“Well, well, Elizabeth, look at you,” said Mr. Cameron. In the evening light the pictures looked different than they looked during the day. Biz wondered if anyone would even notice them—or if they did, what they would think. The opening was less than an hour away, and Biz was so anxious she felt as if she was moving in gauze. She was happy to see Mr. Cameron. One more minute alone with her work and things might have gotten ugly.
“Doreen did it,” said Biz. “I don’t know. She said I had to make an effort.”
Mr. Cameron nodded approvingly. “You look serious, my dear, like an artist.”
Biz looked down. She liked the boots. They made her feel strong. “Really? Well, I guess that’s good.”
“Of course it is!” Mr. Cameron pulled off his knit cap, tucked it into a pocket of his coat, and looked around at the installation. A large guy, despite his light mannerisms, with a full gray mustache, gray ponytail, and bald pate, Mr. Cameron was goofy the way that boarding school teachers are often goofy—a combination of overenthusiasm and limited time with the outside world. His arm on Biz’s shoulder communicated a mother’s pride and hope and fear. She breathed in his contact and tried to calm down.
“I’m not sure I should have allowed you to talk me into this,” said Biz. Everyone was coming—her mother, her uncle, Doreen and Heidi, the entire school and their connected parents. Seth Greenbaum told her he was bringing his mother, Eloise Peek, the famous gallery owner. Biz even went to the library to invite the girl in the funny sweater, but the librarian said she had quit. Maybe it was better that way. Already Biz was so nervous, she was afraid she might puke.
“Oh, you’ll be fine. Just try to relax. And have fun! These things go by faster than you think.”
Heidi padded down the hall to the showers in a towel and flip-flops, weighing the pros and cons of attending Biz’s opening. The problem, of course, was Roland Gibbons, the man himself. To Doreen’s delight (and Heidi’s disbelief) he’d showed up for Parents’ Weekend, which meant he would be there, at the gallery. Roland Gibbons in the flesh.
The last time Heidi saw him he made it perfectly clear that she was never to make contact with him again, or else. Could it have been three years ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed, but also like she could click her heels together and be back there in a flash. In the shower, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
You’ll get your education, my dear. You’ll get your chance. Don’t blow it. Oh, and don’t contact me. If I hear from you again it’s all over. Understand? Marvelous. I expect you can let yourself out.
Heidi watched herself in the mirror as she blow-dried her hair. She wished she knew if he had told his daughter about their arrangement. She had watched Doreen closely ever since she’d returned from Boston, and though she seemed more or less the same, Heidi was sure there was something different about her, a new distance, as if the girl was keeping a secret. Heidi piled the hair on her head as she paced around in her towel. Could Doreen know? Did her father spill? Heidi looked for signs obsessively, but she really could never be certain one way or the other. And then Doreen would be so sweet and attentive that Heidi would tell herself that nothing had changed between them, it was all in her head.
But even if Doreen was still in the dark, being in the presence of her and Roland simultaneously seemed like pushing it. Would he tell their secret there, in front of his family? And what if Doreen did know? Would she be able to contain herself when she saw Heidi and Roland in the same place? The whole school would be there. She could lose everything she worked for. Heidi knew the wise thing would be to skip the event altogether, lay low, hope it all blew over. She fell back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Yes, she decided. The thing to do was play sick, stay in bed. Skip it.
But then she turned and saw Biz’s empty bed. How would she react when Heidi blew off her big opening? Biz practically lived at the photo lab for the entire semester. It would break her heart if Heidi ditched her now. And the moment at the Hamilton Inn when she was honest with Peter about herself marked the beginning of a momentous change inside Heidi. She craved honesty now. Biz had risen in her estimation for that reason. This was a girl who lived with integrity. Heidi wouldn’t allow the sins of her past to get in the way of Biz’s night.
Heidi pushed aside the covers and attacked her closet. Well, she’d say this, the evening would certainly be interesting. That was guaranteed. And Heidi could never stay away from interesting. Plus, she’d called in reinforcements. Peter was on his way and he would make it all better. Though, when they spoke on the phone earlier she thought Peter sounded irritated—and not for the first time. He was overwhelmed, she told herself. He was juggling a lot. And Heidi had been annoying about this event. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know what was riding on it for her.
He mentioned something he wanted to talk about. In person. What was so important that he couldn’t say what it was on the phone? It was probably about their future. Of course! He was going to tell her that he loved her! Finally! Heidi had heard the declaration many times from a variety of unworthy boys. But now at last she would get to say those magical words of reciprocation: I love you, too.
That’s why he’d been so moody lately. It was all a buildup to the big declaration. Giddy with anticipation, Heidi finished dressing in no time. She looked at the clock. The gallery would be opening soon. She wanted to go, get on with it, get it all started, but she knew she had to wait. The power move was to be the last one to arrive. She sat on her bed and opened a magazine. When she looked at the clock again, one minute had passed.
Desperate for an activity, students and their parents arrived in droves to see Biz’s art. They milled around the large lobby turned gallery at Douglas Hall, clutching plastic cups of sparkling water and apple juice, happy to have something to distract them from one another. By the time Biz’s family arrived, the place was packed.
“Isn’t there anything stronger?” Mumzy asked, frowning at the soft drink handed to her by an underclassman.
“Oh, calm down,” said Roland. “You can get through one event without alcohol.”
“I can. But can you? Oh, hello, Elizabeth. Well done.” Mumzy kissed her daughter on both cheeks.
“Yes, very nice. Though I thought there would be a picture or two of my girl.” Roland put an arm around Doreen.
“Oh, Daddy,” said Doreen. She looked prim in a blue ruffled shirtdress and flats. She held tight to her father’s elbow. “Great job, Bizzy. They are so good.”
“Pictures of Doreen are never in focus for some reason,” said Biz. “Except for one, but—”
“Hey!” said Addison, his mouth full of pretzels. “Hey, that’s Peter Standish. What is he doing here?”
“What?”
“Pete! Pedro! Over here!” Addison waved madly over the crowd and Peter acknowledged him with a nod of his chin. He turned sideways and slithered through the swarms of people.
“I didn’t realize he’d be here.” Doreen smoothed the front of her dress.
“Mother, you remember Peter Standish, don’t you? A Harvard chum,” said Addison.
“Hello again, Ms. Gibbons-Brown.”
“Gloria, please. Lovely to see you again, Peter.”
“And uh . . .”
“Doreen Gray.” Doreen shook Peter’s hand.
“You guys met at the dance,” said Biz. “You’re bad with names, huh?”
“Of course. Doreen Gray. Doreen, yes. Uh, hello. Hello again.”
“Hello, Peter,” said Doreen softly. She introduced her father.
“What the hell are you doing at Chandler?” said Ad-rock with a playful punch in the arm.
“Hm? Oh. Well, this may be awkward.” Peter’s grin was charmingly sheepish. “We seem to have a, well, a buddy in common.”
“Is Heidi coming?” said Biz. “I haven’t seen her yet.”
“She told me to meet her here. I
thought she’d have arrived by now.”
“Wait. You’re with Heidi Whelan?” said Addison. “You old goat. Good luck with that. She’s a piece of work, that girl.”
“Who now?” asked Gloria. She shook her head at a tray of sushi on offer. Addison grabbed a handful of California rolls. He popped them into his mouth one at a time.
“Heidi, mother. Heidi Whelan. My roommate,” said Biz with a roll of her eyes. “Heidi Whelan! You’ve met her like a thousand times.”
Roland began to cough uncontrollably.
“You don’t have to take that tone with me, young lady. I don’t know why you expect me to keep all of your little friends straight. Roland, are you quite all right?”
“Fine. Fine. I think I will get another drink,” he croaked. “Want anything, anyone?”
“Poor Daddy,” said Doreen. “Have you got a cold?”
“I’m just a bit parched is all. We should have brought some little bottles from the hotel.”
“You act like I have a hundred friends,” Biz mumbled.
“Ha! Now who can’t get through an event without alcohol?” said Gloria.
“Will this help?” Peter fished his flask out from the inside pocket of his coat.
“Oh, my dear boy.” Roland reached his plastic cup out and let Peter fill it.
“Elizabeth, there you are!” Mr. Cameron approached the group. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Hang on, is this your proud father?”
“No, my indifferent uncle. Roland Gibbons. And this is my mother, Gloria Gibbons-Brown. Mother, this is—Mom! Where are you going?”
“I need some sparkling, my darling. I will return shortly.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Roland. “What have you got in there, kid? Gasoline?”
“Dewar’s. If I’d known . . .”
“No need to apologize,” said Roland.
“I wasn’t.”
“Should I come with you, Daddy?”
“I’m Elizabeth’s photography teacher,” Mr. Cameron explained to Addison, since he seemed to be the only one paying attention.
“I know, Mr. C. I was in your class, like, three years ago. Addison Gibbons-Brown. I made the series called Animal Buttholes.”
“Oh, oh yes. My apologies. How could I forget?”
“Animal what?” It was Heidi. She slipped up to Peter’s side wearing a snug, emerald-green suit with a deeply plunging neckline and high heels. “Hello, babe,” she said to Peter and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Buttholes. Animal Buttholes.”
“You look nice,” said Peter.
“Hello, hello.” Heidi kissed greetings all around.
“Ad-rock was telling us about his own artistic explorations,” said Peter. “I don’t understand. What were the pictures of, exactly?”
“Bizzy.” Heidi grasped Biz’s wrist and looked straight into her eyes. “The installation is just gorgeous. I’m so proud of you.”
“Isn’t it, though?” said Mr. Cameron. “Now, Elizabeth, if I might steal you away for a moment.”
“Buttholes. It was a lot of different animals’ buttholes. Like a dog butthole. And a cat. And a horse.”
“Ah. That explains it.”
“You really like it, Heidi?” Biz asked.
“It’s—it’s just astonishing, Biz. Really. I didn’t know that you were paying attention. The self-portraits are a revelation.”
“Congratulations,” said Peter.
“Thanks. Thanks, you guys. That means a lot. Okay, okay. I guess I have to go meet someone now.”
“The belle of the ball,” said Doreen.
“Where’s, uh, your father?” Heidi asked. “I’m, obviously, you know, keen to meet him.”
“Oh, he just stepped away for a minute with Aunt Gloria. He’ll be back in a sec.”
“Oh.”
A caterer walked by and bumped Doreen. She used Peter’s arm to stop her fall.
“Sorry,” said Doreen. “I mean, excuse me.”
“That’s okay,” said Peter with a smile.
Addison picked a spring roll off a tray. “Wait a minute! Now I remember cousin Doreen. Hold on, but weren’t you kind of fat before? Yeah. Fat and super dorky. Sure. Doreen. With the crazy mother. I remember you.”
“Ad-rock, isn’t there something else you could be eating?” said Heidi.
“There they are!” said Doreen. “That’s my father, there—with Gloria.”
“Sorry we tarried. Needless to say, Roland knows everyone here. Gloria Gibbons-Brown,” she said.
“Yes. Heidi Whelan. We’ve met.”
“And this is my father,” Doreen said proudly. “Roland Gibbons. Daddy, this is my dear friend, Heidi.”
He turned his body so that they stood facing one another. It was a moment or two before one of them thought to extend a hand, to shake. Here goes nothing, Heidi thought.
“Heidi Wello,” he said.
“Whelan,” she said, clearing her throat. So they were going to act like strangers. She could do that. She caught Doreen out of the corner of her eye to see if she was in on the ruse, but she was saying something to Peter, totally unaware. That was a good sign. “Heidi Whelan.” Okay, she thought. Okay. Doreen doesn’t know. And she’s not going to find out.
“Have we met before?” Roland asked, still grasping her hand. He cocked his head to one side and looked deeper. It was unsettling.
“N-no. No, I don’t think so.”
“No? You sure we never met?”
Heidi shook her head. She pulled her hand away and grabbed Peter’s hand. Roland was taking the strangers thing a little far. Why wouldn’t he just let it go?
“People often think I look familiar.” And Heidi heard it then, the old Yonkers accent. People awfen tink I look familiah. What the hell! “Ahem. I mean, familiar.” She would not let him turn her into her old self.
“Do they really?” he said. He shook his head slowly. “I find that hard to believe.” He took a sip from his drink.
“You cold, babe?” asked Peter.
Roland took a small step closer to Heidi. She smelled scotch and cigars. “But I could swear we met before. You’re absolutely positive? Do I not look familiar to you?”
“. . . Because you’re shivering.”
“No. No, I’m sure we never did. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you now, but I gotta . . . I mean, I’m afraid I must, you know, uh, pardon, I mean, excuse me.”
“Well, never mind,” said Roland. He stepped back to let Heidi pass.
“Where are you going?” Peter said.
“I just have to ask Franklin something. It’s for school. Sorry, I, uh, I’ll be right back.”
The blast of night air on Heidi’s face felt like salvation. She took it into her lungs in greedy gulps, leaning against the side of Alfred Douglas Hall as the comers and goers clustered near the gallery entrance. He was trying to get in her head, to mess with her. And it was working, goddamn it. And the accent coming back! What the hell was that about? She felt wobbly, unsure of herself. The conversation repeated itself over and over again in her mind—like that scene in the action picture when the one guy turns to the other guy and says: But if you’re out here, who’s flying the plane?
“Smoke?”
“Ahh! Shit, Gordon, you scared me!” Heidi put her hand on her heart.
“Sorry.” Gordon Lichter stepped out from the shadows. He had the hood of his duffle coat up over his head and a cigarette in his mouth. The way his hair fell in his face as he squinted in the smoke gave him the look of a classic teenage brooder. “I thought you might want a smoke.”
“No, no, thanks. I would take a handful of pistachios if you had them.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” Gordon leaned on the wall next to Heidi and took a lo
ng drag off his cigarette. “How are you doing, Gordon?”
“Me? I’m doing shitty. Thanks for asking. Doreen in there?”
“Yes.”
Gordon nodded. “She with someone? That Harvard guy? What’s his name? Dickface?”
“Do you mean Peter? He’s inside, but he’s with me. I mean, not right this second, but generally.” Though, had she just imagined it? Or had he seemed a bit cold to her in there?
Gordon shook his head. “No, the other one. Everbastard.”
“Oh, you mean Coburn. I didn’t know you knew about him. No. He’s not here.”
“I know about all of them.” He sounded almost boastful.
“Gordon, look, I know you feel a bit raw.”
“Ha!”
“But don’t you think you should move on? I mean, you’re seventeen years old!”
“Could you not, please? I think we’re beyond the ‘other fish in the sea’ speech, all right? I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fair enough.” Heidi reached out a hand and Gordon gave her his cigarette. She took a drag and handed it back. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
He shrugged. “Shoot.”
“What is it about Doreen? I know that she’s beautiful and everything, but the effect she has on boys. You know, not to brag, I have been told that I’m not bad-looking myself, but no one has ever—”
“Jumped off a bridge for you?”
Heidi nodded. The conversation rang with mild disloyalty, like she was breaking some kind of girl code, but she had to know.
“Beautiful doesn’t cover it. Yeah, she’s beautiful, but I’ve been with beautiful girls before, okay? And Doreen was different. Being with her, I felt like I was a part of something big, something important. I would have done anything for her—lie, cheat, get kicked out of school, I didn’t care!”
“So then maybe it’s best for you that it didn’t work out.”
“Maybe.” Gordon scraped his cigarette against the wall and threw it into the bushes. “But it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it’s better. You know what I think about? That kid, the one from the dance.”
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