Forbidden Fruit (13 page)

New Orleans, Louisiana

1984

B
y age sixteen, Glory had accepted the fact that her mother would never love her. She didn't know what unpardonable sin she had committed, but she no longer cared. That her mother's love and approval would remain forever beyond her reach no longer had the power to hurt her.

For as Glory's acceptance had grown, so had her anger. And her defiance.

The years between eight and sixteen had changed Glory in more than the customary ways. Glory had honed her keen intelligence into a sharp and sometimes sarcastic edge. Her energy and enthusiasm had become indefatigable defiance.

Of course, with defiance came punishment. Glory understood that very well. She understood that she always had a choice. But, she would rather suffer her mother's most severe punishment than bend to her will.

To Glory, breaking her mother's intolerable rules had become a game. A dangerous, dizzying battle of wills and wit. She had learned what her mother's hot buttons were—anything to do with boys, her body or sex—she had learned how far she could push her. Glory delighted in outmaneuvering her mother; nothing in Glory's life came close to being so satisfying, especially when she managed to do it right under her mother's nose.

When her mother did catch her, the punishment was always severe, though the severity depended on the crime. Once her mother confined her to her room until Glory had memorized the entire Book of Judges; another time, she made Glory scrub every floor in the house with a toothbrush; still another—when she caught Glory necking with a boy in the parking lot behind the church—she had whipped her with a switch from the willow tree, wielding the supple branch as though she had been doing it all her life, manipulating her blows to punish and shame, but not to scar. Even so, she had left a crisscross of red welts across Glory's back that had taken a month to heal.

But Glory hadn't bent to her mother's will even then, she hadn't begged her to stop or for forgiveness of her transgression. Nor had Glory run to her father afterward. She had accepted her punishment and vowed to herself that the next time she would not get caught.

In a strange way, Glory looked forward to the times her mother caught her, not because she enjoyed doing her mother's penance, but because her mother seemed to derive a twisted pleasure from punishing her only child; she seemed to find satisfaction in the fact that her daughter was living up to her lowly expectations.

It seemed to Glory that the only time she actually pleased her mother was when her mother was punishing her.

Perhaps the most startling change in Glory was in her relationship with her father. Her anger had spilled over onto him and a rift had developed between them. Where she had once lived for their times together, for their visits to the St. Charles, now she avoided them. She feigned indifference for the workings of the hotel. She proclaimed loudly and vehemently to all that she was not about to spend her life playing nursemaid to a dusty pile of bricks and mortar.

Those were the times she broke her father's heart.

And when she did, her own broke, too.

Secretly, she loved her father and the St. Charles as much as she always had. Secretly, she longed for the times she and her father had spent together, their outings and the way those moments had made her feel—special and loved.

But they couldn't go back to those times, no matter how she longed to. Everything had changed; she didn't really know why, but it had.

The truth of that hurt. Sometimes more than anything else, even more than the way her mother looked at her when she thought no one could see.

Glory attended the Academy of the Immaculate Conception, an all-girl's high school located uptown on St. Charles Avenue. Girls from the best New Orleans families attended the academy and had since 1888. Families registered their daughters at birth; a degree from Immaculate Concept, as Glory called it, was the local equivalent of one from William and Mary or Radcliff. When it came to schools and their snob appeal, the academy boasted the biggest in the city. And in a city as old, as wealthy, and as hierarchical as New Orleans, that was saying a lot.

Glory leaned closer to the bathroom mirror, inspecting the bright shade of lip gloss she had just applied. Smiling in approval, she capped the lip gloss and dropped it into her purse. From the hall outside came a burst of girlish laughter; in a moment, she knew, the fifteen-minute warning bell would sound and the bathroom would be instantly overrun with girls, all wanting to take a last look into the mirror before class started.

Sure enough, just as the bell rang, a large group of girls burst into the john. They caught sight of her and rushed over. “Glory,” one of them said, “we heard about you and Sister Marguerite! Is it true? Did she really ban you from participating in the sophomore formal?”

“Yeah, it's true.” Glory shrugged with indifference. “Some people just can't take a joke.”

A girl named Missy giggled. “I wish I could have seen Sister's face when she found you in the chapel, reading a romance novel and munching on communion wafers.”

“It was something, all right.” Glory flipped her long hair over her right shoulder. “Worse part of it was, she confiscated my book. And I'd just gotten to the good part.”

Missy shook her head. “One of these days you're going to go too far, Glory. I mean, communion wafers? Isn't that a sin, or something?”

Glory rolled her eyes. “You sound like Sister. They hadn't been blessed yet or anything. And until they're blessed, they're just crackers.”

Another, smaller, group of girls entered the bathroom, whispering and giggling. When they saw Glory and Missy, they sauntered over.

“Have you seen what
the charity case
is wearing today?” one of them asked. “That blouse looks like it's ten years old.” The girl wrinkled her nose. “And even when it was new, it was ugly. It's polyester.”

Glory turned away from the group, disgusted. Although the majority of girls who attended the academy were from New Orleans's wealthiest families, the school occasionally awarded a scholarship to a deserving and exceptionally gifted girl. Like the one being lampooned at this very moment. Glory had heard this girl was brilliant.

“It's pathetic,” Bebe Charbonnet said, sashaying to the bank of mirrors to gaze admiringly at herself. “I can't believe they let girls like her into the academy. I mean, my parents have to pay. Everyone's should.”

“After all, we have to keep our standards up,” Glory said sarcastically. “Just because she's brilliant, doesn't mean she belongs at the Academy of the Immaculate Conception.”

Bebe missed the sarcasm completely. “Exactly,” she said. “She doesn't belong. And I, for one, will not make her welcome.”

The bathroom door swung open and the girl under discussion walked in. Conversation ceased; and gazes settled on everything but the new girl. Glory's heart went out to her. She looked completely miserable, but to her credit, she held her head high.

She started for the stalls, only to have Bebe and her group close ranks, blocking her way. She stopped at their barricade, then made a move to go around. But when she moved, so did the group. “Excuse me,” she said finally, flushing.

Bebe looked at her with exaggerated innocence. “Oh, we're sorry. Did you need to get through?”

“Yes.” They didn't move, and the girl's flush deepened. “Please.”

Bebe stepped aside; the new girl passed. They closed ranks again, and Glory suspected what they planned to do next.

Sure enough, when the girl emerged from the stall, she found her way to the sinks blocked. “Excuse me,” she said again.

And again Bebe turned to her, her expression one of feigned surprise. “Oh, we're sorry. Did you need to get through?”

Glory had had enough. To stand by and watch cruelty was weak and cowardly, and Glory despised both. She had never forgiven herself for her own cowardice all those years ago when she had tried to blame little Danny for the incident in the library. She had vowed to never again allow someone to take the blame for her actions; she had promised herself she would never be weak and cowardly again.

“Yeah, Bebe,” Glory murmured. “I think she does. Unlike you, she washes her hands after she pees.”

Bebe's color rose, but she stepped aside. Glory smiled at the new girl. “It's a matter of breeding,” she said. “Bebe here thinks that just having money makes her classy. She's mistaken, of course.”

Several girls exchanged uneasy glances. Glory, they knew, had hit Bebe's sore spot. Bebe's family, unlike Glory's and many of the other Immaculate Conception girls, were new—new to New Orleans, new money, no invitation to The Mystic Krewe of Comus. But, even so, Bebe was the most popular and powerful girl in the sophomore class; the rest of the girls always deferred to her.

As far as Glory was concerned, Bebe Charbonnet had only ascended to her position of power by also being the meanest and most arrogant girl in the class. Glory didn't give a flip if the girl blackballed her.

“You're going to regret this, Glory,” Bebe said, sending Glory a furious glance. She flounced to the door, stopping and looking back when she reached it. “I promise you, you will.”

Glory mock-shuddered. “I'm so scared.”

A moment later, the bathroom was empty save for Glory and the new girl. Glory dug in her purse for a cigarette, aware of the other girl's gaze upon her. “You didn't have to do that,” the girl said quietly.

Glory shrugged and lit the cigarette. She inhaled, then blew out a long stream of smoke. “Yeah, well, I did it anyway.”

“Thanks.”

Glory shrugged again. “Nothing to thank me for. Those girls aren't my friends.”

“But, I—” The girl bit the words back. “Thanks anyway.”

Glory cocked her head and met the other girl's eyes. “What were you going to say?”

“It's none of my business.”

“I'm making it your business.”

“All right.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I always see you with them. Why do you hang out with them if they're not your friends?”

It was a fair question. One Glory wasn't sure she had a good answer to. “I guess because there isn't anyone else. Immaculate Concept pretty much caters to Bebe's type.”

“I'd rather be alone,” the girl said with more than a trace of bitterness.

“I know what you mean.” Glory studied the tip of her cigarette for a moment before meeting the new girl's eyes once again. “Don't let them get you down. They're just a bunch of spoiled little bitches.”

“But you're not?”

Glory laughed, liking this girl's direct manner. “No. I mean, I don't think so. I'm just bad.”

The girl laughed, too, then self-consciously folded her arms across her chest. “I'm Liz Sweeney.”

“Good to meet you, Liz.” Cigarette in hand, she saluted. “I'm Glory St. Germaine.”

“I know who you are.” She blushed and tucked her hair behind her right ear. “Everybody knows who you are.”

“That's the thing about being bad.” Glory smiled and scooted onto the counter by the sink. She took another drag on her cigarette. “Personally, I think people need a little scandal to liven things up. Without it, things would be pretty boring. Don't you think?”

“I've never really thought about it. But I suppose you're right.”

“Of course, I am.” Glory leaned against the mirror, and studied the other girl. She wasn't unattractive, but she wasn't pretty, either. She had a sort of plain, but nice, face. She looked wholesome and honest. She looked like the kind of person you could trust with your life.

“You're here on scholarship, right?”

Liz looked at her feet. “Yes.”

“Why are you embarrassed by that?”

“I know what they call me.
The charity case.
”

She drawled the words and again Glory heard the bitterness. Glory drew her eyebrows together. “Is that why you're here? Because you're poor? Or because you're smart and poor?”

Liz lifted her gaze to Glory's. “Smart and poor.”

“You know, Liz, it seems to me that's nothing to be embarrassed about.” Glory took a last drag on her smoke, then slid off the counter and crossed to one of the stalls. She flipped the cigarette butt into one of the commodes and turned back to Liz. “I'm here because my family has money. Unlike Bebe, I'm not particularly proud of that fact, because the way I see it, it doesn't have a thing to do with me.”

The final bell sounded, and Liz jumped. “Oh, no! I'm going to be late.” She snatched up her book bag and headed for the door, then stopped and looked back at Glory. “Aren't you coming?”

“No rush.” She grinned. “I wouldn't want to go and spoil a perfect record.”

Liz returned her smile. “No, I suppose you wouldn't. See you.” She started through the door, then stopped once more. “Glory?”