Bentley Little - Dominion

Lunch ended far too soon.

The bell rang, and Kevin stood up, throwing his wrappers in the metal trash bin next to the table, waving goodbye, and heading off to his sixth-period class. Vella threw away her trash too and waited a respectable distance away for her friend. Around them the flow of people began streaming toward the classrooms.

Penelope looked at Dion, glanced away. "So what are you doing after school?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

"Why?"

"Well, I thought maybe we could study together. I mean, I'm having a little trouble in Mythology, especially keeping all those Titans and Olympians straight." She smiled. "Since you're the big expert, I thought you could help me out."

She was not having any trouble, and he knew it, but he decided to play along. "Okay," he said.

"We could meet in the library ..." She thought for a moment. "Or you could come over to my house. It's not as quiet there, but it's a lot more comfortable."

"Sure," he said. "I'd like that."

"Do you have a car?"

He shook his head, embarrassed. "No."

"That's okay. Neither do I. The bus takes me straight home, though, and you can ride with me. I'm sure I can get one of my--I can get" my mother to drive you home."

"Come on!" Vella called from the sidelines. "We'll be late!"

Dion smiled. "You'll be late."

"We'll both be late." ., "So where do you want to meet?"

"Outside the library, after school."

"I'll be there," he said.

"I'll see you then."

He waved good-bye and watched her hurry over to Vella. The two girls sprinted across the grassy expanse toward the lockers.

He was still staring at the spot where they'd disappeared into the building when the bell rang.

The conversation on the bus ride was not as relaxed and easy as it had been at lunch. Kevin and Vella weren't there, which put extra pressure on the two of them, and the tension which had been nascent earlier was now full blown and firmly in the forefront, the considerable effort involved in arranging this supposedly casual meeting making it nearly impossible to maintain the illusion that they were classmates simply studying together. Their talk was hesitant, their words infrequent, their discussion consisting of awkwardly worded questions and quick-to-the point answers. Nevertheless, the natural affinity they shared won out over this more superficial unease, and by the time the bus brakes hissed to a stop in front of the winery gates, the two of them were, if not talking as though they were old friends, at, least not acting as though they were terrified of each other.

They stepped off the bus, which pulled slowly away with a rattle of loose gravel. Penelope used a key to open a small black box attached to a low pole next to the gate, and she quickly punched in a series of numbers on the tiny console. She closed the front of the box, and the giant gates opened with a low whirring noise. She smiled at him. "Come on."

Dion followed her through the iron gates and up the winding paved driveway. The single lane was flanked near the entrance by a line of trees which acted as a natural fence and which disappeared almost immediately, giving way to a field of staked grape vines, laid out in parallel rows and spreading over what appeared to be acres of flat farmland. On the far side of the huge vineyard, he could see Penelope's house arid the adjacent structures of the winery.

He whistled. "Wow," he said.

Penelope giggled.

"I've never seen anything like this," he admitted. He stared at the tall Ionic columns which made up the peristyle separating the winery from the parking lot. Beyond it were three neo-Classic buildings arranged in staggered order. Concessions had been made to modernity--as they drew closer he could see metal heating/air-conditioning units, reflective window glass, clearly marked service doors--but from afar the complex looked like nothing so much as an ancient Greek hilltop city. The plantation style house, while set slightly apart from the winery and distinctly American, also contained complementary echoes of ancient architecture and did not dispel the impression.

Dion thought of the small house he and his mother rented, realized that he had never even imagined living in a place this big or this opulent.

He looked at Penelope. The differences between them suddenly seemed enormous.

She looked at him and smiled.

He tried to smile back, tried to think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a fool. He cleared his throat "I was looking at a tourist map of the wineries the other day, and I

didn't see yours listed."

"We don't give tours," she explained. "The winery is not open to the public."

"Really?" Dion was surprised at that. The winery seemed to have been built with tourists specifically in mind. With its pseudo-Greek architecture and distinctive layout, it would seem to be a natural point of interest, much more so than Edinger's or Scalia's or some of the other more pedestrian-looking wineries which did offer guided tours of their facilities. He frowned. "Then why does it look so ... Why does it look like this?"

Penelope shrugged. "That's how the women of the combine wanted it."

Dion looked again at the complex, and suddenly he didn't like it. The interest and admiration he had felt only seconds before disappeared. A

wave of distaste washed over him, an aversion so strong it was almost physical. He glanced quickly away, but not before Penelope saw the expression on his face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

He waved it away. "Nothing," he said. But he looked again at the winery buildings, and he was afraid. There were goose bumps on his arms, and he was reminded of his equally irrational reaction to the hill last week.

He coughed, tried not to let his unease show. "Come on."

Penelope nodded, leading the way. They walked past the rows of vines and lines of pickers, through the parking lot, and down the short path to the house. The fear passed as quickly as it had come, and by the time they had reached the front steps it was just a memory.

"Home sweet home," Penelope said.

Dion looked up at the three-story mansion. "Have you always lived here?"

"All my life."

"You must have a big family."

"No. It's just me and my mother."

"Your dad doesn't--?"

"No."

He shook his head. "Just the two of you in this huge house?"

"Well, it's not just the two of us. My other ... women in the combine live here too."

Dion nodded, saying nothing.

Penelope stopped at the foot of the porch steps, turned to face him. "I

know what the kids say," she said, her voice low, "but I'm not a lesbian."

Dion found himself blushing. "I didn't say you were--"

"And neither are any of the women in the combine." Her voice was strong, her expression serious. For all of her shyness, for all of her earlier hesitancy, she seemed much older than her years, more poised and, mature than other girls her age. "Look," she said. "I know how it looks to a bunch of hormone-enraged teenage boys, but the combine is just a business concern. That's it. We all live in the same house, but that's because it's big and it's convenient. Our winery is not some sort of sex club or Playboy mansion or anything. Nothing like that happens here or has ever happened here. I'll admit that the women are all strong feminists, but contrary to what people seem to think these days, there's nothing wrong with that. They're aggressive because they have to be.

They're businesswomen. And everything they've done, they've done on their own. No one helped them, no one encouraged them, no one would even hire them when they were originally looking for positions in other wineries. They may have made it in spite of men and not because of men, but that doesn't make them lesbians." She stopped to catch her breath.