Daughters of Eve (16 page)

"I'm afraid he's not—" Ann began.

"May I have your attention, please?" Bambi spoke into the microphone and her light, sweet voice filled the room. "We've been having so much fun tonight, it's hard to settle down to something serious, but I promise you it won't take very long. In just a minute we'll get back to the dancing.

"Fran, will you take over?"

"Thank you," Fran said a trifle stiffly. Less at home with the mike than Bambi was, she leaned too close and jumped back with a start at the protesting screech from the amplifier. Drawing a deep breath, she leaned cautiously forward and began again.

"Thank you, Bambi. As all of you know, Daughters of Eve is sponsoring tonight's dance. Each year our school project has been to raise money for the athletic fund. This year, thanks to the wonderful merchants of Modesta who contributed such fine prizes and to the generous people who bought so many tickets, the raffle brought in three hundred fifty dollars—the largest amount we have raised so far."

There was a burst of applause, and a group of boys on the left side of the gym, members of the football team, let out a roar of approval. Mr. Shelby grinned broadly. Coach Ferrara, looking very dashing in an orange-and-gray-checked sport jacket, raised his fist in a victory salute.

"We're pleased too," Fran said, "Paula Brummell will make the presentation."

Paula stepped forward. Her eyes met Fran's, and the girls exchanged a quick smile.

"Mr. Shelby and Coach Ferrara—" Paula spoke slowly and distinctly. The audience grew more attentive, aware suddenly that something different was in the offing, something apart from the ceremony of previous years.

"In behalf of the Daughters of Eve, it gives me great pleasure to present you with this check," Paula said. "Your endorsement signifies your agreement that this money will be used only for the organization and purchase of equipment for Modesta High's first all-girl soccer team."

At 10:47 P.M. Laura Snow sat alone in the living room, her hands folded in her lap, waiting for the sound of the doorbell. She had been waiting now for two and a half hours.

"I can't bear not being here to meet him," her mother had said when, at 8:40, Peter had not yet arrived. "It's just that the girls at bridge club get so upset when we don't start playing on time."

"I know, Mama," Laura had told her. "You go on."

"But this is your first date! Such a big, big event! To leave you here all by yourself—"

"I don't mind, Mama." She did mind, really, but for her mother, not herself. She could not remember seeing her quite so happy as she had been during the past week. On two different occasions Laura had found her waiting in the parking lot after school to drive her to Adrian on shopping expeditions to find "the perfect dress" and "exactly the right shoes."

The shoes had not been difficult—Laura's short, plump feet were easy to fit—but the dress had been another matter. They had found it at last in a small, exclusive shop that specialized in "clothes for the regal figure."

A pale blue crepe with a high neckline, the dress was cut in Empire style, fitted across the chest and falling straight to midcalf where it swirled suddenly into a massive ruffle.

"Lovely," the salesgirl had murmured when Laura tried it on.

"Adorable!" Mrs. Snow had exclaimed. "You look like a fairy princess!"

Even Laura had smiled when she saw herself reflected in the elongated mirror. The dress was becoming, that was indisputable; the lines were flattering and the color good with her light hair and fair skin. Better still, however, was Laura's secret knowledge that the slimming effect was not due entirely to the cut of the material. In the past two weeks, she had lost almost six pounds.

It was not the first time she had gone on a diet, but it was the first that she had done so with such grim determination. Always before she had let her mother in on the project. Together they had agonized over how much mayonnaise could be spread on a slice of bread before a sandwich became "really fattening" and whether cookies made from brown or white sugar contained fewer calories. These ventures had seldom lasted longer than several days, at which time Mrs. Snow would become concerned that her daughter was "getting run down" and "losing energy."

"You can carry these things too far," she would say worriedly. "After all, a growing girl does need to stay healthy."

This time Laura had decided to handle things herself in the simplest way possible. She had stopped eating except when she was in her mother's presence. The lunch that was so lovingly packed for her in the morning was deposited, unopened, in the school cafeteria garbage can. The cake and milk, set out for her after-school snack, were carried to her room and from there to the adjoining bathroom where they were flushed down the toilet. If Mrs. Snow left the table during dinner to answer the telephone, Laura scraped whatever was left on her plate down the disposal. She felt guilty about such subterfuge, but it seemed kinder than putting her mother through the worry that the knowledge of such curtailment of food intake would cause her.

And the diet was necessary. There were no two ways about it. Peter Grange's girl friend could not embarrass him by looking like a blimp at the first school function to which he took her.

Except that he had never arrived to take her.

Alone in the quiet living room, Laura examined possible reasons, turning them over and over in her mind the way as a child she had fingered pebbles at the lake shore. Perhaps he was sick. That intestinal flu bug was going around. Perhaps he had gotten his dates mixed up and thought the dance was scheduled for next weekend. Perhaps he had had car trouble on the way over and been forced to tinker with the engine or change a tire. He couldn't do that in good clothes, so he would have had to return home to change and, once the car was fixed, to get cleaned up and redressed. That could take a very long time.

Or there might have been a family emergency. A beloved grandparent in a distant state might have died suddenly, throwing the whole family into chaos as they scrambled to pack and rush to the airport. Or one of his parents might have been involved in a car wreck. Or his little brother could have been thrown from his bicycle. Ruth had mentioned once how stupidly Eric rode that bike, zooming in and out of driveways and darting through yield signs as though he owned the whole road.

Or, Peter himself—no, she would not let herself think about that possibility. Peter was all right. One of the other things must have happened. But, which?

The answer was as far away as the telephone. All she would have to do would be to dial his number and in another minute she would know.

In her mind she could hear his voice, embarrassed and apologetic.

"Hey, kid, I'm sorry. We had this family emergency. I didn't think about the time until the phone rang, and right away I thought, cripes, I was supposed to pick up Laura a couple of hours ago! Can you forgive me?"

She could, of course. She could understand how such a thing could happen. There would be other dances.

So, why didn't she go to the telephone and call him? Why did she continue to sit here, staring at the wall, waiting for the doorbell to ring, when by now it was obvious that it wasn't going to? It was after eleven. The dance would be over in less than an hour. If Peter were coming at all he would have been here before now.

The doorbell rang.

At first she thought she had manufactured the sound within her head, willed it into existence with her wishing. Her hands clutched each other tighter. She did not move from her chair.

The sound came again. Bling—blong! The chimes that meant a visitor had come. Her mother, perhaps, having forgotten her key? But, no—that was not possible. Mrs. Snow carried her house key on the same chain with the car keys; if she had driven herself to bridge club she had her house key as well.

Slowly, Laura got to her feet, smoothing the folds of the blue dress so that the creases would not show, shaking the ruffle into place. She was stiff from having sat in the same position for so long. One of her legs was asleep. She put her weight on it gingerly, wriggling her toes within the confines of the wedge-heeled pump to start the blood flowing. The unaccustomed height of the heels tipped her forward, and she found herself wobbling unsteadily as she crossed the room to open the door.

The boy on the front steps was wearing old cords and a gray sweat shirt with "Modesta Hornets" lettered on it in orange. He stood with his hands in his pockets, hunched slightly against the chill of the crisp night air. His dark hair tumbled over his forehead, and with his face half lost in shadow, she thought for a moment that he was Peter.

Only for a moment. He raised his head and smiled at her, and the resemblance was ended.

"What are you doing here, Niles?" Laura asked.

CHAPTER 12

"What am I doing? Nothing special. I was passing the house and saw the light still on. I thought you might be sitting around or something." He shivered. "Hey, it's cold out here. Can I come in?"

"Where's Peter?" They were the only words she could utter.

"Pete? I don't know. Out somewhere. I don't try to keep track of that guy's comings and goings. I said, is it okay if I come in for a few minutes? I'm half frozen."

"Sure," Laura said dully, stepping back from the door.

She did not know why she said it. The last person she wanted sitting in the living room was Niles. She had always felt uncomfortable with Peter's brother. There was something about him that made her uneasy. Perhaps it was the slight but definite, resemblance to Peter, which made him seem both familiar and strange. The dark good looks were there, but in Niles's case they were slightly distorted, as though viewed through a warped sheet of window glass. The fineness of Peter's features was missing. Niles's face was broader and coarser, with the brown eyes set back a trifle too far, giving an illusion of opaqueness. His mouth was wider than Peter's, but thinner-lipped, with one corner a little higher than the other, so that he always looked as though he were trying to keep from smiling. There were girls who found the odd half-smile attractive. Laura didn't.

"Are your folks in bed?" Niles asked, stepping into the room and shoving the door closed behind him.

"I live with my mother. She's out for the evening."

"You look nice," Niles said, "all dressed up like that."

"Thank you." She had started back toward the chair that she had so recently vacated, but Niles seemed somehow to have gotten himself in the way of it, so she sat down on the sofa instead. To her surprise, he came over and sat down beside her.

"It's sure turned cold out," he said conversationally. "I wouldn't be surprised if we got an early snow."

"I hope not," Laura said.

"You don't like winter? Snowmobiling and skiing and stuff?"

"I've never tried those things. I don't like being cold."

"You're one of those pussycat girls who likes to curl up by the fire, right?"

"I guess you could say that." She looked down at her hands. Her mother had painted the nails for her in honor of the evening. The little pink ovals gleamed up at her against the soft material, of the blue dress.

"Niles—about Peter—you're sure you don't know where he is? We were supposed to go out tonight."

"He stood you up, you mean?" Niles sounded shocked.

"I don't know what he did. I just know that he was supposed to be here at eight-fifteen, and he never came." She struggled to keep the tremor from her voice. "I thought... maybe... something happened at home—some emergency—"

"You were giving him the benefit of the doubt, right? That shows what a nice girl you are, Laura. Most chicks would be raging mad." Niles's voice was warm, sympathetic. "So you've just been sitting here waiting?"

"It's been hours and hours." She blinked hard to keep back the tears. "When the doorbell rang, I thought it was him—that he'd come to tell me what happened—and maybe we could still go over to the dance for the final hour."

"And it was just me, the sidekick brother. No wonder you looked so disappointed. I'd run you over to die dance myself, lad, but I'm not exactly dressed for it. This is a big-time night where they don't let you in without a jacket and tie."

"That's all right. It wouldn't be the same. I mean—" She realized too late the rudeness of her response. "I'm sorry, Niles. That was nice of you, to think about. It's just that—Peter—"

She began to cry softly.

"Hey, now, baby," Niles said. "It's not as bad as that. A dance is just a dance, huh?"

He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her over against him so that her face was pressed against his shirt. The material was thick and smelled faintly of smoke. Niles himself smelled of shaving lotion. It was the same brand Peter used, and the familiar spicy scent, combined with Niles's surprising gentleness, broke through the last shreds of her control.

"He promised!" she burst out wretchedly. "He said we were going! I got the dress and the shoes—everything—just for tonight!"

"That's tough," Niles said. "That's really tough."

"Why did he do it? Why would he hurt me like this? How can one person do something like this to another person, when they're supposed to care about each other?"

"Maybe," Niles said, "he thought it would hurt you more if he told you..." He let the sentence peter out, unfinished.

"Told me what?" Laura brought her face up out of the sweat shirt. "What is it he didn't want to tell me?"

"Look, kid, Pete's my brother. I may not approve of everything he does, but at the same time—"

"Tell me, Niles! You have to! Where is Pete now? Why didn't he come tonight?"

There was a moment's silence.

"Niles, please!"

"He's—at the dance."

"At the dance?" She could not believe she had heard him correctly. "But why would he go stag to a dance when we could go together?"

"He didn't go stag," Niles said quietly.

"You mean that he—"

"I mean, he took Bambi. They got back together again early this week, and he's been out with her every night since. They just weren't telling anybody yet. They wanted to get everything worked out between them first."

"But he said he hated her," Laura whispered. "He said he never wanted to see her again."

"So, he changed his mind." Niles brushed her cheek with his lips. "Hey, now, baby, don't look like that. It's not the end of the world. So, Pete's got a steady girl. There are lots of guys who don't. Like me, for instance. I know how to keep a chick from getting lonesome. Just relax, pussycat girl, and I'll show you that brother Peter isn't the only one who knows how to keep you warm."

"No. Stop. Don't do that." Laura stiffened as his arms came tight around her.

"Stop playing coy, Laura." There was a note of irritation in Niles's voice. "Pete's told me about all the things you let him do to you when you go parking down by the creek."

"I don't believe you. Pete wouldn't talk about—"

The words were lost as his mouth closed over hers, and she twisted helplessly as he leaned against her, forcing her backward under the weight of his body. He was shorter than Peter, but stronger. His arms were locked around her, pinning her own arms at her sides, as his hands began to fumble impatiently with the buttons at the back of her dress. His mouth kept working at hers; she felt his tongue, wet and slimy, probing at her sealed lips.