FOR TWO days Mike talked nothing but Jeff Parker. Her sister Pat was the logical recipient for her confidences and she poured these out at length. She relived the events of that memorable evening many times, recounting every thing they ate, everything she said to him. She described Mrs. Parker and Mr. Parker and young Jim. She elaborated upon the Parker home which had made a solid and lasting impression.
"The living room is as big as our whole downstairs," she told Pat. "There's a color scheme. Everything sort of blends. Instead of a lot of little rugs, there's carpeting from one wall to the other. And paintings on the walls. A grand piano at one end with a vase of fresh flowers on it. And Pat, the wonderful thing is the way everything is in place. Just like something in the movies or a play. Ar first I was almost afraid to sit down.".
Pat was more nonchalant. "Ted Stivers has a home like that," she said, shrugging. "I've been there lots of times for parties."
"I've never been in any place like it," Mike said. Then, wistfully, "You know, I think we ought to try to do some thing about this place. Maybe I should begin with my part of our room. Look how plain it is. Maybe if I got a new spread for my bed and some gadgets for my dresser and some pictures for the walls. And cleaned up those piles of books...." Her voice trailed off as she speculated on oth er things she might do.
Pat came over and gave her an affectionate squeeze "Take it easy, Mike. The first date always goes to your head. Especially when it's with someone like Jeff Parker. That kind of boy is dynamite."
"What kind of boy is he, Pat?" "I don't know him very well, so perhaps it's not fair to judge."
"Go ahead. I want you to say what you're thinking." "He seems a bit aloof. Reserved is the word. I suppose. They say he tries to be like the rest of the boys, but I don't think he carries it off. Someone said that's why they're living here in this part of Connecticut, because the schools are good and Jeff wanted to go to public school. I wouldn't say he's snobbish exactly, but I think he's careful. Careful what he says and does. Careful whom he picks for friends. I think he'd be very careful of the kind of girl he'd let himself grow fond of."
"Can you control a thing like that, Pat? Can you honestly decide whom you'll be fond of? The way you decide whether you'll have grape jelly or marmalade for breakfast?" Pat stared at her, hard and long.
"You've really got it bad," she said, Mike turned away. "Take a word of advice from an old hand at this boy meets-girl stuff, Mike. Go easy. You can hurt yourself. You can hurt yourself awfully bad." Mike didn't answer and Pat took both Mike's hands in hers.
"Mike, if I tell you something, you won't get angry, will you?"
"If I do I'll get over it."
"It's about Jeff and another girl."
"What girl?"
"You wouldn't know her, Mike. She lives in Brighthaven, but she doesn't go to school there. She goes to Miss Covington's School."
"Miss Covington's!" Miss Covington's was a private school in New Sharon. Mike had driven past it many times. It was a vast estate that had been turned into a fashionable private school for girls. Some of them lived in the dormitories. Others whose homes were near attended during the day. Mike had her own candid opinion of the girls who attended Miss Covington's. She had seen them, en masse, descend upon Westbrook on a Saturday morning for lunch and then a movie. She had seen them walking in tight little groups, with their good conservative clothes, their air of security, and what to Mike seemed their self-satisfied, almost arrogant manner.
She didn't like them for another reason. They wouldn't enter into the interschool sports of the county. In this, Miss Covington's was different from Maple Lawn,another private school, which was very happy to play basketball, field hockey, and even softball with the public
schools.
Mike had made up her mind long ago. Miss Covington was a snob and so were her students. Every time Mike saw a group of Covington girls in jodhpurs and riding jackets and hunt caps riding their horses along the back road, she would think, Just a bunch of snoots. That's
what they are. Grade-A, bona fide snoots.
It was unthinkable that Jeff Parker, the boy of Mike's choice, could have anything to do with one of these girls and she said so.
"I don't believe it, Pat. It's just a story someone has spread."
"You've got to believe it, Mike. I've seen it with my own eyes, and what I haven't seen, I've heard. From reliable sources." "Convince me if you can," Mike answered scornfully. Challenged, Pat let loose.
"To begin with, I haven't been to a single school dance at Brighthaven without seeing Jeff with her. And if that's not proof enough, every Friday night, when I'm out on a date, we usually wind up at Susie's Beanpot."
"I know the place," Mike said ironically. Everyone new Susie's. Pat was right about one thing. If you had a Friday night date within a radius of fifteen miles, you nded up at Susie's. "Jeff's there with her," Pat went on.
"Every Friday?"
"At least every other Friday."
"Every other Friday doesn't mean they're steady." Mike was reluctant to give in to Pat's argument. 'If it's not going steady, it's the next thing to it."
Mike walked away from Pat, standing with her face to the wall. "What is she like?" she asked.
"Medium brown hair, big brown eyes, a rather large mouth, but a pretty smile. Clothes that are simply out of-this-world. I wouldn't call her beautiful, or even cute, but she has a certain charm. The boys keep looking over at her."
"You've told me what she looks like. What is she like herself? As a person, I mean." Mike was forcing the words from a lumped-up throat. "Or maybe you don't know."
"Yes, I know. I've asked questions. She's that kind of girl. When you see her, you want to know more about her."
Mike almost choked on the question because she knew what some of the answer must be. "What did you find out?" "She hasn't had a happy life. Her mother married a second time after she was left a widow. She married for money, they say. The new stepfather is a hard man to get along with. He's short-tempered. They say he and his new stepdaughter don't get along very well.""
"But what is she like the girl herself, the girl Jeff Parker dates?"
"She's a chaser."
"A chaser?"
"A girl who runs after boys. A couple of years ago it was a boy in Westbrook. Now it's Jeff. They say she won't let him alone."
"What's her name?" "Charleen Morgan."
"A pretty highfalutin name," Mike grunted. "She's a pretty superior girl."
Mike grunted again. She was thinking. Charleen Morgan. She could visualize this girl she had never met. A girl who had charm, not beautiful, but a smart dresser and with the attractiveness that could turn the heads of boys toward her. A girl with money. A girl who went to Miss Covington's. A girl who rode horseback, maybe even owned her own horse, and who lived in a bigger and better house than even the Parkers. Mike saw her. She was a live creature, moving around in Mike's conscious ness, playing a hard game of tennis with Jeff, swimming at the country club with Jeff, skiing with Jeff, dancing with Jeff, flirting with Jeff. Mike could hear her voice, the low, husky voice of a siren speaking in the cultured tones that were taught at Miss Covington's school.
A chaser. A girl with enough self-assurance to go after the man she wanted.
Pat put her hands on Mike's shoulders and swung her around. "If I were you, Mike, I'd try to forget Jeff Parker. I honestly think you made a mistake to go out on that date. I don't think you'll ever hear from him again. You're my sister and I love you. I don't want to see you hurt. Forget him, Mike, He's not your kind of boy and you're not his kind of girl."
Mike was seldom one to follow the advice of anyone, even her own sister, but she had to admit that Pat's remarks about Jeff Parker merited some consideration. She tried, she honestly tried to forget Jeff and that one momentous evening.
She found it was not so hard as she had expected it would be. One evening, however eventful, was hardly enough to pin one's dreams to. Especially when that evening had been instigated as a gag.
There were pressing events at school like midterm exams and theme papers that engrossed her attention. There was something even more compelling than scholastic events. There was the urgency of a basketball season that had suddenly become highly explosive.