"Yes," said the hostess, who happened to be Dutch and knew six, seven, eight languages — something like that — enough to make Car feel embarrassed. Bumptious was a word she had learned from her father and should use to describe herself.
But was that party really such a good idea for a college essay?
Mothers
Surely Theta Kovack in the first week of November was the last parent to confer with the school's college adviser to decide on Marlene's college list. She sat in the cubby that passed for an office with its weary rah-rah wall of faded pennants; the office was humid — from crying? Theta sat in a saggy chair and scratched what she thought was a bite in the crook of her arm. The process, Mrs. Quirk was saying, was exciting. Think of every college applied to as a first choice. Marlene, who sat next to her mother, was pulling off the pills on her uniform skirt, and she did not look up when either woman spoke.
"Marlene," Theta said. "We're talking about you."
"Yes."
"Did you hear what Mrs. Quirk just said, then?"
"All the choices are first choices."
"So what are your firsts?" Mrs. Quirk asked.
Marlene, still worrying the skirt, said, "Wesleyan."
The adviser snorted. "A moon shot," she said. "What else?"
"Brown."
"Marlene, you and I have talked before," Mrs. Quirk said.
Theta was studying the map behind the adviser with the pushpins of where last year's class had landed. The largest constellation of pushpins was in New England, but a lone pin in Florida and another in Arizona suggested there were other girls without the numbers who had landed somewhere.
" Think," Theta said to her daughter.
The two women looked at each other, and then they looked at Marlene, who was scratching her leg with the sharp heel of her shoe, making scratch marks wide as a ruler up and down her leg.
"Marlene," Theta said with angrier insistence, "you've had months to consider. What have you been doing?"
"I've been taking notes for Astra Dell. I've been visiting her and reading to her. What college is she applying to?" Marlene's expression when she looked at the college adviser was all chin.
The college adviser smiled. "That's not to the point, Marlene, and an expedient use of Astra Dell. What schools are you applying to, that's the question on the table."
This from "Quirky," the woman Marlene had described as always out of the office when a girl needed her. Quirky forgot a girl's name and where it was she hoped to be next September. Quirk was all numbers. Fifty, 75, 95 percent chances hyphened against the names of colleges on a final list she okayed. The witch wrote letters about every senior; she was the one to broker deals, and she had her favorites. Mrs. Quirk's favorites were sassy, scrappy, outspoken girls with no moon shots. Ufia, Darnell, Krystle, Karen, Teenie — she called them the Sisterhood; Mrs. Quirk was entirely confident of where the Sisterhood would land.
"I see you've got someone in Arizona," Theta said.
"The University of Arizona, yes, we have two girls there. You remember Mary Kate O'Neill, Marlene? She is very happy there."
"What about New York University?"
"What about it?"
Theta interrupted, "What about Wisconsin?"
"Now there you are," Mrs. Quirk said, with nods to Theta again and then eye to eye with Marlene. "You've a 75 percent chance of getting in, Marlene."
The Siddons School was all numbers, and Theta was adding them up. She was adding up six years of Siddons education. Here was math. Six years of her ex-husband saying, "Why not keep Marlene in public school? It was good enough for us." Six years of her own scramble. Loans and the interest on those loans. Theta was glad he wasn't here to hear what was good enough for Marlene. Marlene's choices were not the choices Theta had hoped — hoped perhaps unreasonably — to hear. If they had money, Marlene could afford to be a goof. But Theta was a receptionist at a dentist's office where retainers cost almost as much as she made in a month, and the privileged children with their crooked teeth kept losing them.
Oh! Last night's Chinese food was rising in Theta's throat; she would burp with her mouth shut and smile, but so many shames gusted in her: her cheap shoes, the floppy sack meant to pass for a purse, and other, more hurtful details — thin hair, no waist, tired hands. Middle class! She was ugly and average — not very smart. She reached over and covered Marlene's hand with hers. "We should look into Wisconsin." Theta said, "We should look into Syracuse. Daddy and I liked it there."
"Marlene should look," Mrs. Quirk corrected, and Theta felt slapped, and she burped.
Mrs. Forestal came into the head of school's office and saw that the school nurse and Car's English teacher, Miss Hodd, were also in attendance for this meeting that the head of school, Miss Brigham, had arranged.
"An emissary from the lower school was just here with news we have more rabbits," Miss Brigham said, and her expression, Mrs. Forestal noted, was kindly.
More puffy talk ensued.
Miss Brigham motioned they sit, which the three women did, in a circle around Miss Brigham's partner's desk. The desk was the only real antique in the room and had belonged to Miss Siddons herself. Miss Brigham now stood behind it. "We won't take up your time, Mrs. Forestal," Miss Brigham said. "We have some concerns about Carlotta."
"Thank you, Miss Brigham, for refraining from using her nickname." Mrs. Forestal said to the nurse, "Her father thought it up and sadly it's stuck."
"Miss Hodd?" Miss Brigham asked Carlotta's English teacher to begin, and she did, with a lot of background — Car, Folio, the honor, Car as editor — but eventually got to the important part about a recent submission. Car's own work. "I told Car I felt obliged to show this story to the nurse, and she said she understood. She really didn't seem to mind, which made me wonder: Maybe this is a fiction, but I didn't want to take a chance." Now Miss Hodd gave a copy of the story to Mrs. Forestal.
"Does Carlotta see much of her father?" Miss Brigham asked.
"She hopes to see him over spring break."
"So she does see him?"
"She saw him last spring break."
"Dr. D says Car is worried about going to Paris," Miss Hodd said.
"Please, Carlotta is always worried about something."
The women made signs of agreement or understanding, of course; but the nurse asked, "Does she seem more anxious than usual?"
" There's Astra Dell, but frankly we don't much talk about Astra because there isn't much to say, is there?"
The nurse bowed her head, but when she looked up, she asked, "Carlotta has some eating issues, too, doesn't she?"
"I think so, yes."
The nurse said, "We think we should act before it gets more serious, Mrs. Forestal."
Mrs. Forestal spoke absently. "Yes," she said.
The nurse was more emphatic. "We think it is serious enough to warrant intervention."
"You think so?" Mrs. Forestal winced at the sound of her own voice, a high, stupid sound. Then she said again, "Yes," the gentle word, and she took up the sleeve of her sable coat and smelled it, which was to smell herself, her own sweet, perfumed, rich self. Then she could look up. Mrs. Forestal looked up at these women — the nurse, the English teacher, and the head of school — i n wonder at their kindness. "I'm grateful you thought to call."
Miss Brigham said, "Of course. We love Car. There you go. I guess the nickname fits. We want the tomboy back."
"So do I." Mrs. Forestal began abruptly and only to Miss Brigham, saying, "I haven't read this story. My daughter doesn't share her work with me. She is a very neat girl at home. I don't go into her room."
"Of course."
"I understand," said the nurse.
Miss Brigham and Miss Hodd and the nurse, all three sat erect and ready. They wanted to work with Mrs. Forestal. They wanted to look out for Carlotta was all. And with Mrs. Forestal's help, they believed they could address whatever it was that was making it hard for Carlotta to sleep at home.