Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (18 page)

     "Twelve."

     As they followed the hall toward the dining room, passing a group of girls who were squealing over a photograph one of them had just received—the picture of a male cousin, whom the others all declared was a real dream—Christine saw Amber up ahead.

     "How did Amber get her nickname? Is it because of her hair?"

     "I heard that she chose her own nickname when she got here," Frizz said as they took places in the dining hall. "It's because her mother is a countess, she said that she had the right to pick her own name."

     "But why Amber?" Christine said, curious about the girl who was making her life miserable. Christine's existence, in just three short weeks, had been reduced to the single element of survival. She had quickly learned to avoid encounters with Amber. Fortunately, the two did not attend the same classes, and so confrontations during the day were rare, but evenings were dangerous, when the girls had free time while the nuns were at their prayers.
That was when Christine had to be her most vigilant. She found on her first night in the dormitory that it was not wise to climb into bed without first drawing the covers all the way back and checking the sheets. That first lesson had involved a harmless garden snake, but she would never forget it. Mornings could be hazardous as well. Christine had learned to hang back and wait until Amber was finished and gone before she dared use the communal bathroom down the hall. It meant rushing to get dressed and then receiving a scolding by one of the sisters for always being late to breakfast, but after having gotten locked in one of the toilet cubicles one morning, and another time coming out of the shower to find her clothes and towel gone so that she had had to run wet and naked down the hall to her room, Christine had decided that a scolding was preferable.

     "So why did she choose Amber for her nickname?" Christine asked.

     "Well," Frizz said in a conspiratorial tone as she pulled out a chair and sat down, her burgundy-colored hair falling over her shoulders and brushing the table. "She bragged about getting hold of a copy of
Forever Amber.
If the nuns had found out, Amber would have been expelled from the school. Anyway, she went about telling everyone how she had actually read it from cover to cover."

     Christine was well acquainted with
Forever Amber.
She had not read the book, but she had seen the movie five times, and the image of Cornel Wilde, with his long hair and bare, muscular chest, suddenly flashed in her mind.

     Frizz continued, "Amber claims that she's just like the Amber in the book. She likes to think she's fast."

     "What do you mean?"

     Frizz leaned over and whispered, "You know, in the
bedroom.
Amber claims she's
done
it. Just like the real Amber, sleeping with all those men."

     The sisters came into the dining room then, and the girls all fell silent. The grace prayer was recited, and when the novices served dinner, Christine received a shock. While Frizz and the girls around her were handed plates of spaghetti, with garlic toast and small side cups of grated Parmesan cheese, Christine had been given a plate of carrot sticks, cottage cheese, and peaches.

     "Uh oh," Frizz murmured. "Looks like Mother Superior has put you on a diet."

     Christine stared in horror at the celery and carrot, knowing that they were going to give her an upset stomach later. The cottage cheese was plain and unpalatable, and the peaches would never do, being sweet.

     When she heard snickering, she looked up and saw Amber giving her a snide smile. Others giggled, and one of them softly chanted, "Fatty, fatty, two by four, can't get through the kitchen door..."

     Christine continued to look at her plate. She couldn't bring herself to pick up her fork. The delicious aromas floated around her; she saw girls eating the pasta with relish. Tears stung her eyes. Daddy, she thought, where are you? Why haven't you written to me, or called me, or come to take me away? What did I do to deserve this?
What did I do?

     "Sister Gabriel," Christine said after she had knocked on the office door and was invited to come in. "May I please telephone my father? It won't be a long call. I know he's away on a trip and that it would be long-distance, but he hasn't written to me, not even a postcard, and I'm worried."

     "I understand how you feel," Sister Gabriel said gently. "But your father told us he would be out of reach for a little while, and that just as soon as he has a number where we can contact him, he will give it to us. Be patient, my dear. It will just be a little while longer, I promise."

     "But you know where he is, don't you? He must have given you an address where you could reach him in case of an emergency."

     "Christine, believe me, you have not been abandoned here. You trust me, don't you? Put your faith in God and soon everything will be all right, you'll see."

     She was thoughtful for a moment, then said, "May I ask you a question, Sister? I'm fat; I know I am. But why is it such a bad thing? Why does Sister Michael seem to be mad at me because I'm overweight? Why do the other girls ridicule me? I mean, supposing Jesus was fat. We don't know what he looked like. There are a lot of paintings of him, but there are no descriptions of him in the Bible. Maybe Jesus looked like Friar Tuck, fat and jolly. Sister Gabriel," Christine said earnestly, "why do people make fun of anyone
who's fat? What if we can't help it? People wouldn't laugh at someone in a wheelchair, would they? Why does being slim make you so much better? Is thinness next to godliness?"

     The young nun gave her a startled look. "Christine," she said, "God loves you just as you are. Trust in him, trust in the Lord and his Blessed Mother, and the burden of your pain will be lifted. They love you, I promise you. They love you."

     When Christine returned to the dormitory, she found Amber holding her usual nightly court on her bed, the other girls lounging around in pajamas, rolling curlers in their hair and plastering cold cream on their faces, while the radio played "Ragg Mopp."

     "Well, if it isn't Sister Gabriel's little pet," Amber said.

     Christine tried to ignore her. When she went to get her nightgown, she saw that her parents' photographs were missing from the twin frames.

     She confronted Amber, her heart pounding. "I know you took them. Where are they?"

     "Why should you care? They never visit you. You've been here a month and you've had no visitors, no letters, not even a phone call. So why should you care where their pictures are?"

     Something snapped inside Christine. "Tell me where they are or you'll be sorry."

     "Why? What are you going to do? Run to Sister Gabriel? I suppose you've been whining to her that we're mean to you. You're pathetic."

     "And what about you? You put on airs, Alexandra Huntington, but you don't get visitors either, and you also never get any mail or phone calls! I'll bet your mother isn't even really a countess!"

     The girls fell into shocked silence as Amber leveled her gaze at Christine. She stood up slowly. Towering over Christine, she said, "You'll pay for that. You're going to be very, very sorry."

     Hans slowly picked himself up from the floor, blood streaming down his face and staining his shirt. He staggered toward Christine, a gun in his hand, pointed directly at her. Johnny was hidden somewhere in the shadows near by, saying, "I can't help you this time, Dolly. I have to go away. We'll never see each other again..." Hans fired the gun and Christine screamed.

     She opened her eyes and looked around. As she adjusted to the blinding afternoon sunlight, she remembered that she was in her dormitory room, alone. It was Saturday and the other girls were with their visitors, even Amber, who, although she never had visitors of her own, was always invited to join the others. But Christine, unable to face another disappointing Saturday, had decided to lie on her bed and retreat into fantasy; instead, she had fallen asleep and retreated into nightmares.

     Looking at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was time for mail call. She hurriedly washed her face and combed her hair and got to the parlor just as Sister Gabriel was calling out her name.

     "Look, Frizz!" she said, showing it to her friend. "It came from
Italy!
Look at the stamps! My father is in Italy! And feel how thick the envelope is! He's written pages and
pages!
"

     When they rushed off together to open it, neither Christine nor Frizz saw the sudden, dangerous look in Amber's eyes as she watched them go.

     The letter was all about Johnny's travels, and Christine sat on her bed, reading it out loud to a rapt Frizz, who had gotten no mail. Johnny had included a bundle of postcards, pictures of Rome and Pisa and Florence; a wine label soaked off a bottle of Chianti; and a ticket stub from the Milan opera. Christine spread them all out on the bed while she and Frizz pored over them, sighing and thinking,
Italy!

     But as the afternoon stretched on and the dying sun sent long, melancholy beams of light across the scattered post cards, Christine began to feel a new sadness steal over her. She wanted to be there with him. She missed him so much...

     By the time they went in to dinner, Christine's joy had settled down to a quiet, somber mood, and she had no appetite. Especially for the cottage cheese and carrot sticks that were placed before her. As she stared at her plate, she was unaware that she had suddenly become the center of a dangerous form of attention.

     "Hey, psst, Christine!"

     She looked up and saw one of Amber's friends, an athletic girl named Ginger, holding up something from her plate. Christine received a shock
when she realized what it was.

     "Want one of my pork chops?" Ginger whispered.

     Christine didn't see Amber's sly look or hear the suppressed giggles of the others. She saw only the pork chop, thick and juicy, dangling from Ginger's delicate fingers. And suddenly she was back in the penthouse, at the long dining table, and Johnny was in the kitchen, dancing around in a tuxedo and apron.

     "But...don't you want it, Ginger?" she said.

     "I'm allergic to pork," the other girl said, casting a quick, mischievous look toward Amber. Christine saw nothing; her eyes were riveted to the chop.

     "Well?" Ginger said, swinging it before Christine's face as if it were a hypnotist's pendulum.

     "Yes," Christine heard herself say. "If you don't want it, that is."

     "Good! Here," Ginger said, and she put it on Christine's plate.

     A girl sitting on Christine's right leaned over and said, "Better not eat it here. If Mother Superior were to catch you..."

     "Yes," Christine said, and she quickly hid the pork chop inside her napkin. As she wrapped it up and slipped it into her skirt pocket, she felt herself become excited. She would eat it later, after the lights were out and everyone was asleep. She would bring the pork chop out and eat it so slowly that it would take an hour, savoring each salty bite as she read Johnny's letter again and studied each precious postcard.

     Amber spent the evening in another girl's room, listening to records, her usual entourage with her, and Christine, alone in their room, hoped that this was a sign that Amber was starting to lose interest in teasing her and would maybe leave her alone from now on. It was nearly time for lights-out. Christine went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, in good spirits for the first time in two months. Her father had written to her, and she was going to snack on the cold pork chop when everyone else was asleep.

     But when she returned to her room, she found all the girls there, and Amber, sitting on her bed, holding up the pork chop. "We came to watch you eat it," she said.

     Christine suddenly got a sick feeling. "What?"

     "You heard me. Come on piggy. Oink oink."

     "Please...don't do this."

     "Well, do you want it or don't you? If not..." Amber started to throw the chop into the wastebasket.

     "Wait," Christine said. "Don't do that."

     "Do you want it?"

     She stared at it, bewildered and confused. Amber was making fun of the pork chop, and somehow that was making fun of Johnny.

     "You want it," Amber sneered. "I know you do. That's why you're so fat. All you do is eat, eat, eat." Amber held the chop up high and said, "If you want this, then you have to get down on your knees and beg for it like a dog. Come on, nice bow wow."

     "Leave her alone!" shouted Frizz, who had appeared in the doorway.

     "Shut up, you," Amber said, and two girls barred Frizz's way.

     "Please, Amber," Christine said. "Why are you doing this to me?"

     "Do what I say or I'll throw it away. On your knees! Come on," Amber said, "hold up your paws like a good little dog."

     "Christine," Frizz cried, "don't do what she says."

     Amber whispered to one of the girls standing next to her, who turned and whispered to another. In the next instant they seized Frizz and pulled her into the room, pinning her arms behind her.