My First Love and Other Disasters (11 page)

“I swear I won't tell, ever, ever. . . .”

“That's fine. Now let's finish cleaning up for the company.”

“Send the letter.” She says it like a midget general. Now that I've created a button monster, I'm not about to screw up so I put the letter in an envelope and tell her I'm sending it special delivery. That sounds okay to her and we—well, not exactly we, more like I—finish cleaning. I hope I do a good enough job, because I never really cleaned a whole house like this. At home the most I do is some dishes, and when they really bug me enough, my own room. I finish just before Cynthia comes home and am I pooped. Cynthia says I did a terrific job. She tells me to start dinner for the kids while she throws herself together for her company.

While she's talking to me, DeeDee is whispering in my ear how I should ask Cynthia if I can go to the post office. The kid's developed a button fixation. I don't know if this is going to work.

“DeeDee, DeeDee darling,” Cynthia says, “What's all the whispering about?”

Before DeeDee can open her mouth, I jump in
with how we have a special secret. I do a lot of winking and smiling at Cynthia and make her promise not to ask anymore. Of course, she goes right along with it, and in the adult-pretended-interest way she says, “It's wonderful,” and starts upstairs.

“And I'm gonna get a button too, right Victoria?” DeeDee the button maniac says.

“That's terrific” Cynthia says, and disappears up the stairs. So far so good. It's horrendous having your entire career in the hands of a five-year-old.

Cynthia's company comes at five, and it turns out to be Eva and Ron Thompson, the people Anita works for. Anita told a whole juicy adultery story about them, and I can't keep from gaping at them, especially her. After they have a couple of drinks (this is going to shock you) I think I see Cynthia and Ron Thompson giving each other little special looks. Wow! This is a weird place.

I feed the kids and it's almost seven and Cynthia and her guests are still having cocktails. Now another couple from down the street comes over, and it's sort of turning into a party and Cynthia looks hot to get rid of me. So she says when I put the kids in bed I can go out for a while. Super!

I dive into my makeup. I don't need too much, because I'm really getting a great tan, but I do my eyes and put on my fabulous new lipliner with the
pale gloss on the inside. A final touch or two and down I go.

Cynthia is so involved she doesn't even see me come downstairs, but I don't want to leave without letting her know so I sort of stand around waiting to catch her attention. Finally she sees me so I give her a little wave and start out the door.

“Victoria, honey,” Cynthia calls me, “wait a sec, will you?”

I stop at the door.

“Honey,” she says, coming over to me, “I hate to do this to you, but I think there's been a change in plans and we might go over to the Thompsons' later for some drinks so I don't think you'd better go out.”

“But I told some people . . .” One look at her face and I know it's no use.

“I'm really sorry, dear, but . . . maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow night for sure.”

There's nothing I can really say. I mean, she's paying me to take care of the kids, and if she decides to go out I can't tell her not to. Still, that seems sort of mean because she isn't even sure if she really is going. She only said they might. Maybe they're not planning to go for a couple of hours. I wouldn't care if I could only stay for a little while.

“If you're not going for awhile,” I say, “I could be back in an hour, even less.”

“No, dear, I don't like to be tied down. Come
on, Victoria. Don't look so unhappy. You have a whole summer ahead of you.”

That's the same garbage I told David. There's no point in standing there with my face hanging out, so I go back upstairs and I cry.

Well, that's not so peculiar considering I'm very disappointed, and besides this was practically a semi-date with Jim and now it's going to be like I'm standing him up and that's certainly going to be the end of me. Can you picture anyone standing Jim up and getting another chance? Never.

There's got to be a way to get out tonight.

I must have fallen asleep
because next thing I know it's midnight and the house is quiet. I'm still dressed so I slip out of bed and creep downstairs to see what's up.

The living room is empty so they must have all gone out. I check on the kids and they're sleeping fine. Cynthia's door is open so I go in to get the new
Vogue
she said I could borrow. I'm not in the least tired. Just miserable.

I'm two steps into the room when I see Cynthia is in her bed sleeping. She didn't go out after all.

Damn. I could have gone. She really stinks. Maybe she came up to tell me and saw me sleeping and figured I wouldn't want to go. Still, she could have waked me and asked. She must have seen I
was dressed. I think she's kind of selfish. She probably didn't even think about me at all. Maybe I'm not so crazy about her anymore. If I tried hard enough I could probably hate her guts. She ruined my entire summer. Maybe my entire life. Damn her!

Maybe I should wake her up and ask her if I could go now. Ten after twelve isn't that late for a disco. Nah.

She'd probably say it's too late to be going out. “What would your mother say?” or something like that. Besides, I wouldn't have the nerve to wake her up to just ask her if I could go dancing. Even if it is just probably the most important night of my life.

I'll never be able to sleep tonight. I just know it. There's no way . . . unless. I know this probably sounds really sneaky but suppose I just went out without saying anything. It's not like I'm not doing my job, because Cynthia's home and the kids are sleeping and everything is under control. I could go for just a little while and be back and nobody would know the difference.

I'm not saying it's the best thing in the world to do, but it certainly isn't going to hurt anyone except me if I don't do it.

If I keep analyzing it I'll never do it. So I stop analyzing, fix my hair, put on more gloss, and
tiptoe down the steps like a thief, feeling awful. The house is deadly quiet. I turn the door latch as delicately as I can so there'll be no thunderous click to wake the house up. It works. I'd probably make a great burglar. Anyway, I'm out and my heart is pounding.

I don't have any trouble
finding The Monkey. Halfway down to the dock, I can hear the music. It's almost twelve thirty, but the place is packed and the overflow is hanging out all over the front steps and into the street. Mostly everyone is wearing jean shorts and T-shirts, which is perfect. At least I guessed right, and I love my top—it's sort of a camisole with laces up the front. Very sexy. Last time I wore it, my father made me put on a shirt underneath. But that's the great thing about being out here. I'm on my own, and I think it looks just fine without anything underneath.

I kind of hang back a little—maybe I'll see someone I know. I hope not Barry.

“Vicky! Hey, over here!” It's Dana. Great!

“Hi!” I call, and head toward her.

“I figured you weren't going to show. What happened?” she says.

“Cynthia took forever to decide she wasn't going out.”

I look inside at the people. There must be a hundred of them all jammed together, drinking and laughing and dancing on the tiny dance floor. “Boy, this is wild,” I exclaim.

“Is this your first time here?”

“Yeah. It looks great.”

“C'mon, let's go in.”

The music bombs your ears and the lights spin around so fast that you couldn't tell if your own sister was here. Boy, what a thought. It's hopeless to try to find Jim until the lights slow up. Somebody taps me on the shoulder, and when I turn around it's some guy I don't know. He makes a
dance?
sign. No point in talking—you can't hear a thing any-way. I nod
yes
and we squeeze our way onto the dance floor.

Like I told you, I'm a pretty good dancer. It's the one time I feel like I've got it all together—when I'm dancing, I mean. I wish I could feel this way all the time.

The next record is Joni Mitchell singing “Court and Spark.” She's so cool. Now, before I can make my way back to Dana, some other guy asks me to dance.
He's kind of cute but too tall for me. I hate to slow dance with a real tall guy. It's so boring to stare into the middle of a T-shirt.

The lights slow down and I find Dana. She's with Anita.

“I heard my people were at your house,” she says. “What do you think of them?”

“She's gross, but he's kind of cute in a goopy sort of sweet way.”

“Right,” she says.

“This is going to make you laugh,” I tell her, “but I think Cynthia has the hots for your boss's husband.”

“Ron? You have to be kidding! He's so . . . like, shy.”

“That's what you think. You should see him come on to Cynthia.”

“Good. I hope so. She deserves it—Eva, I mean. You know what she did to him tonight? She . . .” But the music starts blasting and you can't hear. A guy asks Anita to dance, and then someone puts his hand on my shoulder, and when I turn around my knees almost crumble.

“Victoria?” It's
him
. He smiles at me and motions to dance. I don't even look around at Dana. I'll apologize later. I just follow him through the crowd onto the dance floor.

I can't believe he's asked me to dance. And it turns out
he's a great dancer and it's like we've been dancing together forever—I mean, we just fall into this natural rhythm. I can tell he knows it too. We can't talk because of the music, but we dance the next two dances even though someone else comes up and asks me. He shakes his head no to the guy, and I do too.

Three dances practically wipe us out, and he takes my arms and leads me toward the door. I'm soaking wet. And more excited than I've ever been in my life. I'm so knocked out at the thought that I'm with Jim that I can hardly catch my breath, and that's not just from dancing either.

We get outside and he keeps going past the kids hanging on the steps and toward the dock. I think I would follow him anywhere. Just the feel of his hand on my arm makes me tingle. We don't talk until we get to the end of the dock, and then he stops.

“Want to sit here for a while and just cool off?” he asks, sitting down on the edge of the pier and making room for me.

I should say, “Yes, good idea,” and sit next to him, but all I can manage in my stunned condition is a smile as I sit down.

He takes a joint out of his shirt pocket and lights up. Then he takes a couple of drags to get it going and hands it to me.

I'm not a pot smoker. For one thing, my parents
are always warning me how it's illegal and if you get caught terrible things can happen to you. And for another, I don't trust it. Some people feel really cool and great, but some of them get nutty giddy and absolutely anything cracks them up. Other times they just sit there and cough their heads off. Also, it's tough enough for me to handle what's happening sober. But stoned? Forget it.

“You're a sensational dancer,” he says to me, and he turns and looks down at me with just a little bit of a tiny smile. I smile a thank-you, and it's funny but we both keep looking at each other and wow!—it feels to me like we're almost touching.

“And you're pretty, too,” he says.

This time I manage a thank-you and even more.

“You're a good dancer too,” I tell him.

“And am I pretty, too?” he says, smiling his usual beautiful up-the-corner smile with white even teeth that you can see into. He flips the end of the joint into the water, then very gently he brushes a straggly strand of hair out of my eyes. And the smile gets smaller and more private, and we sit there silently looking at each other, and I don't even feel that we have to talk. He moves closer and his thigh brushes against mine, and the feel of this touch zings through my body and makes me shiver a tiny bit.

“Cold?” he asks.

“A little,” I lie, because how else can I explain the shiver? He puts his arm around my shoulder and gently pulls me closer to him. My head is against his chest and he feels warm and I can hear his heart beating. It's going pretty fast. I think mine must be too. I'm staring down at the water, but all I can think of is should I say something or should I just sit there and let him hold me like this. I only practically just met him. I mean, this is the first time I've ever been with him alone like this. While I'm in the middle of the big decision, he says my name, softly, and when I look up to answer him, he kisses me.

His lips are unbelievably soft, and as he bends down to me he pulls me up toward him. And what starts of as a light kiss grows stronger and harder until our lips are pressed against our teeth and I feel his mouth begin to open and I pull back a tiny bit, not far, but enough so that he sees I don't want him to do that. Still kissing me, he leans back on the dock and pulls me down with him. Anyone else tried this the first time and I would just push him away, but I don't move. The tops of our bodies are still facing the way we were when we were sitting. Now Jim rolls over toward me and with one arm pulls me close to him. I don't even pull away. It's like I'm not inside myself. All I want to do is be near him.

He takes his lips off mine and lifts his head and leans on one elbow. His face is only inches away from mine and he looks very serious.

“Is something wrong?” he asks me, really concerned. I must look scared because I am, a little.

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “It's just that . . . I don't know. I guess I didn't expect this . . . I guess.”

“Me neither,” and he smiles and I think he's got the most trusting face I ever saw.