Marianna Baer - Frost

Abby was quiet for a moment. “Did she tell you to? Because she thinks I broke that vase?”

“We’re just being careful, Abb. I told her you didn’t do it.”

Abby rinsed a red pepper and set it on the cutting board. Then she said, “I’ve tried to be nice. What’s her problem?”

“She doesn’t know you.” I turned my attention to the flashing countdown on the microwave. I hated being caught between them like this. “If she did, she wouldn’t have accused you to begin with.” The microwave beeped. I stirred the spinach into a ricotta-and-egg mixture.

Abby’s chopping had slowed to one chop per second. It occurred to me that I had a perfect change of subject. “You know,” I said. “She invited Whip to this dinner.”

Abby looked over at me. “Whip? Are you kidding?”

I grinned and shook my head. “Nope. I just found out.”

“Celeste invited Whip. Why? What possible reason?”

Whip Windham—Spaulding Whipple Windham IV—is an old-school preppie of the madras shorts and bluchers, white-blond hair and thin lips, destined to be a (Republican) member of Congress, variety.

“They’re doing some project together,” I explained.

“Wow.” Abby smiled, bucked up by this amusing piece of news, as I knew she would be. “That’s quite a couple. Green Beret and Whippersnapper. Whichever teacher paired them up is my new hero. I’d love to be a fly on the wall while they’re working together.”

I laughed. “Whip’s probably scared to death.”

“I assumed she invited David for dinner,” Abby said. “Viv told me he’s coming.”

I stirred more vigorously.

“Leen? I thought we were all only supposed to invite one person?”

“I invited David,” I said.

“What? Celeste made you?”

“No. I wanted to.” I poured olive oil into a pan on the stove. “He’s a really good guy, Abby. You should see how much he worries about his sister. He’s not all obsessed with himself, like the other guys here are.”

“Yeah,” she said, “instead of being obsessed with himself he’s obsessed with her. He’s in here all the time, carrying her books, her laundry. God knows what else. I don’t think it’s nor—”

“Abby,” I said. “He’s my friend. Okay?”

“Oh my God,” she said, putting down her knife. “You like him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. As a friend.”

“You want to have his crazy babies!”

“Jesus.” I turned from the snapping and cracking pan of hot oil to face her. “You sound just like Celeste.”

Abby stared at me, obviously taken aback. “Thanks a lot.”

“I mean … the way you’re blowing this up just to make it into a big drama. We’re friends, okay? Sure I have a crush on him, but we’re just friends. And if you gave him a chance, you’d like him, too. It doesn’t mean anything bad that he’s Celeste’s brother.”

“Okay,” she said, picking up the knife again. “Whatever you say.”

Whip brought out a silver, monogrammed flask from the inside pocket of his navy blazer.

“My contribution to the evening, ladies.” He poured a shot into the can of Coke I’d just given him and offered me the flask.

I sniffed it.

“Grey Goose,” he said. “I have a second one. Plenty for all.”

Ms. Martin was out until eight at the earliest—that’s when we had to be finished in her kitchen—so I added a splash of the vodka to my own can of soda and passed the flask to Cameron. Abby’s “date,” the guy who was playing Tilden in the play, had canceled; it was the four of us Frost Housers, plus David, Whip, and Cam.

Since we didn’t have a proper dining table, the seven of us were seated around the coffee table in the common room. Celeste wore a slinky silver evening dress and a thin black shawl over her shoulders. With Whip’s blazer and khaki pants with embroidered whales, they made quite a pair sitting together on the couch.

I went into the kitchen and started bringing out the plates of food I’d prepared. As I brought out the last two, Whip was saying, “I can’t believe they made this place a girls’ dorm. I was supposed to live here. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, and my father all did. It’s a frigging Spaulding Whipple Windham tradition.”

“It’s been around that long?” Viv asked.

“My great-grandfather lived here the first year it was a dorm.”

“What was it before that?” I said, settling cross-legged on the floor next to David.

Whip took a bite of lasagna, chewed, wiped his mouth, and then said, “A family’s house—nothing to do with Barcroft. My grandfather says during his time, all the guys made a big joke of living here because there’d been some hysterical chick—I mean, woman—living in it years before. Like the chick in the attic in Wuthering Heights .”

“ Jane Eyre ,” I said. “You know, Whip, it’s not really referred to as hysteria anymore.”

“What is it now? PMS?”

“Yeah. Right,” I said. My eyes met David’s. He gave his a slight roll, then reached over and picked something out of my hair.

Food, already? “Lasagna?” I whispered, appalled.

David grinned. “Kidding.”

“He told me this story,” Whip went on as I made a face at David, “about how everyone was scared of Frost House because of the rumors about the girl. So they pretended it was haunted or some shit and got all these kids to come over.” He took a swig of his drink.

“And?” Celeste said after a minute.

“And what?” Whip said.

“What happened?” Celeste asked.

“What do you mean?” Whip said. “That’s what happened. They scared people and got busted for making some freshman piss his pants.”

“Sounds like a good time,” David said. “Can you pass the salad, Vivian?”

“Yeah,” Whip said, apparently not noticing David’s sarcasm. “Anyway, it sucks they made it a girls’ dorm this year.”

“Everyone always thinks Victorian houses are haunted,” I said, finishing chewing a bite. “When I was little, my friends were scared to spend the night because we lived in an old Queen Anne and they thought it was creepy. It was so stupid.”

“Maybe that was just an excuse,” Abby said, “because they didn’t want to spend the night with you.”

“Very funny.” I rolled a bread ball and shot it at her. We were pretty much back to normal after our spat in the kitchen, but I could tell that she was still mad I’d compared her to Celeste.

“What dorm are you in, Whip?” Viv asked.

“He’s in Franklin,” Celeste said. “It’s a nice room. All new furniture. Really swank. I think the mattress is new, too. Good and bouncy. Not like the terrible ones we have here.”

Whoa. I glanced at David. He was frozen, his fork halfway between his plate and mouth.

“So, what type of ‘project’ are you guys doing?” Abby asked Celeste and Whip in a suggestive tone.

“It’s for rel-phil,” Celeste said. “We’re each other’s gods.”

“You’re what?” Abby said.

“We each have to dress the other one as our idea of a god. Then take a photograph, write a paper about physical representations of gods, blah, blah. Whip’s going to be naked.”

Whip’s eyebrows shot up. “Come again?”

“My god does not wear clothes.” Celeste reached over and tugged the lapel of his blazer. “Especially not whale pants.”

I was thoroughly amused by their interaction; but the look of horror on David’s face told me he wasn’t.

Whip wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. But there’s no way I’m letting photos get out that might ruin my political career.”

“Are you serious?” Celeste said. “That would be your objection? Oh, you are so getting naked. I already have this idea for body paint I want to put on you.”