The election was due to take place at the end of the second week of the new school year, so the candidates had only ten days to gather votes. Many of Florentyna’s friends dropped in at Rigg Street to assure her of their support. Florentyna was surprised to find some support where she least expected it, while other classmates who she had imagined were friends told Edward they would never back her. Florentyna discussed this problem with Miss Tredgold, who warned her that if you ever run for any office that might bring you privilege or profit, it will always be your contemporaries who do not want to see you succeed in your ambitions. You need have no fear of those who are older or younger than yourself; they know you will never be their rival.
All the candidates had to write a mini-election address setting out the reasons they wanted to be on the Student Council. Florentyna’s was checked over by Abel, who refused to add or subtract anything, and by Miss Tredgold, who only commented on the grammar.
Voting was all day Friday at the end of the second week and the result was always announced by the headmaster after assembly the following Monday morning. It was a terrible weekend for Florentyna, and Miss Tredgold spent the entire time saying, “Settle down, child.” Even Edward, who played tennis with her on Sunday afternoon, hardly raised a sweat, winning 6–0, 6–0.
“It wouldn’t take Jack Kramer to tell you that you’re not concentrating—‘child.’”
“Oh, do be quiet, Edward. I don’t care whether I’m elected to the Student Council or not.”
Florentyna woke up at five o’clock on Monday morning and was dressed and ready for breakfast by six. She read the paper through three times and Miss Tredgold did not utter a word to her until it was time to leave for school.
“Remember, my dear, that Lincoln lost more elections than he won but still became President.”
“Yes, but I’d like to start out with a win,” said Florentyna.
The assembly hall was packed by nine o’clock. Morning prayers and the headmaster’s announcements seemed to take forever; Florentyna’s eyes stared down at the floor.
“And now I shall read the results of the Student Council election,” said the headmaster. “There were fifteen candidates and six have been elected to the Council.
The headmaster coughed and the room remained silent. “Sixth, Florentyna Rosnovski with seventy-six votes. The runner-up was Pete Welling with seventy-five votes. The first Council meeting will be in my office at ten-thirty this morning. Assembly dismissed.”
Florentyna was overwhelmed and threw her arms around Edward.
At the first Council meeting that morning, Florentyna, as junior member, was appointed secretary.
“That will teach you to come in last,” laughed the new president, Jason Morton.
Back to writing notes that nobody else reads, thought Florentyna. But at least this time I can type them and perhaps next year I will be president. She looked up at the boy whose thin, sensitive face and seemingly shy manner had won him so many votes.
“Now, privileges,” said Jason briskly, unaware of her gaze. “The president is allowed to drive a car to school, while on one day a week the girls can wear pastel-colored shirts and the boys can wear loafers instead of oxfords. Council members are allowed to sign out of study hall when involved in school responsibilities and they can award demerits to any pupil who breaks a school rule.”
So that’s what I fought so hard for, thought Florentyna, the chance to wear a pastel-colored shirt and award demerits.
When she returned home that night, Florentyna told Miss Tredgold every detail of what had happened and she glowed with pride as she repeated the full result along with her new responsibilities.
“Who is poor Pete Welling,” inquired Miss Tredgold, “who failed to be elected by only one vote?”
“Serves him right,” said Florentyna. “Do you know what I said to that creep when I passed him in the corridor?”
“No, I’m sure I don’t,” said Miss Tredgold apprehensively.
“‘Now you’ll have to get in line, but your time will come,’” she said, and burst out laughing.
“That was unworthy of you, Florentyna, and indeed of me. Be sure you never in your life express such an opinion again. The hour of triumph is not a time to belittle your rivals. Rather, it is a time to be magnanimous.”
Miss Tredgold rose from her seat and retired to her room.
When Florentyna went to lunch the next day, Jason Morton took the seat next to her. “We’re going to see a lot of each other now that you’re on the Council,” he said, and smiled. Florentyna didn’t smile back, because Jason had the same reputation among the pupils of Girls Latin as Pete Welling and she was determined not to make a fool of herself a second time.
Over lunch, they discussed the problem of the school orchestra’s trip to Boston and what to do about the number of boys who had been caught smoking. Student councillors were limited in the punishments they were allowed to impose, and study hall detention on Saturday morning was about the most extreme terror they could evoke. Jason told Florentyna that if they went so far as to report the smokers to the headmaster, it would undoubtedly mean expulsion for the students involved. A dilemma had arisen among the councillors because no one feared the Saturday detention, and equally, no one believed anyone ever would be reported to the headmaster.
“If we allow the smoking to go on,” said Jason, “very soon we’ll have no authority at all unless we’re determined to make a positive stand in full Council right from the beginning.”
Florentyna agreed with him and was surprised by his next question.
“Would you be up for a game of tennis on Saturday afternoon?”
Florentyna remained silent for a moment. “Yes,” she said, trying to sound casual as she remembered that he was captain of the tennis team and her backhand was awful.
“Good, I’ll pick you up at three o’clock. Will that be okay?”
“Fine,” said Florentyna, hoping she still sounded offhand.
“That tennis dress is far too short,” said Miss Tredgold.
“I know,” said Florentyna, “but it’s last year’s, and I’ve grown since then.”
“With whom are you playing?”
“Jason Morton.”
“You really cannot play tennis in a dress like that with a young man.”
“It’s either this or the nude,” said Florentyna.
“Don’t be cheeky with me, child. I shall allow you to wear the garment on this occasion, but be assured I shall have acquired a new dress for you by Monday afternoon.”
The front doorbell rang. “He seems to have arrived,” said Miss Tredgold.
Florentyna picked up her racket and ran toward the door.
“Don’t run, child. Let the young man wait a little. We can’t have him knowing how you feel about him, can we?”
Florentyna blushed, tied back her long dark hair with a ribbon and walked slowly to the front door.
“Hi, Jason,” she said, her voice casual again. “Won’t you come in?”
Jason, who was dressed in a smart tennis outfit that looked as if it had been bought that morning, couldn’t take his eyes off Florentyna. “What a dress,” he ventured, and was about to say more when he saw Miss Tredgold leaving the room. He hadn’t realized until that moment what a good figure Florentyna had. The moment he set eyes on Miss Tredgold he knew why he had never been allowed to find out.
“It’s last year’s, I’m afraid,” said Florentyna, looking down at her slim legs. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“No, I think it’s swell. Come on, I’ve reserved a court for three-thirty and someone else will grab it if we’re a minute late.”
“Good heavens,” said Florentyna as she closed the front door. “Is that yours?”
“Yes. Don’t you think it’s fantastic?”
“I would say, if asked to venture an opinion, that it had seen better days.”
“Oh, really?” said Jason. “I thought it was rather snazzy.”
“If I knew what the word meant I might be able to agree with you. Pray, sir,” she said mockingly, “am I expected to ride in that machine or help push it?”
“That is a genuine pre-war Packard.”
“Then it deserves an early burial,” said Florentyna as she took her seat in the front, suddenly realizing how much of her legs were showing.
“Has anyone taught you how to propel this lump of metal in a forward direction?” she inquired sweetly.
“No, not exactly,” said Jason.
“What?” said Florentyna in disbelief.
“I’m told driving is mostly common sense.”
Florentyna pushed down the handle of her door, opening it slightly, as if to get out. Jason put his hand on her thigh.
“Don’t be silly, Tyna. I was taught by my father and I’ve been driving for nearly a year.”
Florentyna blushed, closed the door again and had to admit to herself that he drove rather well all the way to the tennis club even if the car did rattle and bump as it went over the holes in the road.
The tennis match was a desperate affair with Florentyna trying hard to win a point while Jason tried hard to lose one. Somehow Jason managed to win by only 6–2, 6–1.
“What I need is a Coke,” he said at the end of the match.
“What I need is a coach,” said Florentyna.
He laughed and took her hand as they left the court, and even though she felt sweaty and hot, he did not let her hand go until they reached the bar at the back of the clubhouse. He bought one Coke and they sat drinking it from two straws in the corner of the room. When they had finished, Jason drove her home. On reaching Rigg Street, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. Florentyna did not respond, more out of shock than for any other reason.
“Why don’t you come to the movies with me tonight?” he said. “On the Town is showing at the United Artists.”
“Well, I normally…Yes, I’d like that,” said Florentyna.
“Good, then I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Florentyna watched the car as it chugged away, and tried to think of some reason that would persuade her mother she had to be out that evening. She found Miss Tredgold preparing tea in the kitchen.
“A good game, child?” asked Miss Tredgold.
“Not for him, I’m afraid. By the way, he wants to take me to”—she hesitated—“to Orchestra Hall for a concert this evening so I won’t need any dinner.”
“How nice,” said Miss Tredgold. “Be sure you’re back before eleven or your mother will worry.”
Florentyna ran upstairs, sat on the end of the bed and started to think about what she could possibly wear that evening, how awful her hair looked and whether she could steal some of her mother’s makeup. She stood in front of the mirror wondering how she could make her breasts look bigger without holding her breath all night.
At seven o’clock Jason returned dressed in a red sloppy Joe sweater and khakis and was met at the door by Miss Tredgold.
“How do you do, young man.”
“How do you do, ma’am,” said Jason.
“Would you like to come into the drawing room?”
“Thank you,” said Jason.
“And what is the concert you’re taking Florentyna to?”
“The concert?”
“Yes, I wondered who was playing,” said Miss Tredgold. “I read a good review of Beethoven’s Third in the morning paper.”
“Oh, yeah, Beethoven’s Third,” said Jason, as Florentyna appeared on the stairs. Both Miss Tredgold and Jason were stunned. One approved while the other didn’t. Florentyna was wearing a green dress that fell just below the knee and revealed the sheerest nylon stockings with dark seams down the back. She walked slowly down the stairs, her long legs unsteady in high-heeled shoes, her small breasts looking larger than usual, her shining dark hair hanging down to her shoulders, reminiscent of Jennifer Jones, and making Florentyna appear a lot older than her fifteen years. The only item she wore to which Miss Tredgold could take no exception was the watch she herself had given to Florentyna on her thirteenth birthday.
“Come on, Jason, or we’ll be late,” said Florentyna, wanting to avoid any conversation with Miss Tredgold.
“Sure thing,” said Jason. Florentyna did not look back once for fear of being turned into a pillar of salt.
“Be sure she’s home before eleven, young man,” commanded Miss Tredgold.
“Sure thing,” repeated Jason as he closed the front door. “Where did you find her?”
“Miss Tredgold?”
“Yes, she’s straight out of a Victorian novel. ‘Be sure she’s home before eleven, young man,’” he mimicked as he opened the car door for her.
“Don’t be rude,” said Florentyna, and smiled at him coquettishly.
There was a long line outside the theater, and Florentyna spent most of the time standing beside Jason facing the wall in case someone might recognize her. Once inside, Jason quickly guided her to the back row with an air of having been there before.
She took her seat and when the lights went down she began to relax for the first time—but not for long. Jason leaned over, put his hand around her shoulder and started kissing her. She began to enjoy the sensation as he forced her lips open and their tongues touched for the first time. Then he broke away and they watched the titles go up on the screen. Florentyna liked Gene Kelly. Jason leaned over again and pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips parted. Almost immediately she felt a hand on her breast. She tried to remove his fingers, but once again his backhand was too strong for her. After a few seconds she came up for air and took a quick look at the Statue of Liberty before Jason returned with his other hand and fondled her other breast. This time she managed to push him away but only for a few moments. Annoyed, he took out a package of Camels and lit one. Florentyna couldn’t believe what was happening. After a few puffs he stubbed the cigarette out and placed a hand between her legs. In near panic, she stopped any further advance by squeezing her thighs closely together.
“Oh, come on,” said Jason. “Don’t be such a prude or you’ll end up like Miss Tredgold,” and he bent over to kiss her once again.
“For heaven’s sake, Jason, let’s watch the movie.”
“Don’t be silly. No one goes to a movie house to watch a film.” He put his hand back on her leg. “Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before. Hell, you’re sixteen. What are you hoping to be? The oldest virgin in Chicago?”
Florentyna jumped up and pushed her way out, stumbling over several pairs of feet before she reached the aisle. Without straightening her dress, she ran out of the theater as fast as she could. Once outside, she attempted to run, but couldn’t manage much more than a walking pace in her mother’s high heels, so she took the shoes off and ran in her stocking feet. When she reached the front door of her house she tried to compose herself, hoping she could get up to her room without bumping into Miss Tredgold, but she failed. Miss Tredgold’s bedroom door was ajar and as Florentyna tiptoed past, she said, “Concert over early, my dear?”
“Yes…no…I mean, I didn’t feel very well,” said Florentyna, and she ran into her own room before Miss Tredgold could ask any more questions. She went to bed that night still trembling.
She woke early the next morning and although still angry with Jason, she found herself laughing at what had taken place and even determined to go and see the film again, on her own this time. She liked Gene Kelly, but it was the first time she had seen her real idol on the screen, and she couldn’t get over how skinny and vulnerable he looked.
At Student Council the next day, Florentyna could not make herself look at Jason while he was stating in a quiet, firm voice that some senior boys who were not members of the Council were becoming casual about their dress. He also added that the next person caught smoking would have to be reported to the headmaster or his own reputation as president would be undermined. Everyone except Florentyna nodded in agreement.
“Good, then I’ll put a notice on
the bulletin board to that effect.”
As soon as the meeting was over, Florentyna slipped off to class before anyone could speak to her. She finished study hall late that evening and did not set off for Rigg Street until a few minutes after six o’clock. As she reached the main school door, it started to rain and she remained under the archway, hoping the storm would blow over quickly. As she stood there, Jason walked straight past her with a girl from the twelfth grade. She watched them climb into his car and she bit her lip. The rain came down harder, so she decided to return to her classroom and type up the minutes of the Student Council meeting. On her way back into school she passed a small crowd studying a notice on the board that confirmed the Council’s attitude toward sloppy dress and smoking.
Florentyna took about an hour to complete the minutes of the Council meeting, partly because her mind wandered continually back to Jason’s double standards. The rain had stopped by the time she finished her typing and she closed her typewriter case and placed the minutes in her desk. As she walked back down the corridor, she thought she heard a noise coming from the boys’ locker room. No one except members of the Student Council was allowed to remain in school after seven o’clock without special permission, so she turned back to see who it was. When she was a few yards away from the locker room, the light under the door went off. She walked over and opened the door and switched the light back on. It was a few seconds before Florentyna focused on him standing in the corner, trying to hide a cigarette behind his back, but he knew she had seen it.
“Pete,” she said in surprise.
“Well, Miss Student Councillor, you’ve caught me once and for all. Two major offenses in one day. In school after hours, and smoking. Bang goes my chance of making Harvard,” Pete Welling said as he ground out the cigarette on the stone floor. The vision of the Student Council president stubbing out his cigarette at the movie on Saturday night came back to her.
“Jason Morton is hoping to go to Harvard, isn’t he?”
“Yes. What’s that got to do with it?” said Pete. “Nothing will stop him making the Ivy League.”
The Prodigal Daughter Page 10