The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  “But how do you stop them thinking they have the right to jump into bed with you after one hamburger?”

  “Oh, I usually get three or four steaks before I let them try anything. And just occasionally I say yes.”

  “That’s all very well, but how did you handle it the first time?”

  “God knows,” said Wendy. “I can’t remember that far back.”

  Florentyna laughed again.

  “If you come to the tennis with me you might get lucky. After all, there’ll be five other men from Dartmouth, not to mention the six on the Harvard team.”

  “No, I can’t,” Florentyna said regretfully. “I still have an essay on Oedipus to finish by six o’clock.”

  “And we all know what happened to him,” said Wendy, grinning.

  Despite their different interests, the three girls became inseparable, and Florentyna and Wendy would always spend Saturday afternoons watching Bella play hockey. Wendy even learned to scream “Kill ’em,” from the sidelines, although it didn’t sound very convincing. It was a hectic first year and Florentyna enjoyed regaling her father with stories of Radcliffe, Bella and Wendy.

  She had to study hard as her advisor, Miss Rose, was quick to point out that the Woolson Scholarship came up for renewal every year and that it would do neither of their reputations any good if the prize were withdrawn. At the end of the year Florentyna’s grades were more than satisfactory and she had also found time to join the Debating Society and was made freshman representative for the Radcliffe Democratic Club. But she felt her greatest achievement was trouncing Bella on the Fresh Pond golf course by seven strokes.

  In the summer vacation of 1952, Florentyna only spent two weeks in New York with her father because she had applied to be a page at the Chicago convention.

  Once Florentyna had returned to her mother in Illinois she threw herself back into politics. The Republican Party convention had been held in the city two weeks earlier and the GOP had chosen Dwight D. Eisenhower and Richard Nixon as their candidates. Florentyna couldn’t see how the Democrats would come up with anyone to challenge Eisenhower, the biggest national hero since Teddy Roosevelt. “I Like Ike” buttons were everywhere.

  When on July 21 the Democratic convention opened, Florentyna was given the job of showing VIPs to their seats on the speakers’ platform. During those four days she learned two things of value. The first was the importance of contacts, and the second the vanity of politicians. Twice during the four days she placed senators in the wrong seats and they could not have made more fuss if she had ushered them into the electric chair. The brightest moment of her week came when a good-looking young congressman from Massachusetts asked her where she was at college.

  “When I was at Harvard,” he said, “I spent far too much of my time at Radcliffe. They tell me now it’s the other way around.”

  Florentyna wanted to say something witty and bright that he would remember but nothing came out, and it was many years before she saw John Kennedy again.

  The climax of the convention came when she watched the delegates select Adlai Stevenson as their standard-bearer. She had greatly admired him when he was governor of Illinois, but Florentyna did not believe that such an academic man could hope to defeat Eisenhower on Election Day. Despite the shouting, cheering and singing of “Happy Days Are Here Again,” not everybody in that hall seemed to believe it either.

  Once the convention was over, Florentyna went back to Henry Osborne’s headquarters to try to help him retain his seat in Congress. This time she was put in charge of the switchboard inquiries, but the responsibility gave her little pleasure, for she had known for some time that the congressman was not respected by his party workers, let alone by his constituents. His reputation as a drinker and his second divorce were not helping him with the middle-class voters in his district.

  Florentyna found him all too casual and glib about the trust the voters had placed in him and she began to see why people had so little faith in their elected representatives. That faith took another blow when Eisenhower’s Vice Presidential candidate, Richard Nixon, addressed the nation on September 23 to explain away an $18,000 slush fund, which he claimed had been set up for him by a group of millionaire backers as “necessary political expenses” and for “exposing Communists.”

  On the day of the election, Florentyna and her fellow workers were halfhearted about both of their candidates, and those feelings were reflected at the polls. Eisenhower won the election by the largest popular vote in American history, 33,936,234 to 27,314,992. Among the casualties removed in the Republican landslide was Representative Osborne.

  Disenchanted with politics, Florentyna returned to Radcliffe for her sophomore year and put all her energy into her studies. Bella had been elected captain of hockey, the first sophomore to be so honored. Wendy claimed to have fallen in love with a Dartmouth tennis player named Roger and, taking fashion advice from Florentyna, started studying bridal gowns in Vogue. Although they now all had single rooms in Whitman, the three girls saw each other regularly. Florentyna never missed a hockey game, come rain or snow, both of which Cambridge frequently endured, while Wendy introduced her to several men who never quite seemed worthy of the third or fourth steak.

  It was halfway through the spring semester that Florentyna returned to her room to find Wendy sitting on the floor in tears.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Florentyna. “The midterms? You haven’t flunked them?”

  “No, it’s much worse than that.”

  “What could be worse than that?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” said Florentyna, kneeling down and putting an arm around her. “How can you be so sure?”

  “This is the second month I’ve missed my period.”

  “Well, that’s not conclusive, and if the worse comes to the worst, we know Roger wants to marry you.”

  “He may not be the father.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Florentyna. “Who is?”

  “I think it must have been Bob. The football player from Princeton. You met him, remember?”

  Florentyna didn’t. There had been quite a few during the year, and she wasn’t sure what to do next when Wendy couldn’t even be certain of the father’s name. All three girls sat up late into the night with Bella displaying a gentleness and understanding Florentyna would never have thought possible. It was decided that if Wendy missed her next period she would have to make an appointment to see the university gynecologist, Dr. MacLeod.

  Wendy did miss her next period, and asked Bella and Florentyna to accompany her when she went to Dr. MacLeod’s office on Brattle Street. The doctor informed Wendy’s class dean of her pregnancy that night and no one was surprised by her decision. Wendy’s father arrived the next day and thanked them both for all they had done before taking his daughter back to Nashville. It all happened so suddenly that neither of the two other girls could believe they wouldn’t see Wendy again. Florentyna felt helpless and wondered if she could have done more.

  At the end of her sophomore year, Florentyna began to believe she could win a coveted Phi Beta Kappa Key. She was fast losing her interest in university politics; a combination of McCarthy and Nixon was not inspiring, and she became even more disillusioned by an incident that occurred at the end of the summer vacation.

  Florentyna had returned to work for her father in New York. She had learned a lot since the “Jessie Kovats” incident. In fact, Abel was now happy to leave her in charge of various Baron shops when their managers were on vacation.

  During one lunch break she tried to avoid a smartly dressed middle-aged man who was passing through the hotel lobby at the same time, but he spotted her, and shouted:

  “Hi, Florentyna.”

  “Hello, Henry,” she said with little enthusiasm.

  He learned forward and gripped her on both arms before kissing her on the cheek.

  “It’s your lucky day, my dear,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Florentyna, ge
nuinely puzzled.

  “I have been stood up by my date tonight and I’m going to give you the chance to take her place.”

  “Get lost,” is what she would have said if Henry Osborne had not been a director of the Baron Group, and she was about to make some suitable excuse when he added, “I’ve got tickets for Can-Can.”

  Since her arrival in New York, Florentyna had been trying to get seats for Broadway’s latest smash hit and had been told they were sold out for eight weeks, by which time she would have returned to Radcliffe. She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Thank you, Henry.”

  They agreed to meet at Sardi’s, where they had a drink before walking over to the Shubert Theater. The show lived up to Florentyna’s expectations and she decided it would have been churlish of her not to accept Henry’s invitation to supper afterward. He took her to the Rainbow Room and it was there that the trouble started. He had three double scotches before the first course arrived and although he was not the first person to put a hand on her knee he was the first of her father’s friends to do so. By the time they came to the end of the meal Henry had drunk so much he was barely coherent.

  In the cab on the way back to the Baron, he stubbed out his cigarette and tried to kiss her. She squeezed herself into the corner of the cab, but it didn’t deter him. She had no idea how to handle a drunk and didn’t know until then how persistent they could be. When they reached the Baron, he insisted on accompanying Florentyna to her room, and she felt unable to refuse his overtures, fearing that any public row would reflect badly on her father. Once they were in the private elevator he tried to kiss her again, and when they reached her small apartment on the forty-second floor Henry forced his way inside as she opened the door. He immediately went over to the small bar and poured himself another large scotch. Florentyna regretted that her father was in France and that George would have left the hotel to go home long ago. She wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

  “Don’t you think you should leave now, Henry?”

  “What?” slurred Henry. “Before the fun has begun?” He lurched toward her. “A girl ought to show how grateful she is when a fellow has taken her to the best show in town and given her a first-class meal.”

  “I am grateful, Henry, but I am also tired and I would like to go to bed.”

  “Exactly what I had in mind.”

  Florentyna felt quite sick as he almost fell on her and ran his hands down her back, stopping only when he reached her buttocks.

  “Henry, you had better leave before you do something you’ll regret,” Florentyna said, feeling she sounded a little absurd.

  “I’m not gonna regret anything,” he said as he tried to force down the zipper on the back of her dress. “And neither will you.”

  Florentyna tried to push him away, but he was far too strong for her, so she began hitting him on the side of the arms.

  “Don’t put up too much of a fight, my dear,” he panted. “I know you really want it, and I’ll show you a thing or two those college boys won’t know about.”

  Florentyna’s knees gave way and she collapsed onto the carpet with Henry on top of her, knocking the phone from a table onto the floor.

  “That’s better,” he said, “although I like a bit of spirit.”

  He grabbed at her again, pinioning her arms above her head with one hand. He started moving his other hand up her thigh. With all the force she could muster she freed an arm and slapped Henry across the face, but he only grabbed her hair tightly and pushed her dress above her waist. There was a rip, and Henry laughed drunkenly.

  “It would have been easier…if you had taken the damned thing off…in the first place,” he said in breathless grunts as he extended the tear.

  Florentyna stared helplessly backward and saw a heavy crystal vase holding some roses next to where the phone had stood. With her free arm she pulled Henry toward her and started kissing him passionately on the face and neck.

  “That’s more like it,” he said, releasing her other arm.

  Slowly she reached backward for the vase. When she had it firmly in her hand, she broke away and brought the vase crashing down on the back of his skull. His head slumped forward and it took all her strength to push him off her. Florentyna’s first reaction when she saw the blood pouring from his scalp was to fear that she had killed him. There was a loud knock on the door.

  Startled, Florentyna tried to stand up, but she felt too weak in the knees. The knock came again, even louder, but this time accompanied by a voice that could belong to only one person. Florentyna staggered to the door and opened it to find Bella taking up the whole space between the jambs.

  “You look awful.”

  “I feel awful.” Florentyna stared down at her tattered Balenciaga evening dress.

  “Who did that to you?”

  Florentyna took a pace backward and pointed to the motionless body of Henry Osborne.

  “Now I see why your phone was off the hook,” said Bella as she strode over to the prostrate body. “Got rather less than he deserved, I see.”

  “Is he still alive?” asked Florentyna weakly.

  Bella knelt over him and checked his pulse. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s only a flesh wound. He wouldn’t have lived if I’d hit him. Now all he’ll have to show for his trouble is a large bump on his head in the morning, which is not enough for a jerk like that. I think I’ll throw him out the window,” she added, picking Henry up and chucking him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “No, Bella. We’re on the forty-second floor.”

  “He won’t notice the first forty-one,” said Bella, and started walking toward the window.

  “No, no,” said Florentyna.

  Bella grinned before turning back. “I’ll be generous this time and put him in the freight elevator. The management can deal with him as they see fit.” Florentyna did not argue as Bella strode past her with Henry still over her shoulder. She returned a few moments later looking as if she had saved a penalty against Vassar.

  “I’ve sent him to the basement,” she said with glee.

  Florentyna was sitting on the floor sipping a Rémy Martin.

  “Bella, am I ever going to be wooed romantically?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask. No one has ever tried to rape me, let alone be romantic.”

  Florentyna fell into her arms laughing. “Thank God you came when you did. Why are you here, not that I’m complaining?”

  “Little Miss Efficiency has forgotten that I’m being put up in the hotel tonight because I’m playing hockey in New York tomorrow. The Devils against the Angels.”

  “But they’re both men’s teams.”

  “That’s what they think, and don’t interrupt. When I arrived at the desk they had no reservation in my name and the receptionist told me the hotel was packed, so I thought I would come up and complain to the management. Give me a pillow and I’ll be happy to sleep in the bathtub.”

  Florentyna held her head in her hands.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not, I’m laughing. Bella, you deserve a king-size bed and you shall have one.” Florentyna put the phone back on the hook and then picked up the receiver.

  “Yes, Miss Rosnovski?”

  “Is the Presidential Suite free tonight?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Please register it in the name of Miss Bella Hellaman and charge it to me. She’ll be down to confirm in a minute.”

  “Certainly, miss. How will I recognize Miss Hellaman?”

  The next morning Henry Osborne called and begged Florentyna not to tell her father what had taken place the night before, pleading with her that it wouldn’t have happened if he had not drunk so much and adding plaintively that he could not afford to lose his place on the board. Florentyna stared down at the bloodstain on the carpet and reluctantly agreed.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  When Abel returned from Paris he was appalled to learn that one of his directors had been fo
und drunk in a freight elevator and had needed seventeen stitches in his scalp.

  “No doubt Henry is claiming he tripped over a dumbwaiter,” said Abel before he unlocked a drawer in his desk, took out an unmarked file and added another note to it.

  “More likely a dumb blonde,” laughed George.

  Abel nodded.

  “Are you going to do anything about Henry?” George asked.

  “Not at the moment. He’s still useful as long as he has contacts in Washington. In any case, I’m up to my eyes with buildings in London and Paris, and now I see the board wants me to look at possibilities in Amsterdam, Geneva, Cannes and Edinburgh. And now Zaphia is threatening to take me to court if I don’t increase her alimony.”

  “Perhaps the easy way out would be to pension Henry off?” suggested George.

  “Not quite yet,” replied Abel. “There is still one thing I need him for.”

  George couldn’t think of anything.

  “We’ll kill ’em,” said Bella. Bella’s decision to challenge Harvard’s ice hockey team to a field hockey match came as no surprise to anyone except the Harvard team, which politely declined the invitation without comment. Bella immediately took out a half-page advertisement in the Harvard Crimson which read:

  HARVARD JOCKS FLUNK

  RADCLIFFE CHALLENGE

  The enterprising editor of the Crimson, who had seen the advertisement before it went to press, decided to interview Bella, so she landed on the front page as well. The photograph of Bella wearing her mask and pads, and brandishing a hockey stick, ran with the caption: “She’s more frightening when she takes the mask off.” Bella was delighted with the picture and with the caption.

  Within a week Harvard had offered to send its third-string team to Radcliffe. Bella refused, demanding varsity players only. A compromise was reached, with Harvard making up a team of four varsity players, four junior varsity players and three third-string players. A date was chosen and the necessary preparations were made. The undergraduates at Radcliffe began to get quite chauvinistic about the challenge, and Bella became a cult figure on campus.