Secret Society Girl (32 page)

―The seniors made sure of that,‖ Josh said, clearly glad to be getting back on track. ―They tapped a class that would appeal to you.‖ He pointed at Demetria. ―Leaders.‖ At Jenny.

―Captains of industry.‖ At Odile. ―The rich and famous.‖ At Clarissa. ―And legacies.‖

Skipped right over me, I see. Poli-freakin‘-ticians!

He looked at Mr. Cuthbert. ―You‘re fighting against your own daughter, sir.‖

―With good reason, son.‖ He pointed at Clarissa. ―You want to know my problem with women?

This is it. She‘s sitting right here. I know those boys didn‘t make good choices, because look who they picked!‖

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. In fact, I‘d wager a good percentage of our hearts stopped beating. Clarissa stared at his finger, her wide blue eyes unblinking.

―My daughter,‖ the man spat, growing a bit red in the face, ―is a waste of a good credit line. If you only knew what I‘ve done for her. If you only knew what I‘ve gone through on her account…‖ He shook his head. ―But of course you don‘t. You wouldn‘t even have gotten that in your files. We hid it so well. So goddamned well.‖

Was he talking about how she‘d gotten in off the wait list? Clarissa didn‘t seem to think that was much of a secret. She didn‘t have the least bit of embarrassment about it. However, she wouldn‘t have been the first Digger to share a secret with me, understanding that I would never tell.

Though, to think of it, Lydia had been in the room, too.

―Daddy…‖ Clarissa whispered.

―What, Clary? You really think you‘re capable of the kind of responsibility it means to be a Digger? You really think you have the strength, the
mental fortitude
?‖

―Daddy, please! That was a long time ago!‖

―Not long enough. Not nearly long enough.‖ He whirled on Malcolm. ―You want to know what you thought was good enough for the Diggers, Mr. Cabot? Let me tell you about my daughter.

Let me tell you all about her.‖ He leveled his gaze on Clarissa, who might have been made of marble. ―She got into ‗trouble‘ on us when she was fourteen. Fourteen, can you imagine that?‖

I considered everything I‘d thought of Clarissa Cuthbert since freshman year. Yeah, I could imagine that. And the truth was, a month ago, I‘d probably have relished this little tidbit of info.

But not now. Not now that I understood that her brusqueness was not snobbery, her style was not elitism, and her supposedly nasty remarks were just misdirected efforts at advice. I don‘t know how it happened, but somehow my hatred had morphed into toleration, and thence into grudging respect. And now I realized something more: Clarissa was my sister.

―And that was just the start. Clearly not satisfied with whoring around, her next little trick was to develop a so-called eating disorder to get our attention. She‘d binge on junk food then take laxatives. That was a fun six months of my life. Got so bad we had to send her away for a little while. Nice little place in the country that beat it right out of her, didn‘t it, darling?‖

Tears the size of vodka shots were now rolling down Clarissa‘s cheeks. Demetria‘s mouth was open. Jennifer was holding her cross so tightly, I expected that any moment she‘d be afflicted with stigmata of the palm. Odile looked—bored. The rest were transfixed by Mr. Cuthbert‘s outburst, with the exception of Poe, who just stared at his hands.

I could only picture what life must have been like for a teenaged Clarissa. Scared, clearly confused, obviously looking for attention. I wondered what it had taken to ―beat‖ Clarissa‘s brush with bulimia out of her. Judging from the look of malicious glee on Mr. Cuthbert‘s face, it hadn‘t been pretty. No one would envy her wealth if they saw the price she‘d paid for it.

―And then, of course, the cover-up. We couldn‘t let the universities know why our precious little girl had missed half a semester of eleventh grade, now, could we? Had to hide it. Had to lie.

Had to fake all kinds of documents to make sure her record was spotless. Good thing I was a Digger, or we wouldn‘t have had the connections we needed to handle it. And even that wasn‘t enough. The little tramp needed our help again to get into Eli. And you think she‘s good enough to be a Digger. And she can waltz in here like she has the right to. This organization is better than that. It‘s better than the likes of her.‖

Clarissa‘s head drooped in defeat, and something inside of me snapped.

―Shut up!‖ I stood up so quickly that the cheap wooden chair went flying. ―Shut up, shut up, shut up!‖ Maybe it was my oath, or maybe it was just my humanity, but I wasn‘t listening to a second more of it. ―What kind of father are you? What kind of
person
are you? You can be disappointed in your daughter, you can be angry with her, but to say such terrible things about your own flesh and blood to a roomful of people? You disgust me, Mr. Cuthbert.‖

And now everyone was staring at me. Amy Haskel, who didn‘t have any excuse at all to be in Rose & Grave, except that I had a mouth that wouldn‘t stay closed if my life depended on it. The man at my side was giving me a look that said,
Finally
.

―She‘s your daughter. You‘re supposed to love her. You‘re supposed to support her. You don‘t think she deserves to be in your precious little secret society, but the way you just acted proves to me that you have grossly misunderstood what it means to be in Rose & Grave.‖ I took a deep breath. ―Because since the second I was tapped, Clarissa has treated me like a sister.‖ I thought it had been elitism, but I‘d been wrong. In Clarissa‘s eyes, we‘d just finally had something in common, a wedge to use to get our friendship on a roll. ―We may have had our differences in the past, and I‘m sure as hell not about to admit I agree with half of what she says, but she‘s been loyal, and kind, and considerate of me since the second we showed up in the same tomb.
That"s
your daughter, Mr. Cuthbert.
That"s
the young woman you raised.‖

I paused, but no one seemed ready to chime in. I looked at Clarissa, who now had her head buried in her arms. Her slim shoulders were shaking with sobs.

―And she really, really loves Rose & Grave. More than any of the other taps in my class, she‘s understood what it means to be a Digger. Because
you
taught it to her. Aren‘t you proud of that?

And she couldn‘t wait to show all of us. A few months ago, we‘d never even acknowledge one another on the street, but now, in Rose & Grave, we have the chance to get to know one another, and to actually belong to something really big. And Clarissa embraced it. This means the world to her, can‘t you see that? She worked her butt off in school, and she was tapped by the Diggers, and maybe, just maybe, she finally did something that would make you proud. Something that would make you respect her the way you so clearly don‘t. Because you give your respect to the Diggers, and not to your daughter. Have you thought of that?‖

Mr. Cuthbert swallowed.

―No, you haven‘t. You‘ve forgotten entirely that the Diggers are supposed to be a family, because you can‘t even treat your family with the respect you‘d give a stranger on the street.

That‘s what being a Digger is? That‘s the kind of person who ‗deserves‘ to be in the society?

That‘s what you mean by a loyal, fraternal order? That‘s bullshit. Even Poe‖—I pointed at him.

Even that double-crossing, two-timing, malicious, sexist pig—―even Poe told me that he‘d support his brothers, even if he disliked their decision, because they were his brothers, and Diggers stick together. And you somehow talked him out of that. Talked him into breaking his oath of constancy. So now who is forsworn? I‘ll give you a hint: It‘s not us.‖

Everyone just stared at me. Poe looked—well, if possible, he looked paler than usual. Utterly thunderstruck, in point of fact. Good. After all, for someone so society-obsessed as Poe, it must suck to be forsworn.

I barreled on, ignoring his little revelation and subsequent breakdown. Cry me a river, you arrogant ass-wipe. ―And it‘s not the seniors, either. And it‘s not the patriarchs who helped them with the initiation. Are you hunting them all down, too? Mr. Prescott? The others? There are patriarchs on our side. You‘re going to have to overhaul the entire alumni to weed us all out.‖

The patriarch beside me shifted slightly in his seat, and I took a deep breath. ―I admit that I don‘t understand how all of this works,‖ I said, and cast another glance at Poe, who was staring down at his own trembling hands, ―but I would like to know how many of the patriarchs actually agree with this board.‖

―Sit
down,
Miss Haskel,‖ said the Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, and that stopped me cold. I collected my chair and fell into it, breathing hard.

What the fuck had I just done?

Poe looked up, tightening his hands into fists. ―She‘s right,‖ he said simply.

Kurt Gehry placed a reassuring hand on Poe‘s arm. ―Son…‖

―No, she‘s very right.‖ He looked at Malcolm. ―I‘m so sorry, Lance.‖ He looked near tears.

―I
lied
to you. I can‘t believe I did that. You‘re my
brother
.‖

―It‘s okay,‖ Malcolm said.

But my diarrhea of the mouth was obviously contagious. ―No, it‘s not. Don‘t you see? You don‘t even have to be here.‖

―Poe, shut up,‖ Gehry said, this time with steel behind his words.

―And I should have told you,‖ Poe blabbed on. ―But I didn‘t want to piss them off. And I agreed with them. I thought the girls were such a bad idea. I told you so, too. Girls—well…‖ He ducked his head. ―It doesn‘t matter.‖

―It does,‖ said another patriarch. ―It‘s a date-rape case just waiting to happen.‖ He eyed Odile warily as if she were about to cry sexual assault there at the table. The other patriarchs were still in shock from Mr. Cuthbert‘s outburst. Mr. Cuthbert himself looked like a deflated red balloon.

Clarissa still hadn‘t lifted her head from the table.

―But I kept you in the dark.‖ Poe‘s voice trembled, but he pushed through. Every sentence fell like a gavel. To him it must have been more like the blade of a guillotine. ―All this week, when you were planning, I‘ve been telling them everything, and not telling you the one thing you needed to know—‖

―Stop talking.‖ Gehry‘s voice had gone high-pitched and desperate.

―Because the thing is, this board—‖

―Stop. Now.‖

―They‘re just the board.‖

―Stop talking, Poe.‖

―If you‘re looking for permission, you don‘t need theirs. You need the trustees at large. And every single alumnus, every patriarch on the planet, is a trustee of Rose & Grave.‖

Gehry‘s face turned a lovely shade of magenta that almost matched Demetria‘s hair. ―Shut up this instant or I swear on Persephone that I‘ll make you pay.‖

But Poe‘s resolve had reached terminal velocity. ―And we can ask them directly. Do a mail-in vote. Hell, do a call-in. I have all the info back in my room at Eli. If they vote us in, if they vote in women, there‘s not a damn thing the board can do about it.‖ Poe paused, looking around the room at the taps gathered there, as if seeing them for the first time. His eyes settled on mine for the briefest of instants before turning back to Malcolm. ―And Lance, I think they will.‖

The patriarch beside me slid his legal pad in my direction. I looked down at the message scrawled there.

Good job, Bugaboo. Well played.

From there, the meeting degenerated into chaos. Kurt Gehry went hysterical. He was shaking his fist in the air, swearing on everything that was holy that we ―little girls‖ would rue the day we took him on. His face was the color of a ripe eggplant. I wish CNN had been there to capture it.

It was hilarious. At last, three patriarchs had to haul him bodily from the room.

Mr. Cuthbert proceeded to get sick into a large potted ficus plant, and George and Odile decided that it was the perfect time to dance a tarantella on the top of the conference-room table. (I didn‘t know it was a tarantella at the time. Odile had to explain it to me later. I have no idea how George knew the steps.) Jennifer grabbed a box of tissues from the corner and began comforting Clarissa, who appeared to be making a speedy recovery (especially after watching her dad lose his lunch). Malcolm and Poe hugged for a long time, long enough to make me start wondering what exactly it was that Poe had against girls, and the patriarch Little Demon, wringing his hands and looking quite out of sorts, finally kicked us all out.

We whooped and hollered all the way down to the ground floor of the Eli Club and exploded onto Manhattan en masse.

Malcolm and Poe excused themselves from the group almost immediately and caught a Metro North commuter back to Eli in order to get started on the patriarch vote. ―We‘ll do pro/con arguments,‖ Malcolm said to me, and I had no doubt who‘d be providing the ―con‖ perspective.

―There are about 800 alums, though, so it might take a bit of time. I‘m calling the guys who never did show up and telling them to get their asses back to school to help.‖

I wondered idly if they‘d get the tomb reopened before my Russian Novel final in two weeks.

Clarissa treated us all to a lavish dinner at an uptown steak house on her father‘s AmEx gold card. ―Use it before I lose it,‖ she said, signaling for another bottle of bubbly. It‘s safe to say that no one felt the least bit guilty ordering the surf n‘ turf.

―I have to make a phone call,‖ Jennifer blurted out before the sliced tomatoes arrived. She rushed off, and when she returned, ten minutes later, it looked as if she‘d been crying. However, no one could get her to open up.

―Tender nerves all around,‖ Demetria said, patting her on the shoulder. Jennifer took a deep breath and actually directed a smile in Demetria‘s direction.

―It‘s been a long day,‖ she admitted. ―And I feel like…everything‘s changed.‖

―I hope it has,‖ Kevin said.

Clarissa clinked her glass with mine. ―Thanks so much, Amy.‖ Her smile didn‘t quite reach her eyes. ―I can‘t tell you how much that meant to me. But, what was that bit about not liking you before you were tapped? I didn‘t even know you.‖

I bit my lip. ―You knew me well enough to—never mind. It‘s in the past.‖

―No, tell me.‖