by Rona Jaffe
He and his mother made up finally, in a way. Their fights never lasted long. She was an orderly person, and as she was always in a hurry to go somewhere, she didn’t like to leave an untidy unfinished argument behind. He apologized for being too surprised to realize her goodwill; she apologized for shocking him without warning. She did not promise not to do it again. Redecorating his room was the only thing she knew how to do for him.
As soon as she had left for her cocktail party Jay Jay took all his old movie and movie star posters out of the closet, got a hammer and some picture hooks, and banged the nails into her newly enameled, very expensive walls. The posters made the room look a lot better. He hung Merlin’s cage from the top of the frame of the four-poster bed. “Poor Merlin,” he said.
“Poor Jay Jay.”
At least she’d had the decency to leave him his television set. He found it tucked away in one of the built-in cabinets, bolted down to a pullout, swiveling shelf. Jay Jay went to the kitchen, where the cook had left some cold chicken and endive salad in the refrigerator for him. There were also two bottles of his mother’s best white wine chilling there; he supposed in case she brought some friends home with her after dinner. He appropriated one for himself. The cook had also baked his favorite brownies.
He took the food and wine into his room, locked the door, fed Merlin, lit a joint, and settled down in front of the TV to watch a rerun of The Maltese Falcon, one of his favorite films. He’d seen it about twenty times.
“Don’t get paranoid, Merlin,” he said. “Nobody’s going to stuff you.”
The wine and the pot made him feel mellow. He would be busy this Christmas vacation; there were a lot of movies he had to see which hadn’t opened yet in Pequod, he would have to start planning the details of the game, and he had to buy his family presents. His mother’s, his father’s and stepmother’s and stepsister’s …
“What did you think of that bitch, huh, Merlin?” he said. “She didn’t even ask me about college.”
Every Christmas Jay Jay’s father gave two parties: his Christmas Eve party, which was famous, to which he invited his most illustrious or notorious authors, many of whom were well known in other fields; and celebrities he’d gotten to know through the years—and his Christmas Day party, which was smaller, not so exciting, and for family. No one ever turned down an invitation to one of Justin Brockway’s parties. Since his marriage to the ballerina Orinda Wells, Justy had added the greatest stars of the ballet world to his party list. With the sudden rush of movie star autobiographies he had also added many actors and actresses, who particularly liked coming because Justy never allowed the press to come. His guests could behave as badly as they wanted, with complete lack of publicity—but no one ever behaved badly at one of Justin Brockway’s parties. They wanted to be invited again.
Jay Jay was always invited to the family party, the one on Christmas Day. That wasn’t the one he wanted to go to. The guests were aunts and uncles and cousins he saw once a year, and underlings from Justy’s office who had no place to go, and the food was leftovers from the party the night before. He wanted to go to the exciting party on Christmas Eve. This year he intended to.
The Christmas Eve party was black tie, but of course he couldn’t wear his tuxedo because then the fecalite would know he had planned to crash. It had to look like an accident. He decided to wear his white suit, with a black silk shirt and a white tie; an antique pocket watch hooked to his lapel and draped in his pocket. After agonizing minutes of decision he decided to forgo wearing one of his hats. They would never understand. He had bought the presents at Tiffany’s. He was set.
Justin Brockway owned a beautiful town house in the East Sixties, on a tree-lined street with a private patrol. It had four stories, a bowed window in front, and a beautiful garden in back. As Jay Jay got out of his taxi he saw with excitement a line of chauffeur-driven cars dropping people off in front of the house. He ducked into the phone booth on the corner and waited until he saw the street was clear, then he sprinted to the house and walked innocently to the front door and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a uniformed maid hired for the occasion. She smiled pleasantly and took his coat. He retained the packages—his badge of legitimacy—and walked into the living room. His heart was pounding. The room was filled with everyone in New York he wanted to know, the babble of their happy voices rising tantalizingly, their elusive eyes glancing around for people they wanted to know. The tall room was wood-paneled, its back wall of windows overlooking the wonderful garden. Justy and Orinda had put tiny white lights in all the trees outside, and in the hedge. It was like a fairyland. A butler carrying a silver tray offered Jay Jay a glass of champagne. He declined, for now. He looked for his father and finally saw him, talking to a small, baldish political expert and a large, loud movie actress in a caftan. Now Jay Jay would show her a little acting.
“Dad!” he said. “Wasn’t it tonight?”
“Excuse me,” his father said quickly to the other two. He put his arm around Jay Jay’s shoulders and led him to the corner. “Well, Jay Jay, how nice to see you,” he said politely. His eyes were a little startled, but he was smiling with aplomb.
“I thought it was tonight,” Jay Jay said. He thrust the presents at his father.
“Your mother …” Justy said, with an air of weary patience. “It’s tomorrow. But now that you’re here, of course you must stay. How are you? Is school all right?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine, school’s fine.”
“Good. How were the marks at midterm?”
“All A’s.”
“Of course they were. Go put your packages under the tree and say hello to Orinda.” His father was already scanning the room for Orinda, raising a finger to catch her attention, steering Jay Jay in her direction. “There she is. I’ll catch you later.”
Orinda Wells Brockway, the white swan, embraced Jay Jay in her delicate wings. She seemed so fragile he thought he could probably lift her, but he knew how strong she was. “Jay Jay!”
“I thought it was tonight,” he said.
“You’re coming tomorrow too, I hope.”
“Well … I guess so,” he said, as if such a prospect had not been necessary to think about before.
“Good, then we’ll have more time to talk. This is a madhouse. Jay Jay, why didn’t you call me for ballet tickets? I’m dancing twice next week; don’t you want to go?”
“I’d love to,” he said.
“Good, we’ll arrange it tomorrow. Now you must see Sarah—she’s gotten so big and beautiful you won’t recognize her.” She was looking for the baby now, leading him to the child and her nurse. He felt as if he were the baton in a relay race.
His half sister, Sarah Brockway, was two years old, a robust, happy child with dark curls. She was wearing a ruffled white dress and was held in the arms of a sensual-looking young blond woman of about twenty, the au pair girl Inger. Sarah recognized him and rewarded him with a big smile. Inger, whom he had been lusting after ever since he first saw her, rewarded him with indifference. He would have preferred it to be the other way around. Orinda had already disappeared into the crowd of her guests.
“Merry Christmas,” Jay Jay said to Sarah and Inger, and went directly to the bar.
He had a glass of champagne, lit one of his thin brown cigarettes, and stood looking around with the air of a fascinating sophisticate. Inside he was quaking. Here were legendary people he’d seen on television being interviewed, and on the screen, and whose books he had read. He had known for years that they were his father’s friends, but he had never met them. He drank another glass of champagne and accepted a canapé. Through the double doors to the dining room he could see a sumptuous buffet supper waiting; inviolable perfect food displayed until the secret signal that it was the right time.
“And who are you?” a musical, accented voice asked.
His heart turned over. Petrova, the greatest Russian ballerina, bone-thin, radiating nervous energy; great violet ey
es, hair wrapped in a white turban, dressed in white, a perfectly behaved white Afghan hound standing beside her, white leash wrapped around her tiny hand.
“Jay Jay Brockway,” he said.
“I am Svetlana Petrova,” she said gravely. She knew he knew, but it was part of the game of being just a normal person. She took a long black Russian cigarette out of her evening bag and he lit it for her. She gestured at the one he was smoking. “That is a cigarette I don’t know,” she said.
“It’s not as interesting as yours,” Jay Jay said. He held out his pack and offered her one.
“Please,” she said, and offered him one of hers in return. “We will have—what is that funny thing?—a taste test.”
He planned to save hers forever. He was so awed by her he couldn’t think of a thing to say. He thought of patting her dog.
“My little harlequin,” she said.
“Why am I a harlequin?”
“The face … it’s wonderful. Nobody ever told you that before?”
“Only Picasso,” Jay Jay said.
She laughed. “You know Federov?” she asked, turning and linking her arm in the arm of the man who had just come up behind Jay Jay. Federov! The greatest male ballet dancer with the golden hair and famous love life. Jay Jay could hardly believe he was standing here with both of them at once. “This is Justy’s son,” Petrova said.
She knew! The fecalite must have actually mentioned him some time to these people! He, Jay. Jay, spoken about in his absence, to them!
Suddenly it was easy: people talked to him, introduced him to other people, laughed at his jokes, made a fuss over him. He even had people to sit next to when dinner was finally begun. Joe Henry, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist who often got drunk at parties and punched someone (but never at Justin Brockway’s parties), talked to him about the possibility of life in outer space. Well, not really to him alone—to four other people too.
I fit in, Jay Jay thought. I really do.
Then why wasn’t he having a better time? He had just as good a time at the parties he gave at college. As he finished the strawberry trifle and chocolate mousse he had figured it out. These people here in this room had a shared history of fame and achievement; his was only in the future. He was still an outsider.
He pictured his ideal party. It would be several years from now, and everyone would be just as illustrious as the people here, but they would all be his friends: the ones who had climbed to the top together. Kate would be there, and she would be the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist. Perhaps she would also write scripts; only for him of course. He would be the Academy Award-winning actor. Merlin often appeared with him on interview shows. Daniel would be the great computer genius who had made millions from the games he had invented, and who had a villa in the South of France—where they were all invited every summer. Jay Jay’s friend Perry, who had been in pre-med at Grant, would have discovered the cure for cancer, and was up for the Nobel Prize. Everyone knew he would get it. Robbie … what about Robbie? He had started too late to be an Olympic swimmer. Poor Robbie, too average to keep up with the rest of them, his affair with Kate long over, had disappeared from their lives. Jay Jay’s father, of course, would not be invited, unless he wished to crash. But his sister Sarah, who would be just about the age Jay Jay was now, would be devastatingly beautiful, and she would be there with the son of one of the people who was here now. She would be a little diffident, because she knew she had only been invited through Jay Jay’s generosity.
Jay Jay closed his eyes and smiled. His party would be so chic that even his mother would be there.
CHAPTER 4
When Julia Brockway was a little girl, she once overheard one of her teachers tell another that she was “a cold fish.” She was Julie Burns then, an enchantingly pretty little blond girl who was tidy and punctual, and she thought for a few days about what a cold fish might be, and if it would keep her from being popular, give her bad marks, or in any other way upset the balance of her life. She decided it wouldn’t, and put it out of her mind.
By the time she was in college, and boys were falling all over themselves to make a good impression on her, she realized there was something about her that was different from the other girls, and that it was valuable. Other girls seemed to suffer from an excess of emotion; they wept when boys they loved didn’t call, they claimed to have broken hearts. Boys always called Julie Burns. Her inaccessibility made her seem like a mirror; they saw themselves reflected and were happy. The first and only man she fell in love with was Justy Brockway, and he immediately suggested they live together. He was a genuine eccentric, a genius, a charmer, and she was sure living with him would be more fun than anything she had yet experienced, so she agreed. They took an apartment together, off campus. Each told the college authorities they were taking the apartment with a relative, for financial reasons. Living in sin, in 1962, could still get you expelled.
When Julie discovered she was pregnant, she and Justy discussed whether she should have an abortion or they should get married and have the child. They decided on marriage. He couldn’t imagine that having a baby would interfere with his life in any way, and she thought it would make her an adult. Actually, having Jay Jay interfered with their life together very little. Their small apartment was always filled with friends, any of whom could be called upon to serve as an impromptu baby-sitter. Jay Jay’s first summer they left him with her parents while they went backpacking in Europe. The following summer they went in grander style, and Jay Jay stayed with his paternal grandparents. By then Julie and Justy knew people they had met in Europe, as well as people from college, and their European student friends often came to stay with them for extended periods, thus providing the Brockways with even better baby-sitters because their guests had to do something to pay them back for the free lodging.
Julie couldn’t understand why her few married friends gushed on about their babies. It was her opinion that a child had to accommodate its parents, not the other way around, no matter what the baby books said. Justy felt that if they treated Jay Jay as an adult he would become precocious, which was what he wanted. He couldn’t have stood it if his son hadn’t been bright. Since Jay Jay was obviously brilliant, and quite quickly gave a reasonably good imitation of a small adult, Justy was pleased.
As soon as Julie and Justy graduated, they moved to New York, where he got a job in publishing. At first they had a rather wretched little apartment, because they had very little money, but Julie began to realize that she had a talent for decorating, and that she liked it. She did some interesting things with their apartment, and then she took a few courses, and began to read all the decorating magazines. When Jay Jay entered First Grade at four, able to read but unable to tie his shoes, Julie got a job as a receptionist at a decorating firm. She was well liked, eager to learn, and no fool, and soon worked her way up to an assistant. Justy was an editor now. They moved to a better apartment. Julie decorated it, and Justy began giving parties for specially chosen people, instead of just free-for-alls. In return, they began to be invited to parties where they met people who would be helpful in their careers. They both discovered they were fascinated by success.
If they hadn’t been so busy doing interesting things they would have noticed earlier that they had fallen out of love, if indeed they had ever been in love, and that they no longer interested each other. One afternoon, Justy decided to bring home a young woman he’d just shared an excellent lunch with—he was feeling so mellow he decided he deserved to take the afternoon off and go to bed with her. Besides, she was an author he was trying to steal from another publisher, and she had been trying to get him into bed for months. On that same afternoon, Julie brought home the handsome, married, president of a large corporation, who had been trying to get his hands on her for months. She, however, had no intention of giving in. She intended to show him her apartment which she had decorated so cleverly, impress him, and tell him she couldn’t possibly do anything with him because her son would
be home from school and her husband home from the office.
They all met at the same time. The four of them were very civilized and had a drink together. Afterward Justy and Julie discussed it, the way they had discussed whether or not to have their baby. This time they discussed whether or not to get a divorce.
Julie wondered why she wasn’t more upset. Other women took the breakup of a marriage as a trauma, the way the girls at school had taken the end of a romance. She and Justy were very rational and pleasant about it, and they decided it would be more interesting to live apart. After all, neither of them had really had a chance to have love affairs; they’d been married so young. They were twenty-six already, and soon they would be too old. They decided she would keep the apartment and Jay Jay, and Justy would pay whatever their lawyers decided was fair.
For one moment Julie thought perhaps she was making a mistake. Justy was probably the only person she had ever met, or ever would meet, who was as cool and rational as she was. Perhaps they could continue in a marriage of convenience, as friends … But no, that would be embarrassing and hard to explain. Men would think she was fair game. Better to strike out on a life of her own.
The divorce was amicable. The married corporation president, fascinated that Julie was still elusive, and impressed by her talent, introduced her to a few of his important friends. One of them, a rich woman who prided herself on discovering new artists, let Julie decorate her New York pied-à-terre.
The apartment was photographed for Architectural Digest and Vogue. Julie began calling herself Julia—after all, she was a grown-up now at last—and quickly acquired as many clients as she could handle. She bought the Park Avenue co-op. She was happy.
She took a few lovers and discovered a disturbing truth about herself. She really wasn’t at all interested in sex. She loved parties, meeting intriguing people, getting dressed up, having stimulating ideas on how to improve her environment, but she didn’t care if she never went to bed with a man again. Women didn’t interest her either. She began to go out mainly with homosexual men, who were easy to be with and didn’t expect or want her to go to bed with them; and clients, who were too afraid of her to make a pass.
