The Chocolate Money (22 page)

I decide to go to the boathouse for a smoke. I want to feel the cool air on my neck where my hair used to be.

Outside, I feel a tap on my arm from behind. I turn, expecting Jake. Surprise. Cape.

“Where are you headed?”

“To the boathouse for a smoke.” I know from Meredith that Cape finds smoking disgusting. Has never even held a cigarette between his lips. So this is my way of telling him to go and leave me alone. I’m still furious he’s asked Meredith to the dance.

He says, “Can I go with you?”

I say, “Sure.” Shrugging my shoulders, but curious why he wants to come with me.

We walk in silence until we get to the boathouse bench. I fish in my bag for a cigarette, but he stops me by reaching over and ruffling my new short hair. I sit up and look at him.

“What’s the fuck, Cape?” I say.

“I just wanted to apologize for, you know . . .”

I am not going to let him get away with this. “‘You know’? What does that mean?”

“For saying Meredith’s name when we . . .” I so want him to say what we did, but at least the boy has some insight.

“Oh, how nice,” I say in my most sincere voice. “But I rather enjoyed it.”

“Really?” he says, rethinking his strategy.

“No, not really, Cape,” I say bitterly. “Everything about the whole night sucked.”

“I’m sorry. I never thought things would end like that.”

“Whatever.” I reach for my lighter.

But before I can light up, he leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the lips. Why? Is it my new hair? Does he just want me to come to his room late at night so he can hone his sexual skills?

As nice as the kiss is, I hold firm.

“What the fuck are you doing? Last time I checked, Meredith was back at Bright.”

“You have to understand. Meredith and I go way back. I met her when I was really young. St. Bernard’s had dances with Chapin. Her parents and my mother are good friends. I feel comfortable around her.”

“Why did you tell her you loved her?”

“Because I thought I did. Meredith was my first girlfriend. The first girl I really fooled around with.”

“Why did you ask her to the dance after all the mean things she said about you?”

“I didn’t know who else to ask.”

I want to reply
Why not me?
but this seems to verge on desperate. Instead, I say, “You’re telling me that out of the nine hundred students at this school, the only one you could come up with was Meredith?”

“If you want the truth, I would have asked you. But I thought Mere would be really mean to you about it. And all the other girls I think are cool are already going with someone else. They would also say no to me out of respect for Meredith.”

“Sounds like you have really thought this out,” I say. “But I would have turned you down. I already have someone.”

“You do?” he says. Like this is impossible. “Who?”

“Jake Kronenberg.”

Cape does not comment on this. It barely seems to register.

“Well, do you want to come by tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t want to piss off Jake. I do after all have to climb through his window to get to your room.”

“Why do you care what he thinks?”

“I’m not sure I do. But it’s just rude.”

“Well, I could come down and open the front door to Wentington if you give me a specific time.”

“What are we going to do, play Scrabble? I have a big paper due tomorrow for Donaldson.”

“We can do whatever you want, Bettina,” Cape says.

A
FTER MY WALK WITH
Cape, I go to the Cardiss PO. I’m not really sure why, but it is something to do. I think I miss Babs after all my interactions with Cape. Maybe she has sent me another package. There’s something in my mailbox, but it is not a pink slip. Instead, it’s a postcard.

I pull it out and carefully hold it with both hands. I hate postcards. Showoffs send them when they are on great trips. But this is different. On the front side, instead of a picture of blue water lapping a pristine island, there is a charcoal drawing of a young girl. Brown hair, brown eyes. She is pretty in the way only young girls can be. No makeup. A smile that is not directed at the person drawing her but at the world in general.

I flip it over, and the words are written in a confident hand, in black ink. No mistakes. The card’s back is divided in two: one-half for my address, one-half for the message. I read it.

Dear Bettina:

I drew this right after I first saw you in Chicago, but Babs said to send it when you were older. I’ll never forget that night. Your dance was so creative. You were brave to get up in front of everyone. I’m sorry how it all ended. I always regret, as your cousin, not taking you to the hospital, and not being in contact earlier. Babs isn’t easy, but she does love you. Write if you want.

Love, Lucas

I finish reading. Feel like tearing it up and throwing it away. He’s a grown man who listens to Babs about when to send me mail. And there’s what he said at the party:
Let’s go dance to the Duch and pour pink champagne over people,
leaving me bleeding in the kitchen. I look at the flip side of the card again. Study the portrait. I stare at her for a few minutes before I realize: It’s me.

I return to Bright House. I don’t want to join the other girls in Meredith’s room to talk about the dance to come. Of course I can’t tell them I’m going to see Cape tonight, and they would never understand the real story about Jake.

I use the time before sneaking out to work on another assignment for Donaldson. I sit at my desk and write about the Daddies’ Breakfast at Chicago Country Day. It isn’t the best story I have in my inventory, slightly vapid in my opinion, but I know the other students might laugh at Wendolyn Henderson. Also, it wouldn’t earn me concerned looks from Donaldson. Or a trip to the school psychiatrist, like the girl who wrote about how much she loved to binge on Twinkies and then make herself puke. My classmates might be taken aback by the Bettina-has-no-daddy angle, but so what. It’s a wound I seem to have gotten used to.

I get into bed but am too excited to sleep. At eleven thirty, Holly’s asleep and our room is pitch-black. I turn on my desk lamp and cover it with an Hermès scarf to dim the brightness. Instead of my customary black pants and agnès b. T-shirt, I decide to wear my new black shift and pumps, along with my father’s medallion, as if Cape and I really are going to the dance.

I dust my face with a little blush and apply lipstick. As I look in the mirror, I see there really is an attractive girl looking back. As if Lucas has upgraded my features. Has erased the plain Jane Babs always saw.

I stuff two pillows in my bed to make it look like I am under the covers sleeping in case Deeds changes her habits and comes in to check. Lots of students sneak out the night before the dance, all filled with anticipation and needing to blow off steam.

The pathways of the campus are dotted with streetlamps, so it’s always easy to see where you are going. It’s five until midnight. I pick up my pace and make it to Cape’s dorm on the dot of midnight. I rap gently on the door, and sure enough, he opens it.

I am somewhat dismayed to see that Cape is wearing his pajamas: L. L. Bean red plaid flannel pants and a white T-shirt. As if he just rolled out of bed. My dress and pumps look ridiculous. As always, I’m trying too hard. Thank God Babs taught me that pantyhose are decidedly middle class and I should never wear them except on the most formal occasions. When I take off my pumps and hook them by the heels on the fingers of my left hand, I am barefoot like Cape. I don’t want to clack up the stairs to his room.

Once in the room, Cape says, “Bettina, you look beautiful.”

He reaches in to kiss me, soft and sweet like at the boathouse, but I hold back.

“This isn’t about Meredith?”

“Of course not.” He says it like I’m crazy to ask such a thing. But all of a sudden I am not so sure. Maybe he is still a virgin and wants to have sex before the dance so he won’t look foolish in front of Meredith.

This whole thing is really starting to really piss me off. But what was I expecting? A blazer and a picnic basket for a late-night snack?

“Do you really want me to be here?” There is definitely an edge to my voice.

“Of course,” he says. This isn’t going as he had planned.

“Prove it,” I say.

“How?” he asks. “What would convince you?”

I am not sure. Then I see his penny loafers sitting haphazardly by his closet. I come up with the ultimate test.

“Give me your pennies,” I challenge him.

“What?” he asks, surprised, thinking I’m expecting him to forage in his desk for change.

“The ones in your shoes.”

“I can’t,” he says.

“Why not?”

“They were my father’s. I never take them out of my shoes.”

“Let me see them, at least?” I ask as if I’m no longer really interested. I know, however, that I’m not leaving his room without them.

Cape goes over to his shoes and struggles to get the pennies out. He walks back to his bed, where I am sitting in my black shift. Hands them to me. They are indeed Mack’s 1909-S VDB wheat-back pennies. I clutch them in my hand, the way I so wanted to do every time I saw Mack wearing them in his shoes.

“I will bring these back the next time we see each other,” I say resolutely.

“Well, then, don’t you think you should give me something of yours that is of equal value?” I think he expects me to have nothing comparable. That he’s won this game and I’ll be forced to give the pennies back. I finger my father’s medallion on the chain that hangs out of view, between my breasts. I pull it out, undo the silver chain, and hand the silver coin to Cape.

“What is this?”

“This was my father’s. My mother gave it to me when I was younger. As you know, I don’t know who he is. My mother would never tell me.”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“How?”

“It’s right here on this coin. The Latin translates to ‘by faith and courage,’ and the griffin is the mascot of the Ryder School. We play them in squash.”

I had no idea Cape was such a Latin scholar. Ryder is a small academic school on par with Groton. My father’s not only smart but must have some money. Not a doorman in the building of the aparthouse, which I’d thought was one possibility.

“You could call the school and have them look up who won the Latin prize that year. Then you would know.”

I had many expectations for this evening, but I never imagined that Cape would give me the clue to finding my father. And how easy it would be to do it.

“Fair trade?” I ask Cape.

He says yes, with the caveat that under no circumstances can I lose the pennies. They must be returned at all costs.

“Of course, the medallion too,” I say. But the medallion is almost worthless to me now that Cape has decoded it. It’s just an interesting piece of jewelry.

After this exchange, I finally believe that Cape’s for real. He wants me there. He’s willing to give up the pennies, at least temporarily, for an evening with me. He takes the pennies from me and sets the coins and the medallion down on his trunk, which doubles as a nightstand. He comes over to the bed and sits next to me. He goes in for a kiss, more forceful this time. More caressing of my short hair. He then moves away and takes my face in his hands. After a moment of inspection, he says in a low voice, “Bettina, I’m so damn attracted to you.”

I’m now wearing only my bra and underwear, but for the first time I’m not embarrassed. My body’s not perfectly thin or even toned like Meredith’s must be from field hockey, but Cape doesn’t seem to care. It takes him a while to unhook my bra, but I think his concentration on doing it is cute. He takes each of my breasts into his mouth, and my wetness intensifies. I am almost worried that I will smash before we get where I’m sure we are going.

I pull off his T-shirt and his pajama bottoms. I feel his hard-on against my leg, and he’s so erect with anticipation it almost hurts as he pushes against my thigh. I want nothing more than to take his penis into my mouth and suck him so hard that he passes out. He lifts the covers off the bed.

Instead I reach down and pull him inside me. I notice the tip of his penis is already slippery from excitement. I start to rock my hips, but he pauses.

“Wait,” he says. “Let me get a condom.”

I don’t want to lose the momentum, so I say, “Just pull out and come on my stomach.”

A condom makes me think of Jake, whose facility with the application seems only to accentuate all his experiences with girls other than me, his facility with sex itself.

Cape’s breathing so heavily now, he’s really in no position to argue about skipping the condom. “Okay,” he says between ragged breaths. Only two minutes into it and already he is about to smash. Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Shit, Lowell,” Cape says, though he’s almost past talking.

“Wait!” I call out.

I feel Cape wither inside me, the moment broken. He rolls over and pulls the bedspread up to our chins. I want to cry because Cape didn’t finish, smash inside me, and also laugh because I know Lowell will give us both a hard time about this. There’s no hiding what we have been up to.

There’s the sound of a key in the door, and I hear a deep voice say, “I am keying in now.” Faculty members are required to say this when opening a locked door, but they never give you time to cease whatever illegal activity you’re engaged in.

The door opens and it’s Mr. Carlson. Cape’s dorm head.

“Shit,” Cape says, barely recovered from our romp. We both understand at once that we are in big, big trouble.

M
R. CARLSON WAITS OUTSIDE
in the hallway while I get dressed, which I am grateful for. I’ve heard stories of teachers who stand and watch while you put your clothes on. I pull on my shift and pumps. While Cape hunts for his PJ bottoms, I surreptitiously grab the pennies from the top of the trunk.

Mr. Carlson says nothing as I follow him down the steps of Wentington and back to Bright.