Summer Darlings

by Brooke Lea Foster

  “Oh yeah?” Sullivan smiled, revealing deep dimples, and for a moment, she saw him differently: baby-faced and sweet, a shy boy trying to talk to a girl.

  “Heddy is a swimmer.” Ruth pretended not to notice Jerome’s arm was around her waist, and he was tickling her ear with his tongue.

  “What’s your race?” Sullivan asked her.

  “The butterfly.”

  “You ever win?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Heddy handed a ticket to a man standing at the entrance to the Tilt-A-Whirl. They climbed into the pod, the seating becoming a bit political as Heddy stepped over Sullivan, who was originally between her and Ruth, so the two girls could be sandwiched between the boys. As the ride began to spin, Heddy felt her stomach lurch, and she closed her eyes, trying to keep the dizziness at bay.

  She heard Sullivan say: “Lean against my shoulder, it will feel better.” And she did, and it did feel better, anchoring her until the pod twirled the other way, and then she slammed into Ruth, who was hysterical with laughter, especially since Jerome was pushing his weight in the direction the cart was spinning, making it spin faster.

  When the ride came to a stop, and she got still-footed enough to get off, the ground was undulating.

  “I think I’m done for the night,” Heddy said, cupping her hand over her mouth.

  Ruth pulled away from Jerome and pulled Heddy to a bench. “Are you going to be sick?”

  “I’m okay. Just dizzy.” She gagged, willing her stomach to calm.

  “You know what she needs? A ride on the Sea of Love.” Jerome pointed to a ride with red illuminated hearts blinking on the outside. His gapped front teeth made him look like a beaver. Heddy wanted to sock him.

  “I’m happy watching all of you. Someone can have these.” Heddy held up her remaining tickets, dropping her clutch at her side. Sullivan sat next to her, handing her a cup of ice water he’d fetched.

  “This will help. Drink it.” He bounced his leg up and down, like it was itchy, then took some ice, wrapped it in a napkin and pressed it to her forehead. “If I’d known you got sick easily, I would have told you to skip the Tilt-A-Whirl. We study that ride in physics.”

  Heddy downed the ice water, feeling a bit better. “Why?”

  His leg went still. “Because a Tilt car behaves differently depending on the speed it’s moving. It never spins the same way. The motion is truly chaotic.” He gestured at her belly. “Of course, it’s also why your stomach got so churned up.” His leg began bouncing again, vibrating, like he couldn’t keep it still if he tried. Heddy released the grip on her stomach.

  “How interesting.” She only half understood what he was talking about. How did Ash manage to be so captivating, no matter what he said, while this boy was making conversation with her about a subject she despised most, something dreadful, like science. Who cares why the ride was spinning—all that mattered was that she nearly lost her lunch.

  Ruth and Jerome were kissing now, and Heddy pretended not to see. She looked in the direction of the Ferris wheel, but the lights—or maybe all the lights at the carnival—made her feel queasy all over again. She put her hand to her temple and closed her eyes. She sensed Sullivan leaning over, his elbow on his knees, picking up something in the grass. And when she opened her eyes, he held up a tiny bunch of clovers.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to go on any more rides. We can just sit here. I like to people watch,” he said.

  Heddy reached for the clippings, finding herself smiling, despite the strangeness of it all. “Thank you.” She touched the tiny stems, the bottoms damp from where he’d torn them off, raising them to her nose.

  “What do they smell like?” Sullivan pressed his fingertips together into a pyramid.

  “Grass.” She smiled.

  “I’ll get you real flowers next time.” He didn’t lift his head to look at her, and she found herself wondering if he was grinning—she liked his dimples.

  Next time? That was presumptuous, wasn’t it? Yet, it loosened the tight knot in her chest. He was already thinking about another date, so he must like her. Even if she wasn’t sure she liked him, it was a relief someone thought her tolerable. She glanced over at Ruth, who was leaning her hip against the bench, her mouth open and probing into Jerome’s. Ruth! She wanted to yell, Stop making such a fool of yourself.

  “I’d love to take a walk,” she said, her head no longer spinning.

  Sullivan jumped to his feet. “Where to?”

  “The Ferris wheel?” The carnival was getting more crowded—it seemed like every teenager on the island was there now. Heddy and Sullivan walked behind the hordes of people until he stopped short, deciding he wanted cotton candy, and an older woman, walking too close, crashed into his back. He bent down to help her to her feet.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” When he saw the lady’s face, his deflated. He stood straighter, cleared his throat. “Hello, Mrs. Nickens.”

  The old woman looked delighted, pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed her drawn-on brow, careful not to wipe any away. “Dear me, Sullivan. Thank you. How are you? Is your mother still sailing?” She turned to Heddy. “One of the smartest ladies I know, Mrs. Abigail Rhodes.”

  “Father says she can do anything.” Sullivan folded his hands in front of his waist in the formal way Heddy remembered doing when she met the president of her college at a luncheon.

  “You know, Sullivan, I need another board member—”

  Sullivan coughed. “Excuse me, Mrs. Nickens, I’ll tell Mother to call you.” Sullivan steered Heddy away, so fast that Heddy nearly tripped.

  “Sorry about that. I just don’t feel like running into anybody,” he said. They fell back into the crowd, cotton candy in hand, Sullivan pulling a large swirl of the sticky pink candy and handing her the rest in the paper cone.

  “That’s sweet, thank you.” She took a mouselike nibble, not wanting to upset her stomach any further. Someone shoved Heddy from behind, her nose smashing into the tip of the cotton candy.

  “Heddy!” It was Ruth, breathless, like she’d been running. “We found you. Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving?”

  When Heddy turned around to face her; she didn’t try to hide her irritation. “I didn’t think you’d notice I left.”

  Ruth ignored her. “Let’s all go on the Sea of Love. Jerome is saving us a place in line.”

  “I don’t know.” Heddy glanced at Sullivan.

  “It’s fine, Heddy. Really.” He pulled a strand of cotton candy.

  “You’re sure you don’t study this one in physics, too?”

  “Never.”

  It was pitch-black inside the Sea of Love. Heddy and Sullivan sat in the first boat in the chain, gliding through the dark. Every few feet a dim light bulb illuminated their faces, just long enough to glimpse each other.

  “Jerome and I aren’t really friends, you know.” Sullivan’s voice was quiet, and being in the dark seemed to calm him—at least his leg was still. “He’s a bit of an ass, isn’t he?”

  Heddy beamed in the dark. “I’m not sure what Ruth sees in him.”

  “Tell your friend she could do better.”

  “Have you known him long? I didn’t know you grew up here.” They passed under a light, and Heddy saw him lifting his arm slowly around her back, but she never felt it press against her. Then it was dark again.

  “Me? God, no. Mother wouldn’t tolerate me staying in New York, no matter how hard I try, so I’m forced to come every summer.”

  The boat chugged upward, and Heddy slid closer to him, squeezing her own thigh, wondering if she’d been tricked into a roller coaster. He put his hand over hers, pressing down, and saying: “Don’t worry. I promise you, it’s nothing.”

  At the top of the incline, the boat went in a circle before plunging downward, just for a second, before splashing into a pool at the bottom. He lifted his hand, and Heddy relaxed.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” she said. When they passed under the light t
his time, he was gazing at her.

  “You should come for lunch at the Clamshell,” he said.

  They slipped back into darkness. “Is the food any good?” she said.

  “The company’s better,” he said.

  The boat came to a halt, and everyone got out, stepping into the bright lights of the fair. The Gravitron’s shiny capsule spun like a top. Ruth and Jerome emerged holding hands.

  “Ruth, I think we should be going. Ted wants the car back by ten thirty.”

  “But it’s quarter after nine.”

  Sullivan held up his wristwatch. “She’s right.”

  “Well, I suppose we could stay a bit longer,” Heddy said. She didn’t know why she was in a rush. Sullivan was nice enough. There was pressure, though, in being set up, in Ruth and Jerome necking nearby.

  Ruth pulled Heddy aside toward a concession stand, the sizzle and pop of frozen hamburger patties hitting the grill, the smoky smell of meat everywhere. “You want to ditch the boys? I’m tired of hanging out with Jerome anyway.”

  “I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend!”

  “Jerome? Gosh, no. I’m just bored.”

  Heddy sighed.

  “I told you—I’ve gotta get off this island.”

  They returned to the boys, who had paid a quarter to throw darts at a clown’s face, winning a prize if they landed one square in the nose.

  “We’re going on the Ferris wheel—see you boys later.” Ruth slid her arm back into Heddy’s.

  “Don’t be like that.” Jerome put down his darts. “Let’s go together.”

  Ruth shrugged. “Maybe later.”

  Heddy shouted bye to Sullivan, watching as he stuffed one hand in his pocket, his mouth turning down in disappointment as he waved. Jerome punched Sullivan on the back, holding his stomach and laughing about something Heddy couldn’t make out.

  “Well, he recovered quickly.”

  Ruth looked over her shoulder. “Don’t ever let me date him. I can’t stoop that low, Heddy. Please.”

  Heddy squeezed her arm. “We gotta get you out of here.”

  “Like I said, what a daydream.”

  “Heddy?” Sullivan tapped her on the back. He’d run after them, and now facing her, he’d gone mute. He darted his eyes from Heddy to Ruth, then back again. “Um…” He faked a laugh, his lip curling up just a little, like Elvis. “Forget the Clamshell. Do you want to go out for breakfast? You’re free, right, when the kids go to camp?”

  Ruth grinned at Heddy, whose eyes wrinkled with delight. “That sounds nice.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  He seemed like he might keep standing there, saying nothing, so Ruth steered Heddy away. They were arm in arm, laughing like schoolgirls.

  “He could have asked you to a proper dinner,” Ruth snorted.

  “Nah. Breakfast is shorter—what are we going to talk about for more than an hour?”

  “His parents.”

  Heddy raised an eyebrow. “No one wants to talk about their parents on a date.”

  “They do, if said boy’s parents own the New York Post-Courier.”

  Heddy stopped short, two teenagers walking right into her from behind. “Sorry. What are you talking about?”

  Ruth laughed slyly. “My mother cooked for the Rhodes one summer; biggest house on the island.” His last name was Rhodes. But what had that meant to Heddy?

  “He told me he’s a physics major. And a waiter. You were standing right there!”

  “Step right up, miss. Three throws for a nickel.” A man with a feather in his cap called to them.

  Ruth pulled Heddy to walk again. “Well, that science nerd goes to the same club as Jean-Rose. He’s a Harvard man. His family is grooming him to be the publisher.”

  Heddy felt her cheeks flush. “But he’s awkward. Didn’t you see how he doesn’t stop fidgeting?”

  “So?”

  “So, how could he come from a family like that?”

  Ruth put her arm back in Heddy’s, looked up at the stars, like they were finally aligning in her favor. “Who cares? Imagine the life you’d have.”

  Heddy was so stunned that she followed Ruth onto the Ferris wheel feeling dazed. It was admirable that even with that background, he understood the value of a hard day’s work. It made him seem strong, although for all she knew his parents forced him into the job at the Clamshell.

  And as the Ferris wheel took them higher into the sky, she was trying to figure out: Why would someone like him ask her out on a date?

  * * *

  She and Ruth hadn’t been alone much on Saturday, and Ruth had Sundays off, so they hadn’t been able to talk the entire weekend. Heddy wondered if Sullivan would call for a second date. By Sunday afternoon, she was tired of analyzing it, and she called her mother early in the afternoon as a distraction. Jean-Rose and Ted were gone; Heddy and the children had spent the afternoon making robots out of shoeboxes, and now they were happily watching cartoons.

  Her mother picked up on the first ring. “You shouldn’t call this early. You know the rates go down at night.”

  No one was home, so Heddy placed the black rotary phone on the floor, sitting down cross-legged on the oriental carpet, her back against the telephone table. “Mama, it’s okay. They don’t mind.”

  “Well, we should only stay on for a minute or two. On principle.”

  Heddy smiled into the receiver; her mother was tight-fisted, even with someone else’s purse strings. “All right.”

  “So how are you—your letter makes work sound like play.”

  “Yes, it is. I love it. It’s just…” She ran her fingers over the circle of the rotary dial.

  “Oh, shit on a potato, I hear stars in your voice. You better not be running around the island making a fool of yourself with one of these guys she set you up with. I told you Ken McKinney is waiting. He’s a college boy, too. Got that degree from…”

  “CUNY, I know.”

  Heddy covered the receiver with her hand, pinched her eyes shut and opened her mouth in a silent scream. Ken McKinney. KEN McKINNEY? Back home he was the most eligible bachelor, since he was manager at the shipbuilding factory. He had taken Heddy on a picnic at Prospect Park before she left for the island. But in between bites of sandwiches, they’d struggled to make conversation, mostly because he did all the talking: how he graduated with honors; how great he was at managing employees; how he and his future wife could live upstairs from his mother (there was already an empty apartment!). The odd thing was that he expected Heddy to be as fascinated with the minutiae of his life as he was, and it dawned on her then that if she ever had a son, she wouldn’t treat him godlike the way Ken McKinney’s mother had. It made for a grown man with zero self-awareness.

  “Are you there, Hibernia? Who has your attention? The waiter?”

  Heddy cleared her throat. “No.” She wanted to tell her mother about Sullivan, about the finer points that made him a catch, but then she imagined her mother coming to the island in her scuffed patent leather shoes, having to stand next to the perfectly coiffed, well-dressed Mrs. Rhodes, and she changed her mind.

  “Did you figure out your tuition, Hibernia?”

  Heddy sucked in a deep breath, feeling the clamminess gathering under her palm against the receiver. “Mama, what if I don’t want to go back to school next semester?”

  “Don’t dare talk like that,” her mother snapped. “I’ll call another bank.”

  “No, no. I worked it out with school. It’s more a feeling of dread.”

  “Must I remind you, Hibernia, that the girls at Tiffany’s would die for an opportunity like yours.” Her mother sighed. “Joe says his pop wants to raise the rent twenty-five dollars.”

  “I’ll call him,” Heddy said. Joe was the landlord’s son, and he’d always been sweet on Heddy. She even flirted back sometimes, just so he’d be nicer to them.

  “Don’t. And don’t you dare say you’re not going back to sch
ool. Some people play the slots. Others put their money in a house. Well, I don’t have any money at all, so…”

  Heddy finished her mother’s sentence; she’d heard her say it a million times. “So you’re investing in me.” Heddy wiped at the corners of her eyes. “I know, Mama. You’re right. Of course, I’m going back.”

  She promised to call again next Sunday, then trudged up to her room, curling up in bed. That she was getting good at lying only made her feel worse. A house of cards could stand only so long.

  ELEVEN

  Heddy, who was in too much of a daze on her first visit to Gigi’s to get a good look around, had imagined the inside of the actress’s house as a cacophony of animal-print linens, faux fur rugs, and sultry photographs taken of the actress. But standing in her entryway, a candle burning the smell of sandalwood, there wasn’t a leopard-print pillow in sight. Instead, the estate was all understated glamour, and most certainly, pulled together with the help of a decorator. The expansive living room had a bricked fireplace so large a child could step into it, and an enormous royal-blue velour couch that was horseshoe-shaped and featured throw pillows patterned with navy anchors and yellow stripes. On the glass coffee table, a stack of books: Hollywood in the 1920s and Fashion Girls.

  Gigi glanced over her bare, tanned shoulder. “Your hair is fabulous.”

  Heddy scrunched the back with her hands. Jean-Rose hadn’t been as complimentary, giving her a double take and saying, “Quite a change.”

  “I think I like it, too.”

  Gigi turned to face her and poked her shoulder for emphasis. “You don’t think you like your hair—you love it. And so do I.” Gigi winked at her, then walked on. “Children,” she called, “careful up the stairs.”

  She followed Gigi to a grand double staircase, bronze railings climbing up both sides. The walls were wallpapered with turquoise palm fronds, and once upstairs, a long corridor of doors stood to the left and right. The carpet was cotton-ball white, so clean Heddy checked the bottoms of her feet.

  Gigi shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s just a rug.” But it wasn’t just a rug. It was pure opulence, soft and plush underfoot, like walking on clouds. She imagined how warm a rug like this would feel in winter, when stepping out of bed onto chilled wooden floors made her want to climb right back under her covers.