What It Was Like

by Peter Seth

  She considered what I said and liked it. As you can see, I was getting much better at love-talk, this time around. The thing is, I really meant it. Or else I would have added, “Too much trouble.”

  But, honestly, getting her back made me feel great, and I didn’t want to question or upset things. So I ignored the obvious.

  “Well, I gave Nanci a general hint,” Rachel said. “But really, she’ll do whatever I tell her to.”

  “Everyone is your slave?” I teased her.

  “Not everyone,” she smiled, turning away from me because I teased her with the truth.

  “‘Boys are toys’?” I floated into the air.

  She sputtered a little when I repeated those words – her words, which I first heard repeated on the lake at Mooncliff, bobbing in a rowboat.

  “You know I never forget a thing,” I said.

  She looked at me shyly and pleaded, “But you only remember the good things about me, right?”

  And with that charming, sly smile slicing through me, what else could I say but “I try.”

  “Promise? You’ve been so good and understanding,” she said. “About everything. So I’m going to give you a present.”

  “Good, I love presents. When?”

  “Tomorrow night,” she said in a low voice, coming closer. “With me and Nanci.”

  “What exactly might this present entail?”

  “That’s up to you. It’s whatever you want to do. Let’s give her what she deserves. She’s so damn nosey, and so in love with you.”

  “She is not!”

  “Oh please!” Rachel crowed. “That cow moons over you – or moos – every night. I can tell by the way she talks about you. Why shouldn’t I let you have your way with her?”

  “You’re not jealous?” I asked her, still skeptical.

  “You don’t love her, do you?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “So?” she shrugged. “Then I give you permission to use her for a night. I’ll give her to you.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I think you might like it. Don’t boys like stuff like that? . . . And because she deserves it. And because I’ve put you through a lot. I know.”

  It was nice to hear her say that.

  “Then afterwards,” she continued merrily. “You can be my slave.”

  I had to laugh at her, she was so willful and wild. She might have matured some, but she was still Rachel.

  ≁

  We slept in her canopy bed that night, our first night together in a real bed.

  “This is what I’ve dreamed of, for so long,” she said, her head on the pillow close to mine. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed you all this time.”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “I do.”

  “Good,” she said firmly. “We’re going to have fun tomorrow. Promise.”

  “Whatever you say,” I answered. The promise of “fun” from Rachel was something to contemplate in a leisurely manner.

  She snuggled up close to me, falling asleep after a few minutes, and, rather than snoring, she was purring. She looked so young, her face all relaxed and angelic in the almost-dark.

  After a few minutes I slipped my arm out from under her pillow without waking her, before my arm went to sleep.

  I remember looking up at the lacey fringe of the canopy as it cast strange shadows on the wall, thinking how good things were. All things come to he who waits, I told myself as I fell asleep. But somewhere in the back of mind was a kernel of Worry, just waiting to sprout. I could never just “be happy.” I always knew that at any moment, somewhere, something could go wrong.

  Record of Events #30 - entered Friday, 6:43 A.M.

  ≁

  That Saturday started out as one of the greatest days of my life. It ended quite differently, but the beginning was fantastic.

  Rachel brought me breakfast in bed. Blueberry pancakes! In a sun-filled room, propped up on pillows, with a kiss for starters.

  “It’s the only thing I know how to make,” she said, putting the tray over my lap. “And coffee. And tea. And I know how to pour Tropicana.”

  The whole day, I was happy and nervous at the same time. It was so forbidden for me to be there. We stayed inside all day because Rachel said she wanted to, but I also knew it was so that no one, no neighbor, even with the houses so far apart, would see me there and report back to Eleanor. Rachel seemed a little tense and distracted during the day. Yet sometimes she would giggle to herself.

  “Why are you giggling?” I asked her, after I caught her for the third time.

  “I’m…happy that you’re here,” she said, her eyes shining clearly.

  “And you’re not worried that Eleanor will find out that I spent the weekend here?” I had to ask.

  “No,” she said casually.

  “Liar,” I caught her.

  “OK, you’re right. But I’m going to do what I want,” she declared. “I can’t let her run my life. Not anymore; now that I have you back. Some things are worth the gamble.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, trying to sound supportive, seeing how serious she was.

  I wondered if she took any of Eleanor’s pills but didn’t ask her. I didn’t want to upset anything.

  “It’s a gorgeous day out there,” I said, looking out the back window at the Princes’ backyard. It was maybe ten times as big as my folks’ backyard. My father would have loved the huge barbeque grill and patio.

  “It’s gorgeous in here too,” said Rachel, flashing me a look at her naked shoulder under her silky robe. (Did I mention that she stayed in her robe almost the whole day?)

  “OK,” I said. “You win.”

  We played the Young Marrieds all day, lots of time in bed, snacks in bed, and playing around in bed. We would go for long periods of time when neither of us said anything, and it wasn’t uncomfortable for a moment. It was just . . . nice.

  Nonetheless, I was already starting to think about what time I would have to get out of the Prince house tomorrow, in advance of Eleanor and Herb’s return, and how to remove all trace of my presence before I left. And of course, all day, I never forgot about my schoolwork: that was a constant curtain of worry hanging behind my every thought, the cloud in every blue sky.

  But no matter how skittish I felt inside at times, I still managed to ignore my misgivings and “force myself” to have a beautiful time in all this Prince-ly luxury. But I could tell that something was bothering Rachel, too, something deeper than I had seen before, despite all her vows of independence, defiance, and emancipation. Something was on her mind and was keeping her distant.

  “Can you just tell me, what are you nervous about?” I finally had to ask her.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “That’s not true,” I replied. “Not even the little card game you’ve set up for us tonight?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Eleanor and Herb aren’t coming home tonight, are they?” I persisted, thinking that was the thing most likely to worry her.

  After a pause, she said, “No, of course they’re not.”

  “Are you sure?” I pressed her.

  “No! They are definitely not coming home tonight! I wouldn’t have brought you here if they were going to be around. I’m not deranged. When I’m ready to deal with Eleanor, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “So why do you look so preoccupied?”

  “I’m not preoccupied; I just have a lot on my mind. Aren’t I entitled to my own thoughts?”

  “I guess so,” I admitted grudgingly.

  She gave me a quick kiss on my cheek, chirped, “Good. You’re sweet to worry about me,” and walked out of the room.

  She always thought that she could just charm anyone at any time and escape the consequences of having to explain herself.
And she could.

  ≁

  I spent a lot of the rest of the day playing pinball on the two pinball machines that Manny had in the basement. It was an excellent substitute for thinking. Of all the luxuries that the Princes possessed, I think it was the two pinball machines – one cowboy-themed, one baseball-themed – that impressed me most. There was less of a thrill in winning an extra ball – since all the balls were free anyway – but I got over that quickly. After I conquered both machines, I went upstairs to find that Rachel was asleep in her bed. That made me feel somewhat relieved; at least she wasn’t taking Eleanor’s speed.

  I tiptoed out and decided to go back downstairs to try to do a little studying, but something, some suspicion, made me take a detour into Eleanor’s room. I opened the door and walked into the same heavy perfumed air, the same smell of “old.” But I was relieved: I looked on the top of the dresser and saw that the gun that Rachel had been playing with was gone. She must have put it away. Good.

  I went downstairs and checked out the Princes’ stuff in the living room: lots of knick-knacks and ashtrays and more dog statuettes, and very, very few books. Only what looked liked Book of the Month Club Main Selections, all in a row, all seemingly unread. Books as furniture – call me a snob, but that’s pathetic.

  But I have to say that it was very comfortable there. The big black leather Barcaloungers in the big backroom were so deep and enveloping that I fell asleep in one of them, watching the Mets win on the huge Zenith, with Max asleep in my lap. By then, she was my best friend. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but Tom Seaver was cruising, and the sun made the room so warm and cozy. I daydreamt what it would be like to have a house like this, all these rooms, all these bathrooms, all these deep, dark closets. It took a lot of money, a lot of work, a lot of something. Lumber yards, huh? . . . And I couldn’t help but think about what Rachel had planned for that night. Strip poker? With Nanci and Rachel? OK, I remember thinking to myself, that might be fun. I wasn’t sure I would know what to do when all the clothes started to come off, but I told myself not to worry. I trusted that Nature would take over. Nature and Rachel.

  When I woke up from my Barcalounger coma-sleep, I took a shower. This was before Nanci came over. I mean, wouldn’t you’ve? Rachel let me use one of the guest bathrooms, which was nicer than any bathroom in my house. And I have to admit that the Princes’ towels were extremely fluffy.

  As I was drying myself off, Rachel opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked into the still-steamy room, “What do you want on your pizza?”

  I’m proud to say that I didn’t even flinch when she opened the door.

  Calm as cake, I said, “Whatever you want, sugar. As long as there’re mushrooms . . . And pepperoni . . . And extra cheese!”

  She laughed and closed the door with a click.

  It felt good – and odd – to feel so at home at the Princes. What would Eleanor – and Manny, and Herb, for that matter – say if they knew I was there all weekend? And knew what we were planning? I couldn’t wait for the night to arrive. I was nervous, but in a good way. I was ready for a good time.

  ≁

  “Should we wait for Nanci?” I asked as I helped make up trays for the pizza.

  “I guarantee you she’ll’ve eaten,” Rachel said. Not maliciously: matter-of-factly. “Besides,” she added. “There’ll be leftovers. We’ll never eat all of this.”

  I got down some glasses from a cabinet and some napkins from a drawer.

  “You already know where things are,” said Rachel admiringly. “I don’t even have to tell you.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No! That’s what I love about you! You don’t have to be told things.”

  That struck me funny.

  “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

  “That’s why we belong together,” she said calmly, as if she were stating a known fact. I loved when she said things like that – it’s what I had been waiting for, all those long, lost, lonely weeks. Love definitely beats No-Love, by a Mooncliff country mile.

  ≁

  We ate the pizza in front of the giant TV, watching one of my favorite movies from when I was a kid: Errol Flynn in The Adventures of Robin Hood featured on Million Dollar Movie. But I had never realized that it was a color movie! When I saw it as a little kid, we had a black-and-white TV at home, so I assumed that the movie was too. It was even better – if, oddly, somewhat more fake in color.

  Rachel loved it as much as I did. (I haven’t even bothered to write down all the instances when our taste in things was completely congruent, from Gatsby on. We loved almost all the same things, except when it came to the Beatles. She was a “Paul” person while I was obviously a “John” person, but that made sense. She went with “cute” and I went with “smart.”)

  “Do you want anything else to drink?” Rachel asked as she took a second slice of pepperoni. Did I mention that the Princes had cases and cases of soda in the garage? Coke, Fresca, Orange Crush, Canada Dry ginger ale, Hire’s root beer. Everything it seemed, but my beloved Nehi Grape.

  “Later I’ll make some whiskey sours, and we’ll get Nanci drunk,” she said. “Eleanor has the greatest recipe, supposedly.”

  During a commercial, Rachel, feeling frisky from all the Sherwood Forest swashbuckling, picked up the metal poker from the set of horse-head brass tools by the flagstone fireplace, next to a basket of cut wood.

  “They used to teach fencing at Mooncliff,” said Rachel as she assumed the pose of a swordswoman, using the poker as her weapon. “I don’t know why they stopped it. I really liked it. . . . Lunge!”

  She showed off her fencing moves in quick succession. “Parry one . . . parry two . . . riposte! Advance . . . retreat . . . lunge!”

  She straightened up and said, “I love sticking people. It’s like ballet, but deadly.”

  “Wow,” I replied. “You are lethal.”

  “No,” she said, wiping a wisp of hair from her forehead, “I just want to rob from the rich . . . and keep it all for myself!”

  She made me laugh.

  “Come back and watch the movie,” I said. “What time is Nanci coming over?”

  “Be patient,” said Rachel, leaning the black poker against the flagstone. “She’ll be here soon. And I think we might have a little surprise for you.”

  “I bet you will,” I agreed. “Come over here.”

  Rachel giggled and resumed her place beside me on the couch. I held her close to me. She felt small and warm in my arms.

  “You’ve been jittery all day,” I said.

  She snuggled into my embrace, “Not jittery. Excited!”

  Then she pushed herself away from me.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve been planning things,” she said. “Starting with getting you back. And then, tonight. I’ll have Nanci.”

  Her eyes sparkled with the thoughts running through her head. I loved to see her so alive and enthusiastic.

  “This weekend is the beginning of everything. Everything is falling into place,” she continued. “I’ve gotten Eleanor to trust me. See how she went away this weekend? And I have you back. And now we’ll get Nanci.”

  I wondered exactly what she was thinking. In some ways, I didn’t want to know. I was just happy to have her back and happy to see her making plans for us.

  “Soon I will have you forever,” she said. “And have everything I want.”

  Suddenly she jumped up from the couch again.

  “Oh! I forgot to make the whiskey sours!” she announced, slapping her forehead and practically leaping over the coffee table on her way to the bar in the far corner of the room. “My head is not screwed on today!”

  I watched her as she disappeared behind the bar and then came out with a few decks of cards and a carousel of poker chips, which she plunked on the counter.

  “Here are these!�
� she said before going behind the bar again.

  I saw the cards and poker chips and I thought to myself: This is really going to happen. Strip poker, with two girls. I had better keep my cool, maintain the Steve McQueen inside, and try not to make a fool of myself.

  “I know how to make these,” announced Rachel as she lined up the ingredients in front of her: a couple bottles of different liquors, a big glass pitcher, and a little jar of maraschino cherries. “Right after I lock Max in the laundry room.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I said and went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I had to prepare for the night as best I could. I went straight into the bathroom and brushed my teeth – and tongue – hard. I had had the pepperoni too.

  I splashed water on my face and dried it with one of the Princes’ perfect towels. I combed my hair and checked myself in the mirror. Too late to shave, but my beard isn’t very rough anyway. I looked OK for a “beast.” Maybe this could be a night of pure fun. Me and two girls? Why not? I’m young, and it’s spring, and I’m back with Rachel. Maybe this was a good night for growing up and controlling the situation – not have the situation control me. I had been down-hearted for so long. Now, for a change, it was time to feel up-hearted.

  Then the doorbell rang. Nanci had arrived. The festivities were about to begin. My first impulse was to run downstairs and get the door, but then I controlled myself, remembering to be “cool.”

  Let Rachel get the door and let them get themselves set up downstairs, I told myself. I’d wait and make a grand entrance in a few minutes. Funny, I don’t think of myself as being so calculating about how I appear to other people, but this was a special occasion. I didn’t want to mess up tonight, not with everything going so well, and not with two girls. I had enough trouble handling one.

  After a few minutes of letting them wait, I trotted down the stairs and fast-walked toward the backroom. Nanci and Rachel were standing there, in the hallway, waiting for me. Nanci, in her standard Greenwich Village gypsy rags with black leotards underneath and the same giant purse with the fringe that she always carried; Rachel, in perfect jeans, perfect blouse, perfect little shoes, looking like she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue or one of those other fashion magazines I don’t read.