The Violated Virgin

Chapter 8


Suzanne lay on her bed, staring out the wide window at the whitecapped
Detroit River. In the distance a lonely tug broke the silence with its
mournful hoot, and a flock of birds was silhouetted against the clouds,
flying north to Canada.

She stretched, lifting her arms lazily; she smiled, and snuggled back
against the pillow. For the hundredth time, she reached for the letter
on the nightstand, opened it and read, an extra smile of pleasure
creasing her face.

A brief knock at the door heralded its opening, and Mrs. Delacorte
walked in, carrying a breakfast tray.

“How many times are you going to read his letter?” she said, her
normally prim face relaxed in a sympathetic grin.

Suzanne folded the paper and pushed it back in the envelope.

“Every hour until he gets here,” she replied happily. “Oh, Mother, I’m
so excited.”

“I guess I would be, too,” said Mrs. Delacorte, placing the tray across
the bed. “Come on, I’ve fixed your breakfast myself today. Scrambled
eggs the way you like them, sausage and toast and coffee. Your father
says I’m spoiling you.”

Suzanne laughed, and looked affectionately up at her mother. “Sit down
and talk,” she said.

“I was intending to,” said the older woman. “After all, since you left
home, I’ve missed our little chats. It’s good to have you back.”

“I know. I’m glad to be back, too.”

Mrs. Delacorte lit a cigarette from the box on the nightstand, and
leaned back, her eyes resting lovingly on her daughter.

“You’re certainly looking better than you did when you returned,” she
commented. “I can’t tell you how unhappy I was with your living in that
dreadful slum.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Suzanne admitted, sipping her coffee. “But …
well, there’s no place like home.”

Her mother nodded. “Especially when it’s clean, modern and
comfortable,” she said. “Tell me, what really made you decide to move
back? I mean, I had fully expected you to return, but not quite so
soon.”

Suzanne hesitated, and took a mouthful of sausage and eggs before
replying.

“Well, lots of things, really,” she said guardedly. “I guess, to be
honest, I got tired of slumming.”

“Spoken like a true Grosse Pointer,” said Mrs. Delacorte, and they both
laughed, knowing the humor of her statement.

“Truthfully, I wanted to stay, but the neighborhood is really worse
than I had expected.”

“Why do you think the city’s tearing it all down?” asked her mother.
“Another few years, and all those crummy buildings will be gone, and
nice, new highrise apartments for students will take their place. And
it’s about time, too. Wayne’s a good school, and I’ve never understood
how they’ve put up with those ghastly people living in those old
buildings, right next door, as it were. I mean, it’s terrible that the
poor have such bad living conditions, but I feel if half of them got
out and worked, they wouldn’t have to live like they do. It’s a sad
situation.” She sighed. “I’m thankful that your father and I have been
able to give you a good home and a respectable upbringing. I’ve often
imagined what might happen if a girl grew up among those people.” She
shuddered. “I’ve been told that half of them are pregnant by the time
they’re sixteen.”

Suzanne stared at her mother intently. Mrs. Delacorte’s face had a
tolerant look of distaste which accentuated the tiny wrinkles at the
corners of her mouth and eyes, skillfully covered with a layer of
makeup. Her hair was immaculate, and from her ears a pair of diamonds
were suspended on small platinum chains. Her dress was a sophisticated
black sheath, simple and tasteful, but obviously from Saks or
Bergdorf’s.

Suzanne had a passing mental image of Donald’s mother, seated in her
rundown apartment on Forest Avenue, her hair hanging in rat-tails, her
coarse features devoid of makeup, and her breasts swinging obscenely
under her cotton shift, while her bare feet rested on the torn linoleum
rug, and the woman’s drawling Kentucky accents echoed in her ears …
“Work? I dunno. There ain’t much I can do. ‘Sides, I git enough from
welfare to get by.”

Suzanne shivered and took another bite of toast.

“I learned a lot, I’ll say that,” she murmured, washing the toast down
with a sip of coffee. “I’ll probably have a real good grade in
sociology, thanks to my research. My paper’s coming along nicely.”

“Good,” replied Mrs. Delacorte vaguely. “It’s a blessing that you’re
intelligent, my girl.”

Suzanne stared at her mother, not quite comprehending the words which
sounded out of context to what they had been discussing. But she
decided to let it pass. There were many things her mother said which
she realized were merely words to fill up time between what Mrs.
Delacorte considered the important aspects of life.

“So when’s Sam arriving?”

Suzanne smiled happily, and her heart beat a little faster.

“Five o’clock,” she replied. “On BOAC. I’m going to be at the airport
in plenty of time. I don’t want to miss seeing the plane come in. Oh,
Mother, I’m so happy.”

“You look it, I’ll say that for you.” Her mother paused and smirked.
“You are going to marry him, aren’t you?”

Suzanne nodded emphatically. “Of course. I’ve always been in love with
Sam.”

“Hm. To be truthful, I had expected you to get married a few months
ago, but then he suddenly upped and flew off to Europe. Did you by any
chance have a tiff?”

Suzanne shook her head. “Nope. He just said he wanted to get away for a
while,” she lied. “But let’s not talk about that. Sam’s coming back,
and just as soon as we can, we’re going to be married.”

“He asked you in his letter?”

“No. He didn’t ask. He said so.”

“Oh. Caveman tactics.”

“No. He’s aware how I feel. I guess he just took it for granted that
I’d say yes, and I will. Oh, Mother, I can hardly wait.”

Mrs. Delacorte sniffed. “Well, I want you both to have a talk with the
minister first. You know, there are lots of things a young couple
should know before getting married. And of course we’ll have to send
out the invitations and everything. Oh, I want you to have the biggest
and best wedding that Grosse Pointe has ever seen. After all, Sam’s
family is well known, and it should be a real nice splash on the social
pages.”

Suzanne leaned back and wiped her mouth with the linen napkin.

“Mother, I’d just as soon have a quiet ceremony. I know Sam’s not
planning a big wedding. He’s often said so.”

“Suzanne, children do not arrange their weddings. Their parents do, and
you’re not going to deprive me of seeing my only daughter married in
high style.”

“But, mother, it’s my wedding.”

“I’ll not discuss it any further, Suzanne,” said Mrs. Delacorte, rising
and lifting the breakfast tray off the bed. “You’re going to have a big
wedding and you may as well get used to the idea.”

Suzanne sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

“And don’t look like that. You know you really want it, just like any
other Grosse Pointe girl. Remember, you only get married once, and you
may as well go all the way. It’s not that we can’t afford it, remember,
like those other people.”

“I know. But I think Sam’ll want to get married right away, and a big
wedding takes time, and there’s so much planning and all that
nonsense.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Delacorte’s voiced rose three octaves. “Suzanne, you
listen to me, my girl. I’ll arrange everything, and you can get
married, oh, say, in about a month or six weeks. Besides, that’ll give
you and Sam a little time together. After all, he has been away, and
I’m sure you both have lots to talk about.”

“I suppose so.” Suzanne threw the covers back and stepped out on to the
thick, plush carpet. “Mother, I think I’ll shower and get dressed.
Thanks for the breakfast.”

Mrs. Delacorte picked up the tray and moved to the door.

“You’re welcome, dear, and believe me, darling, it’s so wonderful
having you back home again. You’ve no idea how much happier I am,
knowing you’re back where you belong.”

She left, closing the door behind her.