Screwed

by Laurie Plissner

  Helen was stunned. This precious girl was trying to protect her vicious parents’ reputation? Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. As vile as Helen thought they were, she didn’t want Grace to worry. “I’m sure that’s true, Grace. When people are frustrated, they can behave in unfortunate ways. You shouldn’t give it a second thought.”

  Clean and fed and rested, Grace curled up in an easy chair in the corner of her new bedroom. The blue room was wallpapered and upholstered entirely in blue toile. It was like a room in one of the museum houses at Colonial Williamsburg Grace had visited two summers ago, right down to the mahogany four-poster bed. After lunch in the enormous clawfoot bathtub, Grace had taken a long nap, and now she was waiting for Vera, Mrs. T.’s cook as well as George’s wife, to ring the bell signaling that dinner was ready. While she was sleeping someone had unpacked for her, and all her clothes were now neatly stowed away in a massive dresser or hung neatly in the cavernous walk-in closet. The bathroom was stocked with every imaginable shampoo, soap, and cream, along with a brand new toothbrush and piles of fluffy white towels. Everything smelled like lavender. It was as if Grace had checked into an incredibly fancy bed and breakfast. She dialed her cell phone. “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Where the hell are you?” Jennifer had been convinced that something horrible had happened when Grace failed to respond to texts, phone calls, Facebook messages. “I thought you’d gone and done something stupid.” Even though Jennifer couldn’t believe that Grace would actually kill herself, desperation could make people crazy enough to do the unthinkable. When Grace had said she wished she would drown in the lake, maybe she hadn’t been kidding.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve called, but it’s been a weird day.” Grace didn’t know where to begin, and she wasn’t looking forward to hearing Jennifer’s inevitable “I told you so.”

  “What’s up with your parents? When I couldn’t get you, I called your house. Your dad just said you’d left, and he didn’t know when you would be coming home. What the fuck does that mean?” Jennifer’s voice was shrill with concern.

  “My mother took me to some clinic in Massachusetts today for an abortion.” Had that been just this morning? It seemed like a year since Grace had her feet in the stirrups, felt the cold steel of the speculum. Involuntarily she crossed her legs.

  “What?! That’s impossible. Your parents? Baby killers?” This was a staggering development — not at all what Jennifer had expected from a couple who always sat in the first pew, right on the center aisle, probably so they could be closer to God. Recovering from the initial shock, Jennifer said, “Well, anyway, that’s probably good news overall. How was it? Did it hurt?”

  “I couldn’t do it. I’ve decided to have the baby. When I thought about what I would feel for the rest of my life, wondering if I’d done the right thing, I couldn’t live with it. That’s when it really went to hell. My mother said that my being pregnant would ruin their reputation, and she and my dad couldn’t have me in their house anymore.” It was embarrassing to say that out loud, basically declaring that her mother and father didn’t love her enough, cared about their status more than they cared about her.

  “So your parents dread being humiliated in front of their friends at the club more than they fear the wrath of God. Good to know.” Jennifer chuckled. “But they’re acting like assholes, stupid ones at that. Everyone in Silver Lake is going to know you’re preggers soon enough, whether or not you’re living under their roof. Wherever you keep your toothbrush, you’re still their daughter … where are you, anyway? Do you want me to come get you? We’re only an hour away, and spending the weekend with my parents and my sister — eight-year-olds are so annoying — isn’t exactly a vacation.”

  “No, I’m fine. Mrs. Teitelbaum, the lady who lives across the street in that huge house, wandered into the middle of my eviction and rescued me. My father had packed all my stuff in garbage bags and put them on the front porch. Maybe he thought I’d take my stuff and leave town.” Grace had to smile at the mental image of herself standing next to a freeway on-ramp, surrounded by lawn and leaf bags, thumb out, puking her guts all over the place as she waited for a ride.

  “Black garbage bags? He’s a classy guy, your dad.” Jennifer had never particularly liked Grace’s parents, had never trusted them — too self-important, too self-righteous. “I can’t believe they thought you’d just leave. More likely they thought you’d fold and do what they wanted, but they didn’t take into account your crazy neighbor.”

  “Mrs. Teitelbaum’s not crazy. She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met in my life.” As Mrs. T. had championed her, Grace would defend her until the end of time.

  “And the richest. It’s brilliant. Not only did you get rescued in your darkest hour, but you got rescued by a fucking heiress.” Jennifer clicked her tongue.

  “Heiress?” It was obvious from Mrs. T.’s house that she was loaded, but an heiress?

  “You’ve never heard of HAT Industries?” Jennifer was incredulous.

  “Sure, but so what? I’ve also heard of Apple and GE and Wellington Industries.” Although Grace didn’t watch MSNBC, she wasn’t totally clueless.

  “That’s your savior’s company, dummy. It’s like a billion-dollar corporation. They’re into precious metals and stuff, I think. Here, I’ll look it up on Google.”

  “Billion? I had no idea,” Grace whispered into the phone. So much for the librarian theory.

  “How could you miss that? When she moved in, there was a big article in the paper about the old lady and her move from Park Avenue up to the sticks.” Jennifer’s dad made her read the paper every day, so she wouldn’t be just another ignorant, self-absorbed teenager. Sometimes, not often, it came in handy.

  “I didn’t see it. She’s just a really nice person.” The fact that Mrs. T. was exceptionally wealthy didn’t really matter to Grace, although she had to admit the house was incredible, and she felt like less of a burden knowing that she wasn’t imposing on a little old lady on a fixed income.

  Quickly scanning the article, Jennifer reported the highlights. “Here it is. HAT stands for Helen and Abraham Teitelbaum. Abraham was her husband. It says here he died three years ago and left his entire fortune to his wife, Helen. They have no children.”

  “Stop snooping. It’s none of our business.” To Grace it felt like they were rifling through Mrs. T.’s desk drawer.

  “I’m not snooping. This is all public information, available to everyone on the world wide web.” Jennifer laughed. “Maybe she’ll adopt you, and you and your love child — well, lust child — can live happily ever after on Easy Street.”

  “You are so out of line, Jennifer. Just shut up.” Sometimes Jennifer could be so inappropriate. She thought she was being funny, no matter how many times Grace pointed out to her that she wasn’t.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, but you have to admit it’s bizarre. Right?”

  It had been a surreal day, and it wasn’t over yet. “I guess so,” Grace answered.

  “You guess so?” Jennifer squealed. “The God Squad pushing for an abortion. The rich old widow rescuing you out of the garbage. Tell me when the spaceship lands. I’ll rush right over — I could go for a probing.”

  Grace was startled by a knock at the door. She whispered, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” In a normal voice, she called, “Come in.”

  The door opened, revealing not Mrs. Teitelbaum, or George, or Vera, or the housekeeper, Ada, but a boy, a really cute boy, who looked about her age. Was this the cabana boy? she wondered. Or did Mrs. T. make it a habit of taking in troubled teens? Although nothing about this guy looked troubled. Straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalog, he had it all under control, right down to his cornflower blue polo shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. In spite of her vow never to look at a guy again, her heart skipped a beat.

  “Hi, Grace? I’m Charlie Glass, Helen’s great-nephew.”

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Grace said as she slowly sto
od up, trying not to look as clumsy as she felt, and approached Charlie, who still waited in the doorway. “I didn’t know Mrs. T. had a nephew.” Jennifer’s Internet research had not mentioned the rest of the family.

  “Yeah, my grandfather is Uncle Abe’s brother.” This girl was way too cute, and young, to be in the kind of trouble Helen had described. If he had to guess, he would have pegged her for thirteen at most. She looked like she should be standing outside the ShopRite selling Samoas and Thin Mints for her Girl Scout troop, not deciding whether to have an abortion or give up her child for adoption.

  “Who?” Grace asked, feigning ignorance. She didn’t want to look like a busybody.

  “Uncle Abe was Aunt Helen’s husband. He died three years ago, right before Aunt Helen moved here. She used to live in New York City, but after Uncle Abe passed away she said it was too sad to walk around Manhattan without him, so she moved up here.” His smile was at least as beautiful as Nick’s. Grace definitely had a thing for teeth. “Come on, why are we standing here? Let’s go outside, if you’re not too tired. It’s a beautiful evening, and after the day Aunt Helen said you had, I think you could use a little fresh air.”

  Charlie led the way down the back staircase and into the kitchen. The aroma of roasting chicken and fresh rosemary flooded Grace’s nostrils, and her stomach growled. “Hi, Vera,” said Charlie. “Grace and I are going to go out back for a little while. Dinner smells incredible.”

  “Hello, Grace, I’m Vera. I hope chicken’s okay. Let me know if there’s anything special you like to eat, or anything you can’t or won’t eat.” As friendly as her husband, Vera smiled as she whipped egg whites in a shiny copper bowl.

  “It’s nice to meet you, and I like everything,” said Grace quietly.

  Vera nodded. “Would you like a snack now? Dinner won’t be ready for a little while, and I remember when I was expecting, I was always starving.”

  Grace nodded shyly, covering her stomach, as if she could hide the bean. Expecting. Cheeks reddening at the word, Grace looked at her feet. For the next seven months, everyone who looked at her would know she was one of those girls who had done the deed and gotten knocked up before she was even out of high school. It was going to be hard to face all those curious, judgmental stares. Vera had been nothing but kind, and Grace was still mortified.

  Turning to a cooling rack on one of the white marble counters in a kitchen straight out of a nineteenth-century English novel, Vera picked up two muffins and handed them to Grace and Charlie. “Fresh out of the oven. Banana nut. You’re not allergic to walnuts, are you?”

  “No, no allergies. These smell wonderful.” Grace gratefully took a bite, savoring the sweetness. If this was a sample of Vera’s cooking, Grace feared she would eat everything in sight as long as she was staying in this house. She had no idea how much weight you were allowed to gain during pregnancy.

  Outside, Grace and Charlie wandered across the grass and sat down on a glider swing under an arbor covered with grape vines. Suddenly Grace didn’t know what to say to this handsome boy, with whom, under any other circumstances, she would have flirted madly.

  “So, when are you due?” Charlie asked.

  From her hairline down to her toes, Grace felt a surge of heat. “The beginning of April.”

  “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Not in front of me. I mean, shit happens. I don’t judge.” Charlie’s face turned pink as well. The last thing he wanted to do was make this girl uncomfortable. Her parents were already acting like she’d serviced the entire football team on the fifty-yard line during halftime.

  “No, it’s fine. I’d better get over it. It’s only going to get worse.” Grace placed her hand on her stomach, which still gave no clue as to what was going on inside. “I got myself into trouble messing around in some guy’s car, and now I have to live with the consequences. I’m stupid and slutty, and everybody’s going to know it.”

  As trite and old-fashioned as that sounded, that was the truth, even in a supposedly liberal, modern society. What made it even worse was that Nick wouldn’t suffer for a moment because of this — if anyone did find out he was the father, it would probably only enhance his reputation as a stud. Grace covered her face with her hands. Because of this perennial double standard, it felt odd talking to a guy about stuff like this. But perhaps because Charlie was a stranger, it was slightly less humiliating. Like talking to a therapist.

  “Don’t talk like that. You think you’re the only girl in high school who ever did it in the back of a car with your boyfriend? I don’t think so.” Charlie shuddered internally.

  Not that he was an expert. When he was living in Paris, he had been with exactly one girl exactly twelve times, and every time they’d done it he’d felt like he was doing something dishonest, because he knew he didn’t love her, and as hurting as he knew it was, he had no idea how to separate sex from love, even though he had tried his best, all twelve times. If the girl had gotten pregnant, Charlie couldn’t begin to imagine how he would have dealt with it.

  “He wasn’t my boyfriend. It was only our third date. That’s pretty slimy, by anybody’s standards,” Grace whispered, certain that this admission would forever tarnish her image with Charlie. Not that he probably thought much of her anyway. But this would definitely be the nail in the coffin.

  Getting naked on the third date was a little soon, although for a guy such a pace would earn high-fives, not scarlet letters. Determined not to pass judgment, Charlie tried not to show his surprise. Even if she’d done it on the first date, there was something about this girl that was so unslutty. “You did something you regret doing, and you got really unlucky. Are you going to punish yourself for the rest of your life?”

  “I think maybe I am. I deserve it for being a moron, if nothing else.”

  For the most part, she had liked who she was before, except for the geeky aspects. And in the rearview mirror, she really wasn’t that much of a nerd — she only owned one calculator, had only seen Star Wars twice, and she’d never even been to a sci-fi convention. In retrospect, she wondered why she had felt so lost during junior year. Jennifer was right — if only she had talked it out with someone.

  “You shouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s not healthy, and it’s not true,” Charlie said.

  “But I deserve to feel bad for losing my virginity to a guy I hardly knew. In my heart I knew he didn’t really even like me. That’s beyond pitiful, isn’t it?”

  “You really only did it once?” What were the odds of that? Charlie wondered.

  Grace nodded miserably.

  “He didn’t use a … ?”

  “He did, but it’s not a hundred percent effective, which is a statistic that I, the math whiz, should have been aware of.” Grace couldn’t believe she was having a conversation about condoms and sex with a boy she’d just met, and she wasn’t stuttering or sweating.

  “By definition, one time means you can’t be a slut, but I will say you have the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever met. First time, using a condom, and you still got pregnant.”

  Charlie shook his head in disbelief. Having lived abroad where people seemed less uptight than in the United States, there was a lot of sleeping around, but he hadn’t known anyone who had gotten pregnant, or gotten someone else pregnant. Or maybe they just took care of the problem, and nobody ever found out about it. More likely the case.

  “That’s it in a nutshell, a really shitty nutshell.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she successfully held back the waterworks. Having already cried buckets, Grace knew they didn’t help — it wasn’t like she could weep away the bean. Crying just made her face all ugly and scrunched up, and she didn’t need to feel any more unattractive.

  “If you feel that way about it, and you’re not even in a relationship with this guy, then why don’t you just have an abortion? Then no one would ever have to know.” Aunt Helen had told him that was what Grace’s parents w
anted her to do, and her refusal to go through with it was why they had kicked her out.

  On one level Grace agreed with Charlie. Sixty or seventy years of self-flagellation were impossible to imagine. “You’re right, but if I get an abortion, I feel like the ghost of that baby that never got to be will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  “A ghost? You believe in that stuff?”

  Did Aunt Helen realize what she was getting herself into when she dragged home this stray? This was one messed-up girl. Charlie could understand why his aunt had scooped her up — her eyes glistened with unshed tears like a little girl who had just realized she was lost in a crowded department store, and as she spoke he was fighting the urge to cradle her in his arms and tell her he would never let anyone hurt her again. But she promised to be a handful. Maybe Aunt Helen should stick to the occasional dog or cat.

  “Not chain-rattling, white-sheet haunting. Someday, I hope I get married and have a family, you know, do it in the right order with the right person. If I have an abortion, when I eventually have a baby because I want to, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop thinking about this one. There’s no way to undo that. If I have it and give it up for adoption, I’ll have plenty of issues, especially in the short term, but in the long term I know I’ll feel better about it. I may end up regretting a lot of things, but at least I won’t be asking what if for my whole life. Does that make

  any sense?”

  This was heavy stuff to talk about with a complete stranger, who was her age and really kind of hot in a prep school sort of way. But he’d asked, and each time she explained herself, Grace felt marginally more confident that her decision to go through with the pregnancy was the right one for her, in spite of the domestic conflagration she had created by defying her parents.