Tell Me If the Lovers Are Losers (12 page)

“Good,” Ann heard herself say. She was having an idea. She was having two ideas in fact, two possible ideas. For one, she needed her parents' advice and help, so she couldn't think about that until she had written them, or called, or gone home for a weekend.

She worked in the silence of the room for another hour Hildy sat motionless at her desk. At such times, when Hildy and Ann were alone in the room, Ann felt as contented, as relaxed, as she had ever been, except within her own family. The light in the room was yellow, warm. The sound of quiet
breathing or murmuring memorization suited the light. The dark outside the window did not enter, but remained afar, tame as a painting.

At such times, Ann concentrated deeply and swam upward into self-consciousness refreshed. This night, however, she was continually diverted, until her restlessness drove her out of the room to find Niki. At the door she looked back to Hildy, who peered into an English textbook, squinting at it as if by such narrowing of the field of vision, she might hone her understanding.

Niki was in the living room, engrossed in a game of Clue.

“I thought you might be out,” Ann said, sitting down by Niki. The six girls were playing on the floor, each hiding her sheet of information behind a large book, each busy with a pencil.

“Damn you Ann, do you have to come barging in like that?” Niki greeted her.

“I'm sorry,” Ann said. Always sorry. Even though Clue, as far as Ann could see, was never a serious game.

“Fat lot of good your being sorry does me. Kathy, what did you ask for? And Marsha, you showed her something, right?” Niki's eyes glazed in concentration. Her eyes crackled and her teeth showed.

“I want to talk with you,” Ann said.

“For God's sake then—will you wait? It won't be long.”

“Won't be long! Niki, have you been cheating? I don't even know
one.”

Niki rolled the die, moved her piece, asked her questions, then made an accusation. It was correct, Ann knew, by the blank looks exchanged around the table. If an incorrect accusation was made, it showed immediately. You could feel it in the air. Then, if you looked around, you could see who held the card you'd named, the person with a little smug smile on his face.

Niki threw down the three cards triumphantly.

“It's a system,” she answered their cries of protest. “All logic, logic and careful notation. I'll be back in a few minutes, OK?”

She whisked Ann into the dining room, where they sat at a corner table, far from the girls who were typing papers or letters. “OK. What is it? It must be something, for you to
come to me. You need an abortion?” Niki leaned toward Ann, who sat back, away from the thrusting face.

“No, no,” Ann said too quickly, inwardly angry at being off-balance again. “It's Hildy,” she went on.

“What about her?” Niki's interest faded.

“She really doesn't have any money. Really. Like, ten-fifty for the whole year.”

“One thousand fifty? Or ten dollars and fifty?”

“Ten dollars. That's not right is it?”

“I don't see that it's any of our business.”

“But there are so any things she can't do. Movies and dinners, weekends. Books.”

“Not that I think it's any great loss, but what do you want me to do about it?”

“You've got money, haven't you?”

“Oh no. Not that. Not the Lady Bountiful act. You can masturbate yourself with it, but you're not going to get me to play too.”

Ann's cheeks flamed. “You're not being fair.”

“Annie. I'm not rich, to begin with. My dad has a good income and he spends most of it. Some on me, yeah, but it's not like we have oil wells or hosiery companies. That's one thing. But I don't give charity—on principle. What are we going to do, go trundling up to Hildy and say, ‘Oh we are so sorry you don't have an allowance like everyone else so we are going to give you an allowance Ann and me aren't we wonderful?' Holy crap, Annie. I'm not wild about you, but I never figured you for such an ass.” Niki put her finger in her mouth and watched Ann's face.

Ann's enthusiasm gave way before Niki's negative force: she was close to tears, baby tears, whiny tears of frustration. “You're right,” she said, quite adult. “Of course, you're right. I should have thought.”

Ann started to rise, but Niki's long arm shot out and held her wrist to the table. “Why do you give up like that, so easily? So what if I'm right?”

“What are you doing?” Ann pulled her wrist free. She had had about all she could take, she felt sure of that.

“Think you'll cry?” Niki needled. “Annie?”

Tears welled up behind Ann's eyes.

“You're a quitter, Annie.” Niki stood and left the dining
room, deliberately not closing the curtained doors. The two typists raised irritated faces, and Ann hurried out, her head bobbing apologetically.

Ann went out outside. The air was cold, iron-edged. Ann's lungs were offended at it, but she remained on the porch, breathing deeply. “Ohellohell,” she crooned to herself, until her emotions settled. The leaves rustled in a light breeze. The grass looked purplish in the artificial light. Ann stepped off the porch and onto the grass. She moved away from the light into the dark created by the tall presences of oaks and maples, sycamores, birches, beeches. She rubbed at her upper arms, to warm herself.

The bleak sky was sprayed with points of light, and the arc of the new moon hung close to the earth. Ann turned her face to the stars. Specks of light, bright, white, crisp—
golden fire,
Shakespeare had said, and
fretted.
Fretted had two meanings. Fretwork, as the filigreed Indian screens. And to fret, to bother, irritate, annoy.

Was Niki right? Was she a quitter? It could be. Niki seemed to enjoy causing pain, but she was usually astute about people. She had a good sense for where a person was vulnerable, and she would go for that spot, like a dog leaping for the jugular, clamorous in attack. Not silent, skulking. Niki wouldn't skulk anywhere, not after anything.

So she might be a quitter But what more could she do? She had thought that if she and Niki together did it, then Hildy couldn't refuse, but if Niki wouldn't cooperate—there wasn't anyone else. Roommates were different. She had wanted to do something good, something kind and generous. And Niki made her feel—awful. And then told her she was a quitter A tear was running down her nose. What more could she do?

Two juniors walked toward the house, talking loudly. Pride dried Ann's eyes and spirits. She would have been so ashamed, caught sniveling—the very thought humiliated her.

“Hey, Ann. What're you doing?”

“Taking a break.” Ann kept her voice quiet. “Smelling winter coming down.” She smiled, because she had thought of something else she might try, if she could work herself up to it.

Ann would talk with the Munchkin about Hildy. Miss Dennis would know if anything could be done. Hildy was virtually teaching the freshman volleyball section. She set up
all the matches, saw to supplies, kept the balls inflated, took attendance, everything. Hildy was coaching them.

Ann ran back inside the house. It was
cold
out there. She stopped in the reception area where the girl on watch commented on her nuttiness in going out without a heavy sweater Niki emerged from the living room, a few Clue cards clutched tight. “You know what worries
me?”
she said, walking with Ann to the stairs. “Not this surface crap. Money and clothes, they're not worth pissing on. You know what I wonder?”

“What?”

“Look at me, will you?”

Ann turned.

“The way she reads with the books so close to her eyes.”

“I haven't noticed,” Ann protested, trying to move away.

“I'll tell you what,” Niki said. “When you go in, see how close her eyes are to the page, then try reading with yours that close. I think she needs reading glasses. And ten dollars and fifty cents will not buy you those. Not in this world, Annie.” Niki clapped Ann on the shoulder for emphasis and loped back into the living room, shrieking, “It's my turn! Mine!”

Ann made her appointment with the Munchkin for one evening when Hildy rode off to the observatory. Hildy would never ask where she was going, but Ann opted for secrecy. It rained that night, a dark storm rending leaves from trees, bending supple branches, driving the water before it. Ann's raincoat was soaked through after a five-minute walk. She dripped on the Munchkin's porch for a desolate time before ringing the bell. To be bedraggled made her feel at a tangible disadvantage.

Miss Dennis answered promptly. The light behind her was dry and warm. “Miss Gardner. Do shake yourself.”

Ann complied. She hung her coat on a wall hook and stood, awkward.

“I have a pot of tea. And a fire.”

The Munchkin wore trousers and a shapeless beige sweater, which made Ann feel overdressed. She followed the small figure down a short hallway to a small study, a mannish room with its leather, wood, and books. A comfortable room, not an attractive one. There were no curtains.

Unable to begin speaking, Ann accepted a cup of tea and sat gratefully in the warmth pouring from the deep fireplace.

The Munchkin sat facing her, in a matching leather chair. Her eyes stayed on Ann's face, unblinking. She waited.

Ann began: “You said we could ask advice.”

A pained expression, quickly disguised into irony, passed over the round, wrinkled face.

“In your opening day speech.”

“Not a speech. I did so hope not to give a speech.”

“No, of course not, I didn't mean
that.”

“Was it so bad?” the Munchkin demanded quickly.

“I didn't mean that,” Ann said again. She blushed. She saw
that the little woman's feet did not touch the floor, and looked quickly away. “Miss Dennis, I . . .”

“Want some advice,” the Munchkin finished, after a bit. “Not about men, I hope.”

“Of course not,” Ann disclaimed quickly, and felt her face grow hot again. She lost her train of thought.

Miss Dennis waited, again, then asked again. “Advice, you said.”

“It's my roommate,” Ann said. Her approach to the proposal had been so clear in her mind.

“You can't get along with Miss Jones.”

“No. Not that. Give me a chance,” Ann protested.

The gray eyes twinkled at her. “All right, here is your chance.”

“Hildy. Miss Koenig.”

“I remember.”

“She has a scholarship.”

“I know.”

“She has no money.”

“Yes?”

“I shouldn't be here talking about this, should I? I'm meddling, I know that. I'm not a meddler.”

“I will assume that your intentions are good ones. Let that conclude the ethical quibbling. Just what is your point?”

“Ten dollars for the whole year,” Ann continued. “And fifty cents.”

“Ah. Not an abundance. Is she concerned about this?”

“Hildy? No.”

“But you are. Why is that?”

“She can't do things with us, like going downtown. But that's not important. And it doesn't bother her at all. She'll have to stay East over the vacations, but she can come home with me—I'd like that, so that doesn't matter But Niki noticed—Miss Jones—that Hildy's eyes are bad. When Hildy reads, the book is no more than three inches from her eyes. Even then she squints and wrinkles up her eyebrows. You can't read from that distance. She couldn't afford glasses, you see.”

“Or an eye examination.”

“And she doesn't like taking things, presents. Charity, Hildy
calls it.” Ann debated adding this next, but decided to. “Even the scholarship.”

The Munchkin nodded. “I'd be inclined to trust Miss Jones's observations.”

Ann agreed eagerly. “She told me and I watched Hildy. When Hildy writes, her face almost lies on the paper.”

“You have an idea, I think,” Miss Dennis suggested.

“Yes, I do. I don't know if you know that Hildy has been running the freshman volleyball classes.”

Miss Dennis smiled. “I heard something of it. Some words were spoken. Miss Stookings—you won't remember her?”

Ann shook her head.

“The graduate instructress. She came to see me. More in sorrow than in anger, it seemed. However, since she had to agree that Miss Koenig was capable, I could see no objection to what had clearly been a successful plan. The decision was, as they say, in my province.”

“I didn't know that,” Ann said. “It all happened so easily.”

“Thank you,” Miss Dennis bowed her head. Ann had relaxed enough to smile.

“Niki will like that.”

“You will not tell Miss Jones.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. But, your proposal is?”

“Could Hildy be paid for that work? Could the College pay her for what she's doing? Or, I could ask my parents and they could give you the money and you could say it was from the College.”

“I think we can discount the latter, don't you?” The Munchkin's gaze brightened. She refilled their tea cups and sat looking into the flames. “What were you thinking of?”

“I beg your pardon?” Ann asked.

“How much money were you thinking of?”

“I wasn't,” Ann admitted.

“Right and proper, if foolish.” Miss Dennis said. “What is the usual monthly allowance?”

“I have no idea.”

“Surely you have an allowance.”

“Not exactly. My parents put money into my account when I need it.”

“I see. Well then, I'll think about the suggestion, and do what I judge is correct.”

“Is it within your province?”

“I believe so. I believe it can be put there. I am not so certain that Miss Koenig will consent to see an optometrist.”