Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) (9 page)

“There! That’ll keep ‘em from falling off your emaciated butt. C’mon, Lenore. Let’s get crackin’.”

The fashion hound was humiliated. “LENA! What if someone sees me like this? I look like… Like a
homeless
person!”

“At 5am? In Manhattan? On a Saturday? Who the hell cares? The paparazzi are hung over until noon anyway.” Lena grabbed Lenore’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go, Lenooore. It’s time to put some beef on your bod.”

As the girls entered the hallway, Lena suggested a footrace. Lenore grumbled something in Spanish and waved her hand before Lena’s face. The girls walked side by side, glancing at each other, each secretly wondering if the other would break into a sprint. They stopped briefly in front of the elevator. Lena squinted at Lenore.

“Stairwell, stick girl?”

Lenore’s long-lost, 14-year-old playfulness awoke from it’s four-year slumber. She squinted at Lena, grinned, and took off running. Lena gave chase. Lenore smashed the breaker bar on the stairwell door and flung it wide, squealing and laughing, bounding down the stairs with Lena hot on her heels.

Fourteen floors and a block-and-a-half later, Lena won the race, but only by a step, and only after giving Lenore an unsportsmanlike shove about 10 feet from the door to the gym. Though clearly out of shape and panting like a novice, the supermodel laughed her way through the friendly competition. Lena barely broke a sweat.

“Not bad, Twiggy! You almost had me.”

“Someday… Lena,” Lenore panted. “Someday… I will beat you…”

The girls trained for two exhausting, painful hours. Stretching to loosen up. Free weights to warm up. Jogging on the treadmill to work the cardio. Nautilus to work the delts and lats and biceps and thighs. Elliptical for more cardio. More free weights for curls and presses. Yoga to cool down. Lenore was not familiar with such physical rigor. Her body was on fire by the time they finished.

At 7am, the girls jogged back to the dorm, (Lenore huffing and puffing most of the way), took the elevator to the 14th floor, (only because Lenore whined), showered, dressed, took care of hair and makeup - well,
Lenore
took care of her hair and makeup, Lena just fixed her ponytail - and at 7:45am they left for breakfast. Predictably, Lena wore a T, jeans, and sneakers, Lenore wore a brand new, knee-length Shalamar creation of gold with black streak accents with a modest front plunge and black sandals.

Lenore wobbled during the walk to the cafeteria. She moaned. “Ohhh… I am so sore. I will not make it through the day!”

Lena laughed. “Too much workout for ya, eh Lenooore? Well, any time you want to quit, you just say the word…” Lena paused for dramatic effect, gave Lenore a condescending sideways-glance, and smiled. “Quitter.”

Lenore snarled. “I am NOT a quitter, Mah-lee-na Sardi! You cannot
make
me quit! You will
not
beat
me
! I will beat
you
!”

Lena smirked. Mission accomplished. Lenore was hooked. Roommate problems solved.

Later that morning, between an orientation meeting with the dorm staff and a “mixer” with the other girls on the floor, Lenore slithered away to one of her favorite boutiques to equip for battle. She purchased five form-fitting, designer Ts, five pairs of hip-hugging designer shorts, five designer warm up suits, five pairs of designer yoga pants, two pairs of designer running shoes, and two pairs of designer cross trainers. All color coordinated, of course.

Lenore was all in. The professional athlete would never again humiliate the professional model.

The next morning the runway cat woke without an alarm at 4:55am. She dressed in the dark, slipping into her sexy, white T with the powder blue piping, her oh-so-sexy running shorts, (powder blue with black tiger stripes), and her new running shoes with the powder blue accents. At 4:59am Lenore crept across the floor, cranked the volume on Lena’s clock radio, snapped on the lights, and threw the tennis pro’s stinky, day-old gym clothes in her face. Lena flailed.

“HEY! What the hell are you doing, Lenooore?”

“You said you wanted me to push you, Mah-lee-na. Well… Consider yourself
pushed!
”

Lena grumbled, threw on her clothes, and headed for the door in a huff. “Okay, human stick figure! Get ready to get your skinny ass
spanked!
It’s ON, sister!”

The girls race-walked in silence to the end of the hallway, scowling at each other the entire way. At the stairwell door, Lena raised her hand in, “Allow me,” style, pressed the breaker bar, and offered Lenore a head start.

“After you, bitch,” she whispered.

Lenore took off running. Lenore lost again. By
half
a step. And ten feet from the door to the gym Lenore gave
Lena
a good shove.

It was only a matter of time. One day the pro athlete would go down and go down HARD!

From their second morning together, Lenore “got” Lena and Lena “got” Lenore.

The slob was more disciplined than she appeared. Her on-court, racket-breaking antics were just a part of the act.

The uptight supermodel just needed someone to help her loosen up and have a little fun for a change. Her posture-perfect persona masked the hungering heart of a playful little girl dying for someone to play with.

Lenore forgot all about wanting another roommate.

On Labor Day Monday, the girls sat down to compare schedules. To their shock and glee, the two pre-law students arrived at Paulson having selected from exactly the same buffet of core, major, and elective classes for their first term.

Lenore gushed over her live-in study partner, calling the miraculous alignment, “the hand of fate.” Lena demurred, calling it, “a major frigging co-ink-ee-dink.”

By the first day of class, the duo’s daily regimen was carved in stone. Workout at 5am, shower at 7:15am, breakfast at 7:45am, first class at 8:30am. The girls moved through their days in synchronized perfection, filling gaps with shared study time. They ate lunch together each day - usually at a table by themselves - and ended their classes together at 3pm. From 3 to 6pm they went their separate ways. At 3pm, Lena hit the school’s indoor tennis courts for three hours of practice. Lenore hit the gym to pursue her new passion; the school's nationally ranked women’s fencing team. Meeting up in the locker room at 6pm for a shower and a change, the girls then proceeded at precisely 6:30pm to the dining hall, where they enjoyed a fashionably late seating for dinner.

Back in the dorm from 7 to 10pm, the girls studied together, conjuring questions to outwit their professors. If time got away from them — which it often did — the exotic eggheads heatedly debated philosophy, political theory, or who was sexier – Rick Springfield or Shawn Cassidy - until collapsing for the night.

(The Shawn Cassidy poster hanging over Lena’s bed eventually swayed Lenore’s vote. Lenore swore he winked at her.)

Lena remained an accomplished slob, helping Lenore appreciate the silly sport of “hamper basketball.”

Lenore remained a control freak, helping Lena appreciate the efficiency of “a color coded system for organizing assignments.”

Within weeks, Paulson’s paparazzi-magnet undergrads became inseparable; polar opposites in personality, twin sisters in spirit. The rest of the Paulson community knew better than to intrude upon the world dominating work-a-holics in 1426 Stilson Hall.

The other girls on the floor gave them a nickname.

“Lee-Nor.”

Late one crisp, fall evening, the girls lay on their beds, reading to the strains of the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields rendition of “Autumn” from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons.” Lenore lounged barefoot in a comfortably loose, button up, sleeveless denim dress. Lena wore something more “Sardi-like”; ragged, hand-cut short-shorts and a plain, white T.

Without warning, Lena abruptly closed her book, tossed it to her desk, rolled to her side, and propped her cheek on her fist. She cocked her head and stared at Lenore.

No smile. No words. Just a penetrating, curious stare.

Lenore, sensing Lena’s gaze, glanced sideways. Lena winked. Lenore smiled. The model mimicked her roommate, closing and uncharacteristically tossing her own book to the floor, peering back at Lena with equal intensity.

The girls watched each other, occasionally mugging and smirking, fighting the urge to totally crack up. As Lenore studied the frosh on the opposite side of the room, she experienced a painful moment of awakening. Lenore never before paid attention to Lena’s sublime beauty. She was simply too wrapped up in her own world to care.

It wasn’t that Lenore didn’t like Lena. She did.
A lot
. Lena was the most likable and loving girl Lenore had ever met. After just a few months together, Lenore comfortably called Lena her “sister.”

But Lenore never once paid attention to Lena’s appearance beyond the buxom girl’s utter disdain for underwires. Beyond the thoughtless superficiality of, “My roommate wears a lot of T-Shirts and jeans,” Lenore was stumped. Accustomed to analyzing and critiquing the style of other runway divas, Lenore never once paused to consider her roommate’s earthy allure.

As Lenore played the staring game, her world tumbled.

Lena wore her typical “in for the night” outfit; a scandalous pair of hand-cut shorts and a white T-shirt. Lena’s hair - never down, always up – struck Lenore as sensuously intoxicating. Lena’s Mediterranean genes endowed her with a thick, silken head of dark, brunette hair, properly complimenting her rich coloring. Lenore could not imagine why Lena always wore such long, beautiful hair pinned up or in a ponytail. As Lenore stared at Lena, she envisioned her roommate resplendent in a delicate Shalamar dress, wearing her hair down, shining strands fanning out across her shoulders.

Lenore scanned Lena’s face. She never asked Lena her nationality and, curiously, Lena never mentioned it. Lenore caught glimpses of deep dimples in her roommate’s cheeks, surmising the tennis player came from a long line of Italian or Greek beauties, with irresistible chocolate eyes and the supernaturally carved cheekbones of a goddess.

Lenore’s gaze lingered, floating and stalling here and there over the lines and curves of Lena’s body. She admired Lena’s full, pendulous chest, surmising that
if
Lena were to ever wear a bra it would uplift an already eye-popping bosom. Lena’s breasts hung heavily into one of her signature tops and she leaned on her elbow, studying Lenore in return.

Moving down Lena’s body, Lenore drank in Lena's, bronzed, sinewy legs, imagining the sensation of Lena’s powerful limbs straddling her narrow waist as the pair lay naked in Lenore’s bed… Kissing… Embracing…

Lenore’s heart fluttered. Her eyes popped. She felt heat and an itchy tingling in an unfortunate place. Her mind reeled.

Lenore dropped to her mattress and flipped her head toward the wall, praying Lena would not taunt her for losing the staring game. Lena persisted with her gaze. Such a tight bond had formed between the girls in their few weeks together that Lenore felt Lena’s eyes boring into her from across the room.

“Stop it!” Lenore pleaded.

“Stop what?” Lena replied, stone cold stupid.