The Chocolate Money (14 page)

The way the bones kiss when you stand.

Or perhaps the backs of your knees:

They are so lovely and vulnerable,

As if they await a press of my thumbs,

To make you fall to me.

Or maybe your beautiful hair—

You are so generous with it,

Leave strands of it on my sweaters

When once it filled my hands.

I save every trace of you as if it were a relic

For you are my goddess.

Meredith watches intently as I read it. She is like a cat after all, leaving a fresh kill on the doorstep. Despite what she says, I know she thinks the poem is good, or good enough to impress other girls. Otherwise she would have tossed it. But I pretend to agree with opinion.

“You are totally right. Poetry is stupid. It’s for people who are too lazy to write good prose. And who wants to be told her hair sheds? I mean, the guy does seem weirdly hostile and angry. I would stay away from him.”

Meredith practically snatches the paper from me and hands it to Holly, who reads it and puts her hand over her heart.

“Oh, Meredith. I think it’s sweet. What are you going to do?” Holly asks, enraptured by the game, even though I know the blowjob story threw her for a loop, forced her to reconsider her past and possible missed opportunities.

I’m now the crazy woman in the park. The one who spits and curses even when you give her change.

“Are you going to see him again?” Holly asks.

“Of course,” Meredith says as she stubs out her half-smoked cigarette.

“He goes here. Lives in Wentington, the dorm next to ours,” Jess says, showing Holly and me that she has the inside scoop. Or maybe part of her job description is to keep the conversation going when Meredith is busy attending to other things, like putting her smoking paraphernalia back in her Hello Kitty box.

“Goes to Cardiss?” Holly asks. Even though Jess has already said this.

“You got it!” Meredith replies, taking over.

“Cape?” Holly asks, making sure she understands.

“Yes. You just can’t let him know I showed you his poetry. He would be horrified.”

Meredith and Jess laugh.

“Have you seen him yet?” Holly has grabbed hold of this drama like it is the rope of a ski tow pulling her into Meredith’s inner circle.

“Nope,” says Meredith. She takes the envelope from me and Cape’s note from Holly and puts them back in her desk’s top drawer. “I mean, really, these poems can’t go on, it’s too embarrassing. But maybe I can fuck him in the shower.”

“In the shower?” Holly says, bewildered. Even though Meredith is comfortable using the word
fuck,
I am fairly certain she’s still a virgin. Something about the way her robe is so tightly belted and the perfection of her white bed.

“I’ve never had shower sex,” Meredith continues. “It just seems like something cool to do. I mean, one of the best things about living in this house is that our bathroom door actually locks. I know it would totally freak Cape out, but he would go for it. I also have a sweet tan.”

I am half tempted to tell Meredith that sex in the shower is better in theory than in reality. Babs explained to me that given the space, the only position that really works is for the woman to bend over and take it from behind. You end up staring at the soap and conditioner. It’s next to impossible to smash, and soon you just want to get the thrusting over with, it is so uncomfortable.

Instead I say, “It’s really hard to get a condom on once you are in there. Make sure Cape puts it on beforehand. Also, you might want to give him a blowjob first so he doesn’t come too quickly.”

Meredith looks at me, stunned by my tips. Then she pats my knee, almost grateful for the information.

“Thank you, Bettina. I’ll give you all a full report.”

Holly’s now both awed and unsure. Can she be friends with Meredith and me, people who have apparently actually touched a penis? I’m pretty sure she thought we would be talking about classes. Or maybe other girls on campus.

Meredith dismisses us, as if she’s a therapist and our time is up.

“I have to get dressed for dinner. You two probably have some unpacking to do.”

She swoops the blue-and-white towel up from the floor and throws it onto her bed. As we leave, I notice a field hockey stick leaning against wall near the door. I know Meredith probably runs her tan legs off wielding the stick to bring Cardiss to victory, but it still has the menacing air of a weapon.

It is now almost six, time for dinner.

When we get back to our room, Holly takes off her Cardiss sweatshirt and puts it neatly back into her closet. She pulls out a white shirt that has a tiny pink flower stitched over the left breast, probably from the Gap but more feminine than the sweatshirt. She is now Trying.

“Holly, that shirt is really pretty,” I say.

She smooths it down, since it is wrinkled from the trip.

“Thanks, Bettina,” she says. “You can borrow it sometime.”

Then she continues. “Bettina, do you think most girls here are like Meredith? I mean, she’s so rich and has done so much, and I’ve only kissed one boy.”

“What makes you think she’s so rich?” I ask, wondering what Holly has picked up on. I can tell Meredith’s family has some money, but nothing compared to what Babs has.

“Her robe, for starters.”

“You have a robe, Holly.”

“But hers has her initials on it.”

“Holly, a robe is just a towel with a belt around it. You could get yours monogrammed too if you really wanted.”

“But I don’t even have a middle name. And Meredith has one name for dressing up and one for every day.”

“Would you really want to be called Kingsley?”

“Well, no.” We both laugh.

“Bettina?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you smoke?”

Because it is the only thing I have in common with my mother and it makes me feel less alone.
But I opt for the next true answer.

“Because I’ve never been good at sports and it keeps me from gaining weight. My mother hates fat people.”

I suddenly remember that Holly’s mother’s heavy and wish I hadn’t said this. But she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Do you miss her? And your dad? I think you were brave to come alone.”

Of course I miss Babs, but that has nothing to do with homemade brownies and cozy hugs. I just say what Holly wants to hear.

“Yes. But my dad doesn’t live with us.”

“Do you see him often?”

“Never.” Of course I mean
I’ve never seen him in my life,
but Holly does not need to know that.

The look on Holly’s face is of both pity and shock. In addition to believing in my imaginary Greyhound ride from Chicago to Cardiss, she now has the idea that Babs is a hard-working single mom scraping to make ends meet. How could there be any other explanation? Holly seems stumped as to how she can make me feel better about my hard-knock life. She picks up her brush and decides to change the subject.

“You must have gotten a good package. And that’s a big deal.”

“Package?” I’m lost. We haven’t been at Cardiss long enough to get mail.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me about it. I’ve just heard it’s harder to get in if you need one.”

I still have no idea what she is talking about. I decide to pretend I do and just deflect the subject back to her.

“Did you get a big one?”

“Yes. My mom told me not to mention it because it would seem like bragging, but I got tuition and board. My parents just have to pay for books and other supplies.”

Fuck. I should have told the Combses the truth. Holly and I can never be good friends now. Part of me will always be lying to her.

Meredith pokes her head in. She is wearing a long Laura Ashley skirt that goes to her ankles, sweetly feminine with white and blue flowers. A navy blue short-sleeved Izod and navy blue flip-flops that match her shirt perfectly and show off her hydrangea-blue toenails. It’s normal to want to be as beautiful as Meredith is, but I am also strangely jealous of those toes. Does Cape notice how perfect they are? I decide she must have an entire wardrobe of polishes: light pink to match Mumsy’s peonies, solid white to match the color of their house in East Hampton. I think about water beading on them during her shower sex. If she actually does it, that will probably be the best part of the whole thing—her glossy toes repelling the water, retaining their unchipped shine. But who will maintain them in this boondocks New Hampshire town? Maybe Jess is good at application.

Her blond hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she has on a smear of pink gloss. The kind that is extra-gooey and comes in a tube with a wand. Jess follows closely behind. She’s wearing a black linen skirt that hits her ankles. She has on a long-sleeved green T-shirt. Bluchers on her sockless feet.

“Hey, guys, want to come to dinner?” Meredith asks.

Holly puts her brush down, says, “Yes.” Without the exclamation point. She’s a quick study.

I feel the fatigue come back from earlier. I just can’t make myself go.

“I am going to stay and finish my bed. I’ll meet you there.”

The three of them look at me strangely. You never turn down an opportunity to be included. Even if you have just met these people and you’ve been friendless for the past two years and it hasn’t killed you, you still rally when they ask you to come to the dining hall. But I need a break. Just can’t.

“Okay,” Meredith says, “knock yourself out.” She leaves, and the other two follow her.

I finish my bed. Start on my duffel. All of my clothes fit in two drawers of my dresser. I have gotten into the French habit of wearing the same outfit three days in a row. Seems much easier.

I strip naked, grab one of the white Cardiss-issued towels, and head for the shower. I don’t have a bucket like Holly’s, so I cradle my toiletries awkwardly in my arms. The towel barely fits around my waist and I have no robe. But I’m used to being topless. At Cap d’Antibes, nobody under thirty wears a bathing-suit top on the beach.

The bathroom in Bright looks like one any American house would have. Unlike in France, the toilet is next to the bathtub, so you are forced to both shit and clean yourself in the same space. The bathtub has a white canvas shower curtain, like the sail of a ship, and it’s stamped
PROPERTY OF CARDISS
on the corner. There’s a heavy white scale by the door with big pink flowers stuck on it. I’m pretty sure that this belongs to Meredith. Jess probably has one stuffed in her closet somewhere that is perfectly calibrated. For her use only.

There’s a medicine cabinet above the sink with nothing in it. This depresses me. I’m not looking for pills to steal or even dental floss, but this emptiness seems to prove that even though Bright looks like an authentic middle-class American house where a real family with four daughters might live, it’s still just a facsimile. I turn on the shower, and as I wait for the water to get scalding hot, like I like it, I get the cigarette and lighter I have tucked away where my towel hits my left hip.

There is no bathmat. I sit on the cold tile floor. Ash into the toilet. I always smoke in the bathroom, before and after showering. It’s really my favorite place to do it. The whole ritual is the closest thing I have to meditating. It almost makes me feel safe.

After about a minute, there’s a knock on the door.

“Bettina?”

I feel the floor around me, worried that water has splashed out of the tub and might be leaking. That I’m making a mess.

But the floor in the Bright House bathroom is dry. Relieved, I stand up and open the door. Completely forgetting that I am still half naked and holding a cigarette in my left hand.

It’s Miss McSoren. She’s wearing running clothes, and her short hair is damp with sweat. She wears the more feminine running socks, the kind that do not cover your ankles, with a Nike swoosh on them. I hate socks like this.

She stares at me for a second and then tries to stand up even straighter to assert some kind of authority. Even though her posture is perfect, we’re exactly the same height. I remember what Meredith says about her sexuality and try to cover myself up. My cigarette crosses right in front of her face and I almost burn her cheek.

“Bettina,” she says, stepping back from me. “It is dinnertime. You should be at the dining hall.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I was just so tired from the flight and didn’t have a chance to get clean. I was talking with Meredith and Jess and . . .” I notice Miss McSoren’s cheeks and nose are dusted with freckles. She looks much younger than I originally thought. She stares at the cigarette. Having almost seared her face, I’m now getting smoke in her eyes, hair. It’s seeping into her pores that are open from her recent run. I doubt smoking makes her feel protected and peaceful. I don’t know if I should turn my back on her and toss the cigarette into the toilet, or just hold it down by my side until she leaves. She didn’t expect to find this. Didn’t think she would have to face a disciplinary situation on the first day of school, or maybe ever. I think her strategy was to be severe and distant up front so as to discourage any defiant behavior down the road. I say, “I’m sorry.” Start to cry. I am almost naked, barely covered by a towel, holding a cigarette. I’ve been at Cardiss only three hours and already everything has gone wrong. “I’m allowed to smoke at home,” I manage to get out.

Miss McSoren takes the cigarette. Enters the bathroom, turns on the faucet, and runs it under the water. She rolls the now soggy butt in some toilet paper and tucks it in the pocket of her running shorts. Reaches over and turns off the shower.

“Pull your towel up,” she says. Doesn’t mention the cigarette or the crying. “As I said, you’re not to be in the house during mealtimes. Take your shower, but then get dressed immediately and go to the dining room.”