Chapter 15A

Saturday. In my mind, it was Anita Day.

Anita didn't attend the Saturday class. I called her on the telephone the day before. She said she had a busy schedule and wouldn't be at Fiore's, but I was to meet her for the party with her friends at her godparents' home.

My exhausting Friday night with Martha and Ronnie had me in a calm mood for handling myself in a sexually civilized manner with Anita. In fact, I found myself hiding out again when I met Anita and we strolled to the expensive home where the gathering of Anita's friends was being held. It was a very mixed group, including a couple of faces I had seen at Fiore's now and then who turned out to be young clients whom Anita had introduced to the place. One was a budding ballerina who was taking the summer class just to stay in shape during summer vacation.

The party was supervised by a couple of housekeepers, one of whom managed the soda and snacks in the huge kitchen area and who seemed to know most of the kids. The affair seemed to be a regular weekend open house of sorts, frequented by a group of teenagers who drifted in and out as they brought their dates in for a visit on their way to or from a movie, play or other event in the city. Among the kids, everyone knew each other and most of them attended the same schools in town. And they were, as far as I could tell, local rich kids and their dates or buddies. This left me feeling somewhat like a fraud; fortunately, I'd attended similar gatherings held by some of my wealthier relatives in Memphis. But this was a level of wealth and sophistication that was new to me. Anita was diplomatic enough when she introduced me to include sparse detail about my background.

In fact, Anita didn't seem to fit into the wealthy milieu any more than I did. The difference was that Anita had been raised within it without becoming a subscriber to much of it.

What had me really feeling out of place was not so much the affluence on display as it was the accepted behavior of these teenagers who were supposed to be my peers, if not in economic background then in age and development. The lame sexual innuendoes and the showing off and the phony camaraderie were as foreign to me as the social mores of interplanetary aliens. As with any group of teenagers, there was an obvious, overstated pecking order. Kids stood around with nothing to say or do except to herd near local heroes. Then there were the "steady" couples, with either the guy or the gal getting a stiff look or frown if either party was seen talking privately to a member of the opposite sex. And I found the rich kids taking much for granted in the material world, mentioning their cars and clothes and their trips, with much name dropping. I stayed to the side during most of the conversations, having little to contribute.

Unfortunately, Anita interpreted this early on as boredom. She sat beside me at a table where several other people had gathered to talk. She said, "Perhaps when the people from my theater club show up, you'll have a better time. They went to a play tonight that you and Martha have already seen."

I asked, "What makes you think I'm not having a good time?"

She said, "You seem to be staying on the sidelines."

"There is a slight difference in backgrounds to contend with."

She said, "Oh, I... I realize that, but I didn't think of it when I invited you. I didn't think of it because you have a look and bearing that make it seem that you belong wherever you want to be. It's my fault. I know how you feel, I have the same problem. But you don't seem to believe me when I mention that."

I said, leaning toward her and taking her hand. "I'm fine. I'm enjoying myself. It's like a whole, separate vacation. Please don't take me away. I'll pay, I'll beg, I'll fall on my sword, if only you'll let me stay. A thousand guns and ten thousand bullets couldn't take me away..."

She laughed. "All right, I get it." She looked at me and smiled. "You're sweet."

"Oh, please don't say that."

"Why?

"Don't say I'm sweet."

"But you are."

"No. I'm not."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm not so sweet. Not really. I'm very uncivilized. You have no idea."

Her eyes played with mine again. "How dare you talk about yourself that way. You'll destroy all my illusions about you."

"It's true."

Her eyes glanced around and she lowered her voice. "I'm not sweet, either."

"That isn't possible."

"Very possible. I have a self centered streak."

"You'll have to do more than just say that to convince me."

She said more quietly, "But I do have my self centered side." She looked down at my hand that held hers, and she touched a finger of her other hand to mine, and she said, "But let's not plan on finding out about that."

I said, "I can't imagine us having to do that."

She gazed at our hands, thinking, and started to speak, but thought again. "Don't credit me with too much. It... creates so many expectations. They're so difficult to live up to."

I squeezed her hand. "It's a deal."

She squeezed my hand in return and asked, "Have you chosen a piece for the drama club next week?"

"Uh, well... something from The Sound and the Fury."

"Oh. Faulkner."

"Yes."

"Good. That's very clever, sticking with a story about people and places you should be very familiar with."

"Very familiar. Sixty miles from Memphis."

"Oh, that's right. Faulkner lives in Oxford, Mississippi." She looked up at me. "Oxford is that close to Memphis?"

"Yes'm. Mah home town. Memphis, Tenn-e-ssee."

She grinned at me. "So didja know Elvis Presley."

I laughed.

The handful of kids from the drama club arrived just after ten o'clock. They raved about the short off-Broadway play they had seen. Martha had taken me to see the same play a few weeks earlier, so I did find that I could contribute to the conversation. But I found myself treading on thin ice; like most cliques of theater people, they gave an icy reception to my differences of opinion. I thought that the play had been executed with second rate performances, due mainly to misinterpretation of the meaning behind several key lines. When I saw the group's reaction to my opinion, I conceded that I might have seen the play on a bad night.

And in particular the leader of this handful seemed to be a nicelooking guy named Maury, who seemed to know everything that could be known about anything and whose word reigned as gospel for this group. Maury's impression of the performances of this fairly popular play was based on personalities, not on performance. He knew all the cast members, and in particular he knew the lead player, an actor who, according to Maury, was equally appreciative of Maury's performance "at the academy." And anything that Maury did "at the academy" was the last word, including his award winning portrayal in 'Charley's Aunt', a role that won Maury an award that no one outside "the academy" ever heard of.

Maury asked me, "You've heard of 'Charley's Aunt', naturally?"

I nudged my chin and said, "The most performed play in theater history. So far."

"I've had the lead in three productions."

"Very good." I took a cue from Anita's charming manner and avoided the whole issue of wanting to kick his ass by saying, "It's a, uh, very demanding part. You need a sense of humor and a lot of energy to make it work well."

"The reviewers said that my sense of timing was excellent."

"The part definitely requires a talent for that."

He shrugged, "Of course, even with a good sense of timing, it's not that easy. Charley's role is the only one in the play with good laughs. It's up to Charley to keep the other characters alive, y'know?"

"You're right. Good thing you were on hand."

Maury prepared himself a glass of cola and was nervy enough to add some bourbon he kept in a small, expensive silver flask in his coat pocket. He spiked several other drinks belonging to his chosen cohorts. The girls fell all over Maury, who was very good looking, and the guys seemed to jockey around him to identify themselves as officially recognized cronies.

I didn't like Maury. I spent more time with a "minor character," so to speak, a wiry kid who didn't talk much but whose eyes seemed to pick up on what was really happening. His name was Chris and he asked what I planned to read at the drama party. When I mentioned I would read a long narrative section from Faulkner, Chris and I got into a lengthy conversation about the culture and environment down South.

At one point I mentioned to him "You seem pretty familiar with parts of the South. You've spent time there?"

"L.S.U. I started a year early." He added sarcastically, "I plan to be one of those shyster lawyers that so many Southern writers talk about."

By eleven o'clock Anita told me she was ready for me to walk her home, so I called Martha on the phone and told her I would be home in a while.

Martha said at the other end of the line, "When you get home, go to Ronnie's. I'll be with her."

I said, "Again?"

Martha said, "Ronnie has something I don't have, in case you haven't noticed. She has a television set. It only gets one channel, but that's what we'll be doing."

"Oh. Okay, I'll go to Ronnie's."

"And, uh, what do you mean by 'Again'? Were you're complaining?"

"Well, I --"

"Ronnie and I have been having a great night, talking about guys. How is it with Anita?"

"Fine. I'm getting ready to walk her home.

"Oh. I thought you'd be at the party until later. She wants to go home early?"

"No, she has a busy day Sunday."

Well, then, take your time."

"Take my time? I'm walking her home, it's four blocks."

"Take your time, Steven. All right? Take your time."

"Oh. Okay."

"See you at Ronnie's, hon."

Anita and I left and she suggested a stroll the long way around, down Madison Avenue to the Plaza Hotel at 59th Street, and back up Fifth Avenue along Central Park to Anita's home. I began to see what Martha meant by "take your time", as this walk would take at least an extra half hour. How did Martha know these things?

We ultimately spent nearly two hours strolling. We stopped at the traffic circle in front of the Plaza Hotel and sat on a bench to watch the clients going in and out of the famous, expensive hotel.

Anita said, "You see? Not everyone who stays at the Plaza is a big shot. That couple there looks like Ma and Pa Kettle."

I said, "Ah! My kinda people."

Anita said, "Oh, everyone's your kind of people." She looked at me. "I thought you handled Maury well."

"Maury? Oh. Well, I've had practice. Theater groups are full of Maury's."

"Well, I agreed with you. I saw that play. What you said was true."

I shrugged. "It wasn't worth an argument."

She said, "Everyone hates Maury."

"Then why is he so popular?"

"Because his family is richer than all the rest of them put together." She sighed and said, "And that's one of many things I don't like about my life."

We got up from our bench and headed across the street to Fifth Avenue.

As we strolled I said, "You could be living in Mississippi."

"Yes. And I'd show the poor how to grow their own food and start their own businesses. And take care of themselves. And get some dignity."

"I don't know. It's rough out there. I've met people from Mississippi who don't even know where Mississippi is. And they don't own the land."

She said quietly, "I know. I know what it's like down there."

"And that's where you want to go?"

"Yes."

"I'm not trying to discourage you, you know. I just wondered if you really thought about it."

"I don't think about it that much. I try not to. It would scare me away."

I said, after a pause, "I hope you get what you want."

She smiled, and reached for my hand. "No one gets what they want. There are just moments, times when it seems close. After four countries and a whole parade of people from all over the world, I've yet to meet someone who gets what they really want. I wonder if it's possible."

I looked at her, and thought about it. "You could be right."

"I could be." She looked around, at the park, and toward the summer sky. "Have you ever known anyone who gets what they want? I mean overall, in the big picture of their lives. Do they get what they want?"

"Mmm. Not yet."

"Have you?"

I laughed. "I haven't had time to work on it yet. I did get my newspaper route. I got myself built up for the delivery bikes. I made the money to get me to New York."

"Yes, Martha told me that story."

"And what else did Martha tell you?"

She grinned. "That's the fourth time you asked me that."

"That's the fourth time you wouldn't tell me."

She walked on, and squeezed my hand. She said, "Oh, she didn't tell me that much. But she told me about how you earned your way here, single handed. When she told me that story, I knew I had to meet you."

I blushed, and she watched me blushed, and she smiled at me.

She asked me, "Why *did* you come to New York? Why did you go through all that?"

I shrugged. "It was here."

"Oh. Well, that's why I want to work in a poor village and change the world. Because it's there."

We walked on, and she looked down at the sidewalk, and she asked, "But why *did* you come to New York? There are so many other places. Why New York?"

I said, "So I could walk down Fifth Avenue at night, holding hands with the prettiest young woman in town."

She blushed so hard she showed her teeth. "Oh, my."

"I thought that was a pretty good answer."

She said, "I don't know what to say to that."

"Why say anything?"

"Are you sure you don't get your lines, like, from the movies or something?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because people don't talk the way you talk."

"How do they talk?"

"Well, they -- they don't talk like that."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, they don't. They don't say things like that."

I stopped, and she stopped beside me.

I said jokingly, looking into her eyes. "They don't kiss the most beautiful girl in New York City? On Fifth Avenue? On a warm summer night?"