Camilla (23 page)

“Yes,” I said.

But we had not finished setting up the board when Mrs.
Gauss came to the doorway. “David, it's time for you to get ready for bed.”

“Oh, Ma,” David said in a tired voice, “what earthly difference does it make when I go to bed? Where am I except in bed anyhow?”

“You know what happens when you get overtired—especially when you've had such a bad day.”

“What time is it, please?” I asked.

“After nine.”

“Oh!” I cried. “Then I do have to get home. I'm supposed to be in bed early except Friday and Saturday.” I got down off David's hospital bed and stood beside it.

“Okay,” David said. “Call Frank, Ma. Tell him Camilla's ready. And for God's sake don't worry about me. Haven't had such a good evening in weeks. Now Camilla and I'll talk until Frank comes for her. Then I'll brush my teeth for you, meek as a lamb.”

Mrs. Gauss smiled back at him then, a smile that was twisted and difficult, and left us.

As she closed the door behind her David said, “Come again, Camilla?”

“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

“When?”

“I could come some afternoon after school. Or any time during the weekend. I'm not supposed to go out weekday evenings.”

“Come because you want to? Or because you pity me and think you ought to? Don't lie.”

“Because I want to.”

“Pity me?”

“Yes,” I said.

He reached out and took my hand and pulled me a little closer to the bed. “Honest with me. Thanks, honey. Of course you pity me. But on the other rare occasions when I've asked the question there's been a lot of stalling. Hate pity, Camilla. If I could dispense with the pity of my so-called fellow human beings I could stand this whole damn mess better. Horrible to my mother. Make her angry to drive the pity out of her. Think you and Frank pity me less, or differently, than anybody else I know. Know you're going to be a very beautiful woman, Camilla?”

“People have told me that this past year,” I said.

“Know it yourself?”

“I don't quite know,” I told him. “I look at myself in the mirror and try to see it, but I can't see anything but just the Camilla Dickinson I've been looking at all my life. It's when I'm not near a mirror and can't see myself or really remember how I look—because I can't remember how I look when I'm not directly facing a mirror—that I feel beautiful. I feel beautiful when I'm with Frank.”

“Feel beautiful when you're with me?”

“Yes,” I said.

Then David smiled at me and for some reason I wanted to cry. I even felt tears rushing to my eyes, and I pushed, pushed them back.

“Sweet, Camilla. You're sweet,” David said, and he reached out with his hand and stroked my hair. As he touched my hair with his gentle strong hand a soft warmth seemed to go all through my body.

“Oh, Camilla,” David said. “Camilla.”

I stood there close beside the bed and again he lifted his hand and ran it over my hair, and again that strange sweet
warmth flowed over me. “Camilla,” David said, “I could teach you so much, if—” He broke off abruptly, picked up one of the chess men and looked at it, and then placed it back on the board. “Isn't time for any more chess. How about a quick game of that double solitaire you showed me?”

We played and again it was exciting for me to see how much quicker, how much clearer his mind was than mine. I had the cards though, and I won. He pushed the cards aside then, and smiled at me.

“You're a joy, Camilla. A great joy. Do something for me?”

“What?”

“Kiss me good night?”

“Yes.”

“Don't object to kissing someone like me?”

“No. Why should I?” I said. It was only when David mentioned his legs that I became aware that he was different from other men, that he had to keep reassuring himself that I wasn't frightened by him, or repelled. I wondered if other people had been repelled; and I knew that he would always know.

He drew me to him, very gently, very firmly, and then he kissed me. I had expected him to kiss me on the forehead or on the cheek; but he put his lips against mine, lightly, at first, and then with increasing pressure. Again the soft warmth flowed over and through my body. It wasn't until he took his lips away that I thought suddenly, I have been kissed. This is my first kiss. And Frank didn't give it to me.

“My sweet, pure, untouched little Camilla,” David said. “My unborn, untarnished, unawakened little Camilla. How I wish I—” Then he took my hands and held them so tightly
that I couldn't help gasping. He released them immediately. “Sorry, darling,” he said. “Wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world.”

We heard Frank in the hall then and I moved away from the bed and picked up my coat and hat.

“Hi, Cam; hi, Dave,” Frank said as he came in and went over to David to shake his hand. “Who trounced who—or whom trounced whom?”

“No one trounced nobody,” David said. “Camilla's a most exciting partner.”

“Ready, Cam?” Frank asked.

“Yes.” I went over to David's bed again and looked at him. I looked at his face, at his eyes that were dark with suffering and yet alive with what I felt to be the wisdom of the ages; and I looked at his lips, pulled tight with pain and at the same time full of tenderness, and I thought, David kissed me, and Frank has not kissed me, except in a dream.

“Next weekend, Camilla?” David asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “Next weekend.”

Frank and I said good night to Mrs. Gauss and then we walked over to the subway. Frank talked but somehow I couldn't say anything. All that came to my lips to say was, Frank, David kissed me, and I knew I could not say that.

After a while Frank asked me, “Camilla, are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“You seem so sort of brooding . . . David didn't upset you about anything or anything?”

“No,” I said.

“Okay. I just didn't want anything to be worrying you. You go ahead and be silent if you want to.”

We walked along in silence and I was grateful because I knew Frank wouldn't ask me any more questions. Anytime Luisa thought I had anything on my mind she would be at me and at me, trying to find out what it was; but I knew that Frank would leave me alone.

When we left the subway I remembered walking home the night before, and how we had stopped in the newly fallen snow and stood close together, our cheeks touching. And I knew suddenly that that had been much more important than David's kiss.

We reached the place where we had stopped but there was someone walking down the street toward us and the snow had all melted and the sidewalk was bare and Frank did not stop and I didn't know whether or not he even remembered.

As we neared our apartment house someone came out of the door, called good night to the doorman, and walked swiftly toward us. It was Jacques.

I stopped very still and Frank said, “What's the matter?”

“I can't go home,” I said. “I can't go home.”

“What is it, Cam?” Frank asked me, and his face in the light of the streetlamp was furrowed with worry. “What's happened?”

“Please,” I implored. “Please. Let's walk. Don't—”

Then Jacques came up to us and he saw us and he stopped too, and said, “Why, Camilla!”

I didn't say anything; it was as though I had been struck mute, and I looked first at Jacques and then at Frank and my voice and my will were paralyzed.

“This must be Frank Rowan,” Jacques said pleasantly. “I'm very glad to meet you. I'm Jacques Nissen.”

“How do you do.” Frank shook hands with Jacques, looking bewildered.

“How ravishing you look tonight, Camilla,” Jacques said lightly. “I hope you've had a pleasant evening.”

The gift of the tongue was returned to me. “Yes, thank you,” I said.

“Well, good night, darling,” Jacques said to me. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night,” I said simultaneously with Frank, and then Jacques had moved on down the street.

“Camilla—” Frank said, and he looked suddenly helpless.

Then I said, because it was Frank I was with and I felt that I must tell him the truth now or he might misunderstand completely, “That was Jacques Nissen. He's— I saw him—” I started to tell Frank that I had seen Jacques kissing Mother, but I could not say that. “My mother's been seeing him,” I said. “She's told him about you. She said she was never going to see him again. She lied.”

“Maybe he went to see someone else.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but I don't think so. I think if he knew anybody else who lived here I'd know it. Anyhow, he knew who you were. He wouldn't have known who you were unless Mother'd told him. Frank, I don't want to go home.”

“Listen,” Frank said, “I'll walk all night with you if you want to, Camilla. But you go into the lobby first of all and telephone upstairs and tell your mother you're not coming home right now. I promised I'd bring you home and I don't want your parents forbidding you to see me. They might, you know.”

“They can't keep me from seeing anybody I want to see.”

“It'll be a lot easier if they don't think I'm leading you astray.”

“What'll be easier?”

Frank grinned at me. “Leading you astray.”

“Okay, I'll call Mother,” I said.

I called on the house phone. Carter was evidently in early from her evening out and she answered it. I said, “I want to speak to Mother.”

“Oh, it's you, Miss Camilla,” Carter said. “What a shame you didn't get home a few minutes ago. Mr. Nissen has just left and he said he was so sorry to miss you.”

How I hated Carter.

Mother came to the phone. “Camilla, darling, it's so late, I—where are you?”

“Downstairs.”

“Well, darling, come up. It's past your bedtime.”

“Where's Father?”

“He was detained. He won't be in till late.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Come up, darling. I want to hear all about your evening.”

“Will you tell me all about yours?” I didn't know I could be so cold and horrible.

There was a sudden funny little silence. Then my mother's voice came breathless and somehow frightened. “Of course. Darling, why are you downstairs?”

“I just wanted to tell you I'm not coming up yet. I'm going for a walk.”

“Alone? At this time of night? Camilla, please come upstairs right away, dear.”

“I'm not alone,” I said. “I'm with Frank. And I don't want to come up.”

“But it's late. It's past your bedtime already. Your father will be terribly angry.”

“I don't care,” I said.

“He'll forbid you to see Frank, he'll—”

“I don't care what he does. I don't care.”

Frank had been standing across the lobby so as not to eavesdrop on my conversation. Now he came over to me and said in a low voice, “Listen, Camilla, let's go upstairs. I'll go with you. It'll be better. Really.”

On the other end of the phone my mother was saying, “Please, darling, please come upstairs. Please let me talk to you.”

“All right!” I cried. “All right!” And I hung up.

Frank took my hand and held it tightly but he didn't say anything. We went up in the elevator and when I put my key to the lock my hand was trembling so that Frank took it from me and opened the door.

My mother was waiting for us and I think she was surprised to see Frank. She wore her rose velvet negligee and her hair was loose and she looked young and beautiful in spite of the anxiety on her face. “Camilla, darling,” she said, and then she smiled at Frank. “I'm so glad you came up, Frank. Now I'll really have a chance to see what you look like. There was such a mob this afternoon after the concert . . .”

Frank held out his hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Dickinson. I'm very sorry I'm a little late in bringing Camilla home. She and David didn't get through their game as early as they'd expected.”

“That's perfectly all right,” my mother said. “Won't you come in, dear?”

“No, thank you. I have to get back downtown. Is it all right with you, Mrs. Dickinson, if I take Camilla out after school tomorrow afternoon and take her out to supper? I'll get her back early so she'll have plenty of time to do her homework.”

“Well, yes,” my mother said hesitantly. “I don't know— yes, I think it would be all right, Frank.”

“Thanks a lot, Mrs. Dickinson. Good night. Good night, Cam.”

Even in my blind rage at having seen Jacques coming out of the apartment something in me cried out in joy, I'm going to see Frank tomorrow!

Aloud I said, “Good night, Frank,” and watched the door close behind him.

My mother put her arm on my shoulder and tried to draw me to her, but as she touched me I felt myself go rigid. It wasn't anything I wanted to do. It just happened.

“Darling,” she said, “please come into my room and let's talk. Please.”

I followed her into her room. She sat down on the chaise longue, tucking her feet up and hugging her knees. “Darling, sit down. Please.”

I sat on her dressing table stool and waited. I didn't know what she was going to say and I knew that I couldn't say anything.

“You know that I was with Jacques tonight.” She made it a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“And you think it was a very terrible thing for me to do?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh, darling, darling, don't condemn me for— I'm not wholly bad. I could be jealous of you because you're growing more beautiful every day, and you're young and I'm growing old and I can't expect my own beauty to last forever, and I've loved being beautiful, Camilla. I've loved it too much. If I didn't know I was beautiful I'd never have been able to believe your father loved me at all. If I weren't beautiful I'd be everything Rafferty despises. But I'm not jealous of you, darling, truly, truly I'm—a little sad, sometimes, maybe, because of myself, but never jealous.”