The Virginity of Famous Men

by Christine Sneed

“Yes, I already have, I suppose.”

  It wasn’t until the last five minutes of the appointment that Alex found the courage to mention the party and the two boys, possibly three. “I really don’t remember that much, but I know something probably happened. I don’t want to go to parties anymore, unless I know they’re not going to be about getting wasted. I’m not going to drink much anymore either. My friends are giving me a hard time about this. Except for my roommate because I’m her only friend. At least, the only female friend she can count on here. Most of the other girls are pretty fake with her. They think she’s a dork.”

  Dr. Abbott was looking at her with a mixture of suppressed alarm and concern. “Have you talked to anyone else here about what happened at that party? Your RA? She’s trained to handle situations like the one you just described.”

  Alex shook her head. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t really like my RA last year. The one I have this year is better but it’s too late now.”

  “It’s not too late,” Dr. Abbott said quietly. “It’s really not. You should talk to her. Those boys should be called before an adjudication board if you know for sure who they are.”

  “Carlyle’s the only one I’m sure about.” She paused. “But I think it was his friend Jack too.”

  “Alexandra,” Dr. Abbott said, her tone more forceful. “You really should talk to your RA. Women keep quiet about these sorts of crimes all of the time and it does no one any good.”

  At last, an unequivocal directive. But it was not one that Alex felt comfortable acting on. She had not used the word “crime” in her thoughts, even if she had begun to think of what the boys had done to her as rape.

  As Alex was picking up her bag and stuffing a wadded tissue inside, Dr. Abbott said, “I want you to come again. Let’s talk next week. I’m sure I can find a slot for you.”

  “Okay,” said Alex, feeling chastened. It was obvious that Dr. Abbott would not let her off easy. But Alex did not think that she was ready to act. It was too overwhelming to contemplate — the accusations put down on the university’s official record, the names spoken in an office somewhere to some school official’s stony or possibly admonishing face, the circumstances of that now-distant night described over and over, the rumors that would leak out like poison contaminating groundwater, the shame and embarrassment of her transgressions of the past year being discussed in detail, her reputation henceforth defined by her freshman-year excesses, predictable and average as they were. There were other girls who drank more, and more often, than she had, other girls who had had sex with more boys, but as far as she knew, they had not been taken very drunk into a room by two or three classmates who, aside from their hoarse breathing, had made no other sounds as they fucked her. And if these girls had had the same experience, many of them had probably remained silent about it too.

  Alex made the appointment with Dr. Abbott for the next week but later canceled it. She called Penelope the morning after receiving her message but was routed directly to voicemail. Her sister called back that night, a Saturday, when Alex was sitting in her room, contemplating Monday’s homework and wishing that Cathy would return very soon from the party that she had gone to with three other girls who lived on their floor, or else she might have to go out and find her, which she knew would be a bad idea.

  Penelope’s voice, hearing it live for the first time, made Alex’s eyes well up. She sounded so warm and kind, so genuinely pleased to hear Alex’s own voice on the other end of the line that for several seconds it was hard for Alex to speak. Until that moment, she had not understood how deeply entrenched her misery was, how confused and forsaken she felt at this university, which, she’d believed, would be the setting for her greatest feminine and scholarly triumphs, at least up to this point in her life.

  “Alex? Are you still there?” asked Penelope, tentative.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  Alex found that she could only breathe in small gasps. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You don’t sound like it. Have I upset you? I’m so sorry if I have.”

  “No, it’s not you,” said Alex, clearing her throat. “I’m happy that you called.” She tried to laugh but it came out sounding as if she were choking.

  Penelope wavered. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “… I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to, but if you want to, I hope you will.”

  “We hardly know each other,” Alex croaked. “I can’t unload all of my problems on you.”

  “You can, Alex. I want us to be sisters, for real, and whatever we talk about, tonight or on any other night, I’ll keep to myself.”

  “It just feels a little strange to be talking about it over the phone. I can wait until you’re here next week.”

  “Do you want me to come down sooner?”

  Alex did want her to, but she couldn’t bring herself say it. “It’s okay, I can wait.”

  “No, no, it doesn’t sound to me like you can or should. I could come down tonight,” said Penelope. “I think there’s an Amtrak that leaves for D.C. at ten. I’d get there around one thirty if it isn’t delayed.”

  “No, no, I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering. I could ask my boyfriend to lend me his car too.”

  “You have a boyfriend with a car? In New York?”

  “Yes.” Penelope laughed self-consciously. “He’s a little older than I am. He’s got a much better job than I do.” She paused. “I could come down, Alexandra. Really, if you need me to, I will.”

  It was absurd, Alex knew, but she did want her to come down. She wanted very badly for Penelope to appear before her and tell her what to do. Go to the RA or not? Risk ruining her chances for lasting friendships and good boyfriends and witty stories she might one day publish in the college alumni magazine or try to forget the events of that night?

  “If you don’t say anything in the next few seconds,” Penelope murmured, “I’m going to assume that you want me to come down there.”

  “You’re coming next weekend.”

  “Yes, but I can see you both this weekend and the next.”

  Alex took a long, shaky breath. “I do want you to come but it’s such a long—”

  “Good. I’m glad you can say it. This is about a boy, I’m assuming.”

  “Yes,” said Alex weakly. “Well, more than one.”

  “Wow,” Penelope breathed, laughing a little. “A woman after my own heart.”

  “No, it’s not like that. It’s actually pretty bad.”

  “It is? Oh no. Well, we’ll straighten it out.” She said this with such confidence that Alex could almost believe her.

  * * *

  It was a little after two A.M. when Penelope called Alex’s cell phone to announce that she was downstairs and needed to be signed in at the dormitory’s security desk. Cathy had returned from the party only a half an hour earlier and was now passed out on her bed, alcohol fumes rolling off of her in fetid waves. Alex had tried to tell her that she was expecting her sister to arrive soon, but Cathy hadn’t seemed capable of processing this news and Alex had given up and let her fall asleep, Cathy’s eyelids drooping even as she struggled out of her suede boots and corduroy miniskirt. She fell asleep on top of the covers, her gauzy peasant blouse still on, her skirt in a tangle on the floor, her bikini underwear white with big pink polka dots. Alex had to struggle to get her under the covers, not wanting her sister’s first impression of her roommate to be such an undignified one.

  Her palms and underarms were damp when she walked the two flights down to the security desk to sign Penelope in. She felt fully awake; also, guilty. She worried that it was very selfish of her to have allowed her sister to take the train down from New York in the middle of the night so that she could tell her a humiliating story, one that Penelope might even insist she tell their father. She hadn’t thought of this possibility until Penelope w
as already en route, long past the point where she might have said, “No, never mind. Let’s just wait until next weekend.”

  But then, seeing her sister standing in front of the security desk with an oversize black handbag slung over her shoulder, her small body belted into a tailored red raincoat, a delighted smile on her pretty, flushed face, Alex knew that Penelope wouldn’t force her to reveal any of her secrets to their father. Alex liked the look of her instantly. She was already a little infatuated with her anyway (her brother’s suspicion that she might eventually favor Penelope over him not necessarily unfounded)—her Parisian pedigree, her NYU diploma and big-city lifestyle, whatever this lifestyle actually was.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” said Alex, abashed, walking into Penelope’s open arms, surprised by how firmly her sister hugged her.

  “It wasn’t a problem,” said Penelope, brushing a few strands of dark hair out of her eyes. She wore it shoulder-length, with a slight wave to it. Alex had the same hair, from their father, unless Penelope’s mother had it too. “I slept the whole way. It’s a good thing that I couldn’t get Tex on the phone. Driving would have been harder.”

  “Tex? Is that your boyfriend?”

  Penelope nodded, laughing a little. “His real name is Frederick, but he’s gone by Tex since he was twenty. It’s a little silly because he’s from New Jersey, but he went to college in Austin.” She paused. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Alexandra. You’re so pretty! But I knew that you would be. Dad showed me pictures of you and Chris the last time I saw him.”

  It was disorienting to hear Penelope call their father Dad, though of course she would, Alex realized. Unless she addressed him by Mark, but it didn’t seem like she did.

  “Dad still hasn’t shown me any pictures of you, even though I asked him to send me some,” said Alex, promptly regretting it, not sure if Penelope would be hurt.

  “He’s so weird about all of this. You probably know that I finally had to force his hand. There were so many times when I thought about calling you guys in Chicago and telling you who I was, but I didn’t want to seem like a crazy person.”

  “Let me take your bag,” said Alex, leading her into the stairwell. “I wouldn’t have thought you were crazy.”

  “Chris probably would have. And your mother too.”

  Alex paused. “Chris might have. He tries to be so macho all of the time but he really isn’t. He cried when he read Night for his history class, but he wouldn’t admit it, even though I know he did.”

  “I cried when I read it too.”

  “I’m sorry Dad didn’t tell us about you until now. I feel bad that you had to wait so long.”

  “My mother didn’t really encourage it either though. I think she was pretty jealous.”

  “She didn’t marry someone in France?”

  Penelope shook her head. “She dated some guys but she didn’t end up marrying any of them. I think she thought Dad was her soul mate.” She laughed a little, seeing Alex’s disconcerted expression. “No need to worry. He was smart to get away from her. She’s kind of nuts. I love her and everything, but there’s a reason I’m here in the States and not back in France with her.”

  At the door to her room, Alex gave Penelope a look of apology. “My roommate went out earlier and she’s passed out on her bed now. The room sort of smells like alcohol too. I really hoped she wouldn’t get wasted tonight.”

  Penelope smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ve seen worse. I’ve probably done worse too.”

  “It’s hard not to. Who’s going to tell you to stop?”

  Her sister nodded. “I know. Thank God college is only four years. Otherwise half of us probably wouldn’t make it. Why weren’t you out tonight too?”

  “I guess I was just tired,” said Alex.

  Penelope looked at her gravely. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

  “It’s—” said Alex exhaled shakily.

  “We should go somewhere and talk. Is there a diner or something near here that’s open all night?”

  “There’s a café on M Street, but we should put your bag in my room first. Are you sure you have the energy?”

  “I do if you do. We can sleep in tomorrow. Unless you go to church?”

  “No. Do you?”

  Penelope laughed. “Not if I can help it. My mother goes three times a week. She became very Catholic a few years before I left for NYU. I’m not really sure why, especially because she was raised Lutheran. France isn’t even that Catholic anymore. It used to be, but I think less than half the population goes to church now.”

  “I think it’s the same here.” Alex put her key in the lock and tried to open the door quietly but the hinges creaked and she could see Cathy stirring on her bed, but she didn’t sit up or say anything when Alex put Penelope’s bag, heavier than she expected, at the foot of her own bed. She would have to sleep on the floor and let her sister have the bed. She couldn’t imagine the two of them sharing it, not so soon.

  At the college’s front gates, Alex looked uncertainly at the deserted streets. M Street was about a ten-minute walk away and at two thirty in the morning, Georgetown was not the safest place for two women to be walking by themselves. But when she said as much to Penelope, the older girl waved a hand dismissively. “I have pepper spray,” she said. “I’ll use it too.”

  “Isn’t pepper spray illegal?” Alex asked. “I think it is in Chicago.”

  Penelope laughed. “I don’t know, but I’d rather risk a cop arresting me than some drug addict mugging me.”

  Alex could feel her face burning; Penelope probably thought that she was an enormous loser. Yet, her sister, two inches shorter and ten pounds lighter than Alex, said nothing more and took her arm, holding it just above the elbow, and didn’t let go until they reached M Street, where a few people were still loitering in front of the bars, music crashing out of their open doorways. Alex could feel some of the bouncers’ eyes following them as they passed and shook their heads at these burly men’s exhortations to come inside. It was a chilly night but the bouncers were in T-shirts, apparently impervious to the brisk air.

  Only five other people were inside the all-night café when they arrived: two young couples at a small round table, along with a boy with a blond mustache who stood behind the register, waiting without interest for their order. Alex ordered hot chocolate, Penelope a hummus plate and sparkling water. While the boy made Alex’s drink and went into the kitchen in search of Penelope’s hummus, the faint strains of an old Van Halen song emerging from behind the kitchen door when the boy opened it, Penelope told her about Tex, who was tall (six foot four! she exclaimed), and thirty-five, and a designer of video games.

  “He’s a vegan too,” she added after the boy had returned with her food, a generous serving of garlicky hummus and raw vegetables. “I could never even be a vegetarian. For one, it’s pretty hard not to eat meat in France. It’s such a huge part of the diet there, but we do treat our animals a lot better. No factory farms. Or at least not very many.”

  “I’ve never been to France,” said Alex.

  Penelope looked up from her plate, her gray eyes bright with surprise. “Oh, you have to go. You’d love Paris. Maybe we could go together sometime.”

  “You know all of the best places to shop, I bet.”

  “Some of them, yes,” said Penelope. “There’s no shortage. Okay, no more stalling. Tell me about your man troubles.”

  Alex had to look away from Penelope’s curious gaze. It was all so unsettling: the middle of the night and here she was several blocks from campus with her sister, this previously unknown woman who now sat less than two feet away, waiting for her to reveal the most shameful secret of her life.

  And, Alex realized, she was going to do it.

  As she told Penelope about the birthday party, her sister tried to maintain a look of kind encouragement, but there were moments when anger, even outrage, pulsed across her eyes and mouth, something that made Alex apprehensive be
cause she understood then that, like Dr. Abbott, her sister was very likely to insist that she talk to her RA or the dean of students, someone who would start an inquiry and change her life. This upheaval was what she feared most, but she also realized that she had been courting it ever since her return for sophomore year. Otherwise, why would she have gone to talk to Dr. Abbott or asked her sister to come down from New York, spur of the moment, to immerse herself in what had become, Alex also realized, her life of controlled hysteria? Well, not hysteria exactly, but watchful anxiety, permanent unease. Even when she slept through the night, she woke up feeling tired, and sometimes her dreams were violent, waking her before dawn, her heart beating wildly, her empty stomach leaping sickeningly.

  “Something like that happened to one of my friends at NYU,” Penelope said quietly when Alex finished her story. She reached across the table and took Alex’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  Alex shook her head, her eyes tearing up. “I feel like such an idiot. I don’t know why I had to drink so much every time I went out. It was so stupid.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Alexandra. It’s what kids do in college. No parents, no rules. At least not the kind that are easy to enforce. I drank a lot too sometimes. But you’re tired of that now, it sounds like. That’s something positive.”

  “But I don’t know what to do. I saw a therapist and she told me that I had to talk to my RA, but I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t? Are you too embarrassed?”

  “Yes.”

  Penelope sighed. “Of course you are. Have you told your boyfriend? What did he say?”

  “I don’t have one right now.”

  “No? I thought you would for sure. Did you have one when it happened?”

  “No. I went out with a few guys last year but no one long enough to call a boyfriend. I partied too much.”

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  Alex shook her head.

  “Did you get screened for STDs?”

  “Yes, I was fine.”

  “Thank God.” Penelope looked at her steadily, her expression unreadable. “You could talk to your RA like your therapist said. Or not. It’s up to you, obviously. It depends on how much muck you’re prepared to get yourself into. Especially if you had sex with one of the guys earlier in the semester.”