Paradise (5 page)

"My father wanted me to."

"You could take them off in the car, couldn't you?"

"He'd feel awful if he knew it."

"Well, I won't tell him. I'll lend you my lipstick," she added, already rummaging in her purse for her makeup. "What about your glasses? Do you absolutely have to wear them?"

Meredith stifled a giggle. "Only if I need to see."

Forty-five minutes later, Meredith left. Lisa had said she had a talent for decorating everything—from people to rooms—and Meredith believed her now. The silk flower pinned into her hair behind her ear made Meredith feel more elegant and less dowdy. The slight touch of blusher on her cheeks made her look more lively, and the lipstick, though Lisa said it was a little too bright for her pale coloring, made Meredith feel older and more sophisticated. Her confidence at an all-time high, Meredith turned in the doorway to her room and waved good-bye to Lisa and Mrs. Ellis, then she smiled at Lisa. "Feel free to redecorate my room while I'm gone, if you want."

Lisa gave her a jaunty thumbs-up sign. "Don't keep Parker waiting."

Chapter 3

December 1973

The bells ringing in Matt
Farrel's
brain were overwhelmed by the increasing thunder of his heart as he buried himself full-length into Laura's eager, demanding body, driving into her as she rode him hard, her hips forcing him deeper. She was wild ... close to the edge. ... Bells began to clang rhythmically. Not the melodious bells from church steeples in the center of town, or the echoing bells of the fire station across the street.

"Hey, Farrell, you in there?"
Bells.

He was definitely "in there." In her, close to exploding.
Bells.

"
Dammit
, Farrell..."
Bells.
"Where the hell"—
bells
—"are you?" It seeped through his mind then: Outside by the gas pumps, someone was jumping on the hose that rang inside the service station and shouting his name.

Laura froze, a low scream in her throat. "Oh my God, there's someone out there." Too late. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. He hadn't wanted to start this here, but she'd insisted and enticed, and now his body wouldn't heed the threat of intrusion. Clasping her rounded buttocks, he yanked her down, drove up into her, and finished. A pulse beat of rest, and then he rolled to a sitting position, gently but hurriedly pushing her off. Laura was already tugging her skirt down and adjusting her sweater. He shoved her behind a stack of retreads and stood up just as the door opened and Owen Keenan strode into the gas station service bay, scowling and suspicious. "What the hell is
goin
' on in here, Matt? I been
hollerin
' the place down."

"I was taking a break," Matt replied, combing his hands through his dark hair which was ruffled from Laura's eager caresses. "What do you want?"

"
Yer
pa's drunk down at Maxine's. Sheriff's on his way. If you don't want him spending the night in the drunk tank, you better get to him first."

When Owen left, Matt picked up Laura's coat from the floor, where they'd lain on it, then dusted it off and held it while she put her arms into the sleeves. She'd had a friend drop her off there, he knew, which meant she'd need a ride. "Where did you leave your car?" he asked.

She told him and he nodded. "I'll take you to your car before I go rescue my father."

Christmas lights were strung across the intersections as Matt drove down
Main Street
, their colors blurring in the falling snow; at the north end of town, a red plastic wreath hung above the sign that said
welcome to
edmunton,
Indiana
, pop.
38,124. From a loudspeaker provided by the Elks Club, "Silent Night" blared out its tune colliding with the notes of "Jingle Bells" pouring out of a plastic sleigh on the roof of Horton's Hardware.

The softly falling snow and Christmas lights did wonders for
Edmunton
, lending a Norman Rockwell aura to what was, in harsh daylight, a small town perched above a shallow valley where clusters of stacks rose from the steel mills and spewed perpetual geysers of smoke and steam into the air. Darkness cloaked all that; it hid the south end of town, where neat houses gave way to shacks and taverns and pawnshops, and then to farmland, barren in the winter.

Matt pulled his pickup truck into a dark corner of the parking lot beside
Jackson's Dry Goods Store, where she'd left her car, and Laura slid next to him. "Don't forget," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Pick me up tonight at seven, at the bottom of the hill, and we'll finish what we started an hour ago. And Matt, stay out of sight. Daddy saw your truck down there the last time and started asking questions."

Matt looked at her, suddenly disgusted with his sexual attraction to her. She was beautiful, rich, spoiled, and selfish, and he knew it. He'd let himself be used as her stud, let himself be conned into clandestine meetings and furtive
gropings
, let himself descend to lurking around at the bottom of the hill instead of going up to the front door, as her other—acceptable—dates undoubtedly did.

Other than sexual attraction, they had absolutely nothing in common. Laura Frederickson's daddy was
Edmunton's
richest citizen, and she was in her freshman year at an expensive eastern college. Matt worked in a steel mill during the day, moonlighted as a mechanic on weekends, and went to night school at the local branch of
Indiana
State
University
.

Leaning across her lap, he opened the truck door, his voice hard and implacable. "Either I pick you up at your front door tonight, or you'd better make other plans for the evening."

"But what will I tell Daddy when he sees your pickup in the drive?"

Coldly impervious to her stricken look, Matt said sardonically, "Tell him my limousine is in the shop for repairs."

Chapter 4

December 1973

The long procession of limousines inched forward toward the canopied entrance of
Chicago's Drake Hotel, where they stopped to allow their youthful occupants to alight.

Doormen moved back and forth, escorting each new group of young arrivals from their cars to the lobby. Not by word or expression did any of the Drake doormen exhibit the slightest amusement or condescension toward the young guests arriving in custom-tailored tuxedos and formal gowns, for these were not ordinary children dressed up for a prom or a wedding reception, overawed by their surroundings and uncertain of how to behave. These were the children of
Chicago's most prominent families; they were poised, confident, and the only evidence of their youth was perhaps in their ebullient enthusiasm for the night that lay ahead.

Toward the rear of the procession of chauffeur-driven automobiles, Meredith watched the other young people alight. Like herself, they were here to attend Miss
Eppingham's
annual dinner and dance. This evening, Miss
Eppingham's
students, who were all between the ages of twelve and fourteen, would be expected to demonstrate the social skills they'd acquired and polished during her six-month course—skills that they would need in order to move gracefully in the rarefied social stratum it was automatically assumed they would inhabit as adults. For that reason, all fifty of the students, properly attired in formal clothing, would pass through a receiving line tonight, be seated for a twelve-course dinner of state, and then attend the dance.

Through the windows of her car Meredith watched the cheerful, confident faces of the others as they gathered inside the lobby. She was the only one who'd arrived alone, she noted, watching as the other girls emerged in groups or arrived with "escorts"—often older brothers or cousins who'd already graduated from Miss
Eppingham's
course. With a sinking heart she noted the beautiful gowns the other girls were wearing, saw the sophisticated ways their hair had been swept into elaborate curls entwined with velvet ribbon or held back with jeweled barrettes.

Miss
Eppingham
had reserved the Grand Ballroom for tonight, and Meredith walked up the staircase from the marble lobby, her stomach twisting with nerves, her knees shaking with apprehension. At the landing, she spotted the ladies lounge and headed straight toward it. Once inside, she went over to the mirror, hoping to reassure herself about her appearance. Actually, given what Lisa had had to work with, Meredith decided she didn't look that bad. Her blond hair was parted on the right side and held back with a silk flower, then it fell straight as a stick to just above her shoulders. The flower gave her a mysterious, worldly look, she decided with more hope than conviction. Reaching into her handbag, she took out Lisa's peach lipstick and applied a bit of it. Satisfied, she reached up, unclasped the pearls, and put them into her purse, then she took off her glasses and tucked them in with the pearls. "Much better," she decided with soaring spirits. If she didn't squint, and if the lights were dim, there was a chance Parker might think she looked very nice.

Outside the Grand Ballroom the
Eppingham
students were waving to one another and gathering into groups, but no one waved to her or called out her name and said, "I hope we're sitting together, don't you?" It wasn't their fault, she knew. In the first place, most of the others had known each other since babyhood; their parents were friends; they'd attended one another's birthday parties.
Chicago society was a large, exclusive clique, and the adult members naturally felt it incumbent upon themselves to preserve the exclusivity of the clique at the same time they ensured their children's admission to it. Meredith's father was the only dissenter to that philosophy; on the one hand, he wanted Meredith to take her rightful place in society, on the other, he did not want her corrupted by children whose parents were more lenient than he.

Meredith made it through the receiving line without difficulty, then she proceeded to the banquet tables. Since seating was indicated by engraved place cards, she surreptitiously removed her glasses from her purse and peered at each card. When she located her name at the third table, she discovered she was seated at a table with Kimberly
Gerrold
and Stacey Fitzhugh, two of the girls who'd been "elves" with her in the Christmas pageant. "Hello, Meredith," they chorused, looking at her with the sort of amused condescension that always made her feel clumsy and self-conscious, then they turned their attention to the boys seated between them. The third girl was Parker's younger sister, Rosemary, who nodded a disinterested greeting in Meredith's general direction and then whispered something to the boy beside her that made him laugh, his gaze darting in Meredith's direction.

Sternly repressing the uneasy conviction that Rosemary was talking about her
,
Meredith looked brightly around her, pretending that she was fascinated with the red and white Christmas decorations. The chair on her right was left vacant, she later discovered, due to the fact that its designated occupant had the flu, which left Meredith in the awkward position of having no dinner partner.

The meal progressed, course after course, and Meredith automatically selected the right piece of sterling flatware from the eleven pieces arrayed around her plates. Dining with this formality was routine at home, as it was for many of the other
Eppingham
students, so she didn't even have indecision to distract her from the awkward isolation she felt as she listened to a discussion about current movies.

"Did you see that one, Meredith?" Steven
Mormont
asked, belatedly adhering to Miss
Eppingham's
stricture about including
everyone
at the table in conversation.

"No—I'm afraid not." She was spared the need to say more because just then the orchestra began to play, and the dividing wall was opened up, indicating that the diners were now expected to gracefully conclude their table conversations and make their stately way into the ballroom.

Parker had promised to drop in on the dancing, and with his sister there, Meredith knew he would. Besides, his college fraternity was having a party in one of the other ballrooms, so he was in the hotel. Standing up, she smoothed her hair, made certain her tummy was tucked in, and headed for the ballroom.

For the next two hours Miss
Eppingham
did her duty as hostess by circulating among her guests and making certain each one had someone to talk to and dance with. Time after time, Meredith watched her dispatch some reluctant boy in Meredith's direction with orders to ask her to dance.

By eleven o'clock, most of the
Eppingham
crowd had broken up into small groups and the dance floor was all but deserted—owing no doubt to the outdated dance music being played by the orchestra. Meredith was one of four couples still dancing, and her partner, Stuart Whitmore, was carrying on an animated discussion about his goal of joining his father's law firm. Like Meredith, he was serious and smart, and she liked him better than any of the other boys she knew from this crowd, particularly because he'd
wanted
to dance with her. She was listening to Stuart, her eyes glued on the entrance to the ballroom, when Parker suddenly materialized in the doorway with three of his college friends. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw how gorgeous he looked in his black tuxedo with his thick, sun-streaked blond hair and tanned face. Beside him, every other male in the ballroom, even the two who'd accompanied him, looked insignificant.