Fancy Pants

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  They joined the crowd moving across the parking lot toward the stadium. Why had she said she would go out with him? Why had she said yes when she knew what he wanted from her—a boy with Dallie Beaudine's reputation, who'd seen what he'd seen.

  They drew up next to the table where the Pep Club was selling big yellow mums with little gold footballs dangling from the maroon and white ribbons. Dallie turned to her and asked grudgingly, “You want a flower?”

  “No, thank you.” Her voice echoed back at her, distant and haughty.

  He stopped walking so suddenly the boy behind him bumped into his back. “Don't you think I can afford it?” he sneered at her under his breath. “Don't you think I've got enough money to buy you a goddamn three-dollar flower?” He pulled out an old brown wallet curled in the shape of his hip and slapped a five-dollar bill down on the table. “I'll take one of those,” he said to Mrs. Good, the Pep Club adviser. “Keep the change.” He shoved the mum at Holly Grace. Two yellow petals drifted down onto the cuff of her blouse.

  Something snapped inside her. She thrust the flower back at him and returned his attack in an angry whisper. “Why don't you pin it on! That's why you bought it, isn't it? So you can grab a feel right now instead of having to wait till the dance!”

  She stopped, horrified by her outburst, and dug the fingernails of her free hand into her palm. She found herself silently praying that he would understand how she felt and give her one of those melty looks she'd seen him give other girls, that he would say he was sorry and that sex wasn't what he'd asked her out for. That he would say he liked her as much as she liked him and that he didn't blame her for what he'd seen Billy T doing.

  “I don't have to take this crap from you!” He knocked the flower out of her hand, turned his back on the stadium, and strode angrily away from her toward the street.

  She looked down at the flower lying in the gravel, ribbons trailing in the dust. As she knelt to pick it up, Joanie Bradlow swept past her in a butterscotch jumper and dark brown Capezio flats. Joanie had practically thrown herself at Dallie the whole first month of school. Holly Grace had heard her giggling about him in the rest room: “I know he runs around with the wrong crowd, but, ohgod, he's so gorgeous. I dropped my pencil in Spanish and he picked it up and I thought, ohgod, I'm going to die!”

  Misery formed a hard, tight lump inside her as she stood alone, the bedraggled mum clasped in her hand, while the crowd jostled past her toward the stadium. Some of her classmates called out a greeting and she gave them a bright smile and a cheery wave of her hand, as if her date had just left her for a minute to go to the rest room and she was waiting for him to come back any second now. Her old corduroy skirt hung like a lead curtain from her hips, and even knowing that she was the prettiest girl in the senior class didn't make her feel any better. What good was it to be pretty when you didn't have nice clothes and everybody in town knew that your mama had sat on a wooden bench most of yesterday afternoon at the county welfare office?

  She knew she couldn't keep standing there with that stupid smile on her face, but she couldn't go into the bleachers, either, not by herself on homecoming night. And she couldn't start walking back to Agnes Clayton's boardinghouse until everybody was seated. While no one was looking, she slipped around the side of the building and then dashed inside through the door by the metal shop.

  The gym was deserted. A caged ceiling light cast striped shadows through the canopy of maroon and white crepe paper streamers that hung limply from the girders, waiting for the dance to begin. Holly Grace stepped inside. Despite the decorations, the smell was the same as always—decades of gym classes and basketball games, reams of absence excuses and late passes, dust, old sneakers. She loved gym class. She was one of the best girl athletes in the school, the first to be chosen for a team. She loved gym. Everybody dressed the same.

  A belligerent voice startled her. “You want me to take you home, is that what you want?”

  She spun around to see Dallie standing just inside the gym doors leaning against the center post. His long arms were hanging stiffly at his side and he had a scowl on his face. She noticed that his slacks were too short and that she could see an inch or so of dark socks. The ill-fitting slacks made her feel a little better.

  “Do you want to?” she asked.

  He shifted his weight. “Do you want me to?”

  “I don't know. Maybe. I guess.”

  “If you want me to take you home, just say so.”

  She gazed down at her hands where the dirty white ribbon on the mum was woven through her fingers. “Why did you ask me to go out with you?”

  He didn't say anything, so she lifted her head and looked over at him. He shrugged.

  “Yeah, okay,” she replied briskly. “You can take me home.”

  “Why'd you say you'd go out with me?”

  She shrugged.

  He looked down at the toes of his loafers. After a moment's pause, he spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. “I'm sorry about the other day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With Hank and Ritchie.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know it's not true about you and all those other guys.”

  “No, it's not.”

  “I know that. You made me mad.”

  A little flicker of hope flared inside her. “It's okay.”

  “It's not. I shouldn't have said what í did. I shouldn't have touched your leg like that. It was just that you made me mad.”

  “I didn't mean to—make you mad. You can be sort of scary.”

  His head shot up and for the first time all evening, he looked pleased. “I can?”

  She couldn't help smiling. “You don't have to act so proud of yourself. You're not that scary.”

  He smiled, too, and it made his face so beautiful her mouth went dry.

  They looked at each other like that for a while, and then she remembered about Billy T and what Dallie had seen and what he must expect of her. Her brief happiness faded. She walked over to the first row of bleachers and sat down. “I know what you think, but it's not true. I—I couldn't help what Billy T was doing to me.”

  He looked àt her as if she'd grown horns. “I know that. Did you think I really thought you liked what he was doing?”

  Her words came out in a rush. “But you made it seem like it was so easy to get him to stop. You say a few words to Mama and it's all over. But it wasn't easy for me. I was afraid. He kept hurting me, and I was afraid he'd hurt Mama like that before he sent her away. He said nobody'd believe me if I told, that Mama would hate me.”

  Dallie walked over and sat down next to her. She could see where the leather was scuffed on the toes of his loafers and he'd tried to polish over the marks. She wondered if he hated being poor as much as she did, if poverty gave him the same sense of helplessness.

  Dallie cleared his throat. “Why'd you say that about me pinning the flower on you? About grabbing a feel? Do you think that's the way I am because of how I was talking the other day in front of Hank and Ritchie?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then why?”

  “I figured maybe—that after what you saw with Billy T, maybe you'd expect me to... you know, to maybe—have sex with you tonight.”

  Dallie's head shot up and he looked indignant. “Then why'd you say you'd go out with me? If you thought that was all I wanted from you, why the hell did you say you'd go out with me?”

  “I guess because someplace inside me, I hoped I was wrong.”

  He stood up and glared at her. “Yeah? Well, you sure were wrong. You sure as hell were wrong! I don't know what's wrong with you. You're the prettiest girl at Wynette High. And you're smart. Don't you know I've liked you since the first day in English class?”

  “How was I supposed to know that when you scowled every time you looked at me?”

  He couldn't quite meet her eyes. “You just should have known, that's all.”

  They didn't say anything more. They left the bu
ilding and walked back across the parking lot to the stadium. A big cheer went up from the bleachers and the loudspeaker announced, “First down. Wynette.”

  Dallie topk her hand and tucked it, along with his own, into the pocket of his navy blazer.

  “Are you mad at me for being late?”

  Holly Grace spun around toward the door of the gym. For a fraction of a moment she felt disoriented as she gazed at the twenty-seven-year-old Dallie leaning against the center post, looking bigger and more solid, so much more handsome than the sullen seventeen-year-old kid she'd fallen in love with. She recovered quickly.

  “Of course I'm mad. As a matter of fact, I just told Bobby Fritchie I'd go out with him tonight for surf and turf instead of waiting around for you.” She pulled her purse off her shoulder and let it dangle from her fingers. “Did you find out anything about that little British girl?”

  “Nobody's seen her. I don't think she's still in Wynette. Miss Sybil gave her the money I left, so she should be on her way back to London by now.”

  Holly Grace could see he was still worried. “I think you care more about her than you're letting on. Although to tell you the truth—other than the fact that she's knockout gorgeous—I don't see exactly why.”

  “She's different, is all. I'll tell you one thing. I never in all my life got involved with a woman so different from me. Opposites may attract in the beginning, but they don't stick together too well.”

  She looked at him, a brief sadness in her eyes. “Sometimes people who are the same don't do too good a job of it, either.”

  He walked over to her, moving in that slow, sexy way that used to melt her bones. He pulled her into his arms to dance, humming “You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'” into her ear. Even with improvised music, their bodies moved together perfectly, as if they'd been dancing with each other for a million years. “Damn, you're tall when you wear those shoes,” he complained:

  “Kinda makes you nervous, doesn't it? Having to look at me straight on.”

  “If Bobby walks in here and sees you wearing those high heels on his new basketball floor, you're on your own.”

  “It's still hard for me to think of Bobby Fritchie as Wynette's basketball coach. I remember hanging around the office door while the two of you served morning detention.”

  “You're a liar, Holly Grace Beaudine. I never served a morning detention in my life. I used to take swats instead.”

  “You did, too, and you know it. Miss Sybil raised so much hell every time any of the teachers gave you swats that they got tired of tangling with her.”

  “You remember it your way, and I'll remember it mine.” Dallie rested his cheek against hers. “Seeing you here reminds me of that homecoming dance. I don't think I ever sweat so much in my life. All the time we were dancing, I kept having to put more space between us because of the effect you were having on me. All I could think about was getting you alone in that El Dorado I'd borrowed, except I knew that even after I had you alone, I couldn't touch you because of the way we'd talked. Most miserable night I ever spent in my life.”

  “As I remember, your miserable nights didn't last too long. I must have been the easiest girl in the county. Damn, I got so I couldn't think about anything except having sex with you. I needed to wash the feel of Billy T off me so bad I was willing to go to hell for it....”

  Holly Grace lay back on the narrow bed in Dallie's shabby room, her eyes pressed shut as he pushed his finger up inside her. He groaned and rubbed himself against her thigh. The denim of his jeans felt rough against the bare skin of her leg. Her panties lay on the linoleum floor next to the bed along with her shoes, but other than that she was still more or less dressed—white blouse unbuttoned to the waist, bra unfastened and pushed to the side, wool skirt modestly covering Dallie's hand while it explored between her legs.

  “Please...” she whispered. She arched against his palm. His breathing sounded heavy and strangled in her ear, his hips moved rhythmically against her thigh. She didn't think she could stand it any longer. Over the past two months, their petting sessions had grown heavier and heavier until they could think of nothing else. But still they held back— Holly Grace because she didn't want him to think she was fast, Dallie because he didn't want her to think he was like Billy T.

  Suddenly she crumpled her hand into a fist and hit him behind the shoulder. He jerked away, his lips wet and swollen from kissing her, his chin red. “Why'd you do that?”

  “Because I can't stand this anymore!” she exclaimed. “I want to do it! I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't let you, but I just can't stand it anymore. I feel like I'm on fire.” She tried to make him understand. “All those months, Billy T made me do it. All those months he hurt me. Don't I have the right, just once, to choose for myself?”

  Dallie looked at her for a long time to make sure she was serious. “I don't want you to think— I love you, Holly Grace. I love you more than Í ever loved anybody in my entire life. I'll still love you even if you say no.”

  Sitting up, she pulled off her blouse and slipped her bra straps down over her Shoulders. “I'm tired of saying no.”

  Even though they had touched each other everywhere, they'd made it a rule to keep most of their clothes on, so it was the first time he'd seen her bare from the waist up. He looked at her with awe and then reached out and stroked a gentle finger down over her breast. “You're so beautiful, baby,” he said, his voice choked.

  A surge of wonder shot through her at the emotion in his expression and she found that she wanted to give everything she had to this boy who treated her with so much tenderness. She leaned forward, thrust her thumbs into the tops of her knee socks, and stripped them off. Then she unfastened the waistband of her skirt, lifting up her hips to slip it down. He pulled off his T-shirt and his jeans, then slid down his briefs. She drank in the beauty of his thin young body as he lay down beside her and tenderly wound his fingers through her hair. She lifted her head off the crumpled pillow to kiss him and slid her tongue into his mouth. He groaned and accepted it. Their kisses grew deeper until they were moaning and sucking on each other's lips and tongues, their long legs twisting together, their blond hair dampened with sweat.

  “I don't want you to get pregnant,” he whispered into her mouth. “I'll just—I'll just put it in a little bit.”

  But of course he didn't, and it was the best thing she'd ever felt. She uttered a low moan deep in her throat as she came, and he quickly followed, shuddering in her arms as if he'd been shot through with a bullet. The whole thing was over in less than a minute.

  By graduation day they were using rubbers, but by that time, she was already pregnant and he refused to help her find the money for an abortion. “Abortion is wrong when two people love each other,” he shouted, pointing his finger at her. And then his voice had softened. “I know we planned to wait until I graduated from A&M, but we'll get married now. Except for Skeet, you're the only good thing that's ever happened to me in my life.”

  “I can't have a baby now,” she cried. “I'm seventeen! I'm going to San Antonio to get a job. I want to make something of myself. Having a baby now will ruin my whole life.”

  “How can you say that? Don't you love me, Holly Grace?”

  “Of course I do. But loving's not always enough.”

  As she saw the agony in his eyes, that familiar helpless feeling closed around her. It stayed with her right through the wedding in Pastor Leary's study.

  Dallie quit humming in the middle of the chorus to “Good Vibrations” and came to a stop on the free-throw line. “Did you really tell Bobby Fritchie you'd go out with him tonight?”

  Holly Grace had been performing an intricate harmony, and she continued singing for a few measures without him. “Not exactly. But I thought about it. I get so aggravated when you're late.”

  Dallie let her go and gave her a long look. “If you really want a divorce, you know I'll go along with it.”

  “I know.” She walked over to the bleachers and sat d
own, stretching out her legs in front of her and putting a small scratch in Coach Fritchie's new varnish with the heel of her shoe. “Since I don't have any plans to get married again, I'm happy with things just like they are.”

  Dallie smiled and walked forward along the center court line to sit on the bleachers beside her. “I hope New York City works out for you, baby. I really do. You know I want to see you happy about more than I want anything in the world.”

  “I know you do. Same goes for me.”

  She began to talk about Winona and Ed, about Miss Sybil and the other things they usually discussed whenever they were together in Wynette. He only listened with half his mind. The other half was remembering two teenagers with troubled pasts, a baby, and no money. Now he realized that they hadn't had a chance, but they had loved each other, and they had put up a good fight....

  Skeet took a construction job in Austin to help out as much as he could, but it wasn't union work so it didn't pay too well. Dallie worked for a roofer when he wasn't in class or trying to pick up some extra cash on the golf course. They had to send Winona money, and there was never enough.

  Dallie had lived with poverty for so long it didn't bother him too much, but it was different for Holly Grace. She got this helpless, panicked look in her eyes that sank right into his veins and froze his blood. It made him feel that he was failing her, and he started arguments—bitter fights where he accused her of not doing her share. He said she didn't keep the house clean enough, or he told her she was too lazy to cook him a good meal. She countered by accusing him of not providing for his family, insisting that he should quit playing golf and study engineering instead.

  “I don't want to be an engineer,” he retorted during an especially fierce argument. Banging one of his books down on the scratched surface of the kitchen table, he added, “I want to study literature, and I want to play golf!”