Secrets in the Attic (Secrets 1)

"When did you call him? He said you were on a pay phone."

"Before I went to the apartment. I called from the pay phone by Echert's garage. I took a big chance for you."

"For me?"

"Of course, for you. Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?"

"But why are we thinking about Dana Martin and me now, Karen?"

"I just explained it. What do you want us to do, think only about my problems, dwell on it night and day, let it kill us both?" she cried, her face reddening. "Do you want me to keep remembering what happened, to see that horrible scene again and again until I go mad? Is that what you want?"

She seized her hair as if she would rip it out of her head, and her eyes looked as if they would explode.

"No, of course not. I want it all to be forgotten, too. I want you to be able to go on with your life. I want both of us to do all the things we dreamed we would do," I said, feeling myself on the verge of tears.

Her shoulders relaxed. "Okay, then. Okay," she said, calming Then she smiled. "We have a lot to do. C'mon. We'll start with what you should wear, and then I'll take you through the whole scenario as if we were rehearsing for a school play. It's that simple. Tonight is your night, Zipporah Stein," she

announced, and moved her hand through the air as if she were lighting up a theater or movie marquee.

She lunged forward and reached for my hand to pull me up and out of the chair. We were charging out and up the stairs just the way we used to. It was as if we were switching channels on a television seta One moment, we were watching a tragedy, and the next, we were not only watching but becoming part of some show about teenagers full of music and laughter and great excitement. I was spinning around so fast I had to hold on to Karen's hand tightly and hope she wasn't pulling me into some disaster from which l could never hope to recover.

She sifted through my closet and moved my clothes around as someone who knew exactly what she was looking for would.

"Ah," she said, taking a blouse off the hanger. It was a light pink pullover with a zipper that traveled nearly down to my navel. "I like this on you. The material clings like a second skin."

She handed it to me. "So don't wear a bra tonight," she added.

"What? Why not?"

"Your nipples will show. You'll move the zipper down, and when he gets a glimpse of your perky breasts, he'll melt like he's made of butter. You'll see. You'll see how quickly you can be in control. You should wear this skirt," she said, referring to her own. "It's a good length. I brought you something else because you don't have any."

"What?"

"Bikini panties." She smiled. "He might even remember them," she said, and smiled licentiously. I had no need to ask why he would.

I wasn't sure how I felt about Karen's revelations about her secret sexual adventures. A part of me was envious. I didn't like being the

inexperienced little girl. We weren't that far apart in age, yet she spoke and acted as if we were. Despite how good-looking and popular Dana Martin was, I was also unsure about how pleased I was about her setting me up with him for some secret, passionate rendezvous.

When I fantasized about my love life, I saw myself finding my own Prince Charming I imagined we would look at each other and something would happen to him as well as to me, something magical and wonderful. Maybe that was only the stuff of movies and romance novels, and maybe Karen had a better understanding about how things really were between young women and young men, but I still didn't like the feeling of being pushed and dragged along into what was to be a sophisticated love affair. To me, it still seemed sneaky, but I didn't want to say anything. After all I had done, I didn't want to upset her any more. This had obviously become so important to her that she'd take risks with her own future for me.

"C'mon," she said. "Now that we have decided on what you're wearing, let's talk about what you're doing. We had better do that up in the nest."

I followed her out and up the attic stairs. When she opened the door and we stepped in, I stopped in surprise. She had changed some of the furniture around so that it looked cozier, more like an actual living room

. It wasn't haphazard. Whatever matched was brought to bear. She had even found a small rug and placed it in front of the sofa.

"I had nothing to do all day waiting for you after your mother left, so I started doing this. What do you think9" she asked. "We should have done this long ago, made it more like a room instead of some messy big closet. I'm organizing everything, I decided. The old books and papers and magazines will be like our library. There's even a small area I call the bathroom, the place where I put the chamber pot," she said, lowering her voice. "Of course, we don't refer to it as a bathroom. In those days, they called it a powder room or a water closet. Look," she said, pointing down the wall to our right "I hung that old painting of the creek. I don't know why your mother hasn't brought it 'downstairs. Well? What do you think so far?"

I forced a smile, because inside I was trembling again. She was behaving as if she thought this would be a permanent home, or at least a very long residence. Why didn't she want to think more about a way out of all this?

"Nice," I said, but not as enthusiastically as she would have liked. She smirked.

"Stop worrying, Zipporah. If your mother sees it, just tell her you and I did it a while ago, when we called it our clubhouse or something."

I nodded. That could work, because my mother rarely came up here.

"Okay," she said, and began to take off her skirt. "Let's get you dressed for tonight and rehearse. Come on. Don't just stand there like a zero. Put on the blouse," she said, throwing it to me. "Take off your bra first," she reminded me.