Bittersweet Dreams Page 11

  Just before dinner, I could feel that something was up, but I didn’t pursue it. When we all sat at the table, she didn’t say much to either Allison or my father and avoided looking at me. My father went on and on about how much he enjoyed my new appearance and then talked about some big new business achievements. The whole time, Julie kept herself from looking at me. She seemed to be in very deep thought about something.

  Maybe she thought I didn’t show enough appreciation, I concluded, and left it at that, but about a half hour after dinner, my father called me on the intercom from the den and asked me to come down. When I walked in, I found him and Julie sitting on one of the leather settees. Both of them looked rather glum.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  My father nodded at the settee across from them. “We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  I hadn’t done anything with Allison, nor had I spoken much to her since the sex manual incident, so I was curious about what would turn their faces into prunes.

  “What’s this about?” I asked after I sat.

  My father looked to Julie, giving her permission to begin.

  “Lauren Hartman is a good friend of mine. Maybe was,” she added, glancing at my father.

  “So?”

  “You know her daughter Denise.”

  “I know who she is. I don’t have enough interest in her or her friends to know any of them, Julie. Please stop the dramatics and tell me what this is all about.”

  “Lauren is very upset with something Denise and the other girls told their mothers.”

  “They’re all pregnant?”

  “This isn’t funny, Mayfair,” my father said.

  “I don’t know what it is, so I don’t know if it’s funny or not, Daddy.”

  “They claim you’ve been . . . I have trouble even saying it,” Julie said, shaking her head.

  “Write it out, then,” I said.

  “Mayfair.”

  “Well, I’m not going to sit here all night waiting for the dramatics to end, Daddy. What is it, Julie? Speak your piece or forever remain silent.”

  “They claim you’ve been watching them undress in the locker room,” she rattled off quickly.

  “What?”

  “They said you admitted to doing that. They also said that one of the most popular and good-looking boys in the school showed interest in you, after I helped you with your hair, makeup, and clothes, and that you showed no interest in him at all. You drove him away after he issued an invitation to spend some time with you, as a matter of fact.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  I looked at my father. “You believe this stuff, the implication she’s making?”

  “Why shouldn’t he believe it? You have no interest in going to parties or on dates, and we know you’ve been invited to some parties in the past and turned down the invitations.”

  “They weren’t really invitations, and I know they were offered reluctantly and not sincerely,” I added, looking at my father. I knew both he and Julie had engineered some of the most recent ones.

  “What was the point of my doing all this for you,” she said holding her hands out toward me, “if you’re not going to take advantage of it? The money spent, the time and effort, why do you want this if you’re going to avoid opportunities and drive away any interest in you? When I was your age, I couldn’t wait for the weekend. You seem to be disappointed that school isn’t seven days a week.

  “And,” she added after a pause, “you showed Allison that disgusting book that has a whole chapter on masturbation, even showing techniques.”

  I simply glared at her. Inside, my stomach felt as if a hive of wasps had broken and in their fierce anger they were stinging every organ in my body.

  “As Julie said, Mayfair, Lauren’s daughter claims you didn’t deny their accusations,” my father said. “Is that true?”

  “Of course I didn’t. I didn’t take them seriously. I wouldn’t take anything they said seriously and waste my time answering them. Who do they think they are, anyway? If there weren’t any mirrors in the girls’ room, they wouldn’t go to the bathroom. They’d all be constipated.”

  He continued to stare at me. I saw a different look in his face, a mixture of worry and fear.

  “You don’t really believe any of this stupidity, do you, Daddy?”

  “What either of us believes isn’t important right now,” Julie said.

  “Excuse me? What my father believes about me is very important,” I said.

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “That’s because there isn’t any.”

  “Let her speak, Mayfair,” my father said, his voice full of fatigue and defeat.

  “Okay, Julie. Speak. What else do you have to add to this idiotic conversation?”

  “It’s not so idiotic anymore. The other mothers are getting together and going to the principal to complain about you.”

  “Complain? You have to be kidding.”

  “I’m not kidding. They are worried about their daughters’ . . . security.”

  “Security?” I looked at my father. “What am I now, a sex terrorist?”

  “Joke about it all you want, but you can’t even begin to imagine how embarrassing this is for me. For us,” Julie quickly corrected. “I ask again, why did I do all that to help you with your appearance if you weren’t interested in boys? Were you trying to get some girl interested in you? It’s best if you tell us the truth.”

  “I’m not going to give any dignity to these stupid questions by answering them. Those girls never liked me. They know what I think of them. They would say anything they could that would hurt me.” I stood up. “Believe me, I have more important things to do with my time right now than sit here and talk about what those girls say or think. Thinking is too high a process for them anyway.”

  “Mayfair,” my father called as I started out.

  “What?”

  “You know that if you have these inclinations, you can tell us, right?”

  I looked at Julie. She had her right hand over her heart as if she were about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and she was holding her breath. I was tempted to say I was gay just to see her have a heart attack. How could she face her high-society friends at their lunches and charity galas? Maybe she would pack up and go, I thought. That was the biggest motivation for me to admit to it, but then I looked at my father and retreated.

  “Of course I would tell you,” I said. “If it’s a fact, it doesn’t do any good to deny it. I know I can say anything to either of you and always have. Right now, I’d like to say good night,” I added, and walked out.

  I left Julie stuttering and hyperventilating, but I didn’t feel good about it. It didn’t give me the usual satisfaction. I felt nauseated and tired. Despite the brave and angry face I had put on, I was crying inside. Look at how Julie had twisted up my father, I thought. She was insidious, inserting herself in the smallest of ways in the beginning, making changes in our house, the decor my mother had created. It was as if she thought she knew the pathway to get her out of my father’s memory. She hated my mentioning her now. I had no doubt that if she could, she’d confiscate the pictures of her I had in my room. I knew my father and mother’s wedding picture had been stashed in some carton in a closet.

  Before Julie had come into our lives, something like this would have made my father and me both laugh. Neither of us would have worried about what the other parents thought of us or especially me. Although he wanted me to be more well rounded, my father used to believe that a very busy social life wasn’t a priority, either for him or for me. It was different now. Julie had him rushing around to one social event after another. Everything was different now, and that difference was painful.

  I knew this wouldn’t end quickly. She was certain to moan and groan to my father about how worried she was about my influence on her precious little daughter, Allison. I realized that things would only get worse. With
out telling my father, she was probably going to warn Allison not to undress in front of me or report to her immediately if I touched her. It was all very sad, but my sadness quickly turned into rage, rage against those girls in school, rage against Carlton James, whose ego I had bruised and who was surely encouraging the rumors about me now, and rage against Julie, who was like a sponge soaking up the gossip and then squeezing it out at my father’s feet. She wouldn’t stop until she drowned us both.

  Unless I could find a way to stop her.

  8

  No one said any more to me that night, and my father didn’t bring up anything about it while he was taking Allison and me to school, but you could have cut the air between us with a knife. The silence was that thick. I could see the curiosity in Allison’s face. What was happening now? Apparently, Julie hadn’t said anything to her yet, but despite what she might have told my father about protecting her daughter’s innocent ears, I was confident that she would. It did occur to me that she actually believed it all.

  I was angry enough not to put on the makeup Julie had shown me how to use and not to wear any of the new clothing she had helped me pick out, but I thought I would be cutting off my nose to spite my face if I did that. My hair was now my hair. There was no change possible, and besides, if I did revert to what I had looked like, I was sure the three bitches from Macbeth would see it as some sort of a victory. Maybe they would think they had forced me to come out of the closet or something and go bragging around the school about that.

  When we arrived at school, my father let Allison get out first and then reached for my hand. “Just be careful how you handle this,” he told me. “I know you’re angry, but don’t make it worse than it is.”

  “There’s nothing to make worse, Daddy. Talk to your new wife, and tell her to chill out.”

  “Stop calling her my new wife, Mayfair. We’ve been married nearly three years.”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  “Watch yourself,” he warned. “Your attitude isn’t making any of this easier.”

  I watched him drive off and thought I was losing whatever I had left of him. Now it seemed so long ago when he had such pride in me. I could barely remember that wonderful smile on his face, that great laugh that once turned our dark days into bright sunshine. It was almost another lifetime.

  Despite my bravado, when I looked at the school entrance, I hesitated. Knowing how well these girls could spread stories through their texting, phone calls, and emails, I was sure many more students were talking about me. It was like walking into a giant spider’s web. Mr. Taylor was right about my ability to ignore my surroundings generally, but this was different. I could easily imagine the smug smiles, the gleeful eyes, and the waves of whispers following my every move. Yet turning and running would be just what they wanted me to do. They would be so satisfied, and so would Julie, I thought, despite the act she put on for my father.

  Of course, I could stare down any of them if I chose to do so or ignore any comment. I could look right through them all. After a while, there would be nothing different about my school day here. However, I was certainly not naive enough to think that this would all go away quickly. I didn’t believe they would go through with their threats, but Julie was right about the other mothers. I didn’t think she knew it at dinner, but apparently, they had made an appointment with the principal this morning. Looking out the window in my first class, a window that faced the parking lot, I saw them all arrive, gather in the parking lot, and march toward the front entrance. To me it looked like they were carrying hatchets.

  As I had suspected, the three bitches had begun spreading their rumors even before the day had ended yesterday and during the evening, and they were at it in a full-blown assault this morning to complement their mothers’ meeting with the principal, Dr. Richards, who had a doctorate in education administration. Normally, I got along well with him, because, like Mr. Martin, our guidance counselor, he treated me as someone special and was somewhat in awe of my achievements. Many times, he’d make a point of seeing me in the library or the cafeteria to find out what I was currently reading or working on, and I could see that he sincerely enjoyed some of our conversations. But I knew that administrative positions, especially those in private schools like this one, were very political appointments. The parents who were wealthier and more powerful were usually big influences, many serving on the board of directors. Even though my father was very important, I didn’t expect Dr. Richards would stick his neck out to defend me.

  And boy, did the three bitches know that. They strutted with an air of confidence through the halls, attracting other students like flies to flypaper. There was so much whispering that it created a breeze, or more of a whirlwind. I could easily imagine how they were elaborating on our confrontation in the locker room and how Carlton was embellishing it with his interpretation of our conversation in the cafeteria.

  I hadn’t seen Mr. Taylor yet. I did pass his classroom once, but he was busy with some of his students. Because he was in the junior-high wing, I didn’t think he was up on what was happening in the belly of the senior high, where all the lies and distortions were being digested.

  Toward the end of third period, I was called to the principal’s office. By now, almost every student in the senior high had heard something. Instead of everyone looking through me or ignoring me, now they were all watching me carefully, looking for some break in my armor of indifference. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought even some of the teachers were looking at me differently, perhaps anticipating some sort of breakdown.

  I was shocked to see Julie waiting in Dr. Richards’s office. She had to have arrived after the bitches of Macbeth’s mothers. The mothers were gone by now, but Mr. Martin was in Dr. Richards’s office waiting for me, too. For a moment, I stood in the doorway glaring at Julie. She looked like she had been crying. That didn’t surprise me. She could turn on her crocodile tears as easily as turning on a faucet.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, since my father wasn’t with her.

  “Come in, Mayfair,” Dr. Richards said firmly.

  Dr. Richards was a tall, lean man. He wasn’t ugly, but he had hard, sharp facial features and rather ordinary brown eyes. Like most people who were taller than six feet four, he had a tendency to slouch. When he stood up to come around his desk, I couldn’t help but think of my conversation with Mr. Taylor and his comment about my posture.

  “Please,” Dr. Richards said, extending his long arm and his hand toward the chair across from Mr. Martin and Julie. He took the chair beside the settee and sat across from me, too. They had a pot of tea, cups, and some biscuits on a tray.

  Isn’t this cozy? I thought.

  “Would you like some tea? There are some biscuits, too,” Dr. Richards said.

  “No, thank you. High tea is a little later in the day for me,” I said.

  Julie smirked and looked away as if facing me nauseated her.

  “Okay. It seems we have a little situation here,” Dr. Richards began.

  He glanced at Mr. Martin, who nodded. Everyone who cherished his or her job had to be in lockstep. That was for sure. When Julie turned back, she looked ready to burst into tears again. She took a very deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and pressed her lips together to show us all how difficult this was and how hard she was fighting to keep her composure. If I didn’t know her, I’d feel sorry for her, too, I thought.

  “If it’s a little situation, it shouldn’t be much of a problem,” I said.

  Neither man smiled.

  Julie shook her head slightly. “She’s always like this,” she said. “Smart remarks.”

  “Why did you call her and not my father?” I demanded.

  “We called your home,” Dr. Richards began.

  “Your father is at a very important meeting today,” Julie said. “I called him and told him I would handle this.”

  “Handle? What’s there to handle?” I asked Dr. Richards.

  “Some acc
usations have been made against you. Frankly, it’s not important whether these accusations are true or not. We’re not here to find that out.”

  “Why are we here?” I asked.

  “We don’t want you to be unnecessarily disturbed. We know how important a good, stable setting is for someone like you,” Dr. Richards said.

  “Someone like me?”

  “You know what we mean, Mayfair. You’re doing great work on your own. Everyone is proud of your accomplishments, your test results, the reactions from potential colleges . . .”

  “What is it you want, Dr. Richards?” I asked. “It’s not necessary to set me up for some unpleasant conclusion. Get to the point.”

  “Can’t you show some respect for your elders?” Julie snapped.

  “I thought I was being respectful by making whatever this is less painful by getting it over with, like a root canal or something,” I told her.

  “She’s right, Mrs. Cummings,” Dr. Richards said. He turned back to me. “I’ll get right to the point. We think that for the remainder of the year, you can be excused from PE. Miss Hirsch can give you some sort of exam later on and give you a passing grade.” He smiled. “I don’t imagine you’re particularly excited about PE class, anyway.”

  I looked from him to Mr. Martin. So this was their politically correct, diplomatic solution to an unpleasant problem. I felt certain that Dr. Richards had already promised the mothers of the three bitches that I would be removed from PE and therefore any physical contact with their precious daughters. I stared, shocked for a moment, fearing a scream in my throat and thankful that it just stayed there. I swallowed it back.

  “Excused from exercise?” I asked as calmly as I could manage. “No, au contraire, Dr. Richards. I think exercise is very important. Didn’t you ever hear that expression, that healthy minds and healthy bodies go hand in hand? My brain isn’t in a glass case. It’s in a body that needs to be kept strong.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, you’re right. Well, I suppose we could arrange for you to use the gym when it’s free and . . .” He looked at Mr. Martin, who nodded quickly.