Glamour (5 page)

She knew her best friend felt sorry for her. In her turn, Jane felt sorry for Sally. Beauty fades; brains endure.

“Well, anyway,” she said shortly, “I’m a day girl here. And I have a nanny in our place by the beach.”

“I’m day, too. Daddy has a house in Bel Air,” Sally said artlessly. “Right next to Aaron Spelling, but twice as big.We’re in oil.”

“My father is a businessman.”

“What business?” Sally zeroed in.

Helen spread her hands.“Many.” It was true, her father had his fingers in many different pies. “He arranges contacts, meetings, for Americans who want to work in the Middle East.They build roads, apartment buildings, water facilities. . . .”

“That’s swell,” Sally said, losing interest. “He’s not in oil?”

“Jordan has no oil.”

“So he’s not a sheikh or a king?”

Helen smiled. “I’m afraid not. Just a businessman.”

“Oh, well, never mind.” Sally was too bubbly to be put out for more than a few seconds. “Come with Jane and me and see the school.We’ll introduce you
way
better than orientation.”

Helen looked behind her; a bossy-looking matron with white hair in a stiff bob was taking the rest of the new intake toward the labs. Rebellion was not her strong suit, but the enthusiasm of the American and the friendliness of the English girl intrigued her.

“Why not?” She tried out her practiced English vocabulary. “That sounds like . . . fun!”

The three of them went round the school grounds. Jane watched Helen as she soaked it all in. It was nice, she realized, to have somebody else there. Good to have more backup. On days that Sally was sick, or traveling, it was not particularly pleasant to be in this school.

And of course, Helen Yanna was a foreigner, too. That made her even more of a target. It was something she’d have in common with Jane. Plus, she could tell at once that the girl was clever, brighter than Sally. It might be nice to have somebody around she could chat with about the stuff that didn’t interest Sal. Like her exams.

Jane found herself nervously hoping that they’d hit it off.

“That’s the fountain.” Sally beamed. “Impressive, no?”

“No,” replied Helen, thinking the question was serious. “We have much better in our garden in Amman.”

Jane bit back a smile.

“And the statue . . . it’s old.
Real
old. Victorian, imported from San Francisco. Almost
two hundred years
.” Sally was determined to show off. “A genuine antique.”

“I think she’s seen older.” Jane smiled at their new friend. “Have you ever been to Petra?” she asked, with a touch of envy.

“Yes, of course.” Helen returned the smile. “One day you can come with me. On a visit.”

Jane glowed. “Really? I’d love to.”

“And here’s the pool.” Sally wasn’t interested in archaeology or ancient sites. She waved her hand, her enthusiasm infectious. “Olympic size, and it’s got a current. The gym is fully equipped.

Rock-climbing walls . . . TVs on stands while you work out . . . treadmills . . . free weights. Even kick-boxing.”

That did it. Helen’s eyes roamed excitedly over the massive pool. Yes, this was fun. Kick-boxing! Why not? This was an all-girl’s school. She’d
love
to do that.

“And come on in.” Sally strode commandingly through the steel-door entrance to the architect-designed school building. It was modern, clean, everything brand new. Helen saw rooms full of new personal computers. A theater, with a real lighting rig.

“Room 102—drama—the aspiring movie stars love that. Right next door is crafts. They do pottery and all that stuff. Computers—you have to get with the program, right, Jane?”

Jane snorted.

“Sometimes I have to physically drag her out of there.”

“There are the classrooms.” Sally’s pretty mouth made a moue of dislike. “Gotta say, I still hate class. It’s such a waste. Learning about General Custer and stuff.When are you gonna use that in real life?”

“History teaches us about the future, too,” Jane said.

“Deep.Teacher’s pet.” Sally winked at her friend. Helen looked at Sally enviously. She wished she had that American confidence. And she secretly wished for beautiful golden hair. Would Baba let her dye hers?

Probably not; that would be a Western step too far.

“And this is the chapel,” Sally continued, gesturing at a long room with benches, an altar, and stained-glass windows.“Nondenominational. I pray there—”

“When?” Jane snorted.

“Sometimes,” Sally lied. She turned to her new protégée. “Want to go inside?”

Helen shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m a Muslim.”

Sally stopped walking. “Huh?” she asked, really amazed.

“Of course she is,” Jane swooped in quickly, to cover the faux pas. “She’s from Jordan—what did you think she would be, Sal?”

“That’s okay.” Helen was amused at the blonde girl’s discomfiture. Didn’t they understand not everybody was like them? “Actually there are lots of Christians in Jordan. More than five percent. But my family is Muslim.”

Sally made a good recovery. “That’s cool. There are lots of Jews here anyway. And here’s where we eat lunch. Do you want to sit with us and eat lunch?”

Jane looked at her best friend, and felt a rush of warmth. Really, asking somebody to sit with you at lunch was a big deal. She was offering to support HelenYanna, in public, in the full view of all the nasty, cliquey, bullying teenage girls that otherwise could make this shy young Arab’s life a perfect misery.

And Sally was doing that for a girl from the Middle East with no connections, no cool factor, nothing that indicated she’d do Sally any good.

Sometimes Sal aggravated Jane, despite their friendship. That blinding beauty and the huge wealth, the careless, confident dismissal of academic things. But deep down, she was a really big-hearted southern belle.

Jane was proud to know her, and proud to be her friend.

“I’d like that, too,” Jane said softly.

“I’d love to sit with you.” Helen felt nervous for the first time that day; she peered in to see the refectory full of loud, noisy American girls, already bonded into their little groups. She wanted to cling to her two companions. “But . . . I can’t eat the food . . . it isn’t
halal
. . . . My father made an arrangement. They will bring me my food especially.”

She hesitated.Was that too weird for them? If they left her, she would be the new, strange Muslim chick, and the brash American students would bully her. Helen felt the butterflies crawl in the pit of her stomach.

“I
dig
that!” Sally Lassiter sensed the fear, and hastened to reassure her. “See? You’re special. Like waiter service, right in hall!”

“Thank you.
Shokram.
” The Arabic slipped out, from habit. “Do you two have other friends?”

“Sure! Plenty. But we’re
best
friends,” Sally said, confidently, squeezing Jane’s arm. “We’re our own group.”

“And can I be in your group?” Helen asked artlessly.

Jane Morgan smiled warmly at her. “Absolutely! We’d be delighted.”

“Thank you,” Helen said again, with a grateful smile. She loved it.This was a great school.

And these two were nice girls.

The ache that had been in her heart since their family had left Amman started to dull, just a little.

It was so great to have friends.

The first year seemed to blend into itself. Every day was packed. The girls made a tight group, and they could handle themselves. Jane Morgan could cut down any mean girl with a withering quip, Sally Lassiter was simply too rich and too pretty to fight, and Helen, well—Helen was exotic. These were the eighties; heavy-metal bands were rocking the Sunset Strip and money was gushing everywhere. Reagan was president, life was good.

In lessons, Jane did best. Her brain was like a machine and, with her incredible dedication, only Sally and Helen could tug her from her books. Sally, well, average was the best she could hope for. But that didn’t bother Mom and Pop, so why should she care?

Helen did fairly well. Despite her admiration for Jane, her brain was not quite as sharp. And she still found herself struggling with the language at times. She could never be as pretty as Sally; her father forced her to keep her hair as it was, and she was never allowed to layer on the makeup, just a little tinted moisturizer and mascara, occasionally lip gloss. Not that it mattered; Helen’s skin was luminous and clear, her eyes limpid, her lips full. And she had a place in school now. If Sally was the beauty and Jane the brains, Helen was the all-rounder.

Best of all, she had people to rely on. Two friends of her own.

And the three of them were a tight, loyal group.

“What are you doing, freak?”

Helen touched the mat in front of her with her forehead and tried to concentrate on her prayer.

“I
said,
what are you doing?”

There was a sharp kick in her ribs. Helen flooded with anger and fear. She knew that voice.That was Julie Manners. Queen of the cliques. And first-class bitch.

“I don’t like Ay-rabs,” Julie announced.

Helen gritted her teeth and raised herself, sitting back on her heels, praying for forgiveness. Especially for the fact that right now she wanted to smash Julie Manners’s teeth in.

“You ignoring me?You better
not
be ignoring
me
.Towel-head!”

“Allahu Akbar,”
Helen whispered. She knelt down again, putting her head to the ground, toward Mecca and the holy shrine.

“Look, girls. Little Miss Sand Nigger here thinks she can act all hoity-toity in the U. S. of A. . . .
oof!
”

There was a gasp and Helen, her eyes closed, heard shouting. She continued to pray.There was the sound of a sharp slap and a howl of rage....

“Y’all better back off
our
buddy.” That was Sally, Helen thought, with a rush of gratitude.“You’re a fat ugly waste of skin, Julie.They ain’t made the surgeon in America who can turn you into a babe.You’d best get to prayin’ somebody puts a padlock on your refrigerator.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Let her
go
!” Julie’s groupies, chiming in.

“I suggest you leave Helen be. Permanently. Otherwise I will go directly to Miss Milton and report what I saw.You’ll be expelled.” Jane Morgan, speaking with that proper British accent. Daring them to continue.

“Screw you, you limey bitch! And
you,
you redneck slut! The whole world knows that Jimmy Quiznos turned you down last Saturday!”

“Yeah, like I’d give Jimmy the time of day. He’s so ugly even you could go out with him!” Sally retorted.

“Bitch!” Julie shrieked again, but Helen could hear it was from farther away.

“Allahu Akbar,”
she whispered again, a little more fervently, and stood up, finished. She opened her eyes and saw Julie and half her gang skulking off to the other end of the playground. Julie stuck up one manicured finger.

“Don’t you mind her. She’s ignorant,” Sally said, as Helen rolled the prayer mat up.

“Did she hurt you?” Jane touched her friend’s ribs through the gray jumper.

Helen winced. “No,” she lied.

It would make a pretty fair bruise, that was for sure. But the insults kept ringing through her head.
Sand nigger. Towel-head. Weirdo. Ay-rab.
“Why do they talk like that?”

“Just showing off. They think you’re strange because you never have any boyfriends.”

“Nor does Jane.”

“Ouch,” Jane objected mildly. “You don’t understand tact, do you, Helen?”

“What does it mean, ‘tact’?”

“Never mind.” Sally was full of beans. “You want to be accepted, don’t you?”

“She has
us,
” Jane retorted, still mildly stung.

“But the other girls . . .” Helen had an outsider’s longing to fit in. “The rest of them.You know.”

Jane nodded and glanced at Sally.

“I agree.They never let up. Especially Julie and Maureen and company.” She patted Helen on the shoulder. “I agree it can get wearing.”

“Then we should do something about that.” Sally stretched, her tanned schoolgirl body catlike in the sun. “Serve them out for what they just tried to do to Helen.” Underneath her southern milk-and-honey tones, Jane heard real anger, and she half shivered; Sally might not be academically bright, but she wasn’t dumb. There was a streak of steel to her. And now that they’d messed with Helen, she was furious.

“Let’s throw a party,” Sally said, after a pause.

“A party?” Helen asked.

Jane smiled. Subtle.

“Yes. A real party. Like, party of the year. Must-attend, social death if you don’t show up. It’s my birthday in two weeks—lets crack the whip a little bit over these girls. Prove to them that y’all really
are
my friends.” There was a dangerous light in Sally’s eyes. “And there are consequences if they mess with you.”

Helen’s dark gaze flickered over the loud, obnoxious gaggle of girls at the other corner of the playground; they were laughing, most likely at her.

“But they won’t come to our party,” she said. “I don’t understand.”

Sally smiled at her friend.

When it came to pure, glorious style, Sally Lassiter was in her element.

“Oh, they’ll come,” she said, coolly. “Right, Jane? They’ll come. We just make the party big enough and hot enough and they’ll be begging me for invitations.You can handle it just fine, if you’ve got style.”

She reached out, patting the girls on their shoulders.

“You need to understand. Glamour is a weapon.”

She winked.

CHAPTER 3