The Chocolate Money (25 page)

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ballentyne, Bettina needs to be back at Bright by seven o’clock. She also isn’t allowed to leave campus except to go into the town of Cardiss. Maybe you could drive up and visit her?”

Pause.

“I understand,
Ms.
Ballentyne, but Cardiss doesn’t make exceptions for heiresses.”

Pause.

“I
know
it’s the night before she goes up for action. That’s why it’s mandatory that Bettina follow all the rules. There are no exceptions.”

Pause.

“Yes, you
are
her mother, but by sending her to Cardiss, you made the school in loco parentis. Unless you want to take her out of this school for good, you can’t override our rules.

“Please, I’m sorry you are upset. And no, I don’t want to discuss my personal life with you.”

Pause.

“No, from what I gather, Cape won’t be leaving the area with his mother.”

Deeds is now gesticulating wildly as if Babs can see her. Forgets I’m standing there.

“Okay, I’ll put Bettina back on the phone. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”

Deeds passes the phone back to me, shakes her head. Goes back to her room and
Le petit prince,
I presume. A fantastical book, but whose plot, syntax she can understand. Unlike Babs’s and mine.

We resume our conversation.

“What a fucking lawn ornament,” she says. “No sense of priorities. Zilch sense of humor.”

“So, I guess we will have to wait until Wednesday. I really would’ve liked to come, Babs. Sorry it didn’t work out,” I say, thinking that Babs has taken Deeds seriously. But of course Babs doesn’t take anyone seriously.

“Are you kidding me? I’m still sending the limo to get you.”

I take more than a second to answer. If going to see Cape was risky, leaving midday in a stretch limo is downright destructive. If I do it, I’ll get kicked out for sure.

“Bettina?” Babs, incredulous that I might follow the rules now that she’s concerned. “This whole
in loco parentis crap is bullshit. I’m your mother. I get to decide what is or is not okay.”

I think of her care package. Was she trying to be cool by sending it? Or did she want me to get kicked out all along? Probably both.

I say, “I’m sorry, Babs, but I can’t. I hope you have fun.”

“Have it your way, you fucking chicken,” she says, all the chummy excitement gone.

Conversation over. Dead air. I hold the receiver as if it is some kind of amputated appendage. Hope I’ve made the right choice.

O
NE DAY
left before the trial, and I can’t think of anything productive to do. I consider what Babs would do in this situation and decide to shop. I need something appropriate to wear to the trial. Not only is my black shift too sexy, too evening, I can’t show up in the same outfit I got busted in.

Back to Wow! The same saleslady is there, waiting to help me. I’m sure she remembers my odd choice of
togs
for the dance.

“I need a dress for tea with my grandmother,” I say. A lie, but good shorthand for “virginal, frumpy.”

“I think I have just the thing.” She walks to the back of the store. Digs through all the racks.

“You are a size eight, yes?”

The dress she hands me is the exact opposite of the one she sold me before. A floral jumper with a Peter Pan collar, and it hits below the knees. Perfect. Now for the shoes. I pick out a pair of black patent-leather flats and hope they don’t give me blisters. No time to break them in, and I don’t want to limp to the trial.

The saleslady (I find out her name is Bev) rings me up and once again is bothered by my use of traveler’s checks. She folds the dress into a Wow! shopping bag, covering it with tissue paper. She tucks the shoes into the side.

“I hope you enjoy your tea,” Bev says.

“Huh?” Forgetting the story that conjured this dress. Once again, I can’t seem to get out of a situation without lying. “Oh, yes. Thank you,” I say. A tinkly bell on the door marks my departure.

I continue my walk through the town of Cardiss. Arrive at the hamburger place, The Dog and the Fiddle. I stop and read at the menu hanging outside. Look in the window. Sitting in the front booth are Cape and Mags. They have their heads bowed and are holding hands, as if they are praying.

I feel a sudden longing for Babs. Why couldn’t she have stayed at the Cardiss Inn, taken me out to lunch, reassured me? Suddenly, I have the idea to go into the restaurant and join them. Mags might have given me a chilly reception at Tea House years ago, but maybe this time will be different. Even though she cried on the phone to Cape when he told her the news, she is a mother after all.

I open the door and walk to their table, my Wow! bag swinging in my hand. Cape spots me coming, although he averts his eyes and pretends not to. I reach their table and stand by the edge, the same spot a waitress would. Wait for them to ask me to sit down. At first, neither one says anything. They just stare.

At last, despite the awkward situation, Cape remembers his manners.

“Mom,” he says coolly, “this is Bettina.”

“We met once, as I remember.”

Then, silence. As if they think that if they don’t say anything, I will get the idea and leave.

But stupidly, I still believe they might ask me to sit down. We’re all in this together, after all. Then again, maybe not.

“Out shopping?” Cape says, as if I were insane to be hitting the stores with such a momentous day ahead of us.

“Not really. I just needed to pick something up.”

“Oh,” he says. “Bettina, could you please let my mother and me finish our meal?”

But I’m not ready to leave just yet.

“Mrs. Morse,” I say, “I just want to apologize that Cape and I got into this situation. I wish we hadn’t.” I think this might melt her resolve, show her that I’m not Babs, that I do have the capacity for remorse. However, Mags remains unmoved.

“It’s really too late for apologies, Bettina,” she says. “I don’t know if your mother put you up to this, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

I want to say that Cape wasn’t the victim here and that Babs had nothing to do with this. But I’m not sure that this is entirely true.

F
INALLY, WEDNESDAY. STUDENT JUDICIAL
committee meeting at four, followed by the faculty trial at five. Stud Jud, as it’s known, gets one vote on our fate, almost a formality with no real consequences. Just ensures that we have the embarrassment of being judged by our peers. I haven’t forgotten that Meredith is on the committee. Wonder if she’s the tiniest bit mad at Cape or if she will pin the whole thing on me.

I sleep poorly the night before, and despite my resolve, I leave Bright at five
A.M.
for a smoke or, rather, for many. I tell myself I will brush my teeth vigorously and spray enough Coco to mask the smell. I sit on the bench of the boathouse and watch the river rush by. I know Virginia Woolf killed herself by walking into a river with stones in her pockets. I am not quite at the jumping-off place, but close. I’m now really worried that because I refused to go to Boston, Babs will bag the whole event and fly back to Chicago.

I put my first cigarette out and catch sight of my ankles, a burn on each one. They no longer make me feel powerful; they make me feel damaged. How did I manage to fuck things up so badly? I am tempted to go for the whole I-have-major-problems package and put a cigarette out on each of my wrists, but I know such a thing can’t be undone. And maybe, someday, when Babs dies, I will have a shot at a normal life.

Today, Cape and I aren’t required to go to classes. The school expects that we’ll spend the early part of the day with our parents. They’re allowed to visit our rooms before we go up for action. I know that Mags will probably be in Wentington after breakfast, but as for Babs, who knows what her plans are.

I return to my bed and sleep for a while, since my previous night’s sleep was so broken. When I wake up, I go to the grill and order a vanilla frappe. It’s all that I feel like eating; screw the calories. I go back to my room and try to read
Anna Karenina,
but I am too distracted to make any progress. I keep thinking about Babs. I decide to call her at the Ritz, though I don’t know what my reception will be.

I go downstairs and pick up the rotary phone. It’s too complicated to use my calling card, so I call collect. The operator at the Ritz miraculously accepts the charges and puts me through. The phone rings and rings until Babs finally picks up.

“Hello?” she says in a groggy voice. For most people, being groggy makes them more vulnerable, but for my mother, it is just Babs on low.

“Babs, it’s Bettina.”

“I figured as much.”

“I was just calling to see what time you are coming to Cardiss. The first meeting is at four.”

“Hmm. Let me get this straight. You flatly refuse to come to Boston yesterday after I had gone to all the trouble to plan girlie time, and now you expect me lug myself up to Cardiss. Tell me why the fuck I should do this.”

“Well, Babs,” I begin tentatively, knowing whatever I say will decide whether she shows up or not, “parents usually come.”

It’s unbearable to think of going through this alone.

“Since when have I been lumped into the category of parents? What, I want to know, is in it for me?”

I pause. Don’t really have a good answer to this. If I have to work to get her here, chances are she has already made up her mind about coming. Maybe her attachment to my being at Cardiss will convince her. Or maybe watching me get kicked out will be fun.

“Students who have their parents there usually have a better chance of not getting kicked out.”

“And why would I give a shit about that?”

Now I am barely above begging. I opt for a new strategy.

“You could see Cape. He looks a lot like Mack.”

“Ah, yes. I
was
looking forward to that.”

“I already told him about the whole thing so you don’t have to.”

“Good for you, my girl! Points on the fearless score.”

I try one more time. “Please come, Babs. I need you.”

I know Babs detests neediness in all forms, but I can’t think of anything else.

“I’ll see how I feel after some coffee and a few ciggies.
Ciao,
babe.”

She hangs up, her visit still up in the air. I go back to my room, no real progress made. It is ten thirty, and I have the whole day to kill. I make my bed, straighten up my desk, and organize my clothes in different drawers. Cape’s pennies sit on top of my dresser. I decide I’ll take them to the trial.

T
HREE O’CLOCK
. Time to get dressed. I put on the granny-tea dress and black flats. I decide not to wear any makeup. Just opt for a good scrubbing of my face with Noxzema and cold water. I don’t put on lipstick, just a swipe of lip balm. I look in the full-length mirror and almost don’t recognize myself. I look innocent in a way I didn’t even look when I was ten, when Babs picked out all my clothes.

I sit on my bed and smoke. Don’t want to go to the boathouse and chance running into Jake. Cigarettes are a great way to kill time without actually doing anything. Am ashing into an empty Diet Coke can when there is a knock at the door.

Will Deeds ever get tired of catching me at things I shouldn’t be doing?

I tentatively open the door. It isn’t Deeds but Babs.

B
ABS WALKS INTO
my room without so much as a hello. She’s wearing a maroon suit with gray fur around the collar and cuffs. Cardiss colors. I’m almost surprised she knows what they are, but then again, she is always attentive to a theme. Has on a ruby necklace, a ruby bracelet studded with diamonds, and a ruby cocktail ring. She sits down on the bed, then says:

“What a dump! This place looks more like a prison than a dorm room. What the fuck is this?” She points to the rug with the
B
on it.

“Holly’s mom gave it to me on my first day here.”

“Ah, the joys of kitsch. And your sheets—standard-issue Cardiss. I would’ve thought with all the money I gave you, you would buy some new ones. And what the hell are you wearing? You look Amish.”

“I thought it would make me look contrite for the trial.”

“You don’t look contrite, you look like someone who has zip taste in clothes.”

“I’m not going to change, Babs. I don’t have any other dresses.”

She goes to my closet and takes inventory.

“What about the one I sent you? Or this black one? It’s almost chic.”

“I thought it was too risqué. I was wearing it when I got caught.”

“Well, have some balls. You are from Chicago, not Kansas.”

I back down. I will do anything to placate Babs. I am that grateful she showed up. I pull on the dress. Still wear my new black flats.

“Bag the flats,” she says. “You are too short to swing them. Go with the heels.”

“I’m not sure, Babs.”

“And put some makeup on. This crunchy shit is not going to fly. I don’t want you to embarrass me.”

The spiral staircase all over again. I put on a minimal coat of makeup, and it’s time to go.

T
HE ENTIRE PROCESS
takes place on the top floor of the Madson library. There’s a special room the school uses for big-deal occasions. Trustee meetings, search committees for new department heads, discussions about changing the curriculum. Babs wants to drive to the building in the limo, but since the library is a two-minute walk from Bright House, I persuade her not to.

“Have it your way, babe,” she says.

We set out across the lawn, me struggling with my pumps in the grass. Babs lights up a cigarette.

“Um, Babs, there’s no smoking on campus.”

“Maybe for you, Bettina, but I don’t go here so I don’t give a fuck.”

I pray she puts it out before we reach the library. Thank God, she does. We arrive early. Look like we take the whole thing seriously. We take the elevator to the seventh floor. Down the hall is a wooden door that is cracked open.