“I don’t quite know,” I told him. “I look at myself in the mirror and try to see it, but I can’t see anything but just the Camilla Dickinson I’ve been looking at all my life. It’s when I’m not near a mirror and can’t see myself or really remember how I look—because I can’t remember how I look when I’m not directly facing a mirror—that I feel beautiful. I feel beautiful when I’m with Frank.”
“Feel beautiful when you’re with me?”
“Yes,” I said.
Then David smiled at me and for some reason I wanted to cry. I even felt tears rushing to my eyes, and I pushed, pushed them back.
“Sweet, Camilla. You’re sweet,” David said, and he reached out with his hand and stroked my hair. As he touched my hair with his gentle strong hand a soft warmth seemed to go all through my body.
“Oh, Camilla,” David said. “Camilla.”
I stood there close beside the bed and again he lifted his hand and ran it over my hair, and again that strange sweet warmth flowed over me. “Camilla,” David said, “I could teach you so much, if—” He broke off abruptly, picked up one of the chess men and looked at it, and then placed it back on the board. “Isn’t time for any more chess. How about a quick game of that double solitaire you showed me?”
We played and again it was exciting for me to see how much quicker, how much clearer his mind was than mine. I had the cards though, and I won. He pushed the cards aside then, and smiled at me.
“You’re a joy, Camilla. A great joy. Do something for me?”
“What?”
“Kiss me good night?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t object to kissing someone like me?”
“No. Why should I?” I said. It was only when David mentioned his legs that I became aware that he was different from other men, that he had to keep reassuring himself that I wasn’t frightened by him, or repelled. I wondered if other people had been repelled; and I knew that he would always know.
He drew me to him, very gently, very firmly, and then he kissed me. I had expected him to kiss me on the forehead or on the cheek; but he put his lips against mine, lightly, at first, and then with increasing pressure. Again the soft warmth flowed over and through my body. It wasn’t until he took his lips away that I thought suddenly, I have been kissed. This is my first kiss. And Frank didn’t give it to me.
“My sweet, pure, untouched little Camilla,” David said. “My unborn, untarnished, unawakened little Camilla. How I wish I—” Then he took my hands and held them so tightly that I couldn’t help gasping. He released them immediately. “Sorry, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world.”
We heard Frank in the hall then and I moved away from the bed and picked up my coat and hat.
“Hi, Cam; hi, Dave,” Frank said as he came in and went over to David to shake his hand. “Who trounced who—or whom trounced whom?”
“No one trounced nobody,” David said. “Camilla’s a most exciting partner.”
“Ready, Cam?” Frank asked.
“Yes.” I went over to David’s bed again and looked at him. I looked at his face, at his eyes that were dark with suffering and yet alive with what I felt to be the wisdom of the ages; and I looked at his lips, pulled tight with pain and at the same time full of tenderness, and I thought, David kissed me, and Frank has not kissed me, except in a dream.
“Next weekend, Camilla?” David asked me.
“Yes,” I said. “Next weekend.”
Frank and I said good night to Mrs. Gauss and then we walked over to the subway. Frank talked but somehow I couldn’t say anything. All that came to my lips to say was, Frank, David kissed me, and I knew I could not say that.
After a while Frank asked me, “Camilla, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You seem so sort of brooding . . . David didn’t upset you about anything or anything?”
“No,” I said.
“Okay. I just didn’t want anything to be worrying you. You go ahead and be silent if you want to.”
We walked along in silence and I was grateful because I knew Frank wouldn’t ask me any more questions. Anytime Luisa thought I had anything on my mind she would be at me and at me, trying to find out what it was; but I knew that Frank would leave me alone.
When we left the subway I remembered walking home the night before, and how we had stopped in the newly fallen snow and stood close together, our cheeks touching. And I knew suddenly that that had been much more important than David’s kiss.
We reached the place where we had stopped but there was someone walking down the street toward us and the snow had all melted and the sidewalk was bare and Frank did not stop and I didn’t know whether or not he even remembered.
As we neared our apartment house someone came out of the door, called good night to the doorman, and walked swiftly toward us. It was Jacques.
I stopped very still and Frank said, “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t go home,” I said. “I can’t go home.”
“What is it, Cam?” Frank asked me, and his face in the light of the streetlamp was furrowed with worry. “What’s happened?”
“Please,” I implored. “Please. Let’s walk. Don’t—”
Then Jacques came up to us and he saw us and he stopped too, and said, “Why, Camilla!”
I didn’t say anything; it was as though I had been struck mute, and I looked first at Jacques and then at Frank and my voice and my will were paralyzed.
“This must be Frank Rowan,” Jacques said pleasantly. “I’m very glad to meet you. I’m Jacques Nissen.”
“How do you do.” Frank shook hands with Jacques, looking bewildered.
“How ravishing you look tonight, Camilla,” Jacques said lightly. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant evening.”
The gift of the tongue was returned to me. “Yes, thank you,” I said.
“Well, good night, darling,” Jacques said to me. “Good night, Frank.”
“Good night,” I said simultaneously with Frank, and then Jacques had moved on down the street.
“Camilla—” Frank said, and he looked suddenly helpless.
Then I said, because it was Frank I was with and I felt that I must tell him the truth now or he might misunderstand completely, “That was Jacques Nissen. He’s— I saw him—” I started to tell Frank that I had seen Jacques kissing Mother, but I could not say that. “My mother’s been seeing him,” I said. “She’s told him about you. She said she was never going to see him again. She lied.”
“Maybe he went to see someone else.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but I don’t think so. I think if he knew anybody else who lived here I’d know it. Anyhow, he knew who you were. He wouldn’t have known who you were unless Mother’d told him. Frank, I don’t want to go home.”
“Listen,” Frank said, “I’ll walk all night with you if you want to, Camilla. But you go into the lobby first of all and telephone upstairs and tell your mother you’re not coming home right now. I promised I’d bring you home and I don’t want your parents forbidding you to see me. They might, you know.”
“They can’t keep me from seeing anybody I want to see.”
“It’ll be a lot easier if they don’t think I’m leading you astray.”
“What’ll be easier?”
Frank grinned at me. “Leading you astray.”
“Okay, I’ll call Mother,” I said.
I called on the house phone. Carter was evidently in early from her evening out and she answered it. I said, “I want to speak to Mother.”
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Camilla,” Carter said. “What a shame you didn’t get home a few minutes ago. Mr. Nissen has just left and he said he was so sorry to miss you.”
How I hated Carter.
Mother came to the phone. “Camilla, darling, it’s so late, I—where are you?”
“Downstairs.”
“Well, darling, come up. It’s past your bedtime.”
“Where’s Father?”
“He was detained. He won’t be in till late.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Come up, darling. I want to hear all about your evening.”
“Will you tell me all about yours?” I didn’t know I could be so cold and horrible.
There was a sudden funny little silence. Then my mother’s voice came breathless and somehow frightened. “Of course. Darling, why are you downstairs?”
“I just wanted to tell you I’m not coming up yet. I’m going for a walk.”
“Alone? At this time of night? Camilla, please come upstairs right away, dear.”
“I’m not alone,” I said. “I’m with Frank. And I don’t want to come up.”
“But it’s late. It’s past your bedtime already. Your father will be terribly angry.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“He’ll forbid you to see Frank, he’ll—”
“I don’t care what he does. I don’t care.”
Frank had been standing across the lobby so as not to eavesdrop on my conversation. Now he came over to me and said in a low voice, “Listen, Camilla, let’s go upstairs. I’ll go with you. It’ll be better. Really.”
On the other end of the phone my mother was saying, “Please, darling, please come upstairs. Please let me talk to you.”
“All right!” I cried. “All right!” And I hung up.
Frank took my hand and held it tightly but he didn’t say anything. We went up in the elevator and when I put my key to the lock my hand was trembling so that Frank took it from me and opened the door.
My mother was waiting for us and I think she was surprised to see Frank. She wore her rose velvet negligee and her hair was loose and she looked young and beautiful in spite of the anxiety on her face. “Camilla, darling,” she said, and then she smiled at Frank. “I’m so glad you came up, Frank. Now I’ll really have a chance to see what you look like. There was such a mob this afternoon after the concert . . .”
Frank held out his hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Dickinson. I’m very sorry I’m a little late in bringing Camilla home. She and David didn’t get through their game as early as they’d expected.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” my mother said. “Won’t you come in, dear?”
“No, thank you. I have to get back downtown. Is it all right with you, Mrs. Dickinson, if I take Camilla out after school tomorrow afternoon and take her out to supper? I’ll get her back early so she’ll have plenty of time to do her homework.”
“Well, yes,” my mother said hesitantly. “I don’t know— yes, I think it would be all right, Frank.”
“Thanks a lot, Mrs. Dickinson. Good night. Good night, Cam.”
Even in my blind rage at having seen Jacques coming out of the apartment something in me cried out in joy, I’m going to see Frank tomorrow!
Aloud I said, “Good night, Frank,” and watched the door close behind him.
My mother put her arm on my shoulder and tried to draw me to her, but as she touched me I felt myself go rigid. It wasn’t anything I wanted to do. It just happened.
“Darling,” she said, “please come into my room and let’s talk. Please.”
I followed her into her room. She sat down on the chaise longue, tucking her feet up and hugging her knees. “Darling, sit down. Please.”
I sat on her dressing table stool and waited. I didn’t know what she was going to say and I knew that I couldn’t say anything.
“You know that I was with Jacques tonight.” She made it a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“And you think it was a very terrible thing for me to do?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Oh, darling, darling, don’t condemn me for— I’m not wholly bad. I could be jealous of you because you’re growing more beautiful every day, and you’re young and I’m growing old and I can’t expect my own beauty to last forever, and I’ve loved being beautiful, Camilla. I’ve loved it too much. If I didn’t know I was beautiful I’d never have been able to believe your father loved me at all. If I weren’t beautiful I’d be everything Rafferty despises. But I’m not jealous of you, darling, truly, truly I’m—a little sad, sometimes, maybe, because of myself, but never jealous.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with Jacques,” I said.
My mother seemed to wilt. “No,” she said in a small voice. “No, I know.” Then she said, “Darling, I—oh, darling, I know it looked awful but it wasn’t as awful as it looked.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I’m going away, and after I go away I’m never going to see him again. I don’t love Jacques, not the way I love Rafferty. And he knows that—I mean, Rafferty does.”
“Then why do you see Jacques?”
“But I’m not. I mean—oh, darling, don’t. You’re so frightening sitting there and staring at me with those accusing green eyes. I thought—it seemed to me I ought to say good-bye to Jacques.”
“Is this the first time you’ve seen him since—since the night you tried to kill yourself?”
“Oh, darling, don’t say that—I don’t think I ever really meant—I was half out of my mind that evening—”
“But is this the first time you’ve seen Jacques since then?” I asked.
“No,” my mother said. “No—not quite—but almost—and after this—after next week I’ll never see him again.”
“Then why did you see him tonight?”
“I told you, darling—there are certain responsibilities—I thought I owed him at least a good-bye, after—”
“But, Mother,” I asked, “if you knew you didn’t love him, if you knew it was Father you loved, then why did you go on seeing him?”
All at once my mother looked exhausted. She leaned back against the chaise longue. “Oh, darling,” she said, “you’re too young to know anything about love. It isn’t anything as—as simple as you think it is. It’s the most horrible—the most complicated thing in the world.”
“I don’t think it’s simple,” I said.
“But you don’t know,” my mother said. “You have to be in love yourself before you could understand.”
I am, I said to myself. I’m in love with Frank.
And suddenly I knew entirely and completely that this was true. David had seen it all along, but I only knew it now as I looked down at my mother’s little puckered face, so small and childish, as she lay back against the chaise longue. Perhaps love in capital letters was complicated, but the fact that I was in love with Frank seemed suddenly the simplest and most inevitable thing in the world.
“Sometimes I think the world would run a lot better if it weren’t for love,” my mother went on, “but if it weren’t for love I couldn’t live. Your father could. That’s where—that’s where we’re so different. He has his work, his buildings. Oh, Camilla darling, how jealous I’ve been of those buildings. I’ve been far more jealous of his buildings than I ever would have been of a woman. At least I could have understood the thing in a man that makes him love a woman.”
“But Father loves you,” I said flatly.
“Yes,” my mother said. “I know he does. But I only know it once in a while, and then it’s so wonderful I—I want—I need to know it all the time. And Jacques—”
“What about Jacques?” I asked in the same cold voice with which I had been speaking to my mother and which I had never used to her before.
“Jacques—oh, darling, don’t you see it isn’t Jacques at all? It’s just that Jacques gives me what I want from Rafferty. At first I thought it was Jacques—that I loved him— but now I know it was never Jacques. It was Rafferty all along.”
“Mother,” I said then, sharply, “you said you were going away. Where are you going?”
“Oh, darling, now Rafferty will be angry—but I suppose I must tell you, since I’ve gone this far. We’re going to Italy.”
“When?”
“Next week.”
“But I don’t want to go to Italy!” I
cried. For the moment I forgot about Mother and Father and Jacques. All I could think of was that if I went to Italy I would not be able to see Frank.
My mother began pleating the rose-colored velvet of her negligee between her fingers. “That’s just it, darling. Rafferty and I are going alone.”
“Oh,” I said, and I was immeasurably relieved.
“You see, darling,” my mother went on, “we’ve been talking about you a great deal, Rafferty and I. We’ve both felt that you’ve changed this winter, that Luisa and Frank Rowan haven’t been good for you—”
“It hasn’t been Luisa and Frank,” I said.
“But, darling, you have changed—and you’ve been just walking out of the house without telling us where you were going and not coming home till all hours—and you’re not old enough yet—and you’re always with Luisa or now Frank—”
“It’s not Luisa or Frank,” I said again.
And my mother repeated, “But, darling, you have changed.”
And I thought angrily, Don’t you know why? You, of all people?
She knew, because she said then, “I know a lot of it has been my fault. I don’t think I ever should have had children. I’m not—I couldn’t ever be a really good mother. I was—I was almost glad when I lost the baby that came after you—it was only because I knew Rafferty wanted another—”
“You didn’t want me, did you?” I asked, still in that strange cold voice that issued from my mouth but that seemed to have nothing to do with me, to be no part of Camilla Dickinson.
“Camilla!” my mother cried. “You mustn’t say things like that, ever! I love you—I love you more than my life. How can you say I don’t want you?”
“I don’t mean you don’t want me now,” I said. “I mean you didn’t want me then.”
My mother got up from the chaise longue and came over to me and knelt down beside me. She put her arms around me and began to kiss me with little frantic kisses. “Darling,” she said, “I couldn’t ever remember a time when I didn’t want you, ever, ever, ever.” I let my head drop down onto her shoulder and she said, “Camilla, do you mind too terribly about our going to Italy, your father and I? It’s—I think everything will be all right if we go away together—truly, truly, I think everything will be all right and I’ll never make you suffer again the way I’ve made you suffer this winter. I do know that I’ve made you suffer, darling, that was one of the reasons I— Darling, I never wanted to make you suffer. You know that.”
Camilla Page 18
