Truth or Dare (6 page)

Champagne sluiced over the sides of the bottle.  Pamela held it to her mouth and licked at the overflowing liquid.

“Yummy, champers.”  She held the bottle toward Mary.

Mary took the bottle of champagne and had a sip.

Rivka looked from Pamela to Mary and then back again.  Weren’t they going to offer her any?  She was the one who had risked everything to grab the bottle off the bar.  She’d promised her parents she wouldn’t dream of having anything alcoholic to drink, but it was hot, she was thirsty, and champagne hardly counted.  Everyone was having some. A few sips wouldn’t hurt. Nothing had happened the time she’d let Pamela put the vodka in her soda.  Her mother hadn’t even noticed!  And she wouldn’t notice this time either.  Sometimes she wondered how smart her parents really were.  

So when Pamela swung the bottle in Rivka’s direction, she didn’t say no.  She took a long swallow, and then another. 

“Hey, I want some more.”  Mary hoisted herself up from beside the pool and tried to take the bottle from Rivka.

“No.”  Rivka held on tight and put it back to her lips.  This time she wasn’t being excluded.  She would show them she was just like them.

“Come on.  That’s enough.”  Mary tried to grab for the bottle, but Pamela shook her head.

Mary shrugged and went back toward the pool. 

Rivka felt triumphant.  She put both hands around the bottle and raised it toward her mouth while Pamela watched with this strange half-smile on her lips.

“Come on.  I want some, too.”  Mary had her legs in the water again and was swishing them back and forth.  She kicked at a leaf that had fallen into the pool and watched as it went swirling toward the other end.

Rivka thought she would join her.  The water looked so cool.  It was still hot and humid although the sun was slowly sinking behind the trees.  

She put the bottle on a small table next to the chair where Pamela was sprawled and walked toward the pool.  Walking felt strange—as if the ground were undulating beneath her feet.  She had to concentrate and put one foot carefully in front of the other. 

It seemed to take an eternity, and by the time she got to the edge of the pool, she was sweating.  It would be bliss to dangle her legs in the cool water.   

She bent her knees and started to lower herself toward the edge of the pool. The movement felt very complicated and strangely treacherous—as if she were performing some weird gymnastic maneuver she’d never attempted before.  She had to concentrate really hard on what she was doing.  She knew she didn’t look very graceful, but she didn’t care.  All she could think about was cooling down with her feet immersed in the pale blue water.

Her long, silk dress wasn’t making it any easier, nor the backless high-heeled sandals Pamela had loaned her for the event.

The pool looked strange with the water flickering in the light from the moon.  Rivka felt a wave of dizziness and lost  her balance.  She put out a hand, and grabbed frantically at… nothing.

And fell face first into the pool, her silk dress fanning out around her, one sandal coming loose and sinking slowly to the bottom.

Chapter 7

Rivka heard the others laughing as her head broke the surface of the water.  She flailed her arms left and right but couldn’t reach the sides of the pool.  She’d never gotten much past the doggie paddle stage—there weren’t a lot of opportunities to swim in the neighborhood she’d grown up in in New York City. 

The others kept laughing.  Rivka felt water go up her nose, and she coughed and choked.  “Help,” she managed to gasp out.  She felt frantically for the bottom of the pool with her toes, but her feet swished back and forth in the water without touching anything solid.

Mary and Pamela continued to laugh.

“Help.”  Rivka tried to shout, but water filled her mouth and trickled down the back of her throat.

“I don’t think she’s kidding.”  She heard Mary say.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Pamela drained the last of the champagne from the bottle.  “She’s trying to make us feel guilty.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”  Mary stretched out flat alongside the edge of the pool and reached out an arm.  “Take my hand.”

Rivka tried to open her eyes, but the chlorine made them sting, and she shut them again.  She splashed around blindly trying to find Mary’s hand.

“Grab my hand.”  Mary crept forward and waved her hand in front of Rivka.  "I can't go in after you.  I have to return this dress after tonight."

Rivka forced her eyes open.  Water went up her nose, and she coughed.  She saw Mary’s fingers waggling tantalizingly in front of her.  She lunged forward.

“Relax.  I’ve got you.”  Mary’s fingers brushed Rivka’s.  She inched forward and got a hand around Rivka’s wrist.  “Help me,” she looked over her shoulder at Pamela as she tried to pull Rivka to the side of the pool.

Pamela sat unmoving with her back against one of the lamp posts, her legs sprawled in front of her, the empty champagne bottle cradled in her lap.

     Mary turned back toward the pool, got both hands around Rivka’s wrist and tugged.

She dragged Rivka over the side of the pool where Rivka balanced half in and half out of the water. Rivka wheezed loudly as she tried to catch her breath.  The roughness of the concrete scratched her bare arms, and she heard her own breaths screaming in her ears.

After a couple of minutes, she struggled to a sitting position.  Mary and Pamela sat watching her. 

“What are you looking at?”  She demanded.  She pushed long, dripping strands of hair off her face.  Her dress was soaking wet and clung to her body like cellophane wrap. 

“I’ve ruined your dress.”  She plucked at the wet silk and whirled around to face Pamela.

     “Don’t worry about it.  That’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in weeks.”
     “It’s not funny!”  Suddenly Rivka realized what she’d done and started to cry.

     Pamela shrugged.  “Whatever.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”  Rivka put a hand over her mouth.

     “Just don’t puke in the pool.”  Pamela rose to her feet and padded barefoot to the French doors. 

     “Wait.”  Rivka cried.  “What am I going to do?”  She gestured toward her wet dress.  One of her shoes was floating at the bottom of the pool, a peach colored smudge barely visible below the moonlit surface.

     “Frankly, I don’t care.”  Pamela slammed the door in back of her loudly.

Deirdre lay in the half dark trying to identify the various shapes around her room.  The big square on top of her dresser was her jewelry box.  Next to it she could make out the candle that had been a present from Mary for her birthday.  The weird, fuzzy shape in the corner was her old teddy bear—the one her father had given her for her third birthday when it was almost as big as she was.

She rolled over and groaned.  If only she could be three again—then none of this would be happening.  She flipped onto her right side and scrunched the pillow up under head. 

She told her mother she had cramps and couldn’t go to Pamela’s parents’ party.  Her mother had been pissed—especially since they’d bought a special dress and new evening sandals.  Deirdre could see the dress hanging on the back of her closet door.  Fortunately, she knew her mother would forget all about it.  She never thought about Deirdre for long. 

Deirdre looked around the room some more trying to take her mind off the…thing…in the bathroom.  It was a fire-breathing monster with flashing green eyes and bared teeth.  She laughed into her pillow.  A monster would be preferable.  Then she could call her Daddy to come get rid of it the way he used to when she was little. But no one was going to banish this monster.  Her father was hardly ever around anymore, and her mother spent all her time locked in her room with a headache.

No, this monster didn’t have flashing eyes or smoke or teeth or anything—just a thin, pink line down the center of a stick telling her that life as she knew it was over.

Rivka woke with a pounding headache.  She pulled the covers up over her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples.  She must be coming down with something.  Her mouth was dry, her head hurt and her stomach was doing very unsettling somersaults. 

Then she remembered.

She heard noises from below—footsteps, chairs scraping and hushed voices.  Someone was downstairs with her parents.  She listened carefully and groaned.  It was Bubbeh and Zayde!  They must have taken an early train out from the city.  This wasn’t good.

Rivka tried to make out what they were saying, but all she heard was the soft murmur of indistinct syllables.  She smelled coffee brewing, and it made her even more nauseous.  How was she going to face them? 

     Her parents hadn’t said anything last night—just sent her straight to bed with sad looks that made her feel terrible since it was obvious she’d let them down.  Was wanting to be normal and like everyone else really so bad? 

Rivka heard footsteps on the stairs, slow and deliberate.  Then the door creaked open.  She lay with the covers pulled up over her eyes like she used to when she was little and thought there were monsters hiding under her bed.

     “Can you come downstairs, please?  We need to talk to you.”

     It was her mother.  Rivka peered out from under the blanket.  Her mother’s face was sad, like it had been last night.  Like one of those dogs with floppy ears. Rivka nodded. 

     Her mother turned around, went through the door and pulled it closed in back of her without making a sound.  It would be easier to bear if she slammed the door, or if she screamed and yelled.  All this quiet was getting on her nerves!

     Everyone was seated in the living room when Rivka got downstairs.  Her parents huddled in the two armchairs, and Bubbeh and Zayde sat side-by-side on the sofa.  They were cradling coffee cups, and there was a sliced loaf of babke on the coffee table along with plates and napkins.  Her mother always maintained her standards, Rivka thought sourly.

     She slunk into a seat as far across the room as she could get, but she couldn’t escape their disapproving stares.  You would have thought she’d robbed a bank or something the way they were all looking at her. She crossed her arms over her chest.  Her stomach felt bruised from throwing up last night.  And now it churned with a weird emotion that felt a lot like shame.

     Finally, her father cleared his throat.  “Rivka,” he spread his hands out in front of him, “can you explain to us what happened last night?”

     If only they didn’t all look so sad!  Rivka shifted in her seat.  What could she say?  She’d wanted to have a good time and be like everyone else.  Was that some kind of capital offense?

     “You were drinking!”  Her mother exclaimed suddenly.  She kneaded her hands like clumps of raw dough.

     “A little champagne.”  Rivka tilted her head up.  “It was a party.  Mr. Miller gave us a glass.” 
Get defensive when your parents question you,
Mary had whispered in her ear as Lance helped her into his car. 

     Rivka’s face burned with the memory.  Her dress had turned sheer from the water, and the way it was clinging to her, Lance must have seen…everything.

     “But you are only sixteen!” Her father wiped his hand over his moustache, smoothing the gray, bristly hairs.

     Her Bubbeh put a hand out and took her husband’s.  “Sixteen!  Remember, Isaac?”  She turned toward Rivka.  “Your Zayde and I met when I was barely sixteen.  Didn’t we, Isaac?”

     Rivka caught her grandmother’s eye.  There was a twinkle in them.  Her grandmother actually understood!  Her Bubbeh obviously remembered what it was like to be young.  If only her mother did! Maybe it had to do with Rivka being an only child and coming so late in life—long after her parents had given up on the idea of having a baby.  It had turned her mother into an old lady.

     “That’s different,” Rivka’s mother cried.  “The times were different then.  Things were safer, not the way they are now.  Besides, look at what happened to your Aunt Ruth--”  She stopped suddenly and put a hand over her mouth.

     Rivka’s ears perked up.  “What about Aunt Ruth?”

     “Nothing.  Never mind.”  Her mother’s mouth snapped shut like a trap, and she and Rivka’s father exchanged glances.

     Rivka rolled her eyes but then noticed her father watching her and stopped.

     Her father shook his head.  “But coming home drunk, Freyde!  And with her clothing all wet and torn—“

     “I fell in the pool!  I almost drowned, and you don’t care.”

     “So what do you want to do, Natan?”  Rivka’s grandmother broke a piece of the babke in half and put it on her plate.

     “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

     “No more parties,” her mother said suddenly, making the cup and saucer in her hand rattle.  “And I don’t want you seeing that
girl
anymore.”

     “What girl?”  This time Rivka did roll her eyes.  She caught her grandmother looking at her and sat up straighter in her chair.

     “That Miller girl.  The one who calls you
Becky
.”  Her mother made the word sound like a sneer.

     “But she’s my friend.”  Rivka jumped to her feet.