Girl in the Moonlight (13 page)

I
RETURNED TO EAST HAMPTON A FEW DAYS BEFORE I WAS
due back at college and drove over to the Bonets’. I was sure they would want to hear about the time I spent with Aurelio and that it would be pointless to telephone ahead and so just decided to show up. It was a perfect late August afternoon. The sky was endlessly blue.

I took the back roads, past the potato fields, to avoid summer traffic. I hadn’t been for a year, but it was all instantly familiar to me. The long driveway, the large white neoclassical clapboard house where Izzy and Ruth lived, the various outbuildings, the tennis court, and the infamous tree. And beyond it all was the slender cobalt ribbon of Long Island Sound stretching endlessly eastward.

I knew Aurelio would not be there, so I bypassed his studio and went straight to the pool, where I found Kitty and Randall sunbathing.

They greeted me warmly. “Wylie dear, how nice to see you,”
replied Kitty, putting down her book. “What a lovely surprise. You look so grown up.”

I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek and shook Randall’s hand. “How’s your father?” she asked.

“Very well.”

“Good,” she said. “We haven’t seen him for so long. He used to practically live here.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And we haven’t seen you for some time either. What brings you around?”

“I just returned from a trip to Europe. I visited Lio in Barcelona for several days. I thought you’d like to hear about him. He looked very well.”

“Oh, that’s adorable of you, Wylie. Yes, we’d love to hear all about him. You wait here. I know the rest of the family would like to hear too.”

Holding up a small bag, I added, “He also gave me little presents to give to everybody.”

“What fun. Just wait there. I’ll get Cesca, Carmen, and Cosmo. Randall, can you see if Wylie would like something to drink?”

Putting a wrap over her bathing suit, she walked on her still-good legs to the Playhouse. A few moments later she returned, saying, “Cosmo isn’t here, but Cesca and Carmen will be right out. They’re very excited to see you.”

A short time later both girls appeared. Cesca, wearing a black bikini, looking brown and lean, walked up and embraced me, a big smile on her face. “Wylie. Oh my God,” she cried. “Look at you. Even handsomer than ever!” She smelled, as always, of jasmine and roses. If anything she was more beautiful, the memory of Aurelio’s painting carried before me like a flag.

Carmen’s welcome was less emphatic. She stood there, allowing me to kiss her. There were some who thought that she
was the lovelier of the two daughters, but I would never agree.

“So you’ve seen Lio,” said Cesca, sitting on one of the lounges. “Tell us all about him.”

I proceeded to and began with how well he looked.

“Is he too thin?” asked Kitty. “I hope he’s eating enough.”

I told them about his work and his spirits. “I have something for you all from him,” I said. I picked up the small bag. “There is one for each of you.” I removed small paintings the size of postcards, each depicting a different site in Barcelona. For Kitty, Sagrada Familia. For Carmen, Tibidabo. For Cesca, a café. On the back of each card was the person’s name and a message in either English or Catalan. They were charming.

“Where is that?” Kitty asked Cesca.

“It’s a little place that Lio and I used to go to on the Ramblas. How sweet.”

“What does your card say?”

“‘Qui no s’arrisca no pisca.’”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s Catalan. It basically means, ‘If you don’t take risks in life, you will never succeed.’”

Kitty laughed. “That’s perfect for you.”

They passed around the postcards for all of us to inspect, making comments, laughing at the comments he wrote. “I have a few more,” I said. “They’re for Mr. and Mrs. Baum, Cosmo, Roger, and Dot.”

“Cesca, darling, can you take those from Wylie, please?” Kitty asked.

“Yes, Mare.”

I gave Cesca the bag. “It’s so good of you to bring these for us,” she said, squeezing my hands. “And so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“There’s something different about you. You aren’t wearing glasses anymore.”

“Yes, I switched to contacts.”

“
Molt maco
. Very handsome.”

I blushed and looked down at her hands, still clasping mine. There was a large diamond set in platinum on her left hand. “Congratulations,” I said. “Lio told me the good news.”

She removed her hand to look at her ring. “Yes.” She smiled. “I’m engaged. Again,” she added with a laugh.

“The wedding’s going to be held here,” said Kitty. “On the lawn. A big white tent.”

“You’ll have to come,” said Cesca.

“Thank you. When is it?”

“Next June.”

“I’ll be there.”

“As long as we’re planning ahead, what are you doing tonight?” asked Cesca.

I had no plans.

“Mare, is it all right if Wylie stays for dinner?”

“Of course. I’ll have Rosita set another place.”

“Good. That’s settled,” said Cesca, excitedly patting my thigh.

The touch of her hand made me blush. “Should I go home and change?” I asked. I was wearing shorts and a tennis shirt.

“No need,” answered Cesca. “We’re very casual. Stay, have a swim. You can borrow one of the boys’ trunks. Come with me.”

She took me inside the house to the room that Lio and Cosmo shared. I had never been upstairs before. There was a hallway with several doors off it. The emptiness of bedrooms in the quiet of midafternoon. Shyly, I stepped into their private lives. The intimacy of seeing pillows where people laid their heads, the drawers where they kept their clothes silenced me, like a novitiate being shown the Holy of Holies. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked into what I took to be Cesca’s room. It was messy,
the bed unmade, clothes on the floor. Carmen’s door was closed. I moved with respect, following Cesca, achingly aware of her nearness.

We were in a masculine room. There were two single beds, one Cosmo’s, the other Lio’s, untouched. Two chests of drawers. Two closets. On the walls, there were posters for a soccer club and a large Miró reproduction. She rummaged through one of the chests and produced a pair of swim trunks. “These should fit,” she said, holding them up against my waist. I looked at her. She smiled at me. We were alone in the house. But the moment slipped by and she walked out the door, saying, “Come down when you’re ready.”

When I returned to the pool, Cesca was there. Carmen, Kitty, and Randall had gone, and in their place was another woman. She was puffy, with reddish hair and pale skin, the kind that burns easily. She wore a white sundress and a broad-brimmed straw hat. She was next to Cesca on the chaise where I had hoped to sit.

“Have you met Wylie?” Cesca asked her as I approached.

I introduced myself. Her name was Caro, and she was an old friend of Cesca’s from New York. She was in her first year at Harvard Law School. She had just popped by. She would be staying for dinner too. Immediately I resented her. Not only because she would deny me the chance to be the sole focus of Cesca’s attention, but also because her presence made mine appear foolish.

Unsure of where to sit or what to do, I dove into the pool. The water was salt, clean, cold. I swam several laps hard, showing off a little. When I emerged, I felt less angry and walked over and sat on the ground.

Cesca turned to me. “So tell us about what you’ve been up to, Wylie. How long has it been since I saw you last? Two years? Three?”

I knew how long it had been. That day in the café in Greenwich Village. But I said nothing. As if I would ever forget.

For her part, Caro also said nothing and just smiled.

So I told them about myself. About college, my trip to Europe. I tried to make it as entertaining as possible, encapsulating the past several years of my life into a series of anecdotes.

“Where did you stay in Paris?” Caro asked.

I told her we’d stayed at a little hotel near Saint-Germain-des-Prés that one of my friends knew. We’d shared a room. The toilet was down the hall. The Deux Magots around the corner.

She shrugged and looked away, unimpressed. “I don’t know it.” Either she had sensed my resentment of her or she was as unhappy at my presence as I was at hers.

“It sounds like a lovely trip, Wylie,” commented Cesca.

“And you, Cesca?” I asked. “How are you? What are you up to these days?”

She shifted on the chaise and lit a Marlboro, deflecting my question easily. “I’m good. Really good.” She never did like personal questions.

“Where are you living?”

“In New York and here, for now. Until my marriage.”

The conversation lagged. I asked Caro about herself. Where was she from? How long had she known Cesca? They had met in school. Later I would find out that they had much in common. Each came from a family of mixed backgrounds. Her father was American. A banker. Her mother, a famous beauty, Georgian but raised in London. A princess of some kind, according to Cesca. At one point there had been vast estates, serfs. All Caro had inherited from her was disappointment. It must be hard to be a plain girl. It must be harder still to be plain and have a mother who was beautiful. It is the same for short men who have tall fathers. There is something cosmically unfair about it. It is difficult not to be bitter.

After dinner I was in the kitchen, helping to clean up, scraping uneaten food into the garbage, washing dishes, happy to have a distraction, to feel useful. It was late. The family lingered long after the meal ended, finishing the wine and talking. We were in Kitty’s house. The rooms large and airy, filled with big stuffed sofas, paintings, African fetishes, Mexican mirrors. The dining room looked out over a potato field, which was now too dark to see. Everyone else had gathered around to hear Cosmo play.

Cesca entered the kitchen carrying empty wine bottles. She had changed before dinner and was now wearing a long, green, light cotton dress embroidered around the neck with a pattern of tiny red beads. It was the first time we had been alone since the Playhouse. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

I nodded. “Sure. Thanks again for inviting me for dinner.”

“I’m sorry about Caro,” she said. “I didn’t know she was coming over.”

“That’s okay,” I replied disingenuously, intent on the pot I was scrubbing. “No reason to apologize.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I meant it.

“I know I promised we’d go for a walk.”

“It’s okay. Next time.”

“God knows when that will be,” she said with a laugh. “At the rate we’re going it could be years.”

I laughed too.

“Caro will be leaving soon,” she said, touching my arm.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” She was about to leave but stopped and said, “Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. By the stairs to the beach. Caro should be gone by then.”

As I waited in the darkness, I heard the sound of feet crunching on gravel and the cough of a car engine as it ignited. Several moments later, faintly illuminated by the lights from the house, I saw Cesca walking toward me.

“Hello you,” she said, slipping her arm through mine, leaning slightly into me. It was as if she had been doing it every day for our entire lives.

We walked down to the beach. It had been years since I had first come here with her on the night of her grandfather’s birthday party. As if reading my thoughts, she said, “You know, even back then there was something I couldn’t resist about you. You were so handsome. But there was something more. I felt an instant connection with you.”

I said nothing. Holding my breath. Waiting to see what she would say next.

“Were you very angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“Now? Less angry. But still you might say confused.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes.”

“Wylie, what do you want me to say?”

“An apology would be nice. An explanation.”

“Sorry, I don’t do either. And if I did, you’d have to get in line behind all the other people.” She let out a little laugh.

“So what do I get?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“I’m not available.”

“Because you’re engaged?”

“Yes. That’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part? What did I do wrong?”

“Poor Wylie. Don’t you see? You did nothing wrong. Quite the opposite.”

We walked on a few steps in silence. “I was in love with you, you know,” I said.

“I know. And it was lovely. But we were both so young. What did we know about love? My God. I’m not sure I even know now.”

“So why are you engaged?”

She laughed. “That’s a good question.”

“Do you love him? Gavin, I mean. That’s his name, right?”

“Yes, that’s his name. And yes, I suppose I love him in a way.”

“Where does he live?”

“Geneva, but he has apartments in New York and Paris.”

“Will you move to Geneva?”

“Probably.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Lots of things, I suppose.”

“Such as?”

“Such as how do you know? How do you know you can love just one person for the rest of your life? And is it madness to even pretend to try?”

“Can you?”

“I don’t know if I can. I mean, all I’m thinking about now is how much I want you to kiss me.”

I stopped and looked at her, taking her hands in mine. “Do you want me to?”

She laughed. “Of course I do.”

Stepping forward, she raised her lips to mine. Her breath was sweet, her tongue soft. It was all as I remembered. Better. Her hands went under my shirt. My hand reached for her breast. She was not wearing anything under her dress. Through the cotton I massaged her, feeling the hardness of her nipple.

“Cesca,” I said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She stepped back. “Stop,” she said.

“What’s the matter?”

“I shouldn’t . . .”

“Shouldn’t?”

“You know.”

“Why?”

“Too many reasons,” she said, shaking her head but clutching my shirt, holding me away.

“Do you want to go back inside?”