"Oh. They'll be in the Ski Room, then. Rack 97. Your hook in the Cloak
Room will be 97, too." Erna pulled open one of the drawers in Flip's
bureau. "I see you sent your trunk in time. Black and Midnight's
unpacked for you."
"That was nice of her," Flip said.
"Nice? Don't be a child. They unpack for us to make sure there isn't
any candy or money or food in the trunks, or books we aren't supposed
to read, or lipstick or cigarettes. Have you got anything to eat in
your suitcase?"
Flip shook her whirling head.
"Oh, well, you'll learn," Erna said. "Come on. I'll find your cubicle
in the bathroom for you and we'll see what your bath nights are. Then
I'll take you back down to Miss Tulip. I suppose you want to say
good-bye to your mother and father."
Flip started to explain that Eunice wasn't her mother, but Erna was
already dragging her down the hall. "Himmel, you're slow," Erna said.
"Hurry up."
Flip tried to stumble along faster with her long legs. Her legs were
very long and straight and skinny, but sometimes it seemed as though
she must be bow-legged, knock-kneed and pigeon-toed all at once, the
way she always managed to stumble and trip herself up.
Erna pushed open a heavy door. Down one side of the wall were rows and
rows of small cubicles, each marked with a number. Each had a shelf
for toothbrush, mug, and soap, and hooks underneath for towels. On
the opposite wall were twelve cubicles each with a wash basin, and a
curtain to afford a measure of privacy. "The johns are next door,"
Erna said. "Here's the bath list. Let's see. You're eight forty five
Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. That's my time, too. We can bang on
the partition. Once Black and Midnight found a girl crawling under the
partition and she was expelled."
Erna's French was fluent, with just a trace of German in it. Flip had
learned to speak excellent French that summer in Paris so she had no
difficulty in following it, though she, herself, had nothing to say.
But Erna seemed to be perfectly happy dominating the conversation.
"Come on," Erna said. "I'll take you downstairs, and you can say
good-bye to your parents. I want to see if Jackie's come in from Paris
yet. She's one of our roommates. This is her third year here."
"Jackie what?" Flip asked, for something to say.
"Jacqueline Bernstein. Her father directs movies. Last year he came
over to see Jackie and he brought a movie projector with him and we all
had movies in Assembly Hall. It was wonderful."
They had reached the big entry hall now and Flip looked around
but could not see either her father or Eunice, and at this point
even Eunice would have been a welcome face. Erna led her up to the
concierge's desk where Miss Tulip still presided.
"Well, Erna, what is it now?" the matron asked.
"Please, Miss Tulip," Erna said, her hands clasped meekly in front of
her. "You said I was to show this new girl our room and everything, so
I did."
Miss Tulip looked at Erna, then at Flip, then at her note book. "Oh,
yes. Philippa Hunter, number 97. Please take her to Mlle. Dragonet,
Erna. Her father is waiting there for her."
"Come on," Erna told Flip impatiently.
Mlle. Dragonet's rooms were at the end of the long corridor on the
second floor and were shut off from the rest of the school by heavy
sliding doors. These were open now and Erna pulled Flip into a small
hall with two doors on each side. She pointed a solemn finger at the
first door on the right. "This is the Dragon's study," she said. "Look
out any time you're sent there. It means you're in for it." Then she
pointed to the second door. "This one's her living room and that's not
so bad. If you're sent to the living room you're not going to get a
lecture, anyhow, though the less I see of the Dragon the happier I am."
"Is she?" Flip asked.
"Is she what?"
"A dragon."
"Old Dragonet? Oh, she's all right. Kind of standoffish. Doesn't
fraternize much, if you know what I mean. But she's all right. Well,
I've got to leave you now, but I'll see you later. You just knock."
And Flip was left standing in the empty corridor in front of the
Dragon's door. She gave a final despairing glance at Erna's blue skirt
disappearing around the curve of the stairs. Then she lifted her hand
to knock because if her father was in there she didn't know how else to
get to him. Besides, she didn't know what else to do. Erna had deserted
her, and she would never have the courage to go back to the big
crowded lounge or to try to find her room again, all alone. She tapped
very gently, so gently that there was no response. She hugged herself
in lonely misery.--Oh, please, she thought,--please, God, make me not
be such a coward. It's awful to be such a coward. Mother always laughed
at me and scolded me because I was such a coward. Please give me some
gumption, quick, God, please.
Then she raised her hand and knocked. Mlle. Dragonet's voice called,
"Come in."
4
The rest of the day had the strange turbulent, uncontrolled quality of
a dream. She said good-bye to her father and Eunice in Mlle. Dragonet's
office, and then she was swept along in a stream of girls through
registration, signing for courses, dinner, prayers, a meeting of the
new girls in the common room ... she thought that now she knew what
the most unimportant little fish in a school of fishes must feel like
caught in the current of a wild river. She sat that night, on her bed,
her long legs looking longer than ever in peppermint candy striped
pajamas, and watched her roommates. On the bureau beside the bed she
had the package her father had left her as a going away present:
sketching pads of various sizes, and a box of Eberhard Faber drawing
pencils. There was also a bottle of Chanel No. 5 from Eunice which she
had pushed aside.
"You'll have to take those downstairs tomorrow morning," Erna told
her. "We aren't allowed things like that in our rooms. You can put it
in your locker in the Common Room or on your shelf in the Class Room.
They'll be marked with your number."
Flip felt that if she heard anything else about her number she would
scream. She was accustomed to being a person, not a number; and she
didn't feel like number 97 at all. But she just said, "Oh."
Jacqueline Bernstein, the other old girl in the room, pulled blue silk
pajamas over her head and laughed. Flip had noticed that she laughed a
great deal, not a giggle, but a nice laugh that bubbled out of her at
the slightest excuse like a small fountain. She was a very pretty girl
with curly black hair that fell to her shoulders and was held back from
her face with a blue ribbon the color of her uniform; and she had big
black eyes with long curly lashes. Her body had filled out into far
more rounded and mature lines than Flip's. "Remember when old Black
and Midnight caught me using cold cream last winter?" she asked Erna.
"She'll let you use all kinds of guk like mentholatum on your face to
keep from getting chapped, but not cold cream because it's make-up."
Flip looked at her enviously, thinking disparagingly of her own
sand-colored hair, and her eyes that were neither blue nor grey and
her body as long and skinny as a string bean.--That's just it, she
thought.--I look like a string bean and Jacqueline Bernstein looks like
somebody who's going to be a movie star and Erna looks like somebody
who always gets chosen first when people choose teams.
She hoped her grandmother was right when she said she would grow up to
be a beauty; but when she looked at Jackie, Flip doubted it.
The door opened and Gloria Browne, the other roommate, came in.
She was English, with ginger-colored permanent-waved hair. Erna had
somehow discovered and informed Flip and Jackie that Gloria's parents
were tremendously wealthy and she had come to school with four brand
new trunks full of clothes and had two dozen of everything, even
toothbrushes. "Esmée Bodet says Gloria's _nouveau riche_," Erna added.
"Her father owns a brewery and an uncle in Canada or someplace sent her
the clothes because she didn't have the coupons."
"Esmée always finds out everything about everybody," Jackie had said.
"I don't know how she does it. She's an awful snoop."
Now Gloria walked to her bureau and took up her comb and started
combing out her tangles.
"Use a brush," Erna suggested.
"Oh, I never use a brush, ducky," Gloria said. "It's bad for a
permanent."