Alma Mater

by Rita Mae Brown

  dumb thing like that?" She held up her hand. "Excuse me, silly question." "Done is done." Vic changed the subject back to Aunt Bunny.

  "What did you shoot today?"

  "Seventy-one. Not bad."

  "Bunny, that's wonderful." R. J. stubbed out her cigarette.

  "I win at golf. You win at tennis." She winked at her sister. "Where's Frank?"

  "The boys are staying at Heron Sound."

  "I'd like to play that course." She held her glass to her forehead. "I wouldn't trust those men any farther than I could throw a lit cigarette, Frank excepted. The last time they hiked off, Ted Baptista bought a Porsche. Said he just had to have it." She looked at Jinx, who shrugged. "And Randy Goswell got caught with his pants down, literally, and Arnold Burgess had to protect him from his wife. She happened to drop by, which means she knows her man very well."

  "I think we're better off not knowing them so well," R. J. mused.

  "Well, mine is still at the club. He came over after work to help with the party. Jinx, before I forget, your brothers did a good job on the back scoreboard. Boo is almost as big as Teddy," Bunny rambled on, happy in her victory, happy in the company. "—Tommy Rendell made a little toast at the banquet that Babs might be runner-up for the cup but she was champion of his heart. Just made me want to gag."

  "Another gin ricky?" Vic asked.

  "No, I have to drive home tonight, although I'm sure if I wanted to

  get falling-down drunk, my dear sister would let me sleep it off on the porch and throw water on me in the morning."

  "Wouldn't be the first time."

  The corner of Bunny's nicely shaped mouth curved upward. "Oh, come on, I was still at Sweet Briar the last time I was that drunk." She peered over the rim of her gin ricky glass. "I was sick for days after, and vowed I'd never do that again. And I haven't. And I must say to your crcdit, Victoria, I have never seen you drunk."

  "Varsity," came the terse reply.

  "Speaking of that, your boyfriend was the star today."

  "Forgot to listen to the game," Vic said.

  "Mmm, mmm, you'd better pay attention to him. Next home game, you be there. Away games, that's okay, come on home. But the games at campus, be right in the front row." She looked out at the lights across the James, a white glow here and there interspersed with a green or red light slowly moving along the river, a boat gliding in the stillness. "If you don't take care of that boy, someone else will."

  "He can take care of himself." Vic laughed good-naturedly.

  'Ha. No man can take care of himself. A woman can live without a man, a man can't live without a woman." This was said with great conviction and some humor. "What do you think, Orgy?"

  "They're more dependent than we are. I do think that's true."

  "Marry him now. Then you can grow together. The longer you wait, the more set in your ways you become, and it's not as easy." She exhaled. "Thank God, you found a rich one."

  "If you don't want him, I'll take him," Jinx said.

  "What will you give me for him?"

  "How about my dad's Porsche?"

  "Ooh." Vic pretended this was a difficult choice.

  "You all are awful, but no one is as awful tonight as Mignon." Aunt Bunny, beginning to come down after all her excitement, dropped her head back on the pillow, her hand scratching Piper's back.

  "Don't you think I look older?" Mignon cocked her head toward her aunt.

  "You look like a fifteen-year-old tart."

  "Fig," Vic said, playing off "tart."

  "Newton," Jinx added.

  "Bar," Chris jumped in.

  "Weiners." Mignon feigned superiority.

  "Well, my dears, I'd better go home while I can. The energy leaked right out of me." She sat up and reached for her trophy. "Years from now your children will look on the huge permanent trophy in the club and see engraved there 1978, 1979, 1980—Beatrice McKenna."

  "What about 1981 and 1982? There's lots of years left," R. J. said, happy for her sister.

  "I hope so, but you know climbing to the top is easier than staying there. A whole bunch of ladies are gunning for me."

  "Win three more years in a row so you can retire another cup. That way your fireplace mantel will be balanced, a cup on each end." R. J. rose to walk her sister over to the car.

  "I'm going to bed," Jinx headed for the house.

  Mignon leapt onto the vacated longue. "Let's stay up all night and tell ghost stories."

  Vic wanted to sit outside and talk with Chris. She wanted to know where she went to grade school and junior high school and high school. What were her favorite books, movies, bands. What she wanted to do with her life after she graduated. She didn't know why she wanted to know these things; she just did. But Mignon would get in the middle of it and she didn't feel like being cross with her sister.

  "You tell ghost stories. I'm going to bed, too." Vic rose.

  "Me, too." Chris got up, stretching her arms over her head, which lifted her breasts up.

  Vic couldn't take her eyes off that motion or those beautiful breasts. She had always thought boys were really stupid about breasts, focusing on one body part. She wondered why she had never noticed them before. Or why a graceful neck without an Adam's apple had never before reminded her of a swan. She felt that she had never truly seen women. She'd been blind to the beauty of half the human race. It wasn't that she couldn't pick out a beautiful woman from one less blessed by nature. It just never registered. She felt a little like she felt the first time she truly heard Mozart. She'd always thought of him as a kind of tinkling composer and couldn't understand why her parents en-

  joyed his work. One day, raking leaves, the radio outside tuned to the classical station, she heard the utter perfection of sound, the balance, the grace and movement, the sheer untrammeled joy of it all. The roll of the James was in harmony with Mozart.

  She felt that way right now.

  Jinx was already in the shower. Mignon, grumbling about how she could tell really scary stories, scary like beetles crawling out of eye sockets, hopped up behind Vic and Chris as they walked up the long stairway with a broad landing overlooking the water.

  At the top of the landing Mignon hugged and kissed Vic and then hugged and kissed Chris.

  "I'm glad you all were there when I got my ears pierced."

  "We weren't—exactly." Vic smiled at her. "And how did you convince Hojo to do it?"

  Mignon's voice rose airily. "She didn't have anything else to do." "Uh-huh." Vic shook her head.

  "Actually, Mignon, you do look good with earrings." Chris had her hand on the brass doorknob to her room.

  "Really?" Mignon clasped her hands together and then threw them open, wrapping her arms around Chris's neck. "You're so cool. I'm glad my sister brought you home."

  Chris hugged her back. "Me, too." When Mignon let go of Chris, Chris stood on her tiptoes and kissed Vic on the cheek. "Good night, thank you for a great day."

  The kiss burned on Vic's cheek as she tried to sleep.

  T

  he uneven-width flooring, smooth as polished bone, glistened even in the darkness. Chris was trying to sleep. Mignon's stream of notes slipped under the door contributed to her rest-

  lessness. The memory of the sheen rising off Vic's body contributed the rest.

  Unlike Vic, Chris knew she could respond to women's sexual power. It had occurred to her that she might even be a lesbian, a thought she ruthlessly shoved back into the recesses of her mind. Loving a woman didn't frighten her; people's response to it did.

  She'd seen older women whom she thought to be lesbians. They didn't appear very happy to her, but if she'd thought about it, how many happy older people did she know? No one, straight or gay, likes being shoved aside. Small wonder Edward Wallace tightened his grasp on his whip hand. Money made him important. Money kept him a player, kept him young.

  Chris, only twenty, couldn't fathom what the years could do. She attributed each line, each frown on a gay face, to the fac
t that he or she was gay. Granted, homosexuals and lesbians, despised by a few, hated by others, tolerated by some, did not expect life to be fair. Pain is pain.

  One advantage of being gay, Chris supposed, was that you knew right off the bat where the pain was coming from and who was delivering it. Pain sneaked up on straight people more often than not. It accounted

  for their dazed expressions in their late thirties, and their frantic search for business success, the fountain of youth, or spiritual fulfillment. But at twenty, she could only see that her external choices would be severely limited if she followed her heart and her body. She knew she could force her body to do whatever she told it to do. Her heart was quite another issue.

  Nor could she yet fathom the usefulness of the self-knowledge and the knowledge of society that a gay person learns.

  She read Mignon's latest note. "Do you think Hojo's nails with little stars on them are cool? If you saw them, I mean."

  Chris wrote back. "Hard to miss. With nails like that Hojo could pass for a really tacky mandarin. Something tells me Hojo is good at ordering takeout."

  She could hear Mignon giggling on the other side of the door. She had two older brothers, and she liked Mignon, liked the idea of a sister. Sisters often seemed so close. Like R. J. and Bunny. Then, too, sisters could be of the Sissy-and-Georgia variety. The energy between sisters was so different from what she felt with her brothers—whom she did love. Defining it baffled her. She couldn't put it into words. She could only feel it. She wondered if other women felt that way; that female energy was different from male. And what did men feel? Did they tell her the truth, or did they try to protect her? Well, maybe it wasn't bad to be protected.

  A fresh sheet of paper rustled as it was shoved under the door. She and Mignon had used up the first sheet.

  This one read, "People say that Vic is one of the most beautiful women they have ever seen. Mom, too. I kind of feel like a donkey next to two thoroughbreds. Give me some advice. Real life stuff."

  Chris propped the paper on her knees. A breeze swept in through the open windows. She scribbled in her large, neat hand, the letters slanting rightward. "Mignon, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. For starters. And you're at the coltish stage. You won't look good now. You'll look better later, if you take care of yourself. Worry about what's on the inside more than what's on the outside. That's the extent of my advice." She signed it, "The Nonauthority."

  A long silence ensued while Mignon digested the response. Finally

  the next installment arrived with a drawing of a pig. "Are you telling me I have to lose weight?"

  Chris wrote, "Yes. If you're bitching and moaning about Vic and your mother being so beautiful, do you really want to be standing next to them being less than the perfect you? Now I have a question for you. What's Charly like?"

  A shooting star arched over the James, a flashing tail silver as a trout trailing behind it. Chris took it as a good sign.

  Back came Mignon's note. "Charly is hot. I wish I had a boyfriend like him. He's smart, too."

  Chris felt a sliver of jealousy, then dismissed it. "Mignon," she wrote, "you will have the boyfriend that's right for you. Of course, if you lost the weight, who's to say you couldn't steal Charly from your sister. (Just kidding.)"

  The notes flew back and forth until finally Chris wrote, "I'm sleepy. I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams."

  T

  he sun's round rim climbed over the horizon. The heavy silvery mist enshrouding the river turned pink, then red, then gold. It would be nine o'clock or so before the mist lifted today, and

  when the sun rose above the James, the whole river would be colored bronze as that mist would reach for the impossibly deep blue sky.

  Vic silently walked along the river's edge. She couldn't sleep, so she thought she'd greet the dawn, her favorite time.

  When she turned back toward the dock she saw her mother—a middle-aged Venus slipping through the pale silver light, striding toward the dock.

  They met and then walked to the boat, wordlessly getting in and casting off, R. J. at the oars. Because of the fog, she rowed only a hundred yards off shore. A larger craft wouldn't see her until it was too late, although she doubted anyone else would be out on the water now. If anyone was fishing, they'd be quietly drifting.

  "Dreaming with your eyes open?" R. J. asked, resting her arms on the oars.

  "Sort of." Vic noticed her mother's strong hands on the oars, the muscles in her forearms. Had R. J. given birth to sons, they'd have grown up to play for the Miami Dolphins or the Kansas City Chiefs.

  "Great that Bunny retired the trophy. She needs it."

  "Trouble with Uncle Don again? I thought that was over."

  "Oh, it is, but it takes people a long time to come back. Trust broken is difficult to mend. He swears on a stack of Bibles that Nora meant nothing to him, he'll never do it again." R. J. inhaled the moisture of rich air. "Who knows, maybe he even means it. I worry about her being alone. You see, no matter what happens, I have you and Mignon. I'm better off, I think."

  "Mother." Vic folded her hands together as if in prayer. "1 don't know if you'd have said that when I wrecked Dad's car my junior year in high school."

  "I said plenty else." She laughed, the sound enlarging as it traveled over the water.

  "Guess Mignon and I are pretty expensive."

  R. J. replied, "Well, that's part of motherhood, but you've worked every summer since you were fourteen. You've helped out."

  "If I quit school now, I'll get most of this year's tuition back. I can go to work and help more." Vic's voice, quiet, seemed in counterpoint with the lap of the water.

  "Absolutely not. Vic, you get that idea right out of your head."

  Vic lowered her voice, her tone resonating, deeper. "The last time Dad lost our money, he was almost ten years younger. He's sixty years old, Mom. You forget how much older than you he is. He can't make it back. I don't think he can." She held up her hand because R. J. was ready to interrupt again. "Mignon wants to go to college. If I start working now, I can help with that, too."

  "You're almost finished, Victoria. One more year."

  "I can finish later. We can't lose the farm, Mom."

  "Victoria, I forbid this. It's too foolish to discuss." R. J. lifted her head as a blue heron appeared out of the fog, swooping low enough to touch. "I remember the last time, Mom," Vic said simply.

  R. J. remained silent. They drifted. Fish jumped out of the water. The mist began to thin. They could see the undersides of the ducks flying overhead.

  Vic finally spoke again. "If I marry Charly, assuming he asks me, I don't know if his parents will give us money for a wedding present, and I don't want to disappoint you."

  "You won't disappoint me. And of course he'll ask you to marry him and his family will make your life very comfortable."

  "You think?"

  "Yes. They'll do whatever needs to be done. Buy a house. Set him up in business. They're that kind." She lifted the oars. "Think he'll want to live at Surry Crossing?"

  "I don't know. Every now and then he talks about entering the pro football draft. I really don't know."

  "Honey, I expect he'll do whatever you ask. Now, I'm not Bunny, but I can give you a bit of hard-won wisdom about men. Ask for the big stuff early while they are still head over heels in love with you, while they still need to prove themselves."

  "Mom." Vic was surprised to hear this from her mother.

  "It's just the way it is. As time goes by they take you for granted a little. They love you, yes, they do, if it's a good marriage, but they lose that urge to be the knight in shining armor."

  "I guess." Vic leaned toward her mother. "Sometimes I think I don't know anything about men. But when I hear the word marriage, I hear a steel door shutting behind me."

  "Well, that's natural, I guess."

  "Did you?"

  "Feel that way?" R. J. shook her head. "I was totally, completely in love with your father. I didn't hea
r a steel door, but certainly I had to wonder what I was getting myself into. What would the future bring? That sort of thing. We hadn't a sou. Mom and Dad could offer us a place to live, but they weren't doing too well in the money department, either."

  "You didn't hear a steel door, though."

  "No, I guess I didn't."

  "Aunt Bunny always says it's just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor man," Vic quoted. "If a door is going to shut, I suppose it better be worth it," she mused. "What are you going to do about Dad?"

  "Obviously, I can't let him sell any land. I've got to get him to put Surry Crossing in my name. I think he will. It's what it will do to him. Men are fragile."