“Daddy, it's the spring dance. And everyone wears makeup and prom dresses.” The girl her older brother had taken out two years before, at her age, had looked a whole lot racier and her father had never objected. But that was Ryan's girlfriend, and that was different of course. Ryan could do anything. He was a boy, Maribeth wasn't.
“If you want to go out, you'll wear a decent dress, or you can stay home and listen to the radio with your mother.” The temptation to stay home was great, but then again, her sophomore prom would never come again. She was tempted not to go at all, especially not if she had to go in some dress that made her look like a nun, but she didn't really want to stay at home either. She had borrowed a dress from a friend's older sister, and it was a little bit too big, but she thought it was really pretty. It was a peacock blue taffeta, with dyed-to-match shoes that killed her feet because they were a size too small, but they were worth it. The dress was strapless, and had a little bolero jacket over it, but the low-cut strapless bodice showed off the cleavage that she'd been blessed with, and she knew that that was why her father had objected.
“Daddy, I'll keep the jacket on. I promise.”
“Jacket or no jacket, you can wear that dress here at home with your mother. If you go to the dance, you'd best find something else to wear, or you can forget the dance. And frankly, I wouldn't mind if you did. All those girls look like sluts in those low-cut dresses. You don't need to show off your body to catch a boy's eye, Maribeth. You'd best learn that early on, or you'll be bringing home the worst sort of boy, mark my words,” he said sternly, and her younger sister Noelle rolled her eyes. She was only thirteen and a great deal more rebellious than Maribeth had ever dreamed of being. Maribeth was a good girl, and so was Noelle, but she wanted more excitement out of life than Maribeth did. Even at thirteen, her eyes danced every time a boy whistled. At sixteen, Maribeth was a lot shyer, and a lot more cautious about defying their father.
In the end, Maribeth went to her room, and lay on her bed, crying, but her mother came in and helped her find something to wear. She didn't have much, but she had a nice navy blue dress with a white collar and long sleeves that Margaret Robertson knew her husband would deem suitable. But even seeing the dress brought tears to Maribeth's eyes. It was ugly.
“Mom, I'll look like a nun. Everyone will laugh me out of the gym.” She looked heartbroken when she saw the dress her mother had chosen for her. It was a dress she had always hated.
“Not everyone will be wearing dresses like that, Maribeth,” she said, pointing at the borrowed blue one. It was a pretty dress, she had to admit, but it frightened her a little bit too. It made Maribeth look like a woman. At sixteen, she had been blessed, or cursed, with full breasts, small hips, a tiny waist, and long lovely legs. Even in plain clothes, it was hard to conceal her beauty. She was taller than most of her friends, and she had developed very early.
It took an hour to talk her into wearing the dress, and by then her father had been sitting in the front room, grilling her date without subtlety or mercy. He was a boy Maribeth hardly knew and he looked extremely nervous as Mr. Robertson questioned him about what kind of work he wanted to do when he finished school, and he admitted that he hadn't decided. Bert Robertson had explained to him by then that a little hard labor was good for a lad, and it wouldn't do him any harm either to go into the army. David O'Connor was agreeing frantically with him, with a look of growing desperation as Maribeth finally came reluctantly into the room, wearing the hated dress, and her mother's string of pearls to cheer it up a little. She had on flat navy shoes, instead of the peacock satin high heels she had hoped to wear, but she towered over David anyway, so she tried to tell herself it really didn't matter. She knew she looked terrible, and the dark dress was in somber contrast to the bright flame of her red hair, which made her even more self-conscious. She had never felt uglier, as she said hello to David.
“You look really nice,” David said unconvincingly, wearing his older brothers dark suit, which was several sizes too big for him, as he handed her a corsage, but his hands were shaking too hard to pin it on, and her mother helped him.
“Have a good time,” her mother said gently, feeling faintly sorry for her, as they left. In a way, she thought that she should have been allowed to wear the bright blue dress. It looked so pretty on her and she looked so grown up. But there was no point arguing with Bert once he made his mind up. And she knew how concerned he was about his daughters. Two of his sisters had been forced to get married years before, and he had always said to Margaret that he didn't care what it took, it wasn't going to happen to his daughters. They were going to be good girls, and many nice boys. There were to be no tarts in his house, no illicit sex, no wild goings-on, and he had never made any bones about it. Only Ryan was allowed to do whatever he wanted. He was a boy, after all. He was eighteen now, and worked in Bert's business with him. Bert Robertson had the most successful car repair shop in Onawa, and at three dollars an hour, he ran a damn fine business, and was proud of it.
Ryan liked working for him, and claimed he was as good a mechanic as his father. They got on well, and sometimes on weekends, they went hunting and fishing together, and Margaret stayed home with the girls, and went to the movies with them, or caught up on her sewing. She had never worked, and Bert was proud of that too. He was by no means a rich man, but he could hold his head up all over town, and no daughter of his was going to change that by borrowing a dress and going to the spring dance dressed like an oversexed peacock. She was a pretty girl, but that was all the more reason to keep her down, and see that she didn't go wild like his sisters.
He had married a plain girl; Margaret O'Brien had wanted to become a nun before he met her. And she had been a fine wife to him for nearly twenty years. But he'd never have married her if she'd looked like a fancy piece, the way Maribeth had just tried to do, or given him a lot of arguments, the way Noelle did. A son was a lot easier than a daughter, he'd concluded years before, though Maribeth had certainly never given him any trouble. But she had odd ideas, about women and what they could and couldn't do, about going to school, and even college. Her teachers had filled her head with ideas about how smart she was. And there was nothing wrong with a girl getting an education, to a point, as far as Bert was concerned, as long as she knew when to stop, and when to use it. Bert said frequently that you didn't need to go to college to learn to change a diaper. But a little schooling would have been fine to help him with his business, and he wouldn't mind if she studied bookkeeping and helped him with his books eventually, but some of her crazy ideas were right off the planet. Women doctors, female engineers, women lawyers, even nursing seemed like pushing it to Bert. What the hell was she talking about? Sometimes he really wondered. Girls were supposed to behave themselves so they didn't ruin their lives, or anyone else's, and then they were supposed to get married and have kids, as many as their husbands could afford or said they wanted. And then they were supposed to take care of their husbands and kids, and their home, and not give anyone a lot of trouble. He had told Ryan as much, he'd warned him not to marry some wild girl, and not to get anyone pregnant he didn't want to have to marry. But the girls were another story entirely. They were supposed to behave …and not go out half naked to a dance, or drive their families crazy with half-cocked ideas about women. Sometimes he wondered if the movies Margaret took them to gave them crazy ideas. It certainly wasn't Margaret. She was a quiet woman who had never given him any trouble about anything. But Maribeth. She was another story completely. She was a good girl, but Bert had always thought that her modern ideas would cause a lot of trouble.
Maribeth and David reached the prom more than an hour late, and everyone seemed to be having a good time without them. Although they weren't supposed to drink at the dance, some of the boys in her class already looked drunk, and a few of the girls did too. And she had noticed several couples at the dance in parked cars as they arrived, but she had tried not to notice. It was embarrassing seeing that with David. She
hardly knew him, and they weren't really friends, but no one else had asked her to the dance, and she'd wanted to go, just so she could see it, and be there, and see what it was like. She was tired of being left out of everything. She never fit in. She was always different. For years, she had been at the top of her class, and some of the other kids hated her for it, the rest of them just ignored her.
And her parents always embarrassed her whenever they came to school. Her mother was such a mouse, and her father was loud and told everyone what to do, especially her mother. She had never stood up to him. She was cowed by him, and agreed with everything he said, even when he was so obviously wrong. And he was so outspoken about all of his opinions, of which he had several million, mostly about women, their role in life, the importance of men, and the unimportance of education. He always held himself up as an example. He had been an orphan from Buffalo, and had made good in spite of a sixth-grade education. According to him, no one needed more than that, and the fact that her brother had bothered to finish high school had been nothing short of a miracle. He had been a terrible student, and had been suspended constantly for his behavior, but as long as it was Ryan and not the girls, her father thought it was amusing. Ryan would have probably been a Marine by then, and gone to Korea, if he hadn't been 4-F because of flat feet and the knee he had wrecked playing football. She and Ryan had very little to say to each other. It was always hard for her to imagine that they came from the same family, and had been born on the same planet.
He was good-looking and arrogant, and not very bright, and it was hard to imagine they were even related. “What do you care about?” she asked him one day, trying to figure out who he was, and maybe who she was in relation to him, and he looked at her in amazement, wondering why she had even asked him.
“Cars, girls …beer …having a good time …Dad talks about work all the time. It's okay, I guess … as long as I get to work on cars, and don't have to work in a bank or an insurance company or something. I guess I'm pretty lucky' to work for Dad.”
“I guess,” she said softly, nodding, looking at him with her big, questioning green eyes, and trying to respect him. “Do you ever want to be more than that?”
“Like what?” He seemed puzzled by the question.
“Like anything. More than just working for Dad. Like going to Chicago, or New York, or having a better job … or going to college …” Those were her dreams. She wanted so much more, and she had no one to share her dreams with. Even the girls in her class were different than she was. No one could ever figure out why she cared about grades or studies. What difference did it make? Who cared? She did. But as a result, she had no friends, and had to go to the dance with boys like David.
But she still had her dreams. No one could take those from her. Not even her father. Maribeth wanted a career, a more interesting place to live, an exciting job, an education if she could ever afford one, and eventually a husband she loved and respected. She couldn't imagine a life with someone she didn't admire. She couldn't imagine a life like her mother's, married to a man who paid no attention to her at all, never listened to her ideas, and didn't care what she was thinking. She wanted so much more. She had so many dreams, so many ideas that everyone thought were crazy, except her teachers, who knew how exceptional she was, and wanted to help her be free of the bonds that held her. They knew how important it would be for her one day to get an education. But the only time she ever got to let her soul out a little bit was when she wrote papers for one of her classes, and then she would be praised for her ideas …but only then, for one fleeting moment. She never got to talk to anyone about them.
“Do you want some punch?” David asked her.
“Huh? …” Her mind had been a million miles away. “I'm sorry … I was thinking about something else … I'm sorry my father chewed your ear off tonight. We got in a fight about my dress, and I had to change.” She felt more awkward than ever as she said it.
“It's very nice,” he said nervously, obviously lying. It was anything but, and she knew it. The navy dress was so tired and plain, it had taken a lot of courage to wear it. But she was used to being different and ridiculed. Or she should have been. She was always the odd man out, always had been. It was why David O'Connor had felt comfortable asking her to the dance. He knew no one else would. She was good-looking, but she was weird, everyone said so. She was too tall, she had bright red hair, and a great figure, but all she cared about was school, and she never went on dates. No one asked her. He figured she'd say yes to him and he was right. He didn't play sports, and he was short, and he had terrible problems with his complexion. Who else could he have asked, except Maribeth Robertson? She'd been the only choice except for some really ugly girls he wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead with. And actually, he liked Maribeth. He just wasn't so crazy about her father. The old man had really made him sweat it while he waited for her. He'd been wondering if he was going to be stuck there all night, when she finally appeared in the dark blue dress with the white collar. And she looked okay. You could still see her great figure, even under the ugly dress. What difference did it make anyway? He was excited about dancing with her, and feeling her body next to his. Just thinking about it gave him a hard-on.
“Do you want some punch?” he asked her again, and she nodded. She didn't, but she didn't know what else to say to him. She was sorry she had come now. He was such a drip, and no one else was going to ask her to dance, and she looked dumb in the dark blue dress. She should have stayed home and listened to the radio with her mother, just as her father had threatened. “I'll be right back,” David reassured her, and disappeared, as she watched the other couples dancing. Most of the girls looked beautiful to her, and their dresses were brightly colored and had big skirts and little jackets, like the one she'd almost worn but hadn't been allowed to.
It seemed like ages before David appeared again, and when he did, he was smiling. He looked as though he had an exciting secret, and as soon as she tasted the punch, she knew why he looked so happy. It had a funny taste to it, and she figured that someone had spiked it.
“What's in this?” she asked, taking a big sniff and a small sip to confirm her suspicions. She had only tasted alcohol a few times, but she was pretty sure the punch had been doctored.
“Just a little happy juice,” he grinned, looking suddenly shorter and a whole lot worse than he had when he'd asked her. He was a real jerk and the way he leered at her was disgusting.
“I don't want to get drunk,” she said matter-of-factly, sorry that she had come, especially with him. As usual, she felt like a fish out of water.
“Come on, Maribeth, be a sport. You won't get drunk. Just have a few sips. It'll make you feel good.”
She looked at him more closely then, and realized that he'd been drinking while he went to get their drinks. “How many have you had?”
“The juniors have a couple of bottles of rum out behind the gym, and Cunningham has a pint of vodka.”
“Great. How terrific.”
“Yeah, isn't it?” He smiled happily, glad she didn't object, and totally oblivious to her tone. She was looking down at him in disgust, but he didn't seem to notice.
“I'll be back,” she said coolly, seeming years older than he was. Her height and her demeanor made her seem older than she was most of the time, and next to him she looked like a giant, though she was only five feet eight, but David was a good four or five inches shorter.
“Where are you going?” He looked worried. They hadn't danced yet.
“The ladies' room,” she said coolly.
“I hear they have a pint in there too.”
“I'll bring you some,” she said, and disappeared into the crowd. The band was playing “In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening,” and the kids were dancing cheek to cheek, and all she felt was sad as she made her way out of the gym, past a group of guys obviously trying to hide a bottle. But they couldn't hide the effects of it, and a few feet further on, two of them were throwing up against
the wall. But she was used to that from her brother. She walked as far away as she could, and went to sit on a bench on the other side of the gym, just to gather her wits and pass a little time before she went back to David. He was obviously going to get drunk and she was not having fun. She should probably just walk home and forget the whole thing. She doubted if after a few drinks David would even notice her absence.
She sat on the bench for a long time, getting chilled in the night air, and not really caring. It felt good just to be there, away from all of them, David, the kids in her class, and the ones she didn't know, the ones drinking and throwing up. It felt good to be away from her parents too. For a minute she wished that she could sit there forever. She laid her head back against the bench and closed her eyes, and stretched her legs out ahead of her, as she just floated in the cool air, thinking.
“Too much to drink?” a voice asked softly next to her, and she jumped as she heard it. She looked up to see a familiar face. He was a senior, and a football star, and he had no idea who she was. She couldn't imagine what he was doing there, or why he bothered to talk to her. Maybe he thought she was someone else. She sat up and shook her head, expecting him to walk off and leave her.
“No. Just too many people. Too much everything, I guess.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, sitting down next to her, uninvited, and it was impossible not to notice how handsome he was, even in the moonlight. “I hate crowds.”
“That's a little hard to believe,” she said, sounding amused, and feeling oddly comfortable with him, even though he was a hero on campus. But it was all so unreal here, sitting outside the gym, on a bench in the dark. “You're always surrounded by people.”
“And you? How do you know who I am?” He sounded intrigued, and looked gorgeous. “Who are you?”
“I'm Cinderella. My Buick just turned into a pumpkin, and my date turned into a drunk, and I came out here looking for my glass slipper. Have you seen it?”
The Gift Page 4