Dawn of a New Day

by Gilbert, Morris

  Bobby had become adroit at missing the crowds. He had called ahead, and they had a private room at the fanciest restaurant in Fort Smith. As they sat down to a table covered with a white tablecloth and candles gleaming, he said, “I can’t go into McDonald’s anymore. They tear my clothes off of me.”

  The waiter came, and Bobby said, “Order anything. I’ll have spaghetti myself.”

  “That sounds good to me. What about you, Prue?” Mark asked.

  “Oh yes. That’ll be fine.”

  For the next hour and a half Mark and Prue sat there listening as Bobby talked and ate, dropping such names as Buddy Holly, Elvis, and other stars in the firmament of the rock world.

  After the meal, Bobby said, “I’ve got a little partying to do. You two come along. It’ll be fun.”

  Quickly Mark said, “We’d like to, Bobby, but I promised Prue’s parents that I’d get her home as soon as possible. It’s a long drive; we’ll have to take a rain check.”

  Bobby twirled a wine glass in his fingers and leaned back in his chair. There was a strange light in his blue eyes, and he studied them clinically as if they were creatures from another planet. “I can remember,” he said very quietly, “when Richard and I were growing up. He was always conscious of what our parents wanted. Always wanted to be home on time so they wouldn’t worry, and I was always the one who stayed out until morning.”

  A pensive expression crossed his face, and he appeared to listen to the music that was playing softly in the background for a time. “Now Richard’s preaching in the slums of Los Angeles, and I’m making a million dollars a year.” He said no more, but it was obvious to both of his hearers that it was a subject that preyed on his mind often. He spoke again, and it was as if he was talking to himself, not to the two who sat before him. “As long as the spotlight’s on, and the kids are screaming my name, or as long as I’m partying, it doesn’t seem to matter much. But every time I get quiet like this, I think about what it all means, and sometimes it just doesn’t add up.” Abruptly he shook his shoulders in a strange gesture of dissatisfaction, drank the rest of the wine, then stood up saying, “Well, the party’s about to begin. Hey, Mark, do you like to hunt deer? How about if you and I go together while I’m here?”

  “You mean it?” Mark demanded.

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” Bobby grinned. “I’ll be dropping by to see your folks, Prue—and you can take me hunting, Mark.”

  After they left the restaurant and began their journey homeward, Prue and Mark did not speak much for some time. It was a cold, starry night, and Mark turned the heater up full, and also the radio. He found a powerful station, and for a while the sound of music filled the car. Finally he said, “Did it seem to you that something was troubling Bobby tonight?”

  “Yes, it did,” Prue answered. “It’s strange, isn’t it? All that money, and everyone screaming his name, but I could see in his eyes that he’s not happy.”

  They drove along quietly, and the twisting road took all of Mark’s attention. Finally Prue grew sleepy and jerked several times, pulling herself out of sleep. But the music was soft, and the car was warm, and the meal had been heavy. She drifted off to sleep, and soon she began to slump over toward Mark. He glanced at her, and seeing that her head was dropping, carefully reached over and pulled her against him, holding her tight against the swaying of the car, steering skillfully with his left hand. A protective sense came over him as he held her, and a smile touched his wide lips. He had his long thoughts about this girl who was so strange to so many. The kids at school made fun of her, because she was overly tall in their opinion and because of her poor grades. But as he stole a glance at her face, which was in sweet repose, he thought, She’s a good kid. I’ve got to look out for her more than I have in the past. Maybe I can find her one of the guys to be her steady. I’ll talk to Tim Netherwood. He’s a nice guy and hasn’t been much for girls. I’ll talk to Tim, he promised himself.

  Prue came out of her deep sleep and for a moment could not remember where she was. Suddenly she became aware that her head was on a shoulder and she was clutching a sweater that covered a warm, living body; then it all came back and she sat up blushing, thankful for the darkness so Mark could not see her face. “I’m–I’m sorry. I must have dropped off to sleep.”

  Mark’s arm was around her shoulder, and he squeezed her. Her hair smelled sweet, and there was something touching in her confused protest. “You sure did drop off. For about an hour and a half,” he said. “We’re almost home.”

  Prue was intensely aware of Mark’s arm around her and did not know whether to pull away or let it remain. Finally he moved it and flexed it, saying, “My arm’s asleep. You sure did get a good nap.”

  Soon they pulled up in front of the Deforge house. There was a light on in the living room, and Mark said, “I’d better go in and make my excuse. It’s a little later than I thought.”

  “What time is it?”

  “After two. Come along.”

  The two of them got out of the car, walked up the porch, and entered the house, but they were greeted with silence. “I guess they’ve gone to bed,” Prue said. They were standing inside the hallway with a full view to the living room; she turned, and her eyes were bright, refreshed by her sleep. “It was such a good trip, Mark,” she said quietly. “Thank you so much for taking me.”

  Mark started to say “Good night,” but as she stood before him, there was a vulnerability in her and a sweetness that touched him. “It was fun for me too,” he said. He was standing very close to her, and he reached out and ran his hand over her hair. “I think it’s one of the best nights I’ve ever had. You’re fun to be with, Prue.” Her perfume was very faint, but he caught the scent of it. He was accustomed to leaning over and peering down at Debbie from his great height, but Prue’s face was not far below his own, and she was looking up at him, her dark eyes unreadable. Without meaning to, he reached forward, pulled her close, and kissed her on the lips, then released her. “Good night, Prue,” he said huskily, then turned and left.

  Prudence had been kissed before, but this kiss was somehow different. She touched her lips with her fingers and stood silently for a moment, listening as the car started up and pulled out of the driveway; then she turned and walked up the stairs. When she entered her room, she moved to retrieve her diary, brought it back, and sat down at the desk. Her lips still seemed to tingle from Mark’s caress, and she wrote one item in a hand that was not quite steady:

  Mark kissed me!

  3

  A ROUGH PARTY

  Be still now, Elvis!”

  The fledgling bird stirred frantically in Prue’s hands as she tried to calm him down. She had found the baby mockingbird with an injured wing, apparently just out of the nest, and had nursed him back to health. Now as he fluttered wildly she saw that the wing was strong, and she waited until he calmed down. She had named him Elvis, hoping that she could keep him and that he would sing for her, but as with so many of the wild things she captured, she could not bear to keep the bird cooped up. She was standing now outside the barn and with a swift movement tossed the bird up in the air. She watched as his wings beat almost frantically; then as they caught the rhythm, he sailed off, flying directly for the green hedge where the mockingbirds always nested.

  “Good-bye, Elvis! I’ll be seeing you!”

  Her head was full of schemes on how to feed the birds throughout the winter, and she had bird feeders all over the Deforge property, also birdhouses and everything that would entice any sort of bird to come. Now she made her rounds, replacing the peanut butter that the winter birds seemed to like, along with the suet and the wild bird seed. She was happy as she moved, for any kind of bird or animal attracted her, and she had had every sort of pet imaginable—to the despair of her parents.

  The sound of her name being called caused her to lift her head, and she looked up to see Mark loping along in that easy gait of his that seemed to devour the distance. He was wearing a pair of black tennis s
hoes and a sky-blue running suit. His cheeks were flushed with the cool air, and he began speaking even when he was thirty yards away, his voice filled with excitement.

  “Hey, Prue! Guess what?” He reached out and took her arm, grinning broadly. “We got a visitor coming.”

  “Who’s that, Mark?”

  “Bobby called this morning. Said he’s coming for that visit he promised us. Won’t that be a kick?”

  “I’ll be glad to see him.”

  Mark dropped his hand from her arm and cocked his head to one side. His tawny hair was mussed by the brisk November breeze, and perplexity showed itself in his gray eyes. “You’ll be glad to see him?” he mocked her. “Every girl in Cedarville High School will be turning backflips just to get close to him, and you’ll be glad to see him!”

  Prue smiled then and brushed her dark hair back from her face. Her face was also flushed from her exercise in the cool wind. During the winter her complexion grew pale, but during the summers she tanned in one day, the envy of the girls who spent hours lying under a burning sun. She was wearing a pair of jeans that had been torn in both knees from her grubbing around in the garden during the summer and fall and a gray sweatshirt with a collar and sleeves of green exposed. “He’s my cousin, and I’ll be glad to see him,” she said, “but not as glad as some of the other girls of course. They practically fall down and worship the ground rock stars walk on.”

  Mark nodded. “I’m glad you’re not like that,” he said fervently. “Well, I got to get going. I got to break the news.”

  The news spread all through the school, and no one was more excited than Debbie Peters. When Mark told her that Bobby Stuart was coming and might visit the school, her eyes flew open with a startled expression, and her lips formed a round “O.” Then she began talking rapidly. “You’ve got to get him to go out with us. Oh, Mark, promise me!”

  “Well,” Mark said reluctantly, “he’s coming mostly to visit Prue’s parents and go hunting with me, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Debbie put herself against Mark in a way that she had used before when she wanted something. Her voice grew into a purr, and she reached up and stroked his cheek. “Now, honey, you can do this for me. After all, it’s not too much to ask.”

  The pressure of her firm, young curves against him warmed Mark. “Sure,” he said, “I’ll do my best.” He watched her as she ran off eagerly spreading the news to the other girls, and he realized that for her having Bobby Stuart come to her house would be a social triumph.

  After school that day, the gang all went to McDonald’s, where those with money crammed themselves with hamburgers and french fries buried under an ocean of ketchup.

  “Hey, is that right, Mark?” Maxine Elders said. “Is it true that Bobby Stuart is coming to our school?”

  “I think he will. It’ll be a little bit different from the usual assembly program, won’t it?” Bobby had tentatively agreed to speak to the student body and perhaps to perform just a few songs.

  Mark’s words were picked up, and he looked over to see that Debbie’s face was flushed. Her eyes were flashing, and she was talking as fast as possible. He drew a sigh and thought soberly, Well, Bobby, old son. I think if you knew all of this, you wouldn’t have agreed to come for a visit!

  Bobby Stuart arrived in all of his glory on Thursday, driving a lavender Cadillac convertible. Mark first got a hint of it when Debbie came to him, grabbing his football sweater. “He’s outside in his convertible! Come on, Mark!”

  Mark did not have to ask who was outside, and when he cleared the front door of the red brick school, he saw Bobby sitting up on the back of the seat, the car already surrounded by milling students.

  “Well, he’s here,” Mark said. “Come on. Let’s go make him feel welcome.” He made his way through the press of students, and when he got to the side of the car, having towed Debbie with him with his left hand, he reached up and shook hands with Bobby. “Didn’t expect to see you here so early,” he said.

  “Can’t wait to get that ten-pointer.” Bobby grinned. He was wearing a black wool maxicoat; a bright red shirt that had a wide collar, long, full sleeves, and was unbuttoned quite far down the front; a pair of tight-fitting, black bell-bottom pants; and black boots with chunky heels. He winked at Debbie, who was still held by Mark’s hand. “Is this your main squeeze?”

  “Yes, this is Debbie Peters. Debbie, Bobby Stuart.”

  Bobby came down off the seat of the Cadillac in one easy leap. He was not quite six feet tall, much shorter than Mark, but since Debbie was short, he could look down at her. She was wearing somewhat more than the standard school uniform, having known that the rock star would be there. Her dress was a dusty rose color and was made out of a thin, knit orlon material. It had a round neck, was short in length, and was covered with a matching sweater that she kept unbuttoned. Bobby reached for her hand and winked at Mark, saying, “You better watch out. I’m liable to steal your girl.”

  Laughter and looks of envy went around, mostly from the other young girls.

  “Come on. We’ve got to stop by Prue’s house. Her folks are anxious to see you.” A groan went up from the crowd, and Mark added, “I hate to put the arm on you, Bobby, but I sort of agreed that you’d come to assembly tomorrow. You know, just tell us a little bit about show business and maybe sing a song or two.”

  “Why, sure. Be glad to.” Bobby grinned as the crowd burst into applause, and he looked at Debbie, saying, “I’ll see you again, little lady. Maybe you can find me a lady to go with you and Mark, and we can all go out.” He ran his eyes over the crowd and saw a tall redhead who was looking at him with a bold attitude. He seemed to freeze; then he smiled and lifted his hand. “This lady right here, if she’s not spoken for.”

  “Oh, sure,” Mark said. “This is Margie Satterfield. Come and meet Bobby.”

  Margie came forward. She was a senior, and her reputation was none too good. There was a sensuous quality in the way that she moved and looked, and she turned her head to one side and smiled. “I’d be happy to go out with you, Bobby.”

  On the way to Prue’s house Mark said, “How come you picked Margie Satterfield?”

  Bobby was driving the Cadillac carelessly at almost top speed, so Mark had to hang on. He turned and grinned. “She’s a rebel.”

  “Well, I guess she is, sort of, but how did you know that?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Don’t know, but I’m a rebel myself. It’s a funny thing,” he said, swerving to dodge a mustard-colored dog that yelped and tucked his tail between his legs as the lavender Cadillac shot by, nearly touching him. “I can go into a room with fifty kids there, and if there’s one in that group that’s a rebel, it seems just like we’re magnetized. Rebels kind of draw each other, I guess.”

  “Well, you found the right one. Margie hasn’t got too good a name at school.”

  Again the rash grin creased Bobby Stuart’s lips. “Just the kind I’m lookin’ for,” he said as he reached over and punched Mark in the arm. “Now, let’s talk about that deer we’re going to get.”

  That night Bobby had dinner with Prue and her parents. They enjoyed talking about the Stuart clan and reminiscing about the reunions. After dinner Bobby walked over to Mark’s and decided to spend the night there.

  The next day the two went to school early where, to the delight of the student body and even most of the faculty, Bobby made an appearance at the weekly assembly program. Usually it was a boring time with a local politician speaking earnestly about how the students of Cedarville High School could make America great. Always there was a great deal of dozing, punching, pinching, and all in all a real waste of time in the view of most students.

  Bobby was introduced by the superintendent, Mr. Simms, and was greeted by thunderous applause and the stamping of feet as he came and began to speak. He was a polished speaker by this time, knowing exactly what to give each crowd. He spoke for some time about music of different kinds—bluegrass, blues, jazz, mainline—and then finally gave
a brief history of rock and roll. He was witty and kept the faculty and the student body amused, amazed, and impressed as he spoke of the giants of the entertainment world as if they were his intimate friends—which some of them were.

  Finally he walked over to the piano and gave a brief performance. It was not his usual performance, for he chose the rather placid standards such as “Roses Are Red,” which was on the charts with Bobby Vinton’s version. He played Ray Charles’ “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” and the crowd went wild. He stayed away, however, from the more blatantly raw songs that were on the charts, and finally when it was over he said, “I know that some people have the idea that rock-and-roll stars are all terribly immoral and dangerous, and perhaps there’s some truth to that. I want to encourage all of you,” he said earnestly, “to stay in school, work hard, prepare yourself. I’ve seen a lot of young fellas and young girls put their hearts into being performers and then fail. Since they didn’t do anything else to get ready for life, they went down the drain.” He paused and then smiled at the faculty. “You people are doing a great job, and I honor you for it.”

  Afterward Mark left with Bobby, having obtained permission from the principal to take the day off. The two went to Mark’s house, changed clothes, and left with two 30-30 rifles, one Mark’s and one his father’s.

  The hunt proved very enjoyable. Bobby talked, not about show business but about his family mostly. This was surprising to Mark, but it suited him. Out of the spotlight, Bobby seemed to be quite different. He was quiet, and as the two sat on the stand with long silences, Mark would often look at Bobby thinking how strange it was that someone from Prue’s family was a nationally known entertainer. He had no envy, however, and Bobby sensed this, for once he said, “You wouldn’t care for my lifestyle, would you, Mark?”

  “Not really.”