As angry as I was, I couldn’t stop staring. The only dancing I’d seen Mimi do was with Daddy, who would sweep her across the floor in a rhythm-less waltz. This was real dancing, the kind Gwen had been trying to teach me for weeks, and Mimi seemed to step back into it as if it were an old slipper.
I wasn’t the only one who was mesmerized. Gwen found all sorts of reasons to adjust her form or offer her tips, and not just because she was her boss, but because she was truly impressed. She ignored everyone else and spent every spare moment at Mimi’s side. They looked like two peas in a pod, with their long arms perfectly rounded over their blond heads, tilted just so. It was that particular angle, haughty but somehow beautiful, that I could never master. Yet there was my mother, easing back into it as if it were something she was born to, while I had to submit to Gwen twisting my head this way and that, frowning at me like I was a painting that didn’t make any sense.
When the class ended, I poured everyone a glass of water, as always, and forced myself to make cheery comments on their progress. It occurred to me that this was the kind of thing my mother should be doing, since this whole dance class was supposed to be her project. She should be the assistant, and I should be the student. Instead, she was monopolizing Gwen, chatting about ballet as if she still had something relevant to say after all these years.
“Thank you, Gwen. That was wonderful. I feel years younger. You really are a good teacher. I’m so happy this is working out.”
“Come back anytime, Mrs. Starr. You’ve still got it!”
“You probably say that to all your students,” Mimi said, but she smiled broadly.
I kept my head down and pretended to be busy flexing my feet until I heard the door shut behind her.
“You never told me your mom could dance,” Gwen said.
“I guess dancing is just one more of her many talents I didn’t inherit,” I said bitterly.
“Don’t be like that. You’re getting much better.”
“She can’t stand that I’d rather hang out here with you and now she’s checking up on me.”
“I think it’s more likely that she’s checking up on me,” Gwen said.
I had half a mind to let Gwen know that was exactly what Mimi was doing. Instead, I tried to keep all expression from my face and asked, “Why would she do that?”
“Because I’m a wild card and you’re her little girl.”
“I’m not that little,” I muttered.
“You know what I mean. You’ll always be her little girl, and all that other sappy stuff moms say to make you feel guilty.”
“I liked it being just the two of us.”
Gwen laughed. “You mean just the two of us and a handful of sunburned dancers, right?”
“It won’t be the same if she’s here.”
“We can always pay some kid to fake an emergency and send her running back to the lodge occasionally.”
I smiled. “Do you think your mom will come visit?”
It seemed like the perfect solution. Surely Grace would keep Mimi occupied and put any fears she had about Gwen’s behaviour to rest. Gwen and I could go back to our own private routines.
Gwen snorted. “I know she won’t.”
“Why not? She’s best friends with my mom, isn’t she? She could stay for a weekend and they could keep each other company. Maybe she can come to one of your classes. Won’t she want to see you?”
Gwen’s shoulders stiffened and her face got hard. “Frankly I don’t give a rat’s ass what she wants. That was part of the deal.”
“What deal?”
Gwen didn’t have anything else to say on the matter, but I knew we were done for the day. Now both of us were firmly under the influence of our bad moods. She was practically crackling, she was so angry. I gathered up my shoes and slipped into the late afternoon without another word, heading to the beach to cool off. A dip in the lake would do me good.
But what kind of a deal had Gwen made with her mother, and what did it have to do with Sandy Shores?
* * *
That night Gwen didn’t show up at dinner or campfire. I kept glancing at her window, expecting to see the hazy glow of her light behind the filmy curtain, but the room remained dark. There wasn’t even a hint of movement. After Taps was sung, I asked Bo if he had seen Gwen.
“Nope.”
“She wasn’t at dinner.”
“Nice catch, eagle eyes.”
I frowned at him. “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t missed campfire in ages.”
Bo shrugged. “Technically she’s off the clock. What she does after class is her own business.”
“I’m going to check on her.”
“Aw, leave her alone, Weenie.”
“You make it sound like I’m bothering her. Why does everyone think I’m bothering her? Is it so hard to believe someone like her would enjoy my company?”
“Calm down, that’s not what I meant. I just meant you should give her some space. Don’t be so clingy.”
“I’m not clingy—”
Bo cut me off. “Would you let me finish? You’ve been hanging off Gwen ever since she got here. Lay off for a bit. Everyone needs time to themselves.”
His words stung. I turned on my heel and walked back to the lodge, trying not to think about what he’d said. But his words had buried themselves deep in my mind, like thorns. Did Gwen think I was clingy? Worse, had she actually said those things to Bo?
Despite Bo’s advice, I stopped by Gwen’s bedroom and locked lightly on the door.
“Gwen? Are you asleep?”
No one answered.
“I’m sorry if I upset you today by bringing up your mother. It’s none of my business.”
I listened carefully for a sign that she had heard me, or at the very least, that someone was alive in there: a snore, the squeal of a bedspring, the scritch-scratch of a pencil on paper, anything. I took a deep breath and spoke again. It was surprisingly easy to talk to a door.
“And I’m sorry if I’ve been hanging around too much. I just like having you here. But I can give you more space. I’m working in the office tomorrow, anyway, so you probably won’t see me until dinner. Have a nice day.”
Silence had never felt so empty.
* * *
That night I had trouble sleeping. My mind was like a record player and the needle was stuck, replaying my conversations with Bo and Gwen over and over again. I liked Gwen. I thought we were friends, but now I wasn’t sure. Gwen listened and gave advice and did everything a friend should do, but I knew she was keeping things from me. What was the deal she had made with her mother? Why didn’t she want her to visit? Who were the mysterious letters from? If we were really friends, she would feel comfortable confiding in me. I realized then that she was more like a big sister, one who gave advice and looked out for you, but never saw you as an equal.
Dolly
By Wednesday afternoon, the office was generally quiet. Most guests knew the Sandy Shores routines by then and had fewer questions, and there was usually still a day before next week’s guests started calling with last minute questions. I spent most of the time reading, interrupted once when someone came looking for bait and a second time when a woman called to ask about the availability of groceries at Sandy Shores.
I tried not to think about the dance class I was missing, or the injustice that my mother had taken my place in it while I covered for her. Instead, I concentrated on my book, while sipping the extra-tall glass of lemonade I’d poured for myself as a treat. When the phone rang a second time, I grabbed the receiver without even closing my book.
“Good afternoon, Sandy Shores. This is Maureen Starr speaking.”
“Well, hey there, Maureen Starr. I was wondering if you could connect me with a Gwendolyn Cates?”
It was a male voice, smooth and silky and somehow familiar.
“Who is this?” I asked, slipping a brochure between the pages of my book.
“Tell her it’s Johnny.”
G
wen had never mentioned a Johnny before. Still, how many people knew where she was?
“Are you a friend or a relative?”
Johnny laughed. “Something like that.”
“I’m sorry, she’s teaching right now. Maybe she can call you back?”
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t think she will. Do you ever get the feeling someone is avoiding you, Maureen Starr?”
I thought of the envelopes I delivered to Gwen, the ones with the postmarks from all over the place. Detroit. New York. Montreal. Toronto. They always had one thing in common, the name in the left-hand corner, G or possibly J something, the last name starting with S. All of a sudden I knew where I recognized the voice from. I was so shocked I almost dropped the telephone receiver. It was Johnny, as in Johnny Skins, the singer. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.
“You’re Johnny Skins.”
“At your service.”
“But you’re—”
“Just a boy, looking to talk to his best girl. So what do you say, can you go get Dolly for me?”
“Dolly?”
“Dolly, as in Gwendolyn. You know who I mean. Can you just tell her Johnny wants to hear her voice? I’ll even let her sing one of those sappy songs she’s always ripping off some girlie singer.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just surprised. She never said—”
“Aw, come on, you’re telling me she never mentioned me? Not even once? You’re going to break my heart all over again.”
“I thought she had a boyfriend, but she never mentioned his — I mean your — name.”
“Sounds like you two have hung out some. How is she doing? Does she spend all day and all night crying over me, or has she moved on with some ruggedly handsome farmer? Or do you people fish up there? I can never remember.”
“She teaches, mostly. Or stays in her room,” I admitted. I didn’t mention the bad mood his letters put her in, or how sad she seemed sometimes.
“I’m beginning to think she’s forgotten all about me. I used to get two, three letters a week. Now I’m lucky if I get one. I’m worried someone else has caught her eye. Do you think you could go get her for me? I’d be forever grateful, Miss Starr.”
I thought of Mimi, always lurking just out of earshot. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What do you want, an autograph? Look, I’ll sign a photo, just for you, and put it in the mail tomorrow. I’ve already got the address.”
“It’s not that, it’s just not a good time.”
“Ah, I see. The folks are around, right? Gwen mentioned something about a warden.”
I tried to ignore that last comment. I wondered what else she had mentioned in her letters; more specifically, if she had mentioned me. I dismissed the thought almost as soon as it surfaced. Johnny would have recognized my name. She had kept me a secret, just like she had kept Johnny a secret from me. I thought of Gwen, bursting to the seams with all sorts of secrets, crying at night, trying to make the two halves of her life line up, when an idea dawned on me.
“We have these dances — they’re parties, really — on Friday nights. Gwen runs them. The whole resort comes. Maybe you could just, turn up.”
“A surprise visit?”
“Exactly! You could surprise her! She’d love that.” I imagined the look of pure joy on Gwen’s face when she saw her very own rock star on the beach at Sandy Shores. She would run into his arms and he would swing her around and say, “It was all because of Reenie.”
Johnny paused. “I don’t know. First you tell me I can’t talk to her, now you’re saying I should just show up? I feel like I’m being set up, here. What’s in this for you?”
My mind was spinning with the possibilities. “Well, maybe you could perform. Just a few songs. People would love it.”
Johnny laughed. “What are you, Maureen, some sort of opportunist?”
“Call me Reenie; everyone does. I’m not trying to make any money or anything, I just think it would be nice. Gwen’s been working really hard and it would mean so much to have a real musician play at Sandy Shores, a famous one, just once. People would go crazy! Please?”
I had visions of the mess hall packed wall-to-wall with people, all of them screaming in surprise and delight as number-one hit-master Johnny Skins walked on stage. Not just Gwen, but Mimi would be thrilled — a private concert on her own property, miles away from any city. And Daddy could see how business-minded I could be. Everything seemed so perfect, any doubts I had disappeared and I knew I had to convince Johnny to come. If I could get him here, surely that would bring more people in and we’d never have empty rooms or cottages again.
“I don’t know how you think these things work, Reenie, but I’ve got a manager, he books us gigs, real paying gigs. I’m pretty sure this would be a breach of something. I don’t know what, but something.”
“No one would have to know. You could say it just happened. You were coming up to see Gwen, and they pulled you on stage, and before you knew it—”
“All right, all right, I get the picture. Let me think about it. In the meantime, will you tell Dolly I called?”
“I will,” I said, knowing full well I would never mention this phone call. I needed time to figure out how I was going to pull this off without anyone else knowing. I wanted to see the look on Gwen’s face when Johnny Skins appeared out of thin air.
“Maybe we can arrange a time to talk, her and I. When is a good time?”
“Friday evening, around nine,” I lied. “Everyone will be getting ready for campfire.”
Johnny whistled. “Wow, sounds like a real wild place you’re running up there. Do y’all hold hands and sing prayers, too?”
I ignored the dig. “Friday at nine?” I said.
“Friday it is.”
“And think about the party,” I added.
“I’m thinking about it right now,” Johnny promised. “Bye, Reenie.”
I hung up, my head spinning. Gwen was Johnny Skins’ girlfriend. I wracked my brain, trying to recall everything I knew about him. I had seen him on the Ed Sullivan show just this past year. I could barely hear him over all the screaming girls in the studio audience. He was definitely one of the singers everyone whispered about at school, and I knew for a fact Bo had at least one of his records.
I wanted to run over to the mess hall and search for his records, but Gwen would be there, teaching. I didn’t want to arouse her suspicions, not yet. If I could get him to play at Sandy Shores, not only would Gwen and Mimi be thrilled, but the whole township would be excited. People would come from far and wide to see Johnny Skins play Sandy Shores, and I would be the one who made it all happen.
* * *
Knowing about Gwen’s secret boyfriend made me look at her in a completely different light. Now she wasn’t just Gwen, she was Dolly. Johnny Skins was not the kind of boy a mother wanted her daughter to go out with; he may have been handsome, but he was fast and reckless. It made Gwen seem dangerous, too. She had a whole other side to her that I had wondered about, but now I had proof. Gwen taught ballet to old ladies in a mess hall. Dolly was the tough girlfriend of a rock star. People wrote songs about girls like her. I watched her carefully and thought twice about her offhand comments, wondering if she was referring to Johnny.
“Please stop staring at me; you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
Apparently I wasn’t as careful as I thought.
“I’m not staring,” I lied.
“You are, too. If you’re going to stare, you might as well make yourself useful. Watch this—”
Gwen slipped a record onto the turntable and ran to the front of the stage where she struck a pose — arms raised over her head, right hip cocked, face turned away — waiting for the lyrics to begin. She looked like a goddess on a Grecian urn, statuesque and still. I couldn’t understand how someone who was capable of dancing like Gwen could enjoy the kind of dancing that girl groups like The Shirelles did. Their moves were little and controlled — a shoulder roll
here, a finger snap there — nothing like the shapes Gwen could make, sweeping across the floor, dancing with her whole body.
I watched her now, imagining two or three girls doing the exact same movements, wearing the exact same dress — something fitted and covered in sequins — with Gwen at the centre. She looked just like any other member of a girl group, confident and sophisticated. I clapped politely when she finished. She was very good, but it still seemed like a waste of her talent to me.
“I’ve done a little backup singing in some recording sessions,” Gwen told me. I had heard this story before, but this time I was more interested. Now I wondered if she had done some backup for Johnny; maybe that was how they met.
“It’s a good way to get my foot in the door. They like a girl who can move as well as she sings. At least that we know I can do.”
“Do you know someone who could help you out? Someone in the industry maybe?”
Someone like Johnny, I thought.
Gwen shrugged the question off.
“I’ve got to get a demo recording together. I should have enough money saved up after this summer. God knows I’m not spending it out here. Maybe I’ll even move to New York. That’s where all the action is.”
By action, did she mean Johnny?
“Can I pick a record?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
I found one of Johnny’s albums, the one everyone knew, “Firecracker.”
When the music started I watched Gwen carefully for a sigh, frown or secret look, anything that might give me a clue. She stretched out on her back, hands behind her head, eyes closed, chin nodding occasionally.
“Aren’t you going to do a number to this one?”
“This isn’t the kind of music that girls sing.”
“What kind of music is it?”
“The kind that gets you into trouble.”
Finally, now we were getting into Johnny territory.
Summer Days, Starry Nights Page 9
