Authors: Diane Hoh
"Mitch isn't taking you, either," Beth said harshly. "He's taking Margaret. He never wanted to take you, or he would have asked."
"That's not true!" Liza shouted, her face changing, twisting with rage, her eyes wide, "I am going with Mitch! He's waiting for me right now, at my house. I promised him I'd bring my dress and show it to him. Only ..." She looked confused. "... only I don't know where it is. I stole it to put it in your trunk with the others, and I don't know what happened to it after the accident." She laughed
maniacally. "That was a stroke of luck for me, wasn't it? That silly accident, with the trunk popping open! I saw the whole thing. I was following Beth, so I could watch when the police searched her trunk. I was parked right up the block when Caroline whipped around that comer and slammed into Beth's car." Remembering, her eyes glittered. "I laughed so hard . . . "
"Liza," Margaret said evenly, "if Mitch is waiting for you, you should probably hurry. I brought your dress back here after the accident. I knew you'd be needing it. It's hanging right downstairs, beside the cash register. Go ahead. Take your dress and go meet Mitch."
For the first time, Liza looked uncertain. "Yes, I should do that," she said slowly, and turned to replace the scissors on the shelf.
"Meg?" Mitch's voice, shouting. "You in there? Door's locked. Let me in, okay?"
Liza gripped the scissors more tightly. The uncertainty gone, she whirled to face Margaret. "Now I remember why I came here!" she hissed. "To get rid ofyoul If I don't, you could trick Mitch again, like you did before. Trick him into taking you to the prom when he really wants to go with me." Scissors uplifted, she began walking toward Margaret.
"I can't let that happen. You can understand that, can't you?"
"No, Liza," Margaret said wearily, tiring of the cat-and-mouse game, "Frankly, I can't. It is just a dance. That's all it is."
"Oh, no," Liza said softly, "that's not true. It's much, much more than that. And as for my friends," she added bitterly, "they were going to go without me. All of them. We'd always done everything together. We'd gone to every prom together. I couldn't believe they were going to break our solemn pact by going while I sat home alone."
"Liza, that's crazy!" Beth cried. "None of us knew you weren't going! You lied the whole time. You even bought a dress when we did. We thought you were going with a friend of Brandon's. And look who's talking about breaking a pact. Were you or were you not seeing Michael behind Stephanie's back?"
"That wasn't my fault. It was hers. And I didn't tell you I didn't have a date because then everyone in school would have known. They would have laughed at me."
Beth sagged against the wall, wiping a hand across her eyes as if she suddenly couldn't see. "We wouldn't have lauded at you. We would have made sure you had a date."
"I don't need charityV Liza shrieked, her eyes dark with rage. "Haven't I just proved to you that I can get my own date? Haven't /?"
"You got the insecticide from Beth's garage?" Margaret asked, edging closer to the ironing board. It still stood between her and Liza.
"You have to go out on the fire escape," Liza said unemotionally, leaving Margaret's question unanswered. "Both of you. Now! With the two of you out of the way, FU be queen for sure."
Margaret stared at her. "Liza, you can't be queen. You already were. The rule at Toomey is, no one has that honor twice."
Liza stared right back at her, her expression blank. "Well, thafs just not true, Margaret. I have never, ever been prom queen. You must have me mixed up with someone else. That's one of the reasons I have to be sure to be there this time. This is my last chance to be queen."
Liza's picture had been in the paper when she was selected prom queen. Margaret remembered it very well. Liza had looked really beautiful.
"No, Liza," she said forcefully. 'Tou were already queen. You've just forgotten." A risky move on her part, she knew. Would pushing
Liza this way snap her back to reality? Or would it just make her angrier?
It made her angrier.
Margaret's heart sank as Liza's face reddened, and her eyes narrowed into tiny little slits of hatred. "That can't be true! You're lying, you have to be lying! You just don't want me to go with Mitch, like Stephanie wouldn't let me go with Michael!"
And then, scissors upraised, she rushed at Margaret.
The ironing board shook as Liza strained against it, reaching for Margaret, the shiny blades poised above Margaret's head.
Margaret recoiled, forcing her body back against the wall as close as she could get. But she realized instantly what a mistake that was, and instead lunged forward. As she did so, she kicked out with one leg, crying out in pain as her stitches pulled, and slammed her foot against the ironing board's criss-crossed, wooden legs.
They gave, folding instantly with a groan.
The scissors were no more than a fraction of an inch from Margaret's chest when the board collapsed. The blades raked a trail of red down Margaret's left forearm as the ironing board and Liza and the scissors crashed to the floor.
Someone was pounding on the door downstairs.
Ignoring the blood spilling from the gashes in her arm, Margaret scooped up the iron that had fallen with the board and quickly, before a stunned Liza could clear her head, yanked the girl's arms behind her back and wound the iron's cord around her wrists.
Then she ran downstairs to open the door.
Caroline, stiff with hurt and anger, was standing there.
Mitch, worry in his eyes, was right behind her.
"You are not going to believe this,'' Margaret gasped, and let them in.
down the stairs and he looked up at her and sounded a soft "Wow."
Dinner at Impeccable Tastes was wonderful, except for a brief moment when they got ouf of the car and found themselves facing the Dumpster. But Mitch had taken her arm and hurried her away from there and then everything was all right again.
And now, here she was, moving across the gym floor in Mitch's arms, smiling, laughing, talking, just like everyone else at the prom. The tables were beautiful, decorated with floor-length cloths and the tiny miniature yearbooks. Framed posters of movies known only for their happy endings were hung on the walls throughout the gym. Bouquets of blue and yellow flowers donated by Quartet's silent partners from their own gardens joined the tiny yearbooks on each table. Generous of them, Margaret thought, since not one of their daughters was attending the dance. Even Beth, completely cleared of any wrongdoing, had opted not to come.
"She said she'd feel funny," Mitch had told Margaret when she asked about Beth, "since none of her friends would be here."
Margaret had asked him, long after the police had taken Liza away and everything had been explained and Caroline had been apologized to until Margaret was blue in the face, why he had never told her that Liza had invited him to the dance.
"I didn't think it was important," he had said.
Unfortunately, Liza had.
Caroline danced by in Scott's arms. He was beaming. Margaret had told Caroline about the phone call, pointing out that Scott must really care or he wouldn't have embarrassed himself that way. She didn't pull the turquoise dress from the closet where Adrienne had hidden it until after Caroline announced that she had asked and Scott had accepted.
Okay, so the night wouldn't be the dance of Caroline's dreams. But she looked as if she was having a good time. Adrienne had done her hair and makeup, too, and she looked lovely.
A girl named Teresa Connor, whom Margaret knew only slightly, was chosen as queen. The crown seemed to suit her. She stood up on the stage, smiling, her date beside her, and for one small moment Margaret envisioned Beth's drawing and wished things had turned out differently for Beth.
Margaret and Mitch, hands clasped, were watching, smiling, as the king and queen began the next dance. They were about to walk out on the floor after the first few bars of music.
when a stir in the room caught their attention. Margaret was the first to turn around, her eyes scanning the candlelit gym for some sign of a disturbance. When her gaze moved to the doorway, she gasped and her grip on Mitch's hand tightened abruptly. He turned around.
Liza Buffet was standing in the doorway.
"Mitch?" Margaret asked, drawing closer to him.
''Out on bail," he said cryptically. "Her father got her out. She's not going to be charged with murder, just manslaughter, so while she's waiting for the psychiatric examination, the judge let her go home. Her parents are supposed to be watching out for her. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to ruin your evening. Sorry. If Fd had any idea she'd show up here, I'd have warned you."
As more people turned to see what was happening, a hush fell over the huge gym. The music continued to play, but the king and queen stopped dancing, as did everyone else. In just seconds, all eyes were on the entrance to the gym.
Though Liza's dress was black, it wasn't the pretty dress she had bought at Quartet. Because she didn't have that dress, Margaret realized. She had left without it that horrible night, in the custody of the police. That dress
was probably at the police station, in the evidence room.
The dress Liza was wearing was full-length, long-sleeved and matronly, and at least two sizes too large. It hung on her like a sack, and one shoulder had slipped off, causing the dress to hang at an odd angle around her neck.
That's her mother's dress, Margaret thought. Liza is wearing one of her mother's dresses.
That was not the worst of it, she saw as Liza, a vacant smile on her face, began moving into the room. Something was very wrong with her face. Gorgeous, impeccable Liza had applied makeup with a heavy, disoriented hand. As she drew closer, Margaret saw with horrified awe that her mouth was outlined to nearly twice its normal size with thick, red, greasy lipstick. Her eyebrows were heavily outlined in dark pencil, and thick blusher in an orangey shade had been applied to her entire cheek area on one side of her face, to only the cheekbone on the other side, giving her face as lopsided a look as the oversized dress gave her body.
Caroline and Scott had moved up to stand beside Margaret and Mitch. ''Oh, no," Caroline whispered as Liza walked unsteadily but purposely toward the silent, staring crowd,
"she's wearing a crown, Margaret!"
Liza had placed on the blond hair that badly needed washing and hung lank and lackluster around the garishly made-up face, a homemade "crown/' It looked like the effort of a kinder-gartner, cheap gold foil covering what was probably cardboard cut into a crown shape, bent into a circle, and stapled.
"Oh, man," Scott breathed.
One hand holding up the edge of the ugly black dress so that she wouldn't trip over it, Liza moved daintily toward David Goumas and his date.
"Why, David, you rascal!" Liza said, her voice low and sweet but audible since the band, aware now that something out of the ordinary was happening, had stopped playing. The room had grown as quiet as a library. "Whatever are you doing with this pretty little thing? I was so sure that, with darling Kiki incapacitated, you would be calling me to be your date for the prom." She smiled up at him, and one hand moved forward to gently stroke his cheek. "I guess you must have thought I was already otherwise engaged, am I right, darling David? I forgive you, I really do."
The pair remained frozen as Liza moved on to the next couple. One by one, the bizarrely made-up and costumed girl went from couple
to couple, smiling, scolding the boys, dismissing the girls with a flick of her finger or a contemptuous smile, speaking only to their dates in soft, sweet tones.
When she came to Mitch and Margaret, Margaret instinctively took a step backwards. But she didn't let go of Mitch's hand.
"And you, my darling Mitch," Liza said sternly, shaking a finger in Mitch's face, "I am having trouble dismissing your treachery. Why, everyone here," waving a hand to encompass the semicircle of onlookers, "knows that you and I were meant to attend these festivities together, isn't that right, everyone?" Her eyes behind thick coats of mascara flicked over the crowd and then returned to Mitch's face. "But I don't blame you, sweetie," The smile disappeared and her face darkened. "I know who's behind such treachery. My so-called dearest fiiends, who swore they would never betray me and then did, anyway. I have taken care of the matter. Don't give it another thought. Now that I'm here, though" the smile returned as she gazed up at him with assurance, "you are going to dance with me, aren't you, Mitch?" Holding the folds of her skirt out around her, she twirled flirtatiously before him. "I got all dressed up for you. Do you like it?"
"It's very nice," Mitch said. 'Tou look very nice, Liza."
Liza seemed then to become aware of Margaret, standing at Mitch's side. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you^ What are you doing with Mitch? Go away!" She reached out and slapped at Margaret's hand, still in Mitch's. "Let go of him!"
"Liza!" a voice from the doorway called. Heads turned. Margaret recognized the couple striding quickly across the floor. A tall, authoritative-looking woman, expensively dressed in a maroon suit, and an equally tall gentleman: Liza's parents. Both faces were anxious, and, Margaret thought, embarrassed. "Liza, dear, what are you doing here? How did you sneak past us?"
Liza turned. "Oh, hello. Mother. Father. I can't leave just yet. I haven't danced with Mitch. You will just have to wait." She turned back to Mitch, smiling up at him expectantly.
"No," her mother said firmly, "Liza, we have to go now."
Mitch looked down at Margaret, a question in his eyes.
She nodded. "It's okay," she said softly. "Go ahead."
Then Margaret stood aside as Mitch led Liza, in her bizarre garb, out onto the dance
floor. He waved a hand toward the band and they began playing a slow melody. The colored ball above the dancers' heads spun gently, surrounding them with a soft rainbow glow.
Liza lay her head on Mitch's chest as he spun her slowly around the floor. For those brief moments, at least, all of the rage and the hatred seemed to have drained out of her, and she looked content.