Doreen (22 page)

“Sorry,” said Jane Vale.

“You don't have to apologize.” Biz helped Jane to her feet. “Hey, I know you. You work at the library, right? Do you go to school here? I'm Biz. I've been wanting to, I mean, I always thought you seemed, I don't know, kind of focused, I guess.”

“Can we go please?” Heidi demanded.

“Hey, listen, what's your name? I'm Biz. Oh, but I said that, right?” Biz laughed again.

But the girl wasn't listening. With creepy intensity she looked at Heidi, then up at the dorm, her gaze searching.

“What the hell is your problem?” Heidi said. “Get the hell out of here. Now!”

“No!” said Biz. She shot Heidi a look. “I mean, you don't have to. Do you want to join us for dinner?” But before she could say more, the girl ran away across the quad.

“What the hell was that about?” asked Heidi. They fell into step toward the cafeteria.

“You were rude. There's no reason for that. No reason to be rude.”

“What? Me? That little runt smacked right into me! And what was she wearing, a poncho? Is she late to play the pan flute or something?”

“That's not nice. Don't say stuff like that around me, okay? I don't like it.”

“So quick to defend. All right, all right. Didn't realize you had such strong feelings for her. Let me know when the wedding is and I'll be sure to bring my llama.” Heidi put her hands up. She didn't know why she was being so tough on the girl, or why she turned it on Biz, but it seemed to be happening without her.

“Look, maybe you should have dinner by yourself,” said Biz as she stopped walking and looked hard at the ground. Even in the dark, Heidi could see she was hurt.

“What? Why?” What had Heidi said to embarrass Biz? She'd made fun of the girl, not her. But then, looking at her shamefaced friend, Heidi began to see. Of course, she was not the only one with an inner life. Biz had her own soul to contend with, and her own set of secrets. Which Heidi, too wrapped up in her own mess, had mocked and belittled.

“Oh, Bizzy, I'm sorry. I don't even know what I was saying, I'm a little confused right now. Please forgive me, I'm just . . . I'm really . . .” She was a horrible person. She'd tried to be good, but she couldn't help herself. She was mean to one of the few people in her life who gave her peace. It took everything she had not to burst into tears. “If you want to eat alone, I understand. You don't have to be with me now. I get it.”

Biz's expression softened. “It's okay, Heidi.”

“I shouldn't have said that. I don't care who you, I mean, I like you no matter what. Seriously. I'm just, I'm having a hard time.”

“Look, you don't have to explain. It's about Doreen, isn't it? Doreen and Uncle Roland.”

“Huh? What about them? No. No.”

“It's okay, Heidi. I think I understand.” They resumed their walk as Biz spoke. “I'm sure it must be a little complicated for you to have my uncle, the esteemed Roland Winthrop Gibbons IV, swoop in with his connections and his lineage. Part of what connected you to Doreen was this idea that she was an outsider like you, that you guys were infiltrating some prep school palace or something. Even though he hasn't been around—maybe because he hasn't been around—Doreen will obviously want her dad's approval. And now, due to her recent transformation, it seems likely that she will get it.”

Heidi was impressed. Biz noticed more than she thought. Of course, it wasn't the whole story, not by a long shot. But it had elements of truth to it. In a flash Heidi saw Doreen's illustrious debut into high society: on Roland's arm at society functions, introductions to the most important people, photos of them together in the party pages.
Guest of Roland Gibbons
. A wave of nausea came over her.

“She will still need you, Heidi. I think you have more to offer than you think.”

The tears were coming fast and free now. But she didn't have to indulge them. She told herself to buck up.
Buck up! Heidi Whelan does not cry in public.

“Thanks, Biz. Of course, I want Doreen to have a better relationship with her father.”

“You don't have to explain. You're a good friend, Heidi. And a good person—a better person than you think.”

“You really think so? Even after how awful I was to you and that girl?”

“Yes. I do. I think you've got greatness inside you, Heidi Whelan.”

“Maybe I could. Maybe I will. Thanks.” They walked a few paces in silence. “I guess it feels a bit like the end of something. Like the end of some beautiful chapter.” Heidi stopped and pulled on Biz's sleeve. They could see the dining hall ahead of them. “You mentioned Doreen's transformation. I think that's the first time either of us has said anything about it.”

“Uncanny, wasn't it?”

“One minute she was this high school disaster.”

“And then, poof! It was like a magic trick, wasn't it? So odd.”

“I keep thinking of the picture. The one you took for the GryphPage profile. The one you photoshopped and then she got so upset.”

“Me too! I asked Doreen for it. She said she destroyed it.”

“It's the strangest thing . . .” Heidi was sure Biz would think her ridiculous for what she was about to say, and she wanted that, wanted to be told she had a crazy imagination, that it wasn't possible. “It's like she became that girl in the picture!”

“Right? That's what it seemed like to me.” The girls looked at one another.

“But it happened so quickly, I sometimes wonder if I invented that other girl, the lumpy, frizzy-haired, pimple-faced, shy one. Did I just make up the whole thing?”

“I know just what you mean. If you weren't there with me, I'm sure I would think I'd hallucinated that other girl.”

“But she was real, right? And this one, this current Doreen. She's real, too?”

“I think so. No, she is. She's real. Of course she's real.” Even in the darkness of night, Heidi could see fear in Biz's eyes. “What other explanation is there?”

February 26. 9:14 a.m. I am writing these notes while sitting on a bench at the Hamilton Train Station. The subject, who I will henceforth refer to as the
Elephant,
is standing at the window, gazing onto the track. When I arrived ten minutes ago she was already here. She went into the bathroom once since then, but otherwise has just stood with her ticket in her hand.

11:20 a.m. Arrived in South Station. The train ride was without incident except the Elephant received attentions from a young man that she rejected outright. Not surprising. I changed in train bathroom into slacks and blazer, fake glasses, hair in bun. Want to seem businesswoman-ish. Want to avoid detection.

12:40 p.m. At uppity restaurant on Newbury St. Followed Elephant from South Station. Arrived thirty minutes ago but the Elephant walked around block four times before entering. She gave the maître d' her name, and they sat her at a back table near the kitchen. I am sitting alone at the bar, within earshot of Elephant's table. Prices outrageous. Ordered a cranberry and soda. Cost $3.

12:48 p.m. Sharp-dressed man (SDM) enters and sits with Elephant. (Father?) Seems surprised at her appearance. Happy. Yells at maître d' to move them away from “Siberia.” Knows maître d' by name. Must be regular. Elephant and SDM move to table at front. I request a seat near window. Will have to order something. Soup $14. Outrageous.

Conversation btwn Elephant + SDM. (transcribed from recording on voice recorder in pocket of coat hanging on hook near table)

SDM: I'll admit it. When Crotchett said I'd be surprised to see how you've changed, I didn't think it would be for the better. But you look marvelous, Doreen, just marvelous. It's hard to believe it's even you.

E: Thanks. Yes, Chandler has been good to me.

SDM: I can see that! Let's get a drink. What would you like? A white wine maybe? Go on. It's an occasion, isn't it? Waiter! Waiter! Another Macallan for me, please, and be sharp about it. What would you like, dear?

E: Hm. Oh, a glass of champagne, I suppose. (Snobby French name) if you have it.

SDM: My, my. What a sophisticate you've become. And I love what you're wearing! You look like you're ready for high society. What happened to that embarrassment I picked up from the airport?

E: Oh. Well, Biz (Ref: E G-B) is very generous with her closet.

SDM: Biz? You mean you had to borrow these clothes from your cousin? (Ref: E G-B is E's cousin? Too bad.) Oh no, no. That won't do. Listen, let's order. She'll start with the pear and Roquefort salad and then—you like fish, don't you? The dover sole. I'll have the Caesar and a chopped steak. Medium well.

Yes. And after we're done here we'll go shopping, how's that? Neiman's is right down the street, and I don't want you borrowing clothes from Elizabeth, though I'm sure she has them to spare. My sister has spent a fortune trying to make that girl into something presentable. I can't tell you how many times I've told her to give up the ghost. I tell her, ‘Gloria, what's wrong with having an intellectual in the family? We can't all be hostesses and charity mistresses.' But she embarrasses easily, my sister does. She doesn't love having an ugly duckling around, she doesn't like how it looks.

(Note: E appears very pleased and happy during this. Tries to act normal about it, but is beaming from ear to ear. Seems like she might cry. Snapped cell phone pic.)

SDM: Anyway, there's no reason why you can't have clothes of your own. Though it's good she's been so nice to you. Is it Biz I have to thank, then, for this utter transformation of yours?

E: In part, I suppose. And her roommate, maybe you met her before at Aunt Gloria's? Her name is Heidi Whelan.

(SDM coughing fit ensues.)

E: Dad, are you okay? Dad?

(SDM continues coughing. Waves to waiter for another round of drinks.)

E: Of course, it was mostly my own doing. I mean, I made a conscious decision to improve myself. To make a positive change.

(New drinks arrive.)

SDM: To youth!

(They drink.)

SDM: Your mother used to wear her hair just like this.

E: I know, I mean, only from pictures. Her hair is short now. And going gray. She dyes it. (E laughs)

SDM: Go ahead and laugh. The privilege of the young.

E: So, Aunt Gloria is embarrassed by Biz? I can totally see that. She is kind of, I don't know, hopeless? I mean, in some respects. Are you all right, Daddy? Daddy? Everything okay?

3:20 p.m. After Elephant + SDM finished lunch, they moved to the restaurant bar. Had to leave to avoid drawing suspicion. Moved to coffee shop across street. Changed in bathroom to disguise #3: jeans, Harvard sweatshirt, messy ponytail. College girl. What my life would have been before Elephant came in and ruined everything. Been sitting here for some time, transcribing recording above. No action at the restaurant. Not sure what I am doing here.

4:30 p.m. Still nothing. Third coffee. Feeling jittery.

5:15 p.m. Elephant emerges with SDM's arm around her neck. He is obviously intoxicated. They turn east. Will let them get ahead before following them. Really very drunk. How humiliating
. Will take pictures.

6:25 p.m. Mandarin Oriental Hotel lobby. Followed E + SDM on meandering path with stop for SDM to lose his $80 lunch (priceless!). Caught all on camera. SDM wanted to have drink at hotel bar. E convinced him to rest. Went upstairs. That may be it, though am hoping she comes back down. Will stay on for a bit, see what happens.

7:38 p.m. E emerges! Settles into sofa to make phone call. Can't hear who she is calling. Clicks off. Appears to be waiting. Will get closer.

9:07 p.m. Pink-shirted boy (PSB) enters. E waves. We are going out, folks! Happy I changed to outfit #4: miniskirt, heels, see-through top. I will own you,
Doreen Gray
Elephant.

N
ow here is a man
, Doreen thought. He slept on his stomach, his arms and legs stretched wide, a man accustomed to taking more than his share of everything, even space on the dorm room bed. The sun came through the window with that brightness reserved for mornings after a fresh snow, and the Charles River sparkled like a girl admired.

Doreen had a slightly stuffy head from the previous evening's indulgences, but otherwise she felt wonderful. She slid out of his bed, choosing one of a number of balled-up oxford shirts to button up over her naked body and, removing a pile of books from a chair near the window, she sat and looked out over the river. Everything glistened in the new snow. The world seemed full of possibilities.

“. . . Hello?”

“Daddy!” The word tasted like ice cream on her tongue. She wanted it to remain there forever. “Good morning, Daddy!”

“Bianca? Why are you calling me now? I thought you were in Stockholm.”

“No. No, it's not Bianca. It's your other daughter. Doreen.”

“Oh, Dorie! I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Hello! Where are you calling from? Are you here at the hotel? What time is it?”

“It's about ten. I went to a friend's place.” Her father had mentioned getting Doreen a room at the Mandarin but passed out before he could manage it. No matter. “Anyway, when should I come by the hotel? I can be there in about a half an hour I think.”

“Come by? Here you mean?”

“Yes. We were supposed to have breakfast, remember?” After the bartender had cut him off at the restaurant, when it became clear that he was in no condition to take her to Neiman Marcus or any place, he had told her that they would get a fresh start in the morning. Breakfast, he had said, and then he would really take her shopping. He would buy her whatever she wanted, he said.

“Did I say that? Oh, yes. Of course, only . . . what time is it?”

“It's ten o'clock.”

“Ten o'clock. No, well, I'm afraid this won't do. I have to get back to New York. Damn, I'm late already. You see, I'm trying to sell this painting, I won't bore you with the details, but really I should have left an hour ago. Please forgive me, my dear girl. Can we do it next time? And I didn't forget about the shopping, either, but we should do it in New York where the real clothes are. The only things worth buying in Boston are suspenders and snow boots. I can't imagine that would go over at the next dance.”

Doreen giggled. “No, I suppose it wouldn't.”

“So, until next time. And you keep up what you've been doing. I'm really very proud of you, my darling. What a miraculous surprise.”

Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. This was just the beginning.

“Peter! Peter!” she said.

“Mmm?”

“Peter, wake up. I feel an incredible need for pancakes. Can you make that happen? Pancakes and bacon and raspberries.”

The boy blinked up at Doreen's sunlit form. His face was marked with creases from the bedsheet.

“It's you,” he said, like he was the luckiest man in the world. “Come here, come to bed.”

“But, Peter. Pancakes!”

“Anything, anything, just please, I need to make sure I'm not dreaming.”

Heidi was right. He was adorable.

It was winter; it was New England, but that didn't stop them from riding with the top down on Peter's black Jaguar roadster. Doreen's belly felt warm from their hearty breakfast and she was almost sad to say good-bye. She loved the way she felt with Peter. There was none of the hair-pulling histrionics of the Simon Vale affair, but he was so much more interesting than the weaselly Gordon Lichter or the dull Coburn Everbock. She loved the thick flesh of his hands and the glint in his eye. But more than anything she loved his voice—rich and velvety, confident, full of insight and humor. Doreen thought she could talk to Peter Standish forever.

“Really, this is preposterous. We are already in the car! Why not let me drive you back to campus. We could stop on the way. I know a wonderful diner on Highway 1 that has the tiny jukeboxes on the table. We could go in separately, pretend to be strangers, and then make out in the bathroom. What do you say?”

“Tempting, tempting.”

“Or how about this? We skip the whole thing and go back to mine, spend the rest of the day in bed. The rest of our lives in bed! We'll have a love-in. Surely there must be some worthy cause. Should I call my mother? She's very plugged in to all the latest charity fads. Child soldiers in Africa or somesuch. The underfed feline refugees of the Balkans.”

“I hate cats.”

“Do you? Well then, maybe we can support the other side? What about puppies? You can't possibly argue with puppies, can you?”

“I can't, no. But I think you might be able to. I have a feeling you could argue with anyone. There, isn't that South Station? Peter! I'm going to miss my train!”

He drove around the block, pretending to kidnap her, but they both knew he would have to give up and let her out. He couldn't risk driving her back to Chandler. She knew it and he knew it.

“I should have chosen you from the beginning,” he said wistfully, almost to himself as she was leaving his car.

“Mmm?” she said, pretending not to hear. But she had heard. And didn't it feel grand?

It's not like it had happened intentionally. Finding herself stranded at the Mandarin Oriental, she, of course, called Coburn first.

“Doreen! Quick, what, uh, are you wearing?”

“What? No. Coburn. I'm not calling for phone sex.”

“No? Oh. That's okay. Be tough anyway since my mom is about to get in the car.”

“Your mother? Where are you?”

“San Fran. Didn't I tell you? My mother made me come out for my grandfather's retirement soiree.”

“San Francisco! Crap. What am I supposed to do now? I'm basically stuck here in Boston.”

“Wait. What? You're in Boston? You're in Boston right now and I'm in San Francisco? What the—why didn't you tell me? Shit. Shit! How could this have happened? Oh man. This sucks. This sucks so hard!”

“Calm down, Coburn. Oh, never mind. I'll think of something.”

“Wait. Doreen! Do-do, I miss you so much. Don't you miss me? Don't you miss little Cobey? We think about you all the—”

Doreen hung up. She looked around the hotel lobby and tried to think of what to do. She could simply stay there, on the upholstered bench. Who would try to move her? She certainly looked like she belonged. Or should she get a room and put it under her father's name? Would they let her do that? Even if they did, she couldn't risk it. Their reconnection was so new and tenuous, one little slipup could ruin everything.

And then she remembered Peter Standish. What gentleman would refuse to help his girlfriend's best friend? And was Heidi even his girlfriend? Of course, Heidi thought so, and Heidi was Doreen's friend. But Peter was in college. Surely he didn't think of Heidi as his one and only?

“I'll be there in thirty minutes,” he told her.

“You're a good friend,” said Doreen.

“I'm sure Coburn was shattered when you told him you were here while he was gone. But I can't say I'm upset about it.”

“No?” They were walking, huddled together against the cold Boston night. Snow was just beginning to fall.

“Here we go. This is the place.” They entered another hotel. Peter led her through the lobby, past the elevators and down some stairs to a dark lounge.

“Evening, Mr. Standish.”

They settled into a small table. She picked up a drinks menu.

“Don't bother with that,” Peter said. “She'll have a French 75. And I'll do a Macallan. Neat.”

“Thank you very much.”

“It's a good night to come,” Peter told Doreen. He leaned back on the leather couch with his arms spread. “Not too busy. I despise crowds, don't you? It makes me feel like I'm spending my time unwisely, to be among loads of people at once.”

“Mm,” said Doreen. Heidi had chosen well. Coburn was prettier, but Peter had magic about him. He was so strong and confident. “You remind me of my father. Is that a strange thing to say?”

“That depends on your father,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“It's a compliment, trust me. He's a dashing character. I just saw him tonight, in fact. Roland Gibbons? I thought you might know him. You know Addison, right? Addison Gibbons-Brown—Ad-rock—he's my cousin. I don't know if you knew that.”

“Ah.” Was he bored? He seemed to be looking around, distracted. “It's funny that you didn't call
him
.”

Doreen flushed with embarrassment. Of course, that would seem odd, wouldn't it? But she hadn't seen Ad-rock in a decade or more! Would he even know her name?

“Though, he can be such a tool, no offense. I'm going to show you a much better time.”

“That's exactly what I thought,” said Doreen. “Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

They had many, many drinks. Doreen could not be sure how many, but she seemed never to be without one. Along the way she moved from her seat across from him to the couch beside him, allowing her thigh to graze his, her fingers tracing the rim of her martini glass.

“Do you love Heidi?” Doreen asked at some point. “I mean, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to.” Her tongue felt thick and uncooperative in her own mouth, but it was a delightful feeling, nonetheless, to be drinking like an adult at an adult's bar with a man.

“Love her? No. Well, I don't know. She's very beautiful and smart and everything.” He leaned in secretively. “But she can be a bit calculating, don't you think? She comes from nowhere—as I expect you know—Irish Catholic Yonkers nowhere. And she's created this whole image for herself. Out of necessity, I suppose. I know that's what she believes. I just think it's hard, need I say it? When one comes from money, one attracts a certain amount of attention from people with ambition. Of course, I know I'm preaching to the choir here.”