To All My Fans, With Love, From Sylvie

by Ellen Conford

  “Oh, Vic.” He was so good. Before I realized what I was doing, I had my arms around his neck and was pulling his head down so I could kiss him. I held onto him for dear life, pressing my lips against his so hard I could feel his teeth against my mouth. I don’t know what got into me, I just knew I had to hold him, had to feel him holding me, kissing me, loving me, and if I let go of him, I was afraid I would die.

  For a moment he put his arms around me. For a moment he pressed me against himself and kissed me back. But then he reached up and pulled my arms away from his neck.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Sylvie, you shouldn’t.”

  He stepped back. He looked sort of shaky, and he had the strangest look in his eyes, almost like he was frightened or something.

  “I’m sorry!” I wailed. “Vic, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Shh. Shh.” He held his finger up to his lips, then sort of felt around them, like I had injured him or something.

  I was so ashamed I wanted to hide.

  “We have to keep our voices down,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered miserably. “I’m really sorry. That was terrible, I—”

  “No it wasn’t. It was very nice. You just—surprised me a little.”

  “It was terrible.” I began to cry again. “You must think I’m a tramp. I’ve known you for ten minutes—”

  “An hour,” he interrupted, “and I really hate that word. You want to know what I think of you? I think you’re tired and scared and alone and I don’t blame you one bit. Well, there’s nothing to be scared of here, and you’re not alone anymore, and if you’ll just lie down on that bed and sleep until I get back you won’t be tired either.”

  I sat down on the bed. I was still crying, but not so hard.

  Vic wiped my tears away with his fingers. I clutched at his hand, holding his knuckles against my cheek.

  “I won’t leave you, Sylvie,” he said softly. “I’ll be back at one o’clock, I promise. I won’t leave you alone.”

  I nodded and let go of his hand. He stood there for a minute, then bent down and kissed me very gently on the forehead.

  “I have to get back to work now. Lie down. Get some sleep. And stay in this room, okay? Don’t go out. We don’t want anyone to know you’re here. Okay, Sylvie?”

  “Okay.”

  He peeked out the window and then let himself out of the room.

  I curled up on the bed, holding the black-and-white-striped pillow against me like it was—

  Like it was Vic.

  Chapter 15

  I was asleep when Vic came back. I woke up to find him sitting in a chair across from the bed, looking at me.

  I sat up, confused and somehow sort of embarrassed. I don’t know why. I’d practically thrown myself at him, so I don’t understand why I should be embarrassed to have him watch me sleeping, but I was.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Just a couple of minutes. I brought you a deluxe lunch.”

  “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

  “You will not. You don’t owe me anything. And you won’t owe me anything. Know what I mean?”

  “No.”

  “Never mind. Eat this deluxe lunch.”

  “Gee, I’m hungry. What is it?”

  He opened a bag on the dresser and took out a whole bunch of stuff. He’d gotten roast beef sandwiches, chicken salad sandwiches, cole slaw, potato salad, pickles, potato chips, Cokes, and two big pieces of angel food cake.

  “Oh, Vic, this is fabulous!” Nothing had ever tasted so good. Nothing, ever. All I could do was eat. And eat. And eat.

  “Do you always pick at your food like this?” he asked.

  I giggled, but my mouth was full, so I tried to giggle with my mouth closed. I shook my head no.

  “Well,” he said, between bites of his sandwich, “I know you’re dying to hear the story of my life.”

  I nodded hard.

  “I knew you were. My name is Victor Firenze. I’m twenty years old. I’m in my third year at UCLA. I’m taking a premed course. I want to be a psychiatrist when I grow up.”

  “That’s really interesting,” I said. “Do you know, a lot of movie stars go to psychiatrists? Some of them go five times a week!”

  “You see, it isn’t all tinsel and glamour.”

  “I know that.” I looked at him and realized he was trying very hard not to laugh. “You’re teasing me,” I said.

  “A little. Do you mind?”

  “No. I think I like it. See, the thing is, I really don’t know how to talk to boys.”

  “You’re doing fine. Anyone would think you’d been talking to boys your entire life. Well, as I was saying, some day, after many years of struggle, I’m going to be a psychiatrist. I have a mother and a father, and a sister a year older than you. Which means I’m old enough to be your brother.”

  I laughed again. I was finishing off the angel food cake and feeling around in the bag for stray potato chips.

  “Now tell me about your family.”

  I stopped laughing.

  “I haven’t got any. Not really.”

  “You are an orphan?”

  “No, not exactly. I have a mother. But she’s—”

  I crumpled up the potato chip bag. “This is another long story,” I said angrily.

  “I’d like to hear it.”

  I squeezed and squeezed the bunched-up bag between my fingers. “I don’t know if I can tell it without starting to cry again.”

  “That’s okay,” Vic said. “I don’t mind.”

  “Well, I do. Lately all I do is cry and feel sorry for myself. You’d think I’d be cried out by this time.”

  “Nobody’s ever cried out, Sylvie.”

  “Maybe not....”

  I told him everything. Everything I had never told anyone else before, I told Vic. About Mr. Framer, Mr. O’Connor, Uncle Ted—all the secrets I’d been hiding from everyone, all the things that made me ashamed, all the reasons why I had to get on that Greyhound bus. Except for one.

  And I kept my voice very firm and swallowed every time I thought I might cry, so I made it through the whole thing without one tear coming out.

  When I was finished, he just sat there for a few minutes, his arms folded, sort of staring off into space.

  I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered what he thought about me, now that he’d heard everything.

  Suddenly I found I was shivering, and it wasn’t because the air conditioner was on.

  It was kind of a relief to finally have somebody to tell it all to, but it was also a little scary. I crossed my arms over my chest and held onto myself, trying to stop the shaking.

  I heard noises from the pool. Vic looked at his watch. “I’m going to have to get back to work in a few minutes. Come here, Sylvie.”

  I got up and walked toward him, my legs all wobbly. He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me, tight, tighter, till I did start to cry. I buried my face in his shoulder, getting his neck all wet with my tears. But he didn’t mind and neither did I, because as the tears came out the shivering began to stop. I started to get the strangest feeling of—I don’t know what to call it—it was like I was released from something. Like I’d been chained up for years, and these tears were finally washing away the chains. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the way I felt.

  But there was just one thing. One more piece of the chain. I knew I had to tell Vic now, no matter what he thought of me, or I’d still have that piece of chain with me for the rest of my life.

  Maybe that’s why I’d been shivering so hard. Maybe I knew I had to tell him, and was afraid. I’d stopped shaking, but I was still afraid.

  “Vic?” I kept my face against his shoulder. I didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want him to look at me.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s one more thing. It’s really bad, Vic. It’s terrible. But I have to tell you. You’ll think I’m awful and I don’t want you to
think I’m awful.”

  “I won’t think you’re awful.”

  “Do you promise? Promise, Vic.”

  “I promise. No matter what.”

  “You know what I was telling you about—about Uncle Ted? And what he was trying—I mean, how he always—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, that wasn’t the only reason I had to get out.”

  “What’s the other reason?” Vic asked gently.

  “I—I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of—of—I can’t say it!”

  “Yes you can. Say it, Sylvie.”

  “Of myself. I was afraid—I’d let him. I wanted him to.”

  Chapter 16

  “I don’t think that’s so unusual,” Vic said.

  I was so stunned at the matter-of-fact way he said it, I jumped off his lap and almost shouted.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “Shh! Keep your voice down. Yes, I heard what you said.”

  “But it’s terrible! How can you be so—so—”

  “Listen, I just promised I wouldn’t think it was terrible, didn’t I? Now you’re mad at me because I’m keeping my promise. Well, I’m sorry if you’re mad, but it’s not terrible. It’s natural.”

  “Natural? Are you crazy? How can it be natural? How could I feel that way? Don’t you understand, that makes me a—”

  “Sylvie, I swear I’ll bash you one if you use that word again. Now calm down and listen to me a minute. I’ve got to get back to the pool. I hate to leave you like this, but I can’t help it I’ll be back at four-thirty. I get off at four, but I want to run home and change.”

  “Vic!”

  “Look, you can figure it out. Think about what every kid needs.”

  “I know what every kid needs,” I said irritably. “I don’t have to think about that. Love.”

  “Very good. You have the makings of a fine psychiatrist.”

  “I don’t want to be a psychiatrist. I want to be an actress.” I was really getting exasperated with Vic. And confused. He wasn’t reacting at all like I expected and I didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Okay. Then why do you really want to be one?”

  He pushed back the window shade an inch. “I don’t know why I’m looking to see if anyone’s around. They’ve got to see me come out of here. Oh, well, let’s hope the manager is taking his nap.”

  “Vic, you’re getting me all mixed-up.”

  “I have to go. I’m sorry I mixed you up, but I’ll bet you get yourself un-mixed by the time I get back. And then you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to take you out to see Las Vegas. We’re going to have fun. When was the last time you had fun?”

  “February 1949,” I said sarcastically.

  “Atta girl! Turn the TV on if you want but just the picture. You can take a shower, too. I sneaked some towels in, and a sheet. They’re over there. But shower now if you’re going to, before anyone checks into the room next door. See you later, alligator.”

  “In a while, crocodile,” I replied automatically—but he was already out the door.

  For a moment I just stood there, staring at the door. I guess I hoped Vic would suddenly come back in and explain the whole thing to me. I certainly couldn’t understand it.

  Here I had told him the most terrible thing about myself, the secret that I’d been keeping for almost a year. He should have been shocked, or horrified, or something. I was prepared for almost any reaction from Vic; I sure wasn’t prepared for no reaction at all.

  But the door didn’t open and Vic didn’t come back in. I shook my head helplessly. I was very sure I wasn’t going to get myself un-mixed-up by four-thirty.

  So I took a shower.

  There was no soap in the bathroom, so all I could do was run the water as hot as I could stand it, and scrub myself with the hand towel Vic had brought. I didn’t have any talcum powder, deodorant, or perfume, I realized, as I dried myself off. And I had to get back into the same crummy clothes I’d been wearing for days.

  I turned the television on. I turned the volume up just the tiniest bit, enough so I could almost hear it when I sat two inches away from the screen. I was sure nobody in the next room would be able to hear it.

  One of the channels was showing a Shirley Temple movie. Shirley was the daughter of a pilot and she practically lived on the air base. Her father was crazy about her. He was always picking her up and hugging and kissing and cuddling her. All the other pilots loved her too. She was the darling of the whole airport.

  She didn’t have a mother, as far as I could tell, but it didn’t seem to bother her very much. Well, why should it? Her father loved her enough to make up for it, not to mention all the other pilots fussing over her.

  I haven’t seen many Shirley Temple movies, but I’ve seen enough to know that Shirley never had any trouble getting people to love her. She always had plenty of “what every child needs.”

  I turned the set off, disgusted with Shirley Temple. How come she never had any trouble finding people to love her? Even when she played an orphan, there were always twelve people around fighting over who’d get to adopt her. And why? Just because she was cute?

  I’m pretty, and no one ever wanted to adopt me. The only thing being pretty had gotten me was trouble.

  Oh, come on, I told myself. You can’t be jealous of Shirley Temple.

  Yes I can.

  Every child needs love. Everybody loved Shirley Temple. Nobody loved me. Maybe it was silly, but was it really any wonder I was jealous of Shirley Temple? It might even have been better if I’d been a child star and just played parts like the ones Shirley played. Maybe that would have been almost as good as really being loved.

  Well, I wasn’t a child star. But when I did get to be a star—if I ever did—my fans would love me, and that would be even better.

  Was that why Vic thought I really wanted to be an actress?

  But what’s wrong with wanting the public to love you? It’s only natural.

  Natural.

  I remembered what Vic said about me and Uncle Ted. I didn’t want to think about it, but there it was. How could those feelings be natural? They weren’t natural, they were disgusting. Vic must have just said that to try and make me feel better.

  Vic was so nice. The nicest person I ever met. And I felt so comfortable with him. I was able to talk with him, tell him everything, my deepest secrets, my inmost feelings, when I’d only known him a couple of hours.

  And sitting on his lap, his arms around me, holding me close . . . even if I was crying my eyes out, those were the most wonderful few minutes of my whole life. I’d never felt so safe, so warm, so loved.

  He loved me. I knew right then that Vic loved me. He loved me enough to risk his job for me, to spend his hard-earned money that he needed for medical school on a deluxe lunch for me, to hug me and kiss me but not to try anything else, even if we both wanted to.

  It was wonderful! I closed my eyes and sighed. He was the person I’d been waiting for all my life. He would love me and take care of me and everything would be all right from now on.

  I felt this tremendous surge of happiness swelling up inside me like a balloon. I didn’t know how I could wait till four-thirty for Vic to come back. I wanted to tell him right now. I wanted to say, “I love you, too.” I wanted to tell him I finally knew what love was.

  If nobody had ever loved me before, well, I hadn’t loved anyone either. In a way, I was almost glad. I had years and years of love saved up, and I wanted to give it all to Vic.

  I turned the TV back on, just to make the time go faster. I think Shirley Temple’s father had just been killed. She was crying and the other pilots were trying to comfort her.

  I watched for a minute. Then I whispered, “Tough tarts, Shirley,” and switched the channel.

  When Vic came back I wanted to throw myself in his arms and yell, “I love you!” at the top of my lungs. But the minute he walked in the door I felt thi
s big wave of shyness come over me. It was really strange. Even though a girl isn’t supposed to tell a boy she loves him before he tells her, I thought it was different with us.

  I mean, even though he hadn’t actually told me right out he loved me, I was sure he did. “Actions speak louder than words,” they always say, and Vic’s actions proved how he felt about me.

  But something held me back. Maybe it was the way I’d shocked him by kissing him so hard before. Maybe I was afraid he’d push me away again, like he had this morning. Even though I was sure he’d stopped me from kissing him so we wouldn’t get carried away, I couldn’t stand for that to happen now. And besides, a girl is certainly not supposed to kiss a boy first. That’s probably why he was so surprised. Well, I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I didn’t want to do anything that would upset Vic.

  So I just said, “Hi,” very softly and turned off the TV.

  “I’m sorry I had to run off like that. Everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine. Especially now that you’re here.” I said that almost in a whisper, but I know he heard me.

  He looked so cute. He was wearing a western shirt with a sort of tie made of string, and chino pants and a silver belt buckle. He was carrying a large paper bag.

  “You look like a cowboy,” I said. “And I have nothing to wear but this.”

  “No. You’ll look like a beautiful senorita. See?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a white blouse and a bright, multicolored skirt that looked like it was made of yards and yards of tiny flowers. “At least, I hope you will. I thought they’d fit. They’re my sister’s.”

  The blouse was an off-the-shoulder peasant style which nobody in New York had worn for years. I wouldn’t be able to wear it off the shoulders, because I didn’t have a strapless bra, but that wouldn’t be so bad. The trouble was that the skirt was really full, with a ruffle in the middle, and then even fuller below the ruffle.