The Chocolate Money (21 page)

Cape keeps walking and knocks on Meredith’s door. His strides have a new confidence, which I attribute to our nocturnal activities. He now feels himself on a par with Meredith, as confident as she is. Will win her back. I consider telling Meredith that we hooked up, but I don’t want to ruin my chances with either of them, become a girl who sits in the corner and plays by herself.

I imagine that when Meredith opens the door and sees Cape, there will be a tinge of surprise in her hello. She won’t be expecting to see him.

Or maybe in Meredith-land, she knew, in the end, he would come. She is never let down, never embarrassed or humiliated. She just changes her plans.

Cape is there for about an hour. She’s making him work for it.

After visitation, we all meet up in Meredith and Jess’s room. Meredith and I smoke. Her mood is now ebullient.

“I’ve bagged my trip to NYC. Cape asked me to the dance. I said no initially, but then he looked so dejected—like a lost dog—that I took pity on him and said yes.”

“That’s great, Meredith. Now we can all get ready together. It wouldn’t be right if you missed out,” Holly says.

“Yes, and you can even borrow my Clinique foundation. I noticed that your skin has more than a touch of acne.”

If Holly is offended by this, she doesn’t let on. In her mind, Meredith is being constructive, not critical. Holly touches her face and says, “Thanks, Mere. I appreciate it.”

“Bettina, could you bring some of your booze? I am going to give Cape a blowjob, and I can take it to another level with a good buzz. Also, he might try to go down on me, and some rum will make the whole thing less awkward.”

“Nathan told me in such a situation, you should give your pubic hair a trim and flush the hair down the toilet. It makes it easier for a guy to navigate down there. You can use my nail scissors,” Jess says.

“Did you do it?” asks Meredith.

“Yes,” says Jess. “It looks much neater down there. Nate will have a clean workspace.” I am shocked that Jess has such bold sexual plans. That she will let a boy touch her anorexic body, with its sharp bones and flat-as-cardboard chest.

Holly looks intrigued. “I never even thought of that.”

I know if Cape admires Mere’s groomed centerfold, he will never want to go near mine again. I suddenly hope Meredith will ask Jess for the scissors and do it right there. I want to see if her vagina looks different from mine. Maybe if I got close enough, I could smell her and see if she is cleaner and fresher than I am.

“Thanks, Jess. Brilliant idea. I was going to wear a thong and expose my ass, but this is much better.”

“No problem.”

“You can wear my diamond studs if you want,” Meredith says. This is a big deal. All of Meredith’s friends have them; they are like sorority pins. They’re not for special occasions; the girls wear them all the time, even during sports.

For once, all the girls in Bright look richer than I am.

I
DON’T HAVE A DRESS
that is suitable for the evening of the dance, even though I’m not actually going, but I still have plenty of traveler’s checks left from the wad that Babs gave me in the beginning of the school year. I decide to walk into town and buy a dress. Jake might not care what I wear, but I do. For once, I want to participate in the ritual of getting ready with all the other girls.

I walk through campus until I come to the one street that represents the “town” of Cardiss. There is an ice cream shop, a bookstore, a tanning salon (bizarrely), a few homey restaurants that serve soup with hearty hunks of bread, a hamburger place. There are only two stores that sell clothing: Mrs. M., which caters to middle-aged women who have not frequented the gym in a while. The store has monochrome pantsuits in bright colors, the pants at three-quarter length and the oversize shirts with droopy bows.

This store does not attract the core of the female faculty at Cardiss. Most teachers are more like Deeds. Fit from workouts, the women look like they are still in college. To find something in her size, Deeds must buy her clothes on trips to Boston or order them from the L. L. Bean catalog. A small part of me wishes she would go with me, like a big sister, but I think of the five cookies she put out on my first day. Know she will never give more than just enough. I wish I had had the foresight to go to Boston, but the dance is tomorrow. I will have to make due with Cardiss’s meager offerings.

Next door to Mrs. M. is a store called Wow! I normally eschew places that have exclamation points in their names, but now I have no choice. Wow! has two sections: teen and adult. I examine the teen dresses, which go to the floor. Pouffy sleeves and muted colors, just this side of wedding dresses.

I walk over to the adult section. Peruse the rack and find a plain black shift that hits just above the knee. There is a shoe section, and the saleslady helps me pick out a pair of black pumps. Simple and elegant. My outfit is almost an exact replica of what Babs wore to Mack’s funeral.

Near the counter is a cluster of jewelry. No gray pearls with diamonds, but I see a silver necklace that would be perfect to put my father’s medallion on. I’m still afraid to take the next step and find him. After the Cape incident, I don’t think I ready to risk rejection so soon. What if my father has a real family, a wife and a son or daughter my age who would keep him from wanting me? But maybe, just maybe, I am a secret that he has begrudgingly kept all these years because Babs told him to, but he really wants me to know. I still can’t figure out why Babs kept his identity a secret. Maybe because she wanted me all to herself? Not because she loves me, but because she didn’t want me to love anyone else? Maybe the coin doesn’t even belong to him. Was it just something Babs gave me to stop my questions? I know I will be devastated if this is the case. I know how many times Babs has twisted my hopes into humiliation, and I am just not ready to climb this staircase yet.

Though she said almost nothing while helping me pick out shoes, the saleslady now acts like we know each other well enough for her to offer an opinion. She tries to dissuade me from buying the black dress.

“Is this for the dance?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“We have more festive togs. I can help you pick something.”

Togs?
Is she fucking kidding? I thought that was one of those words that no one actually uses in conversation. I’m also pissed that she thinks to give me fashion tips. Does not understand that I don’t want to be like other girls. Their dresses seem too hopeful, mine just right.

“I like this one, thank you.”

She shakes her head and rings me up. I don’t care what she thinks. Babs would never take fashion advice from someone who works in a clothing store. Maybe from one of the designers who make dresses just for her: Halston, Ungaro, Blass. But not from someone who earns seven dollars an hour and folds things in tissue paper. All the stuff Babs buys gets sent to the aparthouse in heavy hanging bangs, the items covered in plastic sheaths.

My dress, shoes, and silver chain total one hundred and sixty dollars. I’m sure the saleslady expects me to pay with my parents’ credit card. Instead, I give her two hundred dollars in traveler’s checks. She doesn’t understand these at first, spends a bit of time looking over them. I bet she’s never left the country. I’m about to explain to her that they are just like cash and she can call American Express with questions, but she doesn’t say anything. Just opens the cash register and hands me my change.

“Enjoy the dance!” she calls after me, like she’s happy to have helped me pick something out. Maybe she has no daughters.

“Thanks!” I say, as if I am as excited as she is. All the parties I have ever been to have ended badly, but she cannot tell this from just looking at me.

My next stop is Hair We Come, the town’s beauty salon. I decide on a thorough bikini wax and an extreme haircut. I want to top Meredith’s well-groomed vagina, even though I know Jake could care less. I have never had a bikini wax. Have only accompanied Babs to hers and chatted with her as a Czech lady ripped the hair from her crotch. One of Babs’s rules is never, ever shave your privates. The hair will just come back as stubble, a kind of female beard. She would be proud I am following her advice.

I check in at the desk.

“I would like a bikini wax and a haircut, please.”

The woman looks at me. Shakes her head.

“We don’t do waxing. Not really much need for bikinis this time of year. But we do offer hair removal with tweezers.”

Tweezers? It would take at least a week to clean me up. I could work on it at night after I finished all my homework, I suppose. But the idea of plucking hair follicle by follicle seems overwhelming and painful.

“Um, no, thanks. Just a haircut.”

“Sweetie, we could fix those brows of yours. They are a little thick.”

A part of myself I had never thought to be self-conscious about. I imagine angry red lines on my forehead.

“I do them myself. It’s just been a while.”

She shakes her head, not ready to let it go. “Well, hon, it’s time.”

There is no reason to be nice to this woman who has criticized my looks. I have clearly come to her beauty salon to address the problem. I smile, a promise that I will Get to It.

“Just a haircut, then?” she continues, satisfied she has made her point. “We have a special rate for Cardiss students. Fifteen dollars.”

I worry about the price. This is what Stacey gave Geoff as a tip at Zodiac. Can a haircut be any good if it’s this cheap? Twenty percent would be three dollars. Could a person buy anything with that meager a tip? I’m tempted to tell the lady I’ll pay more, as if I were buying some kind of good-cut insurance, but I know it doesn’t work that way.

“Great,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Go see Barb in the corner.”

She points me toward a brown Naugahyde swivel chair near the window. Barb is short and wears bangles on both of her wrists that jingle as she takes my hand. As I’m getting settled, she says, “What do we have in mind today?”

The
we
is reassuring to me, like we are working on a project together. I look at the mirror in front of her station and see a cosmetology license taped on it. The paper is stamped with the seal of New Hampshire. Geoff did not have his credentials on display. Maybe he didn’t have any. I wonder if she has to make small talk with all her clients before and during the haircut, if this is part of a hairdresser’s code. A kind of Hippocratic oath, but just for hair. Geoff clearly didn’t have such principles when it came to me.

“I am going to a dance and want a new look,” I say. My hair is long, to the middle of my back, but it has none of the body of Meredith’s. I want something that will make me stand out, not something that looks like a failed imitation of her.

“How about a color rinse and a perm?”

Babs always makes fun of perms. People want curly but get kinky.
If you want body, pick up some hot rollers.

“I was just thinking of a cut. Maybe a bob.”

“Are you sure? That’s pretty drastic. How about I just trim the ends?”

Is Barb worried she can’t pull this off? But seeing her license gives me confidence in her.

“No, I’m sure.”

She walks me over to the washing station and shampoos my hair with two applications of green-apple-smelling shampoo and follows it with a thick conditioner that smells like lemons.

We return to her chair and she cuts. The hair falls in my eyes, but I keep them open, watching.

Holly’s horrified when I return to our room.

“Bettina! Your hair. What happened?”

She clearly has never read an issue of
Vogue.
Her reaction makes me feel like I made the right decision.

“I was just sick of it.”

“It’s the day before the dance. What if Jake doesn’t like it? You can’t fix it.”

“It doesn’t matter what Jake thinks. It’s only hair.”

“Well, if you’re sure. Are you going to tell your mom?”

“I really don’t think she would care.”

When we walk to dinner, I check myself out as we pass the enormous windows of the library. See a girl who might have grown up in Paris or even New York instead of Chicago. I almost as glamorous as Babs. Maybe I
should
call her and tell her about it.

We arrive and spot Jess and Meredith at a corner table. They are sitting with three other girls that I recognize from Meredith’s field hockey team: Serena, Lake, and Elizabeth. They’re all pretty, like Meredith, with slight variations in their noses and mouths. If I didn’t know Meredith, I’d be hard-pressed to tell the four of them apart. The way they’re leaning in to her, giving her their full attention as she talks, it is obvious that she is the leader of the pack. Holly and I go through the line. Join Meredith and her
cercle des amies.
Meredith raises an eyebrow when she sees my new look. The other girls don’t seem to notice or care since I’m not one of them. I don’t count.

“Daring,” Meredith says.

“Not really.” I wonder what Meredith will think of my new dress, if she will deride it but secretly think it is cool. Maybe she’ll want to borrow it someday.

I scan the dining room. Cape is sitting with Lowell, not three tables from us. Meredith peacocks for Cape, sitting up straight and shaking her blond hair over her shoulders. Surprisingly, he seems to be looking at me, as is Lowell. Who knew boys gave a damn about hair, especially the short kind? Maybe they think it’s ugly. I don’t care. Cape’s looking at me does not go unnoticed by Meredith. She pouts.

We finish our dinner, but I linger, going back for another cup of black coffee. Finally I’m confident enough to sit alone. Only Holly says goodbye. Her voice betrays the tiniest amount of pity. In Iowa, I bet only babies and menopausal women have short hair. I fit into neither category.

Cape and Lowell are still at their table. Meredith doesn’t acknowledge Cape as she flounces out since he made no eye contact with her during dinner. If he notices her dramatic exit, he doesn’t show it.

I finish my coffee, dump the Styrofoam cup into the trash. I’m not ready to go back to Bright. Don’t want to hang out with Meredith’s posse of non-Bright friends. They always look slightly offended when I am there, as if they are waiting for Meredith to tell me to go away. But thankfully, she never does.