.” After checking to see that no one else was looking, Katie leaned towards me, smiley, cheerleader style to push my hair in place.
“Barf! Butch? Me?” I squared my jaw and clipped my fingers in the waist of my A-line skirt.
Katie tilted her head and smiled at me, a smile that whispered, “Please.” I shrugged and smiled back in agreement. I knew I had to win Dorotea over. I also knew I didn’t have it in me, not really, to be cruel to someone, but just then, I remembered my dream, the one of Dorotea, the Nazi lion tamer.
I had no sooner described to Katie Dorotea’s sadistic Nazi officer character and therefore my doubts about her good will towards me than Dorotea’s head popped up in front of us. Topped with a red, white, and blue beret, she waved a mini red, white, and blue French flag at us, and pinned a miniscule Eiffel Tower on the lapel of my navy blue wool blazer. She completed the act with a deep European curtsy, saying in French, “A ce soir. Comme je suis contente! See you tonight. Boy, I’m happy.”
Trying to make sense of this latest version of Dorotea, I felt Katie pinch me. She narrowed her eyes, indicating that I needed to respond to Dorotea. I forced myself to smile so the French words I didn’t really know could come tumbling, flowing, cascading freely out of my mouth. “Oui, moi aussi, j’en suis ravie!” When I mumbled to myself that I was delighted too, the English words were drenched in sarcasm.
With that, Katie pushed me into the Salle Simone de Beauvoir classroom, huge question marks in her glare as if to say, “Dorotea, sadistic, Nazi officer, complete with whip?”
My glorious French affair did not end there. Mademoiselle Lesage informed me that I was being considered for special placement in the French wing of Albert Hall. This was an honor bestowed on the crème de la crème and never, “jamais!’ on first year students, she informed me.
Dorotea flashed her most saccharine, Bavarian yodeler smile on me and whispered in German, “Stimmt, of course!” I couldn’t tell if she breathed it out in awe or awful jealousy. Her chubby cheeks continued to puff into a cloying smile.
Out in the hall after class, I signaled to Katie. Her smile was solid; I could build a future on it. We were exchanging a quick, upbeat evaluation of our first period class, when the Head Mistress appeared.
Something was definitely in the air today, for there was Miss Craney clad in a simple red wool gabardine suit with a delicate yellow gold crane on her lapel and a pale tan and gold Chanel scarf tied like an ascot, adding volume and élan to Miss Craney’s throat and chin. Her cheeks seemed discreetly powdered and rouged and her rosy, smiling lips accented them. Her beaky nose had all but disappeared. She was stunning.
She lowered her eyes upon me in a sidelong glance as she told Katie, “You run along to class, Miss McGuilvry.” Before I knew it, her arm was through mine, and she was inclining her head towards mine, three inches away. “I will crane my neck to watch out for you.” Her fingers appeared as if by magic from the silk cuffs protruding from her suit sleeve. She tapped me once, ever so lightly on the cheek, which was now two inches away from her. “You will be my little fledgling. Remember cranes in Chinese mythology. We are the symbol of longevity and immortality. Ah! And magical transformation to fly away on journeys.” She finally let her breath out as if in ecstasy.
She was gone. I was mummified. Katie was late for class as she emerged from behind the potted snake plant, her lookout onto the latest appearance of Head Mistress Craney.
Later I told Katie about my Craney dream, Craney the reaper whose words were, “I will lay you down.” Katie wasn’t able to match up these different Craney apparitions. Neither of us cared to clarify what she might mean by “lay me down.” Maybe not a red-letter day after all.
The party later that evening was a success, if the meaning of success was Dorotea’s attaching herself to us. Alda was seductive in a food and drink sort of way, actually getting Dorotea ein bischen blau—well, more than a little blue or drunk—on the Vin Santo.
Colors. Oh yes, Dorotea had decorated the room with little red garden gnomes. She broke out land jaeger, dried spicy meat, strudel, and even some peppermint Schnapps. Her mother said the peppermint alcohol was for “stomach hurt.” So Dorotea was blue-drunk but definitely not blue-sad.
She did say a bit too much. Her father was in Argentina; he was not allowed to go back to Germany; she missed him and only got to see him intermittently between her schooling in Germany, Switzerland, and France. His picture, lovingly presented in a beautiful German porcelain frame with pink cherubs and fuchsia roses, was at least ten years old. He could have been the male version of Dorotea in my dream complete with boots, crop, and Iron Cross. The resemblance was deadly.
I was equally blue, true blue to my promise to be on my best behavior towards Dorotea. I did apologize and actually found myself feeling bad for this lonely girl who tried so hard and had so much to hide. I think I knew what she was feeling.
Alda and Katie were red. The eating and drinking, in addition to the dancing to Elvis as well as to Dorotea’s “oom-pa-pah” music blushed their cheeks equally rosy on Katie’s china-Irish complexion and Alda’s swarthy tan.
As we started to say goodnight and Alda and Dorotea made plans to hang out, I couldn’t help noticing a certain grayness. Was the motivation for this “Mission Friendship” clear: merely to butter up Dorotea? Was it still black and white? The end of this day seemed to place us in a gray zone. Maybe black wasn’t always bad and white good.
Chapter Twelve
The Morning After
“Psst!” I kept on hearing, “Psst!” I imagined a bee buzzing around my head. Or was that just a buzz from the Vin Santo and Schnapps?
What a relief to see Katie’s head emerge above the edge of the bed! Her eyes didn’t look great, but they were definitely not bees’ eyes.
She slithered more like a snail into my bed and suctioned herself onto me under the covers. Her “hi” sounded more like a “moo,” and the response of “baa” from Alda’s bed told me we were all three somewhat hung over.
It was early yet; we had time to get it together before breakfast.
“Hey, so are you going to sleep with Craney?” Katie asked me. The question would have made sense if Katie had hiccoughed, if she were still really drunk, but now? I just stared at her, her head all shaggy and hanging over the side of the bed, a bit of drool forming in the corner of her mouth. This was a crazy question coming from someone looking rather crazy.
“What the heck?” Alda sat up suddenly and just as quickly held her head and then her mouth. In an instant, she was off the bed and into the bathroom. Gurgling and splashes announced her vomiting.
Back in the room, Alda flopped onto my bed and said, “Okay, explain.”
I repeated Craney’s words about keeping me, her fledgling, under her wing. When I added the part about laying me down, Alda began to howl and actually beat the bed as I continued to explain that cranes in Chinese mythology symbolized a person’s power to transform into a crane and tele-transport.
Katie shrieked, “God, she could be under the bed right now.”
We all laughed, saying we didn’t smell a crane, nor did we he
ar one, but we did, in fact, hear a scratching on the door and a sort of whistle.
Crane or no crane, Alda and Katie both bounded out of the bed, Katie to the bathroom, Alda to her own bed. We breathed a sigh when Dorotea tiptoed in.
“You have too much fun. I can join, yes? What you say?” Her morning German accent aided by a schnapps slur was extra heavy.
“Huh? Oh. What are we talking about?” I said.
Alda began to tell the rumor she had heard about Head Mistress Craney.
“They say she seduced Miss Whitfield, an English instructor.”
“Seduced? What is the meaning?” asked Dorotea.
There was a longish silence as Katie, by now out of the bathroom, and Alda and I looked from one to the other. Alda began, “Uh, she flirted with Miss Whitfield. Uh, she sent her poetry, and she snuck into her room at night.”
“Ja?” said Dorotea.
Katie and I sat in silence and tried to signal Alda with eye rolls and the pursing of our lips. We wanted her to quit while she was ahead. Yet, Dorotea’s enthusiasm to be one of the gang and in on the dirt about Miss Craney appealed to the actress in Alda, who immediately began to mimic a lecherous, vampire about to suck Dorotea’s blood and more.
Dorotea made gagging sounds and uttered an equally disgusting word in German, “Schrechlich!” Dorotea had taught us a whole lot of German while she was drinking.
“Oh, disgust!” she said. “That is not natural. We must to tell the police or the church. Ya? She is ‘lesbe.’”
Realizing her mistake, Alda said that maybe these were just rumors started by angry students because Miss Craney had fired Miss Whitfield, their favorite teacher. Her eyes pleaded forgiveness from us. “Besides,” laughed Alda, “You think everyone with short hair is a lesbo, Dorotea.”
“Ja. Vielleicht, oh, perhaps, you are correct.”
Alda’s shoulders dropped back down as she twirled a strand of hair and whistled “The Happy Wanderer” song. Dorotea was smiling and singing along with the German version. Then she grabbed Alda’s arm and said they must go early to breakfast to plan her weekend visit to Alda’s house. Alda agreed that October 4 would be perfect, and they left arm-in-arm.
Love and Lechery at Albert Academy Page 4
