Page 53 of One of Them

A nne stood in the narrow aisle of the airplane, waiting to use the restroom.

There were three people ahead of her, two men and a woman the stewardess had to shimmy past every time she needed to go back and forth.

Anne shifted her weight from one leg to the other, both as a distraction and as a way to relieve the cramps in her legs that had plagued her during the long flight.

The interior of the plane was filled with a cloudy gray haze—it seemed everyone had either just finished a cigarette or was just lighting one up.

Not Anne. Her infatuation with smoking had ended as suddenly as it started, and now the taste or even the thought of it sickened her.

She vainly waved at the air in front of her face, but it was no use. The smoke had nowhere to go.

Finally it was her turn. She stepped inside the tiny cubicle, snapped the lock shut, pulled up her skirt, and sat down.

That’s when she saw it: the bright red splotch of blood that stained her gray satin tap pants, the very same pants that Mrs. Gilchrist—forget about ever calling her Evelyn again—had regarded with such chilling disdain.

Anne stared for a few seconds. Then she did what she was there to do and, after creating a makeshift pad with some toilet tissue and the handkerchief that was tucked in her skirt pocket, scrubbed her hands in the doll-size sink and returned to her seat.

The flight was not even halfway over; she had hours to think about what she’d just seen and what it meant.

Luckily, she had a window seat and could turn her face from the cabin, toward the dark, framed oval of the sky.

That way, no one could see the tears as they began to trickle down her face.

Because as relieved as she was—and of course she was relieved—Anne was also sorry not to be pregnant, sorry to have lost this last connection to Drew.

Once she was back in the States, Anne split her summer between her aunt’s house in Skaneateles and Barney Weiss’s brownstone, but was aware that she was marking time until boarding the train to Poughkeepsie in August to begin her senior—and final—year at Vassar.

The week before she left, the city had been in the ferocious grip of a heat wave: hot, sticky days had turned into hot, sticky nights.

But in Poughkeepsie the mornings already held a hint of the coming season; she needed a sweater or a light jacket when she left the dorm.

She’d chosen not to live in Main this year, even though it was tradition at Vassar for seniors to live there, no matter where they’d lived before.

This was a last-minute decision, and she was pleased she’d snagged a room on the top floor of Cushing.

Even though the dorm was only twenty-odd years old, it had the look of a Tudor manor house from the sixteenth century, and she liked the feeling that she’d stepped back in time.

There was a good reason for this departure from tradition.

Though Anne knew she’d have to face Virginia and the rest of the group sooner or later, she didn’t want to see them at meals or run into them in the hallways.

Better to keep some distance. And for the first few days, her plan worked.

She didn’t run into any of them on campus, and luxuriated in her sense of relief.

But as the days turned into a week, she once more started feeling jumpy.

When and where would she encounter Virginia again?

That was when she decided that she’d rather be in control of the story, which was why, after her last class on a Thursday in September, she headed over to Main Building at a little after four.

Tea was being served in the Rose Parlor, just as it had been served for decades.

Anne felt sure that they would all be there, that little set, most likely in their familiar spot by the windows.

Virginia would be at the center, with Midge, Polly, Tabitha, and Carol grouped around her.

How would they react when they saw her? And even more important, how would she respond?

The parlor was nearly full when she walked in; she heard the sounds of chatter, of laughter, of teaspoons touching the rims of delicate cups.

And yes, there they all were. She stood looking at them for a few seconds.

Virginia had a new hairstyle, a chin-length bob, with bangs.

Tabbie seemed to have come out of her shell and was more animated than Anne remembered—she was telling a story, and everyone was listening to her, even Virginia.

Polly leaned over to Midge and whispered in her ear; Midge looked annoyed by what she’d said.

Then Carol spied her and called out from across the room, “Anne! Anne Bishop, you’re back! Come right over here and say hello!”

Anne felt her face stiffen into an artificial smile.

She went to pour herself a cup of tea before walking over to join them.

Carol got up to give her a hug; so did Tabbie, and Midge moved over on the settee so she could sit down.

Virginia was looking at her appraisingly, as if trying to determine what, if anything, had changed.

“Tell us about Paris!” said Polly.

“Par-lay voo francais?” Midge asked. Her accent was terrible, even worse than Anne’s had been.

“Oui, je parle très bien maintenant,” Anne replied.

“Ooh la la!” Tabbie said. “You sound just like a Parisian girl.”

“And you even dress like one.” These were Virginia’s first words to her, and though they were technically complimentary, she somehow managed to inject them with a hint of derision. Trust Virginia for that. Her hairstyle might have changed, but her essential nature hadn’t.

Anne sipped her tea, answered their questions, and caught up on the latest news.

Carol had gone to Nova Scotia for the summer.

Midge was planning a June wedding at, of all places, the Colony Club.

Two other girls from their hall freshman year had dropped out to get married, one to a boy from West Point and the other to a Yalie.

One of them was already pregnant. And Polly wasn’t going to graduate with them, after all; she’d decided to do a five-year combined BA/MA in chemistry, and would be staying on another year.

“Everyone in my family is a doctor,” she explained.

“I don’t want to be a doctor, though—I can’t stand blood!

So being a chemist is a better choice. Maybe I’ll teach. ”

Then Virginia said to Anne, “So were you in Paris the whole time? Or did you go anywhere else? London?”

“I was in London over the summer,” said Polly. “You can’t believe how awful it still looks. All those bombed buildings, rubble everywhere . It will take years to clear all that up.”

“I didn’t go to London.” Anne felt a pounding in her chest, but she ignored it; she knew what she was going to do, what she had to do. “But over the Christmas break, I did some traveling.”

“Where?” Tabbie asked. “Rome? Florence? I’m going to Florence in the spring—a semester abroad. You’ll have to give me tips for being in Europe.”

“Of course,” said Anne. “But I wasn’t in Italy on my break. I went to Palestine. Though now it’s called Israel.”

No one said anything for a minute. Then Virginia asked, “Isn’t that just a big desert? A wasteland? Why on earth would anyone go there ?”

“Oh, it’s more than that. So much history, so much culture. Jerusalem is a fascinating, ancient city.” Not that she’d actually been to Jerusalem. Still, she kept going, willing herself to speak slowly. Clearly. “And millions of people see it as a holy place. Christians. Muslims. Jews.”

“Well, yes, it’s where Jesus lived and all that,” Virginia said. “But as for the rest of it—”

“Jews have a historic connection to Palestine—I mean Israel.” Anne had dared to interrupt Virginia. “And since I’m Jewish, I wanted to see for myself what that was all about.”

Once more, the girls fell silent. Tabbie and Polly stared. Midge’s mouth had actually dropped open, though she closed it in a hurry. Carol looked down at her knees. But it was too late for Anne to change her mind, and anyway, she didn’t want to.

“You’re one of them?” Virginia seemed incredulous.

“Yes. One of them .”

“But you never said so. You let us think...” Virginia looked confused, as if her power might be in question. She looked around, as if seeking confirmation from the others.

“I had no idea—” Polly said.

“Neither did I. None of us did.” Carol talked right over Polly.

“I never actually said what I was. Or wasn’t. You were the ones who made the assumption.”

“Because you wanted us to make it. What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who wants to fit in and not be excluded. Or gossiped about. Insulted. Like the way you excluded, gossiped about, and insulted Delia Goldhush.”

“Delia! She was an awful girl. Everyone knew it. Besides, you went along with it. All of it,” said Virginia. “I remember the things you said about her. And you signed that letter I wrote to the dean.”

“I know. And I’m ashamed that I didn’t have the backbone to speak up.

” Was she really doing this? Taking on Virginia, and in public no less?

She felt like she’d jumped off a cliff. But instead of crashing, she was floating, and from way up here, she could see more clearly.

Virginia wasn’t used to anyone talking back.

It made her nervous. Very nervous, in fact, which was all the more reason for Anne to keep going.

“She deserved what she got.” Virginia’s voice lowered. “She was a... slut.”