up a flip reply. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her white jeans, she started to walk away. Then something in Virgie's eyes stopped her.
Turning slowly back to her, Amanda said, "Virgie, I'm sorry about last night." The girl's face grew harder. "No, I mean it. I was wrong. I had other things on my mind, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have lost my temper. It was inexcusable."
Virgie didn't answer. She simply stood there, silently staring up at the sky as she exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. If her hand hadn't trembled slightly, Amanda would have thought her unaffected.
"I...I don't think Danny understood what was happening," Amanda said, unable to forget the slight tremble. "So don't worry about him." Raising her gaze from the ground, Amanda was startled to see the sheen of tears in the girl's eyes. "Truly, Virgie. He still thinks you're wonderful."
Virgie glanced away. "What do you expect from a loonie? What in hell does he know?" She met Amanda's eyes. "Don't you think I know what I am? Do you think I like it? Don't you know that I'm as sick of the word 'Nympho' as Danny is of 'Loonie'? Hell, I'm not even a nymphomaniac, but that doesn't make any difference to people who like labels." She threw down the cigarette and crushed it viciously with the heel of her boot. "It's a handy little word that people like to throw around. Nymphomania is a rare biological disorder. I'm an addict. I'm addicted to sex the way Peter is to drugs and the way some people are to alcohol."
She leaned against a tree and for a while was silent. When she began to speak, her voice had a curious dead quality.
"I can remember when I would do anything for a fix—anything. Men were like Popsicles. If one was good, then the whole box was better. I would scheme and lie and do anything to get it. Then when it was over I would look at the man beside me—God! some of them you wouldn't believe—and I would feel like throwing up. Then the black, sick emptiness would come back and fill me up. I would feel the weight of it in my chest and in my stomach. Then I would get out of bed and start planning where I could find the next man. Maybe the next one would keep it away a little longer." She closed her eyes tightly. "I thought I had it under control, but sometimes—" She broke off abruptly.
"Virgie," Amanda whispered hoarsely. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry. You must have been through hell."
"Yes, poor, poor little Virgie."
Both women swung around. Peter sat on the grass a few feet away from them. Unfolding, he stood agilely and dusted the grass from his jeans as he walked closer.
"You really like people feeling sorry for you, don't you?" he said, staring at Virgie as though she were a specimen in a jar. "Do you think you're the only one in the world who has done things they are ashamed of? Did you make the mistake of thinking I was in the polite circle of designer drugs... 'I'm doing Ecstasy and you're shirt is so blue'... is that what you thought? Well, it wasn't that way. I can tell you how every illegal drug will affect you. Believe me, none of them are nice. Your rap sounds tame compared to some of the stuff I've done and seen. You said you cheat and lie. Did you ever steal? From your own grandparents? Two old people who never hurt a soul in their lives." He laughed harshly. "Don't give me all this poor Virgie bull."
Virgie's face was mottled and unattractive in her anger. "Who in hell do you think you are?" she rasped out. "Did I ask for your pity? Did I even ask for your opinion? You can take your theories and shove them up your ass. When you're on drugs, you're physically addicted. You've got a nice comfortable safety net to fall back on. You didn't do it. The drugs did. Don't tell me I shouldn't feel the way I feel because you don't know anything about it."
"Feel all you want to feel," he said, throwing out an arm vehemently. "But at least admit that, problems notwithstanding, Virgie DeVries, deep down, is a nice person. Allow
Turning slowly back to her, Amanda said, "Virgie, I'm sorry about last night." The girl's face grew harder. "No, I mean it. I was wrong. I had other things on my mind, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have lost my temper. It was inexcusable."
Virgie didn't answer. She simply stood there, silently staring up at the sky as she exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. If her hand hadn't trembled slightly, Amanda would have thought her unaffected.
"I...I don't think Danny understood what was happening," Amanda said, unable to forget the slight tremble. "So don't worry about him." Raising her gaze from the ground, Amanda was startled to see the sheen of tears in the girl's eyes. "Truly, Virgie. He still thinks you're wonderful."
Virgie glanced away. "What do you expect from a loonie? What in hell does he know?" She met Amanda's eyes. "Don't you think I know what I am? Do you think I like it? Don't you know that I'm as sick of the word 'Nympho' as Danny is of 'Loonie'? Hell, I'm not even a nymphomaniac, but that doesn't make any difference to people who like labels." She threw down the cigarette and crushed it viciously with the heel of her boot. "It's a handy little word that people like to throw around. Nymphomania is a rare biological disorder. I'm an addict. I'm addicted to sex the way Peter is to drugs and the way some people are to alcohol."
She leaned against a tree and for a while was silent. When she began to speak, her voice had a curious dead quality.
"I can remember when I would do anything for a fix—anything. Men were like Popsicles. If one was good, then the whole box was better. I would scheme and lie and do anything to get it. Then when it was over I would look at the man beside me—God! some of them you wouldn't believe—and I would feel like throwing up. Then the black, sick emptiness would come back and fill me up. I would feel the weight of it in my chest and in my stomach. Then I would get out of bed and start planning where I could find the next man. Maybe the next one would keep it away a little longer." She closed her eyes tightly. "I thought I had it under control, but sometimes—" She broke off abruptly.
"Virgie," Amanda whispered hoarsely. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry. You must have been through hell."
"Yes, poor, poor little Virgie."
Both women swung around. Peter sat on the grass a few feet away from them. Unfolding, he stood agilely and dusted the grass from his jeans as he walked closer.
"You really like people feeling sorry for you, don't you?" he said, staring at Virgie as though she were a specimen in a jar. "Do you think you're the only one in the world who has done things they are ashamed of? Did you make the mistake of thinking I was in the polite circle of designer drugs... 'I'm doing Ecstasy and you're shirt is so blue'... is that what you thought? Well, it wasn't that way. I can tell you how every illegal drug will affect you. Believe me, none of them are nice. Your rap sounds tame compared to some of the stuff I've done and seen. You said you cheat and lie. Did you ever steal? From your own grandparents? Two old people who never hurt a soul in their lives." He laughed harshly. "Don't give me all this poor Virgie bull."
Virgie's face was mottled and unattractive in her anger. "Who in hell do you think you are?" she rasped out. "Did I ask for your pity? Did I even ask for your opinion? You can take your theories and shove them up your ass. When you're on drugs, you're physically addicted. You've got a nice comfortable safety net to fall back on. You didn't do it. The drugs did. Don't tell me I shouldn't feel the way I feel because you don't know anything about it."
"Feel all you want to feel," he said, throwing out an arm vehemently. "But at least admit that, problems notwithstanding, Virgie DeVries, deep down, is a nice person. Allow
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