Saturday Night (13 page)

Quick. Run get Anne, throw her back in Con’s arms, sit down next to Gary before he’s gone, she thought.

“And the lace,” said Sue enthusiastically. “I just love that lace.”

“Is it supposed to be gray?” Caitlin asked.

“I’m sure it was always gray,” said Sue immediately. “I think pink and gray is such a sophisticated combination. I love it on you, Beth Rose.”

They smiled at Beth, as if conferring honors on her.
You, too, are sophisticated, like us.
She wanted to stay with them forever, being one of their crowd, laughing with them, talking about clothes with them, as if she belonged.

But she had other things to do. When Sue and Caitlin finally turned back to their very bored dates (few boys in the room cared whether lace was ivory or gray) Beth Rose whirled to get to the bathroom.

And bumped into Christopher Vann.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, hardly glancing at him, trying to steer around him.

He stepped the same direction she did, so that she had to move back again. He did the same. “Sorry,” she mumbled again, blushing. She knew that Caitlin and Sue were watching, and amused by her clumsiness. And with Molly’s date, of all people!

But the next time it happened she knew he was doing it on purpose, like an obnoxious fourth grader. She looked up at him. And up some more. He was very tall. And very wide.

And very drunk.

“’Lo there, my dear,” he said to Beth Rose. “Great dress. I like your dress. Better than Molly’s old rag.”

Beth did not dare look at Molly to check whether her dress really was an old rag. “Nonsense,” said Beth. “Molly looks beautiful.” She angled past. Christopher didn’t let her.

“Excuse me, please,” she said to him.

“Where you going?” he demanded loudly. He put his hand on her shoulder. A little lower than her shoulder, but not quite on her breast.

She would have expected anger, but the emotion that came to her was fear. She hated his hand touching her. It frightened her, the way it lay there, large and possessive.

“Chrissie, let’s dance,” said Molly quickly.

Beth Rose wasn’t being rescued; Molly just didn’t like Christopher’s affections—if that was the word—going elsewhere.

“Don’t wanna dance,” said Christopher, shaking his head several times. Like a cow about to moo, thought Beth Rose.

“I’m dancing with this girl,” he said to Molly. “I like her dress best. This is Harvard stuff, this dress. Yours came off some damn discount rack. Her dress here, this is the real thing. You look at this girl, Molly, you take lessons from her.”

Beth Rose was afraid even to glance at Molly to see how Molly took that.

“In fact, I think this dress would look better without all the lace,” said Christopher, and his hand closed on the fabric that gently gathered just above her breasts.

She was afraid to jerk away because then the dress would definitely tear, and afraid not to—because Christopher was enjoying himself enough to go ahead and rip the dress right in front of the whole room.

She just knew that Sue and Caitlin and their dates were staring. “Let go or I’ll kick you,” Beth hissed.

Christopher laughed happily. “I like that in a girl,” he said, nodding.

“Now Chrissie, there isn’t all that much to explore on Beth,” said Molly, slithering in between them. “You’re not deserting your cute little Gary so soon, are you, Bethie? Well, I don’t suppose you can desert him faster than he deserts you.”

Beth stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Molly laughed. “Gary hasn’t got much of an attention span. From one girl to another, Beth, he isn’t even a one-night stand. More of a one-dance stand, if you ask me.”

Christopher let go of Beth’s dress. He put his heavy hand on Molly instead. Beth Rose shuddered and ducked under Christopher’s arm. “For
you
he was probably a one-night stand, Moll,” said Christopher. “For whatshername he might last longer. Girls like Anne Stephens. I like her. Probably would last with a girl like Anne Stephens. Pretty girl.”

“Pretty pregnant,” said Molly clearly.

Beth left as fast as she could.

A
NNE HAD NEVER MEANT
to deceive anybody. She was an open, happy person, and if somebody had asked her, when she was fourteen, if she would make a career of lying to her family, she would have been shocked.

She was still shocked.

Perhaps the reason she got away with it was because Anne still thought of herself as the kind of girl who would never lie to her mother.

The reason it was so easy was the way Con’s family lived. If they were almost finished restoring the house they lived in, then his mother was sure to have bought a new house, and be spending all her time there working with the carpenters or consulting with the furnace men. If they’d just moved into the new house, and it was filled with masons and floor-refinishers, probably the old house was not yet sold … and probably Con still had his key.

We’re going bowling, Mom.

That’s nice, honey. Have a good time.

Parts of it were good. She did love Con. But letting themselves into a vacant house, where the heat was turned off and the furniture was gone, using the football blanket from the trunk of the car, going afterwards to the bathroom with no towels, no soap?

Anne cringed thinking about it.

Once they got caught by a realtor showing a family through the house. When they heard the key turn in the lock downstairs, they were up and leaping into their clothes in a heartbeat. Anne would not have thought zippers and buttons could close so quickly. Con was down the steps before the potential buyers got to the kitchen, smiling at the realtor, saying he was trying to find a hammer he’d left behind.

“Oh, we’ll keep our eyes open for it,” said the man who was thinking of buying the house.

“It’s a special one,” said Con. “It was my first one. My grandfather gave it to me when I was about seven. You’ll know it because it has a very worn wooden handle.”

Con’s grandfather had died before Con was born, but it made a good line. Anne got the blanket folded and slipped out of the house into Con’s car, and nobody even knew she was there.

Con’s parents never noticed where he was or wasn’t. They let Con make his own decisions. By and large, he made good ones. Anne should know. She was always part of them.

She thought about Con’s decisions.

He was the one who chose whether or not to spend time with Anne. She was the one who waited, and after she knew what he planned, built her own plans around them.

How reasonable it had always seemed!

Con did not smother her, the way her mother and grandmother did, nor did she smother Con. She and Con rarely argued, never fought. Now she realized why. She had never demanded anything of him. All by himself, he was charming, funny, interesting, and
there
. But when had she ever asked for more?

I’ve dated him for three years, Anne thought, and slept with him for one, and now for the first time I see that I don’t know him.

Her mind ran over any other disagreements they’d ever had. Con liked things to go smoothly. Whenever things got the least little bit rough, he’d buy his way out. “We’ll go into town and shop for those earrings you like,” he’d tell her. Somehow she would forget about the argument, or else it would seem too petty to resurrect.

Besides, weren’t the earrings—and the bangle bracelet, and the gold necklace—weren’t they proof of Con’s love?

Now she thought they were not proof of anything at all, except that Con didn’t want to argue, and happened to have some cash.

What would happen if we
had
to argue? she thought.

Because this time we
have
to. I don’t know what I think. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what is the best thing to do. I want to hear what he says and I want to thrash it out.

Kip said, “Anne, I just can’t believe that Con will dump you. He’s too terrific a person. He loves you too much.”

“He loves me a lot,” said Anne slowly, “but I’m afraid when the going gets tough, Con will simply sail on smoother waters.”

Kip was upset by that. “I should think you’d have more faith in him than that,” she said, thinking,
Three years?
Three years she’s given to this guy and made love with him and she doesn’t know whether he’s good, bad, or indifferent?

Anne felt old. Oh, so much older than Kip! How to explain that until now she had had nothing but faith?

Perhaps faith was a thing you didn’t know if you had until it was tested.

Anne washed her face with a paper towel. In the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom, she and Kip examined her makeup. “This is my only slip-up,” Kip told Anne. “I meant to get new lighting in here before the dance.”

Anne had to laugh. “Oh, Kip,” she said, hugging her, “I feel so much better. Isn’t that crazy? But just telling you and I’m better.”

I’m better, too, thought Kip. I don’t like the position I’m in, but I
really
don’t like the position you’re in. She said, “I can see why you would tell me. I mean, girls share things. But why on earth did you tell Con
tonight
and ruin the evening? I should think you would have told him earlier or later, but not now.”

Anne shrugged. “Kip, my whole
life
may be ruined. Who cares about one stupid dance?”

One stupid dance.

Kip turned to hide her face. This is
my
dance, she thought. My bouquet thrown to romance. Only no boy noticed. But it’s still a special dance, and I’m still proud of it. It’s not stupid.

Kip forgot they were in a bathroom with mirrors. She couldn’t hide her face; Anne read it all, and was stabbed with remorse. “I’m sorry. You did your usual perfect job, Kip. The dance isn’t stupid, it’s lovely.
I’m
the one who’s stupid.”

“You really think Con will walk out on you?” Kip asked wistfully, wanting it to be untrue, unfair. When I find a man, he will be a loyal man. I would never fall for the kind of person who doesn’t have the most important things: loyalty and kindness and pride.

“He could be gone right now,” Anne said. And then she laughed slightly. “But after all, Kip, why would a person stay to cope with a pregnancy if he didn’t have to?
I
would certainly walk away if
I
could.”

The door opened.

Anne immediately turned to face the mirror, and pretended to be fixing her hair. She had neither comb nor brush, so Kip fished in her own tiny purse and handed her a pocket comb.

Beth Rose Chapman came up to them.

“Hi, Beth,” said Anne easily. “Honestly, Kip, don’t you just love Beth’s dress? It’s the loveliest gown at the dance.”

Oh, Anne, thought Kip ruefully, you mean well, but you really know how to zap it to a person. I wouldn’t mind having you say that
I
have the loveliest gown at the dance. Of course it wouldn’t be true, but I’d still like to hear it. She said out loud, smiling at Beth, “It sure is.”

Beth looked breathless, and rather upset.

Oh, no, thought Kip, shrinking away, not another Person In Distress. Don’t tell me your problems, Beth, I can’t stand it. Remind me not to become a family counselor. I don’t have enough care to go around.

“Con’s worried about you, Anne. He sent me to get you.”

Kip could never have predicted the reaction that would bring. Here she and Anne had spent the last fifteen minutes sobbing about how Con was probably pretty rotten beneath the surface, and here Anne had actually admitted she didn’t expect a single thing from him … and the comb hung forgotten in her hand. A smile began at the edges of her lips, and spread across her face, lighting her eyes, putting color in her cheeks. “He did?” she said happily.

Oh, Anne! thought Kip, and this time it was Kip who was older, and wiser, and sadder. How thrilled Anne was that Con had sent a messenger to fetch her. How quickly she forgot that she didn’t trust Con. One word from Con and she was his again.

Women, thought Kip. We’re all crazy.

Anne, perfect Anne.

Anne, who was too good to smile at Molly when they walked into the dance together.

Anne, who was too special to share a laugh with Molly.

Anne, who marched to the far side of the cafeteria so she wouldn’t have to stand near Christopher and Molly.

Anne was pregnant and thought Con would dump her.

Molly loved it. The irony! How richly deserved it was! Perfect people deserved to get hurt. It was so annoying the way some people’s lives were always smooth and serene. A wrinkle in Anne’s life. Molly liked that. And not just a wrinkle, either. Being pregnant at seventeen and not married and being deserted—you had to call that the Grand Canyon of problems.

Here Molly had planned the perfect evening herself. She’d dumped jerky Roddy, and found Christopher, and was expecting a perfect evening with a Harvard man and what did she get? A stupid, rude fool who made passes at other girls because he was tanked up to the top with cheap wine, or something that smelled like it. Miracle the chaperones even let them in.

Beth Rose tiptoed away like a skittish animal. Molly timed her last remark just loud enough for Beth to hear. And did Beth ever hear. The girl was a lousy actress. Beth jumped a foot, pretended she hadn’t, practically ran into the wall instead of the door, and had to use her hands to feel her way out of the cafeteria.
That
was what you called a real reaction.

Molly giggled to herself.

Beth Rose would tell Gary, and—Well, no. Gary probably wouldn’t tell a soul. She had never known someone as detached as Gary. Either he really didn’t listen to stories, or he really didn’t care, or he instantly forgot them, because Gary never told anybody anything.

Molly had a suspicion that he was too thick even to gossip. It never occurred to her that he loathed gossip, and walked instantly away from it. But if she had known, she would have liked that, too: hoping that Beth Rose would ruin her evening by saying the wrong things to the wrong person.

Christopher said, “Starving.”

You slob, she thought. You’re down to one-word sentences now. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Okay. You go get something to eat, Chrissie. I’ll catch up to you in a minute. I have to talk to somebody.”