Doreen (16 page)

“Seems, uh, that might get messy,” said Heidi. Gordon nodded. Of course, he had no intention of doing anything. Gordon had inherited his slightness of build from his ancestors, but he had inherited something else, too: smug, entitled contempt. As Simon Vale begged and pleaded and bargained with Doreen, Gordon relied on the hundreds of years of his family's dominance over its competitors. Confidently, without panic, he simply stood with his arms crossed. And smirked.

By this time, Simon had grown even more desperate. He dropped to his knees and forced Doreen's hands onto his forehead as if he were praying to a mountaintop guru. It was painful to see.

“Who is that guy? How does Doreen know him?”

“Maybe he's from her old school.”

“He looks like a psychopath.”

“I wouldn't kick him out of bed, psychopath or not.”

“Look at those biceps!”

“He's pathetic!”

“Jesus, is this what happens when you hook up with Doreen Gray?”

“Don't be such a creep, Wes.”

“Don't be such a prude, Claire.”

“Heidi, who is that? Do you know that guy?”

“Uh, no, but . . . Shut up, okay?”

“Heidi probably knows him.”

“She probably hooked up with him, too.”

“That's a rental tux. No way Heidi Whelan is touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

Heidi plugged her ears. She tried to think of what, if anything, to do. Surely it was a good thing to command so much attention, right? But for how long?

“There you are,” Biz said breathlessly. “Should we do something?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” said Heidi. And the comments kept churning.

“Maybe Doreen put a spell on him.”

“Yeah, she's like a witch or something. A beautiful she-wizard.”

“Gordon Lichter is lucky as shit.”

“So you know this guy?” asked Peter over the din.

“He's a quarterback,” said Heidi. “An ex-flame.”

“I don't think he got the message about the ex part.”

“Clearly not.”

Biz hopped on her toes. “Can't we help her in some way? Isn't there something you can do? I'm afraid he might hurt her.”

“I don't think he has it in him. I mean, look at the poor guy!”

Simon grabbed the hem of Doreen's dress as she tried to escape.

“Yikes,” said Peter.

“Oh shit!” said Frankie Cavalieri. He pushed to the front of the crowd, his phone raised up in front of his face. Heidi knocked the cell phone out of his hands before he could take a picture. “What the hell, Heidi!”

“Show some respect,” Heidi snarled. “All right, this is ending now.”

“Where are you going?”

“No pictures. Okay?” She narrowed her eyes and scanned the crowd. That shut them up. Then, smoothing her dress and throwing back her head, Heidi stepped up to where Simon lay prostrate on the ground. “Simon Vale!” She extended an arm down to his spot on the floor as if they were being introduced at a society function. “How wonderful to finally meet you! I am Heidi Whelan, a dear friend of Doreen's.” Simon looked up at her with red eyes. He gazed at her extended hand as if unsure of what it was, and for a moment Heidi was afraid that he might try to bite it off with his teeth. But somehow he got a hold of himself and made his way to his feet.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, and even managed a polite smile as he shook Heidi's hand.

“Heidi was in attendance at your last home game. It was my intention to introduce you after the game, but after your abysmal performance, she did me the great favor of leaving at halftime so as not to prolong my embarrassment.” Doreen's eyes showed no mercy. Her perfectly glossed upper lip curled in revulsion as she spoke. “Of course, I believed that would be the last time you would embarrass me, Simon Vale. I believed I had the good fortune of never having to see you again.”

“Oh, Dorie. Please don't talk that way to me.”

“What choice do I have, Simon? I don't love you. Leave me alone.”

Heidi cleared her throat. “Yes, well. It is marvelous to meet you at last, Simon. But I'm afraid the time has come to say good-bye now.” The poor wretch was so hunched over with defeat he had to look up at Heidi in order to nod in hangdog compliance. An Adonis, a Thor, and look at what little Doreen Gray had done to him. Heidi held out her hand and, like a child, he allowed her to lead him toward the door for a few paces.

“Go on!” someone yelled. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Go back to where you belong!” A giant boo emerged from the throng. Heidi tried to silence them with her eyes. But it was too late.

Simon looked around as if awakened from a trance. “Wait! Where are you taking me? You're trying to pull us apart? That's not going to happen, do you hear me? This is bigger than you. Doreen! Doreen!”

He shook out of Heidi's grasp and lunged at the dance floor. He reached out his arms and hurtled his body toward Doreen, and was stopped by a swift, unerring punch in the face. He dropped to the floor.

“Ouch,” said Peter, rubbing his hand.

“Oh, thank god,” said Heidi. “My hero!” The crowd burst into cheers and applause. Peter grinned and pulled Simon up off the ground.

“You all right? Sorry about that, man.”

Simon nodded, finally giving up hope.

“Okay, we're going now,” said Heidi. “For real this time. You ready?” With her arm on the poor kid's back, she walked with Simon toward the exit.

“Did you see that?”

“That was crazy. Ho-ly crap.”

“Oh man. I should've taken a picture. That shit would go viral in like a second.”

“And cross Heidi Whelan? Are you out of your mind? Don't you remember what she did to Tatiana Wang that one time? That girl had to
transfer schools
.”

“Yeah, man. Why do you think I didn't do it?”

When Simon and Heidi slipped out of the ballroom, nobody noticed.

It was quiet and musty in the lobby. Simon dragged his feet toward the door. Heidi felt almost sorry for the guy, despite his wildly inappropriate behavior. “You need to forget all about her,” she said. “I'm serious. She's not going to come around, so you may as well move on. You'll be better off.”

“She destroyed me,” said Simon Vale.

“You'll be okay. You're a football star! There are plenty of other girls.”

Simon stopped and looked at Heidi. His eye was bruised and bloody. “Not for me.” He managed to smile a little, but it was a smile so heavy with sorrow and pain that Heidi couldn't imagine that a sob or a scream would seem sadder. “Thank you. I know you're just trying to be helpful.”

“Take care of yourself,” Heidi said, but the quarterback had hunched into his tux jacket and disappeared into the empty autumn night.

Heidi was happy to see him go. Wasn't she? She'd wanted them to separate since the moment they got together and there was no question of that now. But still it felt wrong, the way Doreen had treated him. Did it have to be so humiliating? Did she have to be so cruel? Though, undoubtedly, she had done wonders for her social status. Doreen made herself into the talk of the dance.

Heidi stopped in the bathroom to freshen her lipstick. She told herself to put the image of the fallen quarterback out of her mind. “He'll be fine,” she told her reflection. “It's nothing but a high school crush.” But somehow it seemed like more than that.

Heidi heard the band strike up a fast dance number, but when she returned to the ballroom she saw that nobody was dancing. All eyes were on Doreen, who stood in front of Gordon on the dance floor. He was saying something, but before he could finish, Doreen had his mouth with her lips, her teeth, her tongue. She pressed herself against him, kissing, kissing, deep and long and hard. People whooped and whistled. Heidi could see Doreen performing for the crowd, giving them a show. When they separated, Gordon was dough in her hands. She whispered something in his ear and took his hand.

All in attendance at the Fall Dance watched as, hand in hand, Doreen Gray and Gordon Lichter made their exit. Heidi found Biz and Peter by the punch bowl and together they witnessed the triumphant gleam in Doreen's eye, the light that shined from her as she led her besotted date toward the fulfillment of his fantasies. What a fantastic bitch, thought Heidi with some awe.

“She looks so beautiful,” Biz said. “I wish . . .” Her hands twisted around themselves.

“What?” asked Heidi.

“I wish I had my camera.”

“There you are. Aren't you cold?” Peter stepped out to join Heidi on the terrace of their suite. Even though it was dark outside, Heidi could see the hotel's gazebo on the lawn, a small, manicured lake beyond it, and the distant hills. It all smelled clean, like change. Peter wore a salmon-colored bathrobe with the hotel's initials embroidered on it, and the effeminate getup made him seem even more virile and masculine by comparison. He handed Heidi a glass of red wine.

“Where did you get this? Oh, I don't care. Thank you. How is your hand?”

“A little stiff, but on the mend.”

Heidi could only imagine what that meant for Simon's face. “I was impressed. You were pretty brave.”

“I don't know about that. It was more or less a sucker punch, but I was happy to be of service. That Gordon character didn't exactly seem up for the job.”

“No. I'm sure you're right about that.” Heidi leaned over the railing and breathed in the crisp night. Peter did the same.

“It's warmer than I thought,” he said.

“It's lovely, isn't it? You know, I'm from the city.”

“I didn't know that,” Peter said with a smile. “Which city is that? Wait, you don't have to tell me. Anybody who refers to their hometown as
the
city, as if there were only one in the world, could only be from New York.”

“Yes, well. Nature always surprises me. It's so busy, in its own way, like a city, but for plants and animals.”

“That's a way of thinking about it, I guess.”

For a minute they stood in delicious silence—private and yet comforting.

“Heidi Whelan from New York,” Peter said at last. “So that's two.”

“Sorry? Two what?”

“Two details about your life.” Peter turned his back on the landscape and leaned his elbows on the railing, gazing with amusement at Heidi. “In addition to spending time at the Montauk Inn, you are from New York City. Other than that I know only that you attend Chandler Academy.”

“So that's three.”

“And have very sensitive ears.” He leaned forward and nibbled on one to demonstrate and Heidi giggled. “See?”

“I'm a private person, I guess.”

“Private? No. This terrace is private. As a person you are like Fort Knox. I'm not criticizing—I'm only observing. One might think, sugarplum, that you have something to hide.”

Heidi could feel her face flush. She was happy for the cover of night. “I will say that my reticence gets remarkably little attention from most gentlemen.”

“That's because you distract them. By being so sexy.”

“And by keeping the conversation on them. Speaking of, other than the unfortunate walloping, did you have an okay time at the dance? It must have been sort of silly to play high school again at your advanced age of twenty.”

“Oh, no. Not so fast. We aren't done with you yet.”

“No?” Heidi took a sip of wine.

“So you are from New York City. East Side? West Side? What? Tribeca?”

“Me? Oh. I grew up in Yonkers.” It was amazing. The fact came right out of Heidi's mouth as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Why couldn't she find a way to skirt the issue? Or, barring that, simply lie! Here was this blue blood—handsome, interesting, intelligent. She never let anyone know who she was or where she came from, so why start now?

“Yonkers? That explains it then.”

“Explains what?” Heidi's heart was rattling against her rib cage.

“Explains why nobody I asked had ever heard of you—and why you are so much more exciting than the other girls that my mother is forever flinging at me. Yonkers, Yonkers. My mind is a blank. What's it like there?”

“It's very nice.”

“Oh, come on! Very nice. Who are you? Who are your folks? I want to know everything about you! Let me guess, your family is in real estate. No? Uh, doctor-lawyer type guy? No. Let me think.”

Heidi sighed. “Sanitation. My father is a garbage man. Good? Speechless? That's not unexpected. Let me know when you recover from the shock.”

“Me? Not at all! I mean, it's not what I expected to hear.”

“Okay, shall I go on then?”

“Please do! Tell me everything.”

“Everything? Well, my family is Irish Catholic. Especially my mother. She's a true believer—crucifix over her bed, Hail Marys on the subway, the whole bit. She says
drapes
instead of
curtains
and
sofa
instead of
couch
because she thinks it's classier. She is in love with France. When it came time to pick a language, I picked Spanish because screw her. Also, I told her I gave up piano but I still play secretly when she's not home.”

“You play piano?”

“My father gets all of his news from the
New York Post
. He doesn't vote because he says all politicians are the same, full of malarkey. That's a word he uses without irony. He said he would vote for Derek Jeter, and that's about it.” Was it the wine that made her so loose-lipped? And her accent was slipping. Where were those carefully trained
r
's? The nice round
a
's?

“I'm on full scholarship. And I'm eighteen. When I transferred from my piece-of-shit public school the dean made me repeat my sophomore year, though nobody knows that, not even my roommate. My sister, Katie, waxes lady parts at Roberto's International Hair Salon on South Broadway. Her boyfriend is an elevator repairman, which, in my neighborhood, is considered a high-status job because they have a strong union. His name is Donald and he is almost completely bald.”

Peter giggled.

“I'm not in the least bit joking. Know what else?” Heidi felt electrified and alive. Adrenaline pumped through her. “That girl Nicole? From the Ritz? The girl who knew me from the Montauk Inn? She was my coworker. I worked a summer there as the front desk girl and then I got fired.” And here she stopped. The truths had spewed out, like something she'd been holding back for too long, something her body rejected. Probably the boy would never speak to her again, never return a text or an e-mail. She may as well go all the way. “For smoking weed in the boiler room.”

And with the last, single lie, the final upheld boundary, Heidi felt depleted, like she could sleep for a decade. She collapsed into a white Adirondack chair. She closed her eyes. For a minute nobody said anything.

“Wow. I mean, wow.”

Heidi looked up at Peter Standish III. He stood in the peach robe, his hand on his hips and a big old grin on his face. Was this all somehow funny to him? This, her, her whole life. All at once the enormity of all she had admitted descended on Heidi.

“Oh god,” she said. “Excuse me.”

Heidi leaped up from the chair and escaped past the glass doors into their suite. She unfolded the luggage stand, unzipped her bag, and began to pack. Why? Why had she gone so far? Said so much? After everything she'd done—the careful misdirections, the intricate layering of ambiguities, the persona that she'd created for herself from nothing—why had she given it all away to this Harvard boy? She didn't know. But it had something to do with Doreen, of that she was quite positive. Watching her friend perform as she did at the dance had made Heidi feel invincible.

She threw her dress, shoes, and underwear into her bag. She went into the bathroom for her hair dryer and makeup bag.

“Where are you going?” asked Peter, the amused look still on his face. He slid the glass door closed behind him. “Wait, hold on now. What's going on?”

“It's fine, okay? Don't worry about it.”

“Will you stop packing, please? It's the middle of the night! You're not going anywhere.”

“Look, I know how this works.” At least her accent slip had been temporary. The
d
's and
t
's came tripping off her tongue like any high-class broad.
What?
“I know I just wrote my ticket out. I can't for the life of me understand why the fu—why I did it, but there it is, and I'll be going now so you don't have to worry. I would ask you not to tell anyone, but I'm sure that's more than I can expect.” She checked under the bed for stray objects. She saw the watch, thin gold band, delicate, the one Roland had given her in that other hotel, the one she told people had been a gift from her father. She thought of leaving it there under the bed for a maid to find, but she picked it up, wrapped it around her wrist. She buttoned a shirt on over her negligee and hopped into a pair of jeans.

“Just wait. Stop it. Heidi! Stop!” Peter grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. “You don't honestly think I care about any of that, do you? I don't know what kind of villain you think I am, but this isn't the seventeenth century. You think I want some fancy-pants Connecticut heiress? Some dull, overindulged, diamond-hungry socialite? Why? To protect the Standish name? No, thank you. No. I'll take this, us, you, over that. I'll take brilliant and witty and gorgeous. Was I surprised to hear about where you come from? Yes. But I shouldn't have been. I should have known from your quick mind that you were different than all those nitwits I grew up with.” They were standing very close now. He grasped both arms above the elbow. Heidi could hear her own breath.

“You. You are an exciting person, Heidi Whelan.” He slid a finger up her throat. He kissed her—
her
, the true, authentic Heidi Whelan, and it felt so different. She felt something unlatch within her, like a door opening after a long time, letting the light come in. It was just Heidi there, just Heidi and Peter. It was more than a kiss. It was a revelation.

“Talk to me. Talk like a girl from Yonkers,” Peter whispered. “Talk to me, Heidi Whelan, like it's public school, like we're under the bleachers.”

“I don't know what you are
tawkin'
about, okay?”