When Marjorie saw the roommate list for the state competition, her stomach dropped. They'd be out of town for a night, and she'd be stuck with Diane. Diane, whom she hadn't spoken to since the afternoon in the library. Diane, whose soft curl of hair escaped the tight bun she wore and caught the light. Diane, who leaned forward imperceptibly, her eyes warm and bright. Marjorie had been so surprised by the kiss, so surprised by the sudden warmth that curled between her legs, that she'd jumped up and ran from the library.
As the day grew closer, Marjorie became a jumble of nerves, barely able to focus on the upcoming competition. She stumbled practicing her curtsies, dribbled vichyssoise down her blouse, got lipstick on her gloves. She noticed Diane studying her, arms crossed, from the back of the studio as her class practiced the foxtrot. Marjorie gulped and did her best to focus, reminding herself that it was just one night away. She would be back home Saturday, and things would have to be resolved, one way or another. She just hoped she could once more feel the way she felt that afternoon in the library, like she'd touched a live wire.
Before she and her teammates loaded onto the bus, their instructor and chaperone, Ms. Minchon, spoke briefly, reminding them of their duty to their school, their county, and their sex. She arched an eyebrow as she intoned, "I dearly hope some of you will show improved performance tomorrow, or it will be a sad homecoming for us all." She made direct eye contact with Marjorie, who did her best not to wither under the stern glare.
Their arrival at the lodge was boisterous and joyful, despite Ms. Minchon's best efforts. Plans were made, new friends included, and secret nips of schnapps promised to those who could be trusted. Marjorie stood alone, key in hand, wondering how long she could put off going to her room. She felt an arm slide around her shoulder, and turned to see Diane, standing with a smirk on her face. "Well, we'd best be getting on, shouldn't we?" she whispered. Marjorie nodded and she shivered, and followed her.
They had scarcely entered the room when Diane turned to face her. "Marjorie, we have something important to discuss. Set your bags down and prepare yourself."
Marjorie was grateful for the chair that sat in front of the correspondence desk. Her legs threatened to collapse under her as she sank into it.
Diane straightened her skirts as she perched, perfectly poised, on the edge of the desk. "Your performance lately has been atrocious. You are distracted, awkward, and ungainly. If you don't improve, the whole school will suffer. Do you understand?" she asked, using her index finger to tilt Marjorie's chin up. Up close, she smelled like honeysuckle. Being so close to her, Marjorie felt like swooning. Unable to speak, she nodded. "Luckily, you have me to help you. I find that it works best to go back to the beginning, to the building blocks of what we've learned. That will help you regain your confidence."
Thus began Diane's lessons. She had Marjorie practice sitting ramrod-straight in the chair, walking in her competition heels, enunciating tongue-twisters. Whenever she made an error, Diane tapped her gently on the back of the wrist. With each tap, Marjorie grew more confident and, to her dismay, more heated. She wasn't nervous about the competition. She was nervous about the feeling she got, an ache in her heart, when she caught a glimpse of Diane, face intent and serious, watching her.
After a short break for a mixer and dinner, they returned to their room. Marjorie was flushed with the conversations she'd had downstairs, and with the two sips of schnapps she'd taken in the ladies' lounge. She felt bold and brave. She'd worked up the nerve to talk, really talk, to Diane, when she was handed a copy of Emily Post's Etiquette. "We're not finished yet," said Diane, with a slow smile. "Ms. Post has a task for you."
Diane instructed Marjorie to back up to the wall, then laid the book flat on top of her head. "I noticed you slouching at dinner. We can't have that happening tomorrow. You'll need to keep the book from falling, no matter what. Do you understand?"
"No matter what," said Marjorie. "Diane, I'd like to talk to you."
"We can talk later, it's important that you practice this now. We wouldn't want to disappoint Ms. Post." Diane had a new glint in her eye, and bit her lower lip. "First, you need to walk from the wall to the desk." She was once again perched on the edge, skirt wrinkled now.
Marjorie did, feeling a bit foolish but also relishing the feeling of Diane's eyes on her. She fidgeted with an itchy seam in her blouse. "Here, let me help," said Diane, unbuttoning the little pearl buttons that ran to her breasts. Marjorie felt a flush across her chest.
"Oh dear, you're getting a bit red, aren't you?" said Diane, tracing a finger across her collarbones, dipping it down between her breasts. Sweat broke out on Marjorie's upper lip, and she gripped the table to still her body's quaking. She felt light-headed as it seemed all the blood in her body rushed between her legs.
