Doreen (25 page)

“Isn't it, though?” said Mr. Cameron. “Now, Elizabeth, if I might steal you away for a moment.”

“Buttholes. It was a lot of different animals' buttholes. Like a dog butthole. And a cat. And a horse.”

“Ah. That explains it.”

“You really like it, Heidi?” Biz asked.

“It's—it's just astonishing, Biz. Really. I didn't know that you were paying attention. The self-portraits are a revelation.”

“Congratulations,” said Peter.

“Thanks. Thanks, you guys. That means a lot. Okay, okay. I guess I have to go meet someone now.”

“The belle of the ball,” said Doreen.

“Where's, uh, your father?” Heidi asked. “I'm, obviously, you know, keen to meet him.”

“Oh, he just stepped away for a minute with Aunt Gloria. He'll be back in a sec.”

“Oh.”

A caterer walked by and bumped Doreen. She used Peter's arm to stop her fall.

“Sorry,” said Doreen. “I mean, excuse me.”

“That's okay,” said Peter with a smile.

Addison picked a spring roll off a tray. “Wait a minute! Now I remember cousin Doreen. Hold on, but weren't you kind of fat before? Yeah. Fat and super dorky. Sure. Doreen. With the crazy mother. I remember you.”

“Ad-rock, isn't there something else you could be eating?” said Heidi.

“There they are!” said Doreen. “That's my father, there—with Gloria.”

“Sorry we tarried. Needless to say, Roland knows everyone here. Gloria Gibbons-Brown,” she said.

“Yes. Heidi Whelan. We've met.”

“And this is my father,” Doreen said proudly. “Roland Gibbons. Daddy, this is my dear friend, Heidi.”

He turned his body so that they stood facing one another. It was a moment or two before one of them thought to extend a hand, to shake.
Here goes nothing
, Heidi thought.

“Heidi Wello,” he said.

“Whelan,” she said, clearing her throat. So they were going to act like strangers. She could do that. She caught Doreen out of the corner of her eye to see if she was in on the ruse, but she was saying something to Peter, totally unaware. That was a good sign. “Heidi Whelan.” Okay, she thought. Okay. Doreen doesn't know. And she's not going to find out.

“Have we met before?” Roland asked, still grasping her hand. He cocked his head to one side and looked deeper. It was unsettling.

“N-no. No, I don't think so.”

“No? You sure we never met?”

Heidi shook her head. She pulled her hand away and grabbed Peter's hand. Roland was taking the strangers thing a little far. Why wouldn't he just let it go?

“People often think I look familiar.” And Heidi heard it then, the old Yonkers accent.
People awfen tink I look familiah.
What the hell! “Ahem. I mean, famili
ar
.” She would not let him turn her into her old self.

“Do they really?” he said. He shook his head slowly. “I find that hard to believe.” He took a sip from his drink.

“You cold, babe?” asked Peter.

Roland took a small step closer to Heidi. She smelled scotch and cigars. “But I could swear we met before. You're absolutely positive? Do I not look familiar to you?”

“. . . Because you're shivering.”

“No. No, I'm sure we never did. Anyway, it's nice to meet you now, but I gotta . . . I mean, I'm afraid I must, you know, uh, pardon, I mean, excuse me.”

“Well, never mind,” said Roland. He stepped back to let Heidi pass.

“Where are you going?” Peter said.

“I just have to ask Franklin something. It's for school. Sorry, I, uh, I'll be right back.”

The blast of night air on Heidi's face felt like salvation. She took it into her lungs in greedy gulps, leaning against the side of Alfred Douglas Hall as the comers and goers clustered near the gallery entrance. He was trying to get in her head, to mess with her. And it was working, goddamn it. And the accent coming back! What the hell was that about? She felt wobbly, unsure of herself. The conversation repeated itself over and over again in her mind—like that scene in the action picture when the one guy turns to the other guy and says:
But if you're out here, who's flying the plane?

“Smoke?”

“Ahh! Shit, Gordon, you scared me!” Heidi put her hand on her heart.

“Sorry.” Gordon Lichter stepped out from the shadows. He had the hood of his duffle coat up over his head and a cigarette in his mouth. The way his hair fell in his face as he squinted in the smoke gave him the look of a classic teenage brooder. “I thought you might want a smoke.”

“No, no, thanks. I would take a handful of pistachios if you had them.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Gordon leaned on the wall next to Heidi and took a long drag off his cigarette. “How are you doing, Gordon?”

“Me? I'm doing shitty. Thanks for asking. Doreen in there?”

“Yes.”

Gordon nodded. “She with someone? That Harvard guy? What's his name? Dickface?”

“Do you mean Peter? He's inside, but he's with me. I mean, not right this second, but generally.” Though, had she just imagined it? Or had he seemed a bit cold to her in there?

Gordon shook his head. “No, the other one. Everbastard.”

“Oh, you mean Coburn. I didn't know you knew about him. No. He's not here.”

“I know about all of them.” He sounded almost boastful.

“Gordon, look, I know you feel a bit raw.”

“Ha!”

“But don't you think you should move on? I mean, you're seventeen years old!”

“Could you not, please? I think we're beyond the ‘other fish in the sea' speech, all right? I don't want to hear it.”

“Fair enough.” Heidi reached out a hand and Gordon gave her his cigarette. She took a drag and handed it back. “Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

He shrugged. “Shoot.”

“What is it about Doreen? I know that she's beautiful and everything, but the effect she has on boys. You know, not to brag, I have been told that I'm not bad-looking myself, but no one has ever—”

“Jumped off a bridge for you?”

Heidi nodded. The conversation rang with mild disloyalty, like she was breaking some kind of girl code, but she had to know.

“Beautiful doesn't cover it. Yeah, she's beautiful, but I've been with beautiful girls before, okay? And Doreen was different. Being with her, I felt like I was a part of something big, something important. I would have done anything for her—lie, cheat, get kicked out of school, I didn't care!”

“So then maybe it's best for you that it didn't work out.”

“Maybe.” Gordon scraped his cigarette against the wall and threw it into the bushes. “But it sure as hell doesn't feel like it's better. You know what I think about? That kid, the one from the dance.”

“Simon.”

“Yeah, Simon. I think of how I watched that poor jerk like, get your hands off, she's mine, you know? Because I thought she was.” He shook his head. “I thought she was mine, you get it? It's funny, maybe. I don't know.” Gordon shoved his hands in his pockets, his body looking even smaller than normal, like a kid in his father's coat.

Heidi put an arm on his back. “It'll be okay, Gordon. Just give it time.”

“Anyway,” he said.

And he was gone.

Heidi took a deep breath. Time to rejoin the party. It would look suspicious if she just left like that, plus she was supposed to be supporting Biz. Peter would help her. With him at her side she could muster up charming and witty and marvelous. Then, before she knew it, it would all be over.

“Go back in there or he wins,” she mumbled to herself. She would not be a victim like Gordon. She would maintain control.

“There you are.”

Heidi spun around. Stepping out of the shadows, looking perfectly dapper in his gray wool suit and tangerine-colored bowtie, was Roland Gibbons.

“I've been looking for you,
Heidi Whelan
.”

Okay, she thought, gloves off.

“What do you want, Roland?” She hoped she sounded stronger than she felt.

“Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes. I understand that you are responsible, at least partially, for the positive change that has come over my daughter since the fall. She has blossomed under your, how shall we call it? Your guidance.”

He lay a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't a particularly big hand, but it was powerful.

“I learned from the best,” said Heidi. She squirmed out of his grip.

“Isn't it just a small, small world? I take it you and Doreen have become intimate friends. I think that's so nice! For both of you.”

“Why don't you cut the crap? What exactly are you trying to pull here, jerkoff?” Heidi hissed.

“Pull? Nothing.”

“I think you're pressing your luck, okay? You've got Doreen. You don't deserve her, but you got her. Our friendship has nothing to do with that.”

“Ah. Well. That's what I came to talk to you about. You see, I don't believe Doreen would feel so chummy about you if she knew certain facts about your, ahem, circumstances.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what would she think of you if she knew you were a perverted statutory rapist? Huh?”

“That old line? My dear, you really need some new material.”

“Don't you my dear me, pedophile.”

“That's enough!” Roland grabbed her by the arm. Hard. “Listen to me, you little shrew. I want you to stay away from her. Do you hear me? She is my daughter and I don't want her socializing with the likes of you. I appreciate all you've done for her, I meant that seriously, but it's over. I will keep your secret and you can graduate and be on your way in just a few months. All you have to do is keep your grubby Yonkers mitts off my kid.” He let her go and she rubbed her arm with a smile. She could not back down. She could not show fear.

“You're disgusting. You know that? Maybe you
should
tell her, so she can see what kind of creep her father is.”

“What kind of creep is that? The kind who offers his wisdom to a lost little girl only to be paid back with lies and blackmail? I'm sorry, my dear, but it's hard for me to see how you come out ahead in her estimation.”

“Stop calling me ‘my dear'!”

Roland pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm so tired of you. I don't know why I ever bothered, why I thought to lend some of my knowledge to the daughter of a sanitation worker.” He ran his thumbs across the fingers of both hands, a look of disgust on his face, as if conversing with Heidi was equivalent to direct contact with garbage. “I would expect you to be grateful.”

“Grateful? For what? For getting me fired?”

“You know that was not me, that was my wife.”

“Ex-wife.”

“Yes, how adorably astute of you. My ex-wife.” The fury that had overtaken Roland a minute before vanished and he resumed the smug expression that Heidi remembered from their Hamptons days. “The poor imbecile misconstrued our friendship as a threat and she wanted you gone. I did not see the point of arguing. Happy wife, happy life. That sort of thing. You were beginning to bore me, anyway. So doting. So obedient. I thought you had more fire. More zip! You were so young, then. And quite pretty. Do you remember that little party I took you to? Oh, my sister was scandalized. It was marvelous.” He chuckled to himself. Heidi let her face flush. That party was the single most important event of her life. To him it was nothing more than a practical joke.

“So happy I could entertain you.”

“Yes,” he said with a wave of his hand. “But by the time Constantina arrived I felt rather done with you. Our little lessons had become tedious, and it seemed that everywhere I looked, there you were. With your eager little face and your ponytail. Have you got a light?” Roland plucked a cigar out of his coat. He snipped off the end with a small contraption. He felt around in his pockets. “Never mind, here it is.” He struck a match and turned his back to the wind to light his cigar.

“You make me sick, do you know that?”

“Oh please.” He waved the lit match and dropped it into the grass. “You think you can play holier-than-thou with me? Even if I could have stopped Constantina from having you fired, which is doubtful, what are we talking about here? A summer job? Nine dollars an hour? You've taken me for much more than that now. Haven't you?” He stepped closer to Heidi, the light of the cigar reflected in the dark parts of his eyes. “You dare to pass judgment on me. When I find you standing in my own apartment, having connived my simple doorman with some lie about being my art dealer's assistant. But still I am polite. I offer you a drink. I invite you to sit down. And then what do you do? You sit there in your little outfit and threaten me!”

The stink of the cigar got stronger as he approached. Heidi closed her eyes. She saw herself there, inside the glowing white penthouse on lower Fifth Avenue with the wraparound deck and the famous art collection, just as it was described in the real estate section of the
New York Times
. It only took three days of waiting on a bench outside his building, eating sandwiches her mother made for the new job she thought she had in a Midtown hotel. Three days of reading books from the list he had given her, watching the well-heeled tenants enter and exit his building, until she saw him, heard him give orders to his doorman, made her move.

Roland's face was very close now. She could see the stubble on his cheek, the sprout of his eyebrow. “Statutory rape, you said. Second degree. Oh, you had it all figured out, didn't you? I, who never laid a hand on you! Never did a thing that wasn't decorous! I respected you, for some reason. I imagined remembering our time together with fondness. But not you. You had to turn it into something tawdry. Didn't you?”