“No offense taken.” Jonny found himself a beer.
“Some of my girlfriends are forced to have polka at their weddings. You know Weird Al’s uncle Frank? The polka king?” She went off on a minor history of Chicago polka bands, laughing at them; she was well-informed, you had to give her that. Especially for someone who disliked polka. She and her sister were in agreement on that. Finally he made his apologies and walked away. If he hadn’t half-agreed with Daria he would have been pissed. No, he was pissed. Why come to a polka party in a small town and put down polka and small towns?
“Hey.” Kiki appeared at his elbow. “I thought I’d never get you alone.”
She wore another low-cut blouse, a creamy color that lit up her face. He was glad to see a friendly face. “Having fun?”
“Buckets. Hey, you are really good on the accordion. I don’t know much about it but I can tell, you are good. A wizard.” She grinned at him, then followed his gaze across the crowd. “Is that Isabel Yancey? Of the Chicago Yanceys?”
“Ah— maybe.”
“We went to school together. Woodside Academy. Very posh.” She shook her head. “Not that I was one of them. I was on scholarship.”
“You know her sister?”
“Oh, yes. Impossible not to know Daria.”
He smiled. “So, they’re rich?”
“You can’t tell? You’re a man, I suppose that doesn’t penetrate. Daria’s shoes cost as much as my mother’s car. Her purse sells for four-thousand bucks. She designs them herself though so she probably got it free.”
Jonny tried to get a glimpse of Daria’s mega-watt footwear, but her jeans covered all but her toes. “You want to go talk to them?”
“They’re not my type, all high society. I’d rather be here with you.” She took a sip and winced. “I made that mistake once. That was enough.”
Jonny frowned into his beer. The language of women was puzzling. “You aren’t friends?”
Kiki shrugged. “It was so long ago.” She looked him in the face, her eyes searching. “You don’t know what it’s like at those prep schools where everybody’s rich and all hoity toity. The horrible things girls do to each other. The terrible things that can happen.”
He felt bad for her, and curious. “Did something terrible happen?”
“Oh, you know. I wanted to belong, to have friends like Isabel and Daria, with their country clubs and cars. My parents divorced, then my dad was killed in the plane crash. Money was always tight. When I got the scholarship to Woodside I thought this was my chance, you know, to be somebody, to fit in. But—” She sighed, then bit her lip. “You won’t think much of me. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
Jonny nodded.
“I was sixteen, I got drunk at a party. Or maybe somebody doped my drink, I’ll never know.” She lowered her chin. “I thought they were my friends. They bet this guy he could, well, make it with me. None of them stopped it. Isabel and the rich crowd found out about it. They spread it all over the school. Laughed about it. Like I wanted it. Or deserved it. It was bad enough to get date-raped. But to have the whole school know? For them to talk about me that way? I can’t say I’ve ever forgiven them.”
Kiki took a long drink from her beer. Jonny was stunned. Not only was she raped but she was telling him. Obviously the memory of that awful time had never gone away.
He muttered that he was sorry and she looked sad. Then she smiled brightly again and told him to forget about it, that she was sorry she brought it up. He admired her ability to forgive. He could use some of that himself. An image of her, naked on a sofa, flashed in his mind. Then, out of the shadows lumbered Ozzie, in the sweat-stained burgundy tux, elbowing his way toward his drum set.
——
Isabel headed for shadowy paths through the roses as the polka music began again. Jonny had rolled up the sleeves of his tux shirt and unbuttoned his shirt halfway down. Looking at him was too painful. Her sister had noticed her staring. Daria kept calling him the Polka Hottie and teasing her.
This party was a mistake. But if she drank another glass of wine, the vilest jug wine available but doing the trick, she could smile and get through it. The students seemed to be enjoying themselves and that was good. She’d given them tomorrow off. They were ahead of schedule. They would probably be finished Wednesday or Thursday. Then it would be goodbye Red Vine, hello—
Her shoulders dropped. She would have to go home. Her grandfather was still hanging in there. The funeral had been written, the coffin picked out, in typical Edie-and-Lulu fashion. So efficient. It could happen anytime. Isabel knew she should feel lucky to get this far into the study without any major disruptions.
As she rounded the corner of the house the sound of sobbing rose from the shrubbery. The noise seemed to be coming from behind a tall, white rose bush near the sidewalk. A car door slammed. A woman stepped into the street wearing skintight black pants and a purple halter top. She looked both ways and tiptoed up to the fence. Isabel hid behind a rose bush and watched. The woman whispered, “Hello? Is something wrong?”
The sobbing stopped abruptly. A scratchy woman’s voice said: “She doesn’t love me anymore.”
The wailing began again. The woman on the sidewalk, hair pulled into a ponytail, had to be Loreen, the church secretary. Rumor was she had her hooks into Ozzie. She looked like a 1940s pin-up girl. Maybe that appealed to somebody who wore his hair like Elvis.
Loreen leaned over the fence. “Is that you, Frances? Get up, dear. Dry your eyes.”
“But I can’t live. She doesn’t— she doesn’t—”
“Your mother loves you very much. No need to cry. Get up out of that mud.” Loreen seemed more concerned about dirt. Frances scuffled around, jumping to her feet.
“My mother?!” She hissed at Loreen. “What do you know about my mother?”
“I know her very well. It’s Loreen, honey, now take this hankie -—”
“My mother has nothing to do with it!”
“What do you mean?”
Frances let out a moan. “Monica, my Monica. She doesn’t love me anymore.”
Isabel backed away, thorns grazing her arm as she fell into a rose. Loreen continued clucking at Frances. Monica. Isabel had recognized her at the bar but couldn’t place her.
She hadn’t thought of Monica for a long time. It was junior year at Woodside when she’d started the rumor that Isabel was pregnant by one or more members of the lacrosse team. Everyone knew it was a joke but the teachers. The principal called her into his office. For someone as anti-social as Isabel, who hadn’t had a boyfriend or a date, let alone sex, it was ludicrous. Her mother whisked her into the doctor for her first pelvic exam and sexually transmitted disease lecture. And a prescription for birth control pills. It would be three years before she lost her virginity. Her mother was a victim of wishful thinking.
Word got around that Monica started the rumor. Isabel ignored all the social girls, the jocks, all of them. They never spoke to her anyway. But to be singled out for that sort of hateful act was a first. It had hardened her, made her wary of people and throw herself into her studies that much more.
Isabel walked around to the far side of the house, out of sight of the party. Maybe she’d just leave Daria and go to bed. There was talk of heading to the Owl after the music ended. And with that the possibility of talking to Jon. She shook herself. This was ridiculous. She would be gone soon. They would never see each other again.
Daria grabbed her arm as Isabel returned to the party. Flushed, barefoot, Daria gave Lenny a gentle shove to get away from him so they could talk.
“That girl, it’s Monica Calhoun. From Woodside,” Daria whispered. “That little bitch who started that rumor. I can’t believe she’s here.”
“I saw her.” Isabel couldn’t tell Daria what she’d heard. It didn’t matter anyway. “Have you seen her since Woodside?”
“God, no.”
“I need more wine.” Daria followed her to the bar table. They found the enormo
us jug empty. “I’m tired, Dar.”
“We’re all going over to the bar.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost over, thank the Lord.”
Lenny tapped her shoulder and Daria skipped onto the Astroturf with him, doing a wild, hot-foot imitation of the polka. Most of the old people had gone home, leaving room for the rowdier types. Daria had her head back, laughing, as Lenny tossed her this way and that. Kate and Terry danced more carefully, while Andrew took Maddie out for a spin. Monica sat in a chair near the band, in the light of a kerosene lantern, smiling up at Jonny.
Isabel checked to see if he was returning Monica’s gaze. But he was looking out, frowning. Their eyes met and she looked away, embarrassed to be staring again. One last song and he quit, putting his instrument in the big alligator case, snapping it shut with pat of finality.
There was no sign of Frances or Loreen by the time Isabel passed under the rose trellis out onto the sidewalk. The rest of the group ran off to the Owl ahead of her. She hung back and helped Margaret and Carol with the chairs and trash. They looked at her oddly but accepted the help. She couldn’t say why she volunteered. Maybe just to separate herself from the others. The night sky was low with clouds. In the east a few stars twinkled over the treetops. Loreen’s car was gone. The only sound was Isabel dragging her feet.
The Owl was warm and noisy. The students knew each other so well, there was no constraint on drinking or laughing or dancing. Had any matches been made? Isabel doubted it. Only two men, one with bad breath and dandruff and the other blessed with excess body oil. But now with the idea of Frances and Monica in her head, she wondered. Anything was possible.
The thick air inside the bar pushed against her skull. Too much wine, or not enough. Daria stood in a tight circle with Lenny and some of the girls. Isabel made her way through the crowd to get a club soda from Walter. Things would be pretty quiet in here after the field crew went home. She wondered if she should mention their departure to the bartender.
“Where were you?” Daria hissed, squeezing in next to her. “I thought I was going to have to kick Lenny in the balls to get rid of him.”
“You looked like you were having a good time.”
“Look at her,” Daria whispered, nodding toward the tables. “Fawning all over him. Disgusting.”
Across the room Monica and Frances sat next to Jonny. He was slumped in his chair, drinking beer. Monica hunched forward over her elbows, as if in serious discussion. Frances glared at them both from behind her stringy hair. Isabel said, “Poor things.”
“What do you mean? That bitch is after your man!”
“Daria, be quiet. He isn’t my man. Maybe she just wants to make somebody jealous.”
“You of course. Is it working?” Daria outlined her love theory. Monica was hot for him because she could tell Isabel was.
“Change the subject.”
“I’m going to buy them a round,” Daria said.
“Why?”
“I heard the girls can’t hold their drink.”
“Just Frances,” Isabel said, but her sister was whispering to Walter. In a few minutes the waitress brought them three beers, and Isabel a large glass of white wine.
Daria looked smug, sipping her martini. “Watch and wait.”
Somebody got Walter to turn on the radio. The rock station from Minneapolis came through loud and clear. Isabel drank her wine, watching the threesome out of the corner of her eye. Threesome? Ack. Isabel banished the image of a ménage à trois from her mind. She stared down into her wine glass so long that Walter topped it off, flashing his yellow choppers.
Daria ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Damn, they’re behaving themselves. Oh well. I have to head back in the morning. When are you finished with this podunk town?”
“Keep your voice down,” Isabel whispered.
“Egon is still kicking. I called Daddy this afternoon.” Daria glanced at her. “And gave him a report on you, just so you know.”
“Did he send you up here?”
“Of course not. You know that Lenny is kind of cute.”
Isabel looked up, startled. She had never thought of Lenny as remotely cute. Jonny and Monica were staring at her now. “What about whatshisname?”
“Will? Much hotter. I’m just saying. If Jonny doesn’t come around. If he succumbs to the wiles of that skank, you don’t want him anyway. His character must be pretty weak. Look at her. Ugh.”
Monica had laid her hand on Jonny’s arm. Maybe they already were a couple, Frances be damned. Maybe Monica had broken up his marriage. That would be right up her alley. Monica was talking close to his ear as if she wanted to make sure no one but Jonny could hear. Frances grabbed her beer bottle and jumped up.
The college students parted, smirks on their faces, waiting for the show. Frances tottered to the bar and demanded another beer, guzzling it on the spot. Monica stood up and called, “Fanny!” over a loud rock anthem. Frances didn’t turn, just kept drinking.
“Here it comes,” Daria whispered.
“Jesus Mary,” Isabel said, elbowing her way down the bar. She laid a hand on the tall girl’s shoulder. “Come on, Frances. I’ll walk you home.”
The girl turned. “Who the hell are you?”
“The air is better outside.” Isabel tugged on her arm but Frances only swayed. Isabel stepped closer and whispered in her ear: “She’s not worth it. Trust me.”
Frances turned back to the bartender. “Encore.”
“Walter. No,” Isabel said. “Don’t do this, Frances. Go home.”
Isabel felt hands on her shoulders, pulling her back. She stumbled into Dana and Alison who let her fall onto the floor. “Mind your own business,” Monica said angrily, fists at her sides. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
Lenny helped Isabel up. What the hell?
“This doesn’t concern you, Isabel,” Jonny said coldly. “Come on, Frances. You’ve had enough.” He took her arm.
“Let go of me!” Frances screamed. Walter turned the radio down and the room fell quiet. “All of you, leave me alone.”
The door opened. Ozzie and Loreen lurched in, laughing. Lipstick was smeared on his mouth. “Good evening, people,” Ozzie said, still in the burgundy tuxedo. “Walter, a drink for me and my lady.”
Somehow Monica and Jonny hustled Frances out of the bar. The music went back to medium-explosive and the drinking and talking continued for another hour. But eventually the presence of Ozzie and his lady friend, and their public display of affection, rubbed even the college students the wrong way. Yelping like small dogs was heard through the village as the students walked back to the motel.
Daria threaded her arm through Isabel’s as they walked back. “Now, that’s entertainment. For a small town, they do know how to provide excitement for the out of town visitor. What did Monica mean? That you’d done enough damage?”
“I have no idea.”
“What’s the hussy’s name?”
“Loreen.”
“She told me that Frances’s parents are paying Monica to escort Frances around. She does need looking after but isn’t that kind of mercenary? Do you think Frances knows?”
“Paying her?”
“Two-thousand bucks. Apparently Frances’s parents go to the church where the hussy works. And get this! Monica is telling everyone that her father was an astronaut and he almost walked on the moon. What a joke.”
“I don’t remember her father.”
“Her mother never married him. Probably didn’t even know who he was. Just one of many who warmed her bed and her palm.”
“Daria.”
“Oh, it’s true. Her mother had a career on the ferry boats for awhile, before little Monica entered the scene.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Do you think there is anyone we went to school with that Edie didn’t dig out every detail on, clean or dirty? And after what Monica did to you, Edie made sure everyone knew.”
Isabel looked at the shadows o
n the sagging ceiling. She thought about Professor Mendel, her classes, the campus. Where would she live next year, who would she see, would she have friends. The questions went round and round. Would she see Alec, would it still hurt, would she be lonely. Would science be enough.
In the other bed Daria snored softly. Her sister had a huge circle of friends, at least one boyfriend, a great apartment, parties, weddings, events of all kinds. Isabel had always pitied Daria, thought she was messed up by Edie and all that money. Was it possible that dealing with Edie up close made her stronger, smarter about people, and even— could you say Daria was happier?
Isabel put her arms over her head, covering her face. Who was she kidding? Everybody was happier than she was. The pain of the human condition was crushing her. Why couldn’t she just be a bee, a drone in society where everyone knew their place? Why couldn’t she figure out people like Daria did, or at least find a way to like them and let them like her?She was like Frances except she didn’t hide behind her hair anymore or act wacky when she drank. She could see Jonny at the bar, his look so cold, so accusing. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Why did he hate her? Why couldn’t she be the kind of person people liked, could stay with, could love?
She would just drive away. There was no crime in that.
Chapter 14
On Monday afternoon, up on the roof of the Rainy Days Motor Inn, roofing paper was rolled out and nailed down. Ozzie had gone down the ladder, complaining of back problems. Jonny just kept swinging the hammer. Better to stay off the ground, out of the fray.
His father had returned Sunday afternoon to take down his drums from the party and found that the sprinklers had soaked them. He ranted at Margaret for half an hour. She screamed back and almost tossed the newly repaired snare drum over the fence. In the evening he returned again, just as they were sitting down to dinner, and looked hungrily at the table. Loreen, it was said, was not a cook. Margaret smiled serenely and did not ask him to eat.
Artie and Sonya had come down on Sunday. Wendy showed up for dinner for once. Nora brought Claude. But Ozzie was in their thoughts, somewhere eating something gummy out of a can.
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