Read Online The Eleventh Year by Monique Raphel High - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Monique Raphel High
Ads: Link
the simplest movement she executedâin hanging her fox cape in the closet, in pulling down the cuffs of her starched bishop sleeves. Sometimes Jamie envied her. Lesley was so perfect, like a doll that sits on top of a musical box, turning and turning, without fault unless its owner forgot to wind the key underneath the box. Lesley was a quiet girl, reserved yet friendly. She had beautiful skin, the translucent skin of natural redheads, and long, silky hair that every morning she parted with her silver and ivory comb, let fall over the ears, and swooped in one single gesture into a knot at the back, secured with pins and flowers. Her eyes were a brilliant green, flecked with gold, and she wore a large emerald on her left ring finger. She moved her hands, fluttered them in the air, when she spoke. And sometimes when Jamie returned from class she would find Lesley sketching by the window, a look of absorption on her triangular face. It was difficult to guess what she thought, or where she wished her life to proceed.
Lesley didnât talk much about her family, but everyone at Vassar courted her, wanting her to join the most exclusive sororities, because her father was a millionaire in New York City and her mother was the only daughter of a British peer of ancient lineage. Yet Lesley seemed to float above this, smiling slightly at Jamie and saying almost apologetically: âItâs all such nonsense, isnât it? Everyone wants to âbelong.â Itâs the country club syndrome all over again. We all think weâre so much better if we can say that So and So belongs to the same institution as we doâbut that has no meaning.â
Jamie wondered what did have meaning for this pretty girl. She went to Yale and Harvard and Williams just like the other rich girls, and there were letters from young men in the mailbox several times a week. There were telephone calls from her mother, and Jamie noticed that every time they came, Lesleyâs face would close into a tight, hard line. Those from her father produced an opposite reaction. Oh, well, thought Jamie, I canât stand Mother either, but Father is of a different breed. Perhaps, after all, she and her roommate werenât so different beneath their appearances.
Jamie didnât much care how she dressed. Skirts had risen in 1915 to reveal the ankle, and womenâs dresses were of a loose, ample style that fit her own voluptuous build rather well. But she possessed only a few outfits. She didnât want to be introduced to eligible young men, because she wanted above all to earn her degree. Willy remained an ache in her heart. It was difficult not to give in to the desire to write to him. I wonder if I was really in love with him, she thought, or if we were
simply so used to each other that things just developed the way they did because that was the logical outcome. She felt a certain detachment from Lesley and the other girls, because she had slept with a man, and, for the most part, they hadnât. They did everything but, Jamie decided, rather nauseated by their lack of honesty. Iâm not ready, she thought, to play the games that are required of women today. At least with Willy I wasnât wasting our time being a flirt and a tease.
The truth was too that Jamie didnât have the necessary knowledge of society games. The âcountry club syndromeâ of which Lesley had spoken so casually was something with which she was totally unfamiliar. The country club at home was far away, in Indian Hills, ensconced among the palatial grounds of the very wealthy. At the country club the girls and young men went riding. Lesley had her impeccably fitted riding attire, of course, but Jamie had never even been on a horse. There was a world of difference between them that could never be traveled.
Jamie worked, too, to supplement her scholarship, while others sat on the grass and talked about conquering the most outstanding Big Man on Campus
Lesley didnât talk much about her family, but everyone at Vassar courted her, wanting her to join the most exclusive sororities, because her father was a millionaire in New York City and her mother was the only daughter of a British peer of ancient lineage. Yet Lesley seemed to float above this, smiling slightly at Jamie and saying almost apologetically: âItâs all such nonsense, isnât it? Everyone wants to âbelong.â Itâs the country club syndrome all over again. We all think weâre so much better if we can say that So and So belongs to the same institution as we doâbut that has no meaning.â
Jamie wondered what did have meaning for this pretty girl. She went to Yale and Harvard and Williams just like the other rich girls, and there were letters from young men in the mailbox several times a week. There were telephone calls from her mother, and Jamie noticed that every time they came, Lesleyâs face would close into a tight, hard line. Those from her father produced an opposite reaction. Oh, well, thought Jamie, I canât stand Mother either, but Father is of a different breed. Perhaps, after all, she and her roommate werenât so different beneath their appearances.
Jamie didnât much care how she dressed. Skirts had risen in 1915 to reveal the ankle, and womenâs dresses were of a loose, ample style that fit her own voluptuous build rather well. But she possessed only a few outfits. She didnât want to be introduced to eligible young men, because she wanted above all to earn her degree. Willy remained an ache in her heart. It was difficult not to give in to the desire to write to him. I wonder if I was really in love with him, she thought, or if we were
simply so used to each other that things just developed the way they did because that was the logical outcome. She felt a certain detachment from Lesley and the other girls, because she had slept with a man, and, for the most part, they hadnât. They did everything but, Jamie decided, rather nauseated by their lack of honesty. Iâm not ready, she thought, to play the games that are required of women today. At least with Willy I wasnât wasting our time being a flirt and a tease.
The truth was too that Jamie didnât have the necessary knowledge of society games. The âcountry club syndromeâ of which Lesley had spoken so casually was something with which she was totally unfamiliar. The country club at home was far away, in Indian Hills, ensconced among the palatial grounds of the very wealthy. At the country club the girls and young men went riding. Lesley had her impeccably fitted riding attire, of course, but Jamie had never even been on a horse. There was a world of difference between them that could never be traveled.
Jamie worked, too, to supplement her scholarship, while others sat on the grass and talked about conquering the most outstanding Big Man on Campus
Similar Books
