by Rona Jaffe
The day before the school play she climbed on top of the playhouse roof. Looking down she thought how easy it would be to jump off that roof and break her ankle, or even her leg; then she would never again be material for a prima ballerina. She felt her stomach turn over; she was afraid of heights and didn’t want to die. What if she miscalculated and fell on her head? But no, she would sail off quite simply in a classic leap, when no one was looking, and they would think she had accidentally fallen, while she would land exactly as she wanted to. It would be agonizing. Her eyes filled with tears. One of the girls had broken an arm once and had screamed and sobbed. It would hurt, but not forever. The doctor would come with pills, perhaps the kind Laura had, and the pain would go away. There was something for every pain.
As she stood there, afraid but determined, someone saw her. “Hey!” Then a chorus: “Hey! Come down!”
And one voice, a voice Nina would never forget, from a fat girl who had always hated her and who would never be anything but ugly and resentful: “Jump!”
Then Nina saw the teacher, running toward her. There was only a moment left, and she performed the best acting job of her life. She pretended to slip, to try to right herself, to lose her balance, and then, arms flailing to make her look clumsy and terrified, Nina performed her perfect leap.
Pain shot up her leg like a silver scimitar. She was lying on the ground in the middle of a circle of faces, and then she looked down and saw the blood, and a piece of white bone that she knew was hers, sticking out of the side of her shin, and she fainted.
The surgeon put a little metal pin in her leg, and promised she would walk without any trace of a limp. There would be a small crescent-shaped scar, but Clay told her that if it didn’t go away by itself she could have plastic surgery. Of course he didn’t see the X rays or the cast because he wasn’t there. He was in California, and there were important meetings, and after all, it was over, so what could he do?
Any hope she might have had of becoming a ballerina was gone. Her mother didn’t mind at all; she kept saying how glad she was that it hadn’t been worse. Uncle Edward drew colored pictures on her cast. Aunt Tanya did healing with laying on of hands. She said she saw a golden light coming from her fingers to Nina’s injury, but Nina didn’t see it. The doctor, however, said the break was healing nicely, which he attributed to Nina’s youth and good health and which Tanya attributed to her help.
The play was delayed because no one else had been trained to be Nina’s understudy. When they finally put it on she was maneuvering very well in her walking cast. Enough time had elapsed so that if anyone had noticed what she said after she hit the ground, before she passed out from the shock, they either hadn’t heard or had forgotten. Laura never mentioned it. Nina certainly never mentioned it. But she remembered, and was ashamed. Ashamed because it would have hurt Laura, and because of her own weakness, and ashamed because her desperate involuntary cry had received no magical response at all.
What Nina had cried out had been, “Daddy!”
9
1969—SEATTLE
The mirror, which up to now had been Bambi’s enemy, was beginning to be—amazingly—her friend. She saw the changes come gradually, as her mother had promised, and it was a kind of miracle. She had always thought of herself as looking hopelessly uninteresting, just this side of ugly. Now she saw a smooth and clearing skin, big brown eyes that looked twice as big with eyeliner and mascara, an interesting curve to her cheeks. Her hair was long and walnut colored, and after years of being lank and greasy even though she washed it faithfully every day, it had become healthy and shiny. Having tried ironing it, frizzing it, setting and teasing it, in the passing fashions of the time, now in her never-ending quest to be special she had decided to wear it pulled straight back in one thick braid. She didn’t want to be a boring little copycat, she wanted to be Bambi. Her new body amazed her; she was a woman. She was sixteen, no longer a geek, but a cute girl to be reckoned with. She wondered if anyone else would notice.
The other astonishing development was what had happened to Simon. That delicate vulnerable neck which had embarrassed and confusingly moved her when they were children had been transformed into one that was thick and muscled. Without doing anything, because he hated sports, he had developed impressive shoulders and hard slender legs. He had also grown; the former class shrimp was five feet ten. He wore his hair long like all the boys did, and it covered his large pointy ears so he no longer looked like Dumbo about to take off. He was as cute as she was, maybe even more so. She hoped he wouldn’t find out. She didn’t want him looking at any other girls: he was hers.
When she looked at him now, at his grown-up contours, she felt sexual stirrings. His lips were plump and sensual, both firm and soft. She kept wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and touched her mouth, wondering what it would feel like to him. They had been friends for all of their lives. He had always worshiped her, aided her, encouraged her, and she had depended on him. But that had been from necessity, because no one else liked either of them. Their defense had been that they were better than other people, but now, attractive enough to dive right into the mainstream, Bambi wondered what would happen to their relationship. She knew only one thing: she wanted to keep him; he had to fall in love with her. She didn’t want a boyfriend from out there in the unfriendly world, she wanted Simon. She had fallen in love with him, and the thought of losing him to some pushy bitch made her feel scared and alone.
Her parents were insisting on giving her a Sweet Sixteen party. It would be at the house, with nonalcoholic punch and her cousin Al to act as deejay. Bambi was terrified. No one would come because nobody liked her, and if they did show up they would laugh because it was stupid kid stuff. She wanted something sophisticated: wine in the backyard, Thunderbird or Ripple would do; an acid psychedelic rock light show like they had at the Eagles Ballroom, where neither she nor Simon were allowed to go. She wanted a white lace minidress, not that childish little thing her mother had insisted on picking out that made her look like nun school.
She told Simon her fears about this dreaded event. “If nobody comes we’ll have a good party all by ourselves,” he said staunchly. “We’ll pretend we’re millionaires. But don’t worry; people will come. They’ll go to anything that’s free.”
“I hate them all,” Bambi said. She had invited their whole class, even people she had never spoken to.
“I bought a white suit for your party,” Simon said. “I’ve been saving my allowance and my Christmas and birthday money.”
“A white suit!” She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
“I want to look like Elvis Presley.”
“You didn’t get it with sequins?”
“Very funny. Where’s your money?”
“What money?” Bambi said.
“Your allowance and Christmas and birthday funds. You didn’t spend them all on makeup.”
“I have a savings account,” Bambi said.
“It’s your money,” Simon said. “You could buy the white lace minidress you want, and then we’d both be in white and we’d dance together and we’d look great. We’ll really be special.”
I love him so much, Bambi thought. “I don’t know if the bank will let me take the money out,” she said. “I may be too young.”
“You put it in yourself,” Simon said. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes …”
“And you have the bankbook?”
“Well, sure. My parents want me to learn responsibility.”
“We’ll go to the bank tomorrow,” Simon said.
Bambi thought of how red her father’s face got when he was angry. “But they’ll have a fit.”
“The first step to being an adult is dealing with differences of opinion with older people,” Simon said calmly. “Starting with parents. This party should be a night you remember fondly for a very long time. There will be other Christmases and birthdays and other money. You can tell them that.”
Sh
e smiled, finally feeling secure and free. “I want to go with you when you have your haircut,” she said. “To be sure they don’t take off too much.”
“Okay.”
He has to love me back, she thought. We’re just like a married couple. Except, of course, for the sex …
“Why are you blushing?” Simon asked.
“I’m not,” Bambi said, and kicked him and ran away. Of course he followed her. They raced around her house, expertly dodging furniture and breakable knicknacks. “Don’t kick me!” she screamed. “You’re too strong! Don’t!”
He grabbed her in his arms and held her immobile. She couldn’t even wiggle. “What should I do with you?” he said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. His face was very close to hers.
She looked into his eyes and didn’t say anything.
“A terrible punishment …” he said.
She was finding it difficult to breathe, and not because he was holding her too tightly, just because he was holding her at all. He didn’t seem to be breathing much either. Then she felt the lump against her stomach; his erection. Power and desire swept through her. She could still control him! Quickly he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth.
His lips felt just as she had imagined and dreamed they would, only better. She felt herself melting, and kissed him back. They stood there for a while, kissing, and then tentatively, almost scared, Simon opened his mouth. Bambi opened hers. Their tongues touched. His erection was like a rock. She wondered what something that big and hard would feel like inside her and in answer there was a throbbing between her legs. He wasn’t clutching her anymore like his prisoner, he had his arms around her firmly but gently, and she put her arms around his neck. They investigated tongues for a while.
“Oh, God,” Bambi sighed.
“Mmm …”
She rubbed her body very subtly against his erection, just enough so he could feel it. He moved away.
“What?” she said.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“What you did.”
“Why not?” she asked, afraid that she had gone too far and scared him.
“Because I’ll lose control,” Simon said.
She smiled at him and he smiled back. He was her Simon and not her Simon; an adult and a child. Her best friend, her partner, and someday her lover: her great and glorious toy. “That might be very nice,” she whispered.
“But not just for me,” he said softly. “I want it to be the same for you.”
“Me too,” she said.
He squeezed his face together in an expression of agony and let go of her. “Think of something horrible, think of something horrible, think of something horrible,” he repeated to himself like a mantra.
“What are you doing?”
“Whew,” he said, finally.
“What?”
“I’m okay now,” Simon said.
“Did you … uh?” She wanted to know what he was doing with her dick.
“No. That was the point.”
She shrugged. It was a no-win situation; either way wasn’t very romantic. He looked down at her as if reading her thoughts, and then he took her in his arms. “Bambi,” he said, “would you mind if I were madly in love with you?”
Her heart turned over, if a heart could do that. “Are you?”
“Yes,” he said.
She pretended to look stern, to tease him. Then she smiled. “You’d better be,” she said, “Because I’m madly in love with you.”
They held each other, hugging. “I’m so happy,” Simon said.
“Me too.”
They heard the front door open and they both jumped apart. It was her mother. Silently and quickly, as if they had been conspirators forever, Bambi and Simon ran upstairs to her virginal room. They had spent their childhood afternoons in that room, and if they were careful her mother would never know that things had changed. Bambi locked the door and she and Simon lay on the bed. Hearts pounding, they held and stroked each other, kissing, touching with the amazed fascination of the first time either of them had ever touched someone in that way. Then he was sucking her nipples, and she felt the ecstasy radiating through her whole body.
He lifted his head. “You’re torturing me,” he whispered.
“You’re torturing me too. Don’t stop.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Shh …”
“I can’t stand this,” he whispered. “My parents won’t give me a car until I go to college. We’re stuck here.”
“They’re not here so much,” Bambi breathed. She kept him tightly in her arms. “Forget them.” The danger of her mother’s presence downstairs, of their possible discovery, gave their passion an edge; she was stunned by the power of her sexual feelings. They kissed and touched and investigated further. She was wet between her legs now, and the throbbing was unbearable. He had his fingers inside her, and she clamped down on them, pushing and rubbing, feeling her body beginning to melt and disappear.
“Oh, just hold it,” he whispered. “Please …” He unzipped his jeans and his erect penis sprang out, gleaming faintly white in the twilight dimness of her room. So that was what it looked like! She put her hand around it. He trembled and groaned, and then he grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her night table and pressed them to himself, and came in them.
He looked a little embarrassed. “I wish we had a place to go,” he said. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” She adjusted her clothes. “Are we going to be lovers?”
“We are lovers,” Simon said.
“I mean go to bed.”
“Do you want to?”
She thought about it. She wasn’t even really sixteen yet, and in a way she was scared. “Maybe it’s too soon,” she said.
“I think it is,” Simon said. “We’ll make love—there are lots of things we can do—but I don’t think we should consummate this until we go to college.”
“College?”
“I’ve been thinking … we have to go to the same college. We’ll live together there. We’ll have our own room, our own bed. We’ll have privacy.”
She had to admire him. “Simon, you’re so organized. But what if we don’t get into the same college?”
“We will.”
“And what if we keep tormenting each other and we can’t wait?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes. Besides, I’m very determined when I make my mind up.”
“So am I,” Bambi said impishly.
They held each other lovingly, running their fingers lightly over each other’s skin. “Now we have another secret,” he said.
Almost their entire class came to Bambi’s Sweet Sixteen party, even some of the people she had never spoken to. She was floating on air, and Simon was glowing because he had guessed right. Bambi had made a list of what songs Cousin Al was and was not allowed to play. Someone poured a bottle of vodka into the punch. There were colored paper lanterns in the trees, and it was very romantic. Bambi and Simon in white, she in her cherished lace dress, danced together as much as they could, whenever one of the other boys didn’t cut in. It was her night. She was pretty, she was popular, and she was a star. And she was loved by the boy she was in love with. Which was the best thing of all, the two of them, or being the star? It didn’t matter; she didn’t have to decide, or even think about it. Tonight she had everything.
10
1970—NEW YORK
Ever since Susan came back to New York that summer of ’69, she knew she had changed. Her friends were changing too: marrying, having children, moving away, chasing their careers to Hollywood. They were all survivors, as she was; hurt, determined, and wary; struggling, always looking for the lucky deal, the better romance, and then turning innocent again, believing this time it would be different. Except for Dana, they were people who came in and out of her life, very glad to see her again but never really keeping up, and she sometimes wondered if she’d really h
ad that many close friends to begin with. A phone call after a year brought them together ready to have a good time as if it had been yesterday, but everyone she knew had their own battles: career and love, drugs and alcohol. Nobody she knew wanted to save the world; they just wanted to survive it.
The isolation that had pursued her for most of her life had returned; the only thing that kept her functioning was writing. She wrote some essays about modern loneliness for the women’s magazines. Would it be different if she worked in an office, had people to see every day? Free-lancing was a rotten job, and she wondered why she had chosen it.
She was still the Susan who could walk into a party and find a man to take home, but she didn’t want that anymore. She was going to be twenty-nine, only another year before thirty. A woman of thirty should be married, or at least settle down. She knew that no matter how hard she tried, marriage was not what she wanted. She thought of all the things that marriage had always meant to her: being trapped, not being understood, being told what to do, being prevented from writing except as a hobby. Any boy her mother had liked would be, as a husband, her mother’s little puppet; her father went along with everything her mother wanted just to keep peace, so marriage would mean being dominated through a whole chain of command. But even though she was afraid of marriage she needed a sane, mature man to love, to love her; someone she could rely on. Was that too much to ask for?
A movie star she’d had a brief affair with came to see her, bringing fried chicken from the Kentucky Colonel and a bunch of flowers. He was in town for a few days and wanted to go to bed again. She told him it was too late for them, that they should be friends. He took it calmly and they ate the chicken and then he went away. He called her once after that, to ask if she knew an apartment his ex-wife could sublet. Susan supposed that was what friends were for.
Another man, whom she’d once considered very sexy and glamorous, came in from London and invited her for a drink at his hotel. They sat in the bar and drank champagne, and then he asked her to come upstairs. She looked at him and felt nothing. She explained that her work was giving her so much concern that she simply couldn’t think about sex at all. He understood, and went upstairs alone. She didn’t hear from him again.