The first day at school went well enough, but it took a sudden turn for the worse when classes were dismissed and the students poured out the school doors into the playground and parking lot. Fenwick had been waiting in the playground, standing beside the Rolls in his black chauffeur’s uniform. The older children had stopped and stared—and then identified her as being rich, ergo “different.”
That alone was enough to make them wary and distant, but by the end of the week, they’d also discovered other things about “the rich girl” that set her apart: For one thing, Meredith Bancroft spoke more like an adult than a child; in addition, she didn’t know how to play any of the games they played at recess, and when she did play them, her unfamiliarity made her seem clumsy. Worst of all, within days, she was teacher’s pet because she was smart.
Within a month, Meredith had been judged by all her peers and branded as an outsider, an alien being from another world, to be ostracized by all. Perhaps if she’d been pretty enough to inspire admiration, it would have helped in time, but she wasn’t. When she was nine she arrived at school wearing glasses. At twelve she had braces; at thirteen, she was the tallest girl in her class.
A week ago, years after Meredith had despaired of ever having a real friend, everything had changed. Lisa Pontini had enrolled in the eighth grade at St. Stephen’s. An inch taller than Meredith, Lisa moved like a model and answered complicated algebra questions like a bored scholar. At noon that same day, Meredith had been sitting on a low stone wall on the perimeter of the school grounds, eating her lunch, exactly as she did every day, with a book open in her lap. Originally, she’d started bringing a book to read because it dulled the feeling of being isolated and conspicuous. By fifth grade she’d become an avid reader.
She’d been about to turn a page when a pair of scuffed oxfords entered her line of vision, and there was Lisa Pontini, looking curiously at her. With Lisa’s vivid coloring and mass of auburn hair, she was Meredith’s complete opposite; moreover, there was an indefinable air of daring confidence about Lisa that gave her what Seventeen magazine called panache. Instead of wearing her gray school sweater with its school emblem demurely over her shoulders as Meredith did, Lisa had tied the sleeves in a loose knot over her breasts.
“God, what a dump!” Lisa announced, sitting down beside Meredith and looking around at the school grounds. “I’ve never seen so many short boys in my life. They must put something in the drinking fountains here that stunts their growth! What’s your average?”
Grades at St. Stephen’s were expressed in percentiles carried out to a precise decimal point. “It’s 97.8,” Meredith said, a little dazed by Lisa’s rapid remarks and unexpected sociability.
“Mine’s 98.1,” Lisa countered, and Meredith noticed that Lisa’s ears were pierced. Earrings and lipstick were forbidden on the school grounds. While Meredith was noting all that, Lisa was looking her over too. With a puzzled smile, she demanded bluntly, “Are you a loner by choice or are you some sort of outcast?”
“I never thought about it,” Meredith lied.
“How long do you have to wear those braces?”
“Another year,” Meredith said, deciding she didn’t like Lisa Pontini at all. She closed her book and stood up, glad the bell was about to ring.
That afternoon, as was the custom on the last Friday of every month, the students lined up in church to confess their sins to St. Stephen’s priests. Feeling, as always, like a disgraceful sinner, Meredith knelt in the confessional, and told her misdemeanors to Father Vickers, including such sins as disliking Sister Mary Lawrence and spending too much time thinking about her appearance. Finished, she held the door open for the next person, then she knelt in a pew and said her assigned prayers of penance.
Since students were allowed to leave for the day after that, Meredith went outside to wait for Fenwick. A few minutes later, Lisa walked down the church steps, putting on her jacket. Still flinching from Lisa’s comments about her being a loner and having to wear braces, Meredith watched warily as the other girl looked around and then sauntered over to her.
“Would you believe,” Lisa announced, “Vickers told me to say a whole rosary tonight for penance for a little necking? I’d hate to think what penance he hands out for French kissing!” she added with an impudent grin, sitting down on the ledge beside Meredith.
Meredith hadn’t known that one’s nationality determined the way a person kissed, but she assumed from Lisa’s remark that however the French did it, the priests definitely didn’t want St. Stephen’s students doing it. Trying to look worldly, she said, “For kissing that way, Father Vickers makes you clean the church.”
Lisa giggled, studying Meredith with curiosity. “Does your boyfriend wear braces too?”
Meredith thought of Parker and shook her head.
“That’s good,” Lisa said with an infectious grin. “I always wondered how two people with braces could possibly kiss and not get stuck together. My boyfriend’s name is Mario Campano. He’s tall, dark, and handsome. What’s your boyfriend’s name? What’s he like?”
Meredith glanced at the street, hoping Fenwick wouldn’t remember that school got out early today. Although she was uneasy with the topic of conversation, Lisa Pontini fascinated her, and Meredith sensed that for some reason the other girl truly wanted to be friends. “He’s eighteen and he looks,” Meredith said honestly, “like Robert Redford. His name is Parker.”
“What’s his first name?”
“That is his first name. His last name is Reynolds.”
“Parker Reynolds,” Lisa repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Sounds like a society snob. Is he good at it?”
“At what?”
“Kissing, of course.”
“Oh. Well—yes. Absolutely fantastic.”
Lisa sent her a mocking look. “He’s never kissed you. Your face turns pink when you lie.”
Meredith stood up abruptly. “Now, look,” she began angrily. “I didn’t ask you to come over here, and I—”
“Hey, don’t get into a sweat over it. Kissing isn’t all that wonderful. I mean, the first time Mario kissed me, it was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.”
Meredith’s anger evaporated now that Lisa was about to confess something about herself, and she sat back down. “It was embarrassing because he kissed you?”
“No, it was embarrassing because I leaned against the front door when he did it, and my shoulder hit the doorbell. My father pulled the door open, and I went crashing backwards into his arms with Mario still holding on to me for dear life. It took ages to untangle all three of us on the floor.”
Meredith’s shriek of laughter was abruptly terminated by the sight of the Rolls turning the corner. “There’s my—my ride,” she hedged, sobering.
Lisa glanced sideways and gaped. “Jesus, is that a Rolls?”
Nodding uncomfortably, Meredith said with a shrug as she picked up her books, “I live a long way from here, and my father doesn’t want me to take the bus.”
“Your dad’s a chauffeur, huh?” Lisa said, walking with Meredith toward the car. “It must be great to be able to ride around in a car like that, pretending you’re rich.” Without waiting for Meredith to answer, she said, “My dad’s a pipe fitter. His union’s on strike right now, so we moved here where the rent’s even cheaper. You know how that goes.”
Meredith had no idea “how that goes” from any personal experience, but she knew from her father’s angry tirades what effect unions and strikes had on business owners like the Bancrofts. Even so, she nodded in sympathetic reaction to Lisa’s grim sigh. “It must be tough,” she said, and then impulsively added, “Do you want a ride home?”
“Do I! No, wait—can I do it next week? I’ve got seven brothers and sisters, and my ma will have twenty chores for me to do. I’d rather hang around here a little while, and then get home at the normal time.”
That had been a week ago, and the tentative friendship that began that day had blossomed and grown, nourish
ed by more exchanged confidences and laughing admissions. Now, as Meredith sat gazing at Parker’s picture in the scrapbook and thinking about the dance Saturday night, she decided to ask Lisa for advice at school tomorrow. Lisa knew a lot about hairstyles and things. Perhaps she could suggest something that would make Meredith more attractive to Parker.
She followed through with that plan as they sat outside, eating their lunch the next day. “What do you think?” she asked Lisa. “Other than having plastic surgery, is there anything I could do to myself that would really make a difference by tomorrow night—anything at all that would make Parker see me as older and pretty?”
Before replying, Lisa subjected her to a long, thorough scrutiny. “Those glasses and braces aren’t exactly inspirations to passion, you know,” she joked. “Take off your glasses and stand up.”
Meredith complied, then waited in amused chagrin as Lisa strolled around her, looking her over. “You really go out of your way to look plain,” Lisa concluded. “You have great eyes and hair. If you’d use a little makeup, take off your glasses, and do something different with your hair, ol’ Parker might just give you a second look tomorrow night.”
“Do you really think he would?” Meredith asked, her heart in her eyes as she thought of him.
“I said he might.” Lisa corrected Meredith with ruthless honesty. “He’s an older man, so your age is a drawback. What answer did you get for that last problem on the math test this morning?”
In the week they’d been friends, Meredith had become accustomed to Lisa’s rapid-fire changes of topic. It was as if she were too bright to concentrate on only one topic at a time. Meredith told her the answer she’d gotten, and Lisa said, “That’s the same one I got. With two brains like ours,” she teased, “it’s obvious that’s the right answer. Did you know everyone in this dumpy school thinks that Rolls belongs to your dad?”
“I never told them it didn’t,” Meredith said truthfully.
Lisa bit into her apple and nodded. “Why should you? If they’re so dumb they think a rich kid would go to school here, I’d probably let them think the same thing.”
That afternoon after school, Lisa was again willing to have Meredith’s “father” drive her home as Fenwick had reluctantly agreed to do all week. When the Rolls pulled up in front of the brown brick bungalow where the Pontinis lived, Meredith took in the usual tangle of kids and toys in the front yard. Lisa’s mother was standing on the front porch, wrapped in her ever-present apron. “Lisa,” she called, her voice heavily accented with Italian, “Mario’s on the phone. He wants to talk to you. Hiya, Meredith,” she added with a wave. “You stay for supper soon. You stay the night too, so your papa don’t have to drive out here late to bring you home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pontini,” Meredith called, waving back from the car. “I will.” It was the way Meredith had always dreamed it would be—having a friend to confide in, being invited to stay overnight, and she was euphoric.
Lisa shut the car door and leaned in the window.
“Your mother said Mario is on the phone,” Meredith reminded her.
“It’s good to keep a guy waiting,” Lisa said, “it keeps him guessing. Now, don’t forget to call me Sunday and tell me everything that happens with Parker tomorrow night. I wish I could do your hair before you leave for the dance.”
“I wish you could too,” Meredith said, although she knew she’d never be able to prevent Lisa from discovering that Fenwick wasn’t her father if she came to the house. Each day she’d intended to confess the truth, and each day she stalled, telling herself that the longer Lisa knew the real her, the less difference it would make to Lisa whether Meredith’s father was rich or poor. Wistfully, she continued, “If you came over tomorrow, you could spend the night. While I was at the dance, you could do homework, then when I got back home, I could tell you how it went.”
“But I can’t. I have a date with Mario tomorrow night,” Lisa remarked unnecessarily. Meredith had been stunned that Lisa’s parents permitted her to go out with boys at fourteen, but Lisa had only laughed and said Mario wouldn’t dare get out of line because he knew her father and uncles would come after him if he did. Shoving away from the car, Lisa said, “Just remember what I told you, okay? Flirt with Parker and look into his eyes. And wear your hair up, so you look more sophisticated.”
All the way home, Meredith tried to imagine actually flirting with Parker. His birthday was the day after tomorrow—she’d memorized that fact a year ago, when she first realized she was falling in love with him. Last week she’d spent an hour in the drugstore looking for the right card to give him tomorrow night, but the cards that said what she really felt would have been much, much too gushy. Naive though she was, she figured Parker wouldn’t appreciate a card that said on the front “To my one and only love . . .” So she’d regretfully had to settle for one that said “Happy Birthday to a Special Friend.”
Leaning her head back, Meredith closed her eyes, smiling dreamily as she pictured herself looking like a gorgeous model, saying witty, clever things while Parker hung on to her every word.
2
With a sinking heart Meredith stared at herself in the mirror while Mrs. Ellis stood back, nodding approval. When Mrs. Ellis and she had gone shopping last week, the velvet dress had seemed to be a glowing topaz. Tonight it looked like metallic brown velvet, and her shoes that had been dyed to match had a matronly look with their short, stocky heels. Mrs. Ellis’s taste ran to the matronly, Meredith knew; moreover, she and Meredith had both been under her father’s strictures to choose a dress that was “suitable for a young girl of Meredith’s age and upbringing.” They’d brought three dresses home for Meredith’s father’s approval, and this was the only one that he hadn’t felt was entirely too “bare” or too “flimsy.”
The only thing about her appearance that didn’t fill Meredith with dismay was her hair. Normally she wore her straight shoulder-length hair parted on the side with one barrette above the ear, but Lisa’s remarks had convinced her she did need a new, more sophisticated style. Tonight she’d persuaded Mrs. Ellis to do it up in a cluster of thick curls at the crown with little tendrils at the ears, and Meredith thought it looked very nice.
“Meredith,” her father said, walking into her room, leafing through a handful of opera tickets, “Park Reynolds needed two extra tickets to Rigoletto, and I told him he could use ours. Would you give these to young Parker tonight, when you—” He looked up, his eyes riveting on her, and scowled. “What have you done to your hair?” he snapped.
“I thought I’d wear it up tonight.”
“I prefer your hair the way you usually wear it, Meredith.” Bending a look of dark displeasure on Mrs. Ellis, he said, “When you came into my employ, madam, I thought we agreed that in addition to your supervisory duties as housekeeper, you would also advise my daughter on feminine matters when necessary. Is that hairdo your idea of—”
“I specifically asked Mrs. Ellis to help me do my hair this way, Father,” Meredith intervened as Mrs. Ellis turned pale and began to tremble.
“In that case, you should have asked her advice,” Philip said, “instead of telling her what you wanted her to do.”
“Yes, of course,” Meredith said. She hated to disappoint her father or annoy him. He made her feel as if she were singularly responsible for the success or failure of his entire day or night if she spoiled his mood.
“Well, no harm done,” he conceded, seeing that Meredith was properly contrite. “Mrs. Ellis can fix up your hair before you leave. I brought you something, my dear. A necklace,” he added, withdrawing a flat, dark green velvet case from his pocket. “You may wear it tonight—it will look very well with your gown.” Meredith waited while he fidgeted with the clasp, imagining a gold locket perhaps or—“These are your grandmother Bancroft’s pearls,” he announced, and it took an effort for her to hide her dismay while he withdrew the long strand of fat pearls. “Turn around and I’ll fasten them.”
Twenty
minutes later, Meredith stood before the mirror, trying valiantly to convince herself she looked nice. Her hair was restyled in the same straight, girlish fashion she always wore, but the pearls were the last straw. Her grandmother had worn them nearly every day of her life; she’d died wearing them, and now they felt like leaden weights against Meredith’s nonexistent bosom. “Excuse me, miss.” The family butler’s voice outside her door brought her whirling around. “There’s a Miss Pontini downstairs who claims to be a school friend of yours.”
Trapped, Meredith sank down on the side of her bed, thinking madly for some way out of this, but there was none and she knew it. “Would you bring her here, please.”
A minute later Lisa walked in and looked around the room as if she’d suddenly found herself on a strange planet. “I tried to call,” she said, “but your telephone was busy for an hour, so I decided to take a chance and come over.” Pausing, she turned in a half circle, studying everything. “Who owns this pile of rocks anyway?”
At any other time, that irreverent description of this house would have made Meredith giggle. Now she could only say in a small, strained voice, “My father does.”
Lisa’s expression hardened. “I pretty much figured that out when the man who answered the front door called you Miss Meredith in the same voice Father Vickers says ‘Holy Virgin Mary.’ ” Turning on her heel, Lisa started for the door.
“Lisa, wait!” Meredith pleaded.
“You’ve had your little joke. This has really been a great day,” Lisa added sarcastically, whirling back around. “First Mario takes me out for a ride and tries to get my clothes off—and when I go over to my ‘friend’s’ house, I find out she’s been making a fool of me.”
“No, I haven’t!” Meredith cried. “I let you think Fenwick—our chauffeur—was my father because I was afraid the truth would come between us.”
“Oh, sure. Right,” Lisa countered with scornful disbelief. “Rich little you desperately wanted to be friends with poor little me. I’ll bet you and all your rich friends have been laughing about my ma begging you to have spaghetti with us and—”