Doreen

by Ilana Manaster

  “Go on!” someone yelled. “Get the hell out of here.”

  “Go back to where you belong!” A giant boo emerged from the throng. Heidi tried to silence them with her eyes. But it was too late.

  Simon looked around as if awakened from a trance. “Wait! Where are you taking me? You’re trying to pull us apart? That’s not going to happen, do you hear me? This is bigger than you. Doreen! Doreen!”

  He shook out of Heidi’s grasp and lunged at the dance floor. He reached out his arms and hurtled his body toward Doreen, and was stopped by a swift, unerring punch in the face. He dropped to the floor.

  “Ouch,” said Peter, rubbing his hand.

  “Oh, thank god,” said Heidi. “My hero!” The crowd burst into cheers and applause. Peter grinned and pulled Simon up off the ground.

  “You all right? Sorry about that, man.”

  Simon nodded, finally giving up hope.

  “Okay, we’re going now,” said Heidi. “For real this time. You ready?” With her arm on the poor kid’s back, she walked with Simon toward the exit.

  “Did you see that?”

  “That was crazy. Ho-ly crap.”

  “Oh man. I should’ve taken a picture. That shit would go viral in like a second.”

  “And cross Heidi Whelan? Are you out of your mind? Don’t you remember what she did to Tatiana Wang that one time? That girl had to transfer schools.”

  “Yeah, man. Why do you think I didn’t do it?”

  When Simon and Heidi slipped out of the ballroom, nobody noticed.

  It was quiet and musty in the lobby. Simon dragged his feet toward the door. Heidi felt almost sorry for the guy, despite his wildly inappropriate behavior. “You need to forget all about her,” she said. “I’m serious. She’s not going to come around, so you may as well move on. You’ll be better off.”

  “She destroyed me,” said Simon Vale.

  “You’ll be okay. You’re a football star! There are plenty of other girls.”

  Simon stopped and looked at Heidi. His eye was bruised and bloody. “Not for me.” He managed to smile a little, but it was a smile so heavy with sorrow and pain that Heidi couldn’t imagine that a sob or a scream would seem sadder. “Thank you. I know you’re just trying to be helpful.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Heidi said, but the quarterback had hunched into his tux jacket and disappeared into the empty autumn night.

  Heidi was happy to see him go. Wasn’t she? She’d wanted them to separate since the moment they got together and there was no question of that now. But still it felt wrong, the way Doreen had treated him. Did it have to be so humiliating? Did she have to be so cruel? Though, undoubtedly, she had done wonders for her social status. Doreen made herself into the talk of the dance.

  Heidi stopped in the bathroom to freshen her lipstick. She told herself to put the image of the fallen quarterback out of her mind. “He’ll be fine,” she told her reflection. “It’s nothing but a high school crush.” But somehow it seemed like more than that.

  Heidi heard the band strike up a fast dance number, but when she returned to the ballroom she saw that nobody was dancing. All eyes were on Doreen, who stood in front of Gordon on the dance floor. He was saying something, but before he could finish, Doreen had his mouth with her lips, her teeth, her tongue. She pressed herself against him, kissing, kissing, deep and long and hard. People whooped and whistled. Heidi could see Doreen performing for the crowd, giving them a show. When they separated, Gordon was dough in her hands. She whispered something in his ear and took his hand.

  All in attendance at the Fall Dance watched as, hand in hand, Doreen Gray and Gordon Lichter made their exit. Heidi found Biz and Peter by the punch bowl and together they witnessed the triumphant gleam in Doreen’s eye, the light that shined from her as she led her besotted date toward the fulfillment of his fantasies. What a fantastic bitch, thought Heidi with some awe.

  “She looks so beautiful,” Biz said. “I wish . . .” Her hands twisted around themselves.

  “What?” asked Heidi.

  “I wish I had my camera.”

  “There you are. Aren’t you cold?” Peter stepped out to join Heidi on the terrace of their suite. Even though it was dark outside, Heidi could see the hotel’s gazebo on the lawn, a small, manicured lake beyond it, and the distant hills. It all smelled clean, like change. Peter wore a salmon-colored bathrobe with the hotel’s initials embroidered on it, and the effeminate getup made him seem even more virile and masculine by comparison. He handed Heidi a glass of red wine.

  “Where did you get this? Oh, I don’t care. Thank you. How is your hand?”

  “A little stiff, but on the mend.”

  Heidi could only imagine what that meant for Simon’s face. “I was impressed. You were pretty brave.”

  “I don’t know about that. It was more or less a sucker punch, but I was happy to be of service. That Gordon character didn’t exactly seem up for the job.”

  “No. I’m sure you’re right about that.” Heidi leaned over the railing and breathed in the crisp night. Peter did the same.

  “It’s warmer than I thought,” he said.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it? You know, I’m from the city.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Peter said with a smile. “Which city is that? Wait, you don’t have to tell me. Anybody who refers to their hometown as the city, as if there were only one in the world, could only be from New York.”

  “Yes, well. Nature always surprises me. It’s so busy, in its own way, like a city, but for plants and animals.”

  “That’s a way of thinking about it, I guess.”

  For a minute they stood in delicious silence—private and yet comforting.

  “Heidi Whelan from New York,” Peter said at last. “So that’s two.”

  “Sorry? Two what?”

  “Two details about your life.” Peter turned his back on the landscape and leaned his elbows on the railing, gazing with amusement at Heidi. “In addition to spending time at the Montauk Inn, you are from New York City. Other than that I know only that you attend Chandler Academy.”

  “So that’s three.”

  “And have very sensitive ears.” He leaned forward and nibbled on one to demonstrate and Heidi giggled. “See?”

  “I’m a private person, I guess.”

  “Private? No. This terrace is private. As a person you are like Fort Knox. I’m not criticizing—I’m only observing. One might think, sugarplum, that you have something to hide.”

  Heidi could feel her face flush. She was happy for the cover of night. “I will say that my reticence gets remarkably little attention from most gentlemen.”

  “That’s because you distract them. By being so sexy.”

  “And by keeping the conversation on them. Speaking of, other than the unfortunate walloping, did you have an okay time at the dance? It must have been sort of silly to play high school again at your advanced age of twenty.”

  “Oh, no. Not so fast. We aren’t done with you yet.”

  “No?” Heidi took a sip of wine.

  “So you are from New York City. East Side? West Side? What? Tribeca?”

  “Me? Oh. I grew up in Yonkers.” It was amazing. The fact came right out of Heidi’s mouth as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Why couldn’t she find a way to skirt the issue? Or, barring that, simply lie! Here was this blue blood—handsome, interesting, intelligent. She never let anyone know who she was or where she came from, so why start now?

  “Yonkers? That explains it then.”

  “Explains what?” Heidi’s heart was rattling against her rib cage.

  “Explains why nobody I asked had ever heard of you—and why you are so much more exciting than the other girls that my mother is forever flinging at me. Yonkers, Yonkers. My mind is a blank. What’s it like there?”


  “It’s very nice.”

  “Oh, come on! Very nice. Who are you? Who are your folks? I want to know everything about you! Let me guess, your family is in real estate. No? Uh, doctor-lawyer type guy? No. Let me think.”

  Heidi sighed. “Sanitation. My father is a garbage man. Good? Speechless? That’s not unexpected. Let me know when you recover from the shock.”

  “Me? Not at all! I mean, it’s not what I expected to hear.”

  “Okay, shall I go on then?”

  “Please do! Tell me everything.”

  “Everything? Well, my family is Irish Catholic. Especially my mother. She’s a true believer—crucifix over her bed, Hail Marys on the subway, the whole bit. She says drapes instead of curtains and sofa instead of couch because she thinks it’s classier. She is in love with France. When it came time to pick a language, I picked Spanish because screw her. Also, I told her I gave up piano but I still play secretly when she’s not home.”

  “You play piano?”

  “My father gets all of his news from the New York Post. He doesn’t vote because he says all politicians are the same, full of malarkey. That’s a word he uses without irony. He said he would vote for Derek Jeter, and that’s about it.” Was it the wine that made her so loose-lipped? And her accent was slipping. Where were those carefully trained r’s? The nice round a’s?

  “I’m on full scholarship. And I’m eighteen. When I transferred from my piece-of-shit public school the dean made me repeat my sophomore year, though nobody knows that, not even my roommate. My sister, Katie, waxes lady parts at Roberto’s International Hair Salon on South Broadway. Her boyfriend is an elevator repairman, which, in my neighborhood, is considered a high-status job because they have a strong union. His name is Donald and he is almost completely bald.”

  Peter giggled.

  “I’m not in the least bit joking. Know what else?” Heidi felt electrified and alive. Adrenaline pumped through her. “That girl Nicole? From the Ritz? The girl who knew me from the Montauk Inn? She was my coworker. I worked a summer there as the front desk girl and then I got fired.” And here she stopped. The truths had spewed out, like something she’d been holding back for too long, something her body rejected. Probably the boy would never speak to her again, never return a text or an e-mail. She may as well go all the way. “For smoking weed in the boiler room.”

  And with the last, single lie, the final upheld boundary, Heidi felt depleted, like she could sleep for a decade. She collapsed into a white Adirondack chair. She closed her eyes. For a minute nobody said anything.

  “Wow. I mean, wow.”

  Heidi looked up at Peter Standish III. He stood in the peach robe, his hand on his hips and a big old grin on his face. Was this all somehow funny to him? This, her, her whole life. All at once the enormity of all she had admitted descended on Heidi.

  “Oh god,” she said. “Excuse me.”

  Heidi leaped up from the chair and escaped past the glass doors into their suite. She unfolded the luggage stand, unzipped her bag, and began to pack. Why? Why had she gone so far? Said so much? After everything she’d done—the careful misdirections, the intricate layering of ambiguities, the persona that she’d created for herself from nothing—why had she given it all away to this Harvard boy? She didn’t know. But it had something to do with Doreen, of that she was quite positive. Watching her friend perform as she did at the dance had made Heidi feel invincible.

  She threw her dress, shoes, and underwear into her bag. She went into the bathroom for her hair dryer and makeup bag.

  “Where are you going?” asked Peter, the amused look still on his face. He slid the glass door closed behind him. “Wait, hold on now. What’s going on?”

  “It’s fine, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

  “Will you stop packing, please? It’s the middle of the night! You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Look, I know how this works.” At least her accent slip had been temporary. The d’s and t’s came tripping off her tongue like any high-class broad. What? “I know I just wrote my ticket out. I can’t for the life of me understand why the fu—why I did it, but there it is, and I’ll be going now so you don’t have to worry. I would ask you not to tell anyone, but I’m sure that’s more than I can expect.” She checked under the bed for stray objects. She saw the watch, thin gold band, delicate, the one Roland had given her in that other hotel, the one she told people had been a gift from her father. She thought of leaving it there under the bed for a maid to find, but she picked it up, wrapped it around her wrist. She buttoned a shirt on over her negligee and hopped into a pair of jeans.

  “Just wait. Stop it. Heidi! Stop!” Peter grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. “You don’t honestly think I care about any of that, do you? I don’t know what kind of villain you think I am, but this isn’t the seventeenth century. You think I want some fancy-pants Connecticut heiress? Some dull, overindulged, diamond-hungry socialite? Why? To protect the Standish name? No, thank you. No. I’ll take this, us, you, over that. I’ll take brilliant and witty and gorgeous. Was I surprised to hear about where you come from? Yes. But I shouldn’t have been. I should have known from your quick mind that you were different than all those nitwits I grew up with.” They were standing very close now. He grasped both arms above the elbow. Heidi could hear her own breath.

  “You. You are an exciting person, Heidi Whelan.” He slid a finger up her throat. He kissed her—her, the true, authentic Heidi Whelan, and it felt so different. She felt something unlatch within her, like a door opening after a long time, letting the light come in. It was just Heidi there, just Heidi and Peter. It was more than a kiss. It was a revelation.

  “Talk to me. Talk like a girl from Yonkers,” Peter whispered. “Talk to me, Heidi Whelan, like it’s public school, like we’re under the bleachers.”

  “I don’t know what you are tawkin’ about, okay?”

  Heidi Whelan raced across the quad as fast as she could, threading through packs of kids bundled up against the cold, still buzzing from last night’s dance. She did not slow down enough to listen to what they were saying, though she was sure that her friend was taking up a lot of real estate in the campus gossip. What were they calling Doreen? Heartbreaker? Man Eater? Fine. Good, even. But murderer? Heidi sped up her pace. They had to keep control of the story before it got out. She hoped it wasn’t too late.

  She scampered up the stairs to Doreen’s room, but Doreen did not answer the door right away. Heidi had to bang and jiggle the handle, yelling out Doreen’s name in desperation. Where could she have gone? Heidi’s imagination reeled. Finally, after some minutes, Doreen opened the door.

  “Oh, thank god,” said Heidi. She burst into Doreen’s room. “I thought—you don’t know what I thought. You never returned my messages. I was worried.”

  “You sound like my cousin,” said Doreen with a smirk. “Anyway, I’m fine. I’ve just been studying is all.”

  “Studying?” Heidi stood gaping as if unsure of the word’s intended meaning. She looked at the pile of books on Doreen’s desk. “That’s unexpected.”

  “Yes, studying. And if you don’t mind—”

  “Listen, Dorie, the whole thing is terrible, of course. It’s just awful and I wanted to be sure you weren’t taking it all too hard. I was afraid I’d find you here, I don’t know, pulling out your hair or sobbing, pounding your chest.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Darling! Simon! Simon Vale!”

  Doreen cringed at the mention of his name. “It’s unfortunate, of course.”

  Heidi nodded gravely. “Doreen, I’m so sorry about the way things went down, but there’s no point in blaming yourself.”

  “Blame myself? I have no intention . . . You see, I’ve figured the whole thing out. I’m going to fix it.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Well, admittedly, I did wake u
p this morning with a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. Not literally—after all, the suite where I stayed with Gordon at Hamilton Colonial was exquisite and there were breakfast pastries and cappuccinos and tiny glass jars of French jam. But something about the whole scene last night, it made me feel rotten. I did love Simon and I never loved Gordon—I never could or will love Gordon. I love his power and his access, but there’s more to life, I know there is. So I’ve resolved to be better. I realize that I’ve lost touch with the girl that I was back in Indiana. And I want to get back to that person, to make my insides more beautiful. I want to be good, Heidi, and that all begins with Simon.”

  “But Doreen—”

  “Look, don’t bother with your disapprovals. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve tried it your way and look where it’s gotten me! Sure, I got to wear a fancy dress and stay in a fancy suite, but for what? Simon is a good person, he has a good and giving soul. I should never have treated him that way. And so my plan is to make up with him.”

  “Make up with him?”

  “Yes, Heidi. And you can skip the list of reasons why he is unsuitable or embarrassing. I just don’t care about any of that. I am going to march up to Leaving Place and beg that boy to forgive me. I’ll get down on my knees if I have to.”

  “Leaving Place? But, Doreen, didn’t you get my text messages or e-mails? Haven’t you seen? It’s all over GryphPages!”

  “I don’t have a profile. I turned my phone off. What is it?”

  Heidi pushed her friend aside and logged onto her own profile on Doreen’s old laptop. She clicked a link to the Chandler Times homepage.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” she said as Doreen sunk into her desk chair.

  Hometown Football Hero

  Survives Suicide Stunt

  Simon Vale, 17, apparently threw himself off the Peabody Street Bridge early on Sunday morning. Vale was seen jumping off the bridge some hours after attempting to gain entry into the Chandler Fall Dance at the Hamilton Colonial Hotel on Saturday night. The extent of his injuries is unknown at this time, but onlookers claim that he was in stable condition, though obviously in pain, when the paramedics arrived to retrieve him from the bottom of the ravine. Until recent weeks, Vale was the star quarterback of the Hamilton High School football team. A series of bizarre performances on the field led the coach to bench him for the last game against the Manchester Wild Cats. “He’s been acting wicked strange for a while now,” says Coach McCullers. “I don’t know what’s been up with that kid.”