HIGH SCHOOL REUNION – TAKE THREE: THE PRINCIPAL

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2010


It is the annual alumni reunion event at the Lauderton High School, which they hold in the large gymnasium in the main school building. The events in these stories take place at various times during the evening, and to different characters; they are not chapters of the same story, but a series of separate takes. We are the invisible camera, panning around the scene and then zooming in for a close-up …

TAKE THREE

Moira McIver, the Principal of the school, had been standing near the entrance to the gym for more than two hours, welcoming guests to the reunion. However, she knew hardly any of them, as it had only been two years since her appointment to the post. She was a smart and ambitious career woman who had made a name for herself as the enterprising Vice-Principal of a struggling high school in a nearby town, and her charisma and vision had resulted in her being chosen as the new Principal over more experienced candidates, at the age of only thirty-six. She was now thirty-eight, brisk, energetic and capable; she was single and seemed to be entirely focused on the job, working long hours and on the weekends as well.

The room was warm, and the Principal was feeling uncomfortable in her smart two-piece suit of a double-breasted three-button jacket and a short tight skirt with a back vent, in navy blue with quite bold pinstripes of alternating white and grey. She was glad that on this slightly sticky summer evening she had decided not to wear tights or stockings; on her feet were a rather stylish pair of gold open-toe shoes with three-inch heels to boost her height – the reason for this being that Moira was fairly short, at only five feet three inches. One consequence of her more diminutive stature was that it drew even more attention to the prominence of her bust. She had always had very large breasts, which she regarded more as a curse than a blessing: not only did they encourage unwanted propositions from men, but even with carefully-chosen bras that had wide shoulder straps and broad supportive backbands, after standing for some time she always began to ache in the back and shoulders. On top of this, she was getting a headache from the loud buzz of conversation, or possibly because she had drunk a glass or two more of the fizzy white wine than she really should have. The Principal took off her brown-framed glasses to rub the bridge of her nose for a few seconds, and then replaced them and glanced once more around the room.

The evening was beginning to wind down. Moira was pleased to see that most of the teaching staff were still present and circulating amongst the guests, although a few had left – she had noticed Sally Henrikson earlier but couldn’t spot her now, and Ted Winchester and Raquel Fuentes also seemed to have disappeared. Neither of the latter surprised her: she knew that the Hispanic woman found these events to be rather a trial, whilst Ted’s wife was shortly expecting their first baby and Moira had not been sure that he would be able to attend at all. Across the room, the Principal observed the school’s most senior teacher, grey-haired and stately Eugenia Dawson, talking with middle-aged couples who must have graduated twenty-five or more years before – in fact, she noticed several who now had sons and daughters at the school. Moira observed an amusing contrast with a smile: from her angle of view, the school’s youngest teacher – a very noticeable figure in an eye-catching red halterneck dress of a brevity perhaps more suited to dancing in a club than an event like this – was visible almost next to Eugenia, although they were actually some distance apart. Elsewhere, the energetic Jenny Neustein was still much in evidence; together with the Vice-Principal, she had undertaken the task of organising the event, arranging the catering and the student helpers, and so on. Moira made a point of having a word to thank her for her efforts, as everything had gone very well.

The Principal turned as her deputy, Jacquelyn Drake, approached and handed her another glass of the bubbly white wine. Moira smiled her thanks, although in truth she was not quite sure of how well-disposed the woman felt towards her. Jacquelyn was a few years older, having just turned forty-three, and she had already served as Vice-Principal for nearly four years when Mr Robertson had announced his retirement. Although a little uninspiring, she was an efficient administrator and naturally had been a strong candidate for the vacancy. Moira thought that she could not have been happy about being passed over for a younger woman, but if that was the case then Jacquelyn had hidden her feelings well, and never hinted at any resentment towards her. Their working relationship had been perhaps a little distant and formal, but very professional; of course, Moira could not know that this was going to change completely that very evening.

Although there was a slight thickening around her waist, Jacquelyn Drake had kept her figure trim over the years from a combination of regular work-outs and a careful, healthy diet. There were slight lines around her mouth and, if you looked closely, faint crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, but her skin was smooth, pink and youthful, and at first glance most people would have guessed her age as being in the mid-30s rather than approaching the mid-40s. Her hair was a soft brown colour, not quite as fair as it had once been, and was attractively styled in a wave across her forehead and neatly-shaped to below the ears; it framed her well-proportioned features and highlighted her clear grey eyes. Her breasts were still shapely and had very little sag (she was proud that she could still pass the ‘pencil test’); they were snugly held in her 32C bra. For this evening, she was wearing one of her smartest suits: it was in a dark and sober shade of red, with a longish straight jacket and a pencil skirt than came to a little below the knees and just overlapped the top of her smart black leather boots. She wore a black silk blouse under the suit jacket; the simple alternating contrasts of red and black were very effective, and were further highlighted by her accessories of plain gold chain necklace, bangles and wrist-watch. Jacquelyn was a perfectly proper and professional sight, but by no means prim – her slightly austere good looks, trim figure and arresting combination of boots and suit had turned a few interested eyes her way during the evening – and not all of them male.

The Principal did not notice how carefully Jacquelyn watched as she emptied her glass, and was completely unaware that her drink had been spiked with a tasteless powdered sleeping draught. It was a product which had been withdrawn from sale after publicity about its potent knock-out effects when combined with alcohol – especially any fizzy wine, as the bubbles carried it more rapidly into the bloodstream. The chance of already possessing a box of this had been the germination of Jacquelyn’s plan so many months ago, and she had been patiently awaiting this opportunity to put it into effect. She watched her superior carefully, and was soon rewarded as Moira quite suddenly began to feel light-headed and dizzy. The full-busted woman staggered slightly and had put a hand out against the nearby table to stop herself from falling over, and at once Jacquelyn solicitously enquired, in all apparent surprise and innocence, if the Principal was feeling all right?

‘No, I’m sorry, Jacquelyn, I don’t feel good at all,’ answered Moira with some effort, ‘I think the wine’s gone to my head, or something – in fact, I feel like I might pass out.’

At once, Jacquelyn stepped in with her customary brisk efficiency. ‘We can’t have that happen in here, in front of everyone – it will set all the tongues wagging. Anyway, it’s nearly over – I’ll take you home, you’re not in a fit state to drive safely.’

Moira started to protest, but the room swam in front of her eyes, and she realised that her deputy was certainly right – how kind of her to take this trouble.

Jacquelyn spoke quickly to Jenny Neustein, explaining that the Principal was feeling unwell and she would see her home, if Jenny could manage things here and deal with the clearing up. The younger teacher cheerfully replied that it would be no problem, she had enough student helpers to make quick work of it, and she would make sure all the lights were switched off and the building was safely locked up.

By now, the sleeping potion was having more effect as it mixed with the alcohol that Moira had drunk earlier, and she was looking glazed and feeling quite disoriented. Why was she in this place and who were all these people, she wondered? Jacquelyn took her by the elbow, and steered her unobtrusively out of the side door into a deserted corridor. At one point, Moira stumbled and would have fallen, but Jacquelyn, who was both taller and stronger, put an arm around her shoulders and held her up. The deputy steered them to the Principal’s office, unlocking the door with the keys from Moira’s handbag and then carefully re-locking it behind them. Jacquelyn sat the almost comatose woman in the executive-style chair behind the desk, letting Moira’s head loll against its high back. She unpinned the Principal’s long brown hair and let it tumble in some disarray around her shoulders, and then for safety she removed Moira’s glasses and put them away in the younger woman’s bag. Jacquelyn contemplated the inert form of her superior with evident satisfaction – she had long waited and planned for this moment, and intended to savour every second of it.

From her own copious bag, Jacquelyn produced a good-quality digital camera which was capable of taking clear pictures indoors without having to use flash.