Ivy Secrets (12 page)

The redheaded policeman stood up and nodded. “Nice to meet you, girls.”

Tess felt Charlie’s hand stick into her back.

“Yeah,” Tess said. “Hi.”

“This way to Franklin Roosevelt,” Dell said. Charlie followed her down a row of musty books, leaving Tess alone with Patrolman Joe Lyons. His small eyes bored into her as though she were a suspect, a fugitive criminal who had performed some dastardly deed.

“So you’re a Smithie,” he commented.

“And you’re a townie,” she retorted.

“It figures your friend is doing a paper on Roosevelt.”

“What’s wrong with Roosevelt?”

“He just about killed our country, with all those handouts.”

“People were starving,” Tess said.

“People were lazy,” Joe said.

“There was a depression.”

“And people kept having babies. More mouths to feed.”

Tess rolled her eyes and wondered why she was defending something that happened before she was born, to someone who obviously had his head up his ass anyway.

The patrolman shook his head. “It’ll be the same all over again, once Jimmy Carter gets into office.”

Tess had barely paid attention to the recent presidential election. Politics didn’t much interest her, but people did. “I take it you’re a Republican,” she said coldly.

“Don’t tell my aunt. She’ll have me evicted.”

Tess felt the blood rush into her cheeks. “I, for one, would stand by and applaud.”

“Ah,” Joe said. “A typical Smithie. But I thought all typical Smithies had dates on Saturday night.”

A small lump formed in her stomach. “Maybe I’m not so typical.”

Joe laughed. Tess wanted to smack him in the face. “Yes, you are. You all are. You’re probably just too stuck up to get a date.”

Tess tightened her fists at her sides, her short ragged fingernails dug into her palms. “For your information, Officer, I have a boyfriend.”

Joe looked around. “Is he hiding behind you?”

“He happens to be in Geneva. That’s in Switzerland, in case you didn’t learn that in policeman’s school.”

Joe whistled. “Switzerland? Wow. Does he ski for a living? Oh, no, wait. He probably gives handouts to poor little orphan kids in the Alps. Paid for, of course by the trust fund his granddaddy left him.” He tipped back his head and laughed again. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Roosevelt, would it?”

Tess put her hands on her hips. “You’re an asshole,” she said. “His name is Peter Hobart. He happens to be in Geneva doing his junior year abroad. And, he happens to go to Amherst College.” She turned quickly. There was Charlie staring at her. Dell was beside her.

“I can see you two have hit it off,” Dell said.

“Did you get the book?” Tess asked Charlie.

“I’m all set,” Charlie answered, holding up a dusty volume.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie asked when they were outside. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a boyfriend?”

Tess pushed the button on the pole at the crosswalk and stared up the street at the oncoming traffic. “I didn’t tell you,” she replied, “because you didn’t ask.”

    The weeks flew by. Christmas in San Francisco came and went, and winter set into Northampton with a vengeance. Tess began the new semester with renewed confidence: though she’d hated lying to Charlie, having her believe she had a boyfriend made being dateless on weekends seem more acceptable. She wondered why she hadn’t thought
of it sooner. She spent a growing amount of time at the Old Book Shoppe, pouring through the maze of periodicals and texts, helping Dell rearrange her dolls and books to continually make room for more, and enjoying long, thoughtful conversations over coffee with Dell and the countless customers who liked to browse, shop, or simply hang out in the small little shop that welcomed all. Amazingly, Tess even began to like her classes at Smith.

Soon the campus began to buzz with plans for Rally Day—the special day in February reserved for house skits and parades and concerts and other nonsense created, Tess was certain, to keep the girls from going crazy in the New England snow. Of course, along with it came the need for dates. Boys. That stuff that everyone but Tess seemed to have as a natural part of life.

One morning at breakfast, Charlie put a plate down in front of Tess. “I need to talk to you,” she said. “Do you have an early class?”

Tess looked at the bowl of oatmeal and poured maple syrup over it. One thing about New England was the food was great. Tess suspected she’d gained ten pounds since coming to Smith, but what the hell, there wasn’t much else to do but study, do laundry, and eat.

“No class until ten.”

“I’ll be finished here in about an hour. Can you meet me in the living room?”

“Sure.” Tess plucked half a bagel from the straw basket on the table. “I’ll meet you there.”

An hour later she sat in the living room, wondering what was up with Charlie. She flipped through
Newsweek
, looked at the overkill photos of the new president and first lady, and idly wondered if, as Dell Brooks’s asshole nephew had predicted, the country was heading for trouble.

“Thanks for waiting for me.” It was Charlie.

“What’s the problem?” Tess had become used to Charlie asking her advice on boys and clothes and how to fit in. As if Tess knew the answers. She’d also become used to Marina asking no advice, needing none. Marina was too busy dating as many boys as possible, dragging that poor man, Viktor, to some of the damnedest places. For all the dates Marina had, Tess wondered if she had ever been so much as kissed. How could she have, with Viktor watching her every move?

Charlie settled on the floor in front of Tess. “I’ve got a date for Rally Day with a guy from UMass.”

“A new guy?”

Charlie nodded. “He’s on the lacrosse team with Dean. Dean was kind of a jerk, but this guy seems nice.”

“What’s his name?” Tess asked politely. Not that she cared. The name of Charlie’s date would change in a few weeks. It always did.

“His name is Guy.”

“Guy. A guy named Guy. Now that’s funny.”

Charlie swatted Tess’s knee. “Don’t laugh. He’s really very nice.”

“So were the last seven you went out with.”

“Shut up. I need a favor. Guy is a senior.”

“An old man.”

“Well, yes. It makes me a little nervous.”

“So what’s the favor?”

“He has this friend named Jim.”

Tess squirmed in her chair.

“I wouldn’t be as nervous going out with Guy if I double-dated. You know, if you would go out with Jim.”

“Jesus, Charlie. A blind date?”

“Please, Tess?”

She stood up. “I told you, I have a boyfriend.”

“Please, Tess. Just this once. Until I feel a little safer with Guy. Until I decide if I want to see him again.”

Tess bristled.
Until Charlie decided if she wanted to see Guy again.
Because it would be Charlie’s decision, not Guy’s. Well, of course it would. The boys always wanted to go out with her again.

“What makes you think this Jim would go out with me?”

“He will if Guy asks him.”

Tess walked to the window and stared out onto the front lawn. She looked over toward the Peacock’s Bench—the cement, half-moon-shaped bench where lovers had been lovers for generations, where boys and girls held hands, and often kissed. Where Cupid held court.

Tess—on a blind date? The boy would take one look at her and laugh. “Kind of fat, isn’t she?” she could almost hear his words to Charlie’s date when they escaped to the girls’
room.
But she’s got a great personality. And she has such a pretty face.

“I’ve already made plans for Rally Day,” Tess said.

“Bull. Come with me, Tess. I won’t take no for an answer.”

    Charlie should have taken no for an answer. After the Rally Day festivities, the two couples went to a club in Amherst, though Tess had been tempted to plead a massive headache and go back to Morris House. Or sneak over to Dell’s for a cup of coffee. Sitting in the dimly lit bar now, she wished she had.

Her date was a hunk. He was tall and muscular and had light brown hair with a peaches-and-cream complexion that set off his gorgeous walnut eyes. Tess figured it was apparent to everyone that this was a fix-up: how else would a guy like him be out with a girl like her?

“I’ve never been to San Francisco,” the hunk beside her said. “What’s it like?”

Tess stared into the head of her underage beer. His politeness made her want to gag. Then again, she supposed he could have simply taken one look at her, laughed, and said, “You expect me to be seen in public with this dog?” She cleared her throat and grasped the handle of her glass mug. “It’s okay,” she replied. “It’s home.”

“Tell us about the Golden Gate Bridge,” Charlie prodded. “Is it as magnificent as the pictures?”

“It’s okay.” She wished everyone would stop focusing on her. She wished they’d all look at someone else. She moved on the bench of the booth. Beneath her, the vinyl squeaked against her jeans. She felt color rise in her face and hoped they didn’t think the noise had come from her. She wriggled a little and tried to make the noise happen again so she could explain. It did not.

“Haight Ashbury must have been a wild place,” the guy, Guy, said from his seat too close to Charlie.

Tess shrugged. “If you like that sort of thing.” She set down her beer. “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Her date stood up.

Tess slid from the booth, marched toward the sign that
read Rest Rooms, and wondered if there was a back door out of this place.

    By the time the boys brought them back to the house, Tess had, indeed, developed a massive headache. It might, in fact, have already grown into a brain tumor.

As they went upstairs, Charlie was frowning at her.

“You were completely different tonight, Tess. You’re usually such fun to be with.”

“He wasn’t my type.”

“You didn’t give him a chance.”

“I’m sorry if I spoiled your evening, but I told you. I have a boyfriend.”

“Well,” Charlie said, heading into her room, “don’t worry about my evening. I decided I don’t like Guy anyway. But I sure hope you’re different when you’re with your boyfriend. Or you’ll never keep him. Good night.”

Tess unlocked her door. Inside, she flung herself on the bed and cradled her pain with her pillow. She was going to change. Somehow, she was going to change. She would make herself different, she would make herself desirable. No one would ever feel sorry for Tess Richards again. She would find her own men. She would get her own dates. She was going to show them all.

Edward James was a pain in the ass. He wouldn’t give Marina the respect of calling her Princess, so she was damned if she was going to call him Professor. He claimed it was a matter of government semantics; Marina claimed it was arrogance. Typical of the male species, she thought, to assume his gender entitled him to all the power. In Marina’s opinion, Edward James was just another grown man still suck in the boys’ room measuring himself.

She wondered if Viktor was any different.

She sat in the library, trying to finish a paper for
Professor
James’s government class: a comparative piece on the tribunal tenets of the Apache versus the ancient Greeks. She wondered how this would ever help in her future rule of Novokia. But Marina suspected that Edward James would be exceptionally tough on her because of her background, and she knew if she didn’t get a passing grade, she would fail the class. And though she wasn’t terribly interested in her studies—her only interest in coming to Smith had been to escape to America—Marina knew if she failed, her father would not let her come back. It was already March. Her time was almost up. And if she couldn’t come back to Smith next year, she would never have another chance to be with Viktor.

It had been two years since Marina first realized she wanted him. Two years since he’d dodged her not-so-subtle advances, loyal to the king, diligent in his duties, and ever-conscious of his rank in life: He was the servant; Marina, the untouchable princess. The more he evaded emotional involvement, the more Marina was determined to have him.

Her gaze drifted around the high-ceilinged room, across the mahogany walls decorated with gilt-edged portraits of Smith alums, not unlike the ancestral walls of the palace. She realized that, instead of offering freedom, America had become another prison. Stoic portraits on rigid walls, and Viktor out of reach.

She turned back to the book that lay open on the wooden table before her. If she blew this course in government, she would lose her only chance.

She read; she made notes; she tried to absorb the information. She heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching and she raised her head. It was another Smithie padding through the library, arms loaded with books, an expression of determination on her face. Marina wondered if the girl was a virgin. Like her.

Not that Marina wanted it that way. If Viktor asked her tonight she’d be naked in his bed before he had a chance to change his mind. But he just didn’t get it. All the endless, tedious, meaningless dates Marina had been on since coming here had been for one express purpose: to make Viktor jealous. To stir his soul and fire his loins with fever for her. While Marina spent countless nights in the backseat of the car, whispering heavily, loudly kissing, trying to ignore an occasional brush of her hand against some poor boy’s hardened pants, Viktor sat behind the wheel, eyes fixed on the highway, driving with disinterest. Clearly, her quest to make him jealous wasn’t working.