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DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST.”—Los Angeles Times“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UN FOLD TO THE THRILL AND DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC.”—United Press International“A LITERARY PHENOMENON … ambitious … prolific … and not to be pigeonholed as one who produces a predictable kind of book.”—The Detroit News“There is a smooth reading style to her writings which makes it easy to forget the time and to keep flipping the pages.”—The Pittsburgh Press“Ms. Steel excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward, mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled here; men and women swept up in bewildering change, seeking solutions to problems never before faced.”—Nashville Banner

Also by Danielle Steel

DATING GAME JEWELS ANSWERED PRAYERS NO GREATER LOVE SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ HEARTBEAT THE COTTAGE MESSAGE FROM NAM THE KISS DADDY LEAP OF FAITH STAR LONE EAGLE ZOYA JOURNEY KALEIDOSCOPE THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET FINE THINGS THE WEDDING WANDERLUST IRRESISTIBLE FORCES SECRETS GRANNY DAN FAMILY ALBUM BITTERSWEET CHANGES MIRROR IMAGE THURSTON HOUSE HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: THE CROSSINGS STORY OF NICK TRAINA ONCE IN A LIFETIME THE KLONE AND I A PERFECT STRANGER THE LONG ROAD HOME REMEMBRANCE THE GHOST PALOMINO SPECIAL DELIVERY LOVE: POEMS THE RANCH THE RING SILENT HONOR LOVING MALICE TO LOVE AGAIN FIVE DAYS IN PARIS SUMMER'S END LIGHTNING SEASON OF PASSION WINGS THE PROMISE THE GIFT NOW AND FOREVER ACCIDENT PASSION'S PROMISE VANISHED GOING HOME MIXED BLESSINGS a cognizant original v5 release october 16 2010

Visit the Danielle Steel Web Site at:

www.daniellesteel.com

DELL PUBLISHING

To Alex Haley,

my brother,

my friend,

with much, much love.To Isabella Grant,

with love and admiration

and immeasurable gratitude.And with special love

and thanks

to Lou Blau.And always,

always,

to John,

with my heart and

soul.

D.S.

On the afternoon of Thursday, December 11, 1941, the country was still in a daze. The casualty list was complete, the names of those killed had already been released, and slowly, slowly, in the past few days, the monster of vengeance was raising its head. In almost every American breast pounded a pulse that had been unknown before. It had finally hit us at home, and it wasn't simply a matter of Congress declaring war. There was much more to it than that, much, much more. There was a nation of people filled with dread, with rage, and the sudden fear that it could happen here. Japanese fighter planes could appear overhead at any time of day or night and suddenly wreak destruction in cities like Chicago and Los Angeles, Omaha … Boston … New York … it was a terrifying thought. The war was no longer happening to a distant, remote “them,” it was happening to us.

And as Andrew Roberts hurried east in the chill wind, his coat collar up, he wondered what Jean would say. He had already known for two days. When he had signed his name, there hadn't been any doubt in his mind, yet when he'd come home, he had looked into her face and the words had caught in his throat. But there was no choice now. He had to tell her tonight. Had to. He was leaving for San Diego in another three days.

The Third Avenue El roared overhead, as his feet pounded up the front steps of the narrow brownstone in which they lived. They had lived there for less than a year, and they hardly even noticed the train anymore. It had been awful at first, at night they had held each other tight and laughed as they lay in bed. Even the light fixtures shook as the elevated train careered by, but they were used to it now. And Andy had come to love the tiny flat. Jean kept it spotlessly clean, getting up sometimes at five o'clock to make him homemade blueberry muffins and leave everything immaculate before she left for work. She had turned out to be even more wonderful than he'd thought and he smiled to himself as he turned the key in the lock. There was a chill wind whistling through the hall and two of the lights were burned out, but the moment he set foot inside, everything was cheery and bright. There were starched white organdy curtains, which Jean had made, a pretty little blue rug, slipcovers she had gone to a night class to learn how to make. And the furniture they'd bought secondhand shone like new beneath her hardworking hands. He looked around now, and suddenly felt the first shaft of grief he had felt since he signed up. It was an almost visceral ache as he thought of telling her that he was leaving New York in three days, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes as he realized that he didn't know when he'd be back … when … or even if … but hell, that wasn't the point, he told himself. If he didn't go to fight the Japs, then who the hell would? And if they didn't, then one of these days the bastards would be flying overhead and bombing the hell out of New York … and this house … and Jean.

He sat down in the armchair she had upholstered herself in a deep, cozy green, and was lost in his own thoughts … San Diego … Japan … Christmas … Jean … he didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when suddenly, startled, he looked up. He had just heard her key in the lock. She flung the door wide, her arms filled with brown bags from the A&P, and she didn't see him at first, and then jumped as she turned on the light, and saw him smiling at her, his blond hair falling over one eye as it always did, the green eyes looking straight at her. He was still as handsome as he had been when they first met. He had been seventeen then, and she had been fifteen … six years … he was only twenty-three. “Hi, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” “I came home to see you.” He walked towards her and easily grabbed the bags in his powerful arms, and she turned her big, dark brown eyes up to him with the same look of awe she always wore when she looked up at him. She was so impressed with him, always had been, he'd had two years of college, going at nights, had been on the track team in school, the football team for a few months till he hurt his knee, and had been a basketball star when they met during his senior year. And he seemed no less heroic to her now. In fact, he seemed more so to her, and she was so proud of him. He had landed a good job. He sold Buicks in the biggest dealership in New York, and she knew that he'd be the manager eventually … one day … or maybe he'd go back to school. They had talked about that. But he brought home a nice paycheck for now, and combined with her own, they did all right. She knew how to stretch a dollar more than a mile. She'd been doing it for a long time. Both her parents had died in a car accident when she was just eighteen, and she'd been supporting herself since then. Fortunately, she had just finished secretarial school when they died, and she was a bright girl. She'd had a job in the same law firm now for almost three years. And Andy was proud of her too. She looked so cute when she went off to work in the well-tailored suits that she made herself, and hats and gloves she always bought so carefully, checking the styles in the magazines, and then consulting with Andy to make sure they looked just right. He smiled at her again now, as she peeled off her gloves, and tossed her black felt fedora onto the big green chair. “How was your day, Cutie Pie?” He loved to tease her, pinch her, whisk her into his arms, nuzzle into her neck and threaten to ravish her as he walked in from work. It was certainly a far cry from her constantly proper demeanor at work. He dropped in to see her there once in a great while, and she looked so serious and sedate that she almost frightened him. But she had always been that kind of girl. And actually, she'd been a lot more fun since she'd been married to him. She was finally beginning to relax. He kissed her on the back of the neck now and she felt a shiver run up her spine.

“Wait till I put the groceries away.…” She smiled mysteriously and tried to wrest one of the bags from his hand, but he pulled it away from her and kissed her on the lips.

“Why wait?”

“Andy … come on.…” His hands were beginning to rove passionately over her, pulling off the heavy coat, unbuttoning the jet buttons on the suit jacket she wore underneath. The grocery bags had long since been cast aside, as they suddenly stood, their lips and bodies pressed tight against each other, until Jean finally pulled away for air. She was giggling when they stopped, but it didn't discourage his hands. “Andy … what'S gotten into you … ?”

He grinned mischievously at her, afraid to make a remark that would shock her too much. “Don't ask.” He silenced her with another kiss, and relieved her of coat, jacket, and blouse, all with one hand, and a moment later, her skirt dropped to the floor as well, revealing the white lace garter belt with matching pants, silk stockings with seams, and a pair of absolutely sensational legs. He ran his hands across her behind, and pressed hard against her again, and she didn't object as he pulled her down on the couch. Instead she pulled his clothes off as suddenly the elevated train roared by and they both started to laugh. “Damn that thing.…” He muttered under his breath as he unhooked her bra with one hand and she smiled.

“You know, I kind of like the sound of it by now.…” This time it was Jean who kissed him, and a moment later their bodies were enmeshed just as their mouths had been, and it seemed hours before either of them spoke in the silent room. The kitchen light was still on, near the front door, but there was no light in the living room where they lay, or the tiny bedroom beyond. But even in the darkness of the room, he could sense that Jean was looking at him. “Something funny's going on, isn't it?” There had been a small hard rock in the pit of her stomach all week. She knew her husband too well.

“Andy … ?” He still didn't know what to say. It was no easier now than it would have been two days before. And it was going to be even worse by the end of the week. But he had to tell her sometime. He just wished it didn't have to be now. For the first time in three days, he suddenly wondered if he'd done the right thing.

“I don't quite know what to say.”

But instinctively she knew. She felt her heart lurch as she looked up at him in the dark, her eyes wide, her face already sad, as it always was. She was very different from him. There was always laughter in his eyes, always a quick line on his tongue, a joke, a funny thought. He had happy eyes, an easy smile. Life had always been gentle with him. But it was not so with Jean. She had the tense nervousness of those who have had hard times from birth. Born to two alcoholic parents, with an epileptic sister who died in the bed next to Jean when she was thirteen and Jean nine, orphaned at eighteen, struggling almost since the day she was born, and yet in spite of it all, she had a certain kind of innate style, a joie de vivre which had never been allowed to bloom and which Andy knew would blossom in time, if nurtured enough. And he did nurture her, in every way he could. But he couldn't make it easier for her now, and the old sorrow he had seen when they first met suddenly stood out in her eyes again. “You're going, aren't you?”

He nodded his head, as tears filled the deep, dark eyes and she lay her head back on the couch where they'd just made love. “Don't look like that, baby, please.…” She made him feel like such a son of a bitch, and suddenly unable to face her pain, he left her side and strode across the room to fish a pack of Camels out of his coat.

He nervously tapped one out, lit it, and sat down in the green chair across from the couch. She was crying openly now, but when she looked at him, she didn't seem surprised.

“I knew you'd go.”

“I have to, babe.”

She nodded her head. She seemed to understand, but it didn't ease the pain. It seemed to take hours to get up the courage to ask the only thing she wanted to know, but at last she did. “When?”

Andy Roberts gulped hard. It was the hardest thing he'd ever said. “Three days.”

She visibly winced and closed her eyes again, nodding her head as the tears slid down her cheeks.

And for the next three days, nothing was ever normal again. She stayed home from work, and seemed to go into a frenzy, doing everything she possibly could for him, washing underwear, rolling socks, baking him cookies for the train. Her hands seemed to fly all day long, as though by keeping them as busy as she could, she would be able to keep a grip on herself, or perhaps even on him. But it was no use, by Saturday night, he forced her to put it all down, to stop packing the clothes he didn't need, the cookies he'd never eat, the socks he could have done without, he took her in his arms and she finally broke down.

“Oh, God, Andy … I can't … how will I live without you … ?” He felt as though he had a hole in his guts the size of a fist when he looked into her eyes and saw what he had done to her. But he had no choice … no choice … he was a man … he had to fight … his country was at war … and the worst of it was that when he didn't feel sick over what he'd done to her, he felt a strange, unfamiliar thrill of excitement about going to war, as though this was an opportunity he might never have again, something he had to do almost like a mystic rite, in order to become a man. And he felt guilty about that too. And by late Saturday night, it had gotten to him too. He was so torn between Jean's clinging little hands and what he knew he had to do that he wished it was already over with and he was on the train, heading west, but he would be soon enough. He had to report to Grand Central Station at five A.M. And when he finally got up in the tiny bedroom to get dressed, he turned and looked at her, she was quieter now, her tears were spent, her eyes swollen and red, but she looked a little bit more resigned than she had before. For Jean, in some terrible, desperate, frightening way, it was like losing her sister, or her parents, again. Andy was all she had left. And she would rather have died herself than lose him. And suddenly he was leaving her too.

“You'll be all right, won't you, babe?” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her, desperate for some reassurance from her now, and she smiled sadly and reached a hand out for his.

“I'll have to be, I guess, won't I?” And then she smiled again, almost mysteriously. “You know what I wish?” They both knew that, that he weren't going to war. She read his thoughts, and kissed his fingertips. “Aside from that … I hope you got me pregnant this week.…”In the emotions of the past few days, they had thrown caution to the winds. He had been aware of it, but there had been so much else going on. He had just hoped that it wasn't her dangerous time. But he wondered now, as he looked at her. They had been so careful about that for the past year, they had agreed from the first that they didn't want babies for a while, at least not for the first few years until they both got better jobs, or maybe Andy went back to college for another two years. They were in no hurry, they were both young, but now … in the past week, their whole life had turned upside down.

“I kind of wondered what was happening this week.… Do you think you could have … ?” He looked worried. That hadn't been what he wanted at all. He didn't want her to be pregnant alone, with him God knows where, at war.

She shrugged. “I might.…” And then she smiled again and sat up. “I'll let you know.”

“Great. That's all we need.” He looked suddenly upset, and then glanced nervously at the bedside clock. It was ten after four. He had to go.

“Maybe it is.” And then suddenly, as though she had to tell him before he left, “I meant what I said just now, Andy. I'd like that a lot.”

“Now?” He looked shocked and she nodded her head, her voice a whisper in the tiny room.

“Yes.”

The elevated train roared past the windows of Jean Roberts' apartment, providing the only breeze she had felt in days as she sat motionless in front of the open windows. It felt as though the entire building had turned into an inferno, as the blazing August heat rose off the sidewalks, and seemed to bake right into the walls of the brownstone building. And sometimes at night, she had to leave her bed, and sit on the stoop, just to get some air as the train hurtled by. Or she would sit in her bathroom, wrapped in a wet sheet. There seemed to be no way to cool down, and the baby made it worse. She felt as though her whole body were about to explode, and the hotter it got, the more the baby would kick her, as if it knew, as if it were stifling too. Jean smiled to herself at the thought. She could hardly wait to see the baby now … there were only four weeks left … four weeks until she held their baby … she hoped that it would look just like Andy. He was in the Pacific now, doing just what he had wanted to do, “fighting the Japs,” as he said in his letters, although somehow the words always pained her. One of the girls in the law firm she had worked in was Japanese and she had been so nice to Jean when she found out she was pregnant. She even covered for her when Jean was almost too sick to move in the beginning. She would drag herself in to work, and stare into her typewriter, praying that she wouldn't throw up before she reached the bathroom. They had kept her for six months, which was decent of them, it was longer than most firms would have kept her, she knew, but they felt it was the patriotic thing to do, because of Andy, as she told him in one of her letters. She wrote to him almost every day, although she rarely heard from him more than once a month. Most of the time, he was too tired to write, and the letters took forever to reach her. It was a long way from selling Buicks in New York, as he said in one letter, making her laugh about the bad food, and his buddies. Somehow he always seemed to make her laugh with his letters. He made everything sound better than it was, and she was never as frightened after she heard from him. She had been terrified at first, particularly when she felt so ill. She had gone through agonies of conflict after she first found out she was pregnant. It had seemed like such a good idea at first, during those last few days before he left, but when she found out, she had panicked. It meant she had to give up her job, she'd be alone, and how would she support herself, and the baby? She had been desperately afraid of his reaction too, only when he finally wrote to her, he sounded so thrilled that it all seemed fine to her again, and by then, she was almost five months pregnant, and she wasn't as nervous.

And in the last few months she'd had plenty of time to turn their bedroom into a nursery for the baby. She had sewn everything herself in white eyelet with yellow ribbons, sewing and knitting, and making little hats and booties and sweaters. She had even painted pretty little murals on the baby's walls and clouds on the ceiling, although one of her neighbors had given her hell when he found out that she was doing the painting herself and standing on the ladder. But she had nothing else to do now that she wasn't working. She had saved every penny she could, and she wouldn't even go to a movie now, for fear of eating into those savings, and she was receiving part of Andy's paycheck from the army. She was going to need everything she had for the baby, and she was going to stay home for the first few months if she could, and after that she'd have to find a sitter and go back to work. She was hoping that elderly Mrs. Weissman on the fourth floor would baby-sit for her. She was a warm, grandmotherly woman who had lived in the building for years, and had been excited to hear about Jean's baby. She checked on her every day, and sometimes she would even come down late at night, unable to sleep herself in the heat, and tap on Jean's door, if she saw a light beneath it.

But tonight, Jean didn't turn on the lights. She just sat in the dark, feeling breathless and stifled in the killing heat, listening to train after train come by until they stopped and then started again just before the dawn. Jean even watched the sun come up. She wondered if she would ever be able to breathe normally again, or lie down without feeling as though she were being smothered. There were days when it was really very trying and the heat and the train didn't help. It was almost eight o'clock in the morning when she heard the knock on her door, and assumed it was Mrs. Weissman. She put her pink bathrobe on, and with a tired sigh padded toward the front door in bare feet. Thank God she only had four weeks to go. She was beginning to think she couldn't take it for much longer.

“Hi.…” She pulled the door open with a tired smile, expecting to see her friend, and blushed to find herself looking into the face of a stranger, a stranger in a brown uniform with a cap and mustard colored braid, holding a yellow envelope toward her. She looked at him, uncomprehending, not wanting to understand because she knew only too well what that meant, and the man seemed to be leering at her. It was as though his face was distorted as she reeled from the shock and the heat, clutching the envelope and tearing it open without saying a word to him. And it was there, just as she had feared, and she looked at the messenger of death again, focusing on the words on his uniform as her mouth formed a scream, and she sank to his feet in a quiet heap on the floor, as he gaped at her in silent horror, and then suddenly called out for help. He was sixteen years old and he had never been that close to a pregnant woman before. Two doors opened across the hall, and a moment later, there was the sound of running feet on the stairs above, and Mrs. Weissman was putting damp cloths on Jean's head, as the boy backed slowly away and then hurried down the stairs. All he wanted to do was get out of the stifling little building. Jean was moaning by then, and Mrs. Weissman and two other ladies were leading her to the couch where she slept now. It was the same couch where the baby had been conceived, where she had lain and made love with Andy … Andy … Andy.… “We regret to inform you … your husband died in the service of his country … killed in action at Guadalcanal … in action … in action…” her head was reeling and she couldn't see the faces.

“Jean … ? Jean.…” They kept calling her name, and there was something cold on her face, as they looked at her and at each other. Helen Weissman had read the telegram, and had quickly shown it to the others. “Jean.…” She came around slowly, barely able to breathe, and they helped her to sit and forced her to drink a little water. She looked blankly at Mrs. Weiss-man, and then suddenly she remembered, and the sobs strangled her more than the heat, and she couldn't catch her breath anymore, all she could do was cry and cling to the old woman who held her … he was dead … just like the others … like Mommy and Daddy and Ruthie … gone … he was gone … she would never see him again … she whimpered almost like a small child, feeling a weight in her heart that she had never felt before, even for the others. “It's all right, dear, it's all right.…” But they all knew that it wasn't, and never would be again, not for poor Andy.

The others went back to their apartments a little while later, but Helen Weissman stayed. She didn't like the glazed look in the girl's eyes, the way she sat and stared and then suddenly began to sob, or the terrible endless crying she heard that night when she finally left Jean for a little while, and then returned to open the unlocked door and check on her again as she had all day. She had even called Jean's doctor before he left his office, and he had told Mrs. Weissman to tell Jean how sorry he was to hear the news, and warned her that Jean could go into labor from the shock, which was exactly what she was afraid of, and it was exactly what she suspected when she saw Jean press her fists into her back several times later that evening, and walk restlessly around the tiny apartment, as though it had grown too small for her in the past few hours. Her entire world had shattered around her, and there was nowhere left to go. There wasn't even a body to send home … just the memory of a tall, handsome blond boy … and the baby in her belly.

“Are you all right?” Helen Weissman's accent made Jean smile. She had been in the country for forty years, but she still spoke with a heavy German accent. She was a wise, warm woman, and she was fond of Jean. She had lost her own husband thirty years before, and she had never remarried. She had three children in New York, who visited her from time to time, mostly to drop their respective children off so she could baby-sit, and a son who had a good job in Chicago. “You have pains?” Her eyes searched Jean's, and Jean started to shake her head. Her whole body ached after the day of crying, and yet inside she felt numb. She didn't know what she felt, just achy and hot and restless. She arched her back as though to stretch it.

“I'm all right. Why don't you get some sleep, Mrs. Weissman?” Her voice was hoarse after the long day of crying. She glanced at the kitchen clock and registered the fact that it had been fifteen hours since she had gotten the telegram telling her about Andy … fifteen hours, it felt like fifteen years … a thousand years … she walked around the room again as Helen Weissman watched her.

“You want to go for a walk outside?” The train whizzed past nearby and Jean shook her head. It was too hot to go for a walk, even at eleven o'clock at night. And suddenly Jean was even hotter than she'd been all day.

“I think I'll have something cold to drink.” She fixed herself a glass of the lemonade she kept in a pitcher in the icebox, and it tasted good going down, but it came back up almost as quickly. She rushed to the bathroom, where she threw up and retched repeatedly, and then emerged wanly a little while later.

“You should lie down.” Meekly, she agreed. She was more uncomfortable when she did. It was easier to sit up than lie down, so she tried the comfortable old green chair again, but after a few minutes she found that she couldn't do that either. She had gnawing pains in her lower back and an unsettled feeling in her stomach, and Helen Weissman left her alone again at midnight, but only after insisting that Jean come and get her during the night if she had a problem. But Jean was sure she wouldn't have to. She turned off the lights, and sat alone in the silent apartment, thinking of her husband … Andy … of the big green eyes and straight blond hair … track star … football hero … her first and only love … the boy she had fallen head over heels in love with the first time she saw him, and as she thought of him, she felt a shaft of pain slice through her from her belly to her back, and then again, and again, and yet again, so that she couldn't catch her breath at all now. She stood up unsteadily, nausea overwhelming her, but determined to get to the bathroom, where she clung miserably to the toilet for almost an hour, the pains pounding her body, the retching tearing at her soul, until weakly at last, barely conscious, she began calling for Andy. It was there that Helen Weissman found her at one thirty in the morning. She had decided to check on her once more before going to bed. It was too hot for anyone to sleep that night, so she was awake unusually late. And she thanked God that she was, when she found her. She went back to her own apartment just long enough to call Jean's doctor and the police, who promised to send an ambulance at once. She climbed into a cotton housedress, grabbed her purse, kept the same sandals on her feet, and hurried back to Jean, to drape a bathrobe around her shoulders, and ten minutes later, they heard the sirens. Helen did, but Jean seemed to hear nothing at all as she retched and cried, and Helen Weissman tried to soothe her. She was writhing with pain and calling Andy's name by the time they reached New York Hospital, and the baby didn't take long to come after that. The nurses whisked Jean away on a gurney, and they didn't have time to give her anything at all, before the wiry five-pound four-ounce little girl emerged with jet black hair, and tightly clenched fists, wailing loudly. Helen Weiss-man saw them both barely an hour later. Jean mercifully drugged at last, the baby dozing comfortably.

And she went back to the apartment house that night, thinking of the lonely years Jean Roberts had ahead, bringing up her baby girl alone, a widow at twenty-two. Helen brushed the tears from her cheek as the elevated train roared by at four thirty that morning. The older woman knew what kind of devotion it would take to bring the child up alone, a kind of religious zeal, a solitary passion to do all for this baby that would never know her father.

Jean gazed at her baby the next morning when they brought her to nurse for the first time: she looked down at the tiny face, the dark silky hair that the nurses said would fall out eventually, and she knew instinctively what she would have to do for her. It didn't frighten Jean at all. This was what she had wanted. Andy's baby. This was his last gift to her, and she would guard her with her life, do all she could, give her only the best. She would live and breathe and work and do, and give her very soul to this baby.

The tiny rosebud mouth worked as she nursed and Jean smiled at the unfamiliar feeling. She couldn't believe that it was twenty-four hours since she had learned of Andy's death, as a nurse came into the room to check on them both. They seemed to be doing fine, and the baby was a good size, considering that she'd been almost four weeks early.

“Looks like she has a good appetite.” The woman in the starched white uniform and cap glanced at mother and child. “Has her daddy seen her yet?” They couldn't know … no one did … except Jean, and Helen Weissman. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head as the nurse patted her arm, not understanding. No, her daddy hadn't seen her yet, and he never would. “What are you going to name her?”

They had written back and forth to each other about that, and had finally agreed on a name for a girl, although they both thought they wanted a boy. Funny, how after the first moment of surprise and near disappointment a girl seemed so much better now, as though that had been their choice all along. Nature somehow managed things well. Had she been a boy, she would have been named after her father. But Jean had found a girl's name that she loved, and she tried it out on the nurse now as her eyes glowed with pride as she held her baby. “Her name is Tana Andrea Roberts. Tana.…” She loved the sound of it, and it seemed to suit her to perfection.

The nurse smiled as she lifted the tiny bundle from Jean's arms when she was finished nursing. She smoothed the covers expertly with one hand and looked at Jean. “Get some rest now, Mrs. Roberts. I'll bring Tana back to you when she's ready.” The door closed, and Jean lay her head back against the pillow, with her eyes closed, trying not to think of Andy, but only of their baby … she didn't want to think of how he had died, what they had done to him … if he had screamed her name … a tiny sob broke from her as she turned in her bed, and lay on her stomach for the first time in months, her face buried in the pillows, and she lay there and sobbed for what seemed like hours, until at last she fell asleep, and dreamt of the blond boy she had loved … and the baby he had left her … Tana … Tana.…

The phone rang on Jean Roberts' desk only once before she answered it. She had a brisk, efficient way about her, which came from long years of managing a mammoth job. It had fallen into her lap twelve years before. She had been twenty-eight, Tana six, and Jean thought she would scream if she had to work one more day in another law firm. There had been three jobs in six years, in law firms that were one more boring than the other. But the pay was good, and she had Tana to think of now. Tana always came first. Tana upon whom the sun rose and set, in Jean's eyes.

“For God's sake, let the kid breathe…,” one of her co-workers had told her once, and Jean had been cool to her after that. She knew exactly what she was doing, taking her to the theater and the ballet, museums, libraries, art galleries, and concerts when she could afford to, helping her inhale every drop of culture. Almost every dime she made went to the education and support and entertainment of Tana. And she had saved every penny of the pension from Andy. And it wasn't that the child was spoiled, she wasn't. But Jean wanted her to have the good things in life, the things she herself had seldom had, and which she thought were so important. It was hard to remember objectively now if they would have had that kind of life with Andy. More likely he would have rented a boat and taken them sailing on Long Island Sound, taught Tana to swim at an early age, gone clam digging, or running in the park, riding a bike … he would have worshipped the pretty little blond child who looked so exactly like him. Tall, lanky, blond, green-eyed, with the same dazzling smile as her father. And the nurses in the hospital had been right when she was born, the silky black hair had fallen out and had been replaced by pale golden peach fuzz, which as she got older, grew into straight wheat-like shafts of golden hair. She was a lovely looking little girl, and Jean had always been proud of her. She had even managed to get her out of public schools when she was nine and send her to Miss Lawson's. It meant a lot to Jean, and was a wonderful opportunity for Tana. Arthur Durning had helped her in, which he insisted was a small favor. He knew himself how important good schools were for children. He had two children of his own, although they went to the exclusive Cathedral and Williams schools in Greenwich, and were respectively two, and four years older than Tana.

The job came to Jean almost by accident when Arthur came to the law firm where she worked for a series of lengthy conferences with Martin Pope, the senior partner. She had worked for Pope, Madison, and Watson for two years by then, and was bored to death, but the salary was more than she dared to hope for. She couldn't afford to run around looking for a “fun job,” she always had Tana to think of. She thought of her night and day. Her whole life revolved around her daughter, as she explained to Arthur when he invited her to drinks after seeing her for almost two months during his meetings with Martin Pope.

Arthur and Marie were separated then, in fact, she had been in New England, at a “private institution.” He seemed loath to discuss it and she didn't press him. She had her own problems and responsibilities. She didn't go around crying on other people's shoulders about the husband she had lost, the child she supported on her own, the responsibilities, the burdens, the fears. She knew what she wanted for Tana, the kind of life, the education, the friends. She was going to give her security, no matter what, the kind of life she herself had never had. And without Jean having to say too much, Arthur Durning had seemed to understand that. He was the head of one of the largest conglomerates in the country, in plastics, in glass, in food packaging, they even had enormous holdings in oil in the Middle East. He was an enormously wealthy man. But he had a quiet, unassuming way about him that she liked.

In fact, there had been a lot about Arthur Durning that appealed to her, enough so that when he asked her out to dinner shortly after that first drink, she went. And then she went again, and somehow, within a month they were having an affair. He was the most exciting man Jean Roberts had ever met. There was a quiet aura of power about the man that one could almost touch, he was so strong, and yet he was vulnerable too, and she knew that he had suffered with his wife. Eventually he told her about that. Marie had become an alcoholic almost immediately after their second child was born, and Jean knew the pain of that only too well, having watched her parents attempt to drink themselves to death, and in the end, they killed themselves in their car, drunk on an icy road on New Year's Eve. Marie had also cracked up the car, driving a car pool full of little girls one night. Ann and her friends were ten years old, and one of the children had almost been killed. Marie Durning had agreed to put herself away after that, but Arthur didn't have much hope. She was thirty-five and she'd been a hopeless drunk for ten years, and Arthur was desperately tired of it. Enough so to be swept off his feet by Jean. At twenty-eight, there was something unusually dignified about her that he liked, and at the same time, there was something kind and gentle in her eyes. She looked as though she cared a great deal, about everything and in particular her daughter. Her basic warmth came through, and it was precisely what he had needed just then. He hadn't known what to do with her at first, or what to make of what he felt for her. He and Marie had been married for sixteen years, and he was forty-two years old. He didn't know what to do about the children, about his house … his life … about Marie. Everything seemed to be hanging so precariously that year, and it was an unusual way of life for him, and one that he didn't like. He didn't take Jean home at first, for fear of upsetting the children, but eventually he saw Jean almost every night, and she began to take care of things for him. She hired two new maids, a gardener he didn't have time to see, she orchestrated some of the small business dinners he liked to give, a party for the children at Christmas, helped him pick out a new car. She even took a few days off to take a couple of brief trips with him. Suddenly it seemed as though she were running his whole life and he couldn't function without her, and she began to ask herself more and more what it meant, except that deep in her heart she knew. She was in love with him, and he was in love with her, and as soon as Marie was well enough to be told, they'd get divorced, and he would marry Jean.…

Except that instead after six months, he offered her a job. She wasn't sure what to do about that. She didn't really want to work for him. She was in love with him, and he was so wonderful to her, but the way he described it was like throwing open a window onto a vista she had longed for, for years. She could do exactly what she'd done for him in the past six months, just as a friend. Organize parties, hire help, make sure that the children had the right clothes, the right friends, the right nurses. He thought she had fabulous taste, and he had no idea that she made everything she and Tana wore herself. She had even upholstered the furniture in their tiny apartment. They still lived in the narrow brownstone, near where the Third Avenue El had been, and Helen Weiss-man still baby-sat for Tana, when Jean was at work. But with the job Arthur described, she could send Tana to a decent school, he'd even help her get in. She could move to a bigger place, there was even a building Arthur owned on the Upper East Side, it wasn't Park Avenue, he said with his slow smile, but it was far nicer than where they were. When he told her the salary he had in mind, she almost died. And the job would be so easy for her.

If she hadn't had Tana, she might have held out. It would have been easier not to be indebted to him, and yet it was such a wonderful chance to be side by side all the time … and when Marie was well … He already had an executive secretary at Durning International, but there was a small secluded office just beyond the conference room which adjoined the handsome wood-panelled office he used. She would see him every day, be right nearby, she would be virtually essential to him, as she was rapidly becoming now. “It would just be more of the same,” he explained, begging her to take the job, offering her even more benefits, an even higher salary. He was already dependent on her now, he needed her, and indirectly his children did too, although they hadn't met her yet. But she was the first person he had relied on in years. For almost two decades everyone else had relied on him, and suddenly here was someone he could turn to, who never seemed to let him down. He had given the matter a great deal of thought and he wanted her near him always, he said, in bed that night as he begged her again to take the job.

In the end, although she seemed to fight so hard, it was an easy choice to make, and her whole life seemed like a dream now as she went to work every day, sometimes after he had spent the night with her. His children were used to his spending a few nights in town. And the house in Greenwich was efficiently staffed now, Arthur was no longer as worried about them, although Ann and Billy had had a hard time at first when Marie left, but they seemed less anxious about it now. And once they met Jean, it was as though they had always been old friends. She took them to movies with Tana constantly, bought them toys, shopped for their clothes, drove their car pools, went to their schools, and their school plays when Arthur was out of town, and she took even better care of him. He was like a well-fed cat, polishing his paws by the fire and he smiled at her one night in the apartment he'd gotten her. It wasn't sumptuous, but for Tana and Jean, it was more than enough, two bedrooms, a living room, dining room, handsome kitchen. The building was modern and well built and clean, and they had a view of the East River from the living room windows. It was a far cry from the elevated train in Jean's old apartment.

“Do you know,” she looked at him with a smile, “I've never been happier in my life.”

“Neither have I.”

But that was only days before Marie Durning tried to take her own life. Someone told her that Arthur was having an affair, although they didn't say with whom, and things were touch and go with her after that. Six months later, the doctors began talking of letting her go home, and by then Jean had worked for Arthur Durning for over a year. Tana was happy in her new school, new home, new life, as was Jean. And suddenly it was as though everything stopped. Arthur went to see Marie and came home looking grim.

“What did she say?” Jean looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. She was thirty years old now. She wanted security, stability, not a clandestine affair for the rest of her life. But she had never objected to their life because she knew how desperately ill Marie Durning was, and how it worried him. But only the week before he had been talking about marriage to Jean. He looked at her now with a bleak expression she had never seen before, as though he had no hope left, no dreams.

“She said that if she can't come home to us, she'll try to commit suicide again.”

“But she can't do that to you. She can't keep threatening you for the rest of your life.” Jean wanted to scream, and the bitch of it was that Marie could threaten, and did. She came home three months after that, with only a tenuous grip on her own sanity. She was back at the hospital by Christmas that year, home by spring, and this time she held out until fall, and began drinking heavily over bridge lunches with her friends. All in all it went on for more than seven years.

When she came out of the hospital the first time, Arthur was so upset that he actually asked Jean to help her out. “She's so helpless, you don't understand … she's nothing like you, sweetheart. She can't cope … she can barely think.” And for love of Arthur, Jean found herself in the unenviable position of being the mistress caring for the wife. She spent two or three days a week, during the day, in Greenwich with her, trying to help her run the house. Marie was desperately afraid of the help; they all knew that she drank. And so did her kids. At first they seemed to view her with despair, and eventually with scorn. It was Ann who hated her most, Billy who cried when she got drunk. It was a nightmarish scene, and just like Arthur, within a few months, Jean was trapped. She couldn't let her down, let her go … it would have been like deserting her parents. It was as though this time she could make things happen right. Even though, in the end, Marie came to an almost identical end as Jean's parents. She was going to meet Arthur in town for a night at the ballet, and Jean swore that she was sober when she left, at least she thought she was, but she must have had a bottle with her. She spun out on an icy patch on the Merritt Parkway halfway to New York, and died instantly.

They were both still grateful that Marie never knew of their affair, and the agony of it all was that Jean had been fond of her. She had cried at the funeral more than the children had, and it had taken her weeks to be willing to spend a night with Arthur again. Their affair had gone on for eight years, and now he was afraid of what his children would say. “In any case, I've got to wait a year.” She didn't disagree with that, and anyway he spent a great deal of time with her. He was thoughtful and attentive. She had never had any complaints. But it was important to her that Tana not suspect their long-standing affair but finally a year after Marie died, she turned and accused Jean.

“I'm not stupid, you know, Mom. I know what's going on.” She was as long and lanky and beautiful as Andy had been, and she had the same mischievous light in her eyes, as though she were always about to laugh, but not this time. She had hurt for too long, and her eyes almost steamed as she glared at Jean. “He treats you like dirt and he has for years. Why doesn't he marry you instead of sneaking in and out of here in the middle of the night?” Jean had slapped her for that, but Tana didn't care. There had been too many Thanksgivings they spent alone, too many Christmases with expensive boxes from fabulous stores, but no one but the two of them there, while he went to the country club with his friends. Even the year that Ann and Billy were gone with their grandparents. “He's never here when it counts! Don't you see that, Mom?” Huge tears had rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed and Jean had had to turn away. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to answer for him.

“That's not true.” “Yes, it is. He always leaves you alone. And he treats you like the maid. You run his house, drive his kids around, and he gives you diamond watches and gold bracelets and briefcases and purses and perfume, and so what? Where is he? That's what counts, isn't it?” What could she say? Deny the truth to her own child? It broke her heart to realize how much Tana had seen.

“He's doing what he has to do.”

“No, he's not. He's doing what he wants to do.” She was very perceptive for a girl of fifteen. “He wants to be in Greenwich with all his friends, go to Bal Harbour in the summer, and Palm Beach in the winter, and when he goes to Dallas on business, he takes you. But does he ever take you to Palm Beach? Does he ever invite us? Does he ever let Ann and Billy see how much you mean to him? No. He just sneaks out of here so I won't know what's going on, well I do … dammit … I do.…” Her whole body shook with rage. She had seen the pain in Jean's eyes too often over the years, and she was frighteningly close to the truth, as Jean knew. The truth was that their arrangement was comfortable for him, and he wasn't strong enough to swim upstream against his children. He was terrified of what his own children would think of the affair with Jean. He was a dynamo in business, but he couldn't fight the same wars at home. He had never had the courage to call Marie's bluff and simply walk out, he had catered to her alcoholic whims right till the end. And now he was doing the same with his kids. But Jean had her own worries too. She didn't like what Tana had said to her, and she tried to talk to Arthur about it that night, but he brushed her off with a tired smile. He had had a hard day, and Ann was giving him some trouble.

“They all have their own ideas at that age. Hell, look at mine.” Billy was seventeen, and had been picked up on drunk driving charges twice that year, and Ann had just gotten kicked out of her sophomore year at Wellesley, at nineteen. She wanted to go to Europe with her friends, while Arthur wanted her to spend some time at home. Jean had even tried to take her to lunch to reason with her, but she had brushed Jean off, and told her that she'd get what she wanted out of Daddy by the end of the year.

And true to her word, she did. She spent the following summer in the South of France, and picked up a thirty-seven-year-old French playboy, whom she married in Rome. She got pregnant, lost the child, and returned to New York with dark circles under her eyes and a penchant for pills. Her marriage had made the international press, of course, and Arthur had been sick about it when he met the “young man.” It had cost him a fortune to buy him off, but he had, and he left Ann in Palm Beach to “recuperate” as he said to her, but she seemed to get into plenty of trouble there, carousing all night with boys her own age, or their fathers if she had the chance. She was a racy one, in ways of which Jean did not approve, but she was twenty-one now, and there was little Arthur could do. She had gotten an enormous trust from her mother's estate, and she had the funds she needed now to run wild. She was back in Europe, raising hell, before she was twenty-two. And the only thing that cheered Arthur a little bit was that Billy had managed to stay in Princeton that year in spite of several near fatal scrapes he'd been in.

“I must say, they don't give one much peace of mind, do they, love?” They had quiet evenings together in Greenwich now, but most nights she insisted on driving home, no matter how late she got in. His children were no longer there, but she still had Tana at home, and Jean wouldn't dream of staying out for the night unless Tana was at a friend's, or skiing for a weekend somewhere. There were certain standards she expected to maintain, and it touched him about her. “You know, in the end they do what they want anyway, Jean. No matter how good an example you set.” It was true in a way, but he didn't fight her very hard. He was used to spending his nights alone now, and it made it more of a treat when they awoke side by side. There was very little passion left in what they shared. But it was comfortable for them both, particularly for him. She didn't ask him for more than he was willing to give, and he knew how grateful she was for all that he had done for her over the years. He had given her a security she might never have had without him, a wonderful job, a good school for her child, and little extras whenever he could, trips, jewels, furs. They were minor extravagances to him, and though Jean Roberts was still a wizard with a needle and thread, she no longer had to upholster her own furniture or make their own clothes, thanks to him. There was a cleaning woman who came twice a week, a comfortable roof over their heads, and Arthur knew that she loved him. He loved her too, but he was set in his ways, and neither of them had mentioned marriage in years. There was no reason to now. Their children were almost grown, he was fifty-four years old, his empire was doing well, and Jean was still attractive and fairly young, although there had been a matronly look to her now for the past several years. He liked her that way, though, and it seemed hard to believe that it had been twelve years. She had just turned forty that spring. And he had taken her to Paris for the week. It was almost like a dream. She brought back dozens of tiny treasures for Tana, and enchanted her with endless tales, including that of her birthday dinner at Maxim's. It was always sad coming home after trips like that, waking up in bed alone again, reaching out to him in the night and finding no one there, but she had lived that way for so long that it no longer bothered her, or at least she pretended that to herself, and after her outbreak three years before, Tana had never accused her again. She had been ashamed of herself afterwards. Her mother had always been so good to her. “I just want the best for you … that's all … I want you to be happy … not to be alone all the time.…”

“I'm not, sweetheart,” tears had filled Jean's eyes, “I have you.”

“That's not the same.” She had clung to her mother then, and the forbidden subject had not come up again. But there was no warmth lost between Arthur and Tana when they met, which always upset Jean. Actually, it would have been harder on her if he'd insisted on marrying her after all, because of the way Tana felt about him. She felt that he had used her mother for the past dozen years, and given nothing in exchange.

“How can you say that? We owe him so much!” She remembered the apartment beneath the elevated train, which Tana did not, the meager checks, the nights she couldn't even afford to feed the child meat, or when she bought lamb chops or a little steak for her and ate macaroni herself for three or four days.

“What do we owe him? A deal on this apartment? So what? You work, you could get us an apartment like this, Mom. You could do a whole lot of things for us without him.” But Jean was never as sure. She would have been frightened to leave him now, frightened not to work for Durning International, not to be at his right hand, not to have the apartment, the job, the security that she always knew was there … the car he replaced every two years so that she could go back and forth to Greenwich with ease. Originally, it had been a station wagon so that she could car pool his kids. The last two had been smaller though, pretty little Mercedes sedans he bought and replaced for her. And it wasn't as though she cared about the expensive gifts, there was more to it than that, much, much more. There was something about knowing that Arthur was there for her, if she needed him. It would have terrified her not to have that, and they had been together for so long now. No matter what Tana thought, she couldn't have given that up.

“And what happens when he dies?” Tana had been blunt with her once. “You're all alone with no job, nothing. If he loves you, why doesn't he marry you, Mom?”

“I suppose we're comfortable like this.”

Tana's eyes were big and green and hard, as Andy's had been when he disagreed with her. “That's not good enough. He owes you more than that, Mom. It's so damn easy for him.”

“It's easy for me, too, Tan.” She hadn't been able to argue with her that night. “I don't have to get used to anyone's quirks. I live the way I please. I make my own rules. And when I want, he takes me to Paris or London, or L.A. It's not such a bad life.” They both knew it wasn't entirely true, but there was no changing it now. They were set in their ways, both of them. And as she tidied the papers on her desk, she suddenly sensed him in the room. Somehow, she always knew when he was there, as though years ago, someone had planted a radar in her heart, designed to locate only him. He had walked silently into her office, not far from his own, and was looking at her, as she glanced up and saw him standing there.

“Hello,” she smiled the smile that only they had been sharing for more than twelve years, and it felt like sunshine in his heart as he looked at her. “How was your day?”

“Better now.” He hadn't seen her since noon, which was unusual for them. They seemed to touch base half a dozen times during the afternoons, met for coffee each morning, and often he took her to lunch with him. There had been gossip on and off over the years, particularly right after Marie Durning died, but eventually it had died down, and people just assumed they were friends, or if they were lovers, it was both discreet and dead-end, so no one bothered to talk about them anymore. He sat in his favorite comfortable chair across from her desk and lit his pipe. It was a smell she had come to love as part of him for more than a decade, and it pervaded all the rooms in which he lived, including her own bedroom with the East River view. “How about spending the day in Greenwich with me tomorrow, Jean? Why don't we both play hookie for a change?” It was rare for him to do that, but he'd been pushing very hard on a merger for the past seven weeks, and she thought the day off would do him good, and wished he would do things like that more frequently. But now she smiled at him regretfully.

“I wish I could. Tomorrow's our big day.” He often forgot things like that. But she didn't really expect him to remember Tana's graduation day. He looked blankly at her and she smiled as she said the single word. “Tana.”

“Oh, of course,” he waved the pipe and frowned as he laughed at her, “how stupid of me. It's a good thing you haven't depended on me the way I have on you, or you'd be in trouble most of the time.”

“I doubt that.” She smiled lovingly at him, and something very comfortable passed between them again. It was almost as though they no longer needed words. And in spite of the things Tana had said over the years, Jean Roberts needed nothing more than she had. As she sat there with the man she had loved for so long, she felt totally fulfilled.

“Is she all excited about graduation day?” He smiled at Jean, she was a very attractive woman in her own way. Her hair was peppered with gray, and she had big, beautiful dark eyes, and there was something delicate and graceful about her. Tana was longer, taller, almost coltlike, with a beauty that would surely stop men in the street in the next few years. She was going to Green Hill College in the heart of the South, and had gotten in under her own steam. Arthur had thought it a damn odd choice for a girl from the North, since it was filled mostly with Southern belles, but they had one of the finest language programs in the States, excellent laboratories, and a strong fine arts program. Tana had made up her own mind, the full scholarship had come through, based on her grades, and she was all set to go. She had a job in New England at a summer camp, and she would be going to Green Hill in the fall. And tomorrow was going to be her big day—graduation.

“If the volume of her record player is any indication of how she feels,” Jean smiled, “then she's been hysterical for the last month.”

“Oh, God, don't remind me of that … please … Billy and four of his friends are coming home next week. I forgot to tell you about that. They want to stay in the pool house, and they'll probably burn the damn thing down. He called last night. Thank God they'll only be here for two weeks before moving on.” Billy Durning was twenty now, and wilder than ever, from the correspondence Jean saw from school. But she knew that he was probably still reacting to his mother's death. It had been hard on all of them. Billy most of all, he had been only sixteen when she died, a difficult age at best, and things were a little smoother now. “He's giving a party next week, by the way. Saturday night, apparently. I was ‘informed,’ and he asked me to tell you.”

She smiled. “I shall make due note. Any special requests?”

Arthur grinned. She knew them all well. “A band, and he said to be ready for two or three hundred guests. And by the way, tell Tana about that. She might enjoy it. He can have one of his friends pick her up here in town.”

“I'll tell her. I'm sure she'll be pleased.” But only Jean knew how big a lie that was. Tana had hated Billy Durning all her life, but Jean had forced her to be courteous whenever they met, and she would make the point to her again now. She owed it to Billy to be polite, and to go to his party if he invited her, after all his father had done for them. Jean never let her forget that.

“… I will not.” Tana looked stubbornly at Jean, as the stereo blared deafeningly from her room. Paul Anka was crooning “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” and she had already played it at least seven times, to Jean's dismay.

“If he's nice enough to invite you, you could at least go for a while.” It was an argument they had had before, but Jean was determined to win this time. She didn't want Tana to be rude.

“How can I go for a while? It takes at least an hour to drive out there, and another hour back … so what do I do, stay for ten minutes?” She tossed the long shaft of golden wheat colored hair over her shoulder with a look of despair. She knew how insistent her mother always was about anything that emanated from the Durnings. “Come on, Mom, we're not little kids anymore. Why do I have to go if I don't want to? Why is it rude just to say no? Couldn't I have other plans? I'm leaving in two weeks anyway, and I want to see my friends. We'll never see each other again, anyway.…” She looked forlorn and her mother smiled at her.

“We'll talk about it another time, Tana.” But Tana knew just how those discussions went. She almost groaned. She knew how stubborn her mother was going to be about Billy Durning's party, and he was a creep, as far as she was concerned. There were no two ways about it, and Ann was even worse in Tana's eyes. She was snobby, stuck up, and she looked easy, no matter how polite she pretended to be to Jean. Tana knew she was probably a whore, she had seen her drink too much at some of Billy's other parties, and she treated Jean in a condescending manner that made Tana want to slap her face. But Tana also knew that any hint of her feelings to her mother would lead them into a major battle again. It had happened too often before, and she wasn't in the mood tonight.

“I just want you to understand how I feel now, Mother. I'm not going.”

“It's still a week away. Why do you have to decide tonight?”

“I'm just telling you.…” The green eyes looked stormy and ominous and Jean knew better than to cross her when she looked like that.

“What did you defrost for dinner tonight?”

Tana knew the tactic of avoidance, her mother was good at that, but she decided to play the game for now, and followed her mother into the kitchen. “I took out a steak for you. I'm having dinner with some of my friends.” She looked sheepish then. As much as she wanted her own life, she hated leaving Jean alone. She knew just how much her mother had given her, how much she had sacrificed. It was that which Tana understood all too well. She owed everything to her mother, not to Arthur Durning, or his selfish, spoiled, overindulged children. “Do you mind, Mom? I don't have to go out.” Her voice was gentle, and she looked older than her eighteen years as Jean turned to look at her. There was something very special between the two of them. They had been alone together for a very long time, and had shared bad times and good, her mother had never let her down, and Tana was a gentle, thoughtful child.

Jean smiled at her. “I want you to go out with your friends, sweetheart. Tomorrow is a very special day for you.” They were going to dinner at “21” the following night. Jean never went there except with Arthur, but Tana's graduation day was occasion enough to warrant the extravagance, and Jean didn't need to be as careful now. She made an enormous salary from Durning International, at least compared to what she had made as a legal secretary twelve years before, but she was cautious by nature, and always a little worried. She had worried a lot over the past eighteen years since Andy had died, and sometimes she told Tana that was why things had turned out so well. She had worried all her life, in sharp contrast to Andy Roberts' easy ways, and Tana seemed to be a great deal like him. There was more joy in her than in her mother, more mischief, more laughter, more ease with life, but then again life had been easier for her with Jean to love and protect her, and Tana smiled now as Jean took out a pan to cook the steak.

“I'm looking forward to tomorrow night.” She had been touched to learn that Jean was taking her to “21.”

“So am I. Where are you all going tonight?”

“To the Village, for a pizza.”

“Be careful.” Jean frowned. She always worried about her, anywhere she went.

“I always am.”

“Will there be boys along to protect you?” She smiled. Sometimes it was hard to know if they were protection or a threat, and sometimes they were both. Reading her mind, Tana laughed and nodded.

“Yes. Now will you worry more?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You're silly, but I love you anyway.” She threw her arms around her neck, gave her a kiss, and disappeared into her room to turn the music up even louder, as Jean winced, and then found that she was singing along. She had certainly heard it all often enough, but by the time Tana finally turned it off and reappeared, wearing a white dress with big black polka dots and a wide black patent leather belt, with black and white spectator shoes, Jean was suddenly struck by how pleasant the silence sounded. And at the same moment she realized how quiet the apartment would be once Tana was gone, too much so. It would be tomblike when Tana was away.

“Have a good time.”

“I will. I'll be home early.”

“I won't count on it.” Her mother smiled. At eighteen, she no longer had a curfew. Jean knew better than that, and Tana was reasonable most of the time. Jean heard her come in that night, around eleven thirty. She knocked softly on Jean's door, whispered “I'm home,” and went on to her own room, and Jean turned over and went to sleep.

The next day was one that Jean Roberts would long remember, with the long line of innocent looking young girls strung together with garlands of daisies, the boys coming in solemnly behind them, all of them singing in unison, their voices raised, so young, so strong, so powerful, and all of them so new and fresh, as though they were about to be born into the world, a world full of politics and ruses and lies and heartbreaks, and all of it out there, waiting to hurt them. Jean knew that life would never be as simple for them again, as the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, and they filed slowly out of the auditorium, their voices raised together for a last time. She was embarrassed that a single sob escaped her, but she was not alone, and the fathers cried as hard as their wives, and suddenly all was pandemonium, and the graduates were shouting and cheering in the hallway, kissing and hugging, and making promises that couldn't possibly be fulfilled, to come back, to travel together, to never forget … to always … forever … next year … someday … Quietly, Jean watched them, and most especially Tana, her face alight, her eyes almost an emerald green, and all of them so excited, so happy, so pure.

Tana was still bubbling over with excitement that night when they went to “21,” where they ate a delicious dinner, and Jean surprised her by ordering champagne. Generally, she wasn't much in favor of Tana drinking. Her own experience with her parents and Marie Durning still frightened her, especially for someone as young as Tana, but graduation day was an exception. And after the champagne, she handed Tana the little box from Arthur. He had had Jean pick it out for him, like all the presents he gave, even those to his own children. Inside was a beautiful gold bangle which Tana slipped on her wrist with cautious pleasure.

“That was nice of him, Mom.” But she didn't look overly excited. They both knew the reasons why, and Tana did not discuss it now. She didn't want to upset her mother. And by week's end, Tana had lost a major battle to her mother. She couldn't stand hearing about it anymore, and she had finally agreed to go to Billy Durning's party. “But this is the last time I'm going to one of their parties. Is that a deal?”

“Why do you have to be so rigid, Tana? It's nice of them to invite you.”

“Why?” Tana's eyes flashed, and her tongue was too quick to control. “Because I'm an employee's daughter? Does that make it a special favor from the almighty Durnings? Like inviting the maid?” Tears quickly filled Jean's eyes, and Tana stalked into her room, furious with herself for losing her temper. But she couldn't stand the way her mother felt about the Durnings, not just Arthur, but Ann and Billy too. It was nauseating, as though every little word or gesture were some giant favor to be grateful for. And Tana knew all too well what Billy's parties were like. She had suffered through them before, with too much drinking, too much necking, everybody getting fresh, getting drunk. She hated going to his parties. And tonight was no different.

A friend of his who lived nearby picked her up in a red Corvette he had gotten from his father, and he drove to Greenwich driving eighty miles an hour to impress her, which it didn't, and she arrived feeling as annoyed as she had when she left her apartment. She was wearing a white silk dress, with flat white shoes, and her long slim legs looked particularly graceful as she climbed out of the low slung car, tossing her hair over her shoulder, glancing around, knowing that she would know no one at all. She had particularly hated coming to their parties when she was younger, and the children had pointedly ignored her, but it was easier now. Three boys in madras jackets made a beeline for her, and offered to get her a gin and tonic, or whatever else might be her pleasure. She was noticeably vague and managed to get lost in the crowd,anxious to ditch the boy who had driven her out there. She wandered in the garden for half an hour, wishing she hadn't come, and watching clumps of giggling girls, drinking beer or gin and tonics, the boys watching them. A little while later the music started, and couples began forming, and within half an hour the lights were dim, bodies were chafing happily, and Tana even noticed several couples strolling outside. It was only then that she finally saw Billy Durning. He had been nowhere when they arrived. He walked over to her, and seemed to be giving her a cool appraisal. They had met often enough before, but he always looked her over again, as though he might buy her. It made her angry at him every time she saw him, and tonight was no exception.

“Hello, Billy.”

“Hi. Shit, you're tall.” As a greeting it didn't excite her, and anyway he was considerably taller than she was, what was the point? But she noticed then that he was staring at the fullness of her breasts and for a minute she wanted to kick him, and then gritting her teeth, she decided to make one stab at good manners, for her mother's sake, if nothing else.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight.” But her eyes said she didn't mean it.

“We can always use more girls.” Like cattle. So many head … so many tits … legs … crotches.…

“Thanks.”

He laughed at her and shrugged. “Want to go outside?” She was about to turn him down, and then figured, why not? He was two years older than Tana, but he usually acted as though he were ten. Except ten years old with drinking. He grabbed her arm, and led her through the unfamiliar bodies until they reached the Durnings' elaborate garden which led, eventually, to the pool house, where Billy was camping with his friends. They had already burned a table and two chairs the night before, and Billy had told them to cool it or his old man would kill them. But unable to stand the torture of living in any kind of proximity with Billy, Arthur had wisely moved to the country club for the next week. “You should see the mess we're making.” He grinned, waving at the pool house in the distance, and Tana felt annoyance sweep over her, knowing that it would be her mother's job to replace everything they damaged, to set it to rights again, and also to calm Arthur down when he saw the mess they left behind them when they moved on.

“Why don't you just try not to behave like animals?” She looked sweetly at him, and for a moment he was shocked, and then suddenly, something evil and angry glinted in his eyes as he glared back at her.

“That's a dumb thing to say, but I guess you were always dumb, weren't you? If my old man hadn't paid to keep you at that fancy school in New York, you'd probably have wound up in some public school whorehouse on the West Side, giving your teacher a blow job.” She was so shocked that for a moment she was breathless as she stared at him, and then wordlessly, she turned and walked away, as behind her, she could hear him laugh. What an evil little bastard he was, she thought to herself, as she fought her way back into the house, noticing that the crowd had thickened considerably in the past half hour, and that most of the guests were several years older than she was, especially the girls. She saw the boy who had driven her out from town, a little while later, his fly open, his eyes red, his shirttail out, and there was a girl frantically sliding her hands over his body as they shared a half-full bottle of scotch. Tana looked at them in despair, and knew that she had just lost her ride back to the city. There was no way she would have driven anywhere with anyone that drunk. Which left the option of the train, or finding someone sober, which did not, for the moment at least, appear likely.

“Wanna dance?” She turned, surprised to see Billy again, his eyes redder, his mouth leering at her, still gazing at her breasts, barely able to tear his eyes away, which he did at last, in time to see her shake her head.

“No, thanks.”

“They're banging their asses off in the pool house. Wanna go watch?” Her stomach turned over at the prospect, and if he hadn't been so revolting she would have laughed. It was incredible how blind her mother could be to the Sacred Durnings.

“No, thanks.”

“Whatsa matter? Still a virgin?” The look on his face made her sick, but she didn't want to let on that he was right. She'd rather he thought simply that he repulsed her, which was also correct. He did.

“I'm not into watching.”

“Shit, why not? Best sport there is.” She turned and tried to lose him in the crowd, but for some reason he was following her around tonight, and he was beginning to make her uncomfortable. She glanced around the room again, saw that he had disappeared, probably to the pool house to join his friends, and she figured that she had been there for long enough. All she had to do was call a cab, get to the train station, and go home. Not pleasant, but at least not difficult, and glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one had followed her, she tiptoed up a small back staircase that she knew about, to a private phone. It was very simple, she called information, got the number, and called the cab. They promised to be out there within the next fifteen minutes, and she knew that she was in plenty of time for the last train. And for the first time all night, she felt relief, having gotten away from the drunks and creeps downstairs, and she wandered slowly down the thickly carpeted hall, glancing at the photographs of Arthur and Marie, Ann and Billy as children, and somehow it seemed as though the photographs should have included Jean. She had been so much a part of them, so much of their well-being had been because of her, it didn't feel fair to leave her out, and then suddenly without thinking, Tana opened a door. She knew it was the family room her mother often used as a kind of office when she was there. The walls were covered with photographs too, but she didn't see them tonight. As the door opened slowly, she heard a nervous squeal, a “Shit! … Hey!” saw two white moons leap into the air, and heard a scuffle of embarrassment as she quickly closed the door again, and then jumped in horror as someone right behind her laughed.

“Ah!” She turned, and found Billy leering at her. “For heaven's sake.…” She had thought he was downstairs.

“I thought you weren't into watching, Miss Lily Pure.”

“I was just wandering around, and I stumbled across.…” Her face flushed to the roots of her hair as he grinned at her.

“I'll bet … what'd you come up here for, Tan?” He had heard her mother call her that over the years, but it annoyed her hearing it from him. It was a private name and he had never been her friend. Never.

“My mom usually works in that room.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, as though surprised at her mistake. “Not in there.”

“Yes, she does.” Tana was sure of it, as she glanced at her watch. She didn't want to miss her cab. But she hadn't heard him honk yet, anyway.

“I'll show you where she does work, if you want.” He began to walk down the hall the other way, and Tana wasn't sure whether or not to follow him. She didn't want to argue with him, but she knew that her mother used the family room where they stood. But it was his house after all, and she felt awkward standing there, particularly as groans began reaching her from the couple inside. She had a few minutes until her cab came and for lack of something better to do, she followed Billy down the hall. It was no big deal, and he swung open a door into another room. “That's it.” Tana walked to the doorway and stepped in and looked around, realizing instantly that this wasn't where her mother worked. The most dominant thing in the entire room was an enormous bed, covered with gray velvet, trimmed in silk, there was both a gray opossum blanket and a chinchilla one draped across a matching chaise longue. The carpeting was gray too, and there were beautiful prints everywhere. Tana turned to him, looking annoyed.

“Very funny. That's your father's bedroom, isn't it?”

“Yeah. And that's where your old lady works. Hell of a lot of work she does in here, old Jean.” Suddenly Tana wanted to grab him by the hair and slap him, but forcing herself not to say anything she started to walk out of the room, and instead he grabbed her arm, and yanked her back into it, kicking the door closed with his foot.

“Let go of me, you little shit!” Tana tried to pull her arm away, but was amazed to discover the strength he had. He grabbed her brutally by both arms and shoved her against the wall, knocking the air out of her.

“Want to show me what kind of work your mama does, you little bitch?” She gasped, he was hurting her arms, and tears suddenly came to her eyes, more out of anger than fear of him.

“I'm getting out of here, right now.” She attempted to pull herself away from him, but he slammed her hard against the wall again, banging her head against it, and suddenly when she looked into his eyes, she was genuinely afraid of him. There was the look of a madman on his face, and he was laughing at her. “Don't be a jerk.” Her voice trembled, as she sensed his madness, and resentment of her.

His eyes glinted evilly then, as he crushed her wrists in one powerful hand, she had never realized what strength he had, and with the other hand, he unzipped his fly and undid his pants, exposing himself, and then grabbing one of her hands in his own, pulling it down toward him. “Grab onto that, you little cunt.” She was terrified of him now, her face deathly white, pulling away from him, as he pushed up against her, against the wall and she pushed him away as hard as she could, getting nowhere, as he laughed at her. And suddenly, in horror, she realized what was happening, as she struggled against him, the limp penis he had exposed was getting hard and grinding against her, it felt like an evil ugly stump, as he smashed her back against the wall again and again, pulling at her dress suddenly, tearing it along the side, to expose the flesh he wanted to see, and suddenly his hands were all over her, her belly, her breasts, her thighs, he was pressing hard against her, crushing her, smearing her face with his tongue, breathing alcohol fumes in her face, touching her, holding her, grabbing her, he felt as though he were tearing at her, and suddenly his fingers plunged into her, between her legs, as she screamed, and bit him hard on the neck, but he didn't even move back. He just reached up and grabbed a hunk of her long blond hair and twisted it around his hand, until she felt it would come out by the roots and he bit her face viciously. She flailed at him, she attempted to fight him with her legs. She was breathless now, fighting for her life more than her virginity, and suddenly crying, sobbing, gasping for air, she felt him throw her down onto the thick gray carpeting, and tear her dress from collar to hem, revealing the last of her, tearing the white lace underpants off too, leaving her brown and bare and beautiful, and suddenly begging him, crying, gnashing her teeth, almost hysterical, as he pushed his pants down, and then kicked them off somewhere onto the carpeting, pressing his full weight on her, pinning her down, and only letting up to tear her flesh again, almost limb from limb, his fingers digging into her, ripping her flesh apart, tearing her, and then sucking at her flesh with his mouth as she cried and howled, and each time she attempted to move away from him he would smash her down again until at last she was barely conscious when he entered her, mounting her with all the force he had, plunging into her, as rivers of blood cascaded out onto the thick carpeting, until at last in final orgiastic glory, he exploded atop the barely whining, raggedly breathing girl, her eyes glazed, a trickle of blood coming from her mouth, another from her nose, as Billy Durning stood up and laughed at her, grabbing his own pants off the floor as she didn't move. She looked almost dead as she lay there and he looked down at her.

“Thanks.”

And with that, the door opened, and one of Billy's friends walked in. “Christ, what did you do to her?” Tana still hadn't moved, although she could hear their voices somewhere far, far away.

“No big deal.” Billy shrugged. “Her old lady is my father's hired cunt.”

The other boy laughed. “Looks like one of you had a good time at least.” It was impossible not to see the sea of blood beneath her on the gray carpeting. “She got her period?”

“I guess.” Billy seemed unconcerned as he zipped his pants and she still lay there with her legs spread like a rag doll's, while his friend looked down at her. Billy bent over and slapped her face. “Come on, Tan, get up.” She didn't move, and he went into the bathroom, wet a towel and dropped it on her, as though she would know what to do with it, but it was another ten minutes before she slowly rolled over in her own mire and threw up. And he grabbed her by the hair again as the other boy watched, and Billy yelled at her. “Shit, don't do that here, you little pig.” He pulled her roughly to her feet and dragged her into the bathroom where she hung over the bowl, and then finally, reached over and slammed the door. It seemed hours before she could revive herself and there were jagged sobs in her throat. Her cab was long since gone and she had missed the last train, but more than that something hideous had happened to her that she knew she would never recover from. She had been raped. She was shaking from head to foot, trembling violently, her teeth were chattering, her mouth was dry, her head ached, and she couldn't begin to figure out how she was ever going to leave the house. Her dress was torn, her shoes were smeared with blood, and as she sat in the bathroom crouching on the floor, the door opened and Billy strode into the room and threw some things at her. She saw a moment later that it was a dress and a pair of shoes that were some of Ann's things. He looked at Tana tentatively now, and she could see how drunk he was. “Get dressed. I'll take you home.”

“And then what?” She suddenly screamed at him. “How do you explain to your father about this?” She was hysterical and he glanced behind him into the room.

“About the rug?” He looked nervous now and she got totally hysterical.

“About me!”

“That's not my fault, you little tease.” The horror of what he was saying to her made her even sicker than she was before, but suddenly all she wanted to do was get out of there, and she didn't care if she had to walk back to New York. She suddenly pushed past him, clutching the clothes to her, and dashed into the room where the rape had taken place. Her eyes were wild, her hair matted and tangled, her face streaked with tears, and she bolted naked from the room and smack into his friend, who laughed at her nervously.

“You and Billy had a good time, huh?” He laughed at her and wild-eyed, she ran past him, and into a bathroom she knew was there. She pulled on the clothes he had given her, and she ran downstairs. It was too late to catch a train, no point to call a cab. She saw that the musicians were gone, and she ran down the driveway, leaving her torn dress and her handbag behind, but she didn't give a damn. She just wanted to get away from there. She could hitchhike if she had to, stop a police car … anything … the tears were caked on her face, and she was breathing hard as she began to run, and then suddenly bright headlights shone on her and she ran harder knowing instinctively that he was coming after her. She could hear his tires on the gravel road, and she began to dart in and out of the trees, crying softly, as the tears rolled into her hair, as he honked the horn and shouted at her.

“Come on, I'll take you home.”

She didn't answer him. She just kept running as fast as she could, but he wouldn't go away. He just kept driving after her, zigzagging, following her course on the deserted road until finally she turned and screamed hysterically at him. “Leave me alone!” She stood bent over in the road, crying, sobbing, hugging her knees, and slowly he got out of the car and walked toward her. The night air was beginning to sober him, and he looked different than he had before, no longer crazed, but gray and grim, and he had brought his friend along, who was silently watching them from the passenger seat of Billy's long, sleek, dark green XKE.

“I'll drive you home.” He stood in the road, legs spread, the car headlights behind him glaring eerily at them. “Come on, Tan.”

“Don't call me that.” She looked like a frightened little girl. He had never even been her friend, and now … and now … she wanted to scream each time she thought of it, but now she couldn't even scream anymore, and she no longer had the strength to run away from him. Her whole body ached, her head pounded, there was dried blood over her face and on her thighs, and now she stared blankly at him, stumbling along the road, as he reached out and tried to grab her arm, and she screamed at him and darted away again. He stood and stared at her for a moment, and then got back in the car and drove off. He had offered to take her home, if she didn't want to go, to hell with her, and she stumbled along the road, aching from head to foot. Not twenty minutes later he was back again. He screeched to a halt beside her, got out, and grabbed her by the arm. She saw that the other boy was no longer in the car, and suddenly she wondered if he was going to rape her again. A wave of terror ran through her as he pulled her toward the car, and she pulled away, but this time he jerked her hard and shouted at her, and she could smell whiskey on his breath again.

“Goddammit, I told you I'd take you home. Now get in the fuckin' car!” He almost threw her onto the seat, and she realized that there was no arguing with him. She was alone with him, and he would do whatever he wanted with her. She had already learned that. She sat bleakly beside him in the XKE, and he roared off into the night, as she waited for him to take her somewhere else to rape her again, it all seemed so hopeless now. But he got on the highway, sank his foot to the floor, and the breeze whipping through the car seemed to sober both of them. He glanced over at her several times, and waved at a box of tissues on the floor. “You'd better clean yourself up before you go home.”

“Why?” She looked straight ahead at the empty road. It was after two o'clock, and even her eyes felt numb. Only a few trucks went whizzing by, driving straight through the night.

“You can't go home like that.” She didn't answer him, and she didn't turn to look at his face. She still half expected him to stop and try to rape her again, and this time she was expecting it. She would run as fast as she could, across the highway if she dared and maybe one of the trucks would stop. She still couldn't believe what he had done to her, and she was wondering now if it had somehow been her fault, had she not fought him hard enough, had she done something to encourage him … ? they were hideous thoughts as she noticed the powerful sports car begin to weave. She turned and glanced at him, and noticed that he was falling asleep at the wheel. She jerked on his sleeve, and he started and looked at her. “Why the hell'd you do that? You could've caused an accident.” She would have liked nothing better for him. She would have liked to see him lying dead by the side of the road.

“You were falling asleep. You're drunk.”

“Yeah? So what?” He sounded more tired than surly now, and he seemed all right for a while, until she saw the car weave again, but this time before she had a chance to grab his arm or shake him awake, an enormous trailer truck sped by, and the sports car veered. There was a hideous, grinding shriek of brakes, as the truck jackknifed and overturned, and miraculously the XKE whizzed just past the cab and came to rest with its nose crushed by a tree. Tana hit her head hard as they stopped, and she sat staring ahead for a long time, and then suddenly she was aware of a soft moaning beside her. His face was covered with blood and she didn't move. She just sat and stared, and then suddenly the door opened and there was a strong pair of hands on her arm, and then she began to scream. Suddenly the events of the endless night had caught up with her and she totally lost control, sobbing and hysterically trying to run from the car, as two passing trucks stopped, and the drivers tried to subdue her until the cops came, but her eyes were uncomprehending and wild. They were trying to stop the bleeding on Billy's head, and he had a terrible gash over one eye. The police arrived a short time later, followed by an ambulance, and all three victims were taken to the New Rochelle Hospital Medical Center nearby. The truck driver was almost instantly released. His vehicle had suffered more damage than he had, miraculously. Billy was being stitched up. It was also noted that he had been driving under the influence of alcohol, and as his third offense, it would cost him his driver's license for the next year, which seemed to worry him more than the wounded eye. Tana's entire body seemed to be covered with blood, but oddly enough the staff noticed that most of it was dried. They couldn't seem to get her to explain what had happened to her, and she hyperventilated each time she tried. A pleasant young nurse gently wiped her off, while Tana just lay on the examining table and cried. They administered a sedative, and by the time her mother arrived at four o'clock she was half asleep.

“What happened … ? my God!” She was looking at the bandage on Billy's eye. “Billy, will you be all right?”

“I guess.” He smiled sheepishly, and she noticed again what a handsome boy he was, although he had always looked less like his father and more like Marie. And suddenly the smile faded and he looked terrified. “Did you call Dad?”

Jean Roberts shook her head. “I didn't want to frighten him. They told me you were all right when they called, and I thought I'd take a good look at you both first myself.”

“Thanks.” He glanced over at Tana's dozing form and then shrugged almost nervously. “I'm sorry about … that I … we wrecked the car.…”

“The important thing is that neither of you were badly hurt.” She frowned as she looked at Tana's matted blond hair, but there was no longer any evidence of blood anywhere, and the nurse tried to explain how hysterical Tana had been.

“We gave her a sedative. She should sleep for a while.”

Jean Roberts frowned. “Was she drunk?” She already knew that Billy was, but there would be hell to pay if Tana was too, but the young nurse shook her head.

“I don't think she was. Mostly frightened, I think. She got a nasty little bump on the head, but nothing more than that. We don't see any evidence of concussion or whiplash, but I'd keep an eye on her.” And as she said the words, hearing them talking around her, Tana woke up, and she looked at her mother as though she had never seen her before, and then silently began to cry, as Jean took her in her arms and made gentle cooing sounds.

“It's all right, baby … it's all right.…”

She shook her head violently, taking great gulps of air, “No, it's not … it's not … he…” But Billy stood there staring at her, with an evil look in his eye, and she couldn't say the words. He looked as though he would hit her again, and she turned away, choking on her sobs, still feeling his eyes on her. She couldn't look at him again … couldn't see him … never wanted to see him again …

She lay on the backseat of the Mercedes her mother had driven out, and they took Billy home. And Jean was inside with him for a long time. They threw the last people out, made half a dozen others get out of the pool, tossed two couples out of Ann's bed, and told the group in the pool house to settle down, as Jean walked back to the car where Tana still was, she knew she had her week's work cut out for her. They had destroyed half the furniture, set fire to some of the plants, spoiled the upholstery, left spots on the rugs, and there was everything from plastic glasses to whole pineapples in the pool. She didn't want Arthur to even see the place until she had had it set to rights again. She got into the car with a long tired sigh, and glanced at Tana's still form. Her daughter seemed strangely calm now. The sedative had taken effect.

“Thank God they didn't go into Arthur's room.” She started the car, and Tana shook her head with a silent no, but she couldn't say the words. “Are you all right?” That was really all that mattered. They could have been killed. It was a miracle they hadn't been. It was all she could think of when the phone rang at three o'clock. She had already been worried sick for several hours, and instinctively, when she had heard the phone, she had known. And she had answered it on the first ring.

“How do you feel?” All she could do was stare at her mother and shake her head. “I want to go home.” The tears slid down her cheeks again, and Jean wondered again if she was drunk. It had obviously been a wild night, and Tana had been part of it. She also noticed that she wasn't wearing the same dress she'd been wearing when she left.

“Did you go for a swim?” She sat up, her head reeling, and shook her head, as her mother glanced at hei in the mirror and saw the strange look in Tana's eyes. “What happened to your dress?”

She spoke in a cold hard voice that didn't even sound like her to Jean's ears. “Billy tore it off.”

“He did what?” She looked surprised, and then smiled. “Did he throw you in the pool?” It was the only image she had of him, and even if he had been a little drunk, he was harmless enough. It was just damn lucky he hadn't hit the truck. It was a good lesson for them both. “I hope you learned a lesson tonight, Tan.” She began to sob again at the sound of the nickname Billy had used until finally Jean pulled off the road and stared at her. “What's happening to you? Are you drunk? Did you take drugs?” There was accusation in her voice, in her eyes, and none of that had been there when she drove Billy home. How unfair life was, Tana thought to herself. But her mother just didn't understand what Precious Littie Billy Durning had done. She looked straight into her mother's eyes.

“Billy raped me in his father's room.”

“Tana!” Jean Roberts looked horrified. “How can you say a thing like that? He would never do such a thing!” Her anger was at her own child, not at her lover's son. She couldn't believe a thing like that about Billy, and it was written all over her face as she glared at her only child. “That's a terrible thing to say.” It was a terrible thing to do. But Jean only stared at her.

Two lonely tears rolled relentlessly down Tana's cheeks. “He did.” Her face crumbled at the memory. “I … swear…” She was getting hysterical again as Jean turned and started the car, and this time she did not glance into the backseat again.

“I don't ever want to hear you say a thing like that again, about anyone.” Surely not someone they knew … a harmless boy they had known for half his life … she didn't even care to think about what would make Tana say a thing like that, jealousy perhaps of Billy himself, or Ann, or Arthur.… “I never want to hear you say that again. Is that clear?” But there was no answer from the backseat. Tana just sat there, looking glazed. She would never say it again. About anyone. Something inside her had just died.

The summer sped past Tana easily after that. She spent two weeks in New York, recuperating, while her mother went to work every day. And Jean was concerned about her, but in an odd, uncomfortable way. There seemed to be nothing wrong with her, but she would sit and stare into space, listening to nothing, not seeing her friends. She wouldn't answer the phone when Jean, or anyone else, called. Jean even mentioned it to Arthur at the end of the first week. She almost had the house in Greenwich put to rights again, and Billy and his friends had moved on to Malibu to visit other friends. They had all but destroyed the house at the pool, but the worst damage of all was a section of the rug in Arthur's room which looked as though it had been cut out with a knife. And Arthur had had plenty to say to his son about that.

“What kind of savages are all of you? I ought to be sending you to West Point instead of Princeton for chris-sake so they can teach you a thing or two about how to behave. My God, in my day, no one I'd ever known would behave like that. Did you see that carpeting? They tore the whole damn thing up.” Billy had looked both subdued and chagrined.

“I'm sorry, Dad. Things got a little out of hand.”

“A little? And it's a wonder you and the Roberts girl weren't killed.” But on the whole he'd been all right. His eye was still bothering him a little when he left, but the stitches on the eyebrow had already been removed. And he still seemed to be out every night right up until they left for Malibu. “Damn wild kids…” Arthur had growled at her. “How's Tana now?” She had mentioned to Arthur several times how oddly Tana had behaved, and she really wondered if she hadn't had a worse blow on the head than they had first thought.

“You know she was almost delirious that first night … in fact she was…” She still remembered the ridiculous tale about Billy that Tana had tried to tell. The girl really wasn't all there and Arthur looked worried too.

“Have her looked at again.” But when Jean tried to insist, Tana refused. Jean almost wondered if she was well enough to go to New England for her summer job, but on the night before she was due to leave, she quietly packed her bag, and the next morning, she came to the breakfast table with a pale, wan, tired face, but for the first time in two weeks, when Jean handed her a glass of orange juice, she smiled, and Jean almost sat down and cried. The house had been like a tomb since the accident. There were no sounds, no music, no laughter, no giggles on the phone, no voices, only dead silence everywhere. And Tana's deadened eyes.

“I've missed you, Tan.” At the sound of the familiar name, Tana's eyes filled with tears. She nodded her head, unable to say anything. There was nothing left for her to say. To anyone. She felt as if her life were over. She never again wanted to be touched by a man, and she knew she never would again. No one would ever do to her what Billy Durning had done, and the tragedy was that Jean couldn't face hearing it, or thinking it. In her mind, it was impossible, so it didn't exist, it hadn't happened. But the worst of it was that it had. “Do you really think you're up to going to camp?”

Tana had wondered about that herself; she knew that the choice was an important one. She could spend the rest of her life hiding there, like a cripple, a victim, someone shrivelled and broken and gone, or she could begin to move out again, and she had decided to do that. “I'll be all right.”

“Are you sure?” She seemed so quiet, so subdued, so suddenly grown up. It was as though the bump on her head in the car accident had stolen her youth from her. Perhaps the fear itself had done that. Jean had never seen such a dramatic change in such a short time. And Arthur kept insisting that Billy had been fine, remorseful, but almost his old self by the time he left for his summer holiday, which was certainly not the case here. “Look, sweetheart, if you don't feel up to it, just come home. You want to start college in the fall feeling strong.”

“I'll be all right.” It was almost all she said before she left, clinging to her single bag. She took the bus to Vermont as she had twice before. It was a summer job she had loved, but it was different this year, and the others noticed it too. She was quieter, kept to herself, and never seemed to laugh anymore. The only time she talked to anyone at all was with the campers themselves. It saddened the others who had known her before, “something must be wrong at home.…” “Is she sick … ?” “Wow, she's like a different girl.…” Everyone noticed, and no one knew. And at the end of the summer, she got on the bus and went home again. She had made no friends this year, except among the kids, but even with them, she wasn't as popular as she'd been before. She was even prettier than she'd been in previous years but all of the kids agreed this time, “Tana Roberts is weird.” And she knew herself that she was.

She spent two days at home with Jean, avoided all her old friends, packed her bags for school, and boarded the train with a feeling of relief. Suddenly, she wanted to get far, far from home … from Arthur … from Jean … from Billy … from all of them … even the friends she'd had at school. She wasn't the same carefree girl who had graduated three months before. She was someone different now, someone haunted and hurt, with scars on her soul. And as she sat on the train and rolled through the South, she slowly began to feel human again. It was as though she had to get far, far from them, from their deceptions, their lies, the things they couldn't see, or refused to believe, the games they played … it was as though ever since Billy Durning had forced his way into her, no one could see her anymore. She didn't exist, because they couldn't acknowledge Billy's sin … but that was only Jean, she told herself. But who else was there? If her own mother didn't believe her … she didn't want to think about it anymore. Didn't want to think about any of it. She was going as far away as she could, and maybe she'd never go home, although she knew that too was a lie. Her mother's last words to her had been, “You'll come home for Thanksgiving, won't you, Tan?” It was as though her mother was afraid of her now, as though she had seen something in her daughter's eyes that she just couldn't face, a kind of bleeding, open, raw pain that she couldn't help and didn't want to be there. She didn't want to go home for Thanksgiving, didn't want to go home ever again. She had escaped their tiny, petty lives … the hypocrisy … Billy and his barbaric friends … Arthur and the years and years he had used Jean … the wife he had cheated on … and the lies Jean told herself … suddenly Tana couldn't stand it anymore, and she couldn't go far enough to get away from them. Maybe she'd never go back … never.

… She loved the sound of the train, and she was sorry when it stopped in Yolan. Green Hill College was two miles away and they had sent a lumbering old station wagon for her, with an old black driver with white hair. He greeted her with a warm smile, but she looked at him suspiciously as he helped her load her bags.

“You been on the train long, miss?”

“Thirteen hours.” She barely spoke to him on the brief drive to the school, and had he even seemed about to stop the car, she would have leapt out and begun to scream. But he sensed that about her, and he didn't push her by trying to get too friendly with her. He whistled part of the way, and when he got tired of that he sang, songs of the Deep South that Tana had never heard before, and in spite of herself, when they arrived, she smiled at him.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime, miss. Just come on down to the office and ask for Sam, I'll give you a ride anywhere you want to go.” And then he laughed the warm black laugh, smiling at her. “There ain't too many places to go around here.” He had the accent of the Deep South, and ever since she had gotten off the train she had noticed how beautiful everything was. The tall majestic looking trees, the bright flowers everywhere, the lush grass, and the air still, heavy and warm. One had a sudden urge to just stroll off somewhere quietly, and when she saw the college itself for the first time, she just stood there and smiled. It was all she had wanted it to be, she had wanted to come here to visit the winter before, but she just hadn't had time. Instead, she had interviewed with their traveling representative up North, and gone on what she'd seen in the brochures. She knew that academically they were one of the best schools, but she had actually wanted something more—their reputation, and the legends she had heard about what a fine old school it was. It was old-fashioned, she knew, but in a way that appealed to her. And now as she looked at the handsome white buildings, perfectly kept, with tall columns, and beautiful French windows looking out on a small lake, she almost felt as though she had come home.

She checked in at the reception room, filled in some cards, wrote down her name on a long list, found out what building she'd be living in, and a little while later, Sam was helping her again, loading all of her luggage on an old country cart. It was almost like a trip back in time just being there, and for the first time in months, she felt peaceful again. She wouldn't have to face her mother here, wouldn't have to explain how she felt or didn't feel, wouldn't have to hear the hated Durning name, or see the unknowing pain Arthur inflicted on her mother's face … or hear about Billy again … just being in the same town with them had stifled her, and for the first month or two after the rape, all she had wanted to do was run away. It had taken all the courage she had to go on to camp that summer anyway, and each day there had been a battle too. She wanted to flinch each time someone came too close, especially the men, but even the boys frightened her now too. At least she didn't have to worry about that here. It was an all-women's school, and she didn't have to attend the dances or proms, or nearby football games. The social life had appealed to her when she had first applied, but she didn't care about that now. She didn't care about anything … or at least she hadn't in three months … but suddenly … suddenly … even the air here smelled good, and as Sam rolled the luggage cart along, she looked at him with a slow smile and he grinned at her.

“It's a long way from New York.” His eyes seemed to dance, and the nubby white hair looked soft.

“It sure is. It really is beautiful here.” She glanced out at the lake and then back at the buildings behind her, fanned out, with still smaller buildings ahead of them. It looked almost like a palatial estate, which was what it had once been, everything was so perfectly manicured, immaculately kept. She was almost sorry her mother couldn't see it now, but perhaps she would eventually.

“It used to be a plantation, you know.” He told hundreds of girls that every year. He loved to tell the story to the girls. His granddaddy had been a slave right here, he always bragged, as they looked at him with wide eyes. They were so young and so fine, almost like his own daughter had been, except she was a grown woman now, with children of her own. And these girls would be married and have children soon too. He knew that every year, in the spring, girls came back from everywhere to get married in the beautiful church right there on the grounds, and after graduation ceremonies, there were always at least a dozen who got married in the ensuing days. He glanced at Tana as she loped along at his side, wondering how long this one would last. She was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, with long shapely legs, and that face, the shaft of golden hair, and those enormous green eyes. If he'd known her for a while he would have teased her and told her she looked like a movie star, but this one was more reserved than most. He had noticed all along that she was unusually shy. “You been here before?” She shook her head, looking up at the building where he had just stopped the cart. “This is one of the nicest houses we got. Jasmine House. I've already brought five girls here today. There should be about twenty-five or so here in all, and a housemother to keep an eye on all of you,” he beamed, “though I'm sure none of you will be needing that.” He laughed his deep, rich burst of laughter again, which sounded almost musical, and Tana smiled, helping him with some of her bags. She followed him inside, and found herself in a pleasantly decorated living room. The furniture was almost entirely antique, English and Early American, the fabrics were flowery and bright, and there were big bouquets of flowers in large handsome crystal vases on several tables and a desk. There was a homey atmosphere as Tana stepped in and looked around, and one of the first things that struck her about the place was that it was ladylike. Everything looked proper and neat, and as though one ought to be wearing a hat and white gloves, and suddenly Tana looked down at her plaid skirt, her loafers and knee socks, and smiled at the woman coming across the room to her in a neat gray suit. She had white hair and blue eyes. She was their housemother, Tana soon learned. She had been housemother of Jasmine House for more than twenty years, she had a gentle Southern drawl, and when her jacket opened, Tana noticed a single strand of pearls. She looked like someone's aunt, and there were deep smile lines around her eyes.

“Welcome to Jasmine House, my dear.” There were eleven other houses on campus much like this, “but we like to think that Jasmine is the very best.” She beamed at Tana, and offered her a cup of tea as Sam took her bags upstairs. Tana accepted the flowered cup with the silver spoon, declined a plate of bland looking little cakes, and sat looking at the view of the lake, thinking of how strange life was. She felt as though she had landed in a different universe. Things were so different from New York … suddenly here she was, far from everyone she knew, drinking tea and talking to this woman with blue eyes and pearls … when only three months before she had been lying on Arthur Durning's bedroom floor being raped and beaten by his son.”…, don't you think, dear?” Tana stared blankly at the housemother, not sure of what she had just said, and demurely nodded her head, feeling suddenly tired. It was so much to take in all at once.

“Yes … yes … I do.…” She wasn't even sure what she was agreeing with, and suddenly all she wanted to do was escape to her room. At last, they finished their tea, set down their cups, and Tana had a sudden urge to laugh, wondering just how much tea the poor woman had had to drink that day, and then as though sensing Tana's impatience to settle in, she led the way to her room. It was up two handsomely curved flights of stairs, on a long hall, with flower prints and photographs of alumnae interspersed. Her room was at the very end of the hall. The walls were a pale pink, the curtains and bedspreads chintz. There were two narrow beds, two very old chests, two chairs, and a tiny corner sink. It was a funny old-fashioned room and the ceiling sloped directly over their beds. The housemother was watching her and seemed satisfied as Tana turned to her with a smile.

“This is very nice.”

“Every room in Jasmine House is.” She left the room shortly after that, and Tana sat staring at her trunks, not quite sure what to do, and then she lay down on her bed, looking out at the trees. She wondered if she should wait for her roommate to arrive before simply taking over one of the chests or half of the hanging space, and she didn't feel like unpacking anyway. She was thinking of taking a walk around the lake when she heard a knock on the door and suddenly Old Sam appeared. She sat up quickly on the edge of the bed, and he walked into the room carrying two bags with a strange look on his face. He glanced over at where Tana sat, seemed to shrug, and just looked at her.

“I guess this is a first for us.” What is? Tana looked confused as he shrugged again and disappeared, and Tana glanced over at the bags. But there seemed nothing remarkable there, two large navy blue and green plaid bags with railroad tags, a makeup case, and a round hatbox, just like the ones filled with Tana's junk. She wandered slowly around the room, wondering when their owner would appear. She expected an endless wait as she imagined the tea ritual, but in the end she was surprised at how quickly the girl appeared. The housemother knocked first, stared into Tana's eyes portentously as she opened the door, and then stood aside, as Sharon Blake seemed to float into the room. She was one of the most striking girls Tana thought she had ever seen, with jet black hair pulled tightly back, brilliant onyx eyes, teeth whiter than ivory in a pale cocoa face that was so finely etched it barely seemed real. Her beauty was so marked, her movements so graceful, her style so definite that she literally took Tana's breath away. She was wearing a bright red coat, and a small hat, and she tossed both swiftly into one of the room's two chairs, to reveal a narrow tube of gray wool dress, the exact same color as her well-made gray shoes. She looked more like a fashion plate than a college girl, and Tana inwardly groaned at the things she had brought. They were all kilts and slacks, old wool skirts that she didn't really care about, a lot of plain shirts, V neck sweaters, and two dresses her mother had bought her at Saks just before she left.

“Tana,” the housemother's voice said that she took the introduction very seriously, “this is Sharon Blake. She's from the North too. Although not as far North as you. She's from Washington, D.C.”

“Hello.” Tana glanced shyly at her, as Sharon shot her a dazzling smile and extended a hand.

“How do you do.”

“I'll leave you two girls alone.” She seemed to look at Sharon almost with a look of pain, and Tana with immeasurable sympathy. It cut her to the core to do this to her, but someone had to sleep with the girl, and Tana was a scholarship student after all. It was only fair. She had to be grateful for whatever she got. And the others wouldn't have put up with it. She softly closed the door, and walked downstairs with a determined step. It was the first time this had ever happened at Jasmine House, at Green Hill for that matter, and Julia Jones was wishing that she could have had something a little stronger than tea that afternoon. She needed it. It was a terrible strain, after all.

But upstairs Sharon only laughed as she threw herself into one of the room's uncomfortable chairs and looked at Tana's shining blond hair. They were an interestingly contrasted pair. The one so fair, the other dark. They eyed each other curiously as Tana smiled, wondering what she was doing there. It would have been easier for her to go to a college in the North, than to come here. But she didn't know Sharon Blake yet. The girl was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and she was expensively dressed. Tana noticed that again, too, as Sharon kicked off her shoes.

“Well,” the delicate, dark face broke into a smile again, “what do you think of Jasmine House?”

“It's pretty, don't you think?” Tana still felt shy with her, but there was something appealing about the lovely girl. There was something raw and courageous and bold that stood out on the exquisite face.

“They gave us the worst room, you know.” Tana was shocked at that. “How do you know?” “I looked as we walked down the hall.” She sighed then and carefully took off her hat. “I expected that.”

And then she looked Tana over appraisingly. “And what sin did you commit to wind up rooming with me?” She smiled gently at Tana. She knew why she was there, she was the only token Negro to be accepted at Green Hill, and she was unusual, of course. Her father was an author of distinguished prose, winner of the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize, her mother was an attorney, currently in government, she would be different from most Negro girls. At least they expected her to be … although one could never be sure, of course … and Miriam Blake had given her oldest child a choice before sending her to Green Hill. She could have gone somewhere in the North, to Columbia in New York, her grades were good enough, or Georgetown closer to home, there was UCLA if she was serious about an acting career … or there was something important she could do, her mother said … “something that will mean something to other girls one day, Sharon.” Sharon had stared at her, not sure what she meant. “You could go to Green Hill.”

“In the South?” Sharon had been shocked. “They wouldn't even let me in.”

Miriam had glared at her. “You don't understand yet, do you, babe? Your father is Freeman Blake. He's written books that people have read all around the world. Do you really think they'd dare to keep you out today?”

Sharon had grinned nervously. “Hell, yes. Mama, they'd tar and feather me before I ever unpacked.” The thought terrified her. She knew what had happened in Little Rock three years before. She read the news. It had taken tanks and the National Guard to keep black children in a white school. And this wasn't just any little old school they were talking about. This was Green Hill. The most exclusive woman's junior college in the South, where daughters of Congressmen and Senators, and the governors of Texas and South Carolina and Georgia sent their little girls, to get two years of smarts before settling down with boys of their own kind. “Mama, that's nuts!”

“If every black girl in this country thinks like that, Sharon Blake, then a hundred years from now we'll still be sleeping in black hotels, sitting at the back of the bus, and drinking out of water fountains that reek of white boys' piss.” Her mother's eyes had blazed at her as Sharon winced. Miriam Blake thought that way, she always had. She had gone to RadcJiffe on a scholarship, Boalt Law School at UC, and ever since, she had fought hard for what she believed, for the underdog, the common man, and she was fighting for her people now. Even her husband admired her. She had more guts than anyone he'd ever known and she wasn't going to stop now. But it frightened Sharon sometimes. It frightened her a lot. As it had when she applied to Green Hill.

“What if I get in?” That scared her most of all and she told her father that. “I'm not like her, Daddy … I don't want to prove a point … to just get in … I want to have friends, to have a good time … what she wants me to do is too hard.…” Tears had filled her eyes and he understood. But he couldn't change either of them, Miriam and what she expected of them all, or the happy-go-lucky, fun-loving, beautiful girl, who was less like Miriam, and much more like him. She wanted to be an actress on the Broadway stage one day. And she wanted to go to UCLA.

“You can go there for your last two years, Shar,” her mother said, “after you pay your dues.”

“Why do I have to pay any dues at all?” she screamed. “Why do I owe anyone two years of my life?”

“Because you live here in your father's house, in a comfortable suburb of Washington, and you sleep in your nice, warm bed, thanks to us, and you've never known a life of pain.”

“So beat me, then. Treat me like a slave, but let me do what I want to do!”

“Fine.” Her mother's eyes had blazed black fire. “Do what you want. But you'll never walk proud, girl, not if all you think of is yourself. You think that's what they did in Little Rock? They walked every step of the way, with guns pointed at their heads, and the Klan itching for their necks every day. And you know who they did it for, girl? They did it for you. And who're you going to do it for, Sharon Blake?”

“Myself!” She had screamed before running up the stairs to her room and slamming the door. But the words had haunted her. Her mother's words always did. She wasn't an easy person to live with, or to know, or to love. She never made things comfortable for anyone. But in the long run, she made things good. For everyone.

Freeman Blake had tried to talk to his wife that night. He knew how Sharon felt, how badly she wanted to go to the western school. “Why don't you let her do what she wants for a change?”

“Because she has a responsibility. And so do I, and so do you.”

“Don't you ever think of anything else? She's young. Give her a chance. Maybe she doesn't want to burn for a cause. Maybe you do enough of that for all of us.” But they both knew that that wasn't entirely true. Sharon's brother Dick was only fifteen, but he was Miriam to the core, and he shared most of her ideas, except that his were angrier, more radical. No one was ever going to shove him down, and Freeman was proud of that, but he also recognized that Sharon was a different child. “Just let her be.”

They had, and in the end, the guilt had won, as she told Tana later that night. “So here I am.” They had been to dinner in the main dining hall, and were back in their room. Sharon in a pink nylon nightgown that had been a going away present from her best friend at home, and Tana in a blue flannel nightgown, her hair in a long silky ponytail as she watched her new friend. “I guess I'll go to UCLA after I finish here.” She sighed and looked at the pink polish she had just applied to her toes, and then looked up at Tana again. “She expects so damn much of me.” And all she wanted for herself was to be beautiful and smart and a great actress one day. That was enough. Except for Miriam Blake.

Tana smiled. “My mother expects a lot too. She's devoted her whole damn life to doing the right thing for me, and all she wants me to do is come here for a year or two, and then marry some ‘nice young man.’ “ She made a face which suggested she found it an unappealing idea, and Sharon laughed.

“Secretly that's what all mothers think, even mine, as long as I promise to crusade even after I marry him. What does your father say? Thank God for mine, he gets me off the hook whenever he can. He thinks all that stuff is a pain in the ass too.”

“Mine died before I was born. That's why she gets so excited about everything. She's always scared to death that everything's going to go wrong, so she clutches whatever security we have, and she expects me to do the same.” She looked strangely at Sharon then, “You know, actually your mother sounds more like my cup of tea.” The two girls laughed and it was another two hours before they turned off the lights, and by the end of the first week at Green Hill, the two girls were fast friends. They shared much of the same schedule, met for lunch, went to the library, went for long walks around the lake, talking about life, about boys, about parents and friends. Tana told Sharon about her mother's relationship with Arthur Durning, even when he was married to Marie, and how she felt about him. The hypocrisy, the narrow views, the stereotyped life in Greenwich with children and friends and associates all of whom drank too much, in a house that was all for show, while her mother slaved for him night and day, lived for his calls, and had nothing to show for it after twelve years. “I mean, Christ, Shar, it really burns me up. And you know the worst thing about it?” Her eyes smoldered like fiery green rocks as she looked at her friend. “The worst thing is that she accepts all that shit from him. It's all right with her. She'd never walk out on him, and she'd never ask for more. She'll just sit there for the rest of her life, grateful for all the menial things she does for him, totally unaware that he does nothing for her, while she insists that she owes everything to him. What everything? She's worked like a dog all her life for whatever she has, and he treats her like a piece of furniture.…”… a paid cunt … Billy's words still rang in her ears and she forced them from her head for the ten thousandth time. “I don't know … she just sees things differently, but it makes me mad as hell. I can't go around kissing his ass for the rest of my life. I owe my mother a lot, but I don't owe Arthur Durning a damn thing, and neither does she, but she just doesn't see it that way. She's so damn scared all the time.… I wonder if she was like that before my father died.…” Her mother often told her that she was a lot like him, and her face kind of lit up.

“I like my dad better than my mom.” Sharon was always honest about what she felt, especially with Tana. They had told each other countless secrets by the end of the first month, although the one thing Tana had said nothing about was the rape. Somehow she could never quite bring the words to her mouth, and she told herself that it didn't matter anyway, but a few days before the first dance was scheduled on Halloween with a neighboring boys' school, Sharon rolled her eyes and lay back on her bed. “So much for that. What do I do? Go as a black cat, or in a white sheet as a member of the Klan?” Girls were welcome to come to the dance alone, since it was to be held at Green Hill, which was fortunate since neither Sharon nor Tana had dates. Nor did they have any friends. The girls had all been careful not to get too close to her. They were polite to her, and none of them stared anymore, and all of the teachers treated her courteously, but it was almost as though they wanted to pretend that she wasn't there, as though by ignoring her, she would disappear. And the only friend she had was Tana, who went everywhere with her, and as a result, Sharon was Tana's only friend. Everyone stayed away from her too. If she wanted to play with niggers, she was going to find herself playing alone. Sharon had shouted at her about it more than once. “Why the hell don't you go play with your own kind!” She had tried to sound harsh but Tana had always seen through the ruse.

“Go to hell.”

“You're a damn fool.”

“Good. That makes two of us. That's why we get along so well.”

“Nah,” Sharon would grin at her, “we get along because you dress like shit and if you didn't have my wardrobe and my expert advice at hand you'd go out looking like a total jerk.”

“Yeah,” Tana grinned delightedly, “you're right. But can you teach me to dance?” The girls would collapse on their beds, and you could hear their laughter out in the hall almost every night. Sharon had an energy and a spunk and a fire about her that brought Tana back to life again, and sometimes they just sat around and told jokes and laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks and they cried. Sharon also had a sense of style which Tana had never seen before, and the most beautiful clothes she had ever seen. They were both about the same size and after a while, they just began to shove everything into the same drawers, and wear whatever came to hand.

“So … what are you going to be for Halloween, Tan?” Sharon was doing her nails a bright orange this time, and it looked spectacular against her brown skin. She glanced at the wet polish and then over at her friend, but Tana looked noncommittal as she looked away.

“I don't know … I'll see.…”

“What does that mean?” She was quick to sense something different in Tana's voice, something she had never heard there before, except maybe once or twice when Sharon suspected that she had hit a nerve, but she wasn't yet sure what that nerve was, or precisely where it lay. “You're going, aren't you?”

Tana stood up and stretched, and then looked away. “No. I'm not.”

“For heaven's sake, why not?” She looked stunned. Tana liked having a good time. She had a great sense of humor, she was a pretty girl, she was fun to be around, she was bright. “Don't you like Halloween?”

“It's all right … for kids.…” It was the first time Sharon had seen her behave like that and she was surprised.

“Don't be a party pooper, Tan. Come on, I'll put your costume together for you.” She began digging into the closet they shared, pulling things out and throwing them on the bed, but Tana did not look amused, and that night when the lights were out, Sharon questioned her about it again. “How come you don't want to go to the Halloween dance, Tan?” She knew that she hadn't had any dates yet, but so far none of them had. For Sharon it was a particularly lonely road, as the only black girl at the school, but she had resigned herself to that when she had agreed to come to Green Hill, and none of them really knew anyone yet. Only a few lucky girls had already won dates, but they were sure to meet a flock of young men at the dance, and Sharon was suddenly dying to get out. “Do you have a steady at home?” She hadn't mentioned it yet. Sharon thought it unlikely that she had held back, although there were some things they still hadn't shared. They had avoided the subject of their virginity, or lack of it, which Sharon knew was unusual at Jasmine House. It seemed as though everyone else was anxious to discuss their status as far as that went, but Sharon had correctly sensed Tana's reticence, and she wasn't anxious to discuss the subject herself. But she propped herself up on one elbow now and looked at Tana in the moonlit room. “Tan … ?”

“No, nothing like that.… I just don't like going out.”

“Any particular reason why not? You're allergic to men? … get dizzy in heels? … turn into a vampire after twelve o'clock? … although actually,” she grinned mischievously, “that might be kind of a neat trick on Halloween.”

In the other bed, Tana laughed. “Don't be a jerk. I just don't want to go out, that's all. It's no big deal. You go. Go fall in love with some white guy and drive your parents nuts.” They both laughed at the prospect of that.

“Christ, they'd probably kick me out of school. If old Mrs. Jones had her choice, they'd be fixing me up with Old Sam.” The housemother had several times looked patronizingly at Sharon, and then glanced at Sam, as though there were some kind of kinship between them.

“Does she know who your father is?” Freeman Blake had just won another Pulitzer, and everyone in the country knew his name, whether they had read his books or not.

“I don't think she can read.”

“Give her an autographed book when you come back from the holidays.” Tana grinned and Sharon roared.

“She'd die.…” But it still didn't solve the problem of the Halloween dance. In the end, Sharon went as an excruciatingly sexy black cat, in a black leotard, her warm cocoa face peeking out, her eyes huge, her legs seeming to stretch forever, and after an initial tense moment or two, someone asked her to dance, and she was on the floor all night long. She had a terrific time, although none of the girls talked to her, and Tana was tucked into bed and sound asleep when she got home just after one o'clock. “Tan? … Tana? … Tan … ?” She stirred faintly, lifted her head, and opened one eye with a groan.

“D'ya have a good time?”

“It was great! I danced all night!” She was dying to tell her all about it but Tana had already turned over in bed.

“I'm glad … g'night.…” Sharon watched the other girl's back and wondered again why she hadn't gone, but nothing more was said, and when Sharon tried to bring it up again the next day, it was obvious that Tana didn't want to talk about it. The other girls began going out after that. The phone in the downstairs hall seemed to ring all the time, and only one boy called Sharon Blake. He asked her to a movie and she went, but when they arrived, the ticket taker wouldn't let them in. “This ain't Chicago, friends”—he glared at them as the boy blushed a deep, anguished red—”you're in the South now.” He addressed the young man, “Go home and find yourself a decent girl, son.” Sharon was reassuring when they left.

“I didn't want to see it anyway. Honest, Tom, it's all right.” But the silence was agonizing as he drove her back, and finally when they reached Jasmine House, she turned to him. Her voice was sultry and soft, her eyes kind, her hand like velvet as she touched his. “It really is all right, Tom. I understand. I'm used to this.” She took a deep breath. “That's why I came to Green Hill.” It seemed an odd thing to say and he looked questioningly at her. She was the first black girl he had ever asked out, and he thought her the most exotic creature he had ever seen.

“You came here to be insulted by some turd in a movie house in a one horse town?” He was still burning inside, he was angry for her even if she was not.

“No,” she spoke softly, thinking of her mother's words, “I came here to change things, I guess. It starts like this, and it goes on for a long time, and eventually no one gives a damn, black girls and white guys go to movies, ride in cars, walk down streets, eat hamburgers anywhere they want. It happens in New York. Why shouldn't it happen here? People may look, but at least there they don't throw you out. And the only way to get to that point is to start small, like tonight.” The boy looked at her, suddenly wondering if he'd been used but somehow he didn't think he had. Sharon Blake wasn't like that, and he had already heard who her father was. You had to be impressed by someone like that. And he admired her more after what she had just said. It confused him a little bit, but he knew that there was truth in it.

“I'm sorry we didn't get in. Why don't we try again next week?”

She laughed at that. “I didn't mean that we had to change it all at once.” But she liked his spunk. He was getting the idea, and maybe her mother hadn't been so wrong. Maybe it was all right to serve a cause after all.

“Why not? Sooner or later that guy'll get tired of kicking us out. Hell, we can go to the coffee shop … the restaurant across town.…” The possibilities were limitless and Sharon was laughing at him, as he helped her out of the car and walked her into Jasmine House. She offered him a cup of tea, and they were going to sit in the living room for a while, but the looks they got from the other couples sitting there were so ominous that eventually Sharon got up. She walked him slowly to the door, and for a moment she looked sad. It would have been so much easier at Columbia UCLA … anywhere in the North … anywhere but here.… Tom was quick to sense her mood, and he whispered as he stood in the open door. “Remember … it doesn't happen overnight.” He touched her cheek then and was gone, as she watched him drive away … he was right, of course … it didn't happen overnight.

And as she walked upstairs, she decided that it hadn't been a totally wasted night. She liked Tom, and wondered if he would call her again. He was a good sport.

“Well? Did he propose?” Tana was grinning at her from the bed as Sharon walked in, and groaned.

“Yeah. Twice.”

“That's nice. How was the movie?”

Sharon smiled. “Ask someone else.”

“You didn't go?” She was surprised.

“They didn't let us in … you know … white boy … brown girl … ‘Find yourself a decent girl, son.…’ “ She pretended to laugh but Tana could see the pain in her eyes, and she frowned.

“The shits. What did Tom say?”

“He was nice. We sat downstairs for a while when we got back, but that was even worse. There must be seven Snow Whites sitting downstairs with their Prince Charmings, and all of them had their eyes glued on us.” She sighed and sat down, looking at her friend. “Shit … my mother and her bright ideas … for about a minute outside the movie house I felt very noble and brave and pure, and by the time we got back, I decided it was really a huge pain in the ass. Hell, we can't even go out for a hamburger. I could starve to death in this town.”

“Not if you went out with me, I'll bet.” They hadn't gone out to eat yet, they were too comfortable where they were, and the food was surprisingly good at school. They had both already gained three or four pounds, much to Sharon's chagrin.

“Don't be so sure, Tan. I'll bet they'd raise hell if I tried to go somewhere with you too. Black is black and white is white, no matter how you look at it.”

“Why don't we try?” Tana looked intrigued, and the next night they did. They walked slowly into town, and stopped for a hamburger and the waitress gave them a long, slow, ugly look and then walked away without serving them, as Tana looked at her in shock. She signaled for her again, and the woman appeared not to see, until finally Tana walked over to her, and asked if they could order their dinner now, and the waitress looked at her with chagrin.

She spoke in a low voice so that Sharon wouldn't hear. “I'm sorry, honey. I can't serve your friend. I was hoping you two'd get the idea.”

“Why not? She's from Washington,” as though that would make a difference, “… her mother is an attorney and her father has won the Pulitzer twice.…”

“That don't make no difference here. This ain't Washington. It's Yolan.” Yolan, South Carolina, home of Green Hill.

“Is there anywhere in town we can eat?”

The waitress looked nervously at the tall green-eyed blonde, there was a hardness in her voice that suddenly frightened her. “There's a place for her just down the street … and you could eat here.”

“I mean together,” Tana's eyes were as hard as green steel, and for the first time in her life she felt something tighten in her spine. She almost wanted to hit someone. It was a feeling she hadn't known before, an unreasoning, helpless rage. “Is there anyplace in this town where we can eat together, without taking the train to New York?” Tana glared at her, and slowly the waitress shook her head. But Tana wasn't moving an inch. “Okay, then I'll have two cheeseburgers, and two Cokes.”

“No, you won't.” A man appeared from the kitchen behind where they stood. “You'll go back to that damn fancy school you two come from,” they were easily spotted in Yolan. Sharon's clothes alone were enough to draw attention anywhere. She was wearing a skirt and sweater her mother had bought her at Bonwit Teller in New York. “And you can eat anything you damn well please there. I don't know what's gotten into them over there, but if they let niggers into the school, then let them feed 'em over at Green Hill, we don't gotta feed 'em here.” He looked pointedly at Tana, then at Sharon where she sat, and it was as though an enormous force had entered the room, and for a minute Tana thought he might physically throw them out. She hadn't been as frightened or as angry since she'd been raped.

And then, ever so quietly, and in her graceful, long-legged, ladylike way, Sharon stood up. “Come on, Tan.” Her voice was a sexy purr, and for an instant, Tana saw the man's eyes almost paw at her and she wanted to slap his face. It reminded her of something she never wanted to think of again, and a moment later she followed Sharon out.

“Son of a bitch.…” Tana was fuming as they walked slowly back to school, but Sharon was amazingly calm. It was the same feeling she had had the night before, with Tom, when they hadn't let them into the movie house. For an instant, there had been a quiet surge of power, an understanding of why she was there, and then depression had set in. But tonight, the depression hadn't hit her yet.

“Life is strange, isn't it? If this were in New York or L.A., or almost anywhere else, no one would give a damn. But down here, it's all-important that I'm black, you're white. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe it is time for a crusade. I don't know, I always thought that as long as I was comfortable, it didn't matter if things like that were happening to someone else. But all of a sudden that someone else is me.” Suddenly she knew why her mother had insisted on her coming here, and for the first time since she'd arrived, she wondered if she'd been right. Maybe she did belong here after all. Maybe she owed it to someone else for all the time that she had been comfortable. “I don't know what to think, Tan.…”

“Neither do I.…” They were walking along side by side. “I don't think I've ever felt so helpless or been so mad.…” And then suddenly Billy Durning's face came to mind, and she visibly winced, “Well … maybe once.…”

They suddenly felt closer than they ever had before. Tana almost wanted to put an arm around her to protect her from more hurt, as Sharon glanced over at her with a gentle smile. “When was that, Tan?”

“Oh a long time ago.…” She tried to smile, “… like five months.…”

“Oh yeah … a real long time ago.…” The two girls exchanged a smile and walked on as a car sped by, but no one bothered them, and Tana wasn't afraid. No one would ever do to her again what Billy Durning did. She would kill them first. And there was a strange ugly look in her eyes as Sharon glanced at her. “Must've been pretty bad.”

“It was.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Her voice was as soft as the charcoal gray night, and they walked along in silence for a time as Tana thought. She had never wanted to tell anyone about it before, not since she'd tried to tell her mom.

“I don't know.”

Sharon nodded, as though she understood. Everyone had something they didn't want to share. She had a secret like that herself. “It's okay, Tan.” But as she said the words, Tana looked at her, and suddenly the words burst from her, almost of their own.

“Yeah, I do.…” And then, “I don't know … how do you talk about something like that?” She began to walk faster as though to run away, and Sharon followed her easily on her long, graceful legs, unconsciously Tana ran a hand through her hair nervously, looked away, and began to breathe harder than she had before. “There's nothing much to say.… I went to a party after I graduated in June … my mother's boss's house … he has this real little shit of a son … and I told my mother I didn't want to go.…” Her breath was coming in little short gasps and Sharon knew she wasn't aware of it as they hurried along. She knew that whatever it was, it was torturing the girl, and it would be better if she got it out. “Anyway, she said I had to go anyway … she always says that … that's the way she is, about Arthur Durning anyway, and his kids … she's blind to what they are, and…” the words stopped, and they walked on, hurrying, hurrying, as though she could still run away, and Sharon kept pace, watching her as she struggled with the memories and then began to speak again, “… anyway, this dumb boy picked me up and we got there … to the party, I mean … and everyone got drunk … and the dumb guy who brought me got drunk and disappeared and I was wandering around the house … and Billy … Arthur's son … asked me if I wanted to see the room where my mother worked, and I knew where it was.…” There were tears running down her cheeks now, but she didn't feel them in the wind, and Sharon didn't say anything to her, “and he took me to Arthur's bedroom instead and everything was gray … gray velvet, gray satin … gray fur … even the rug on the floor was gray,” it was all she could remember, the endless field of gray and her blood on the floor afterwards and Billy's face, and then the accident, she could barely breathe thinking of it, and she pulled at the neck of her shirt as she began to run, sobbing now, as Sharon followed her, keeping close, staying near. She wasn't alone anymore, there was a friend running through the nightmare with her and it was as though she sensed that as she went on, “… and Billy started to slap me and he pushed me down … and everything I did…” she remembered the helplessness again now, the desperation she felt, and suddenly in the night air she screamed and suddenly she stopped, burying her face in her hands, “… and I couldn't do anything to make him stop … I couldn't.…” Her whole body was shaking now as Sharon took her quietly in her arms and held her tight, “… and he raped me … and he left me there with blood all over me … my legs and my face … and then I threw up … and later he followed me all down the road and he made me get in his car and he almost hit this truck,” the words just wouldn't stop now as she cried and Sharon began to cry with her, “and we hit a tree instead and he cut his head and there was blood all over him too and they took us to the hospital and then my mother came.…” And suddenly she stopped again, and with her face ravaged by the memory she had tried to flee for five months, she looked up into Sharon's eyes, “and when I tried to tell her, she wouldn't believe anything I said … she said Billy Durning wouldn't do a thing like that.” The sobs were deep and wracking now, and quietly Sharon held her tight.

“I believe you, Tan.”

Tana nodded, looking like a bereft little girl. “I never want anyone to touch me again.”

She knew exactly how Tana felt, but not for the same reasons as her friend. She hadn't been raped. She had gladly given it, to the boy she loved. “My mother never believed a single word I said. And she never will. The Durnings are gods to her.”

“All that matters is that you're okay, Tan.” Sharon led her to a tree stump, where they sat down and Sharon offered her a cigarette, and for once Tana took a puff. “And you are okay, you know. A lot more so than you think.” She smiled gently at her friend, deeply moved by her confidence and she wiped the tears from her cheeks as Tana smiled at her.

“You don't think I'm awful because of that?”

“That's a dumb thing to ask. It's no reflection on you, Tan.”

“I don't know … sometimes I think it is … as though I could have stopped him if I tried hard enough.” It felt good just to say the words, just to get them out. They had haunted her for months.

“Do you really believe that, Tan? Do you really think you could have stopped him? Tell the truth.”

She thought about it for a long time and then shook her head. “No.”

“Then don't torture yourself. It happened. It was horrible. Worse than that. It was probably the worst thing that'll ever happen to you in your whole life, but no one will ever do that to you again. And it wasn't really you he touched. He couldn't touch the real you, no matter what, Tan. Just cut it off. Dump the memory. And move on.”

“That's easy to say,” Tana smiled tiredly, “but not so easily done. How do you forget something like that?”

“You make yourself. You don't let it destroy you, Tan. That's the only time a guy like that wins. He's sick. You're not. Don't make yourself sick over what he did. As awful as it was, put it out of your mind, and move on.”

“Oh Sharon…” She sighed and stood up, looking down at her friend. It was a beautiful night. “What makes you so smart, for a kid?”

Sharon smiled, but her eyes were serious tonight, almost sad, as Tana looked down at her. “I have my secrets too.”

“Like what?” Tana felt calmer now than she ever had in her life, it was as though a raging animal had been released from her, as though Sharon had let it out of its cage and set it free, and Tana was finally at peace again. Her mother hadn't been able to do that for her five months before, but this girl had, and she knew that whatever else happened after that, they would always be friends. “What happened to you?” Tana searched her eyes, knowing now that there was something there. And she was sure of it when Sharon looked up at her. She didn't mince any words. She had never told anyone, but she had thought about it a lot, and she and her father had talked about it one night before she left for Green Hill. He had told her the same thing she had just told Tana, that she couldn't let it destroy her life. It had happened. And now it was done. And she had to let it stay that way, and move on, but she wondered if she ever could.

“I had a baby this year.”

For an instant Tana's breath caught and she looked at Sharon in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah. I've been going with the same boy at home since I was fifteen and when I was sixteen he gave me his senior ring … I don't know, Tan … it kind of seemed so cute … he looks like an African God, and he's smart as hell, and he dances…” she looked pretty and young as she thought of him.… “He's at Harvard now,” her eyes grew sad, “but I haven't talked to him in almost a year. I got pregnant, I told him, and he panicked, I guess. He wanted me to have an abortion from this doctor his cousin knew, and I refused … hell, I'd heard about girls who died.…” Her eyes filled with tears at the memory, and she forgot that Tana was standing there, looking down at her. “I was going to tell my mom, but … I just couldn't … I told my father instead … and then he told her … and everybody went nuts … and they called his parents, and everyone cried and screamed, my mother called him a nigger … and his father called me a slut … it was the worst night in my life, and when it was all over, my parents gave me a choice. I could have an abortion at a doctor's my mother had found out about, or I could have the baby and give it up. They said,” she took a deep gulp of air as though this were the worst part, “that I couldn't keep it … that it would ruin my life…,” her whole body shook, “to have a baby at seventeen … and I don't know why but I decided to have the baby, I think because I thought that Danny would change his mind … or my parents would … or a miracle would happen … but nothing did. I lived in a home for five months and I kept up with all the work for my senior year, and the baby was born on April nineteenth … a little boy.…” She was trembling and Tana wordlessly reached out and took her hand, “I wasn't supposed to see him at all … but I did once … he was so little.… I was in labor for nineteen hours and it was horrible and he only weighed six pounds.…” Her eyes were a thou- sand miles away thinking of the little boy she would never see again, and she looked up at Tana now, “He's gone, Tan,” she whimpered almost like a child and in many ways she still was a child. They both were. “I signed the final papers three weeks ago. My mother drew them up … some people adopted him in New York.…” She couldn't stop the sobs as she bent her head, “Oh God, Tan, I hope they're good to him … I never should have let him go … and all for what?” She looked angrily up at her friend, “for this? To come to this dumb school to prove a point, so that other colored girls can come here one day. So what?”

“That had nothing to do with this. They wanted you to have a fresh start, with a husband and a family at the right time.”

“They were wrong, and so was I. You'll never know what it felt like … that emptiness when I went home … with nothing … with no one … nothing will ever replace that.” She took a deep breath. “I haven't seen Danny since I went into the home in Maryland … and I'll never know where the baby is.… I graduated with my class…,” with a lead weight in her heart, “… and no one knew what I felt.…” Tana shook her head, watching her. They were both women now. It had been hard earned, hard won, and it was too soon to know if things would get better in time, but one thing they both knew as they walked slowly home, and that was that they each had a friend. Tana pulled Sharon off the stump, and they hugged each other tight, their tears fell on each other's cheeks, each feeling the other's pain, as much as they could.

“I love you, Shar.” Tana looked at her with her gentle smile, and Sharon dried her eyes.

“Yeah … me too.…”

And they walked home arm in arm, in the silent night, went back to Jasmine House, got undressed and into their beds, each with her own thoughts.

“Tan?” It was Sharon's voice in the dark room.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what? Listening? That's what friends are for … I need you too.”

“My father was right, you know. You've got to move on in life.”

“I guess.” But how? “Did he have any suggestions about how to pull that on?”

Sharon laughed at that. “I'll have to ask him that.” And then suddenly, she had an idea. “Why don't you ask him yourself? Why don't you come home for Thanksgiving with me?”

Tana mulled it over from her bed, with the beginnings of a smile. She liked the idea. “I don't know what my mother will say.” But all of a sudden she wasn't sure she cared, and if she did, it wasn't as much as she would have cared six months before. Maybe it was time to try her wings and do what she wanted to do. “I'll call her tomorrow night.”

“Good.” Sharon smiled sleepily and turned over in her bed, with her back to her friend. “G'night, Tan.…” And a moment later, they were both asleep, more at ease than either of them had been in months, Tana's hands cast childlike above the blond hair, and Sharon cuddled up into a little black purring ball. Even the long legs seemed to disappear and she looked like a kitten as she slept peacefully.

Jean Roberts was disappointed when her daughter called to say that she had decided not to come home for Thanksgiving.

“Are you sure?” She didn't want to insist, but she would have preferred it if Tana were coming back. “You don't know this girl very well.…”

“Mother, I live with her. We share the same room. I know her better than I've ever known anyone in my life.”

“Are you sure her parents won't mind?”

“Positive. She called them this afternoon. They have a room for me, and she said they were delighted that she was bringing someone home.” Of course they were. From what Sharon had said, it proved Miriam's point that Sharon could be happy at Green Hill, even if she was the only black girl there, and now she was bringing one of “them” home, the ultimate proof of how well they had accepted her. They didn't know that Tana was her only friend, that there wasn't a single place in Yolan where she could be served, that she hadn't been able to go to a movie since she'd arrived, and that even in the cafeteria at school, the girls avoided her. But, according to Sharon, even if they had known, Miriam would have felt it proved even more that Sharon was needed there. “They” had to accept Negroes one day, and the time was now. It was a good challenge for Sharon, particularly after last year, this would keep her from dwelling on herself, Miriam Blake thought, it would give her something else to think about, or so she had said. “Really, they said it was fine.”

“All right, then be sure you invite her up sometime during the Christmas holidays,” Jean smiled into the phone, “in fact, I have a little surprise for you. Arthur and I were going to tell you over Thanksgiving…” Tana's heart stopped. Was he finally marrying her? She was robbed of speech as her mother went on. “Arthur made it possible for you to have a little ‘coming out’ party of your own. There's a small cotillion here in town … well, not a cotillion really, but a deb party of sorts, and Arthur put up your name, I mean you did go to Miss Lawson's after all, dear, and … you're going to be a debutante, sweetheart. Isn't that wonderful?” For a moment, no words came to Tana's mind. It didn't seem particularly wonderful at all, and once again her mother would be kissing Arthur Durning's feet … marry her … what a joke. How could she have thought a thing like that … a “cotillion of sorts” … shit.… “Why don't you invite your new friend to come up then?” Tana almost choked. Because my new friend is black, Mom.

“I'll ask, but I think she's going away over the holidays.” Shit. A debutante. And who would her escort be? Billy Durning? The son of a bitch.

“You don't sound very excited, sweetheart.” There was disappointment in Jean Roberts' voice, both because Tana wouldn't be coming home, and because she didn't sound very excited about the party Arthur had arranged. He knew how much it meant to Jean. Ann had come out at the International Ball four years before, of course, though not at a small deb party like this, but nonetheless it would be a wonderful experience for Tana to have, or at least Jean thought it would.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I guess I'm just surprised.”

“It is a beautiful surprise, isn't it?” No. She didn't really care. Things like that didn't matter to her. They never had. All the social nonsense of the Durnings' world seemed irrelevant to her, but it meant so much to Jean. It always had, ever since she had fallen in love with him. “You'll have to think of an escort for the dance. I was hoping Billy could,” Tana felt her heart pound and her chest get tight, “but he's going skiing in Europe with friends. In Saint Moritz, the lucky boy,” … lucky boy … He raped me, Mom.… “You'll just have to think of someone else. Someone suitable, of course.” Of course. How many other rapists do we know?

“It's too bad I can't go alone.” Tana's voice sounded dead at her end of the phone.

“That's a ridiculous thing to say.” Jean sounded annoyed. “Well, anyway, don't forget to invite your friend … the one you're going home for Thanksgiving with.”

“Sure.” Tana smiled. If she only knew. Jean Roberts would have died if Tana had invited a black friend to the little “coming out” party Arthur had arranged. It almost amused Tana to think of it, but she would never have taken advantage of Sharon like that. They were all a bunch of rude pricks. She knew that even her mother wasn't ready for that. “What'U you do for Thanksgiving, Mom? Will you be all right?”

“I'll be fine. Arthur had already invited us to Greenwich for the day.”

“Maybe now that I won't be there, you can spend the night.” There was a dead silence on the phone, and Tana regretted the words. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, what difference does it make? I'm eighteen years old now. It's not a secret.…” Tana felt sick as she thought of the endless gray room where … “I'm sorry, Mom.”

“Take care of yourself.” She drew herself up. She would miss seeing her, but she had a lot to do now, and Tana would be home in a month anyway. “And don't forget to thank your friend for having you there.” Tana smiled to herself, it was like being seven years old again. Maybe it always would be.

“I will. Have a good Thanksgiving, Mom.”

“I shall. And I'll thank Arthur for you.” Jean said the words pointedly and Tana looked blank at her end.

“What for?”

“The ball, Tana, the ball … I don't know if you realize it yet, but something like that is very important for a young girl, and it's not something that I could provide for you myself.” Important … ? Important to whom … ? “You have no idea what something like this means.” Tears stung Jean Roberts' eyes. In some ways, it was a dream come true. Andy and Jean Roberts' little girl, the baby Andy had never seen, would be coming out in New York society, and even if it was on the fringe, it was an important event for both of them … for Tana … and especially for Jean … it would be the most important moment in her life. She remembered Ann's coming out ball. She had planned every exquisite detail and had never thought that one day Tana would be coming out too.

“I'm sorry, Mom.”

“You'd better be. And I think you ought to write Arthur a nice note. Tell him what it means to you.” She wanted to scream into the phone. What the hell does it mean? That she'd find a rich husband some day, that they could mark it on her pedigree? Who cared? What accomplishment was that, to curtsy at a dumb ball, being gaped at by a lot of drunks? She didn't even know who she was going to take with her, and she shuddered at the thought. She had gone out with half a dozen different boys during her last two years of school, but there had never been anyone serious, and after what had happened in Greenwich in June, there was no one she wanted to go out with at all.

“I have to go, Mom.” She was suddenly desperate to get off the phone, and when she returned to her room, she looked depressed and Sharon looked up. She was doing her nails again. It was an eternal process with both of them. Recently they had both tried beige, “Straw Hat” by Faberg6.

“She said no?”

“She said yes.”

“So? You look like someone just burst your balloon.”

“I think she did.” Tana sat down on her bed with a thump. “Shit. She got her damn friend to sign me up for some dumb coming out ball. Jesus Christ, Shar, I feel like a complete fool.”

Sharon looked up at her and started to laugh. “You mean you're going to be a debutante, Tan?”

“More or less.” Tana looked embarrassed and groaned at her friend. “How could she do that to me?”

“It might be fun.”

“For who? And what the hell's the point? It's like a big cattle drive. They shove you around in a white dress and show you off to a lot of drunks, and you're supposed to find a husband somewhere in the bunch. Pretty cute, huh?” She looked sick, and Sharon put her nail polish away.

“Who're you going to take?”

“Don't ask. She wanted Billy Durning to be my escort of course, and thank God he'll be out of town.”

“Be grateful for that.” Sharon looked pointedly at her.

“I am. But the whole thing sounds like a farce.”

“So are a lot of things in life.”

“Don't be so cynical, Shar.”

“Don't be so chicken, Tan. It'll do you good.”

“Says who?”

“Says I.” Sharon advanced towards her and tried to stare her down. “You live like a nun around here.”

“So do you. So what?”

“I don't have any choice.” Tom had never called her again, it was more than he could cope with, Sharon knew, and in truth she understood. She hadn't expected more of him. But it didn't make her life very interesting at Green Hill. “You do.”

“Never mind.”

“You've got to start going out.”

“No, I don't.” Tana looked her right in the eye. “I don't have to do a goddamn thing I don't want to do. I'm eighteen years old, and I'm free as a bird.”

“A lame duck.” Sharon stared her down. “Get out there again, Tan.” But Tana said nothing at all. She walked into the bathroom they shared with the next room, locked the door, ran a bath, and didn't come out for an hour. “I meant what I said.” Sharon's voice was husky in the darkened room, once they were both in their beds.

“About what?”

“You should start going out again.”

“So should you.”

“I will one of these days.” Sharon sighed. “Maybe over the holidays when I'm home. There's no one for me to go out with here.” And then she laughed. “Hell, Tan, I don't know what I'm complaining about. At least I've got you.”

Tana smiled at her and they chatted for a few minutes and then drifted off to sleep.

The following week Tana went home to Washington with her. They were met at the train by Sharon's father, Freeman Blake, and Tana was instantly struck by how tall and handsome he was. He was a regal looking man, with a proud, beautifully carved, almost mahogany face, broad shoulders, and Sharon's same endlessly long legs. He had a warm smile, brilliantly white teeth, and he was quick to pull his daughter into his arms and hold her tight. He knew just how much she'd been through in the last year, and she'd come through it like a champ, just as he'd known she would, and he was desperately proud of her.

“Hi, baby, how's school?” She rolled her eyes, and turned quickly towards her friend.

“Tana, this is my dad, Freeman Blake. Daddy, this is Tana Roberts, my roommate at Green Hill.” He gave Tana's hand a powerful shake and she was magnetized by his eyes and the sound of his voice on the way home. He was filling Sharon in on all the local news, her mother's appointment to an even more important post, her brother Dick's big new romance, the remodeling of the house, the neighbor's new child, his new book. It was a warm friendly patter that touched Tana's heart, and she felt envious of the life that Sharon obviously had. And she felt it even more at dinner that night in the handsome colonial dining room. They had a beautiful house with a huge lawn and backyard, three cars in the garage, one of which was a Cadillac Freeman drove, despite the rude things his friends said. But he admitted that he had always wanted a Cadillac convertible and he had one now after all these years. They were obviously all four closely knit, and Tana found Miriam more than a little formidable. She was so intelligent and so direct that it took one's breath away, and she seemed to constantly expect the ultimate of everyone. One was never safe from her questions, her demands, and her ever-searching gaze.

“See what I mean?” Sharon said when they were alone upstairs. “It's like being on the witness stand, just having dinner with her.” She had wanted to know everything Sharon had done in the last two months, and she was interested in both the incident with Tom at the movie house, and the one at the coffee shop with Tana after that.

“It's just that she cares so much, Shar … about everything!”

“I know that. And it drives me nuts. Daddy is just as smart as she is for chrissake, and he's so much gentler about everything.” He was that, he told exquisite tales, made everyone laugh, and he had a way of making everyone comfortable, of bringing them closer together and forming an irresistible bond. Tana had noticed it all night long and she thought him the most remarkable man she had ever met.

“He's the most incredible man, Shar.”

“I know.”

“I read one of bis books last year. I'm going to go home now and read them all.”

“I'll give them to you.”

“Only if I can have an autographed set.” They both laughed, and a moment later, Miriam knocked at the door, anxious to know that they were all right.

“Do you have everything you need?” Tana smiled almost shyly at her.

“I do. Thank you very much, Mrs. Blake.”

“Not at all. We're so glad you could come.” The smile was even more dazzling than Shar's, and the eyes were driving, omniscient, almost frightening they plunged so deep and so hard. “How do you like Green Hill?”

“I do. Very much. The professors are pretty interesting.” But there was a lack of enthusiasm in her voice which Miriam picked up at once.

“But?”

Tana smiled. She was sharp. Very sharp. “The atmosphere isn't as warm as I thought it would be.”

“Why is that?”

“I don't know. The girls seem to stay in cliques.”

“And the two of you?”

“We're together most of the time.” Sharon looked at Tana and smiled, and Miriam didn't seem displeased. She thought that Tana was a bright girl, and there was a lot of potential there. Far more than Tana herself knew. She was quick, she was bright, she was funny at times, but cautious, laced up. She would have to open up one day, and when she did, God only knew what would be there.

“Maybe that's your problem then, girls. Tana, how many other friends do you have at Green Hill?”

“Just Shar. We're in class together most of the time. We share the same room.”

“And you're probably being punished for that. I'm sure you realize that. If your closest friend is the only Negro girl there they're going to penalize you, you know.”

“What for?”

“Don't be naive.”

“Don't be so cynical, Mom.” Sharon sounded suddenly annoyed.

“Maybe it's time you both grew up.”

“What the hell's that supposed to mean?” Sharon lashed out at her. “Hell, I've been home for nine hours and you're already on my back with your speeches and your crusades.”

“I'm not making any speeches. I'm just telling you to face facts.” She looked at them both then. “You can't hide from the truth, girls. It isn't easy being black today … or a black girl's friend … you're both going to have to realize that and be willing to pay the price if you expect the friendship to last.”

“Can't you do anything without turning it into a political crusade, Mom?”

Miriam looked at her and then at her friend. “I want you to do something for me, both of you, before you go back to school on Sunday night. There's a man I know speaking this Sunday in Washington. He's one of the most extraordinary men I've ever known, Martin Luther King, and I want you to come listen to him with me.”

“Why?” Sharon was still glaring at her.

“Because it's something neither of you will ever forget.”

And as they rode back toward South Carolina late that night, Tana was still thinking of it. Miriam Blake had been right. He was the most visionary man Tana had ever listened to. He made everyone else seem stupid and blind, and it was hours before she could even talk about what she had heard. Simple words about being black and being a black man's friend, about civil rights and the equality of everyone, and afterwards they had sung a song, swaying together, arms crossed, holding hands. She looked at Sharon an hour after they left Washington.

“He was amazing, wasn't he?”

Sharon nodded, thinking of his words again. “You know, it feels dumb just going back to school. I feel as though I should be doing something.” She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, and Tana stared out into the dark night as they rode into the South. It seemed to make his words even more important than they had been. This was where it was happening, where people were being hurt, and ignored, and abused. And as the thoughts wandered through her head, she thought of the debutante party her mother had set up, and it was as though the two thoughts were so diametrically opposed that they just wouldn't fit into her head at the same time. When Sharon opened her eyes again, Tana was looking at her.

“What are you going to do?” One had to do something after hearing him. There was no choice at all. Even Freeman Blake had agreed.

“I don't know yet.” Sharon looked tired, but she had been thinking of it since they'd left Washington, of what she could do to help … in Yolan … in Green Hill … “What about you?”

“I don't know.” Tana sighed. “Anything I can, I guess. But I'll tell you, after hearing Dr. King speak, I know one thing … that party my mother is forcing me into in New York is the dumbest thing I've ever done.”

Sharon smiled. She couldn't really disagree now, but there was another side to it as well. A more small-scale, human one. “It'll do you good.”

“I doubt that.” The two girls exchanged a smile, and rode on into the South until they reached Yolan, and took one of the town's two cabs to Green Hill.

The train roared into Pennsylvania Station on December twenty-first just after two o'clock in the afternoon and there was a light snow falling as Tana watched. It made everything look Christmasy and almost like a fairy tale, and yet as she gathered her things, fought her way through the station, and went outside to hail a cab, she realized again how depressed she was about coming home. It made her feel instantly guilty toward Jean, and she knew that she wasn't being fair, but she would rather have been anywhere than on her way home to her own coming out dance. And she knew how excited her mother was. For the past two weeks, she had called Tana almost every night, about the guests, the flowers, the table decor, her date, her dress. She had picked the dress out for Tana herself, an exquisite white silk with white satin trim and tiny little white beads embroidered in floral patterns around the hem. It had cost a fortune, and Arthur had told her to charge it to his account at Saks.

“He's so good to us, sweetheart.…” As she rode home to the apartment in the cab, Tana could close her eyes and imagine her mother's face as she said the words … why, why was she so everlastingly grateful to him? What on earth did he do for her, except let her work her fingers to the bone, and wait for him all those times he never came when Marie was still alive … and even now, everything else always seemed to come first with him. And if he loved Jean so much, why the hell didn't he marry her? It depressed Tana to think about that too. Everything was such a goddamn farce … her mother and Arthur, how “good” the Durnings were to them, yeah, like the way Billy had been good to her … and the party she would have to go to the following night. She had invited a boy she had known for years and never liked, but he was the right type for an event like that, Chandler George III. She had gone to a couple of dances with him before, and he bored her to tears, but she knew her mother would be pleased. And she also knew that she'd have a miserable time but that couldn't be helped. Most important of all, he was harmless and polite and wouldn't do anything inappropriate.

The apartment was dark when she got in, Jean was still at work as Tana looked around. Everything looked the same except smaller somehow, and drearier than she had remembered it. And as she had the thought, it seemed somehow unfair. She knew how hard her mother tried to keep a nice home for them both, and she always had. But Tana felt as though things were different now, as though imperceptibly she had changed and no longer fit in this scene. She found herself thinking of the comfortable Blake house in Washington, and how much she had enjoyed being there. It wasn't pretentious, like the Durning' house, but it was warm, and beautiful, and real. And she missed the Blakes as well, especially Sharon. Tana had watched her get off the train, feeling as though she were losing her best friend, and Sharon had turned back once to give her a big smile and a wave, and then she was gone and the train moved north, and now she was here, feeling as though she wanted to cry as she set her bags down in her room.

“Is that my little girl?” The front door slammed and Jean's voice rang out as Tana turned with a frightened look. What if her mother could read her thoughts, could see how uncomfortable she was just being there? But Jean saw nothing of the sort, all she saw was the daughter she loved, and she held her tight for an instant before stepping back again. “Boy, you look good!” And so did Jean. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, there were kisses of frost on the tips of her hair, and her eyes looked big and dark. She was so excited that she didn't even wait to take off her coat before running into her own room and emerging again with Tana's dress. It was exquisite as it hung from the padded satin hanger they had delivered it with. It looked almost like a wedding dress, and Tana smiled.

“Where's the veil?”

Her mother smiled back. “You never know. That'll come next.”

Tana laughed and shook her head at the thought. “Now let's not rush into that. I'm only eighteen.”

“That doesn't mean anything, sweetheart. You might meet the man of your dreams tomorrow night, you know. And who knows after that?” Tana stared at her in disbelief. Something in Jean's eyes said she was serious.

“Do you mean that, Mom?”

Jean Roberts smiled again. It was wonderful to see Tana again, and now that she saw the dress next to her, she knew just how fabulous it was going to look on. A victory all around. “You're a beautiful girl, Tana. And some man is going to be very lucky to have you as his wife.”

“But wouldn't you be upset if I met him now?”

“Why?” She didn't seem to understand and Tana looked stunned.

“But I'm eighteen years old. Don't you want me to go on with college and make something of myself?”

“You're doing that now.”

“But this is just the beginning, Mom. When I finish my two years at Green Hill, I want to go on and do something else.”

Jean frowned. “There's nothing wrong with getting married and having kids.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Suddenly Tana felt sick. “This coming out bullshit … it's kind of like a slave auction, isn't it?”

Jean Roberts looked shocked. “Tana, that's a terrible thing to say.”

“Well, it's true, isn't it? All these young girls lined up, curtsying like fools, and a bunch of men checking them out.” She squinted her eyes as though the girls were lined up in front of her, “… let's see, I'll take … that one over there.” Her eyes opened wide again, and she looked upset. “Hell, there has to be more to life than that.”

“You make it sound sick somehow, and it's not. It's a beautiful tradition that means a lot to everyone.” No, it doesn't, Mom, at least not to me … just to you … but she couldn't bring herself to say those words. Jean looked at her unhappily. “Why are you being so difficult about this? Ann Durning came out four years ago, and she had a wonderful time.”

“Good for her. But I'm not Ann.” She had also run off with some twit in Italy who had to be bought off, as Tana recalled.

Jean sighed and sat down, looking up at Tana from the chair. She hadn't seen Tana in three months and she could already feel the tension mounting between them. “Why don't you just relax and enjoy yourself, Tana? You never know, you might meet someone you like.”

“I don't want to meet someone I ‘like.’ I don't even want to go, Mom.”

Tears filled Jean's eyes as she looked at her, and Tana couldn't stand the look on her face. “I just wanted you to … I wanted you to have…” Tana knelt and hugged her close.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry … I know it'll be beautiful.”

Jean smiled through her tears and kissed Tana's cheek. “One thing's for sure, you will be beautiful, sweetheart.”

“I'd have to be in that dress. You must have spent a fortune on it.” She was touched but it seemed such a useless expense. She would have rather had clothes to wear at school. She was borrowing Sharon's all the time.

But Jean was smiling at her. “It's a gift from Arthur, sweetheart.” Tana felt her stomach tie in a knot. Another reason to be “grateful” to him. She was so tired of Arthur and his gifts.

“He shouldn't have done that.” Tana was visibly less than thrilled, and Jean couldn't understand why except that Tana had always been jealous of him.

“He wanted you to have a pretty dress.” And indeed it was. As she stood in front of the mirror the following night, her hair teased and swept up, the way her mother had seen Jackie Kennedy's hair done in Vogue, with the beautiful silk dress, she looked like a fairy princess with her spun gold hair and big green eyes. It filled Jean's eyes with tears just to look at her. She looked exquisite. Moments later, Chandler George arrived to pick her up, and Jean left with them. Arthur had said that he would try to come by, but he wasn't sure. There was a dinner he had to attend that night, and he'd do his “best.” Tana didn't say anything about it to Jean in the cab, but she had heard that line before, and knew that it meant nothing at all. It had applied to Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Jean's birthdays over the years. And usually doing his “best” meant that he wouldn't arrive, but a bunch of flowers, or a telegram, or a note would instead. She always remembered her mother's crestfallen face at those times, but not tonight. Jean was too excited about her to worry about Arthur very much. She hovered like a mother hen, joining a group of the other mothers at one side of a long bar. The fathers had found each other, too, and there were clumps of well wishers and old family friends, but most of the room was filled with young people about Tana's own age, girls in pink dresses, or red satin, or bright green, and only a dozen in the white dresses their parents had bought them to come out in that night. For the most part, they were a motley adolescent herd, with faces that would take years to thin out, and waistlines to match. There was something singularly undistinguished about girls that age, and because of that, Tana especially stood out. She was tall and slim, and she held her head high.

Jean watched her proudly from across the room. When the big moment came, and the drumroll came halfway into the night, and each girl was led out on her father's arm to curtsy to the guests, there were unrestrained tears of pride on Jean's cheeks. She had hoped that Arthur Durning would be there by then, and had even dared to hope that he might lead her out. But he couldn't make it, of course. He had done enough for them, she couldn't expect him to do more. Tana came out looking nervous and flushed on the arm of Chandler George. She curtsied prettily, lowered her eyes, and disappeared into the rest of the group, and the music began again shortly after that. It had happened, it was done. Tana had officially “come out.” She looked around the room afterwards, feeling like a complete fool. There was no exhilaration, no thrill, no romantic tingle up and down her spine. She had done it because her mother wanted her to and it was over now. She was grateful for the hubbub that happened afterwards, which allowed her to get lost for a while. Chandler looked as though he had fallen madly in love with a chubby redheaded girl with a sweet smile and an elaborate white velvet dress, and Tana had discreetly disappeared, allowing him to go in pursuit of his prize, as Tana wandered into an alcove and collapsed in a chair. She lay her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed, grateful to be away from it all, from the music, the people, Chandler, whom she couldn't stand, and the desperately lonely look of pride in her mother's eyes. Tana sighed again just thinking of it, and then jumped halfway off her seat as she heard a voice.

“It can't be as bad as all that.” She opened her eyes to see a powerfully built dark-haired young man with eyes as green as hers. There was something rakish about him, even in black tie, a casual air about the way he stood, looking down at her, holding a glass, and smiling cynically at her, as a piece of dark hair fell over one emerald eye. “Bored, lovely one?” He managed to look both sarcastic and amused and Tana nodded her head tentatively in embarrassment and began to laugh.

“You caught me.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. She had the feeling that she'd seen him somewhere, but couldn't imagine where. “What can I say? It's a drag.”

“It certainly is. The cattle show. I make the rounds every year.” But he didn't look as though he'd been doing it for long. Despite the air of sophistication, he didn't look very old.

“How long have you been doing this?”

He grinned boyishly. “This is my second year. Actually, this should be my first, but they invited me to the Cotillion by mistake last year. And all the rest of the coming out balls, so I went.” He rolled his eyes with a grin, “What a pain in the ass.” And then he looked ap-praisingly at her, and took a sip of his scotch. “And how did you find your way here?”

“By cab.” She smiled sweetly at him and he grinned.

“Lovely date you had.” The sarcasm dripped from his words again and she laughed. “Engaged to him yet?”

“No, thanks.”

“That shows at least minimal good judgment on your part.” He spoke in a lazy, laconic way, with the accent of the upper crust, and yet he seemed to be laughing at it all, and Tana was amused by him. There was something outrageous about the boy, as proper as he was, as well dressed. But at the same time there was a shocking irreverence which showed through and suited her mood perfectly. “Do you know Chandler, then?”

The young man smiled again. “We went to the same boarding school for two years. He plays a great game of squash, stinks at bridge, bandies himself pretty well on the tennis court, flunked math, history, and biology, and has absolutely nothing between his ears.”

Tana laughed in spite of herself. She didn't like him anyway, but it seemed an almost surgically accurate, albeit unkind, portrait of him. “That sounds about right. Not nice, but right.”

“They don't pay me to be nice.” He looked mischievous as he sipped his drink again, and made an obvious appraisal of her cleavage and small waist.

“Do they pay you to do anything?”

“Not yet, actually.” He smiled benevolently at her. “And with luck they never will.”

“Where do you go to school?”

He frowned, as though he had just forgotten something somewhere, and then gazed blankly at her. “Do you know … I can't seem to remember.” He smiled again as she wondered what that meant. Maybe he wasn't going to college at all, although he didn't look that type either. “What about you?”

“Green Hill.”

The impish smile appeared again, with one eyebrow raised. “How ladylike. Majoring in what? Southern plantations, or pouring tea?”

“Both.” She grinned and stood up. “At least I go to school.”

“For two years anyway. Then what, princess? Or is that what tonight is all about? The Great Hunt for Husband Number One.” He pretended to speak into a megaphone. “Will all candidates line up against the far wall. All healthy young white males with pedigrees … have your father' D&B's in hand, we will also want to know your schools, blood type, whether or not you drive, how large your personal trust is and how soon you come into it…” He went on as she laughed at him, and he lowered his voice. “Seen any likely ones so far, or are you too madly in love with Chandler George?”

“Much.” She began to walk slowly towards the main ballroom and he followed her, just in time to see her escort kissing the chubby redhead on the other side of the room.

The tall dark handsome young man turned to Tana somberly. “I've got bad news for you. I think you're about to be jilted, princess.”

She shrugged and met the green eyes so like her own. “Them's the breaks, I guess.” There was laughter in her eyes. She didn't give a damn about Chandler George.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Sure.”

He whirled her around the floor expertly. There was something very dashing and worldly about this boy which seemed to belie his youth. One had the feeling that he had been around, although Tana didn't know where, or even who he was, a circumstance he remedied at the end of the first dance.

“By the way, what's your name, princess?”

“Tana Roberts.”

“My name's Harry.” He looked at her with the boyish grin and she smiled, and then unexpectedly he swept her a low bow. “Harrison Winslow the Fourth, actually. But Harry will do.”

“Should I be impressed?” She was, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know.

“Only if you read the social columns regularly. Harrison Winslow the Third usually makes an ass of himself, in cities that circle the globe … Paris and London most of the time, Rome when he has time … Gstaad, Saint Moritz … Munich, Berlin. And New York when he has absolutely no choice, and needs to fight with the trustees my grandmother left in charge of her very handsome estate. But he isn't very fond of the States, or of me, come to think of it.” He spoke in a flat monotone as Tana watched, wondering what was going on inside of him, but there was no clue as yet. “My mother died when I was four. I don't remember her at all, except once in a while, something comes back in a wave … like a perfume … or a sound, her laughter on the stairs when they went out … a dress that reminds me of her, but that's probably impossible. She committed suicide. ‘Highly unstable,’ as my grandmother used to say, ‘but a pretty piece.’ And poor Dad's been licking his wounds ever since … I forgot to mention Monaco and Cap d'An-tibes. He licks his wounds there too. With helpmates, of course. There's a regular one he parks in London for most of the year, a very pretty one in Paris … one with whom he likes to ski … a Chinese girl in Hong Kong. He used to take me along when I wasn't in school, but eventually I got too disagreeable, so he stopped. That, and…” the eyes grew vague, “… other things. Anyway,” his eyes came back into focus and he smiled cynically at Tana again, “that's who Harrison Winslow is, or at least one of them.”

“And you?” Her voice was soft and his eyes were sad. He had told her more than he had intended to. But it was also his fourth scotch, and although it hadn't hurt his feet when they danced, it had loosened his tongue, not that he cared. Everyone in New York knew who Harry Winslow was, both father and son. “Are you like him?” She doubted it. For one thing, he hadn't had time to develop all those skills. He couldn't have been much older than she, after all.

He shrugged carelessly. “I'm working on it.” And then he smiled again. “Beware, lovely one! Beware!” And with that, he swept her into his arms and onto the dance floor again, and she saw her mother watching them. She watched them for a long time, and then inquired of someone who he was, and she didn't look displeased.

“Do you see your father very much?” She was still thinking of what he had said as he whirled her around the floor. It sounded like a lonely life … boarding schools … his mother dead by suicide when he was four … the father halfway around the world most of the time, and obviously a libertine.

“Actually, no. He doesn't have time.” For just a minute, he sounded like a very young boy, and she was sorry for him, but he was quick to turn the tables on her. “What about you? What's your story, Tana Roberts, other than the fact that you have deplorable taste in men?” He glanced in the direction of Chandler George crushing the little redhead to him, and they both laughed.

“I'm single, eighteen years old, and I go to Green Hill.”

“Jesus. How dull. What else? Any major loves?”

Her face slammed shut, and he noticed it. “No.”

“Relax. I meant other than Chandler, of course.” She relaxed a little again. “Although admittedly, he's hard to beat.” Poor guy, they were both being rotten to him, but he was the dullest boy she had ever known, and he was an easy target for the scorn of his peers. “Let's see, what else? Parents? Illegitimate children? Dogs? Friends? Hobbies? Wait,” he patted his pockets, as though he had misplaced something. “I should have a form here somewhere…” They both laughed. “All of the above … ? none of the above … ?”

“One mother, no dogs, no illegitimate kids.”

He looked sad. “I'm disappointed in you. I thought you would have done better than that.” The music was winding down and Harry looked around. “What a bunch of bores. Want to go somewhere for a hamburger or a drink?”

She smiled. “I'd like that, but do we take Chandler along?” She laughed and Harry bowed.

“Leave that to me.” He vanished and returned again with an outrageous grin.

“Oh, God, what did you do?”

“I told him you were upset about the way he's behaved all night with that redheaded tart, and I'm dropping you off at your psychiatrist's.…”

“You didn't!”

“I did.” He feigned innocence and then laughed. “Actually, I just told him that you'd seen the light and preferred me. He congratulated you on your good taste, and ran off with his chubby little friend.” But whatever Harry had said, Chandler was waving happily at them and leaving with the other debutante, so there was obviously no harm done, “I have to say something to my mother before we go. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Well, actually, I do, but I guess I don't have much choice.” But he behaved himself when Tana introduced him to Jean, and he looked very proper, much to her delight, as they left the ball, and Jean went home alone, wishing Arthur had been there to see it all. It had been a beautiful evening, and it was obvious that Tana had had a wonderful time. And she was leaving now with Harry Winslow IV. Jean knew who he was, or at least she knew the name.

“What about your old man?” He stretched his legs out in the cab, after giving the driver the address of “21.” It was the hangout of his choice when he was in town, and Tana had been impressed. It was certainly a lot more fun than going out with Chandler George. And it was so long since she'd been out on a date, she'd forgotten how it felt, and her dates had never been like this. Usually, they all went out for pizza in a group on Second Avenue. And that had been before graduation … before Billy Durning.…