Perfect Freedom (20 page)

A table was squeezed in close to the sea wall for them. A full moon was just rising above the nearest roofs. Everything looked expensive and desirable. Stuart glanced out at
la batellerie
. It had been converted into a handsome private house.

The maître d'hôtel continued to devote his attention to them. When they were seated he handed them enormous cards bearing the bill of fare and left them. Robbie's eyes widened as they ran down the list of prices.

“Can we afford it?” he gasped.

Stuart encouraged him to order lavishly and to select his wines carefully. Aside from his boyish exclamation at the prices, Robbie remained rather haughtily indifferent.

“This sort of elaborate food doesn't mean much to him,” Helene said approvingly. So long as Stuart didn't try to win Robbie away from her, she was delighted to be away from the stove, to be cool and perhaps not too dowdy-looking. It would be pleasant to spend some money on herself again. She was aware that Robbie took an interest in her appearance. And Stuart would no longer have any excuse for neglecting himself. He really must buy himself some new clothes and do something about his hands. Not that she cared, but it would be nice for Robbie to have presentable parents.

After dinner, Stuart proposed a visit to Boldoni's old place as the first stop in their sampling of the local night life. As they climbed to the top of the town, the whole quarter, once so abandoned at this hour, was alive with activity. Under the streetlights one caught glimpses of pretty girls and smart women and well-dressed men. When they arrived in front of the old inn Stuart and Helene made an unconscious move toward each other, for here one could believe that nothing had changed. For a moment, Stuart was tempted to go no farther.

“Let's see what they've turned this into,” Helene said, and they went on.

The only changes were those that Boldoni had described—a coat of paint, little tables with gay covers instead of the long bare ones, a low wooden platform covering the cement patch where a five-piece band was banging out jazz. Several couples were dancing. The Coslings sat in silence for a moment looking about them and remembering. Around the corner of the main building Robbie saw the shed and the clump of mimosas that screened the house next door and he looked away, feeling his skin prickling under his shirt. Helene looked up through the vines at their old bedroom window and saw that there was a light in it. Stuart was threatened with melancholy as a succession of memories crowded his mind.

“Well, what will it be now?” he asked. “More champagne?”

People were arriving in increasing numbers. As one group passed their table a gray-haired, square-faced woman detached herself from it and stopped before them with a cry of recognition.

“It's the Coslings! Stuart! Helene! How delightful. It's been years.” Stuart rose, startled, and recognized Mrs. Rawls, a widow who had been among their acquaintances during the New York years. She entertained lavishly and had cultivated Stuart for his connection with the publishing world. She was the sort of person one would expect to meet at a newly fashionable resort. Before he could speak, she had taken Helene's hand and was concentrating on her the full force of her charm which, Stuart remembered, was overwhelming.

“My dear, you're absolutely breathtaking,” she announced. “I've never seen anything so lovely. Where have you been? What have you been doing? You simply disappeared. I want to know all about everything.” All this came out in a flat harsh voice but there were undertones in it. Her words trembled with delight. Stuart remembered this quality and her trick of tilting her head slightly and smiling with winsome girlishness. “And dear Stuart. It's so very nice to see you. You've both discovered the secret of eternal youth. Who is this enchanting creature? It can't be your son.” Robbie had followed Stuart to his feet and it was now his turn to receive the benefit of the smile.

“I'm beginning to feel as if St. Tropez were the hub of the universe,” Stuart said.

“You must've just arrived. But wait, you'll see everybody you've ever known. You must let me take you under my wing. You might say I discovered St. Tropez. Don't you think it's fascinating how rich everybody seems over here? Such a relief after the States. I couldn't stand the drabness another minute. Though I do think Roosevelt is doing wonders. So handsome. Of course, I've known the whole family for years. Why don't you come join us? I'm with some people you must meet.” This last was addressed to Helene with the winning smile.

“It's very nice of you but do excuse us tonight,” Helene said. She was suddenly overwhelmed at the prospect of social intercourse. She would have to recover her ease so as to be ready when the time came to make an effort for Robbie's friends. “We're having a sort of family celebration. Do come see us one day. We're in the midst of building so we can't make it a real invitation.”

“Building? Here?” Mrs. Rawls asked vaguely.

“Yes, we've lived here for years,” Stuart interposed. “Just ask for the place. Everybody can tell you how to find us.”

Mrs. Rawls appeared not in the least discomfited. “How stupid of me. Can you be the mysterious Americans I've heard about who own all St. Tropez? How clever of you. And how fascinating. You must come to dinner with me. I know some charming girls who'd give a great deal to meet this delightful young man. I'm hoping for Cole and Linda. Marlene's here already. Oh yes, we're going to have a grand time. You're quite the most attractive family I've ever laid eyes on. A real addition.
A bientôt. A bientôt
.” She shook hands warmly with each of them and made her way buoyantly over to her table, nodding and waving to people as she went. Stuart and Robbie dropped back into their chairs.

“How can anyone be so ridiculous?” Helene wondered aloud. “She made me feel as if I were losing my mind.”

“I thought she was quite nice,” Robbie said judiciously.

“Flattery works,” Stuart said. “You liked the idea of those girls.”

“I did not.” Robbie blushed deeply. “I don't want to meet any of her girls.”

“Don't worry,” Stuart said. “We're not going to get tied up with her fancy crowd.”

“Heavens, all that seems far away,” Helene murmured, and Stuart smiled in agreement. Yet who were they going to see? For whom were they building the guest house? When was Robbie going to make friends of his own?

The music stopped abruptly. There was a fanfare and as heads turned the band burst into a familiar tune. A small woman with a pert urchin's face walked briskly through the crowd to a table beside the dance floor, followed by a handful of good-looking young men. It was Mistinguett.

The evening was getting underway. The dance floor was suddenly crowded. Somewhere a woman screamed and a violent argument broke out behind the Coslings. Stuart turned to see a large dark man and a small red-headed woman snarling at each other in Italian. They were interrupted by a powerful man in a tight striped jersey and tight white pants. He seized the woman by the wrist and lifted her out of her chair.

“
Viens, ma poule
,” he said rudely and led her off toward the dance floor while her abandoned companion half rose, spluttering, and then sank back into his chair. As he followed the oddly matched couple with his eyes, Stuart saw a younger man in sailor's uniform approach the Mistinguett table. He tapped one of the young men on the shoulder and said something to him. The party clapped and cheered as the young man rose and was led off in a dance by the newcomer. Stuart felt it was time to leave.

“Let's see what the other places are like,” he shouted above the din.

On the way down toward the port they passed a lighted doorway from which issued the sound of music and laughter.

“Hold everything,” Stuart said. “We might as well have a look at this one.” The door opened onto a stairway leading down to a cellar. They couldn't see what they were getting into until Stuart had reached the foot of the stairs and a fluty male voice cried, “A man! Divine!”

There was a burst of laughter and he saw they were in a low, vaulted cellar around three sides of which ran banquettes and tables. The only light seemed to come from a small bar in one corner. On the floor in the middle, men and women were dancing with partners of their own sex. Stuart's first impulse was to turn and run, but he thought immediately of Robbie. Stuart didn't want to give him the impression that they were flying from some terrible mystery. In his moment of indecision, Helene took charge of their retreat. “It's breathless in here. I can't stand it.” As she spoke she started back up the stairs, pushing Robbie gently before her. Stuart followed gratefully, to the accompaniment of a chorus of obscene witticisms and more laughter.

“What was the matter?” Robbie asked. “Was it too hot? I didn't get down far enough to see.” He felt better as soon as he had uttered this falsehood. He had been to school in Cannes for two years. He had heard of such places. Witnessing the scene in his parents' presence had been a moment of horror for him.

“It was absolutely stifling,” Helene said hastily. “For a minute I thought I was going to faint.” She was shocked and troubled. She had gathered from a line in a newspaper, from a chance remark, from her own observation of the people on the port, that St. Tropez prided itself on the laxness of its morals, but this was worse than anything she had imagined. Robbie apparently hadn't understood any of the things those unspeakable creatures had called out to them. Thank heavens the house would soon be ready and they could entertain friends of their own choosing and avoid the town.

“No more cellars for me,” Stuart said. “I didn't think much of the Pêché Mignori or whatever Boldoni's place is called, either. The port's probably the place to stay.” He suspected Robbie's lie but understood the embarrassment that had prompted it. The young were always anxious to shield their elders from the sordid facts of life.

“I think all these places are stupid,” Robbie said loftily. He was shielding his parents, not from anything they might know already but from noticing that his curiosity had been aroused. They were so nice, so proper, so decent. At sixteen, Robbie was aware of an emptiness in the life at home. He supposed that his parents had never known this other thing, this excitement, this—whatever it was that was beginning to stir in him. He had been stimulated by all that he had seen this evening and he had thought how interesting it might be to come into town alone, but for his mother's sake he resolved never to propose it.

“I bet you won't think that when you know some girls,” Stuart said. “You'll be wanting to come every night to dance.”

“Fat chance.” Robbie took Helene's arm and in another moment they were back on the brightly lighted port.

“Well, now what?” Stuart asked. There was a party in progress on one of the bigger yachts. It looked very gay with the lights strung out above the deck. “Just a few of the people who've bought our land,” Stuart said sardonically.

They were soon ready to go home. The first evening in town had offered no great surprises and Stuart couldn't imagine repeating it often. He hadn't gone through these harassing years for the pleasure of having dinner with Mrs. Rawls.

On the way home Robbie went out of his way to say again how pointless he found such diversions and Helene seconded him. After what she had seen, she was prepared to do anything in her power to keep him away from the place, but she knew she needn't worry. His tastes were essentially artistic and intellectual.

Robbie sat in the back of the big car with his hand in his pocket, his fingers straying along his cramped erection. He longed to get to bed and do something about it. He was tormented by all sorts of unfamiliar urges; he supposed it had something to do with the amount of wine he had drunk. Everything he had seen tonight had carried with it the implication of dizzying freedom. Freedom to do what? Sexually, his only points of reference remained Michel and the dirty little girl; he hadn't learned as much at school as he had expected to learn. There was a lot of bawdy talk about girls but when the boys were allowed out on Saturday night, Robbie never accompanied the ones who pretended to be in pursuit of carnal adventure. His classmates were rather in awe of him; a rumor had somehow got about that he had an older woman as a mistress. He and Jean-Marie, his one close friend, sometimes exchanged a kiss, chaste and poetic meetings of lips that had nothing to do with the nastiness Robbie associated with making love. If a random hope strayed through his mind that something more might come of their kisses, he had always suppressed it. He withdrew his hand from his pocket as the delicious tingling threatened to get out of control.

In the moonlight he and his parents picked their way down through the ravaged land. At the house, Robbie kissed his mother goodnight and shook hands with his father in the French way he had learned at school and continued on down to the cove where he was temporarily occupying the beach shelter. His renewed erection clamored for release. He dropped his clothes and it swung up and seemed to become the embodiment of his whole being. He pulled a deck chair out under the sky and lay with his legs spread and gave his body up to the caress of the moon and the night.

He thought of Michel. He had seen him recently. He had turned into a tough-looking but handsome boy. Several times after the episode with the little girl, they had made each other hard and given each other pleasure. Robbie had started to have meager emissions. Michel had explained that that was what made babies but Robbie had pretended extensive knowledge of the subject so he hadn't found out how at the time.

Their play had ended with the move to the house but Robbie wished now that it hadn't. There wouldn't have been anything grotesque about it like the people tonight, only a simple manifestation of enduring comradeship. He wondered if Michel ever had similar thoughts about him. He wondered if Jean-Marie would like to lie in his arms and get hard with him. There were so many things he didn't know how to find out about people.