Doreen (26 page)

He thrust the cigar toward her and she jumped back with a gasp. He laughed. All he ever did was laugh at her. He did it then, in his apartment. After she got everything she wanted, got him to agree to pay her way through his alma mater, the illustrious Chandler Academy. Before she had a chance to feel satisfied at her victory, he laughed. Aloud. He laughed and laughed and laughed, the kind of convulsive hysterics that cannot be faked or stopped. He wiped the tears from his face and laughed more. Then he changed the rules. He said he would pull the strings, pay her way, but only because he admired her pluck.

“I did it all, didn't I? I got you enrolled here, made sure your tuition was covered. I had but one requirement: that I never hear from you again. How hard could that have been? A small price to pay, I should think, for entrée into our closed world. But you could not do even that. The next thing I hear, you are dating my nephew, living with my niece. I let it go. She is nothing but a schoolgirl, I thought, let her have her little games. I didn't care enough, you see, to stop you. But this, with Doreen, no, I'm afraid this all ends now. Tonight. Whatever story you've concocted in that backwoods brain of yours, this little drama with me is over. Right now. Otherwise—”

“What?”

With his elbow dug into his side and his cigar floating lazily between two fingers, he looked at Heidi—really looked at her, scanning her from the top down. She saw his opinion of her reflected in his face. He did not care. Three years of wondering, longing for his approval, making decisions based on what she thought he would want her to do, and at last Heidi understood that to Roland Winthrop Gibbons IV, she was beneath consideration. The way he disregarded painters and composers who did not matter to him. “I don't rate him,” he would say, and he may as well have been talking about her. She was a nuisance, that was all. A stain on his handkerchief would move him more than she did.

How could a single person have so much power? To Roland Gibbons she would always be an irrelevant Irish girl from Yonkers. Heidi wished she could be anywhere else than here, with this man who did not think enough of her, after everything she'd done, to hate her. She should take her cue from him and stop caring. But she couldn't! Why? Why?

Roland took a bored drag off his cigar. “I want you out of my life—and my daughter's. I can make things very uncomfortable for you.”

“Daddy?” Doreen stood a few feet away in Biz's red coat. “What are you guys doing out here?”

Roland leaned into Heidi's ear. “Don't test me, little girl,” he whispered before turning to his daughter. “Doreen! There you are, darling. I was just thanking your friend here for showing you the ropes here at the old Academy.”

“Oh.” Doreen looked from her father to her friend and back again. “Okay, cool, well, we are going. Do you want to say good-bye to Biz?”

“Of course, the young artiste!” said Roland.

“You coming, Heidi?”

“I uh, I'm—”

“Heidi's not feeling well,” said Roland. “You should go home, Heidi. Take care of yourself.” With that, he escorted Doreen back into the gallery.

“Piece of shit!” Head in her hands, Heidi paced back and forth, working herself into a froth. “No, no, no!” This was not how it was going to go down. Roland did not get a say in the company Heidi kept. She could—and would!—be friends with whomever she wanted to be friends with. She wasn't going to let him control her. If he thought she would just keep her mouth closed and do what she was told then he didn't know who he was talking to.

But then, graduation was
so
close. Heidi could almost touch the freedom awaiting her at the end of the year. It was like that moment when Dorothy finally approaches Emerald City. Heidi could see the city wall. And her diploma from Chandler Academy was all she needed to get to the other side. Roland could take it away from her with a snap of his perfectly manicured fingers. He knew it and she knew it.

What had he said?
She is my daughter and I don't want her socializing with the likes of you.
Had anyone ever made her feel so small and disgusting? But she could show him. She was no Yonkers nothing anymore. He would see she'd come into her own, that she'd become a person who mattered.

“Stop it!” she berated herself. “That's enough!” For her own survival she had to drop it, to forget him and move on, to end the cycle of striving and disappointment that had dominated her life. She had to get out, be free. He was never going to approve of her. So stop caring, she told herself, for real this time. What did she need them for? Any of them? All of this was keeping her tied down. The key was to think about her future. If she let Roland win this tiny battle, she could still turn it into a grand life for herself—for her and Peter. Wasn't that all that mattered? All she had to do was sever ties with Doreen. Cut it off and sail away. Never look back.

But how would Doreen react? Heidi had always assumed she was safe from Doreen's wrath, that she held a special position in Doreen's esteem that protected her. But now she wasn't so sure. In fact, the more she thought about cutting Doreen out of her life, the more frightened she became of the repercussions. Doreen would not take kindly to any sort of rejection. And while Heidi had been busily falling in love and dreaming of college, Doreen had been mastering the art of ruthless retribution.

And there was more. Since Doreen came into her life, everything had changed for the better. When she thought about who she'd been before—how lonely and cynical she'd been! Everything was an angle, a way to get a leg up. It was exhausting. And all that changed when Doreen arrived. Was it really a coincidence that the Fall Dance, where Doreen had treated Simon so heartlessly and jump-started her rise through the ranks at Chandler, also represented a transformative moment for Heidi?

Since then, she had opened herself up to Peter, been a better friend to Biz. It was as if by enacting the worst part of Heidi's own nature, Doreen left Heidi to thrive. What would happen if things changed back to how they were before? No. She wouldn't have it. Doreen Gray was Heidi's ticket to a better soul.

There would have to be a third option, a way to have it all.

Peter found Heidi standing there shivering, her brow furrowed in concentration. He carried her coat over his arm. “There you are, at last. Everyone is leaving. They've invited us to dinner. Shall we join?”

She needed more time. She was on the verge of something—a solution. But she couldn't quite get it. “I don't think so. Is that okay? I don't feel up to it.”

“Hm. You look a little pale. You're probably just cold. Come here.” He buttoned her into her coat and rubbed her arms. He hugged her close to him, and in his embrace Heidi began to find strength. He wanted her. This wonderful person wanted her, after everything he knew. But of course! How had she not thought of it before?

“Hang on. Peter, all that stuff I told you before, about where I come from and everything, it never bothered you, did it?”

“Heidi, how many times have I told you? If anything it only made me like you more.”

“Like me? Or love me?”

But he didn't hear her. He was looking behind his shoulder to where the Gibbons-Browns were huddled together near the entrance of the gallery. “I told Gloria we would be right back. Doreen—I mean, everyone is waiting.” He turned back to Heidi. “Sorry, did you ask me something?”

“I want to talk to you, Peter,” Heidi said, her eyes shining. “I have something, something else. It's the last thing, but it's important. I need to come clean about something. To you and to Doreen.” If she told them everything, Roland would have nothing on her. She could live truthfully, as herself. It was the perfect solution. She flushed with the elegance of it.

“Can we do it later? It's just, you know, they're leaving. Can it wait? If you're not feeling well, maybe you should rest. I'll let them know.”

“Wait. What? You're still going to go to dinner?”

“Do you mind?” Peter was already backing away toward the gallery. “I'm just really hungry. And I told them I would, so. Feel better, okay?” He blew her a kiss.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she yelled after him. All at once she found herself alone.

It could wait. She would tell him tomorrow. She was very tired, after all. A night in by herself might do her a world of good, clear her head, give her time to figure out how she would tell the story. The important thing was that she had a plan. She would have her Oz. And she would expose Roland for the wizard that he was—just a sad, weak, old man behind a curtain.

Biz was not prone to skipping or leaping or sashaying, but that's just what she did. She danced and twirled and ran across the quad. It was late—almost curfew. The gallery had closed and all the parents had gone to their hotels. She should really head back to her own dorm, but she couldn't go, not yet. She wanted to see Doreen. Somehow, it wouldn't feel real until she told Doreen all about it.

Eloise Peek had red hair, but red like a stop sign, a reflection of conscious choice rather than arbitrary genetic disposition. She had thick arty jewelry and small green glasses.

“My dear,” she said, “I want you to know that the last thing I ever expected when I came here was to find true talent, but I must say I am impressed. The way you use focus and color saturation, it's really quite brilliant. This one, for example.” She waved her bracelets at a picture of Heidi sitting on the couch in their suite. “The way you blur the girl to nothing, just a flash of blondness, legs, lashes. She appears to be in the midst of saying something, some story or other, but since you've washed out everything but her eyes, all we see is this flash of burning blue in the center. It's beautiful but also somewhat sad.”

“Lonely was what I was going for,” said Biz.

“Yes. There is something haunting about it.” The woman nodded. “And in the self-portraits.” She stepped over to a series of pictures of Biz taken from the shoulders up. Biz faced the camera without glasses, without any visible clothing. She had blurred out the background, but her skin possessed exaggerated clarity. The pictures were almost identical, except for tiny changes in her expression and the location of her gaze.

Eloise Peek's face tightened as she viewed the series. Biz held her breath. The self-portraits were the result of her big moment of realization in the photo lab. They were a huge risk. She'd never exposed herself so honestly—especially not to total strangers. The gallerist stood silently in front of the pictures, her mouth twitching with concentration. Then, in a burst of sound, she spoke.

“Every pimple, freckle, birthmark, seems to rise off the surface of the body. It's about adolescence for me, that liminal zone between one's girlhood and womanhood. They are really extraordinary. And brave.”

Biz exhaled. “Thank you, Ms. Peek. They were a big breakthrough for me. In a lot of ways. I'd never put myself in front of the camera before, but it felt necessary for me to do it. As an artist and, honestly, as a person.”

“Do you know my son, Seth Greenbaum?” Eloise flipped her glasses onto her head. “He is a junior here. He asked me to attend this evening. He's a big fan of your work, as you may know. You see, I have a small gallery in Chelsea.”

“Of course! The Peek Gallery. Not that, I mean, of course, you know the name of it.” Biz felt her face flush.

“I do, yes. And so do you. Good! I'm glad you know us. Anyway, I'm very interested in you. You are young, of course, but that is hardly a detriment. Agnes Chase—”

“The photographer?”

“Yes, of course the photographer. She is a client and a dear friend and she was just saying to me that she would like to find an assistant. I'm sure she's looking for something more long-term than just the summer.”

“I'll do it!”

“Wonderful enthusiasm, dear girl, but we must proceed step by step. Send me your portfolio and I will speak to Agnes. Here is my card. I will look for your e-mail.”

Biz felt for the card in the breast pocket of her coat. There it was. Eloise Peek, President. Oh, to have this thing, something for herself, something she made for herself not because of her name or her family—but in spite of them, their materialism, their anti-intellectualism. It was all too good to contemplate. Imagine spending the summer as Agnes Chase's assistant! And then off to Yale, the best photography school in the world. Of course, she hadn't heard from Yale yet, but she would. She was the valedictorian of one of the highest ranked prep schools in the country. If Yale wasn't accepting Biz, then who in the world were they accepting?

She was so lost in her own good fortune that she collided head-on with someone coming out of West Hall.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I—Peter?” She helped him to his feet. “What are you doing here? I thought you left hours ago.”

“Oh. I, uh,” Peter looked back at West Hall. “I stayed for a bit, taking care of Heidi. I fell asleep.”

“But our dorm is across campus. Doreen lives here.”

“Does she?” said Peter. “What a coincidence. Anyway, great seeing you and congratulations again on your success.” Peter's cell phone beeped.

“Is that a text? Who is it from?”

“Hm? Oh. I don't know, uh.” He pulled out his phone and held it very close to his face. “Your brother. ‘Good to see you, man.' Nice of him to say so.”

Biz swiped the phone from him. The message on the screen was from Doreen:
I miss you already, Pinkie.

“I don't understand. You and Doreen? But you're with Heidi.”

“Look, Biz, I know you're Heidi's pal. She's great, okay? But Doreen and I . . . what we have . . . it's different. It's special, I—I can't explain it.”

“But Heidi really likes you. She loves you. She doesn't love anyone and she loves you.”

“I guess that's her problem. Are you going to tell her? It would be a favor to me if you did, actually, save me the trouble.”

“And what about your friend? Coburn? Doesn't he count, either?”

Peter shook his head. “Not for me. Not now. It's just her that matters now. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, I'm different around her.”

“You're disgusting. You're in college, an adult, practically.”

But Peter wasn't listening. He was scanning the windows of West Hall, obviously trying to figure out which one belonged to Doreen. When he turned back, he seemed surprised that Biz was still there. “Good to see you,” he said and walked away.

Of course, it was none of her business, but as Biz climbed the stairs to Doreen's room she could not help feeling lost and disillusioned. She'd always admired Doreen, overlooked the backstage calculations. But this was too far. Poor Heidi. Biz's heart broke for her.

“I knew you couldn't stay away!” said Doreen when she opened to the door to her room. She wore nothing but a white lace corset and frilly shorts. “Oh. It's you.”

“Disappointed?” said Biz. “Expecting someone else?”

“Who knows? Anyway, have you come to share your news? Tell me everything. I'll even play at being surprised, though I already heard it from Addison.” She plucked a lilac satin robe from a hook on her door and slipped it over herself.

“Why? Are you sleeping with him, too? He's your first cousin, you know.”

“Huh? Of course not! I ran into him at the hotel after I said good-bye to my father. What's gotten into you?”

“That's a funny question, coming from you.”

“Bizzy. Come sit.” Doreen patted a spot on her bed.

“I'll stand, thank you. Where's the picture?”

“Sorry? What picture?”

“You know what picture. The one of you in the red dress.”

“This again? I told you I don't have it. And what do you need it for, anyway? The pictures from the show are much better. The one of me is just a copy from
Vogue
. You had much better stuff in the show. I liked the one of your mother. The diamonds looked like they were about to eat her face!”

“Mm-hmm. Fine. You want to play it that way?” Biz flung open the top drawer of Doreen's desk. She yanked out the notebooks and searched the pages for a folded sheet. When she didn't find anything, she pulled out the other drawers and dumped them on the carpet.

“Biz! What do you think you're doing?”

“Where is it? Where is the picture, Doreen?”

“I told you.” And if Doreen was nervous about Biz finding the picture, she made no indication. She stood near her bed with her hands on her hips as her cousin ransacked her desk, her dresser, her closet. “I hope you are going to clean all this up.”

“You'll never guess who I ran into just now, outside of your dorm. Peter Standish. You know, Heidi's boyfriend?”

“Says who?” Doreen said under her breath.

“What? What did you say?”

“Nothing, but go ahead. Commence the dull moralizing lecture, I'm sure you've got one all cued up.”

“Yes, yes. I'm so uncool. I know. But I would never . . . she would never.”

“Of course! Our friend Heidi, the model of moral rectitude, who considers men to be loathsome, bottom-dwelling vermin to be used and discarded.”

“This isn't about how she feels about men! This is about how she feels about friendship!” Biz lay on her stomach and pulled stuff from under the bed, empty duffel bags, old sweaters.

“Please, spare me. You act like she isn't using you for your name, your position, the clothes in your closet, the bags, the shoes. Why do you think she agreed to be your roommate? Because of your charming personality? I know all sorts of stuff about Heidi that would turn you cold. Did you know she's a year older than you? Yeah. Her school was so bad Crotchett made her do a year over again. She's been lying to us about her age all this time. How's that for the sanctity of friendship? She's on some sort of secret scholarship that nobody ever got before or since. It wouldn't surprise me if she slept with some high-ranking Chandler board member or something.”

“You're just trying to justify what you've done.” Biz emptied shoeboxes and added them to the pile. Where was that picture? “But it won't work. Not on me. I know Heidi—I know who she really is.” She turned to the bookshelf.

“You see what you want to see, Elizabeth. Heidi Whelan manipulates, she steals. She uses people to get what she wants. She used you and she used me. Pardon me if I don't feel obliged to treat her like a saint. And what any of this has to do with that stupid picture, I'll never understand. But go ahead, if it makes you feel better. Just let me know when you're finished.” Doreen lay back against the pillows on her bed. She yawned luxuriously. “I'm gutted. What a day. What time is brunch tomorrow?”

Biz stood in the pile she'd created: clothes, shoes, coats, books, papers. She breathed hard. “You changed, Doreen.”

“Yes, Biz. I have.” Doreen pumped some cream into her palm and began to rub it into one elbow, then the other. “I know you love to wax nostalgic about our time at the beach when we were babies, but that was a lifetime ago. I have changed, okay? I've grown up. You may consider doing the same before you go out and light the world on fire.”

“That's not the change I'm talking about. I'm talking about the morning after we took the picture. I'm talking about a painfully awkward girl who left my dorm room one evening, only to return the next day looking like a fashion model.”

Doreen stiffened. “Don't be ridiculous.” She continued moisturizing, moving on to her legs, feigning indifference, but Biz could see tension in her cousin's jaw. Her head cocked to one side with attention.

“Am I? Well, then show me the picture. That's it. Show me the picture and we'll be done with all this. Because it does sound ridiculous. To think that a picture I took and fixed up could have turned you into someone who would sacrifice anyone who gets in your way. That seems crazy to me! And yet, I can't stop thinking that it happened. And I must know now, Doreen. I must know what responsibility I have for what you've become. A beautiful
monster
.”

Doreen sat up, her eyes blazing, chest heaving. Time seemed to stop while the two cousins stared at one another. An intense smile spread across Doreen's face. “What a spectacular idea!” She hopped off the bed and clapped. “Yes!” Wading through the mess on the floor to her closet, Doreen pulled rubber boots over her bare legs and retrieved a heavy metal flashlight, flicking it on and off, on and off.

“What are you doing?” asked Biz.

“Making sure it works. Now let's go!”

“Where are we going?” Biz's guts churned.

“I'm giving you what you want, Biz! Ain't it grand?” Doreen put a hand on Biz's shoulder. “We should have done this ages ago!” She laughed.

“What's so funny? I don't get it.”

“You will.” Doreen tightened the belt on her robe and with a final laugh she headed out the door. She raced down the hall and Biz hurried after her.

“Oh, wait till you see what I have in store for you, my Bizzy little bee!” Doreen sang as she scuttled down the stairs two flights to the ground floor.

Were they going outside? Had she buried the thing somewhere? But Doreen didn't stop, she kept going down the stairs to the basement, almost hitting Biz in the face with the fire door. The stink of rotting garbage made Biz's eyes water, but Doreen sped past the overflowing bins at the base of the garbage shoot, the blue barrels of recycled refuse. Biz tried to stay close, but she couldn't keep pace. She saw a flash of purple satin as Doreen entered a small room at the back.