The Chaperone (30 page)

Cora gave him a withering look. “Why are you still here?”

He held up his palms, turned, and made quick strides out of the room. The door to the hallway slammed behind him. Louise started laughing again, lying on one side, her bare knees curled up under her chin. But she stopped suddenly, the thin black brows going low. Her hand went to her belly, and she looked utterly somber, almost afraid.

“Oh. Oh-oh. I think I might upchuck.”

Cora frowned. This, she supposed, was as close as the girl would come to remorse. She felt no sympathy at all. “Well, for God’s sake, get to the bathroom. And don’t think I’m going to carry you. If you can’t walk, crawl.”

To her surprise, that was what Louise did. She rolled over so she was belly-down on the bed and stretched both hands toward the floor. As she tried to slide the rest of her body to the floor, she lost her grip on the floor and fell forward, the hem of the gown hitching up around her thighs. But she recovered. Groaning quietly, she crawled like a toddler toward the dark bathroom. She was wearing underwear, to Cora’s relief.

Cora followed her to the bathroom, pulling the chain on the light. Two shiny roaches scurried into the drain of the sink, and Louise crooked her elbow over her eyes. She was lying on her side by the toilet. Cora, feeling faint and closed in by the bathroom’s red walls, braced herself against the edge of the sink. She wanted to go back to bed, to go back to sleep, but if she wanted answers, truthful answers, she would have to get them now.

“Where did you get the liquor? Where did Floyd get it?”

Louise smiled, her eyes still hidden by her pale arm. “I dunno. I just followed him.” Her “him” came out like “em,” all the new, clear diction gone. “It was the darnedest little place, Cora. You go in like you’re going into a phone booth, but if you knock on the wall the right way, a door opens, and you’re inside a room. Isn’t that smart?”

“A speakeasy, then.”

“Listen to you. So worldly. I’m impressed.”

Cora wanted to kick her. She was mad enough to lean down and pull the girl up for a quick, hard shake that might have sobered her enough to understand that the matter at hand was very serious, and that none of her usual belligerence would be tolerated. She’d been out with a boy, unchaperoned and falling-down drunk. Cora would have to call her parents. And what would she tell them? That their daughter may have been violated? Would they want Cora to take her to a doctor? Perhaps Floyd hadn’t been lying. Perhaps he hadn’t touched her, and a doctor could assure them all that there had been no real violation at all. Cora would swear silence. She would. But Louise had to stop smirking, to stop acting as if this was all some hilarious joke.

Louise sat up with her hand over her mouth. Cora, who had little experience with drunks, but who had nursed her husband and sons through countless bouts of the flu, positioned Louise’s head over the toilet just before she spewed out a stream of clear liquid that smelled more of bile than pine. Cora had to turn away so she wouldn’t retch herself, but she kept her hands on the girl’s narrow shoulders. With every additional shudder, Cora patted her back.

“Better to get it out,” she said. “Keep going. Get it all out.”

She waited until Louise sat back from the toilet, nothing left in her stomach to expel. The girl’s nose and cheeks were pink, and her eyes were dull, unseeing. She scooted back until she was against the edge of the tub, and there she sat, bare legs splayed, one strap of the gown hanging off her shoulder. Cora flushed the toilet and lowered herself to the floor as well, her back against the wall.

“That was amazing,” Louise whispered. “I feel so much better.”

Cora shook her head. She’d been wrong to pat the girl’s shoulders, to offer comfort and aid. There was no remorse, no understanding. “Louise. This is a very serious situation. I have to ask you, and you have to answer me honestly. Did he take advantage of you?”

The dark eyes focused on Cora’s, and unbelievably, even now, with her chin still shiny with drool, there was the condescension, the smugness in her gaze. She snickered, but she shook her head.

“Louise? You understand what I’m asking? You’re certain? He didn’t take advantage of you? You understand what I’m asking? You haven’t been… compromised, Louise? This is what I’m asking.”

Louise held up her hand as if taking a pledge. “He did not compromise me. I remain uncompromised.”

Cora closed her eyes. “Thank God.”

Louise laughed again, lowering her hand to wipe her cheek. “Thank me, why don’t you. Floyd just isn’t my type. I think I’d be a little much for him.” She paused, moving her tongue beneath her lower lip. “Other fellows had more money for drinks.”

“Oh, Louise.” Cora shook her head.

“Oh, Cora.” Louise shook her head as well. “Don’t you be so worried about my virginity, me losing it here in New York. I didn’t even pack it, for your information. It’s back in Kansas somewhere.” She stretched her pale arms up, arching her back away from the tub. “Sorry to tell you now, when you’ve been so passionate about your duties. It’s been adorable, really.” She crossed her arms and made a pouty face. “Poor Cora. Poor, dumb Cora, assigned to protect my virginity. You’ve been sent on a fool’s errand, I’m afraid. I lost it long ago.”

Cora watched the girl’s face, her sleepy eyes. She might be lying, just trying to unnerve her. But if anything, Louise seemed less guarded, and much less strategic, than she usually did. She was sloppy, but honest, with drink.

“You look surprised.” She tugged a strand of black hair toward her mouth, but it wouldn’t reach. “I guess you ladies in Wichita really don’t know so much about all my rides to church after all.”

Cora shook her head. She didn’t understand.

Louise rolled her eyes. “Eddie Vincent?”

It took Cora a moment to recognize the name. “Mr. Vincent? He was your Sunday school teacher, Louise. You said he gave you rides to church.”

“Yes. And so much more.”

Cora swallowed, taking in the girl’s mocking expression, the nonchalance in her voice. As if she weren’t ashamed by what she’d implied. It was terrible, what she was suggesting.

“What are you saying? Do you mean to tell me that… Louise. Be clear.”

“I’m saying we had an affair, dummy.” She lifted the hem of the nightgown, then let it fall back to her knees. “He got me this pretty thing. Isn’t it the berries? Took photographs of me in it, really beautiful. He has a good eye. He could have been an artist, but his wife got pregnant.”

Cora was aware of the hard tile beneath her, the bathroom’s warm and muggy air. “Louise. Edward Vincent is a respected man in Wichita. This is a serious allegation.”

“I’m not alleging anything.” She examined the back of her hand. “I’m telling you we had an affair. I was his lover.”

Cora watched the girl’s eyes for any sign of fear or regret, any flinch that might suggest she was lying, or at least exaggerating. But there was no such sign. She looked confident, even proud.

“Oh, Louise.” Cora felt nauseous. “If this is true, if this horrible thing you’re telling me is true, it wasn’t an affair. You weren’t his lover. Edward Vincent is older than I am. He teaches Sunday school. I have to tell your mother.”

Louise yawned, a soprano trill escaping from the back of her throat. “Oh, I think she knows. She knew he was taking pictures of me, that I was posing for him. She thought I might be able to use the pictures for my career. We didn’t get into the specifics.” She looked at Cora reproachfully. “I don’t think she’ll want to talk with you about it. She probably won’t appreciate you being so… familiar.”

Cora put her hand to her throat. It was as if sour vomit and gin had somehow found its way to her own belly. Edward Vincent, with his combed hair and his smug smiles in church, always sitting in a front pew next to his wife. And Myra? What kind of mother let her daughter pose for those kinds of pictures? What was wrong with that woman?

“Louise,” she said quietly. “Are you sure she knows… the extent of what happened? I find it hard to believe any mother would do nothing if she knew a middle-aged, married man had… compromised her fourteen-year-old daughter.”

“He didn’t compromise me. Why do you keep using that word, Cora? We fucked, okay?” She smiled wolfishly, then laughed. “I like to fuck. Maybe you don’t, but I do.”

Cora looked away. If the girl meant to shock with her language, her casual vulgarity, she’d succeeded. And she was clearly enjoying herself, playing the liberated little flapper, leaving Cora, and all her generation, dumbstruck and aghast. But when Cora turned back and looked hard into the girl’s face, she didn’t see liberation so much as posturing and bravado, real uncertainty underneath.

“No, Louise. No. If what you’re telling me is true, Edward Vincent took advantage of you. You were a child. You still are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I said I enjoyed myself, and I did. I liked fucking him, Cora. You’re just so old and dead you can’t understand that.”

Cora sucked her lips, so hard they hurt. Even drunk and flailing, Louise knew just where and how to strike. But that didn’t matter. Not now.

“The minister needs to know.”

“No! No. Don’t get Eddie in trouble. Jesus.”

“He’s still teaching Sunday school.”

“So?”

“So what about other girls?”

The dark eyes moved to the ceiling. “What about them? It’s not like he’s some kind of sex fiend. He liked me in particular. I don’t see what’s wrong with that. And if some other girl does get him next, bully for her. I’m in New York. What do I care?”

She was convincing, Cora thought. Perhaps it wasn’t just bravado. Perhaps she was really so sophisticated, so nonchalant, her thinking so unlike Cora’s that they couldn’t understand each other. But she felt unable to just give up.

“He did a terrible thing, Louise. If what you’re telling me is true, he did a terrible thing. He abused his position. And when did all this happen? Last year? When you were fourteen? Thirteen?”

“Oh, God. Hold the fire alarm. If you really want to know, he wasn’t even my first.” She laughed again, rubbing her nose. “Okay? How’s that, Cora? Now you’ll really lose your mind. I was compromised before we even moved to Wichita. Okay? Since long before Eddie. How do you like that?”

Another roach scurried out from behind the toilet to a crack under the opposite wall. Cora watched it with dazed eyes. It was a nightmare maybe, this middle-of-the-night misery, no more real than her drinking beer out of teacups with Alan and Raymond Walker. But the roach seemed real. And the tiles on the floor were smooth and hard beneath her. The red paint on the walls looked as garish as it did in daylight. And Louise still had real spittle on her chin.

“What are you talking about, Louise? Your family has been in Wichita for years.”

“Just four.”

“Are you telling me you had another affair when you were eleven?”

Louise looked up at her so blankly that Cora regretted the sarcasm. But she couldn’t imagine. She just couldn’t imagine. She’d never in her life had a conversation like this.

“Not an affair,” Louise said dully, her toes pointing up on either side of the toilet. “But we were friendly. He was nice to all the kids. But nicest to me. And I was the one who went to his house.”

“Whose house? What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Flowers. He lived by us in Cherryvale. He was nice to all the kids, nice to my brothers. June was too little to play with us. He said he had popcorn at his house. He’d leave candy on his porch. So I went over. I was the only one who went over.” She puckered her mouth. “Odd, isn’t it? I lost my cherry in Cherryvale. I was deflowered by Mr. Flowers. Kind of funny.”

Cora put her hands over her eyes. Everything in her wanted to believe that Louise was toying with her, making up some hideous story to distract her from the problem at hand. But this was a different Louise, this drunk Louise, slumped unglamorously against the tub with the black hair pushed behind her ears, her nose still red at the tip. Cora’s very body believed her, her breathing fast and shallow. She wasn’t even wearing her corset, and she couldn’t get enough air.

“When you were a child?” Her voice came out as a whisper. “Louise? You were eleven?”

“No. That was a couple of years before we moved.” She frowned at the tile floor. “I came home and told my mother, and she was mad, so mad at me.”

Cora stared. Nine, then. Nine years old.

“She said I must have led him on. Really, though, when I remember it, I just wanted the popcorn.”

A grown man, Cora thought. A grown man luring a child with popcorn. For what? What kind of craving? It had never occurred to her. She’d never heard of such a thing.

“Did she tell the police? Did she tell your father?”

The question seemed to perplex Louise, as if she hadn’t considered it before. “She might have told him. But she told me not to tell anyone else, because people would say things about me. And not to go over there again. And to think more about the way I conducted myself.”

“You were a child.”

She shook her head, the black brows lowered, as if Cora were pestering her with unintelligent comments. “That didn’t matter. Even then, there was something about me, something he saw. That’s what she meant.”

Cora, silencing a moan, remembered their first day in the city. What had she said to Louise? What idiotic thing had she said about the low-cut blouse?
Do you want to be raped?
And more. She leaned forward and tried to touch the girl’s knee. Louise turned it away, out of reach.

“Louise. Your mother was wrong. You were a child. An innocent child.” And wasn’t she still? Cora wanted so much to reach out, to console, to smooth down the black hair.

“When I went in, maybe. But not when I came out.” She looked at Cora coolly. “Don’t be hard on Mother. She was right. People would have said things about me.” She narrowed her eyes. “You would have. You would have been the first to. Because my candy got unwrapped, right?”

Cora felt it like a slap, the recognition of her own words. She held up her palms. “Forget I said that about the candy. Please. That has nothing to do with what you’re telling me. Please forget I said that.”