"People like to start fresh," she said, looking at him from under the brim of her big straw hat. "You won't go broke betting on that."
He laughed softly. "Paradise seems like a good place to do it."
"Maybe paradise is overrated."
"Lady, you are one tough customer."
Mom's lips curved. "Me? I'm just a softy."
"We should all go fishing one day," Joe said. "Rent a boat and get out on the water."
"I don't like fishing," Peter said.
"You feel sorry for the little fishes?" Mom asked.
"Yeah," Peter said. "I feel sorry for anything that gets hooked."
"I love boating," Mrs. Grayson chimed in. "Tom and I used to go in the south of France, before the war. Those were the days, really. We didn't think anything could change." She stubbed out her cigarette. "What we need is some coffee."
Mr. Grayson twisted around, looking for the waiter.
I felt panicked. Was the lunch over already? I hadn't said more than two words.
"Who's game for a walk?" Peter asked.
I stood up quickly, almost knocking my chair backward. "I'll go."
"Don't worry, Sarge," Peter said to Joe. "I'll take good care of her."
We walked out of the courtyard and down the street toward the beach, toward the pavilion there.
Peter leaned over and spoke in my ear. "We finally ditched the chaperones. Come on."
He took my hand as we ran across Atlantic Avenue. He linked his fingers through mine and swung our arms.
We walked to the pavilion and he dropped my hand. We looked out at the ocean instead of at each other. All I wanted to do was hold his hand again.
The breeze picked up, and we faced right into it.
"You're a watcher, aren't you?" Peter said. "I can tell. You watch and listen. But you know what I'm betting? The thing you can't see so clear is yourself."
I was startled. Here I was, trying to come up with something to say about the weather, and he said something real. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You don't walk like a girl who knows how pretty she is, for one thing. That's a crying shame."
"Once I heard Grandma Glad tell someone that I was as plain as a bowl of Yankee bean soup," I said.
I expected him to laugh, but he didn't. "Your problem is that your mom's such a looker. You get all balled up. You can't even see what's in front of you in the mirror. So you've got to listen to an older brother type like me. You're pretty."
An older brother type. That stung.
"If you were an older brother, you'd call me Rubber Lips," I said. "That's what Frank Crotty back home calls me."
"That's because he likes you."
"Frank? He only thinks about the Dodgers."
"Pussycat, you've got a lot to learn about boys."
I pretended I was Barbara Stanwyck and tossed my hair. "Yeah? Who's going to teach me?"
He smiled. "Now that's a tempting assignment."
The weather had changed. I hadn't noticed how low and dark the clouds were. The ocean was now a flat dull gray, thick and molten-looking.
The first fat drops began to fall, but he didn't move.
"A tempting assignment," he repeated, "but I'm going to pass. I should stay away from you, pussycat."
I couldn't say anything. Of course he would stay away. What man wouldn't?
"At least, I'm going to try," he added.
The sky opened up, and the rain hit us hard. We stood there, looking at each other. I started to shiver because I knew something was happening. Something adult and mysterious.
He grabbed my hand and his grip was warm and wet and tight as we ran through the raindrops back to the others.
Chapter 11
I spent most of the next day strolling around the lobby trying to walk like I knew I was pretty. I saw the guests come and go: Mrs. Grayson off on a bicycle with a big bag in the front basket, Mr. Grayson and Joe driving off together, Honeymoon Wife heading for the pool. I waited and watched and waited some more. It didn't seem possible that I wouldn't see him again. Not after the way he'd looked at me. Not after the way he'd said At least I'm going to try.
His car wasn't in the parking lot, and I felt desperate and crazy. Finally as dinner approached I thought of something. I went up to the desk and waited for the manager to notice me. In my hand I had a piece of hotel stationery (getting damper by the second) that said:
Thank you for lunch. I had a lovely time with you.
Hope to see you soon! Evelyn Spooner
At the last moment I almost walked away because I realized the exclamation point made me sound like sap.
"I'd like to leave a message," I said when the manager looked up at last. "For Mr. Coleridge."
Mr. Forney had a tiny mustache and thin dry lips. He gave me a look like I was a bedbug who'd crawled out of the honeymoon suite. "Mr. Coleridge has checked out," he informed me.
I turned away. My head spun, but I walked across the lobby anyway, not knowing where I was going.
The boy who'd asked me to dance, Wally, came up behind me and said, "He left yesterday. No forwarding address or anything."
I hadn't even thought to ask about a forwarding address. "It doesn't matter," I said. I shrugged as I slipped the note into my pocket.
"Just thought I'd tell you," he said.
I hated when it got dark, because it meant that I would have to go to sleep without seeing him. Mom and Joe were still talking in the lobby with the Graysons, lingering over a nightcap. So I left the hotel and walked. I kept thinking if I walked far enough, went down the right street, I'd run into him. But the streets were empty, like they always were.
I came back to the hotel late, but Mom and Joe didn't seem to care about curfews here. "What could happen?" Joe had asked, silencing Mom's "but..."
Under the trees I saw two people together as one shadow.
"No," the woman was saying, her voice angry and broken with tears. "I won't do it. You're going too far now. If you do it, you do it alone."
The door opened and one of the maids came out, carrying a garbage bag to the cans in back. The shaft of light illuminated Tom and Arlene Grayson.
Mrs. Grayson turned toward me, startled. Her face was wet, her mouth pulled out of shape. Then she yanked him away, farther into the darkness.
I was the only one at the pool early the next morning. I slid into the water slowly, letting my body fall until I hit the bottom and slowly rose again. I swam back and forth, back and forth. When I took a breath at one end, I saw Wally the bellhop watching me and trying to look like he wasn't watching me. Once he knew he'd been caught, he walked over.
The sun was behind his head and I couldn't see his face. "So, New York, why'd you come to the dance if you didn't want to dance?" he asked.
I flipped over on my back and kicked to keep myself up. "Maybe I didn't think you could keep up with me."
He squatted down so he could see me. "Maybe I could."
"Maybe I'll never find out."
"Well, that's the last dance until December, so you're probably right. Your loss, I guess."
"I'm crying in my hanky." I flipped over and dived.
When I surfaced Wally was gone and I noticed Mrs. Grayson. She sat under an umbrella and was writing on a pad. She had a stack of postcards by her elbow. When I got out of the pool, she waved me over. I grabbed a towel and walked over.
She tapped the stack of postcards with the end of her pen. "Looks like we're the only early birds," she said. I couldn't see her eyes behind her dark glasses. '"Wish you were here' — doesn't everybody write that? They don't mean it, though, do they? I mean, what's the point of coming here if you don't want to get away?"
"Did you want to get away?" I asked.