Chapter 3
Carol Norden had been at a total loss during those weeks when Deedee was first meeting with Pat. By all rights she should have been able to drive her roommate from the school. She had explained away her brief friendship with Deedee by telling the other girls she'd pretended to like her only to get the much-needed help for her mid-terms. She became outright rude and insulting to her during the days immediately following the unsuccessful attempt to seduce Deedee. In the past the young redhead had been almost pathetically grateful for even a small crumb of friendship from Carol. But since that night she'd managed to ignore her completely. Every attempted insult was unnoticed; silence was ignored; cattiness was passed off without any visible reaction.
It hadn't actually occurred to Carol that Deedee might have formed a liaison away from the school. True, she was frequently away from the premises, but Carol had believed her own opinion of Deedee and didn't give her credit for either imagination or appeal. She's probably just taking long walks because she has no one to talk to around here, Carol assured herself. Or spending more than the necessary amount of time in the library. What a dull, stodgy person she'd turned out to be.
So, the one person who could have put her finger on Deedee's affair, thus causing her to be expelled, didn't do it.
Deedee had been happy during her first days with Pat Aniel. Following their Saturday night together, she was all but delirious with joy. Her every waking hour was spent in waiting to be with him. Her every sleeping hour was rilled with dreams about him. They became insatiable lovers. Gone, the days of long, dreamy walks through the New England forests; gone, the afternoons of laughing exploration of the rugged coastline; gone, the cozy chats before the fireplace of their favorite little tavern. They were unable to keep their hands off each other. No matter how many plans they made for picnics or hikes, within minutes of meeting their bodies would be molded together in a mad, passionate aching they seemed unable to cease. Pat's studio echoed with the sounds of their mutual cries of passion, and every nook and cranny in it held a sexual memory of stimulation.
Deedee's young body, already curved and lovely, blossomed beautifully. Her skin seemed to glow with love and sweetness, and her eyes sparkled with the flames of her desire for Pat. Even Carol finally noticed the difference, and for the first time gave serious consideration to the fact that Deedee might just have found an answer for the situation at the Seminary; an answer Carol has missed. She decided to watch the girl more closely. She might find the weapon she'd been searching out-a way to rid herself of the presence of the one person who'd ever put her down.
Deedee was oblivious to everything but Pat. The morning she first realized she was over a week late with her monthly, Deedee knew no fear. She felt a quiet elation, an instinctive happiness at this most natural result of their love. She wanted to race to Pat's studio and tell him the news. Her only hesitation was the lack of certainty. After all, she warned herself, it's too soon to know for sure, and it would be wrong to get Pat all excited and then find out it was a false alarm. She decided to wait a couple of weeks, then maybe go into the city and visit a doctor unknown to her teachers or classmates. But the glow in her eyes matured and deepened. Even Pat was amazed by her surging beauty.
"My lovely darling, my beautiful girl," he murmured as they lay side by side, clothes in a rumpled heap on the floor beside them. "This must be insanity. I've had other women. I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't, and you'd be a fool to believe me. But nothing was ever this perfect. It's as if-as if-"
"I know, dearest," and Deedee pressed her soft lips against the nape of his neck. "It's as if we were the first two people on the earth, as if we'd been made for each other, as if I was only half a person, and you were only half a person. Then, when we're together, we're a whole-complete."
"Oh, Deedee," Pat groaned and turned to possess her once again.
They fell swiftly and easily into the rhythm that was part of their love for each other. He giving, she receiving; the walls of the room fading into nothingness, all of the sunlight and moonlight and starlight of the universe joining in their love song. As they reached the ultimate goal once again, Deedee screamed aloud from pure enjoyment and the triumph of a woman fulfilled.
Afterward they lay back in exhaustion. Pat finally stirred enough to reach out for two cigarettes, lighting both of them and handing one to Deedee. She took a long drag and, without knowing that she was going to do so, began to tell him about their baby. She failed to notice his sudden tenseness, and talked on, filling the air with the sounds of her plans for the child.
"It will be a boy, I know that. After all-" she laughed softly-"with a man like you for a father, I would have to make a son. He'll look like you, only ... only, if you don't mind, I hope he'll have red hair." She turned to look at her lover, and watched in unbelieving dismay as he suddenly bolted up from the bed, grabbed a robe and walked over to pick up a bottle of rum from his paint table. He poured a stiff drink, drank it in one quick gulp, then turned to face her.
"Good God, Deedee. How long have you known? How far gone are you? Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not going to let you down. I'll see if I can't line up a doctor in Providence right away. We'll get it taken care of in a hurry, and from now on we'll be a lot more careful."
"Patrick! What in the world are you saying? You're not thinking about an abortionist, are you?" Deedee's voice was thick with unshed sobs as she asked the question. At the moment she felt a sudden rush of desperate homesickness. She felt more alone than she'd ever been in her short life. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and she couldn't force herself awake. She looked at Pat with loathing and despair. He was a stranger. He was dark and cruel and she had been insane, diseased, to even dream of wanting him-or his child. She slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position and reached for the clothes on the floor. Her movements were those of an old, tired woman.
Patrick looked at her with concern. "Now, wait a minute, Deedee. Don't look at me like that. It isn't such an awful thing, you know. I imagine more than a few of your snobbish classmates have had one. And I'll pay for it. I'll take you there, wait for you and bring you back. Please, Deedee, understand."
"Oh, but I do understand. You're right, of course. It was stupid of me to think you'd want a child-or a wife. But please don't worry about me. I'll take care of it myself. I wouldn't want to bother you." She had been dressing as she spoke, still moving in the old, tired way. Pat watched her with growing discomfort and fear.
"What kind of gunk is that-not bother me. For Christ's sweet sake, Deedee, I love you. You know I love you. But how could we bring a kid up in a place like this," his arms moved in a sweeping gesture encompassing the large, barn-like room. "And I've just begun to hit my stride in art. To break it now-well, I might never get it back again."
"I know, Pat. Believe me, I understand. If you don't mind, I think I'll leave now. I guess the first reaction I had made me a little sick."
"You'll be back?"
"Oh, don't worry, Pat. I'll be back. I'll always be back, lover." Her last word was vitriolic and bitter. Pat stepped away as though fending off a blow.
"But Deedee-"
The slam of the door cut off his sentence. It was not, he thought wryly, nearly so nice an interruption as the earlier kiss.
It was a week later that Pat Aniel finally became so concerned about his mistress that he inquired about her at the Seminary. For the first couple of days he accepted her failure to appear as a woman's way of punishing a recalcitrant lover. By the third day, anger colored his thinking to such an extent that he firmly convinced himself he wouldn't see her if she should come to him. That lasted him through a few days, and then the fear set in. He'd certainly have heard about it if she'd done anything desperate, he tried to tell himself. Anyhow, Deedee wasn't the suicide type. She couldn't have gone to the city and made arrangements alone. He knew she had very little money. If something wasn't done soon, though, it would be too late. He loved Deedee, this he knew was truth. If she could only be forced to understand his position. His inheritance had been enough to cover his expenses for five years. He had to make his niche in the world of art during that time or he'd have to get a nine-to-five job which would pay the rent but kill his creativity.
Maybe, he thought, maybe she is angry because she thinks I'll never marry her. I should have made it clear. I want her-I want her to be my wife. But not right now. Not until I find myself. Not until I can take care of her.
Pat realized he was taking a chance of getting Deedee into trouble with the Seminary authorities by trying to contact her. There was a strict taboo at Edith Pyne's establishment against her students mingling with the townies. He'd have to pretend to be a visiting cousin, or the friend of a friend. I'll just say whatever comes to mind, he muttered beneath his breath. If I rehearse a story I might goof it.
As it turned out, he saved time which would have been wasted.
"Diedre Ryan," the stern voice of the elderly Mrs. Pyne informed him coldly, "is no longer a student at our Seminary. She has been expelled."
"But why? When? Where is she now?" Pat spoke so rapidly the words tumbled over one another.
"Who is this calling, please?" the stern voice said by way of reply.
"Patrick-Mister Aniel. I'm a friend of her-"
"As for the why, that information will be given only to qualified callers, Mister Aniel. We expelled Miss Ryan one week ago today. And as for the where, not only do I not know, but-" and the voice took on an edge of bitter disdain-"I also hope I don't find out!" Anger overcame the usually discreet Mrs. Pyne as she added: "The girl should never have been accepted. It's just as well we found out exactly what type of influence she was during her first year. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mister Aniel, I'm quite busy."
The click of the phone was quite definite. Pat stared at the black instrument in utter disbelief. Tears forced their way into his eyes as he hung up, and he felt a wrench of unbelievable agony force its way into his heart. "Oh, Deedee," he cried, leaning his head against the cold metal of the coinbox. "Oh, Diedre, my beautiful little love. Where are you?"