Alma Mater (28 page)

"Let's go in."

"Are you mad at me?" Mignon's voice wobbled a little.

"No. I just don't want to worry about you. I have enough to worry
about."

"Are you scared?"

"No. I feel better in a way. But I have a shitload of stuff to deal
with, you know."

"Everything's the same. Only you're different," Mignon said.
"Maybe I'm the same and everything else is different. Damned if I
know."

_P

hotographs of Charly filled the newspapers in Williamsburg and
the surrounding counties. Clinging to the last days of Thanksgiving vacation, Vic didn't much notice. Monsignor Whitby cer-

tainly did.

When Charly showed up back at school that last Monday in
November, he was whisked into the coach's office.

Coach Frascetti, a thickset man, drove straight to the point after
showing him the complaint from Monsignor Whitby citing him and
two unidentified women. "Charly, did you have anything to do with
the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother wearing, uh, cooking clothes?"
Charly opened his mouth, but Coach held up his hand for silence. "Be
fore you answer, consider this. You'll be hauled before the Dean of
Men. Now if the season were still in full swing, I could bench you and
everyone would be happy except for me, you, and the fans of Tribe foot
ball. Right? So the least .that will happen is you'll listen to a harangue
from Dean Hansen about responsibility, sensitivity to others. The
worst that will happen is your ass will get kicked out of here, since the
administration is extremely sensitive right now, but I think your father
can fix that. Most likely you'll get some kind of suspension and you'll
have to make it up to St. Bede's. I'm sure the monsignor will have a
list of things for you to do. But there is another way. I've been talking to

Hap Stricker, our baseball coach." A gleam in Coach's eye indicated he
thought he was quite creative. "He'll put you on his roster. Then he'll
suspend you. You'll look crestfallen, and St. Bede's will be satisfied."

Charly sat facing his coach, his mind racing. He was not by nature
a liar, nor did he want special treatment. On the other hand, the pros
pect of his father cutting a deal with the dean and making a sizable contribution to the alumni fund turned his stomach.

"Coach Frascetti, I was there. No sacrilege was intended."

"Okay. I'm proud of you for fessing up. Let me go talk to Hap."

"Sir, could I think about that? I appreciate all you've done for me,
and I appreciate Coach Stricker thinking about this. I, well, if you
could just give me until tonight. I want to make sure that what I'm do
ing is the right thing."

"Six o'clock. Call me by six." Coach Frascetti stood up from his
desk chair. "I guess you weren't raised a Catholic."

"No, sir. Episcopalian."

"Well, I was. And the Blessed Virgin Mother finally looked like she was enjoying herself. Call me tonight, Charly. You let me take care of
this."

"I'll call you, sir. Thank you."

Charly left the gym and reached Vic's apartment in twenty min
utes. He told her about the meeting.

"I think I should go to Dean Hansen and get it over with," Charly
concluded.

"It took three of us for that fashion show. Why should you go?"

"Your picture wasn't in the paper. The monsignor did say there were two girls, but Coach didn't push it. If I do penance, it'll blow
over."

"Oh, Charly, let Coach Stricker put you on the baseball roster.
Really. It's not worth suffering over because the old goat can't stand
Mary with a barbecue apron on."

"I don't know."

"Three weeks, and we'll all be on Christmas vacation. The monsignor will be over it, too. At least wait until—what time do you have to call Coach Frascetti?"

"Six."

"Wait until then. You know, walk around, think it over, and call
me before you call Coach."

"I thought I could stay here."

This wasn't in Vic's plan. "Sure. But I have to pick up Jinx. Here, you take my keys in case you want to go out. If something comes up,
leave the keys over the doorjamb downstairs. But you wait right up un
til the deadline to talk again to Coach. It's a big decision, and there's
no reason to be a herb about it. I mean, really, Charly, it's not like we
did something all that wrong. Promise?"

"Yeah, okay." He kissed her on the lips.

"Help yourself to Coke and crackers. Sorry, it's all I've got," she
called as she opened the front door.

"God, Vic, I'm going to have to make enough money to hire us a
cook."

"That's right," she sang back as she headed down the steps.

Hearing Charly speak of the future knotted up her stomach. She'd
think about that later. As Vic cranked up the Impala, she wished she
had time to talk to Chris, but she was in class. Better get on with what
she'd decided to do.

After Mary received her makeover, Monsignor Whitby had called
the police, and then he called the papers. He wasn't likely to let this
blow over now that he had identified Charly. No, it was glaringly obvious that the monsignor believed in punishment.

Charly, being a star athlete, could expect one of two things: to get
let off the hook or to be made an example. Football season was over
_;
Charly was expendable, and the administration would look good if
they took a hard line. Coach Frascetti knew this but chose to keep it to
himself. Luckily, he genuinely liked Charly, and his plan with Coach Stricker was a good one. It would appear that Charly was being pun
ished, the administration would look good, the athletic department would appear morally responsive, the newspaper would have a story,
and the monsignor could gloat.

If Charly's father tried to buy off the administration, that, too,
could leak its way into the papers, causing new embarrassment.

Vic pulled into the parking lot behind the administration building.

She walked determinedly up the stairs and down the polished hall to
Greg Hansen's office.

The secretary waffled when she asked to see the dean, but Vic per
suaded her by explaining it was about the incident at St. Bede's.

She was soon ushered into a paneled office complete with leather
chairs, diplomas on the wall, and one Greg Hansen, a thin man of
around forty who approached his job with utter seriousness.

"Dean Hansen, I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice."

"Not at all, Victoria. This is a delicate situation with the commu
nity. As you know, these tensions between the college and the town
are part and parcel of university life. Since the Middle Ages, actually."
He smiled broadly. Formerly a history professor, he relished any
chance to impress a listener with some arcane historical fact.

"I can solve your problems, sir, with Monsignor Whitby. I know
that he's identified Charly Harrison from a photograph in the sports
page. It's true that Charly was there, but he never touched the statue. I
talked him into being my lookout. I did it, and he shouldn't have to be
punished for my behavior."

Dean Hansen looked grave. He brought his hands together so that
his fingertips touched, making a little tent. "I see."

"So I should be the one punished."

"The monsignor said there was another girl."

"She didn't do anything either, but when the monsignor came out
the front door and yelled we all ran. If you'd seen him, Dean Hansen,
you'd have run, too. But really, it was all me."

Dean Hansen appraised Vic. He had heard that Charly had a girl
friend, the most beautiful girl on campus, and he had to agree with
that assessment. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever
seen in his life. If her career at William and Mary was botched, it
wouldn't be so bad. She'd marry Charly or someone else.

"Well now, Victoria, you know that this could get you expelled.
We can't treat a matter of religion with insensitivity, and Monsignor
Whitby feels that a desecration has taken place. I've been in touch
with the Cardinal Newman group here on campus and they, too, are
deeply disturbed. I think you should know what might be ahead."

"I do. But I can't let Charly pay for what I've done. He'll say he did

it to protect me. Dean Hansen, I can't see that it's good for William
and Mary to darken the reputation of one of its best students. I just
have to face the music."

"I can appreciate that. Well, I'll call the monsignor," he said as he flipped over his day calendar pages. "I'll let you know what the discipli
nary committee decides on Wednesday."

"Should I report to the Dean of Women?"

"No." He shook his head. "I'll take care of that. Leave your phone
number with my secretary on the way out."

She found Jinx at her apartment planting bulbs in the front flower
beds. The temperature had warmed up to the low sixties.

"Let me help you." Vic knelt down beside her.

"My landlady likes tulips, so I thought I'd put a bunch in for her. She's a sweet lady." Jinx appreciated her landlady's kind treatment.

"I think my ass is grass."

"There's a poetic turn of phrase." Jinx carefully pulled earth over a bulb shaped like the top of a Russian Orthodox church.

"Monsignor Whitby knows Charly was at the BVM and—"
"Back up."

"Charly's picture was all over the sports page."

"Ah."

"Yeah. So I just told Dean Hansen that I did the deed and talked
Charly into being my lookout. It's the truth, pretty much.
I
did orga
nize it."

Jinx had laid out the bags of bulbs according to color. She reached
for a bulb that would bloom sunburst yellow. "Do you know what
you're doing?"

"I owe Charly something, Jinx. The least I can do is take the
blame."

"You really are going to leave him, aren't you?"

Vic swallowed hard. "I can't seem to work up my nerve to tell him."
"Jesus, Vic, you do lead an interesting life." Jinx plunked a bulb in
the hole. "What if you get thrown out?"

"Then, I go." Vic felt the thin paperlike skin on the bulb.

"If you do get kicked out, what are you going to do about Chris?
Your parents? Your future?"

"Get a job. Work until Chris graduates and then take it from there.
Mom and Dad will be pretty upset."

"What kind of job?"

"I don't know, Jinx. Anything that will bring in money. Mom told
me she and Aunt Bunny might be going into the nursery business. I
don't know if they can hire me, but I'd really like that kind of work."

"Isn't this a grand sacrifice?"

"If I want my degree later, I can get it. One semester left. Big deal."
Vic sounded stronger than she felt.

It will be a big deal if they pass a flame thrower over your
records."

"They can't do anything about my grades. I can finish at a commu
nity college."

"William and Mary looks better on a diploma."

"It will be on yours," Vic said with a smile, although she, too,
thought the name "William and Mary" would be perfect on a diploma.

Jinx smiled back. "Do you think your Mom and Bunny really will
go into business?"

"Yeah." She reached for another bulb. "Mom's mentioned it in
passing a couple of times, but last visit she showed me soil maps, where
she wants to put willows and stuff. I think she's serious. Oh, yeah—I
forgot to tell you. Mignon knows about me and Chris."

Jinx stabbed into the earth with her trowel. "Jesus."

"She was pretty cool."

"For how long?" Jinx's brow wrinkled. "She won't be able to keep her mouth shut. This is just too good, and she's the first to know." "She won't say anything."

"Wanna bet?"

"Five bucks."

"You're on."

"Time?"

"Six months. I mean, you'll have to tell your mom and dad by
then." Jinx flicked dirt off her thigh.