The Heroines (13 page)

Once the drapes were hung again, and Scarlett’s breath fell into the rhythms of deep sleep, we crept out the door. Mother locked it from the outside, turning the old skeleton key with a gentle click. We went down to the kitchen and quietly ate a simple supper. Our ears stayed cocked for commotion from above, but the hallways remained quiet.

“Battle fatigue’s probably set in,” Mother said.

“She’ll sleep a week, if we’re lucky. If the nightmares don’t wake her,” Gretta said.

We went to bed early that night, afraid that any noise from the television might wake Scarlett. In the morning, Mother’s footsteps woke me, and I jumped out of bed. She and Gretta stood at Scarlett’s door, Mother’s ear pressed to the wooden panel. Gretta knocked first—lightly, then harder and harder, until the door, which was supposed to be locked, swung open. Mother knelt and picked up the skeleton key from the floor.

“How in the world—Oh, there was another key in the nightstand!”

We pushed through the door to discover a ravaged room. It looked as if a cyclone had hit. The drapes had been torn down and dangled from their rods. Potatoes and yams were scattered across the carpet. A pile of apples made the old mattress sag. It looked like a silverware explosion on the floor beside the sunporch. Sunlight streamed through the bare windows, reflecting off Grandmother’s tea tray. On the nightstand rested three sharp cooking knives with wooden handles, including Gretta’s well-worn meat cleaver.

“She tried to rob us!” Gretta cried.

“She thought she could take this all back with her,” Mother said, her voice full of pity.

I pointed at the cleaver. “She was going to kill us!”

“Nonsense,” Mother said. “She was desperate.”

“She killed that Yankee soldier,” I said.

“These are tools for survival,” Gretta said. “She could sell the silver, eat the vegetables.”

“She must have snuck out in the middle of the night.”

“Sneaky like cat!” Gretta said.

“I knew she wouldn’t stay long,” Mother said.

“Not even a day,” I said.

It took the three of us two hours to put everything back in place. The odd assortment of items made a deep impression on me: root vegetables and silver, sharp knives and candlesticks. She had pared down the Homestead’s possessions to the essentials. For a girl like me, who’d never given a thought to survival, it struck my imagination, made me wonder how I would fare in desperate circumstances. Survival had never been a concern, not until I’d found myself locked up in the Unit.

T
he evening after Kristina’s group debacle, I found out what isolation meant. Maria had emerged from her catatonia long enough to inform me that a nurse had to check on Kristina every ten minutes.

“The nurses hate isolation!” she said. “It means they have to get off their fat butts and quit watching TV.”

I loitered in the hall outside the isolation room on the way back from dinner. It was right next to the nurses’ station; I had to investigate, to find out what the punishment was for acting out as Kristina did. As I waited for the nurse to do her check on Kristina—she took much longer than the requisite ten minutes—I read a hand-drawn poster that listed the behaviors that earned you scoops: showing respect, apologizing, ignoring provocation, being helpful, avoiding conflict, etc., etc. I thought about how Scarlett would handle this situation. She’d wrestle up a passel of those scoops and scheme her way out of the Unit.

Finally I heard the nurse’s chair legs squeak and the heavy pad of her feet moving toward the door. I crept around the corner, and when the door cracked open I got a glimpse of Kristina’s bare feet. She lay on a bare mattress—no pillow, no blanket, no linens—strapped at the feet and ankles. The almost empty room, with its cinderblock walls and steel door, made their voices echo. When the nurse entered, Kristina cried, “I’m gonna sue! This is the last time you fuckers do this to me! You have to let me out! I got only two weeks left on my insurance anyway!”

“Keller knows how to get it extended. And you just gave him the perfect excuse!”

Shocked, I ran to my room and collapsed on the bed. How many times had Kristina been through that drill? Her empty bed, tightly bound in white sheets and a cotton blanket, looked luxurious compared to the isolation bed. I turned away from it, stared at the lumpy asbestos tiles overhead. No matter how much I regretted trusting Kristina too quickly, I wouldn’t wish isolation on anyone. Mother was right about not talking about the Heroines. People could use it against you. I’d never get off the Unit if I confided in anyone again. With Kristina’s empty bed beside me, I felt incredibly lonely. Even memories of Conor couldn’t comfort me.

Though covered in cotton, my pillow was sheathed in plastic, and beneath the sheets was a plastic liner. The whole bed was ready for fluids: tears, piss, blood. I wanted my mommy. I wanted to be in the Homestead, where violence didn’t lurk in the halls, didn’t arrive at the push of an intercom button. Violence was at home in the Unit. I was not. I soaked the pillow with my tears, right down to the plastic, cried till I grew weary of it, then decided I had to do something. I inhaled and focused hard, pressing my temples.
Conor, think of me now. Follow these thoughts! Save me!
I fell asleep for hours (Florence had given me what I now know was Valium at dinner), and I awoke with heavy limbs and a racing head, thinking, once again, of my new inspirational figure: Scarlett. Sending telepathic messages wasn’t enough.

It dawned on me suddenly what I needed to do to get off the Unit: earn enough scoops to get a phone pass to call somebody. There was no getting near a phone without a pass, as patients had to use the phone at the nurses’ station. But who could I call? The only person I could think of was Albie, and he was probably pissed that my mom had sent the cops to speak with him. But he had long suspected something was up with the Heroines, never buying my murky explanations of the bizarre coincidence of literary names and boarders. He’d once happened to read the registry and saw Daisy Buchanan’s name. I felt guilty for ignoring him in public the way I had, but still, he was my only hope.

I must have dozed off, because I woke to somebody tapping on my shoulder. Florence slipped a cigarette out of the pack in her shirt pocket, wriggling it between her fingers without lighting it. “Wake up, sugar cake. You need to get in the hall. It’s time for Dr. Keller’s midnight drive-through rounds.”

I didn’t know what she meant, but I followed her out to the hall and into the Day Room. A crowd of girls in pajamas clustered around Dr. Keller, who was sporting a burnt orange leisure suit. The fifteen girls, some of whom I’d never seen before, clamored for his attention. Everybody seemed wide awake and not the least bit put out at having to traipse into the Day Room in the middle of the night. One of the night nurses, an unsmiling, middle-aged Pole named Josephine, handed Keller a clipboard with papers and pointed to where he should sign. The girls pressed in closer.

“Okay, girls, one at a time!” Dr. Keller laughed and smiled.

Jackie jumped up. I didn’t understand why she hadn’t gotten isolation when Kristina had. “I’ve been really good, Doc. Can I please have a phone pass?”

“Well, looks like your eyes are healing nicely. Are you feeling better?”

“Lots!”

“Glad to hear it.” He handed over a half sheet of paper, then patted Jackie on the head. “Here you go, sweetie.”

“No fair!” Maria cried. “She has to earn her scoops!”

“Scoops, schnoops!” Dr. Keller said.

“Yeah, scoops, schnoops!” Jackie said.

Florence shook her head and muttered under her breath, “Peggy’s gonna be teeeee-ed off.”

I had no concept of normal psychiatric care, but this struck even me as a totally cockamamie checkup.

Josephine pulled on her cigarette, then said in a bored singsong, “Okay, girls. Line up, now.” She waved down the hallway with her fuming cigarette. “Make a straight line.”

Everyone rushed into line and waited to approach Keller like kids on their way to meet Santa Claus. Some of them bounced on their toes, while others crossed their fingers. I wound up at the very end of the line, watching as he doled out privileges to kids who hadn’t earned them, told others he was upping their meds per Eleanor’s instructions. The privileges were simple: pass to the hospital cafeteria, phone calls, visits, weekend passes (nobody got one of those, although Jennifer whined for one). When my turn came, he took a noticeable step backward, no doubt remembering our last encounter when I’d attacked him. My face burned with embarrassment.

“Calmed down, have we, Penny?” he asked.

“She’s compliant,” Florence piped up.

“Still…” He flipped through the pages. “No recommendations yet for passes. Too early. How are you sleeping?”

“Not great.”

“Appetite?”

“Not for this icky food.”

“That could be the meds. I’ll mix that up a little and check back in a day or two to see how you’re adjusting.” He flipped through the pages again. I could smell his cologne and the trace of coffee on his breath. He started to scribble “Here’s the new dosage, nurse.” He flipped another page. “Lookie here. Sorry to say, little lady, but your tox screen came back positive for marijuana.
Tsk! Tsk!
“He waved a finger at me, then looked down at his watch. “Better run back to the ER. It’s the witching hour!” He handed the clipboard back to the nurse. “You know how those interns hate to deal with psych patients.” Patting my arm, he smiled and showed his tobacco-stained teeth. “Be a good girl, now!”

I made an effort not to shrink from his touch. “I’ll be good, Doctor. And I’m sorry about the other day.”

“That’s fine, honey. I understand you were upset.” He patted my head again.

On the way back to my room, I said to Florence, “Don’t I get a scoop for apologizing?”

“For what it’s worth, yes. But don’t tell them I gave it to you when you asked. You can’t ask for the damn things. But, Lord knows, you can ask for the moon with that charlatan.”

Staff had to write their names on the scoops, so I knew I couldn’t milk Florence for too many. “Thanks, Florence. That’ll be my first one. How many do I need to get a phone call?”

“Ten, I think. Gotta get your cone up there first. Wait a minute. You plan on getting the king on the horn?”

“Like he has a phone.”

“Get to bed.”

I lay in the dark, plotting my strategy of compliance. I’d noticed that the most scoops were handed out at dinner, and my mother was coming to visit the next day, so maybe there was a scoop-earning angle there. She was coming to visit because Peggy had called and told her I wanted to talk about my father.

“L
ie to me, then!” I shouted at Mother. We sat on a stone bench on the manicured lawn around the psych wing of the hospital. Daylilies circled the elms, the orange blossoms withered and replaced by dead stalks. Fastened to the back of the bench was a plaque that read “A gift of Dr. and Mrs. William Stanton. In memory of Susan Marie.” Some girl who probably hadn’t made it. I was starting to wonder if I would. Peggy had insinuated that my lack of knowledge about my father was the source of my problems, and I was beginning to worry that she might be right. I hadn’t hassled my mother too much about my father, not since I was a small child, so my sudden interest startled her. There was a bag at her feet, and through the opening I saw a cookie tin and the September issue of
Seventeen
. I crossed my arms like a real brat, scorning her objects of truce, though I ached for the cookies, the fashion updates, and most of all, I ached for her sympathy.

“It was one of those things. One of those silly nights.”

“Great. So now you’re calling my conception silly.”

“No! You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I’m almost fourteen! Thirteen and a quarter.”

“Fine, Penny. If it means you’ll stop being so angry with me. He was very tall, like you’re going to be. And athletic.”

“I already knew he was tall. How long were you together? Didn’t you care about him at all?” I asked this boldly, though I feared the truth. My mother had never called my conception a one-night stand, but I’d begun to suspect that it might have been one.

Mother stared at her hands, then ran one thumbnail under the other, dislodging a smear of dirt. She had probably spent the morning in the garden, where she always retreated when frustrated, yanking out dandelions and crabgrass as if each stalk were a personal insult. On better days she would wax philosophic about their right to exist. She wiped the dirt on her skirt and looked up into the tree. “I thought I was in love with Cliff, your father. He was very handsome—dark and moody. It all happened so quickly, and I was so young, so infatuated.”

“But you always say sex is wrong if you’re not in love.”

“Now you know why I always say that. It gets too complicated.” She reached into the bag and pried the lid off the cookie tin. Lumpy, sweet chocolate chips with M & Ms. My favorite. She held the tin out for me. “Penny, I made mistakes. But, look, I was lucky. I got you out of the deal!”

I took a cookie, unable to resist the offer of chocolate. “Were you two a couple?”

Mother laughed. “Not really. To be honest, I don’t think he cared very much about me. Still, it took me a long time to get over him. Love’s strange like that. It’s not logical. I knew I shouldn’t pine for somebody who hadn’t been very nice to me. He just left one day, and I never spoke to him again.”

I understood very little about love at this point. All I’d known were crushes, romances conducted principally in my daydreams. I was uncomfortable even hearing my mother use the word
love.
When I looked at her I saw overgrown eyebrows, the mole on her left hand. “I love you” wasn’t part of our everyday repertoire. I assumed that if you said
I love you
to a boy, that meant you were bonded for life. If she had said
I love you
to Cliff, and he had broken up with her, then she was forever cursed. The idea of this guy hurting my mother upset me. I didn’t like the sound, feel, or taste of it. I didn’t understand how heartbreak felt, nor could I imagine being as vulnerable as my mother obviously had been. Desperate. The mother I knew was full of quiet strength. Maybe that was how she’d learned to be so sympathetic with the Heroines. Yet the thought of her as a defenseless creature was more than I could stand, and it somehow kindled my anger.

“When are you going to get me out of here?”

“I’m working on it. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“What’s going on with Deirdre?”

“Still here.”

“Any sign of Conor?”

Mother raised a cookie to her lips, opened her mouth, but didn’t bite it. She looked across the lawn and I followed her gaze. Eleanor was heading toward us, her breasts bouncing as she bustled along, a hand on her cap. The other hand held a tray with meds. I knew she’d be pissed that she’d actually had to get out of her chair and find me.

“Great. Here comes the Elephant.” I rolled my eyes. “Tell me quick. Have you seen Conor?”

“That’s disrespectful, Penny.” Mother straightened up her spine. “There have been signs of him. I went out to the woods to see if I could talk with him. I saw footprints and panicked.”

“Remember. He can’t cross to our side of the prairie. There’s a spell on it.”

Mother folded her arms and squinted at me, the way she did when she thought I was lying.

“Really! There’s a druid’s spell. Deirdre’s got some kind of magical spirit looking out for her.” I told Mother how the horse had reared up when it approached the prairie. “And I know Conor wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know a little more about Deirdre’s story than you do.”

“Conor has honor!” I said, pissed that Mother was making judgments about somebody only
I
had seen. He was
my
Hero. Then I heard the cups rattling on Eleanor’s tray. “Wait.” I saw my chance to earn another scoop. I ran up to meet Eleanor and took the tray from her hands. “Sorry you had to run out here.”

“Why, thank you!” Eleanor called. “You’ll get a scoop for that. Time for your medicine, Penelope. Thirteen hundred hours.” She handed me the medication.

“Wait a minute.” Mother stood up, extending her hand to ward off the pills. “Dr. Keller said Penny wouldn’t be medicated unless absolutely necessary.”

“Oh, these are very mild, Mrs. Entwhistle, very mild. Take your meds, like a good girl,” Eleanor said.

“Drugs are nothing, Mom! You don’t know how it is here! They gave Kristina a bloody nose!” Even though I was trying to be a goody-goody, I was quick to use Kristina’s predicament to stir up trouble.

“That can be explained, Mrs. Entwhistle,” Eleanor said.

“Ms. Entwhistle. Mrs. Entwhistle is my mother.”

“Ms. Yes. This particular girl, she’s one of our toughest cases. Combative with the staff and other patients.”

I swallowed the pills, then stuck out my tongue to prove to Eleanor that I’d taken them. I was so angry I didn’t even protest when Eleanor spun the Kristina-attacked-staff story. Adults. They were all in cahoots, and they just didn’t
listen
. I counted to fifty and pasted a phony smile on my face.

“Do I get a scoop for helping?”

Eleanor looked at Mother. “Yes, dear. When we’re back inside.”

It took only another day to earn ten scoops. I participated in one of Peggy’s groups—that was an automatic scoop—plus I “confessed” to having made up the Conor story to get some attention and to distract my mom from the fact that I was getting high. Peggy was beaming. Most of the other staff didn’t even pay attention to the new system, but there were two nurses and one orderly who kept pocketfuls of scoops and doled them out pretty freely. After I’d earned the ten, I pestered Peggy into letting me use the phone right away. She even defended my desire to stretch the cord around the corner of the nurses’ station to get some kind of “privacy.” The only problem was that Eleanor had just dosed me with my new meds: two more pills. I knew I had to act quickly before the drugs kicked in. I should have napped away the first pitch-and-roll of it, but it was three on a Saturday afternoon, the perfect time to call Albie. I figured Albie would be, as usual, lying around reading comic books in the air-conditioned comfort of his suite. He was the only kid I knew with a private phone line. Albie’s great-grandfather had invented the plastic tube on the end of a shoelace. His house was one of the oldest and biggest in Prairie Bluff. He’d transformed the loneliness of his childhood into a splendid adolescent isolation. He had a La-Z-Boy in his room, a reel-to-reel tape recorder, a TV console, a miniature fridge, a giant microwave oven, and a stupendous collection of Stan Lee comics, including vintage
Fantastic Four, Spider-Man,
and
X-Men
. I didn’t really dig comic books myself, but I’d shown Albie a few old issues of
Hulk
that had belonged to one of Mother’s cousins, and he’d dropped to his knees in the attic and bowed before them. Every Saturday he went to the Village Newsstand and bought fresh issues of his favorite comics, then lay around reading them till dinnertime.

As I stood in the hallway, some staff headed toward the dining hall to start setting the tables. They never paid much attention to us. Eleanor had made one of the orderlies take everybody for a walk around the grounds, but I’d gotten out of it. I pulled the phone up on the countertop and dialed Albie’s number. I felt the first wave of dizziness as I worked the cord around the corner. The hallways smelled like Pine-Sol and cigarettes, and with the overhead lights turned off, the floor was cool and gleaming. Albie picked up on the second ring. “Hullo.”

“Albie, it’s Penny.”

“Traitor.”

“I don’t have much time.”

“I’m grounded for the summer, thanks to you. Your mom told mine about the weed.”

“Your mom will cave. Besides, isn’t she going to France or something?”

“Yeah, they leave for Biarritz. I can probably work around my grandmother. She’s—”

“I gotta hurry, Albie. I need a favor.”

“After siccing the cops on me, you want a favor?”

“It wasn’t my fault. I have only a minute. There’s this guy in the woods. He kind of looks like a king. You have to tell him to get me. I’m in the hospital. Locked up in the loony bin.”

“Your mom said you were in Europe.”

I hugged the phone to my ear. “Just go to the woods behind the prairie. Tell Conor I’m on the second floor. I’ll have a sign on my window.”

“You expect some king to rescue you?”

“I’ll put a sign on my window. A big star.” I felt the floor shift. “It’s like those other boarders. Bovary, Karenina. He’s from a book. He’s come to get Deirdre back.” The meds were kicking in, just as I heard footsteps coming down the hall.

“I knew something was up! Penny?”

“I know it sounds crazy. I’ll give you the
Hulk
s!” I hung up the phone and grabbed the cord to keep from keeling over.