“No.”
“Dork.”
Karen sulked as we headed down the hill, but she perked up by time we got to Hollywood. I found a place to park near the Cinerama Dome, and somehow we managed to arrive at the box office just in time for the 9:40 screening of The Graduate.
“Have you seen it?” I asked.
“Like it matters,” Karen said. She blew a huge pink bubble and let it pop on her nose. I couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t have gum in her mouth. At least I won’t have to buy her popcorn, I thought as we crossed the lobby.
Karen cracked her gum the whole time, but even that couldn’t distract me from the movie. I’d had no idea what The Graduate was about, but from the moment Dustin Hoffman appeared on the screen, I was spellbound. Benjamin Braddock was just like me, I thought, and Elaine was Olivia. The only thing that didn’t fit was Mrs. Robinson because I couldn’t imagine having two love affairs at once, and I would never in a million years have an affair with my girlfriend’s mother. Take out Mrs. Robinson, though, and the story was mine.
It’s only now, all these years later, that I understand why the movie had such an effect on me. I would have screamed denial, but I actually was pursuing two love affairs at once. The only difference between me and The Graduate was that my Mrs. Robinson was a violin.
“I hated it,” Karen said as we walked back to the car. “If I found out my boyfriend was sleeping with my mother—oh, frick, it’s just too gross!”
I opened the passenger door for her. “Let me drive,” she said.
“No.”
“Come on. You can’t possibly be that much of a dip.”
“You don’t have a license.”
“I have a learner’s permit.”
I don’t know why I gave in, maybe just to avoid further confrontation, but I handed Karen the keys. She surprised me by driving very carefully, almost too slowly. When we got to a dark stretch of Mulholland Drive, she pulled over in a spot that had a view of the city.
“Why’re we stopping?”
“I dunno. Look at the view.” Karen rummaged through her purse and pulled out a Kleenex. Extracting the large pink wad from her mouth, she wrapped it up and dumped it back into her bag. We sat, looking at the lights. It was a clear night, and they sparkled.
“I’m kinda cold.” Karen shifted closer to me, and I looked at her in astonishment. She was doing everything a boy is supposed to do. What next?
“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asked.
Not wanting to say no, I stayed silent.
“We all know what this means, Ted,” Karen said. I turned to stare at her. “I’ve been suspecting it for a while now.”
“What?”
“You’re a fag.”
I burst out laughing, and Karen was so surprised she started laughing, too.
“Who is she?” she asked after we’d fallen quiet again.
I didn’t answer, and Karen curled up a fist and thumped my thigh.
“Well, whoever she is, I sure hope she likes violin music.”
“Where are you going to college?” I asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Smith or Wellesley, whoever says yes first.”
“Still the all-girl thing,” I said. “Maybe you’re the fag.”
•••
The Halls left shortly after Karen and I got back to the house, and my parents went upstairs. Wishing I could talk to Olivia, I paced the downstairs hall and ended up in my father’s study. A large room paneled in mahogany, it smelled like stale tobacco. I sat down in the leather swivel chair behind the huge desk and turned on the lamp.
In front of me was a black tray. It was divided into little white satin-lined compartments. In almost every one, a gemstone sparkled in the lamplight. My father had recently taken up stone faceting as a hobby. He’d converted half of the wine cellar into a workshop, but this was the first time I’d seen any of the results. I picked up what looked like an amethyst and turned it in the light. There were several translucent blue stones, too, and a red one I figured must be a ruby.
Then I saw the diamond. It was the size of a small marble, and it sparkled with the slightest tinge of pink when I held it up to the light.
“Nice piece of ice, don’t you think?”
I looked up to see my father in his bathrobe. He moved to the desk, picked up a lighter, and held it to his cigarette.
“It’s yours, son,” he said. “For when the right girl comes along.”
Hastily, I dropped the diamond back into its little padded compartment. My father chuckled.
“No rush, Ted, but I mean it. I had you in mind when I cut that one. It’ll be here waiting for you.”
•••
Easter vacation was far too long. For most kids, it’s a week, but boarding schools usually add on a couple of “travel days” to accommodate students who live far away. Every day I fantasized about sneaking back to Haviland in “The Beater.” As tempting as the idea was, I didn’t act on it. The dorms were officially closed, and students weren’t allowed on campus unless they had special permission, like Bill Cross. Instead, I called Olivia every day when my parents weren’t paying attention to me. I knew all the long-distance calls would show up on their phone bill, but by then I’d be back at school and beyond caring.
April was half over when I returned to Haviland. My mother drove me again because my father had left on a business trip to Chicago the day before. Once again, she chattered all the way, but this time I found myself participating. Her plans for my life were infinitely easier to take when I knew I’d see Olivia in two hours, one hour, fifteen minutes, … now.
She was standing in the road next to the dining hall when we drove up. She was wearing her faded jeans and V-neck sweater, the same outfit she’d had on when she invited me to the music festival. When she saw me, she waved both hands above her head.
“Who’s that girl?” my mother asked, and I spoke the name that had dominated my thoughts and dreams for the past ten days.
“Olivia,” I said, and then I yelled it at the top of my lungs.
“Olivia!”
Chapter 10
Remember how Dustin Hoffman screams at Katharine Ross at the end of The Graduate so she won’t marry the wrong guy? That’s how I yelled at Olivia. I howled as though my life depended on her reply. And maybe it did. Maybe it does now. Should I step outside right this very moment and shout her name into the wind?
But unlike Dustin Hoffman, I’m too late this time. Olivia is a continent away, and only the Merino Rose remains to prove she was here at all.
“It’s for you, Teddy,” she said when she left it here. “You’re the one who can make it sing.”
Am I? It’s true I’ve played magnificent violins on stages from Sydney to San Francisco, but what’s a perfect concert worth if I myself was mute when life called for a crescendo? I look again at the Merino Rose and resist a fleeting impulse to smash it to matchwood.
“Olivia.” I say her name aloud, and it summons Yo Yo, my noble Siamese. He leaps up on my lap. Another leap and he’s on my keyboard, typing gibberish with his paws and purring a loud request for an ear rub.
“Olivia.” I whisper her name again as I pet my cat. Am I really the same guy who bellowed at the very sight of her?
•••
My mother was shocked at my outburst, and even more so when I leapt out of the car without opening the door. It was a chilly day, but so beautifully clear that we’d driven up the coast with the top down anyway. I raced to meet Olivia and wrapped her in a hug.
By the time I turned back to call her, my mother was out of the car herself and walking toward us carrying my suitcase.
“This is my friend Olivia de la Vega, Mom,” I said, still slightly out of breath.
“Olivia, this is my mother, Ann Spencer.”
“I
’m so happy to meet you, Olivia,” said my mother, looking at me instead of her. “Ted’s told us so much about you.” It was a lie. I’d said nothing. I stared back at my mother as Olivia smiled and murmured a polite reply.
My mother left shortly afterward, saying that she supposed the next time I’d see her would be when she and my father would drive up to see Camelot the second Saturday in May.
“We’ll stay at the Hunt Club,” she said. “Maybe you can join us for brunch there on Sunday.” She seemed to be including Olivia in the suggestion, and she waved cheerily as she drove away down the hill.
“Your mom is nice,” said Olivia as we watched the car disappear around the first bend. “I’m glad I got to meet her.” I didn’t say anything. I just turned and looked at her. A sudden breeze whipped her hair away from her face. She shivered slightly. I took her face in my hands and kissed her.
“I missed you, Olivia,” I said.
“I love you, Teddy,” she replied.
I love you.
Right out there in the open, where we were breaking all the rules, we kissed again and again and again.
I checked my mailbox after dinner. It contained only one piece of mail, a fat envelope from Juilliard. I was alone in the mailroom this time, and I ripped it open. But as I scanned the letter I’d been hoping to receive, I was racked with conflicting feelings. Part of me wanted to hit the chandelier like Amanda Woodmancy did when she got into Stanford. Another part wanted to scream like Prometheus when the eagle was tearing out his liver. I’d gotten what I’d asked for, and yet it seemed to be propelling me inexorably toward all that I dreaded most. A confrontation with my parents was guaranteed, and I’d be leaving Olivia no matter what.
Classes resumed, but I could barely concentrate as I fretted about how I was going to inform my family about my intention to break the Yale tradition. The troubling scenario replayed itself again and again in my imagination, and I wondered if I could actually face my father without crumbling. Could I really avoid saying something like, “Dad, would it be all right with you if—?” I had always sought permission, never announced any plans of my own. I practiced and practiced, but when the real moment came, I seriously doubted I would be able to declare with unwavering conviction, “I’ve decided to accept Juilliard’s offer of admission.”
And of course there was Olivia, whose very presence intoxicated me and intensified all my fears at the same time. On Tuesday night, when her mother thought she was in bed, and I, too, was presumed to be under my covers in the dorm, we met at a spot near her mother’s cottage. Olivia had suggested we rendezvous there.
“I used to bring my dolls here when I was younger,” she said. “I called it my secret garden.” It was really just a patch of grass next to the maintenance building, but the fence around the garbage dumpsters, a hedge, and two plump juniper trees created a fairly private enclosure, and there were no invading lights anywhere nearby.
“Just tell them,” said Olivia after I had confided my concerns about my impending confrontation. She kissed my cheek and gently brushed an unruly curl back from my forehead. “It’s your life, not theirs.”
“But it’s not only about school, Olivia,” I replied. “It’s about you—us.
Without a word, Olivia kissed me on the lips and then rested her head on my chest. I took her hand, entwining my fingers in hers. We sat there in the darkness long enough for the moon to disappear.
“You know I’ll be back,” I said at last, squeezing Olivia’s hand more tightly. “You know we’ll be together as soon as we possibly can, and nothing will ever separate us again.”
Olivia didn’t reply, and I thought I felt her shoulders shake ever so slightly. But when she raised her face to mine, her eyes were dry.
“I know you’ll be back,” she said quietly. “Teddy, we were meant to be together.” I looked into her eyes as a single tear, caught in the starlight, stole down her cheek.
I kissed it away, and then my lips found hers. If I allow myself, I can still remember the taste of her tears, the scent of her hair, the promise of her touch. How long we held each other, I don’t know, but the memory is as indelible as the sound of the Merino Rose. Olivia and I could separate for a century, but like the haunting music of a fabled violin, she would never leave my heart.
“We will be together forever as soon as we can,” I said at last, stroking her hair. “In the meantime, we’ll write every day, and I’ll call, too. And I’ll be home for holidays and vacations—every chance I get.” Olivia remained silent as my mind filled with plans and hopes for the future.
“I’ve got to tell my parents soon,” I said suddenly. “I’ve got to get it over with.” Until that moment, I’d been assuming I’d tell them when they drove up to see Camelot, but why wait?
•••
Three days later, Eleanor de la Vega’s station wagon rattled down the Haviland hill with me at the wheel. Olivia was at my side, and the car was headed south to Los Angeles.
Meanwhile, at a mansion on Mulholland Drive, Edward Spencer III was selecting wine to serve to his dinner guests while his wife Ann went over the final details of the menu with the cook. Allan and Lynette Hall were expected at seven, along with Donald and Davida McLaren. Not one of them had any idea that Lancelot and Guenevere would be arriving at eight.
Chapter 11
Olivia had suggested borrowing her mother’s car, and Eleanor de la Vega approved of the plan, as long as we promised to drive directly to my parents’ house and return by dinnertime on Saturday.
“No detours,” she insisted. “I don’t care how inviting the beach looks. You don’t even need to stop for gas. The tank’s full.” She handed me the keys to the station wagon and added, “Keep it under the limit, Ted.”
We left campus around six and headed south past Lake Casitas, emerging at the edge of the continent just before sunset. I glanced at Olivia as the fire of the descending sun reflected on the ocean and turned the old Chevy into a golden coach. I can still remember her profile bathed in that spectacular light, her green eyes reflecting the brilliance.
And then she began to sing.
I joined in, and we sang all the songs from Camelot as we rolled inland through Oxnard, Thousand Oaks, Calabasas. All my fears were forgotten in the bliss of singing those familiar songs with Olivia. A physical memory of that pure, unfettered happiness occasionally ripples through me when I lose myself on the violin, but never since have I shared that feeling with another person. Oh, Olivia. How I wish we had kept on driving that night, rolling on to the horizon and another day, another day together.
But we didn’t, of course. We were good kids. I got off the freeway at Beverly Glen and dutifully headed up to Mulholland. It wasn’t until I rounded the bend and saw my family’s house ablaze with lights that all my fears came crashing back down on me.
Why so many lights? I wondered, and then I saw the cars. A Cadillac and a BMW were parked along the circular driveway. Damn. I hadn’t imagined that my parents might have company.
We pulled up behind the BMW, which I now recognized as belonging to the Halls. Damn, I thought. Is Karen here, too? I hoped not. My mother had grilled me about our “date,” but I had failed to convince her that “date” was the wrong word for our trip to see The Graduate.
I didn’t have much time to worry about Karen, though, because I caught sight of my father through the living room window. I watched him move immediately toward the front door, and I knew exactly what he was thinking: Who in hell was parking such a crappy old wreck in the Spencer driveway?
At least Olivia and I were dressed well. I was wearing pressed khaki slacks and a tennis sweater, and Olivia had on a simple, long-sleeved dress that matched her green eyes and fell modestly to the tops of her knees. Her hair fell straight and smooth down her back, and the only jewelry she wore was her heart-shaped locket.
As my father walked toward the car with a lo
ok of puzzled annoyance on his face, I rushed around the hood to open Olivia’s door. By the time she emerged, he had reached us.
“Ted!” he said, still puzzled as he looked from me to the car to Olivia. “What a surprise!”
“I know, Dad,” I hurried to answer. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
Damn! I was apologizing already.
“And who might this be?” asked my father, bestowing a stiff little smile on Olivia.
“Uh, this is my friend Olivia de la Vega, Dad,” I said. “Olivia, this is my father, Edward Spencer.”
“I’m so pleased to meet you, sir,” said Olivia without a trace of nervousness.
My father nodded at her and turned to me. “Come on inside, son,” he said. “We’re about to eat.”
All things considered, dinner was fine. My mother, after getting over her initial surprise, seemed genuinely pleased that we’d come. She was extra nice to Olivia, and the table was quickly reset with two more places. Both the Halls and the McLarens were pleasantly friendly, and Karen wasn’t there. As we sat down to a dinner of poached salmon and asparagus, I actually felt relieved that we had arrived in the midst of a party. It postponed the inevitable.
“So you’re Guenevere,” Mrs. McLaren said to Olivia as the maid cleared the main course. “I saw Julie Andrews as Guenevere on Broadway. It’s a big role.”
“Wow, you’re lucky,” Olivia said. “I’ve listened to the soundtrack a thousand times, but that’s nothing like seeing her on stage. Was she wonderful?”
“She was,” Mrs. McLaren said, “and Robert Goulet was a wonderful Lancelot. But I’m sure you two will be even better.”
“Thanks. You’re right about Ted, anyway. He’s got a great voice.”
I blushed as everyone winked at me, but I was relieved that Olivia seemed perfectly at ease chatting with my parents’ friends. As I was continually discovering, Olivia was capable of taking care of herself wherever she landed. She had perfect manners, and she wasn’t the slightest bit stiff.
Strings Page 6
