Alma Mater

by Rita Mae Brown

  "Dad might get the money back."

  "Money and Dad are allergic to each other."

  "Yeah. But why can't Mom borrow from Aunt Bunny?"

  "Mmm, I don't think Uncle Don will go for it. If he lends us money, he probably won't get it back. That's the way he thinks. He won't do it."

  "Why can't Aunt Bunny do it?"

  "Because she feels the same way. She might not say it, but I don't think Aunt Bunny would give money to Dad."

  "She's not giving it to Dad. She's giving it to Mom."

  "Mignon, it's not going to happen. People are really weird about money. You think people are weird about sex . ." She shook her

  head. "Doesn't matter. We'll get through it. But you've got to work next summer."

  "I will. I'll work with Hojo."

  "What's this with you and Hojo?"

  "Nothing. I think she's funny."

  "Funny enough to stick holes in your ears."

  "Yeah. Guess I shouldn't work for Uncle Don."

  Vic noticed the smoke from the chimney hanging over the roof. "Work for whoever you1want who will hire you."

  "Vic."

  "What?"

  "What if Chris gets tired of you? You ever think of that?" "No."

  "Maybe you should. You're going to dump Charly. What if you get dumped?"

  "I can't change the way I feel. If I get dumped, hey, that's life." "Maybe he'd take you back."

  "Mignon, I can't go back to him. I'm not there." Vic blew air out her nostrils, two streams of condensation. "Is it that bad having a gay sister?"

  "I don't know. I never had one before," Mignon replied saucily. "Well, get used to it." She thought a moment. "When did you know?"

  "Last visit."

  "How?"

  Mignon shrugged. "I just kind of did."

  "You think Mom or Aunt Bunny knows? Dad wouldn't even think of it."

  "No, but they'll figure it out eventually. Especially Aunt Bunny, sexual radar queen."

  "Look who's talking."

  "I don't really have a sexual radar. Last time, I snuck into your room in the middle of the night, and you weren't there. That's how I knew."

  Piper lifted her head, sniffing the bacon odor escaping from the kitchen stove vent.

  "Let's go in."

  "Are you mad at me?" Mignon's voice wobbled a little.

  "No. I just don't want to worry about you. I have enough to worry about."

  "Are you scared?"

  "No. I feel better in a way. But I have a shitload of stuff to deal with, you know."

  "Everything's the same. Only you're different," Mignon said. "Maybe I'm the same and everything else is different. Damned if I know."

  P

  hotographs of Charly filled the newspapers in Williamsburg and the surrounding counties. Clinging to the last days of Thanksgiving vacation, Vic didn't much notice. Monsignor Whitby cer-

  tainly did.

  When Charly showed up back at school that last Monday in November, he was whisked into the coach's office.

  Coach Frascetti, a thickset man, drove straight to the point after showing him the complaint from Monsignor Whitby citing him and two unidentified women. "Charly, did you have anything to do with the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother wearing, uh, cooking clothes?" Charly opened his mouth, but Coach held up his hand for silence. "Before you answer, consider this. You'll be hauled before the Dean of Men. Now if the season were still in full swing, I could bench you and everyone would be happy except for me, you, and the fans of Tribe football. Right? So the least .that will happen is you'll listen to a harangue from Dean Hansen about responsibility, sensitivity to others. The worst that will happen is your ass will get kicked out of here, since the administration is extremely sensitive right now, but I think your father can fix that. Most likely you'll get some kind of suspension and you'll have to make it up to St. Bede's. I'm sure the monsignor will have a list of things for you to do. But there is another way. I've been talking to

  Hap Stricker, our baseball coach." A gleam in Coach's eye indicated he thought he was quite creative. "He'll put you on his roster. Then he'll suspend you. You'll look crestfallen, and St. Bede's will be satisfied."

  Charly sat facing his coach, his mind racing. He was not by nature a liar, nor did he want special treatment. On the other hand, the prospect of his father cutting a deal with the dean and making a sizable contribution to the alumni fund turned his stomach.

  "Coach Frascetti, I was there. No sacrilege was intended."

  "Okay. I'm proud of you for fessing up. Let me go talk to Hap."

  "Sir, could I think about that? I appreciate all you've done for me, and I appreciate Coach Stricker thinking about this. I, well, if you could just give me until tonight. I want to make sure that what I'm doing is the right thing."

  "Six o'clock. Call me by six." Coach Frascetti stood up from his desk chair. "I guess you weren't raised a Catholic."

  "No, sir. Episcopalian."

  "Well, I was. And the Blessed Virgin Mother finally looked like she was enjoying herself. Call me tonight, Charly. You let me take care of this."

  "I'll call you, sir. Thank you."

  Charly left the gym and reached Vic's apartment in twenty minutes. He told her about the meeting.

  "I think I should go to Dean Hansen and get it over with," Charly concluded.

  "It took three of us for that fashion show. Why should you go?"

  "Your picture wasn't in the paper. The monsignor did say there were two girls, but Coach didn't push it. If I do penance, it'll blow over."

  "Oh, Charly, let Coach Stricker put you on the baseball roster. Really. It's not worth suffering over because the old goat can't stand Mary with a barbecue apron on."

  "I don't know."

  "Three weeks, and we'll all be on Christmas vacation. The monsignor will be over it, too. At least wait until—what time do you have to call Coach Frascetti?"

  "Six."

  "Wait until then. You know, walk around, think it over, and call me before you call Coach."

  "I thought I could stay here."

  This wasn't in Vic's plan. "Sure. But I have to pick up Jinx. Here, you take my keys in case you want to go out. If something comes up, leave the keys over the doorjamb downstairs. But you wait right up until the deadline to talk again to Coach. It's a big decision, and there's no reason to be a herb about it. I mean, really, Charly, it's not like we did something all that wrong. Promise?"

  "Yeah, okay." He kissed her on the lips.

  "Help yourself to Coke and crackers. Sorry, it's all I've got," she called as she opened the front door.

  "God, Vic, I'm going to have to make enough money to hire us a cook."

  "That's right," she sang back as she headed down the steps.

  Hearing Charly speak of the future knotted up her stomach. She'd think about that later. As Vic cranked up the Impala, she wished she had time to talk to Chris, but she was in class. Better get on with what she'd decided to do.

  After Mary received her makeover, Monsignor Whitby had called the police, and then he called the papers. He wasn't likely to let this blow over now that he had identified Charly. No, it was glaringly obvious that the monsignor believed in punishment.

  Charly, being a star athlete, could expect one of two things: to get let off the hook or to be made an example. Football season was over; Charly was expendable, and the administration would look good if they took a hard line. Coach Frascetti knew this but chose to keep it to himself. Luckily, he genuinely liked Charly, and his plan with Coach Stricker was a good one. It would appear that Charly was being punished, the administration would look good, the athletic department would appear morally responsive, the newspaper would have a story, and the monsignor could gloat.

  If Charly's father tried to buy off the administration, that, too, could leak its way into the papers, causing new embarrassment.

  Vic pulled into the parking lot behind the administration building.

  She walked determinedly up t
he stairs and down the polished hall to Greg Hansen's office.

  The secretary waffled when she asked to see the dean, but Vic persuaded her by explaining it was about the incident at St. Bede's.

  She was soon ushered into a paneled office complete with leather chairs, diplomas on the wall, and one Greg Hansen, a thin man of around forty who approached his job with utter seriousness.

  "Dean Hansen, I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice."

  "Not at all, Victoria. This is a delicate situation with the community. As you know, these tensions between the college and the town are part and parcel of university life. Since the Middle Ages, actually." He smiled broadly. Formerly a history professor, he relished any chance to impress a listener with some arcane historical fact.

  "I can solve your problems, sir, with Monsignor Whitby. I know that he's identified Charly Harrison from a photograph in the sports page. It's true that Charly was there, but he never touched the statue. I talked him into being my lookout. I did it, and he shouldn't have to be punished for my behavior."

  Dean Hansen looked grave. He brought his hands together so that his fingertips touched, making a little tent. "I see."

  "So I should be the one punished."

  "The monsignor said there was another girl."

  "She didn't do anything either, but when the monsignor came out the front door and yelled we all ran. If you'd seen him, Dean Hansen, you'd have run, too. But really, it was all me."

  Dean Hansen appraised Vic. He had heard that Charly had a girlfriend, the most beautiful girl on campus, and he had to agree with that assessment. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen in his life. If her career at William and Mary was botched, it wouldn't be so bad. She'd marry Charly or someone else.

  "Well now, Victoria, you know that this could get you expelled. We can't treat a matter of religion with insensitivity, and Monsignor Whitby feels that a desecration has taken place. I've been in touch with the Cardinal Newman group here on campus and they, too, are deeply disturbed. I think you should know what might be ahead."

  "I do. But I can't let Charly pay for what I've done. He'll say he did

  it to protect me. Dean Hansen, I can't see that it's good for William and Mary to darken the reputation of one of its best students. I just have to face the music."

  "I can appreciate that. Well, I'll call the monsignor," he said as he flipped over his day calendar pages. "I'll let you know what the disciplinary committee decides on Wednesday."

  "Should I report to the Dean of Women?"

  "No." He shook his head. "I'll take care of that. Leave your phone number with my secretary on the way out."

  She found Jinx at her apartment planting bulbs in the front flower beds. The temperature had warmed up to the low sixties.

  "Let me help you." Vic knelt down beside her.

  "My landlady likes tulips, so I thought I'd put a bunch in for her. She's a sweet lady." Jinx appreciated her landlady's kind treatment.

  "I think my ass is grass."

  "There's a poetic turn of phrase." Jinx carefully pulled earth over a bulb shaped like the top of a Russian Orthodox church.

  "Monsignor Whitby knows Charly was at the BVM and—" "Back up."

  "Charly's picture was all over the sports page."

  "Ah."

  "Yeah. So I just told Dean Hansen that I did the deed and talked Charly into being my lookout. It's the truth, pretty much. I did organize it."

  Jinx had laid out the bags of bulbs according to color. She reached for a bulb that would bloom sunburst yellow. "Do you know what you're doing?"

  "I owe Charly something, Jinx. The least I can do is take the blame."

  "You really are going to leave him, aren't you?"

  Vic swallowed hard. "I can't seem to work up my nerve to tell him." "Jesus, Vic, you do lead an interesting life." Jinx plunked a bulb in the hole. "What if you get thrown out?"

  "Then, I go." Vic felt the thin paperlike skin on the bulb.

  "If you do get kicked out, what are you going to do about Chris? Your parents? Your future?"

  "Get a job. Work until Chris graduates and then take it from there. Mom and Dad will be pretty upset."

  "What kind of job?"

  "I don't know, Jinx. Anything that will bring in money. Mom told me she and Aunt Bunny might be going into the nursery business. I don't know if they can hire me, but I'd really like that kind of work."

  "Isn't this a grand sacrifice?"

  "If I want my degree later, I can get it. One semester left. Big deal." Vic sounded stronger than she felt.

  It will be a big deal if they pass a flame thrower over your records."

  "They can't do anything about my grades. I can finish at a community college."

  "William and Mary looks better on a diploma."

  "It will be on yours," Vic said with a smile, although she, too, thought the name "William and Mary" would be perfect on a diploma.

  Jinx smiled back. "Do you think your Mom and Bunny really will go into business?"

  "Yeah." She reached for another bulb. "Mom's mentioned it in passing a couple of times, but last visit she showed me soil maps, where she wants to put willows and stuff. I think she's serious. Oh, yeah—I forgot to tell you. Mignon knows about me and Chris."

  Jinx stabbed into the earth with her trowel. "Jesus."

  "She was pretty cool."

  "For how long?" Jinx's brow wrinkled. "She won't be able to keep her mouth shut. This is just too good, and she's the first to know." "She won't say anything."

  "Wanna bet?"

  "Five bucks."

  "You're on."

  "Time?"

  "Six months. I mean, you'll have to tell your mom and dad by then." Jinx flicked dirt off her thigh.

  "Before."

  "What are you going to tell them about this?"

  "The truth." Vic checked her watch. "I need to get back to the house. I left Charly there and told him not to do anything." Vic stood up, brushing off her jeans. "You know what?"

  "What?"

  "I'm not the least bit sorry I updated Mary's wardrobe."

  Charly wasn't at her apartment. He left a note that he'd gone out to eat. He called just before, six. She told him what she'd done. He argued with her, but she insisted what was done was done and there was no point in both of them getting into more trouble. He finally gave in.

  Then she walked next door and told Chris everything.

  "I hope you don't live to regret this," Chris said, worried.

  "I won't.

  "Is Charly coming back now that he doesn't have curfew?" she asked nervously.

  "No, I talked him out of it."

  Chris relaxed. "This is all so wild."

  "At least we're not bored."

  T

  he rising winter sun washed the bowl of the football stadium in scarlet. Having kissed a sleeping Chris, Vic left her a note on the kitchen table. She needed to burn off energy; she needed to think. Running the stadium steps would do her a world of good.

  She'd already trotted to the top and back ten times and intended to complete the process twenty more times when a figure in dark green sweats appeared on the track, running toward her with a familiar grace peculiarly his own.

  Wordlessly he fell in next to her, and they ran the last sets of stadium steps together. By the time they'd finished, the frost was turning into glistening dew.

  They walked around the track to cool down.

  "Change your mind?"

  "I thought I had you organized on that."

  "Vic, you could get bounced right out of here."

  "I'll get slapped on the wrist or forced to write 'I will not dress or undress the Blessed Virgin Mother' on the blackboard one thousand and one times."

  "After Alpha Tau's disgrace, I think it's going to be more than a slap on the wrist."

  "Charly, don't worry about me. If I'm out of here tomorrow, I'll survive, you know."

  "Yeah, but come on, what's one more semester?"
>
  "I can finish it up later, somewhere else, some other time. We went through all this last night."