by Marilyn Kaye
‘Kind of,’ Sherry said, catching the look of disapproval on Allison’s face. She supposed this kind of life wouldn’t appeal to a rebel beatnik type. But she was spared any further indication of Allison’s disapproval by the arrival of Pamela.
‘Hey, roomie,’ Allison greeted her. ‘You don’t look very happy.’
‘And where are your bags?’ Sherry asked. ‘I thought you were going to shop.’ ‘
‘Do you know what things cost in this city?’ Pamela moaned. ‘Even with the discount coupons, I couldn’t afford anything.’ She reached in her bag. ‘I did pick up this.’ She showed them a lipstick, and then, using the back of a spoon as a mirror, she applied it. In Sherry’s opinion, the fuchsia pink only made her look even more inappropriate. But she admired the fancy gold-coloured case.
‘Was it expensive?’
‘Probably.’ Pamela grinned. ‘I didn’t pay for it.’
Sherry tried very hard not to look shocked, but she didn’t do a very good job of it.
‘Don’t worry, I only take little things,’ Pamela assured her. ‘And never from friends.’
‘These department stores deserve to be ripped off,’ declared Allison. ‘They overcharge. You better be careful though.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t try to take anything like clothes,’ Pamela said. She grinned again. ‘I don’t have a handbag big enough to stash them in. So what were you two talking about?’
‘Sherry was telling me about her boyfriend,’ Allison told her. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Johnny.’
‘They’re going to get married when she graduates from college.’
‘Really?’ Pamela shook her head. ‘That’s tragic.’
Sherry was completely taken aback. ‘Why do you say that? I’ll be twenty-two. That’s old enough to marry.’ ‘
‘It’s still too young,’ Pamela declared. ‘You’ll be in your best years. Why do you want to throw them away?’ She reached into her handbag and pulled out a dog-eared paperback book. ‘It’s all in here. How you don’t need a husband for your best years, you just need men, and the more men you can know, the more fun you’ll have.’
Sherry’s mouth fell open, and Allison burst out laughing. Pamela beamed, and showed them the cover.
‘Sex and the Single Girl,’ by Helen Gurley Brown. It’s my new bible.’
Sherry found her voice. ‘Are you saying you want to have affairs?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘Well … a man won’t buy the cow if the milk is free.’
Pamela rolled her eyes and Allison started laughing again. Then Sherry had to laugh too. Thinking about it, it sounded pretty silly, comparing women and sex to cows and milk.
‘It’s what my mother says anyway.’
‘My mother’s always hitting me with her words of wisdom too,’ Pamela offered. ‘Her favourite is the one about how it’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man. Actually, I can go along with that. But that business about free milk …’ she shook her head. ‘I mean, men have affairs before they’re married. And sometimes after. Why can’t women?’
Sherry had an answer for that. ‘Because men can’t get pregnant.’
‘Women don’t have to get pregnant either,’ Allison pointed out. ‘Have you heard of the pill?’
‘Well, sure, but …’ Sherry hesitated. She’d only just met these girls, and she felt very strange bringing up a topic she’d only discussed with her closest friends. Still, she was curious. ‘Don’t you want to be a virgin when you get married?’
Pamela responded with a mysterious smile. Sherry’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned forward.
‘You’re not a virgin?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Well, technically I am,’ Pamela admitted. ‘Only because I wasn’t about to give myself to any of the jerks I went out with back home. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay that way. I plan on meeting some very interesting men here in New York.’
‘I’m a virgin,’ Allison said. ‘But I think I’d have sex before I get married, if I really loved the guy.’ She turned to Sherry. ‘You’re really going to hold out until your wedding night?’
‘Well, maybe after we’re officially engaged, and we’ve set a date …’
Pamela grinned. ‘And you’ve rented the hall and made a non-refundable deposit to the caterer? So it’s too late for Johnny to back out?’
She was putting it rather crudely, but she made a good point. Sherry nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s about it.’
‘Well, you can still have some fun here in New York without having an affair,’ Pamela said, and then sighed. ‘But I don’t know how I’m going to get myself outfitted for New York nightlife.’
‘There’s still the samples closet,’ Sherry reminded her. ‘You’ll just have to convince Miss Davison you’ve got a lot of “extraordinary events” to attend.’
‘Speaking of extraordinary events,’ Allison said, ‘I’m going to go down to Greenwich Village tonight. Anyone want to come with me?’
‘What’s in Greenwich Village?’ Sherry asked.
‘It’s supposed to be a real scene. Clubs, music …’
Pamela brightened. ‘I’m in.’
‘Not me,’ Sherry said. ‘I have to write that review.’
‘It’s just two pages,’ Allison pointed out. ‘You could write it in the morning. It only took me an hour this afternoon.’
Sherry was torn. If only she’d done the assignment that afternoon instead of going to Times Square with Linda and Diane. She suspected an evening with these two would be much more interesting.
Reluctantly she shook her head. ‘I hate to wait till the last minute to do an assignment. I won’t be able to sleep tonight, thinking about it.’
‘Good grief,’ Pamela said. ‘You really are a good girl. I’ll bet you’re the type who always turned in her homework on time.’ The teasing smile on her face took any sting out of the words.
‘Guilty as charged,’ Sherry admitted.
‘And you’ve got your future all mapped out,’ Allison mused. ‘Do you always stick to your plans?’
‘Pretty much.’ Sherry offered them both a rueful smile. ‘Guess I sound like a real bore, huh?’
‘It certainly wouldn’t hurt to loosen up a bit,’ said Pamela.
Would she ever get used to being around people who spoke their minds so freely? ‘Anyway, I should spend some time with my roommate. We haven’t talked much.’
‘I don’t think Donna said a word all day,’ said Allison.
‘She looks like a scared rabbit,’ Pamela commented. ‘A real wuss.’
For some reason Sherry felt compelled to defend the girl. ‘She’s probably just shy,’ she said. ‘I’ll get her to open up. Have fun tonight, you two.’
She went upstairs to her room. Locked. She rapped on the door.
She could hear movement inside. And then a voice. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s just me. Sherry. Your roommate. I don’t have my key.’
Donna opened the door, murmured a greeting that Sherry couldn’t hear and then went over to her bed. She sat on the edge of it and eyed Sherry warily.
‘What have you been up to?’ Sherry asked casually.
‘Nothing much. Just looking around.’
‘Have you had dinner yet?’
Donna shook her head.
‘Don’t get the meat loaf,’ Sherry advised. ‘It’s very dry.’
‘Was it expensive?’
Sherry was puzzled. ‘We don’t pay for food here, Donna. Unless we eat out of course. We don’t get any salary, but the room and the meals are free. That was all in the introductory packet. Didn’t you get one?’
‘I guess I didn’t read it very closely,’ she said. She got up and swung the backpack over her shoulder.
‘I don’t think you’ll need to lug that to the dining hall,’ Sherry pointed out.
‘I like to keep it with me,’ Donna murmured as she walked out. ‘See you later.’
Maybe she believed th
e place was full of thieves, Sherry thought. That would explain why she wanted to keep the door locked and carry her things with her all the time. She couldn’t think of any other explanation.
Sherry turned to the typewriter and examined the one line she’d typed so far.
BEACH BLANKET KISSES
A REVIEW BY SHERRY FORRESTER
Now that she thought about it, she realized Allison had made a good point. The movie was pretty much like every other musical beach movie she’d seen. Boy meets girl on the beach, he sings a song about her, she sings a song about him. They fall in love, sing a song together, then something happens to break them up. Then it all turns out to be a misunderstanding, and in the end they get back together. And sing another song.
But the songs were cute, and when the girl thought the boy had stood her up on a date, her heartbreak was pretty convincing. Sherry’s fingers hovered over the keys, and then dropped. She needed inspiration.
She reached over and turned on the clock radio she’d put at the other end of the desk. Fiddling with the dials, she finally located a rock ’n’ roll station, and a tune she recognized filled the room. She sank back in her chair and smiled.
It was the song about the ‘itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini’, and immediately an image of the lake back home appeared in her mind. Just a few weeks ago, the first week of summer vacation, there’d been a heatwave and the gang had spent just about every day there. There was a little snack bar on the shore that had a jukebox, and that song seemed to be playing constantly. Friends were always teasing her, because by pure coincidence she just happened to have bought a yellow polka-dot bathing suit this summer. It wasn’t really an itsy-bitsy bikini, more like a modest two-piece, but still, every time the song came on, people looked in her direction. Johnny hadn’t left for Washington yet so he was there, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her …
The minute the song finished, her hands went back to the keys. Once she’d decided on the point of her review, the sentences began to take shape. As always happened when she was writing, time and place faded away and she went into some sort of inner world where nothing but ideas, words and phrases existed. She’d just put her third sheet of paper into the typewriter when another popular tune came on the radio, and made her pause.
Johnny Angel, how I love him …
She looked at the framed photo on the desk, the first thing she’d unpacked the day before. He really was special — so handsome, with soft wavy brown hair and a square jaw with the cutest little cleft in his chin, just like Cary Grant. When they met, they’d been sophomores, the same age and perfectly matched. They liked the same music, the same movies, the same TV shows. He was the quarterback on the football team; she was a cheerleader.
Everyone thought they made the ideal couple. Some day they’d make beautiful brown-haired blue-eyed babies — that’s what all her friends said. He was a nice boy from a good family, and her parents had approved of him from the start. And even though a marriage wouldn’t happen for at least another four or five years, she’d spent hours with her mother poring over Gloss or another magazine, looking at silverware patterns, china patterns, bridal gowns, debating whether her wedding colours should be pink and white or something else. How many bridesmaids? Which one would be maid of honour? What kind of flowers would she carry? Would they hold the reception at the country club or the new Hilton hotel? And where would they go on their honeymoon?
And why was she now experiencing the twinge of an incipient headache?
She finished the first draft of her review, and then read the sheets carefully. Seeing several places that she thought could use improvement, she went back to work on a second draft. When she was finished, she was surprised to see that it was only nine o’clock. But a wave of tiredness came over her, and she had yet to roll her hair.
Sitting on the bed after her shower, with the bag of rollers in front of her, she sectioned her hair with a rat-tail comb, wound the locks around the bristle-filled tubes. She imagined Linda and Diane sitting on their beds doing the same thing and wondered what Donna was doing. Pamela and Allison were probably still in Greenwich Village. And her thoughts went back to that strange discussion at the dinner table.
Had she really come across as boring, with her talk of future plans? And why did she care what they thought of her, those two girls who were so clearly not her kind of people?
There was nothing wrong with being a good girl and following the rules, she told herself as she climbed into bed and shut off the light. It was perfectly OK to plan for your future. And Daddy always said, ‘When you have a plan, you stick to it.’ She’d heard that a million times.
Only tonight as she drifted off to sleep, for the first time ever, she heard her own voice in her head, talking back to her father.
‘But what if I didn’t write the plan?’
Sitting side by side on the subway, Allison examined her companion with interest. Pamela’s style certainly wasn’t anything like her own, but the fact that the platinum blonde didn’t look like all the other interns made her appealing in Allison’s eyes.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never been to New York before,’ Allison said as the subway headed downtown. ‘You’re from Pennsylvania, right? That’s not so far.’
‘We’re not much of a travelling family,’ Pamela told her. ‘Maybe a week at the shore in the summer, but that’s about it. My parents made their very first trip to New York just last year, for their fortieth wedding anniversary.’
‘Oh.’ Then a certain word registered. ‘Did you say fortieth? And you’re what — seventeen?’
‘My mother was sixteen when she got married. And I’m the youngest of six. My oldest brother, Ralph, is forty-one. That’s why Mom got married so young. Get it?’
‘Got it,’ Allison replied. ‘Wow, you’ve got a brother who’s the same age as my father.’
Pamela nodded. ‘Poor Mom, she thought she was finished when I came along.’ She grinned. ‘I was an accident, just like Ralph.’
Allison was fascinated. People didn’t talk like this back home, not in her family’s Boston aristocratic world. And as far as children were concerned, there were no accidents — or maybe there were, but they were completely covered up.
Pamela misread her expression. ‘Oh, they love me like crazy,’ she assured her. ‘And I was lucky. By the time I came around, they were wiped out when it came to discipline. I could get away with anything.
Allison gazed at her in admiration. ‘Wow. I was always watched like a hawk. I even had a nanny.’
‘So you’re rich, huh?’
Once again Allison was amazed. Back home, people never talked like this. Money — like religion and politics — just wasn’t a subject of polite conversation. She really liked this girl.
When she’d first met Pamela, in the room they shared, she’d been startled but pleased. Her style was outlandish — Allison could imagine her mother calling the platinum blonde a ‘floozy’, and knowing that her mother would disapprove of the girl made her immediately attractive. And while Allison didn’t care for her flashy, provocative clothes, at least she didn’t look like the others Allison met at the dinner, all prim and proper in their nauseatingly sweet little pastel dresses and princess heels.
Maybe they weren’t all awful though. That girl Sherry, she seemed to have a little spark to her …
Pamela was looking at her now, and Allison realized she hadn’t answered her question.
‘Rich? Not me personally. I’m on a strict allowance. But yeah, my family’s got money. My great-grandfather had railroads.’ She eyed Pamela anxiously, hoping she wasn’t coming across as an old-family-type upper-class snob. But she needn’t have worried.
‘Neat,’ Pamela said cheerfully. ‘Dad’s a mechanic, and he does OK. But with six kids, there was never much to go around.’
From the subway’s barely audible system came an announcement, and Allison caught the last muffled words.
‘This is us,’ she said
as the train rumbled into the West Fourth Street station. ‘Now, don’t forget, nobody says “Greenwich Village”. It’s just “the Village”. And don’t expect little cottages with thatched roofs.’
Pamela laughed. ‘Hey, I might come from the sticks, but we’ve got movies and TV. I’ve got a pretty good idea what it’s going to look like.’
So did Allison, and like Pamela, only from movies and TV. She’d been to New York before, with her family, many times. But they’d never ventured this far downtown. And as they climbed the stairs to the exit, her heartbeat quickened with anticipation.
What hit her first was the variety of people on the street — all ages, all colours, just like in midtown. But here they looked different. Maybe it was the clothes. If there was a uniform in the Village, it was rolled-up blue jeans, sandals, a lot of black — and not a briefcase in sight.
Walking down Sixth Avenue, looking to the right, she could see narrow streets jutting off the avenue at odd angles. Some were tree-lined, and they certainly weren’t on a grid like most of the streets in the city. They zigzagged and twisted and new ones seemed to sprout up out of nowhere. There wasn’t the bumper-to-bumper traffic of midtown, and there were no skyscrapers. Allison couldn’t believe they were still on Manhattan Island.
‘I wish we’d brought a map,’ she murmured. I’ve heard Bleecker Street is supposed to be neat, but I have no idea how to get there.’
Pamela seemed to know how to deal with this. In her forthright manner she marched up to a good-looking young man who was coming out of a shop.
‘Excuse me, can you direct us to Bleecker Street?’
The guy pointed. ‘Two blocks that way, then make a left. You chicks out-of-towners?’
‘Yep, we’re tourists.’ She cocked her head to one side and smiled flirtatiously. ‘You have any advice for us?’
He didn’t smile back, but gazed intensely at them both. ‘Yes, I have something very important to say to you. Keep in mind: the Village is not a place. It’s a state of mind.’
Pamela stared right back, but her expression was blank. ‘Huh?’
Allison quickly stepped in. ‘I guess you know the area pretty well. Do you live here?’