Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire)
Page 6
A brain!
“Lee-na…?” Lenore labored.
“Oh c’mon, Lenore! What is wrong with you? You’ve never heard someone talk about Camus and Hesse before?”
“Lena… I have never heard someone like YOU talk about Camus and Hesse before.”
Lenore remained engrossed by the study in absurdity named, “Lena Sardi.” She stared open-mouthed. Another outburst of Lena’s raucous laughter broke Lenore’s stunned silence. Lena rolled on her bed, kicking her heels wildly.
“I stumped you! I stumped the genius! I stumped the genius!” Lena sing-songed her teasing. “I stumped the geeeee-nius!”
Lena jumped up off her bed and pointed her finger at Lenore, leaning her body toward the model student, resting her hand on her right hip. “YOU don’t know what to do with me, do you?”
Lenore shook her head side to side in abject amazement.
Bounding to Lenore’s desk in one gigantic leap, Lena knelt and threw her arms around Lenore’s waist. Lena hugged Lenore and whispered in her ear. “Freaky supermodel, something tells me this is the start of a bee-u-tee-ful relationship!”
Four
August 28, 1980
Dear Diary,
I met my new roommate today. At first I did not recognize her. She wore no makeup and she was dressed very poorly when she moved in. She looked nothing like she does on TV or in the photos I have seen of her in magazines. Once I heard her name, though, I knew it was her.
Fate is playing a cruel joke on me.
My college roommate is that wild American tennis player, Lena Sardi.
Our first meeting did not go well. Although she believes everything will work out between us, I must still consider seeking another roommate, one with whom I have more in common. Lena and I are nothing alike. She is so sloppy and disorganized and unkempt and loud. It is so hard for me to not clean and arrange her side of the room!
I do not understand how this happened. How could anyone in the housing office believe that Lena Sardi and I would make good roommates? Although she has not yet thrown a temper tantrum in our room, I can only imagine that it will happen someday. She has a very poor reputation for self-control when she plays her silly game. When I asked her about her temper, she joked that she has “only” broken a dozen rackets this year. A dozen rackets indeed!
Her real name is “Malena.” This is another thing I do not understand. The name Malena is so beautiful and flows so smoothly from the tongue, yet she chooses to go by “Lena.” It also seems that since she has given herself a “nick” name, she is obsessed with giving everyone around her nick names of their own. As soon as we met, she began calling me “Lennie” without my permission. It took great effort on my part to convince her that I prefer to be called by my full name. Even so, she still struggles with calling me by my proper name and often exaggerates it as if to prove that a name with more than one syllable is too difficult for her American mouth to pronounce.
I simply do not understand this girl! It is so hard to understand how a girl who is as beautiful and as brilliant and as athletically gifted as Lena Sardi could have achieved so much with such a carefree attitude about life.
Papa warned me that I would encounter difficult people once I left for college. He warned me that I have been too sheltered by Charlie and Rosette and that I must learn to become more forgiving of people and their many faults. Until I met Lena Sardi, I did not believe him. I never imagined that I would be forced to room with a feral cat.
But Papa also told me that I should always try to find good in people, even those who might offend or hurt me. Papa would be very disappointed in me if he were to learn that I did not try to become friends with this girl. So for Papa’s sake, I will try to become her friend.
Perhaps Papa is right about finding good in people? For all her faults, Lena does have one quality I admire greatly. Lena is extremely friendly. Even though she is a wealthy, famous girl, she is also the friendliest girl I have ever met. Perhaps a little too friendly at times, as she is always hugging me and kissing my cheek even though I have told her I do not like to be hugged or kissed. Even so, Lena makes me feel “normal,” as if I am just another normal girl and she is just another normal girl and together we are normal college roommates. Lena’s friendliness seems so effortless for her and I can tell she is not acting. She seems to have a very loving heart and seems to want me to be happy. I can tell she is working hard to make me feel as if we have been friends forever.
On our way back from dinner this evening Lena asked me to be her cross-training partner. She asked me to go to the gym with her before breakfast tomorrow to help her remain in shape for a tournament at the end of September. I think asking me to help her cross-train was her way to build friendship. I can see no other reason why Lena would ask me to join her. I am clearly not as athletically conditioned as her. But she said she believes that working out together will also help us get to know each other and become better roommates.
I only hope I have the strength to do what she has asked. She wants me to get up at 5AM! That is far too early, even for me. I do not know if I can do it. I will do it tomorrow for the sake of being a good friend, but once classes begin I may need to excuse myself.
I suppose that captures the essence of my relationship with Lena. I must try. I do not believe it will work, but I must try to be her friend. I owe it to Lena and Papa to try. I know she is trying hard to become my friend, so I must try just as hard.
May God help me. This is NOT what I thought college would be like!
With all my Love,
Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente
Five
August 28, 1980
Dear Diary,
I have the most AMAZING roommate on the WHOLE FRIGGING PLANET! I’m rooming with Lenore De La Fuente! YES! THAT Lenore De La Fuente! OH MY GOD! She’s even more beautiful in person than in the magazines! Lenore is absolutely the most beautiful girl on the entire planet! You have to see this girl up close to believe just how beautiful she is. Oh my God! Her eyes… They’re so beautiful! They are this super-hypnotic golden brown color and you just want to stare into them for weeks.
I’m such a worthless mess next to this girl. She’s so stinking perfect and so put together and I’m such a frigging mess. I’ll never be that beautiful. Okay… So I sold 5 million copies of my white bikini poster. So I guess 5 million perverts think I’m beautiful. But not like the kind of beautiful Lenore is. Oh my God, she’s so perfect! She’s so thin and so graceful and her smile is so frigging perfect.
And WOW does she have clothes! She has a closet full of phenomenally expensive Shalamar dresses. Shalamar, for Christ’s sake! There isn’t a single off-the-rack rag in her closet! And I didn’t see anything BUT dresses in there. No jeans, no Ts. No sweats. Nothing.
(I have to get this kid down to Macy’s or something. Gotta get her to loosen up a little bit.)
And Lenore is incredibly smart! I never knew someone that beautiful could actually have a functioning brain in her skull. This girl is no dummy. She talked my ear off all afternoon about market trends, and medical discoveries, and her work with children’s charities, and all that shit.
(She wants to go into Product Liability law, for Christ’s sake. What 18-year-old would even know about something like that?)
I nodded and smiled a lot, like I actually cared and followed her, but it was kind of cool that she actually thought I understood even half of what she was talking about. I think she thinks I’m a brain, but I know I’m nowhere near as smart as she is. I just work harder at it than she probably thinks.
You know, Diary, Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente might just be the first real girlfriend I have ever had in my entire miserable life. She just lays it out there, you know? She says what’s on her mind and she doesn’t hold anything back. Everything with her is black and white, like she doesn’t have a lying bone in her body. When something is bugging her, she just lays it on me. It’s so totally cool!
Anyhoo…
(The poor kid’s 5’8” and a size 0. What a frigging toothpick. I have to put some meat on those supermodel bones, you know what I mean?)
Of course, I can’t let her know just how excited I am about rooming with her. So I’m playing it cool. I’m pretending like she’s just any other girl on the floor. I give her grief just like all the other rich bitches. But it’s so HARD! I’m rooming with the most frigging AWESOME girl on the entire planet! I’m rooming with Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente!
Even her name is beautiful! I just love saying her name. Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente.
I’m living the dream, baby!
Love always,
Lena.
Six
The leaf on Lena’s alarm clock flipped to 5:00AM. Zepplin’s Immigrant Song rattled from the tiny clock radio speaker. Robert Plant wailed. Classical-loving Lenore stirred, grumbled, and pulled the pillow over her head.
“HOSTIA PUTA! JODER! Mah-lee-na! It is too early! It is a Saturday! Let me sleep!”
Lena sprang from her bed, dressed in the dark, and grabbed a spare T-shirt, running shorts, and socks from her drawer. She tip-toed over to Lenore’s bed, snapped on the light above the supermodel’s head, and stole her pillow.
“Goood MOR-ning Little Miss Supermodel! It’s time to EX-er-cise! You promised you’d go with me. Sooo GET UP!”
Lena threw the clothes in Lenore’s face. Lenore flailed. “LENA! STOP IT!”
Lena clapped her hands in front of Lenore’s face. “Get dressed, Lenore! You’re my new wing-woman, remember? Wakey wakey! Rise and shine. Get your skinny supermodel ass out of bed, sister. It’s time to go work out.”
Muttering a string of indecipherable Spanish obscenities, Lenore obeyed. A promise was a promise even if it was only to herself. If Lena was making an effort, Lenore would make an effort, too, even if it meant waking up at 5am on a Saturday morning on Labor Day weekend.
Lena stood back and chuckled as Lenore changed out of her luxurious, hand-tailored, red silk pajamas and into Lena’s baggy, off-the-racks loaners. The T-shirt ballooned over Lenore’s svelte torso. The cotton shorts kept falling off her hips. The closest the supermodel had to cross-trainers was a pair of sneaker-like, baby blue, canvas flats. Lena tapped her chin and grinned.
“Supermodels. Sheesh. No meat on your bones. Give me a couple of weeks. I’ll fix that.”
Lena spun, rummaged through her already-junked-up desk, and procured a safety pin from her junkiest drawer. She stepped up behind Lenore, grabbed the back of the shorts by the waist, cinched them tight, and pinned the waistband closed. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. Lean, supermodel spindles dropped from leg openings the size of sewer pipes.
“There! That’ll keep ‘em from falling off your emaciated butt. C’mon, Lenore. Let’s get crackin’.”
The fashion hound was humiliated. “LENA! What if someone sees me like this? I look like… Like a homeless person!”
“At 5am? In Manhattan? On a Saturday? Who the hell cares? The paparazzi are hung over until noon anyway.” Lena grabbed Lenore’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go, Lenooore. It’s time to put some beef on your bod.”
As the girls entered the hallway, Lena suggested a footrace. Lenore grumbled something in Spanish and waved her hand before Lena’s face. The girls walked side by side, glancing at each other, each secretly wondering if the other would break into a sprint. They stopped briefly in front of the elevator. Lena squinted at Lenore.
“Stairwell, stick girl?”
Lenore’s long-lost, 14-year-old playfulness awoke from it’s four-year slumber. She squinted at Lena, grinned, and took off running. Lena gave chase. Lenore smashed the breaker bar on the stairwell door and flung it wide, squealing and laughing, bounding down the stairs with Lena hot on her heels.
Fourteen floors and a block-and-a-half later, Lena won the race, but only by a step, and only after giving Lenore an unsportsmanlike shove about 10 feet from the door to the gym. Though clearly out of shape and panting like a novice, the supermodel laughed her way through the friendly competition. Lena barely broke a sweat.
“Not bad, Twiggy! You almost had me.”
“Someday… Lena,” Lenore panted. “Someday… I will beat you…”
The girls trained for two exhausting, painful hours. Stretching to loosen up. Free weights to warm up. Jogging on the treadmill to work the cardio. Nautilus to work the delts and lats and biceps and thighs. Elliptical for more cardio. More free weights for curls and presses. Yoga to cool down. Lenore was not familiar with such physical rigor. Her body was on fire by the time they finished.
At 7am, the girls jogged back to the dorm, (Lenore huffing and puffing most of the way), took the elevator to the 14th floor, (only because Lenore whined), showered, dressed, took care of hair and makeup - well, Lenore took care of her hair and makeup, Lena just fixed her ponytail - and at 7:45am they left for breakfast. Predictably, Lena wore a T, jeans, and sneakers, Lenore wore a brand new, knee-length Shalamar creation of gold with black streak accents with a modest front plunge and black sandals.
Lenore wobbled during the walk to the cafeteria. She moaned. “Ohhh… I am so sore. I will not make it through the day!”
Lena laughed. “Too much workout for ya, eh Lenooore? Well, any time you want to quit, you just say the word…” Lena paused for dramatic effect, gave Lenore a condescending sideways-glance, and smiled. “Quitter.”
Lenore snarled. “I am NOT a quitter, Mah-lee-na Sardi! You cannot make me quit! You will not beat me! I will beat you!”
Lena smirked. Mission accomplished. Lenore was hooked. Roommate problems solved.
Later that morning, between an orientation meeting with the dorm staff and a “mixer” with the other girls on the floor, Lenore slithered away to one of her favorite boutiques to equip for battle. She purchased five form-fitting, designer Ts, five pairs of hip-hugging designer shorts, five designer warm up suits, five pairs of designer yoga pants, two pairs of designer running shoes, and two pairs of designer cross trainers. All color coordinated, of course.
Lenore was all in. The professional athlete would never again humiliate the professional model.
The next morning the runway cat woke without an alarm at 4:55am. She dressed in the dark, slipping into her sexy, white T with the powder blue piping, her oh-so-sexy running shorts, (powder blue with black tiger stripes), and her new running shoes with the powder blue accents. At 4:59am Lenore crept across the floor, cranked the volume on Lena’s clock radio, snapped on the lights, and threw the tennis pro’s stinky, day-old gym clothes in her face. Lena flailed.
“HEY! What the hell are you doing, Lenooore?”
“You said you wanted me to push you, Mah-lee-na. Well… Consider yourself pushed!”
Lena grumbled, threw on her clothes, and headed for the door in a huff. “Okay, human stick figure! Get ready to get your skinny ass spanked! It’s ON, sister!”
The girls race-walked in silence to the end of the hallway, scowling at each other the entire way. At the stairwell door, Lena raised her hand in, “Allow me,” style, pressed the breaker bar, and offered Lenore a head start.
“After you, bitch,” she whispered.
Lenore took off running. Lenore lost again. By half a step. And ten feet from the door to the gym Lenore gave Lena a good shove.
It was only a matter of time. One day the pro athlete would go down and go down HARD!
From their second morning together, Lenore “got” Lena and Lena “got” Lenore.
The slob was more disciplined than she appeared. Her on-court, racket-breaking antics were just a part of the act.
The uptight supermodel just needed someone to help he
r loosen up and have a little fun for a change. Her posture-perfect persona masked the hungering heart of a playful little girl dying for someone to play with.
Lenore forgot all about wanting another roommate.
On Labor Day Monday, the girls sat down to compare schedules. To their shock and glee, the two pre-law students arrived at Paulson having selected from exactly the same buffet of core, major, and elective classes for their first term.
Lenore gushed over her live-in study partner, calling the miraculous alignment, “the hand of fate.” Lena demurred, calling it, “a major frigging co-ink-ee-dink.”
By the first day of class, the duo’s daily regimen was carved in stone. Workout at 5am, shower at 7:15am, breakfast at 7:45am, first class at 8:30am. The girls moved through their days in synchronized perfection, filling gaps with shared study time. They ate lunch together each day - usually at a table by themselves - and ended their classes together at 3pm. From 3 to 6pm they went their separate ways. At 3pm, Lena hit the school’s indoor tennis courts for three hours of practice. Lenore hit the gym to pursue her new passion; the school's nationally ranked women’s fencing team. Meeting up in the locker room at 6pm for a shower and a change, the girls then proceeded at precisely 6:30pm to the dining hall, where they enjoyed a fashionably late seating for dinner.
Back in the dorm from 7 to 10pm, the girls studied together, conjuring questions to outwit their professors. If time got away from them — which it often did — the exotic eggheads heatedly debated philosophy, political theory, or who was sexier – Rick Springfield or Shawn Cassidy - until collapsing for the night.
(The Shawn Cassidy poster hanging over Lena’s bed eventually swayed Lenore’s vote. Lenore swore he winked at her.)
Lena remained an accomplished slob, helping Lenore appreciate the silly sport of “hamper basketball.”
Lenore remained a control freak, helping Lena appreciate the efficiency of “a color coded system for organizing assignments.”