Read The Body in the Ivy Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body in the Ivy (9 page)
“Hey, everybody, this is my twin, Elaine; her roommate, Chris; our friend from home, Lucy; and
her
roommate, Gwen.”
It was immediately obvious that Elaine and Prin were not identical twins, although they were the same size and body type. Not that Elaine Prince was unattractive. It was just in comparison to her sister that she looked plain. Virtually anyone did.
“Okay, okay, you may be wondering why I called you all here together,” Prin said.
“I know, it was Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory with the candlestick,” someone said, and everybody laughed.
“Very funny. Anyway, tomorrow at our class meeting we're going to nominate our officersâ”
“And you want us to put you up for president. Sure, now can we go back to our own dorm?” Lucy said.
“Again, very funny. You know perfectly well that I'd
be terrible. I'd forget to go to meetings. It's all I can do to learn the damn song. No, I'm going to nominate Maggie Howard. Felton hasn't had a president since World War One or maybe even the Civil Warâ”
“Pelham didn't exist then,” Phoebe said softly.
Prin patted her on the head. “To continue, I think it's time for a Felton prez and Maggie would be great. There are thirty-four of us plus my sister and you other three from Crandall, so if we all vote for Maggie, she'll get it. Is anyone at Crandall organizing like this?”
Elaine shook her head. “Not to my knowledge. I mean, no one's dragged us into any suds-filled rooms.” She looked at her sister with admiration. “I don't think anyone in our class has given it the thought you have, Prin.”
Prin shot her sister a pleased look and tossed her hair back.
“Anyway, I've been talking to a few girls in other dorms, telling them how great Maggie would be, and if we all do vote for her it should go off without a hitch. Any discussion?”
“I'm assuming you've asked Miss Howard if she wants the job and have checked to see whether anyone else had a burning desire for it?” Lucy said. She obviously enjoyed needling Prin, and it seemed to be an old, and friendly, routine.
“Of course Maggie wants it. Just look at the girl's posture. She was born to lead. Any other discussion?” Prin ignored the second part of Lucy's question.
Maggie had been sitting straight as a ramrod on the concrete floor, but it was as much from shock as innate leadership ability. Prin was picking her! Why?
“Gwen is really good at math; let's put her up for treasurer,” Elaine suggested. “Everyone at Crandall would vote for her, too.”
There was general agreement and soon the girls were exiting into the basement hallway. Maggie tried to catch Prin's eye, and when that didn't work, she wiggled her way forward, finally getting close enough to tap Prin's shoulder.
“Um, I need to talk to you.”
Prin turned around. “Sure, what's on your mind?”
Maggie glanced around. She didn't want to air her misgivings in front of everyone.
Prin said quietly, “Cold feet? I meant it when I said you were a natural and don't tell me you haven't been doing this kind of thing forever. I'll bet you had Robert's Rules memorized backward and forward by the time you were ten. Besides, I'll be around to help you. The power behind the throne.” Maggie felt relieved. Yes, she
had
been doing this kind of thing forever and Pelham was just another school, after all. No, that wasn't true, it was Pelham! But Prin would be there for her. They were a team.
She woke up at dawn the next morning, too excited to sleep. She didn't want to wake Bobbi, so she lay in bed savoring the moment. “The power behind the throne.” Prin's phrase leaped to mind. Quickly, Maggie replaced it with another one, “She was born to lead.”
And so she would.
That afternoon Pelham's Class of 1970 elected Margaret Howard as their president, and Gwen Mansfield, the other laundry backroom choice, as treasurer. The races had been closeâPrin was obviously not the only king
maker on campus, but she prevailed. Maggie's speech had been well received, especially her ironic promise to make it her top priority to get the “three feet on the floor” rule reduced to two feet.
When the meeting was over, Prin grabbed Maggie's hand and pulled her out of the building, ignoring Maggie's well-wishers.
“Let's go up to the tower. This is a special occasion.”
“But won't it be locked? It's after four o'clock,” Maggie said.
Pelham's Gothic tower atop the main administration building was a landmark for miles around, dominating the gentle suburban landscape that surrounded the campus. Students were allowed to go to the top in pairs from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. every day except Sunday. An elevator went to the top floor, then behind a door reminiscent of a medieval manor house, a series of winding stairs led upward. A similar door opened outward to the top, revealing what was, indeed, a magnificent view. The city of Boston, the City on the Hill, lay shimmering far off on one side, distant mountains on another, and on the two sides in between, the microscopic daily lives of Pelham, Massachusetts, and the town next to it, South Pelham.
“I know where the key isâit's a secret passed down from mother to daughter; at least my mother passed it down. Before students were allowed to smoke on campus, she and her friends used to go up to the tower to satisfy their cravings. Come on!”
Maggie followed Prin inside and up, reluctantly at firstâshe didn't like heightsâthen, infected by Prin's wild mood, with mounting anticipation. By the time she
stepped out onto the roof, any hesitation was long forgotten. She spun around again, as she had in her room, her eyes widening. But she didn't laugh this time.
“It's like being on top of the world,” she had said solemnly.
“No,” Prin corrected her. “Not
like
. We
are
on top of the world.” And she laughed.
Dear Max,
As I told you at Thanksgiving, if I don't think too hard, it's not that bad here. Some of the girls still make me want to throw upâthe ones in their cashmere twin sets with pearls only on weekends for dates; everybody looks like a slob during the week. These are the girls who also knit during lectures, sweaters and scarves for their Princeton, Dartmouth, Yale, or maybe Harvard honey. Outside of class they spend a lot of time in the common room on our floor playing bridge and smoking. They have to have some brains or they wouldn't be here, but so far I haven't seen much evidence. I know I sound like a bitch, but they get to me sometimes. I see their future lives in Westchester or Connecticut, or wherever, going to the Club for bridge, but essentially doing what they did before Pelham and what they're doing here. On weekends, they get a little tight, enough to let their boyfriends get to second base, but not third until there's an engagement ring and a date set.
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go into all that. Maybe I'll end up a sour old spinster, a fate worse
than death according to most of the women here, but it would be better than the lives they'll have. Ending up like the women in that Salinger short story, “Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut.” I'd have my music and that's really why I'm writing. I couldn't wait to tell you! I've finally found a teacher. You know I kept asking around in the music department and it paid off. I could have found someone in Cambridge or Boston, but it would have been expensive. This woman, Ruth Hamilton, lives in Pelham and teaches at the Berklee College of Music. We've worked out a deal where I babysit in exchange for the lessons. She has two kids, boys, one six and one eight. I hate babysitting, but these kids seemed great. Not whiners (or needing their diapers changed, ugh!). Mrs. Hamilton thinks I could get a scholarship for Berklee's summer program, but I want to come home. I miss the city so much it hurts. Ditto you, brother dear!
The friends I told you about are still okay, even fun. Sledding down the hill outside the dorm on trays we stole from the dining room on the night of the Great Blackout (still can't believe that you were actually on the Staten Island Ferry coming back and saw the whole city disappear!) is still the most fun I've had here. Sure, the blackout was a once-in-a-lifetime thing and everybody went a little crazy, but I wish the girls here were looser. Now get your mind out of the gutter. You know what I mean. None of them is what I would call a kindred spirit. Maybe Prin, the gorgeous one. She and her twin live in
the city and actually like music other than the Fab Four (although there's something about George that gets to me!). The family must be richer than Godâtown house on the East Side and a big pile out in the Hamptons, but the girls don't flaunt itânot like the snob at the end of the hall who keeps talking about “Pater's private plane.” We're going to get together over Christmas vacationâyes, that's what it's called. No other religion exists here, rememberâand Prin's roommate, Phoebe from Bedford Hills, will come in and join us. I haven't figured her out. She worships Prin, which is a little weird, but she's absolutely brilliant. She's in my English class and comes up with things that never would have occurred to me in a million years. I think she's immature, in the crush stage. Remember when I was in 7th grade and in love with Wanda Landowska? Prin isn't famous, but she will be someday at something incredible. It has to be hard for her sister, Elaine. She's nice enough and smart, but Prin takes up all the air in the room. She can't help it.
Please don't tell Mother and Dad that I'm not hating Pelham. I'd leave in a heartbeat if I could go to Juilliard, but then they'd make you go to Harvard (congratulations, by the way! I knew you'd get in) and we'd be apart, so I'll stick it out and next year we'll have fun.
Love,
Rachel
P.S. Prin knows who you are! Read about you in the
Times!
“What are you doing in Phoebe's dresser?” Prin shut the door to her room behind her. Bobbi Dolan tried to put something back in the open drawer, but Prin stopped her, grabbing her hand.
“Show me what you've taken,” she said firmly.
Bobbi started to cry and tried to push Prin away.
“Show me,” Prin said, tightening her grasp on the girl and pushing her toward the bed. “Sit down and show me what you've taken!”
Sobbing noisily, Bobbi sat down and slowly opened her hand. A pair of Phoebe's earrings lay in her palm.
Prin stood over her, looking down with contempt. “So you're our little sneak thief.”
Early in November, girls started missing things from their rooms: scarves, cosmetics, things without much value, then money, and finally, jewelry. There had been enumerable house meetings with stern injunctions from Mrs. MacIntyre for the girl to come forward, confessing either to the housemother or the house president.
Prin strode over to the drawer. “Those aren't her best. Sure you don't want the diamond studs? You could get more for them?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “And why have you been ignoring my humble possessions? There's the watch I got for graduation that I never wear. Piaget. Surely you'd want that?”
Bobbi had buried her face in Phoebe's spread. Her whole body was shaking, her cries muffled but piteous. She lifted her head.
“I'll stop. And I haven't sold anything. It's all in one of my suitcases in the storage room.”
Prin looked incredulous. “Omigod, you're a klepto!” Instantly she grinned as if meeting a real live kleptomaniac was just what she had been hoping to experience. It was that or the kind of grin a hunter makes when he finds a trap full. Maybe both.
“You can't tell Mrs. M.! Please, I'll give everything back and never do it again.
Please!
”
“Are you asking me to break the honor code? Remember, that makes me as guilty as you. Maybe not
as
guilty, but I'd still be in a lot of trouble for not revealing the harm a member of the Pelham community is inflicting on the rest of the community. I think that's a direct quote.” Prin was clearly enjoying herself. “Now, let me seeâfirst I'm supposed to encourage you to turn yourself in. How about it?”
Her mocking suggestion was met with silence.
“If that doesn't work, I'm supposed to turn you in myself. Should I do that, my sticky-fingered friend?”
“No one will know except for the two of us!” Bobbi sat up, pleading.
Prin regarded her for a moment, then said, “Go wash your face with some cold water and come back here. I'll decide what I'm going to do while you're gone.”
It didn't take long. Bobbi didn't look much better. Her eyes were swollen and her lips trembled. She was clearly terrified. Whether she would be able to stay at Pelham or not was up to the girl sitting at her desk with her typewriter open in front of her.
“Here it is. You're going to tell me all about what you've taken and from whom and I'll write it down.
When, if you can remember. Then you're going to sign it and date it. After we finish, you're going to put everything you took in a bagâI've got a big one from the bookstoreâand leave it under a carrel in the library. Campus police will do the rest. Be sure to put something of yours in. Now start talking.”
“But what are you going to do with the paper, papers?” Bobbi saw that Prin was making a carbon copy.
“Nothingâfor now. And it's always a good idea to have a copy of an important document. Maybe I'll take that one home with me over vacation. One here; one there. Just in case the dorm burns down.”
Bobbi didn't feel like crying. She was filled with panic. Why did Prin have to come in at just that moment? Why hadn't she been at lunch with everyone else? Could she have suspected Bobbi? She'd stop; she'd have to stop. But it had been so many years. Starting with the move. She'd go to the mall by herself, telling her mother she was meeting friends. But she didn't have any friends. Gum, nail polish, that kind of thing, then stuff from the gym lockers at school. They were warned not to leave valuables in them, but girls did. Just like at Pelham. The housemother had a small wall safe. You were supposed to put your good jewelry there, but no one ever did. Prin was waiting for her to start. Bobbi couldn't speak. She wouldn't speak.