Chapter 13: Terrors Amid Desires

Karen carefully extricated herself from Ramini’s hold, having been awakened by the faint light of dawn in the frozen northland. She glanced at the digital clock; it was already 7:15 a.m., and only now getting light. The long summer days in this climate meant that short winter days were a certainty.

“Oh my, I gotta get going,” she said half aloud. She had to work a half-day on Saturday with Professor Fenstrom and had to be at work at 8:30 a.m., hardly enough time to shower, fix her hair, put on makeup and dress.

Hearing the “ding” indicating a text message, she turned to her cell phone and with sleep still encrusting her eyes, she saw the message from Aaron:

"Hi, Karen. Remember me? It's Aaron"

“Of course, I remember u. How r u?”

“Fine. Here for BB tourney. Stayed with sis. Like to c u.”

“Pretty busy.”

“Just for coffee, quick lunch?”

“Not sure. But like to c u 2”

“When”

“Four? Stadium area?”

“Sure. Where?”

“Let u know later. Not sure. This may change. Very busy.”

“OK. Luv to c u.”

“Bye.”

Karen contemplated the day ahead. Work ‘til about 1 p.m., meet her mother and Sonny for late lunch before they drive back to Manitowoc, see Aaron, and then back to her room, where she’d prepare for a night out with Angela. Somewhere in there she had to find time to begin a short paper for her mandatory English writing class. It would be exhausting.

She looked at Ramini, a cute little snore emanating about every third breath from the tiny form; why not bring Ramini along to meet Aaron and join in the conversation? Aaron would enjoy meeting her, since Ramini was intelligent, and it might help get the suffering young woman into a more positive frame of mind.

*****
Aaron gave Karen a gentle hug as they met, almost like one of those pro forma hugs that have become so common these days, supplanting a period when the hand-shake was the most intimate form of greeting between two individuals who were not lovers. After an exchange of text messages, they settled on the Java A-Go-Go; it would be the easiest for Aaron to locate since he was a stranger to the city.

“So happy you took time for me,” Aaron said. The boy’s humilty was obvious.

“This is my roommate, Ramini, but you can call her Rami for short,” Karen said, turning to introduce Ramini who looked up at the skinny boy. Aaron not only towered over Karen but seemingly dwarfed Ramini.

“Glad to meet you, Rami,” Aaron said, bending over and taking the girl’s hand.

“Too bad our team lost last night, but they put up a good fight,” Karen said.

“They’ve got spirit, that club does, but that other school was just too good,” Aaron said.

“How’s St. Albert’s?” Karen asked, inquiring about the college he attended.

“Oh, it’s OK, but it gets a bit stifling at times. Maybe I should have gone to a bigger place, like my sister does,” he said. “I have some good liberal teachers and a few friends who can think, but so many of the kids come from those suburban towns and don’t even try to think for themselves.”

“I know what you mean, Aaron,” Ramini interjected. “But we have kids like that here. Karen knows, since she’s seen those kids who come here just to party and hate anyone different.”

The conversation carried on in that fashion for a while, and Karen knew why she was always so comfortable with Aaron. His mind was always active, reflecting upon what was occurring not only around him, but elsewhere, throughout the world. He was a man of many interests, and was rarely boring.

Karen soon found herself almost left out of the conversation as Aaron began peppering Ramini with questions about India, the politics of that country and the life style; in truth, Ramini was not that well-informed about the country of her ancestors since she had been born in the United States and raised in a virtually all-white upper middle-class suburb. Nonetheless, Karen could see that Aaron was fascinated by this tiny girl.

“By the way, Aaron,” Ramini said after nearly an hour of intense conversations and a refill of coffee. “I must tell you that I’m a bit of a hybrid, too, just like Karen.”

“A hybrid?” Aaron asked, looking quizzically at Karen.

Karen nodded, “Yes, just like me.”

“Oh, what?” the boy said. “Oh my. You mean . . . ah . . . that you, too, are a . . .”

“Yes, I am in transition just like Karen here.”

Aaron was momentarily stunned that such a tiny, delicate person could have been born male, but he soon recovered his shock, listening closely to Ramini’s story of estrangement from her family.

“Look,” he said, as the group was about to break up. “I have an extra ticket to the game tonight. I know Karen is busy, but how’d you like to join me? Do you like basketball?”

“Oh yes,” Ramini said. “And I squeal like a girl when I get excited.”

“Yes, she does,” Karen said. “Put plugs in your ears Aaron.”

Ramini hit Karen with a playful tap on the arm. “Not THAT bad.”

*****
Angela and Karen ended up attending the State Championship basketball game together that night as well; as planned, Karen met her longtime girlfriend at a pizza parlor, where Angela announced she had been given two tickets to the game. It was an exciting game, as such championship high school games so often are, and the two girls enjoyed it, cheering for the underdog team from an impoverished inner city school against the perennial power that had beaten Karen’s team the night before.

Karen scanned the huge crowd, even though there was little chance she’d see Ramini and Aaron. Across the huge stadium, she spied what appeared to be a tiny, dark-complexioned girl next to a thin, tall boy. It must be them, she thought, but it was hard to tell for sure. The girl seemed to be pressed tightly against the boy, looking most cozy. Karen hoped the couple she saw was her two friends; she knew Ramini needed loving now more than ever.

The scrappy kids from the urban school darted back and forth in the game, interrupting the smooth-running mechanics of the other team, and eked out a three-point 62-59 victory. Angela and Karen hugged each other as the final whistle sounded.

Less than an hour later, Karen was in Angela’s room back at the house, taking off her sweater, camisole and slacks, stripping down to her bra and panties. In the faint light from a small bed lamp, Karen looked at herself and saw in her white, soft flesh a growing femininity. Now with barely three months of hormones, she felt softer and thought she saw her breasts growing puffy as the nipples seemed to widen. In the last week or so she had noticed pain in the chest area, and was pleased to see the hormones must be having their desired effect on her body.

“You look so luscious,” Angela said.

“You always say that,” Karen said with a laugh.

Angela had removed her bra and stood in her panties, her lanky, sinewy body appearing smooth and hard. Karen looked at Angela’s tiny breasts which stood as firm mounds of flesh, and Karen felt that Angela’s body was that of an athletic, slender boy, perhaps not much different from the bodies of the basketball players she watched that night at the game.

Angela moved next to Karen, put her hands around her and kneaded Karen’s slender, smooth back. As much as Karen had tried to resist the attentions of her friend, she could not, welcoming the other girl’s attentions with great eagerness. She yearned, she realized, for the other girl’s body, to run her hands down Angela’s muscular arms, to caress her powerful thighs and to eventually taste the girl’s hot juices.

Perhaps it was the sight of the sweating young athletes on the basketball floor that aroused her so much that night, Karen thought. The tickets that Angela received had been close to the floor, just several rows up from the players’ bench of the winning team, whose players tended to be shorter, but wiry and hard-bodied. She found herself wondering how it would feel to put her fleshy, feminine body next to the body of the player wearing No. 24, a multi-racial young man whose frame reminded her of what a younger President Obama might have looked like.

“You’re so much more of a girl now, Karen,” Angela said, as the two tumbled together on the bed, Angela’s hands removing Karen’s bra and moving to cup her tiny, fleshy mounds.

The words excited Karen, whose small penis slowly hardened as the other girl increased her embrace. Karen had begun to realize that her penis failed to arouse as much as it had in the past and that she hadn’t masturbated often. Obviously, the testosterone-blockers and hormones were having the desired effect.

“I love how strong you are, Angela,” Karen said.

The other girl’s biceps grew hard, as she hugged Karen even more tightly, and the two began kissing. Grunts and heavy breathing were accompanied by squeals as each girl reached orgasm, and they repeated the process several times before falling asleep together.

Karen awoke in the middle of the night. The room was dark, except for a sliver of light coming in from a gap between the shades and the window frame. At first Karen was unsure where she was, finally realizing from the scent of their love-making mixed with the sour odor of the bed clothes amid which she had spent hours of love-making with Angela.

“Damn,” she thought. “I wanted to resist this. I can’t do this if I’m to be loyal to Mark.”

She roused herself from bed, careful not to awaken Angela, grabbed her clothes and looked out the door to see if the hallway was vacant so that she could run down the hall to her own room without any of the other girls in the house seeing her. She wanted to get to her own room, put on her nighty and then run to the bathroom to clean up before returning to her own bed. She wore only her panties, and held her clothes tightly up against her breasts in a show of modesty.

*****
“I caught you,” the voice startled Karen just as she was about to enter her own room.

She was spun around by someone grabbing her arm, causing her to drop the clothes, exposing her tiny breasts and thin white body.

“Doreen, what are you doing? Leave me alone.”

Instead, Doreen, another muscular girl who had once been Angela’s lesbian girlfriend, tightened her firm grasp on Karen’s arm, drawing the two girls face-to-face.

“God, you smell like a cheap whore, Karen,” Doreen said.

“Let me go,” Karen pleaded, fearing what the girl might do to her.

“You turn me on, you girly bitch,” Doreen said, forcing her lips upon Karen, who tried mightily to avert the kiss.

Doreen was too strong and soon Karen could taste the foul juices of the other girl as Doreen’s pressure on her lips increased and Karen surrendered weakly into her arms. Doreen picked Karen up as if she were a doll and carried her to a bed in the room in which a night light provided only dim illumination to the room. Karen saw the bed covers were askew and clothes littered the floor, hung randomly on chairs and bed posts while books and papers were scattered about. The scent of unwashed clothes mixed with some faint sweetness of perfume brought a hint of nausea over Karen.

Placed flat on her back, Karen looked up to see the hulking form of the other girl hovering over her and she tried to scream out, but Doreen quickly placed her mouth upon Karen’s and pushed her tongue into Karen’s mouth. Karen froze in terror, powerless to resist.

She struggled to get her breath as the kiss lingered on; finally Doreen let up, but quickly covered Karen’s mouth with her hand.

“Don’t you dare scream, Karen, or you’ll hurt badly,” Doreen warned.

Karen shook her head, acknowledging the command.

“OK, I’ll take my hand off then, and you can speak softly to me,” Doreen said.

Karen nodded again, and Doreen removed her hand, and kneeled over Karen, looking intently at her.

“Don’t hurt me, Doreen,” Karen pleaded. She wanted to cry, but realized that her tears might make the situation even worse. How pathetic she felt to be so weak that she couldn’t resist the advances of the other girl.

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” Doreen said her voice soft, gentle, almost soothing.

Karen knew of Doreen’s infatuation for her, recalling when Angela first introduced Karen to the other girls in the house they all shared. It was obvious then that most, if not all, of the girls in the house were gay, or at least bisexual. The first meeting ended with Angela and Doreen fighting over Karen; it had been a rough fight between two girls who gave no quarter in the altercation. It resembled a barroom brawl that might have involved two muscular cowboys. The girls all knew that both Karen and Ramini (who had moved in on March 1) were transgendered girls; yet, they welcomed the two of them, and the two were easily among the most feminine residents of the house.

Doreen began caressing Karen, soon moving her lips onto Karen’s tiny, soft mounds of flesh, using her tongue to toy with the breasts and the nipples. The foul smell of residual juices from her session with Angela still lingered on Karen’s body, but Doreen’s eager tongue licked her, moving onto his tiny, slightly erect penis.

“I can smell Angela on you,” Doreen said bitterly. “Such a traitorous bitch.”

Karen was surprised; she had been told by Angela that Doreen had run out on their love affair and into the arms of another girl. Wasn’t Doreen the traitorous bitch? She realized she would be best off if she didn’t argue the point.

Soon they were locked in each other’s arms, kissing again.

“I can’t get enough of you, Karen,” Doreen said, her breathing growing hard.

Karen found herself also aroused by the attentions of the other girl, which had grown gentle. Doreen’s hands kneaded Karen’s soft fleshy body; she was a huskier girl than Angela, whose strength lay in a sinuous body. Doreen’s heavy biceps flexed with ripples of hardness as she embraced Karen’s slender soft body.

“You’re so dainty, darling. I want to protect you, dear,” Doreen continued. Her panting grew more intense, and she guided Karen’s hand into more sensitive areas, as Doreen gasped, entering a violent, but silent orgasm.

When it was over, both girls were exhausted. Even though Karen was free to get up, she lay next to Doreen for a minute, reflecting on how conflicted she was. She had feared Doreen; yet, she found comfort and satisfaction by the other girl’s violent — yet gentle and loving — attentions.

“I’d love to shower together with you, Karen,” Doreen said.

“Yes,” Karen said carefully.

“But we’d better not, since we might be found out, and then Angela and I’ll get in a fight.”

“I’d better tell you, I do have a boyfriend, and I shouldn’t be with either you or Angela,” Karen said. “It’s not fair to him.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Doreen. I think you should leave me alone now.”

Karen was surprised at the firmness with which she addressed Doreen, who could easily hurt her badly.

“Karen, darling,” Doreen said gently. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I just saw red when I saw you come out of Angela’s room tonight. I didn’t know if I wanted to hurt you or Angela. You’re so hot, Karen. Really, you are!”

“I’d better clean up now and get to my own bed,” she said finally, running from the room and into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Karen was pleased that Ramini was sound asleep in her own bed, and that she’d be able to sleep alone the rest of the night, untroubled by the attentions of others. It was her sweet femininity that made her such an attraction, she realized, but while she was achieving what she had long desired she knew it would cause her both joy and tears in the future. She also suspected she had not felt the last of the voracious longings of both Angela and Doreen and worried about the conflagration that might ignite.

*****
For most of the next day, neither Angela nor Doreen was at the house, both having gone off to participate in a mini-marathon. Their absence helped to put Karen at ease; she was exhausted after a week of intense classes, work with Professor Fenstrom, her mother’s and Sonny’s visit and her complicated sexual liaisons.

“You look so darling in the morning,” Ramini said, interrupting Karen’s dream-like musings as she lay in bed contemplating whether to get up into the chilly room.

“I must look like hell,” Karen said. She felt like “hell,” her eyes encrusted with sleep, her hair tangled and her mouth foul-tasting. Even the shower she had taken before getting to bed had failed to satisfy her that she was clean. Her sexual encounters with the two girls left her feeling empty and pathetic; she had succumbed to both of them, not only due to her physical weakness but also to her lack of will to say “no.”

“You could never look like hell to me,” Ramini said, leaning down to kiss her friend. The Indian girl, still in her nightgown, was seated on Karen’s bed, her hands gently caressing Karen’s face.

Karen took Ramini’s hand in both of hers, brought the hand to her mouth and kissed it in a genuine sign of affection.

“Oh, Karen, Aaron is sooooooooo nice,” Ramini gushed after a moment. “Thank you for introducing us.”

With that, Ramini leaned down and kissed Karen, a lingering, warm kiss. Even the reeking scent of the two mouths — still stale from a night of sleep — failed to stanch the passions of the kiss. The two had become one, it seemed to Karen, a bit like identical twins; they were not lovers in any sense, but their natural femininity seemed to bond them together. They were girls, girls of a most dainty and feminine nature. Karen relished the idea.

“Have you anything planned today?” Ramini asked. “I feel like doing girl stuff with you today. Like going shopping, or something.”

“Not really,” she said. “I’ve got to complete my paper; that’ll take a couple of hours. Other than that, I’d love to.”

“Let’s get dressed up nice and go to mass,” Ramini said. “The Chapel has an 11 a.m. mass and then we can have brunch somewhere. Just like girlfriends.”

“I don’t know about the idea of mass, Rami. I haven’t been to church for a couple of years.”

“But you’re Catholic, right? So am I.”

“Not much of a Catholic anymore, besides I’m not sure how the Church would take to the two of us. They’re not exactly thrilled about girls like us, you know.”

Ramini smiled at her friend, her dark eyes sparkling. The girl was so pretty; her smooth, soft facial features was particularly fetching when framed by a sari that she’d often drape about her face. Karen had been surprised that Ramini was Roman Catholic, long believing that people from India tended usually to be Hindu, Buddhist or Muslim. Ramini’s ancestral family, however, had been converted by missionaries to Catholicism in the old country, before emigrating to the U.S.

“They won’t see us as anything but girls, Karen. It’s not like they do a background check as you enter the church.”

“No, I guess not, and maybe I do need a dose of reflection,” Karen said, holding back saying that she likely needed to do a bit of penance as well for the eagerness in which she was engaging her sexual passions.

“Let’s be real pretty this morning, Karen,” Ramini said. “Dresses and heels and stockings. I feel a bit like Scarlett O’Hara in all her finery.”

“You’re silly, Rami,” Karen said. “I’d love to dress up like Scarlett did in the first part of ‘Gone with the Wind’ too, except neither one of us has any petticoats like they wore then.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun to dress up like that sometime,” Ramini said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I can just see you in the white flowing gown like Vivien Leigh wore. You would be so lovely, honey.”

Karen loved the image; if she ever married, she’d love to be wed in something as extravagant and lovely as the wedding dress Scarlett wore when she married Frank.

Reverting to older customs of the Catholic mass, both girls placed silk scarves over their heads as they entered St. George’s Catholic Chapel for Students, dipping their hands daintily in the fount and crossing themselves as they walked down the aisle, taking a seat near the front of the church; the eyes of the other parishioners, mainly students and faculty none of whom were dressed as stylishly as Ramini and Karen, focused on the two of them as they genuflected daintily before moving into a pew. Both girls knew that their “dress-up” style was out-of-place in the modern church, particularly in one devoted mainly to students.

Ramini wore a white sari, embroidered with light grey designs with a few blue and gold highlights, along with white pumps with a three-inch heel. Her dark hair, having grown long fell down over her shoulders, her dangling silver earrings barely visible.

Karen chose a pale green shift with blue trim that ended at her knees and dramatized her model-like figure; she draped her shoulders with a white knit shawl — something she had knitted for herself — mainly because of the chill of the March morning. She wore two-inch heeled tan sandals and gold hoop earrings.

Father James Neuberger was a youngish, crewcut priest with an athletic body; Karen had heard he was liberal in his views, often at odds with the hidebound, conservative views of the Vatican Church hierarchy. To the regular parishioners, he was called “Father Jim,” and he was often seen around campus jogging in sweats carrying the logos of the University’s sports teams.

Karen rarely prayed, feeling it was a phony practice; she tried, oh, how she tried during her teen years to pray while at church, closing her eyes in the hope that a revelation would inspire her to pray to a God she wasn’t sure was listening. And, for that matter, she wondered often if the God that Father McGuire mentioned at Holy Assumption back home — a mean, demanding God who apparently showed his love for his children by loading their lives with all sorts of restrictions — even existed at all. No, she had not gotten anything like solace from the God that Father McGuire talked about.

Karen loved the beauty and majesty of the Catholic mass; she particularly liked the feel of St. George’s, a modest sized chapel with traditional stained glass windows, arches, alcoves and other trappings that mimicked the huge cathedrals in places like New York and Paris. The chorus at St. George’s, obviously made up of voice majors in the music department of the university, added to the magic of the morning, along with streams of sunlight, made colorful by shining through the windows that lined the east wall.

As she sat, kneeled and stood — following the mass routine — Karen looked about, viewing the others, most of whom were students. Her eyes suddenly focused on her new acquaintance, Mary Catherine, seated a row ahead and far to her left. She stared for a moment, and before she could turn away, Mary Catherine caught her eye. Karen could see the girl, wearing the traditional head scarf, following the practice of early generations of church women who always had their heads covered when entering a place of worship. In that way, Mary Catherine was like both Karen and Ramini in that they differed from virtually every other girl in the pews that morning, most of whom wore nothing on their heads.

Mary Catherine did a quick double-take, realized she was looking at Karen and gave a slight wave of her hand; Karen responded similarly and quickly looked away.

“Who was that?” Rami whispered in Karen’s ear.

“One of Jenny’s friends,” she whispered back.

“Don’t you like her, Karen?”

“I don’t know her that well, but I think she believes I’m a sinner. She knows about me.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Be quiet girls in God’s house,” an older woman behind them cautioned.

Karen shouldn’t have been surprised at seeing Mary Catherine in the chapel; she knew the girl was a strong Catholic and would likely view Karen’s presence at mass as a blasphemy. It was a shame, Karen thought, that Mary Catherine was apparently so narrow-minded. Otherwise, the girl seemed to be kind and generous, as well as extremely wholesome and lovely. That morning, Mary Catherine wore a white knit wrap over a simple peasant blouse, a full skirt and the colorful scarf all of which made her a fetching sight.

Karen could not begin questioning her own self, as she lowered herself to the kneeler and made the sign of the cross as the preparation for communion to began. Here she was: still not a complete woman taking part in the Holy Catholic Mass. Was she not indeed sinning, was she not blaspheming? In donning women’s clothes was she not also violating the Bible?

Yet, Father Neuberger, in his colloquial way of speaking, was telling her from the pulpit of the 100-year-old chapel that “we are all God’s children,” even the thieves resting in jail and the prostitutes walking our streets. “Jesus embraced with His love the stoned and discredited Mary Magdelene, did He not?” Father Jim intoned from the pulpit.

“That was a marvelous sermon, Karen,” Ramini said as they walked from the church.

Karen nodded, taking Ramini’s hand as they went down the dozen or so steps that led from the chapel since she was afraid the girl would trip on her sari.

“I wonder what he’d say if he knew about us,” Ramini said.

“That’s a good question. Should we ask him now?”

“No, Karen, not now. What are you thinking about?”

Suddenly the priest appeared before them, having raced from the sanctuary after ending mass and taking a position to greet the parishioners as they left mass.

“Hi, girls, I haven’t seen you two here before,” Father Jim said, holding out his hand.

Both girls held their hands in a limp, feminine manner to accept the priests light grasp.

“First time for both of us,” Karen volunteered.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, smiling. “You both prettied up the chapel today. I wished more girls would dress up like that for church. You girls set a good example. Hope to see you here in the future.”

“Thank you, Father,” both girls said almost in unison. Karen wished to move away, but the priest had more to say, even though other parishioners were lining up, awaiting their chance to greet the popular priest.

“May I have your names, girls?” he asked.

They both complied.

“Well, please come back. Are you freshmen?”

They both nodded.

“Good, love to see you get active in the parish,” Father Jim said. He was still holding onto Karen’s hand. He gave it a gentle pat with his other hand, finally let go and turned his attention to the other waiting parishioners.

*****
Karen sensed many eyes examining the two as they walked down the street, one tiny, dark girl and a pale, taller girl, both walking with their arms waving as they talked. There was no doubt their tasteful attire had dazzled many of the parishioners, particularly the older ones.

“Hey, Karen, wait up?” a breathless female voice shouted as they moved down the sidewalk.

Karen turned to see Mary Catherine hurrying up behind them.

“Oh hi,” Karen said, as she and Ramini turned to face the girl.

“This is Mary Catherine Delaney,” Karen said, turning to Ramini before introducing the Indian girl to her.

Mary Catherine began in a rush of words: “Father Jim asked me if I knew you, Karen, and I said, ‘Yes.’ He wanted me to get you involved in the Newman Club.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Karen asked.

The girl explained it was a club for students interested in discussions about faith and other issues, as well as to perform volunteer social services for the campus community.

“It’s really fun and interesting, Karen, and your friend can join, too,” Mary Catherine said eagerly.

“But Mary Catherine, does Father Jim know about me? I’m not sure he’d want me there,” Karen protested.

“No, he doesn’t know about you,” the girl said sheepishly. “But he’s pretty liberal, and the club is open to all students, even Muslims or Hindus, if they wish to join.”

Mary Catherine looked at Ramini, suddenly realizing her remark about Hindus and Muslims might be offensive to the Indian girl. She blushed.

Karen recognized her discomfort, quickly putting her at ease by asking when the club met.

“Next Wednesday night at 7 p.m. in the church hall,” Mary Catherine said. “Enter in the side entrance of the chapel and go right downstairs.”

“We’ll think about it,” Karen said, and Ramini nodded in accord.

“Please, Karen. Thanks for coming to mass today. I’ve got to get back to work with the seniors club that is meeting now. Hope to see you Wednesday, and you too, Ramini.”

Mary Catherine turned on her heels (she was wearing short-heeled white sandals and white hose) and returned to the church.

“Wow, that was something,” Ramini said as the pair continued their walk.

“It surprised me, Rami. When I first met her, she was told I was in transition and she seemed most upset by it. She’s so religious, you know.”

“But she seems sweet.”

“I guess she is, but I don’t know about this Newman Club business. I don’t have the time and I still don’t think they’d like to have us there,” Karen said.

“Well, it’s an idea, anyway. But let’s splurge today,” Ramini said, changing the subject. “Let’s go to the Shoreside.”

“That’s really fancy, Rami. It’s too expensive.”

“I’ll treat,” Ramini said, surprising Karen, who thought the other girl was virtually destitute.

“How can you afford that?”

“I still have daddy’s credit card, which he said I could have for an emergency, just so I don’t make withdrawals of more than $100 a month.”

Karen was astounded. It didn’t sound like Ramini’s family had cut her off quite yet.

*****
“Would you young ladies enjoy a booth by the window?” the tuxedoed maitre d’ asked, as the entered the elegant, rococo dining room at the Shoreside.

Though the hotel and restaurant were located not far from the campus, Karen could see no sign of the campus in the room, particularly among the customers gathered around tables covered with white tablecloths, white flickering candles and the sparkling mini-chandeliers that hung down at regular intervals from the ceiling. A bank of windows looked out over the lake; the cream-colored walls and the arches that created shallow alcoves along the opposite side of the room were trimmed in gold.

Karen suddenly felt out of place, as she looked about the room, eying tables containing dark-suited balding or grey-headed men and many silver-haired, well-coiffured ladies. The only sign of students apparently involved several family groups, where parents and grandparents had lured their offspring from the campus dorms, fraternities and sororities to a brunch. There was a silent buzz about the room, an accumulation of dozens of table conversations. White-jacketed waiters, and a few similarly garbed waitresses bustled about efficiently.

The hotel was perched atop a cliff that overlooked the lake. The ice had receded a few days earlier, and now a light fog had settled over the lake, a result of a sudden flow of warm air over the cold water. Still, the trees that stood below the hotel windows remained barren

“Spring comes slowly to this part of the country, Rami,” Karen observed as she looked out upon what appeared to be a fairly desolate scene.

“I know it’ll come one of these days,” Ramini said wryly.

“Yeah, about July Fourth.” They both giggled.

“Yet, I feel good, Karen. Really. I feel spring in the air.”

Karen looked at her friend; how good it was to see Ramini happy. Only a day earlier, the girl had been so depressed. She had been largely dumped by her family as well as the entire Indian community, of which there was a goodly population in the state.

“Good morning, ladies my name is Whitney,” Karen’s musings were interrupted by the tall waiter that suddenly appeared at their table.

“Whit?” Karen said, shocked to see her companion of two nights earlier standing before her.

“Karen?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Whitney said, quickly softening his voice, but remaining erect and stiff, trying not to betray his surprise at seeing Karen.

Sensing his discomfort, Karen realized that Whitney must likely maintain a strictly professional appearance in this job; management, she was sure, wanted all the wait staff to be as spiffy and precise in their work as a Marine color guard.

Nonetheless, Karen couldn’t resist blushing at seeing the attractive Whitney Roberts again, but she soldiered on.

“”This is my roommate and good friend, Ramini,” she said, quickly adding, “And I’ll have black coffee.”

“And you, Ramini?”

“The same and nice to meet you, Whitney.”

“Would you ladies like orange juice, too?” Whitney looked directly at Karen as he spoke.

Karen thought she saw a quick wink in his eye as he spoke. They both nodded “yes.”

“That was your date at the basketball games?” Ramini asked when the waiter had left them. “Wow, he’s a hunk.”

“I know, and he’s a sweetie besides but we’re just friends, Rami. Actually, it’s our mothers who introduced us; mom as you know is in hospital management and Whitney’s mom is president of the nurses union there; they bargain with each other all the time. Even though they fight over the issues, the two like each other, and we just met by chance here because of the State Tournament.”

Karen and Ramini felt like queens — well, at least princesses — as they were treated to the first class service provided at the restaurant. As it developed, Whitney did not bring the coffee, the orange juice or the food; another white-jacketed waiter did. Whitney, however, showed up periodically as the lead waiter for their table, taking their orders, and brushing off crumbs from the flaky croissants that had dropped on the table. A third waiter refilled their coffee cups and water.

“I’m really impressed with you two young ladies,” a tall woman with straight, close-cropped graying hair said.

Karen and Ramini looked up into the cheerful green eyes of the woman, who had the healthy, weathered face of one who enjoyed the outdoors. The woman was dressed in a plain, dark suit with a knee-length skirt, all in good taste. A similarly tall, rugged faced gentleman in a dark blue suit stood by her, smiling and holding the woman’s hand.

“Thank you,” Karen said, wondering what prompted the compliment.

“I just enjoy seeing young ladies dress up these days, and you two are elegant. I had to come by and compliment you,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Karen said.

“Are you two students?” the woman asked.

“Yes, just freshmen,” Ramini answered.

The woman smiled. “Best of luck here at the University, dears. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Before Karen or Ramini could reply, the woman turned away and followed the man — apparently her husband — out of the room.

Karen looked at Ramini as she finished up an order of crepes suzette; the girl moved daintily, taking tiny slices of the crepe and placing it in her mouth, closing her mouth to chew slowly. She was such a tiny, fragile figure, and Karen realized she, too, had similarly adjusted her eating style.

“Don’t you just love being called elegant, Karen?”

“I guess we’re the picture of femininity, Rami.”

Their conversation was interrupted when the maitre d’ approached their booth.

“Young ladies,” he said. “The woman who just stopped by your table wanted me to give you her card. She suggested that one of you should call her assistant because she’d like to interview one or both of you about something.”

“Oh?” Karen said, surprised, taking the card, reading it:

“My God,” Karen said, handing the card to Ramini as she spoke:

“That’s Dr. Thatcher, the University chancellor, Rami. She runs this whole institution.”

Rami read the card, turned it over, and said:

“She wrote on the back: ‘Please call Veronica at 555-6334 Monday. Thank you.’”

“Wonder what that’s all about,” Karen said.

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

A few minutes later, Whitney came by and asked if they were ready for the check. Ramini nodded, and said to give it to her. She quickly examined the bill, nodded, and presented her credit card and Whitney moved off to the cashier with it.

He returned soon, placing the leatherette folder containing the bill and the credit card before Ramini.

“It’s been a pleasure serving you two young ladies,” Whitney said, stiffly, aiming his remarks toward Karen.

“You’ve been a very good waiter, young man,” Karen said, giving the boy a teasing smile.

“Thank you ma’am,” he said, adding in a whisper, “I’ll call you tonight and explain all this, OK?”

“Sure,” Karen said, realizing how closely the boy must have been watched by the restaurant’s management.

The sun burst out suddenly, just as Karen and Ramini walked out of the door of the restaurant. For the first time that spring, Karen heard the joyous sounds of birds, including a pair of cardinals that seemed to be tweeting melodic love songs to each other.

She grabbed the other girl’s tiny hand, and the two moved rhythmically together down Shore Drive, back to their room.

“Thank you for the brunch,” Karen said.

“It was my pleasure,” Ramini answered. “Actually, it was thanks to my dad.”

“I’m sure he’ll wonder about it when he sees the credit card statement,” Karen said.

“Let him wonder,” Ramini said. “You know, Karen, I owe you so much. You’ve literally saved my life, first by letting me room with you and now by introducing me to Aaron. He’s really so nice, and I think he loves me. We’re going to stay in regular contact, at least by texting.”

Karen smiled. What a beautiful day!

Then her thoughts suddenly darkened. Yes, it was a beautiful day, and she wished she could be with Mark, enjoying a lovely walk, hand-in-hand down a park lane, perhaps by a quiet lake with the birds singing. Sadly, such an image could only exist in a dream, she felt. Poor Mark, she thought. Could he ever again be happy? And if he could never again be happy, what about her? Could she ever again be happy if she knew he could never again be happy? But, did he feel the same about her? What should she read into his reluctance to answer her letters, if he indeed was reading them? Did that mean he was still in shock from his injury that he’s unsure how to respond to Karen? Did he really mean it when he said he didn’t want her burdened with his crippled future? Or, did he truly not love her, perhaps coming to the realization that she still wasn’t a total woman?

Karen walked along lost in a morose reverie. She was largely oblivious to Ramini at her side, until her eyes seemed suddenly to awaken to her surroundings. What a lovely treat it was to see a bed of red and yellow tulips in a small park into which their walk had taken them. The melodic repartee of chirping cardinals crowded into Karen’s mind, temporarily lifting the cloud of her musings. The beauty of the moment took over!

“Such a lovely day, Rami,” she said, pulling the tiny girl into her embrace as they walked.

“Yes, it is,” Ramini said, looking very much like a girl in love.