6 Bonding of two dissimilar spirits

Trapped, Meredith sank down on the side of her bed, thinking madly for some way out of this, but there was none and she knew it. "Would you bring her here, please."

A minute later Lisa walked in and looked around the room as if she'd suddenly found herself on a strange planet. "I tried to call," she said, "but your telephone was busy for an hour, so I decided to take a chance and come over." Pausing, she turned in a half circle, studying everything. "Who owns this pile of rocks anyway?"

At any other time, that irreverent description of this house would have made Meredith giggle. Now she could only say in a small, strained voice, "My father does."

Lisa's expression hardened. "I pretty much figured that out when the man who answered the front door called you Miss Meredith in the same voice Father Vickers says 'Holy Virgin Mary." Turning on her heel, Lisa started for the door.

"Lisa, wait!" Meredith pleaded.

"You've had your little joke. This has really been a great day," Lisa added sarcastically, whirling back around. "First Mario takes me out for a ride and tries to get my clothes off—and when I go over to my 'friend's house, I find out she's been making a fool of me."

"No, I haven't!" Meredith cried. "I let you think Fenwick—our chauffeur—was my father because I was afraid the truth would come between us."

"Oh, sure. Right," Lisa countered with scornful disbelief. "Rich little you desperately wanted to be friends with poor little me. I'll bet you and all your rich friends have been laughing about my ma begging you to have spaghetti with us and—"

"Stop it!" Meredith burst out. "You don't understand! I like your mother and father, and I wanted you for a friend. You have brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and all the things I've always wished I had. What makes you think that because I live in this stupid house, everything is automatically wonderful? Look how it's affected you! One look and you don't want anything to do with me, and that's how it's been at school for as long as I can remember. And for your information," she finished, "I love spaghetti. I love houses like yours, where people laugh and shout!"

She broke off as the anger on Lisa's face was replaced by a sarcastic smile. "You love noise, is that it?"

Meredith smiled wanly. "I guess I do."

"What about your rich friends?"

"I don't really have any. I mean, I know other people my age, and I see them now and then, but they all go to the same schools, and they've been friends for years. I'm an outsider to them—an oddity."

"Why does your father send you to St. Stephen's?"

"He thinks it's, well, character building. My grandmother and her sister went there."

"Your father sounds weird."

"I guess he does, but his intentions are good."

Lisa shrugged, her voice deliberately offhand. "In that case, he sounds pretty much like most fathers. It was a tiny concession, a tentative suggestion of commonality, and silence fell in the room. Separated by a canopied Louis XIV bed and a gigantic social chasm, two extraordinarily bright teenagers recognized all the differences between them and regarded each other with a mixture of dying hope and wariness. "I guess I'd better be going," Lisa said.

Meredith looked bleakly at the nylon duffel Lisa had brought, obviously intending to spend the night if it was all right. She lifted her hand in a tiny gesture of mute appeal, then dropped it, knowing it was useless. "I have to leave pretty soon too," she said instead.

"Have a—a good time."

"Fenwick can take you home after he drops me off at the hotel."

"I can ride the bus," Lisa began, but for the first time she actually noticed Meredith's dress, and she broke off in horror. "Who picks out your clothes—Helen Keller? That's not what you're really wearing

tonight, is it?"

"Yes. Do you hate it?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, how would you describe that dress?"

Meredith shrugged, her expression chagrined. "Does the word frumpy mean anything to you?"

Biting her lip to hide her laughter, Lisa raised her brows. "If you knew it was ugly, why did you buy it?"

"My father liked it"

"Your father has lousy taste."

"You shouldn't say words like lousy," Meredith said quietly, knowing Lisa was right about the ugliness of the dress. "Words like that make you sound tough and hard, and you aren't—not really. I don't know how to dress or wear my hair, but I know I'm right about how to talk."

Lisa stared at her open-mouthed, and then something began to happen—the gentle bonding of two entirely dissimilar spirits who suddenly realize that they each have something very special to offer the other. A slow smile lit Lisa's hazel eyes, and she tipped her head to the side, thoughtfully scrutinizing Meredith's dress. "Pull the shoulders down a little onto your arms, let's see if that helps," she instructed suddenly.

Meredith grinned back and dutifully tugged them down.

"Your hair looks like hell—lous—awful," Lisa amended, then she glanced around, her gaze lighting on a bouquet of silk flowers on the dresser. "A flower in your hair or tucked into that sash might help." With the true instincts of her Bancroft forebears, Meredith sensed that victory was within her grasp and that it was time to press her advantage. "Will you spend the night? I'll be back by midnight, and no one will care how late we stay up."