Tom chatted with his friends Pat and Terry in History II. The work load, as usual, was monstrous. Pat had already decided on a gentleman's "C", whereas Terry and Tom made plans to ace this course no matter what it took.
"Pope Thomas, as you love history so much, I want to sit by you in case I want to cheat. You have a mind like a sieve. And I absolutely promise not to grab your balls," Terry promised. "And I'm tired of reading the reflection in Pat Seven's specs for the answers. It's become so bad I'm starting to write from right to left now."
"I was worried about that," said Tom. "Not about the writing, but about my balls."
"Hi hi, everyone!" The four or five students who had made it to History II were interrupted by Mike van Haut, last year's frosh president. "Gents, we have Tops List early this year, as you know." He rested a stack of papers near the door. "It's so easy it's botch-proof. Either send it back to my room tonight or e-mail your choices to . You'll see that the others get their lists?"
"Sure," said Tom.
"Right. Goodbye." And with that, Mr. van Haut disappeared.
Terry took his list and wadded it up, throwing it towards the wastebasket, missing by eight feet. "Oh dear. No NBA contract for me."
"Good Lord, man," cried Pat. "Certainly you have an opinion?"
"I have an opinion that it's a waste of time. Deciding which self-centered bitch is the bitchiest? Gentlemen, the dark shadow cast over Fielding in 1971 remains with us all. I suppose you've put Miss Quinn Morgendorffer at the top of your Tops?"
"Oh yes," said Pat. "Twenty times over, in triplicate if necessary. Your Holiness, might I ask for a vote for the Divine Vision?" (Pat seemed to have a new phrase for Quinn every day.)
"I'll throw her a bone."
"Now now, Thomas," said Pat, "it's very unsporting to cut in. I intend to fill Ms. Morgendorffer's dance card, along with anything else that - hee hee - might need filling. Why, it would be rude not to."
"Riiiiight," said Tom. "I didn't mean it that way. Mr. Hackney, I cede my droit de seigneur to the better man."
"Hear, hear!" Terry smiled.
"Besides," said Tom, "I hear that Quinn Morgendorffer is as dumb as a box of hammers."
"Oh Pope." It was Terry, sighing. "You'll never find a soulmate. Not until you master parthenogeneis."
(* * *)
"So what do you think?" Elsie asked, as the two sat in their Introduction to Law class.
"Let me get this straight," Daria said. "Your mother pays $100 an hour for your tutoring? A C-note? And that's just for someone to tell you which words to highlight on the PDF file?"
"That's nothing," said another girl with a pigtail. "If you suck suck suck, it can go up to $125 an hour."
"And you want me...to tutor you?"
"Yup. Twice a week, minimum."
"Why do I think I'm a charity case?"
"Oh Daria, don't be so. Fact is, the tutors I've got are wasted on me, anyway. I just want to pass with minimal effort. And none of them have truly helped. So if the money is going to be wasted, why not waste it on someone I like? And why be bored wasting time with some tutor who just wants to look down my blouse, like the last one?"
"Your mother is never going to go for it."
"My mother will not look into it. If my grades remain the same, she'll just stop payment."
"You don't get it Elsie. I don't think I'm the person to tutor you, even though I appreciate the scheme. And I'm not going to say that I don't want the money because that would be bull****. Right now...I'm not getting off on the right foot." Daria explained the trouble she was having in Ms. Merritt's class.
"Daria, you're the smartest person I know, save for my brother. Literally. I don't want to bother with any of the other smart people here. They're all basket cases, little grinnnnnnds." Elsie mimed someone slumped over at her desk, feverously scribbling.
"Yeah, I met someone like that in Merritt's class. Davidson."
"Oh. Miss Davidson." Elsie knew the name. "Crazy as a bat. And of course, she gets abused horribly for it, so she becomes even more maladjusted. A vicious cycle, seen many times before."
The prof entered the room. "Daria, if you're worried, we can make an exception and speak with Thomas. He's the one to speak with if you want to earn good grades."
(* * *)
It only took a text message.
Tom - my friend wants to know how to be just like you, God help her - share your madness at lunch - Els
"Hey." Tom sat down across from Elsie and Daria.
"Hey," Daria said in response. Great. I was hoping he would get uglier, but he hasn't. He looks even better in his Fielding blazer. Maybe I can get some tutoring from him. No. No, that's asking for too much, too soon. I have to play it cool. If he even pays attention to me at all.
"Weren't you over at Elsie's a few nights ago?" Daria tried to hold in her joy at the recognition as much as possible.
"True," said Elsie. "Thomas Sloane, once again, Daria Morgendorffer. Daria, Thomas."
"Morgendorffer. You're Quinn Morgendorffer's...cousin? Or nanny? Or adopted child found in the gutter? The story seems to change every time I hear it, but I suspect that you share more than a name."
"Ah," said Daria. "Then you've met Quinn. If you give me two bucks, you can keep her."
"I've not met her," said Tom, "but she's fast becoming a legendary figure. I suspect her upkeep is more than two bucks."
Tom smiled. Daria smiled back. Tom tried to look beyond the glasses.
"Thomas, young Daria here wants to become a grrrrrind. I believe she wants to win the Scholastic Cup."
"It looks like Ms. Merritt," said Daria, "will be the end of a long undefeated streak of 'A's."
"Hmm. Knowledge is coming up, right?" said Tom.
"Don't remind me."
"Do you know the name of Stephen Stuart? They're going to ask you that question. Someone will. Anyway, Stewie was the last person at Fielding to graduate with a 4.0 average. That was 12 years ago. He's entered the field of myth. They tell stories about him."
Daria thought about Highland High School. The last year she was there, six kids had graduated with 4.0 averages.
"This prospective 'B' has Daria all aflutter," said Elsie.
"Heh. Every now and then," said Thomas, "I can swoop and grab an easy 'A'. Other times, you have to be happy with a 'B' and there are a couple of 'C' teachers that you have to stay clear of."
Tom noticed the dismissive look on Daria's face. "You want to...say something?"
"So are you telling me that they don't give 'A's - or that people choose not to earn them?"
"I'm speaking of about priorities. I have a 3.43 average here at Fielding. That's very good here. That will get me a Bromwell or Crestview admission or anywhere I care to go. If you achieve a 3.43, any Ivy should take you if you don't pick the interviewer's nose for him. If you get a 3.6, I'd apply to Oxford or Cambridge. 'A's don't fall from trees at Fielding."
"Could you have earned the 'A' if you chose to?"
"Yes," sighed Tom. "Yes, if I had agreed to sleep four hours a night and cut my social life down to nothing, I could have probably grabbed an 'A' in Merritt's class. Some people did, but they were all brilliant. I don't have the aptitude in English Lit. I ended up with a 'C'. I was happy to get it. I suggest you cut your losses. The only way you'll get an 'A' from Merritt is if you've read every Great Book in the Canon."
"In that case," said Daria. "You might as well point me to the library. Or give me Stephen Stuart's address."
"Hmm. He's at the Cato Institute now. I'll bet money he's easy to locate. Send him an e-mail. Tell him you're from Fielding. Who knows, maybe he'll answer it?"
(* * *)
The next night, Edmonda "Eddie" Sterling called a meeting of the Tops in Chapel basement. "Topisiennes, we have a final placement list. We will have two new girls in Tops this year."
"Two Tops?" said Patty Clark. "But there's only one Tops spot, am I right?"
"Correct. I am sad to say that one of us shall no longer be Tops." It was news that Eddie didn't want to give. Tradition had it that only a certain number of girls at Fielding could be Tops. That meant that one person in the room would be losing her bracelet. The response from the crowd was complete silence. Those who felt on shaky ground as Tops could feel the wind of the dropping blade of the guillotine. "In order to preserve the dignity of that person who will be leaving us, that name shall not be announced at this meeting.
"The new Tops are as follows: Misha Jannison, 8th grade. Quinn Morgendorffer, frosh." Sue Bentley's snort could be heard in the deepest corner of the room, as Bentley examined her fingernails carefully.
"I know Misha. She's the best!" someone said. "But I haven't had the chance to say much to Quinn."
"We've been forbidden," said Patty. "The interdict."
"Chair, isn't Quinn's prospective status as a Top in doubt?" Sue asked.
"Hardly. I'm the only one who knows final placement. And trust me, dear Sue - she outplaced you." And me. As the crowd gasped - the thought that Sue Bentley could be displaced from what was undoubtedly a high ranking gave many pause - Eddie hoped that the fact would finally shut Sue Bentley's mouth.
Bentley was not dissuaded. "Chair, and fellow Tops, I would like to remind each of us that Tops is a society of peers. Quinn Morgendorffer is hardly a peer. I have it on good word - never mind where - that she was kicked out of her little Texas school for some heinous reason. I've heard that she might have pulled a knife on a student, or that maybe she was caught giving one of her teachers a blow job. The truth is sooooo cloudy. It is clear, however, that the only way Quinn Morgendorffer could get into Fielding is face up."
"Even if, for some outlandish reason, she was able to deceive someone important who might consider her as a charity case, Tops are Tops. Some of our families are first families. We're in the Social Register. Quinn Morgendorffer just doesn't have the background to be a Top. Blood tells. Look at her dykey 'cousin', keeping company with the Queen Bitch. Breeding tells, and bad breeding yells. If you let Quinn Morgendorffer become a Top - then you destroy everything that Tops has stood for - and the Old Tops will get their say, I'm sure."
Eddie recognized the implicit threat. "Very well. Katy, I told you to find out if Quinn was a lege or not. What gives?"
"There are no Morgendorffers in the Social Register," said Sue, "I've looked. She's not a lege."
Katy answered. "Sue told me to wait and see if Quinn made Tops."
Sue Bentley is not Tops Chair, not yet. I'll hold my tongue for now. "Then, Katy, you will return as soon as possible with what you find. If you do not come up with an answer, you'll be punished. No more excuses. You report to me...only. Understood."
Katy tried not to pass out. "Yes, Chair."
"I probably can't stop any of you from giving Misha the good news, but if the boys find out that Quinn isn't on that list, there will be hell to pay. They're expecting a bloody inauguration tomorrow. So I am asking for discretion. If you tell Misha - or Quinn - anything, you threaten what Tops is about."
(* * *)
The inquiries began almost immediately. The boys wanted to know the names of the new Tops - the new Tops would be the girls most in demand, as almost every Top was spoken for save Sue Bentley. Ronnie stated that the information was not to be shared until Eddie notified the newest Tops. Eddie answered back to Ronnie that a question had come up at Tops meeting "regarding some arcane rule" and that hopefully the publication of the Tops List would be delayed for no more than 24 hours. The boys grumbled but had no recourse.
Katy, meanwhile, was put to work. Hoping to be a future CEO, Katy was one of the few girls who volunteered for Fielding, working in Fielding's accounting department. ("In order to know business, you have to follow the money.") She contributed six hours a week doing minor chores for Fielding's two overworked accountants and hoping to learn by osmosis.
There was no guarantee that her approach would be successful, but she knew that in the cabinet marked "11B" - the designation was a remnant of a former Fielding accounting system long since vanished - there was a metal box that contained checks. There was a key to the cabinet, and there was a key to the box. Every so often she was asked to put her hands on some canceled paper check, and she would do so, so she knew the system. The problem was that this required one of the accountants to ask for a check and give her the keys. (The other problem was that the money might have been transferred electronically, but many of the alums defiantly wrote paper checks, trusting no system of accounting developed beyond a gentleman's handshake.)
If she was lucky, both accountants would leave and she'd have a free run at the cabinet. If she was unlucky, she'd have to lie. Today she was unlucky, and she got to try out her story. If she was caught, she feared expulsion.
"Ms. Vincent, someone from the Head's office is asking about Emily Morgan's tuition check."
"Emily Morgan?" said Vincent. "Mrs. Morgan always pays promptly. She's one of the first ones who pays."
****. "Mrs. Morgan was asking about the check. She said that we didn't cash it."
"Hff. I can pull up a spreadsheet that keeps the total balance, organized by last name."
"She wants proof." Katy had been forced to invent a further lie on the spur of the moment. Suddenly, Katy realized that one call from Ms. Vincent to the Head's office would spell doom.
"Damned alumni. I have accruals due. I don't have time for this." Ms. Vincent pulled out her keys. "Katy, find the old bat's check and please her. And let me know if that check isn't there, because there will be hell to pay."
Gladly, Katy took the keys. One minute later, the cabinet was open and the metal box was in her hands. She prayed that Quinn Morgendorffer's family paid by check, or that there was some sort of slip in the check drawer that explained more than she knew.
Thumbing rapidly to the "M"s, she found a check under the "Morgendorffers" file. "Ms. Vincent!" Katy cried. "I found the check!"
"Good!" Ms. Vincent answered. "Be a dear and make a photocopy for the Head."
Katy smiled. Vincent would have forgotten about it the next day. Katy would indeed photocopy a check, but it wouldn't be Emily Morgan's.
(* * *)
Months Earlier
Headmaster Henry Michaelas was enjoying his brief summer respite. Fielding was deserted, as repairmen worked on repainting Underville Hall and the grounds were otherwise attended. An unmarried man, Fielding was Michaelas's life. The oldest of the headmasters, Headmaster Warville, served for thirty-five years as Head; Michaelas hoped to break that record someday but Old Warville had started six years earlier, and Michaelas knew he wasn't getting any younger. However, that did not mean that Michaelas could not rest his body and mind in Greece the following week - he would need all of his strength for July seminars and the Alumni Committee. They can hire my successor when I'm dead.
His secretary alerted him to a phone call about a prospective admission. He would take it in his office. Parents had been known to beg, borrow, cajole or steal to get on the wait list; there was simply no hope of taking anyone else this term.
"Headmaster Michaelas speaking."
The voice that answered him was the voice of his past. A voice that he had hoped to forget, but one which was beyond forgetting.
"Yes...yes, I'm fine, Bethany, thank you. How are you?"
She would have to be an old woman now. After all, he was an old man. Her voice was almost hypnotic, it brought back old memories and uncomfortable stirrings. It reminded him that he was an adulterer, and worse, it reminded him that there was a time in his life when he thought such concepts were old fashioned. Ugly business best put aside, but now, she was calling again, and stopping that.
He wanted to speak to her forever. He wanted to hang up the phone and tell her never to call him again. He could have gone on, but it was she who told him that it was all over, preferring security and family in the end.
"I see...hmm. Well, you know Fielding has a wait list...I see. I see...I see." Michaelas began to write names on a legal pad.
A pause.
"You know, I never stopped feeling the same way."
Another pause. She had said nothing substantial. Merely dangled the chance in front of him, speaking of how pleasant it was back then.
"December? Hmm, yes. End of term. I'd love to see you again."
There. He said it. His old weakness triumphant.
"Of course. Yes. Yes, I can make a way. Bethany, I decide who shall be called to Fielding and who shall not. And the door will be open to them, but they shall have to earn the right to remain here.... Oh, charming. Yes, have someone send the information...no, there shall be no problem whatsoever. Consider it done.... I enjoyed hearing your voice again. Goodbye."
He had agreed to it. Men of industry, politics and power had come begging at his door, and one woman made one phone call and he was a shadow of a man, his resolve evaporated. He didn't care how old she was. He wanted nothing physical.
She would be back. In December. They would meet once again. He sat down in his padded leather chair and gave a heavy sigh.
He called his secretary into the room, handing her a scribbled piece of paper. "Ms. Jones, please contact Highland High School in Highland, Texas. Also contact Highland Middle School. Look in the pending applications file. You'll find the names Morgendorffer. Daria and Quinn Morgendorffer. They are to be admitted, forthwith, next term, and you shall add them to our list of enrolled students. I suspect they shall not be boarding with us - they intend to move to Lawndale...."
(* * *)
Eddie looked up the name from the check on her on-line database in the Social Register. Everyone who was anyone was in the Register. Everything they needed to know showed up on screen:
Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Barksdale IV (Bethany Greene)
Goldenrod, Field, Br. SoZ (Pres), PCC, SYC
Miss Maribelle's, GH, SO. Dar, Myf, PCC, SYC.
Children: Rita, Helen, Amy
Grandchildren: Erin (Rita), Daria, Quinn (Helen)
"That's it," said Eddie. "She's a lege. Grandmama paid the way for dear Quinn. And grandmama's a graduate of Grove Hills. Paramont Country Club in Virginia. Old Virginia."
Sue was left silent. "Quinn's blood, dearest Sue, is as blue as yours or mine." Eddie giggled. "Like it or not, we have our newest Top. It's time to tell her."