Joan Hess - Dear Miss Demeanor

“Why did you do this to me?” I asked Evelyn. “I was having a perfectly nice time at the Book Depot. I planned to go home, read the newspaper over a Lean Cuisine and a drink, and prepare myself for the dance. My plans did not include freezing in the bleachers, spilling coffee in my lap, or watching a group of faceless hulks batter each other to pulp over an ovoid plaything.”

Evelyn laughed. “But it’s Homecoming, Claire. We must applaud the ladies of the court and cheer on the Falcons to victory. Where’s your school spirit?”

“In my living room, curled on the couch.”

“Try this,” Sherwood murmured, handing me a liberally spiked cup of coffee. “It’s my contribution to spirit. Enough of this and you’ll be on your feet with the optimates screeching for a touchdown.”

“I thought this was forbidden,” I said. I sipped at it anyway; the worst they could do was haul me away to jail, which was probably a good deal warmer and quieter.

“ De minimis non curat J~ the law does not concern itself with trifles, such as a dollop of brandy.” He prepared cups for Evelyn and himself. “I heard an interesting tidbit from my fifth period hoi polloi, by the way. It seems that Immerson was reinstated at the fateful moment, and the Falcons now have a chance to broast, barbecue, and bake the Bantams.”

“That’s odd,” Evelyn said. “He surely didn’t produce a grade above a D on a pop quiz or turn in an assignment in his own handwriting. Word of that would have spread across the school more quickly than a social disease. Did Miss Don actually relent and agree to let him play?”

“All I heard was that our Mr. Immerman was in the office most of third period,” Sherwood said, “and Jerry was there during fourth period. His absence encouraged the drivers’ ed class to engage in a brief but successful game of strip poker in the backseat of the Buick; an anonymous young lady was rumored to have lost a capite ad calceni -from head to heel.” He waggled his eyebrows in a facetious leer, but I didn’t doubt the story for a second. “But there is our principal pro tempore a mere dozen rows away; you might ask her why she changed the policy. Personally, I would rather consult Medusa about the name of her hairdresser.”

I agreed with Sherwood, although I was curious. I finished my coffee and asked for directions to the concession stand. Once we had unwrapped the blanket, much as the Egyptians might have done to check on decomposition, I fought my way down the rows of metal benches and went to see if Jerry had confided the details to his beloved.

Paula Hart was in the back of the concrete shed, watching popcorn explode in a glass box. I inched my way through the crowd to a corner of the counter and beckoned to her. “I hear Immerman was reinstated,” I said.

She gave me a puzzled look. “Yes, I believe he was. Can I get you a box of popcorn or something to drink, Claire? We have a limited selection of candy bars, but they’re ancient and I wouldn’t recommend them to anyone over eighteen.”

“Did he convince Miss Dort to rescind the order, or did Jerry have a word with her?”

A frown that hinted of irritation flashed across her face, but she quickly converted it to a smile. “I have no idea. it’s really too loud and crazy in here for conversation, and I do have to watch some of the less mathematically inclined when they make change. Perhaps you might ask Miss Dort.”

“I’d love a box of popcorn,” I said, determined not to be dismissed despite the jostling crowd and my disinclination to eat anything prepared by adolescents. When she returned, I began to dig through my purse. “Now that Miss Dort is acting principal, what do you think she’ll do about Jerry’s graduate-school transcript?”

Paula’s hand tightened around the box until I could almost hear the popcorn groan. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she managed to say, her lipstick beginning to crack.

“I’d ask him, but I suspect he’ll be occupied with this thing between the Falcons and the Bantams for the next two hours. Of course, it wasn’t clear what Mr. Weiss intended to do. He sounded grim at the last teachers’ meeting, however; you two must have been alarmed.” The last bit wasn’t exactly speculation. but it seemed tactful to pretend.

“The police haven’t mentioned the graduate-school transcripts. How did you find out about them?”

“The police have the same problem I had initially,” I said. “They saw them in the personnel file, but they didn’t assume there was anything significant about the coach being exceptionally well educated. One has to understand the workings of the education bureaucracy to see why all teachers shouldn’t be exceptionally well educated.”

Her Barbie doll face crumpled. Ignoring the startled looks from the students beside her, she snatched up a napkin and blotted her eyes. “It was awful, just awful. Weiss made it clear he could have Jerry fired at any time. He also stopped me in the corridor late one afternoon after a club meeting and suggested that he-he and I engage in-in-a-oh, it was dreadful!”

“Did you tell Jerry that Weiss wanted sexual favors in exchange for job security?” I continued, unmoved by her display.

“Jerry called me that evening, and I just broke down.” She sniffled bravely into the napkin. “He was furious, but I managed to calm him down and talk some sense into him. He wanted to go right over to Mr. Weiss’s house, pound on the door, and make a terrible scene. It would have cost him his job for sure. With that on his record, he wouldn’t have been able to coach anywhere.”

Or buy a cottage and reproduce, I amended to myself. I was about to ask more questions when the bleachers above us erupted in a roar. The band took up the strains of the Falcons’ fight song, competing with the opposing band’s blare. Paula gave me an apologetic look and scurried away to blink bravely, if somewhat damply, at the popcorn machine. I left the crushed box of cold popcorn on the counter, and went back to join Sherwood and Evelyn on the fifty-yard line.

The band marched onto the field and arranged itself in some mysterious way that must have had some significance to those higher in the tiers. The cheerleaders bounced about like irregular ping-pong balls, shaking their pompoms among other things and arousing the pep squad to frenzied squeals. The drill team formed two lines and shook their pompoms among other things. The scene reminded me of a primitive, sacrificial ceremony in which virgins would go to the grave intact. To the tune of “Fight Ye Falcons,” no less. The crowd loved it.

The Homecoming court convertibles appeared on the track that encircled the football field. The girls perched on the backseats, their white, clenched fingers digging into the upholstery as they smiled at the crowd. They were escorted from their thrones by as-yet-unsullied football players to be presented to the crowd and to accept bouquets and admiration. Followed by the kindergarten attendants, Cheryl Anne clutched the arm of her darling Thud, who clumsily put a plastic tiara on her head and handed her a bouquet of roses. It brought back memories, distant and blessedly mellowed with time, of faces arranged in the yearbook, all grim and determined to succeed. I looked particularly stem under a bouffant hairstyle that always left Caron and Inez weak from sustained laughter.

The presentation of the court, sniveling babes and all, was touching. The next two-and-a-half hours of bodies flinging themselves against each other were not, except in the obvious sense. Grunts and thumps, the sound of helmet against helmet, the incessant screams of the pep squad, the boisterous verbosity of the fans-it verged on something worse than Dante had ever envisioned for the lowest circles of the Inferno.