"Do you really think he would?" Meredith asked, her heart in her eyes as she thought of him.
"I said he
might."
Lisa corrected Meredith with ruthless honesty. "He's an older man, so your age is a drawback. What answer did you get for that last problem on the math test this morning?"
In the week they'd been friends, Meredith had become accustomed to Lisa's rapid-fire changes of topic. It was as if she were too bright to concentrate on only one topic at a time. Meredith told her the answer she'd gotten, and Lisa said, "That's the same one I got. With two brains like ours," she teased, "it's obvious that's the right answer. Did you know everyone in this dumpy school thinks that Rolls belongs to your dad?"
"I never told them it didn't," Meredith said truthfully.
Lisa bit into her apple and nodded. "Why should you? If they're so dumb they think a rich kid would go to school here, I'd probably let them think the same thing."
That afternoon after school, Lisa was again willing to have Meredith's "father" drive her home as Fenwick had reluctantly agreed to do all week. When the Rolls pulled up in front of the brown brick bungalow where the
Pontinis
lived, Meredith took in the usual tangle of kids and toys in the front yard. Lisa's mother was standing on the front porch, wrapped in her ever-present apron. "Lisa," she called, her voice heavily accented with Italian, "Mario's on the phone. He wants to talk to you.
Hiya
, Meredith," she added with a wave. "You stay for supper soon. You stay the night, too, so your papa don't have to drive out here late to bring you home."
"Thank you, Mrs.
Pontini
," Meredith called, waving back from the car. "I will." It was the way Meredith had always dreamed it would be—having a friend to confide in, being invited to stay overnight, and she was euphoric.
Lisa shut the car door and leaned in the window.
"Your mother said Mario is on the phone," Meredith reminded her.
"It's good to keep a guy waiting," Lisa said, "it keeps him guessing. Now, don't forget to call me Sunday and tell me everything that happens with Parker tomorrow night. I wish I could do your hair before you leave for the dance."
"I wish you could too," Meredith said, although she knew she'd never be able to prevent Lisa from discovering that Fenwick wasn't her father if she came to the house. Each day she'd intended to confess the truth, and each day she stalled, telling herself that the longer Lisa knew the real her, the less difference it would make to Lisa whether Meredith's father was rich or poor. Wistfully, she continued, "If you came over tomorrow, you could spend the night. While I was at the dance, you could do homework, then when I got back home, I could tell you how it went."
"But I can't. I have a date with Mario tomorrow night," Lisa remarked unnecessarily. Meredith had been stunned that Lisa's parents permitted her to go out with boys at fourteen, but Lisa had only laughed and said Mario wouldn't dare get out of line because he knew her father and uncles would come after him if he did. Shoving away from the car, Lisa said, "Just remember what I told you, okay? Flirt with Parker and look into his eyes. And wear your hair up, so you look more sophisticated."
All the way home, Meredith tried to imagine actually flirting with Parker. His birthday was the day after tomorrow—she'd memorized that fact a year ago, when she first realized she was falling in love with him. Last week she'd spent an hour in the drugstore looking for the right card to give him tomorrow night, but the cards that said what she
really
felt would have been much, much too gushy. Naive though she was, she figured Parker wouldn't appreciate a card that said on the front "To my one and only love .. ." So she'd regretfully had to settle for one that said "Happy Birthday to a Special Friend."
Leaning her head back, Meredith closed her eyes, smiling dreamily as she pictured herself looking like a gorgeous model, saying witty, clever things while Parker hung on to her every word.
Chapter 2
With a sinking heart Meredith stared at herself in the mirror while Mrs. Ellis stood back, nodding approval. When Mrs. Ellis and she had gone shopping last week, the velvet dress had seemed to be a glowing topaz. Tonight it looked like metallic brown velvet, and her shoes that had been dyed to match had a matronly look with their short, stocky heels. Mrs. Ellis's taste ran to the matronly, Meredith knew; moreover, she and Meredith had both been under her father's strictures to choose a dress that was "suitable for a young girl of Meredith's age and upbringing." They'd brought three dresses home for Meredith's father's approval, and this was the only one that he hadn't felt was entirely too "bare" or too "flimsy."
The only thing about her appearance that didn't fill Meredith with dismay was her hair. Normally she wore her straight shoulder-length hair parted on the side with one barrette above the ear, but Lisa's remarks had convinced her she did need a new, more sophisticated style. Tonight she'd persuaded Mrs. Ellis to do it up in a cluster of thick curls at the crown with little tendrils at the ears, and Meredith thought it looked very nice.
"Meredith," her father said, walking into her room, leafing through a handful of opera tickets, "Park Reynolds needed two extra tickets to
Rigoletto
,
and I told him he could use ours. Would you give these to young Parker tonight, when you—" He looked up, his eyes riveting on her, and scowled. "What have you done to your hair?" he snapped.
"I thought I'd wear
it up tonight."
"I prefer your hair the way you usually wear it, Meredith." Bending a look of dark displeasure on Mrs. Ellis, he said, "When you came into my employ, madam, I thought we agreed that in addition to your supervisory duties as housekeeper, you would also advise my daughter on feminine matters when necessary. Is that hairdo your idea of—"
"I specifically asked Mrs. Ellis to help me do my hair this way, Father," Meredith intervened as Mrs. Ellis turned pale and began to tremble.
"In that case, you should have asked her advice," Philip said, "instead of
telling
her what you wanted her to do."
"Yes, of course," Meredith said. She hated to disappoint her father or annoy him. He made her feel as if she were singularly responsible for the success or failure of his entire day or night if she spoiled his mood.
"Well, no harm done," he conceded, seeing that Meredith was properly contrite. "Mrs. Ellis can fix up your hair before you leave. I brought you something, my dear. A necklace," he added, withdrawing a flat, dark green velvet case
from his pocket. "You may wear it tonight— it will look very well with your gown." Meredith waited while he fidgeted with the clasp, imagining a gold locket perhaps or—"These are your grandmother Bancroft's pearls," he announced, and it took an effort for her to hide her dismay while he withdrew the long strand of fat pearls. "Turn around and I'll fasten them."
Twenty minutes later, Meredith stood before the mirror, trying valiantly to convince herself she looked nice. Her hair was restyled in the same straight, girlish fashion she always wore, but the pearls were the last straw. Her grandmother had worn them nearly every day of her life; she'd
died
wearing them, and now they felt like leaden weights against Meredith's nonexistent bosom. "Excuse me, miss." The family butler's voice outside her door brought her whirling around. "There's a Miss
Pontini
downstairs who claims to be a school friend of yours."
Trapped, Meredith sank down on the side of her bed, thinking madly for some way out of this, but there was none and she knew it. "Would you bring her here, please."
A minute later Lisa walked in and looked around the room as if she'd suddenly found herself on a strange planet. "I tried to call," she said, "but your telephone was busy for an hour, so I decided to take a chance and come over." Pausing, she turned in a half circle, studying everything. "Who owns this pile of rocks anyway?"
At any other time, that irreverent description of this house would have made Meredith giggle. Now she could
only say in a small, strained voice, "My father does."
Lisa's expression hardened. "I pretty much figured that out when the man who answered the front door called you Miss Meredith in the same voice Father Vickers says 'Holy Virgin Mary." Turning on her heel, Lisa started for the door.
"Lisa, wait!" Meredith pleaded.
"You've had your little joke. This has really been a great day," Lisa added sarcastically, whirling back around. "First Mario takes me out for a ride and tries to get my clothes off—and when I go over to my 'friend's house, I find out she's been making a fool of me."
"No, I haven't!" Meredith cried. "I let you think Fenwick—our chauffeur—was my father because I was afraid the truth would come between us."
"Oh, sure. Right," Lisa countered with scornful
disbe
lief
. "Rich little you desperately wanted to be friends with poor little me. I'll bet you and all your rich friends have been laughing about my ma begging you to have spaghetti with us and—"
"Stop it!" Meredith burst out. "You don't understand! I like your mother and father, and I wanted you for a friend. You have brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and all the things I've always wished I had. What makes you think that because I live in this stupid house, everything is automatically wonderful? Look how it's affected you! One look and you don't want anything to do with me, and that's how it's been at school for as long as I can remember. And for your information," she finished, "I
love
spaghetti. I
love
houses like yours, where people laugh and shout!"
She broke off as the anger on Lisa's face was replaced by a sarcastic smile. "You love noise, is that it?"
Meredith smiled wanly. "I guess I do."
"What about your rich friends?"
"I don't really have any. I mean, I know other people my age, and I see them now and then, but they all go to the same schools, and they've been friends for years. I'm an outsider to them—an oddity."
"Why does your father send you to St. Stephen's?"
"He thinks it's, well, character building. My grandmother and her sister went there."
"Your father sounds weird."
"I guess he does, but his intentions are good."
Lisa shrugged, her voice deliberately offhand. "In that case, he sounds pretty much like most fathers. It was a tiny concession, a tentative suggestion of commonality, and silence fell in the room. Separated by a canopied Louis XIV bed and a gigantic social chasm, two extraordinarily bright teenagers recognized all the differences between them and regarded each other with a mixture of dying hope and wariness. "I guess I'd better be going," Lisa said.
Meredith looked bleakly at the nylon duffel Lisa had brought, obviously intending to spend the night if it was all right. She lifted her hand in a tiny gesture of mute appeal, then dropped it, knowing it was useless. "I have to leave pretty soon too," she said instead.
"Have a—a good time."
"Fenwick can take you home after he drops me off at the hotel."
"I can ride the bus," Lisa began, but for the first time she actually noticed Meredith's dress, and she broke off in horror. "Who picks out your clothes—Helen Keller? That's not what you're really wearing tonight, is it?"
"Yes. Do you hate it?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, how would
you
describe that dress?"
Meredith shrugged, her expression chagrined. "Does the word
frumpy
mean anything to you?"
Biting her lip to hide her laughter, Lisa raised her brows. "If you knew it was ugly, why did you buy it?"
"My father liked it"
"Your father has lousy taste."
"You shouldn't say words like
lousy,"
Meredith said quietly, knowing Lisa was right about the ugliness of the dress. "Words like that make you sound tough and hard, and you aren't—not really. I don't know how to dress or wear my hair, but I know I'm right about how to talk."
Lisa stared at her open-mouthed, and then something began to happen—the gentle bonding of two entirely dissimilar spirits who suddenly realize that they each have something very special to offer the other. A slow smile lit Lisa's hazel eyes, and she tipped her head to the side, thoughtfully scrutinizing Meredith's dress. "Pull the shoulders down a little onto your arms, let's see if that helps," she instructed suddenly.
Meredith grinned back and dutifully tugged them down.
"Your hair looks like hell—
lous
—
awful,"
Lisa amended, then she glanced around, her gaze lighting on a bouquet of silk flowers on the dresser. "A flower in your hair or tucked into that sash might help."
With the true instincts of her Bancroft forebears, Meredith sensed that victory was within her grasp and that it was time to press her advantage. "Will you spend the night? I'll be back by
midnight
, and no one will care how late we stay up."
Lisa hesitated and then she grinned. "Okay." Redirecting her attention to the problem of Meredith's appearance, she said, "Why did you pick shoes with such stubby little heels?"
"They don't make me look as tall."
"Tall is
in,
dopey. Do you have to wear those pearls?"