5 Getting Ready

That afternoon after school, Lisa was again willing to have Meredith's "father" drive her home as Fenwick had reluctantly agreed to do all week. When the Rolls pulled up in front of the brown brick bungalow where the Pontinis lived, Meredith took in the usual tangle of kids and toys in the front yard.

Lisa's mother was standing on the front porch, wrapped in her ever-present apron. "Lisa," she called, her voice heavily accented with Italian, "Mario's on the phone. He wants to talk to you. Hiya, Meredith," she added with a wave. "You stay for supper soon. You stay the night, too, so your papa don't have to drive out here late to bring you home."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pontini," Meredith called, waving back from the car. "I will." It was the way Meredith had always dreamed it would be—having a friend to confide in, being invited to stay overnight, and she was euphoric. Lisa shut the car door and leaned in the window.

"Your mother said Mario is on the phone," Meredith reminded her.

"It's good to keep a guy waiting," Lisa said, "it keeps him guessing. Now, don't forget to call me Sunday and tell me everything that happens with Parker tomorrow night. I wish I could do your hair before you leave for the dance."

"I wish you could too," Meredith said, although she knew she'd never be able to prevent Lisa from discovering that Fenwick wasn't her father if she came to the house. Each day she'd intended to confess the truth, and each day she stalled, telling herself that the longer Lisa knew the real her, the less difference it would make to Lisa whether Meredith's father was rich or poor. Wistfully, she continued, "If you came over tomorrow, you could spend the night. While I was at the dance, you could do homework, then when I got back home, I could tell you how it went."

"But I can't. I have a date with Mario tomorrow night," Lisa remarked unnecessarily. Meredith had been stunned that Lisa's parents permitted her to go out with boys at fourteen, but Lisa had only laughed and said Mario wouldn't dare get out of line because he knew her father and uncles would come after him if he did. Shoving away from the car, Lisa said, "Just remember what I told you, okay? Flirt with Parker and look into his eyes. And wear your hair up, so you look more sophisticated."

All the way home, Meredith tried to imagine actually flirting with Parker. His birthday was the day after tomorrow—she'd memorized that fact a year ago, when she first realized she was falling in love with him. Last week she'd spent an hour in the drugstore looking for the right card to give him tomorrow night, but the cards that said what she really felt would have been much, much too gushy. Naive though she was, she figured Parker wouldn't appreciate a card that said on the front "To my one and only love .. ." So she'd regretfully had to settle for one that said "Happy Birthday to a Special Friend."

Leaning her head back, Meredith closed her eyes, smiling dreamily as she pictured herself looking like a gorgeous model, saying witty, clever things while Parker hung on to her every word.

With a sinking heart Meredith stared at herself in the mirror while Mrs. Ellis stood back, nodding approval. When Mrs. Ellis and she had gone shopping last week, the velvet dress had seemed to be a glowing topaz. Tonight it looked like metallic brown velvet, and her shoes that had been dyed to match had a matronly look with their short, stocky heels. Mrs. Ellis's taste ran to the matronly, Meredith knew; moreover, she and Meredith had both been under her father's strictures to choose a dress that was "suitable for a young girl of Meredith's age and upbringing." They'd brought three dresses home for Meredith's father's approval, and this was the only one that he hadn't felt was entirely too "bare" or too "flimsy."

The only thing about her appearance that didn't fill Meredith with dismay was her hair. Normally she wore her straight shoulder-length hair parted on the side with one barrette above the ear, but Lisa's remarks had convinced her she did need a new, more sophisticated style. Tonight she'd persuaded Mrs. Ellis to do it up in a cluster of thick curls at the crown with little tendrils at the ears, and Meredith thought it looked very nice.

"Meredith," her father said, walking into her room, leafing through a handful of opera tickets, "Park Reynolds needed two extra tickets to Rigoletto, and I told him he could use ours. Would you give these to young Parker tonight, when you—" He looked up, his eyes riveting on her, and scowled. "What have you done to your hair?" he snapped.

"I thought I'd wear it up tonight."

"I prefer your hair the way you usually wear it, Meredith." Bending a look of dark displeasure on Mrs. Ellis, he said, "When you came into my employ, madam, I thought we agreed that in addition to your supervisory duties as housekeeper, you would also advise my daughter on feminine matters when necessary. Is that hairdo your idea of—"

"I specifically asked Mrs. Ellis to help me do my hair this way, Father," Meredith intervened as Mrs. Ellis turned pale and began to tremble.

"In that case, you should have asked her advice," Philip said, "instead of telling her what you wanted her to do."

"Yes, of course," Meredith said. She hated to disappoint her father or annoy him. He made her feel as if she were singularly responsible for the success or failure of his entire day or night if she spoiled his mood.

"Well, no harm done," he conceded, seeing that Meredith was properly contrite. "Mrs. Ellis can fix up your hair before you leave. I brought you something, my dear. A necklace," he added, withdrawing a flat, dark green velvet case from his pocket. "You may wear it tonight— it will look very well with your gown." Meredith waited while he fidgeted with the clasp, imagining a gold locket perhaps or—"These are your grandmother Bancroft's pearls," he announced, and it took an effort for her to hide her dismay while he withdrew the long strand of fat pearls. "Turn around and I'll fasten them."

Twenty minutes later, Meredith stood before the mirror, trying valiantly to convince herself she looked nice. Her hair was restyled in the same straight, girlish fashion she always wore, but the pearls were the last straw. Her grandmother had worn them nearly every day of her life; she'd died wearing them, and now they felt like leaden weights against Meredith's nonexistent bosom. "Excuse me, miss."

The family butler's voice outside her door brought her whirling around. "There's a Miss Pontini downstairs who claims to be a school friend of yours."