Saturday Night

  With a grand motion that matched the sweep of his mustache, the doorman graciously helped Anne over the puddles and up the wide shallow steps into the foyer. No, no, no! she thought. Drive me home! I want to go home. I want to be my mother’s little girl and have nothing to do but line up my Barbie dolls in their Barbie playhouse. I want to be Anne the perfect daughter, Anne, the perfect granddaughter. I don’t want—

  But they were in the school.

  It smelled like school. No matter what Kip did, the smell of school would never leave these halls. People and books, sweaty gym socks and leaking pens, clean paper and illicit smoking.

  The doorman left her for the next car.

  She had never felt so out of control. She felt papery, as if she could be crumpled and tossed away without effort.

  The doorman brought Molly in.

  “Ooooh, Anne,” squealed Molly. “You look absolutely lovely. I adore your dress.”

  With tremendous effort Anne said, “Thank you, Molly. You look lovely, too.” It sounded fake, it was fake, and Molly knew it. She maintained courtesy, but Anne knew with a sinking heart that Molly would be difficult all night. Molly had a real ability to damage people. Boys never seemed to notice, but then, as she knew to her cost, boys were thicker than cement all the time, anyway. Molly’s eyes narrowed, and her laugh turned spiteful. Anne turned away and studied the wall, and in that moment made her fatal mistake.

  Turn away from me? Molly thought with concealed rage. Pretend I’m not standing here, when we’re the only two people in this entire foyer? Who do you think you are, Anne Stephens?

  The doors were flung open, both at the same time, and two boys entered, without the doorman.

  Con. Perfect. Grinning at her. Rain running off his hair. She could not move toward him.

  Molly went instantly to her date and snuggled against him in spite of the rain. Con’s eyes rested on Molly for several seconds. Before he walked to Anne he said, “Hello, Molly. Evening, Christopher.”

  Christopher Vann, that’s who her date was! Anne remembered him now. Two years ago he’d been everything. Football captain, soccer co-captain, basketball guard, the whole jock career. Christopher was at Harvard now. For Molly he had flown home to go to a high school dance? Wow.

  Christopher put out a hand to shake with Con and Anne knew instantly that Christopher was drunk. Don’t get involved with them, Con, she thought, horrified. Vividly she remembered that Christopher could get rough. He was always the first to foul out in a game, the first to start a fight, the first to swear … and the last to stop.

  She walked up to Christopher, Molly, and Con, and took Con’s arm to turn him toward her.

  Molly’s long lashes followed this gesture and Molly laughed, and Con and Anne could read the laugh as if it were the page of a book—What’s the matter, Anne? Afraid Con’s too interested in me?

  “Let’s go on in and see Kip’s decorations,” said Anne in a brittle, bright voice.

  Con went with her. “What’s the matter with you?” he said, faintly irritable. “You weren’t exactly friendly to them.”

  “I don’t exactly like them.”

  “Oh, that’s a great attitude to start the evening with, Anne,” said Con. “Now listen, if you can’t be cheerful, forget it. You’ve been moody for days. It’s getting on my nerves.”

  Anne trembled. Ahead of them Molly wrapped herself around Christopher and they swayed from side to side, dancing to inaudible music, or perhaps holding each other up. Behind them somebody else walked. Anne could hear the sound of the dress rustling, but lacked the curiosity to turn to see who it was.

  With the worst possible timing, at the worst possible moment Anne whispered, “I’m not moody, Con. I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter 6

  THERE SHOULD BE A rule, Kip thought. Never drive a car that has manual transmission while wearing a floor-length gown.

  Her gleaming satin slippers were pressed where usually only dirty sneakers lay. She had had to yank up the ruffles of peach and rose around her knees to keep it off the floor. The unused bottoms of her slippers slithered over the brakes ineffectually.

  I can’t believe I’m driving, Kip thought. And of course Roddy lives in a subdivision still under construction. Of course I have to drive over sewer pipe bumps and around lanterns I can barely see in the rain, and of course he said, “Oh, my house is easy to find, it’s the gray one,” and of course it’s dark and every single house in the whole stupid neighborhood looks gray.

  She saw Roddy by the side of the road. He was wearing a raincoat and holding a newspaper over his head. The newspaper was drenched and flattened into pulp that drooped onto his hair.

  Great, Kip thought. I’m going to the dance with a wet nerd. Just what I’ve always yearned to do. “Well, for heaven’s sake, get in!” she shrieked over the thunder. “Who do you think it is in this car?” she muttered more quietly. “Santa Claus?”

  Roddy got in, soaking her upholstery, like a kid from the beach who forgot his towel. He wasn’t quite so dull-looking as she remembered. In fact he was okay-looking. Just very wet. “Hi, Roddy,” she said tonelessly. She was desperately regretting her decision to go with him, but fatalism had set in. She was in motion now, there was no stopping the events to come, and if she were meant to suffer total humiliation in front of every person she knew or cared about, so be it.

  Roddy said, “Hi, Kip. Thanks a lot for coming. Do you mind turning the heat up a little? I’m kind of chilled. I thought you’d be here quicker.”

  I hate boys who get cold and chilled, she thought. I like boys who show up in January wearing sleeveless sweat shirts, complaining they’re suffering of heat prostration.

  She turned up the heat. Roddy put his hands in front of the vents, shivered noticeably, and said, “Gee, we’re going to have fun, aren’t we?”

  Kip lived by certain rules. One that she never broke was that if she intended to do something anyway, she would do it courteously and to the best of her ability.

  Now it struck her as a very stupid rule. Why should she have this stupid date with a smile? Why should she work hard to make the evening pleasant? She always worked hard, and where did it get her? Nowhere. Roddy was the jerk who’d called and she was the jerk who’d said yes. Let it all go down the tubes. She didn’t care.

  She said nothing to him.

  Roddy looked at her nervously. She hated nervous people. She liked solid secure people who got things done.

  Silently they crossed Westerly, paying no attention to the storm or their surroundings, saying nothing, Kip caught in her bitterness, Roddy caught in his embarrassment.

  Con said flatly, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He kept right on walking. Molly and Christopher were the same distance ahead, and whoever was behind them was the same distance behind. It had never crossed Anne’s mind that Con would simply dismiss the idea of her being pregnant. “But Con …” she said. Doubt and hope entered Anne in spite of herself. Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe the tests had been wrong. Maybe she should go to another doctor.

  “We always used stuff,” said Con impatiently. He detested the real names of any contraceptives. Stuff was his word. “Let’s not ruin a perfectly nice evening. You aren’t. Okay?”

  Anne came to a halt. “Except sometimes we didn’t bother,” she said.

  Con’s eyes found a spot on the wall above and to the left of her.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said, not looking at her.

  She was filled with rage and terror, but even more with a dreadful need to placate him. He mustn’t get mad at her. She needed him. “Okay,” she said, “this is the wrong time. But Con, there is no time. We—we have to—talk—about—about—”

  She couldn’t say the real words, either. Words like baby, illegitimate, childbirth, abortion, adoption, marriage—all those caught, snagged by fear, and didn’t come out of her mouth. “Stuff,” she said lamely.

  Con put his arm around her waist and began walking again. She could
not believe it. In a moment they would have caught up to Molly and Christopher. “Con,” she whispered.

  His fingers tightened painfully around her. His lips came right to her ear, as if he were nuzzling her lovingly. “I could kill you for bringing this up now. Don’t you dare do it again,” he hissed.

  She was so cold now her back ached.

  Molly’s rich laugh rang out. “No, no, you guys. The way it works is, you walk inside, and kiss under Kip’s little rose arbor, and get immortalized on film.”

  “Expensive film,” added Christopher.

  “Oh, is that how it works,” said Con, laughing.

  Anne struggled to laugh with him. Nothing came to her face but fear and anger, and that she could not show. She kept it blank instead, and again she saw Molly’s expression—Oh, Anne won’t laugh with me, huh? said Molly’s vivid features.

  Anne looked at Con. This is my fault, she thought. Any girl with half a brain would have planned this conversation better. I—

  And then she thought, Now wait a minute. He’s the father. He should have planned a little better. Who is he to complain? Is he pregnant?

  “Poor Kip,” said Molly. “She did such a nice job on decorations and nobody asked her to her own dance. Isn’t that sad?”

  You stinker, Anne thought. You haven’t even seen the decorations yet. You just want to announce somebody’s bad luck and jeer at somebody who’s not here to defend herself.

  “Kip doesn’t have a date?” repeated Con, visibly amazed.

  Now the coldness shivered up Anne’s spine, settling in her skull, throbbing like a glacial headache. He likes Kip. If he leaves me, will he turn around the next night and call another girl? Kip, say? Could Con do that—after three years with me?

  Con was not looking at Anne. He walked her into the gym, and they were, and she knew it, the picture of romance. A kneeling photographer caught them, bulb flashing. Con was laughing, pressing his cheek against hers, looking right into the flash.

  He won’t look at me again, she realized. That might make it real. He’ll get through this entire evening without letting it get real.

  She stared at the cafeteria and knew in a moment that Con could pull it off. Because Kip had succeeded beyond anybody’s wildest dreams. The cafeteria was no longer real: It was a fantasy of fallen leaves and shining stars.

  Hundreds of brilliantly colored autumn leaves hung from invisible wires strung across the ceiling. An actual fountain splashed gently on rocks. Behind it greenery formed a wreath for two benches. Already coins twinkled in the water where couples had made wishes. If a penny would make my wish come true, Anne thought ruefully, I’d sit all night by that fountain.

  Baskets of flowers, stacked pumpkins, and split rail fences flanked a scarlet runner that led to a barnboard refreshment stand. Behind bales of hay, junior high girls dressed in white lace and black cotton maid costumes were serving cider and wedges of apple pie. A wheelbarrow piled high with real autumn leaves stood next to an old wooden porch swing.

  Beyond lay the dance floor.

  No d.j. for this dance! A live band, dressed in Anne’s colors: electric screaming royal blue, threaded with silver, flashing with rhinestones, instruments gleaming in the musicians’ hands. The drummer nodded hypnotically over his drums. The singer’s mouth was wed to his mike.

  Above them were no autumn leaves. The ceiling was hung with stars of mylar, and the lighting pointed up and the stars glistened. A break in the forest … a setting for romance.

  Anne and Con were instantly the center of action. For the first time Anne realized that it was Con who attracted the groups of kids, not herself. She was not participating; she simply stood there while Con hugged her waist, tugging her close, releasing her, tugging her close again, at whatever beat the drummer set.

  She was terribly aware that all these people saying hello, and laughing, and clapping Con on the shoulder were his friends, or perhaps their friends, but none of them were her friends. Oh, Con, she thought, choking with fear, oh Con, don’t be mad at me, don’t leave me, I have no one else, I can’t go home and face my mother and my grandmother without you, oh, Con, please. …

  Into her hair Con whispered, “Smile.”

  She smiled. She said the right things. She even managed to laugh at the appropriate moments. I’m pregnant, she thought at them. What would you do if I told you that? Would you laugh like Con? Would you say, don’t be ridiculous, Anne, you’re perfect, you don’t do things like that?

  Maybe that’s what people normally do when somebody tells them something they don’t want to hear, Anne thought. What would I say in Con’s place? If he said to me, Your father’s dead. Your house burned down. Your country is at war. Would I say, Don’t be ridiculous, Con. Stop trying to ruin my evening.

  “If I know Kip,” said Con, “there’s enough food for an army tonight. Let’s go pig out.”

  She could barely talk, let alone swallow food. She nodded brightly, and a whole crowd of them headed for the scarlet path. Kip’s arrangement forced them to walk only two abreast, and they marched, like soldiers, headed for food. Everybody joked.

  Not one person noticed anything wrong with Anne. She had never been so aware that she was merely Con’s girl, not Anne Stephens. As long as Con laughed, they would just assume she was laughing, too. They would never really look to see.

  Never in her life had Beth Rose Chapman done anything so difficult as walk down that corridor after Anne and Con. The closeness of them! The way Con had his arm around her. The way he paused to brush his lips over her burnished gold hair and whispered lovingly.

  Beth’s heart hurt. I don’t have that kind of love, she thought. Did I think I was going to come here and find it waiting for me, like a package on layaway?

  She could hide out in the lavatory for two hours, telephone home, fib about the dance.

  “After you,” said a gallant male voice, and Con laughed and took Anne ahead of another couple. Beth Rose drew inexorably nearer. The other couple were Molly and some older, handsome, wonderful-looking guy.

  “What a beautiful dress!” exclaimed Molly, as Beth Rose came up to them.

  Molly, who could get boys the way Beth could get ducks when she flung stale bread into the pond. “Here, duck, duck, duck,” Beth would call, and the ducks came. “Here, boys, boys, boys,” Molly would call, and the boys came.

  “Thank you,” Beth said.

  Molly’s eyes had been on the dress exclusively; she had not so much as bothered to look high enough to see who was wearing it. If Beth had kept silent she would have been all right. Now Molly glanced at her. “Why, Beth,” she said sweetly. “I didn’t expect to see you at the dance.”

  Of course not. Beth was the last person a boy would think of asking. Don’t ask me where my date is, prayed Beth.

  Molly said, “Where’s your date? Who’d you come with?”

  Beth thought up a good lie, rehearsed it, and accidentally said, “I came alone.”

  Molly stared at her. “Alone?” she repeated, as if this were a crime. She turned to her date. “Chrissie, darling,” she said, “you’ve got to dance once with Bethie. Just once. Promise me now. It’ll make her evening. Promise?”

  “Okay,” said Christopher. “She can be my good deed for the night.” He howled with laughter.

  You don’t die of humiliation, Beth thought. You suffer over and over.

  Molly and Christopher sauntered through the rose arbor, Molly flouncing, Christopher lurching.

  Beth followed them quickly, slipping in and over to the side, escaping the photographer’s attention.

  “You’re shaking all over,” said Matt. “I guess you got pretty wet after all. Shrug off that coat, because it must be wet through, and get closer to the heater.”

  She was shivering because of him: his nearness, his presence. But she shrugged off the coat, as he had told her, because now her skin would be bare and she wanted him to touch her.

  What would the other kids at the dance think when she and
Matt walked in? Would they figure he was some cousin taking pity on her? Or decide Emily had finally blossomed and richly deserved this great guy?

  “You know,” said Matt, “I’m just driving along here. I don’t have any idea where I am or where I’m going. You want me to turn off this road or shall we just cruise all night long?”

  She laughed and looked around for landmarks. It was surprisingly hard to figure out where they were. The rain was thick. How could rain be thick? “We’ve gone past the turn we should have taken,” she said. “Well, don’t turn around. Keep going. We’ll take another way. Go past this intersection, and down there, where that truck is, turn left.”

  “I obey, my lady,” said Matt, gently touching her bare shoulder and moving away from her as if it stung. Emily understood. It stung her, too, sending threads of desire through her like a sticky web.

  He has to have a girlfriend back home, Emily thought. How could he not have one? Is he taking me to this dance on the sly? Cheating on her? Or is he between girls, and I’m good filler on a dull weekend?

  “So one thing I know for sure, Emily,” Matt said. “You don’t like student government conferences. What do you like? I was talking to my mother before I left tonight and she says, ‘So what are you two going to talk about?’ and I said, ‘Beats me,’ and my father said, ‘Find out what she’s interested in and talk about that.’ So give me a list. What are you interested in?”

  She giggled. “The world. Truth, beauty, and the meaning of life. Also, baseball, crosswords, and saxophone.”

  “Emily,” said Matt, turning left where she pointed, “I think we have a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We have absolutely nothing in common. I do not care about truth, beauty, or the meaning of life; I am interested in ice hockey, cars, and rock music.”

  “We’ll compromise,” said Emily. “I’ll skip crossword puzzles if you’ll skip ice hockey.”