My First Love and Other Disasters (8 page)

“Terrific!”

“Okay, that's set. But please remember I expect you to be on time.”

“Oh, I will. I promise.”

“All right then, that's it. I'm off. Watch TV if you like, or I have a new
Vogue
in my bedroom if you want, and if you get a chance, could you please throw in the laundry? The whites are separate and don't put any sweaters in the dryer. Thanks a lot. You're a doll.” And she's off.

It's okay that I'm not going tonight. I look gross anyway. I have to wash my hair, and besides, I'm really exhausted. I get the laundry from upstairs. Turns out to be two big laundry bags full. I guess Cynthia's been so busy getting packed and ready to go she didn't have a chance to do anything else. I don't mind doing laundry—it's an easy job. I separate the whites and colors, and it looks like maybe four loads. I probably have time to do most of them. I'd
like to do something really terrific my first day so I start putting in the laundry and by about one
A.M
. I've finished all the laundry, washing, drying, and folding everything except the stuff that has to be ironed. I pile everything on the couch and chairs in the living room and go off to bed.

It's still very hot in my room, but that's because it's especially hot tonight. But I'm too tired for it to matter, and next thing I know it's morning and DeeDee is crawling in my bed.

“C'mon, Victoria, let's go to
the beach.” DeeDee is pulling on my arm, but for a minute I don't even know where I am. Then I remember.

“What time is it?” I mumble.

“The big hand is on the four and the little hand is right next to the seven, but not on it yet.”

I work it out and groan. “Oh, God, it's twenty past six. DeeDee, it's too early, go back to bed.”

“I don't want to. I'm hungry. Mommy says you're supposed to fix me breakfast and I'm hungry.”

“But it's not even seven.” I'm trying to be reasonable and nice at the same time. Very hard so early in the morning.

“But I'm hungry.” DeeDee is being neither.

“Okay, five minutes more.”

“Now!”

Monster. I sit up, bumping my head on the ceiling. I guess it's a little lower on the sides than I thought. It takes me a while to get up and get it all together. With my eyes half shut I creep downstairs and into the kitchen.

“What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Pancakes.”

“Forget it! What else?”

“Or eggs and bacon or sometimes Mommy even makes waffles. . . .”

“What else?”

“I dunno . . . cereal, I guess.”

“That's it.” And I go to the pantry and pull out three different kinds of dry cereal.

“I want Sugar Pops!”

Naturally we don't have any Sugar Pops. I try to sell her on one of the others, but she only wants the dumb Sugar Pops, so I fix her scrambled eggs, which she pushes around on her plate until they finally slip into her lap. That's the end of breakfast. I guess she wasn't so hungry after all.

“Why don't you watch some TV for a while and then we'll get dressed and go to the beach.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“There's no room to sit,” she says, pointing to all the laundry still piled up all over. I guess
Cynthia got home too late to bother with it. I clear a little spot for DeeDee and put on the TV and sneak upstairs to get back to bed, but David hears me, and now he wants his breakfast, and we go back down and go through the whole breakfast thing, only he insists on a peanut butter sandwich and swears he has one every morning.

No point in going back to bed, so I get into my bathing suit and straighten up my room. I tell the kids that if they want to go to the beach they have to make their beds. They both say they don't have to make their beds. Then we have this little thing about how their mommy never makes them make their beds so why should I. I guess they're right, so I make their beds while they get into their bathing suits, and we all head down to the beach.

The beach is fabulous, with white clean sand and roaring white water, and absolutely empty except that way down you can see someone who looks like maybe he's fishing. David takes off as if he was shot out of a cannon and races across the sand right into the water. Brrr!

“Wow!” I say to DeeDee. “Does he always do that?”

“Uh-uh, my mommy never lets him go in the water like that unless a grown-up is with him.”

“Oh, God!” I shoot down after him. I race into the water even though it's unbelievably freezing.
He's already over his head. I can see he's a pretty good swimmer for a little kid, but still he's way too far out, so I call him and wave my arms, and I know he sees me, but he doesn't pay any attention. So I have to swim after him. When I get close enough, and I'm really angry now, I call him and tell him to get right back inshore. Now! He says something that sounds like, “Aw, damn,” and heads back.

“You're never to go in the water without me!” I scold him. “You understand? I'm not kidding around either.” He really scared me, so I'm sort of sharp with him.

“I thought you were coming with me.” He's so full of it.

“I didn't even know you were going. Come off it, David, just don't do that again. Next time you want to go in the water, tell me first so I can go with you.”

“I want to go now.”

“Well, you have to wait. We're not even settled yet—besides, I want to sit down and warm up a little in the sun.”

“When can I go?” he asks.

“In a few minutes,” I tell him, and DeeDee helps me spread the blanket down. The minute I lie down, David wants to know if we can go swimming again. Then every sixty seconds, like clockwork, he says, “Now?” It's hopeless.

“Let's collect some shells and then we'll go. How's that?”

“I wanna, I wanna.” DeeDee jumps up.

“C'mon, David,” I say, and I get up, brushing the sand off me. David has been jumping around so much that the sand was flying all over. He didn't do it purposely but it's all in my hair.

“Then can we go swimming?” he asks, and I tell him absolutely. We head down the shoreline toward the fisherman, our heads bent as we look for treasures. Every time DeeDee finds any kind of shell she has to show me. I can tell she really likes me. And I like her too, except I think that maybe they're both a little spoiled. Still, she's really very cute, with blonde curly hair and chocolate-brown eyes. She's got the kind of lips that look like she's wearing lipstick, they're so rosy. Her cheeks too. She's truly adorable, and I think she knows it.

As we get closer to the figure on the shore, we can see that he
is
fishing.

“My grandpa is the best fisherman in the whole world,” David says, and for the first time since we left New York DeeDee agrees with him.

“And sometimes he even takes us fishing with him,” says DeeDee, “and then we catch great big fish.” And she spreads her arms as wide as they will go.

“You never caught a big fish,” David says, and
she says, “I did too,” and he says, “You did not,” then they do that uh-huh, uh-uh thing, and I start pointing at the fisherman and shouting, “I think he's got one!”

I don't really think he's got one, but I have to change the subject. As soon as we get up to the man, DeeDee tells him how her grandfather is such a great fisherman, and the man is very nice, and he smiles and says he bets he is, and then the three of them gab on about fishing and the kids really seem to know what they're talking about. Even DeeDee. They must have spent a lot of time with their grandfather, which makes me feel bad since they're not going to be allowed to see him or even talk to him. I know that Cynthia's right to be angry because her ex-husband is really a creep, but maybe it's wrong for her to take it out on the grandfather. After all, it's not his fault that his son is so disgusting. At least I don't think it is, or maybe Cynthia's right, maybe the old man can do something to make Jed start paying again. I don't know, but it makes me feel awful, I mean really sad, and not just for the kids but for the grandfather, too. I can just imagine how my grandpa would feel if he wasn't allowed to see Nina and me.

The fisherman lets David and DeeDee hold the line for a few minutes, but they don't get anything, and after a while we walk back to our towels.

“He's okay,” David says, nodding back at the fisherman. “But my grandpa is much better. My grandpa woulda caught maybe ten fish by now, right, DeeDee?”

“Yeah, maybe eleven. Do you know my grandpa?” DeeDee asks me.

“I don't think I ever met him,” I say, and then just because I want to change the conversation I ask David if he wants to go swimming. The water's great to look at but it's freezing. Still, even that's better than talking about their grandfather.

I can see David's a terror in the water. You have to watch him every second because right away he goes too far out, and then it's unreal when you tell him that's enough swimming for now. His lips turn bright blue, but still he says he's not cold, and then he pretends not to hear you, and then the worst is when he makes believe he's drowning. First time he did it I almost jumped out of my skin. I swam out to him with all my might and grabbed him and started pulling at him, not exactly like in the life-saving class at school but good enough to get him back to shallow water, and then he starts laughing like crazy and I could have
really
drowned him. I told him that if he ever did that again I would tell his mother and he wouldn't go in the water for the whole summer, and besides I would quit. I was really mad. In fact I was practically in tears. I guess
he saw how upset I was because he swore he would never do it again. I made him swear to God and cross his heart on his mother's life and all that, and I made sure he didn't have any fingers crossed, and I think maybe he means it.

At about noon we head back to the house for lunch. There's a note from Cynthia saying not to disturb her because she has a headache. I hope she's not coming down with anything, because that's what happens to me when I get sick. Sometimes I start off with headaches. Anyway, the note says I should give the kids lunch, put the laundry away, and then there's a list of things for me to pick up at the store.

I give the kids tuna salad sandwiches and do their dishes and whatever was left from Cynthia's in the sink.

After I put the laundry away (the kids tell me where everything goes) we all go down to the dock where the stores are to do the shopping. DeeDee tells me her mother always takes the wagon to the store, and the list is pretty long so I take one. Naturally DeeDee and David ride in it while I pull. Like I said, they're a little spoiled, but it's not too bad, and besides, I don't want to start off pulling rank on them too much. I want them to get used to me first.

Of course the minute we get in sight of the
dock they want ice cream. So we stop in for that delicious ice cream, and gross!—there's Barry working behind the counter. What's he doing here? He turns red like a beet when he sees me. I'm really surprised to see him working. I thought that all rich kids ever do is go boating and play tennis.

“Hi,” I say and give him one of my nicest smiles. I still feel pretty bad about what I did say to him on the pier. I guess I always will. “I didn't know you were working here.”

“Only part-time,” he says, “three afternoons a week.” And then he says hi to the kids and gives them a nice smile. He barely looks at me and starts concentrating on the vanilla ice cream.

“I want the jumbo double scoop!” David says.

“Me too! Me too!” DeeDee starts jumping up and down.

“Uh-uh,” I say. “I don't have that kind of money. Besides, I didn't even ask your mother if you could have ice cream anyhow.”

“Mommy always buys us a double scoop after lunch. Right, DeeDee?” David says, pushing DeeDee.

“Yeah, always,” she says right on cue. I know they're both full of it, but they're making such a fuss I figure I'll treat them, so I say okay.

Barry starts to scoop the ice cream and they keep changing flavors so they end up with almost
four different scoops apiece. He only charges me for singles anyway.

“How do you like it so far?” he asks me, and I can see he's not so angry anymore.

“Pretty good,” I tell him. “I really like it.”

“Where are you?”

“Over on Evergreen.”

“Yeah? I know where that is.”

“Right after Seaview,” I say.

“There's a yellow house with turrets on the corner.”

“Right,” I say. “That's practically across the street from us. We're in the white house with the red shutters.”

“Yeah, I think I know it.”

That's it. Now we have nothing in the whole world to say. Maybe I should start the geography lesson again.

“Would you like to get together sometime?” he finally says. “We could play tennis—just as friends, I mean.”

I wince at that.

“Do you play tennis?” he asks.

“A little.”

“Well, we could play a couple of sets. . . . Or there's the disco where a lot of the kids hang out . . . . We could go there.”

“Sure, that would be nice.”

“Should I call you?”

“Sure.” What else can I say? I mean, he's being so nice and friendly, especially after the embarrassing time yesterday.

I give him my number and tell him thanks for the extra ice cream and head off in the direction of Cherry Grove.

Fire Island is great. You can never get lost. All it is is a long skinny strip of sand off the coast of Long Island. The Atlantic Ocean is on one side and the bay is on the other. If The Dunes restaurant is on the way to Cherry Grove, there's no way you can miss it. You just keep walking and you have to hit it. The kids aren't too hot to go but I make a deal with them. It's really very simple—they sit in the wagon and I pull. By the time the summer ends they'll probably forget how to walk and I'll have grown gorilla arms.