Chapter 19 -- Advice plus Senior Weekend I

Did you write the book of love?
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Now, do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

--American Pie (Don MacLean)

After we returned from the junior high where we performed the final performance of Music Man, Mr. Proilet invited me to a late afternoon at Vaughn's.

"Jim, I'm quite amazed at the amount you were able to accomplish for the musical," my music teacher told me.

I brushed off the compliment. "This isn't my first performance at the school. However, I now know what the other students went through to put on Guys and Dolls and Annie Get Your Gun."

Mr. Proilet shook his head. "You don't understand, Jim. Nobody has bit off as much as you did for the musical. This year has been more of a cakewalk for me than it was in any year past."

"Huh? I saw you working with Seventy Six Trombones and its final reprise, and that took a lot of hard work."

"And while I was doing that, you were doing Lida Rose, Wells Fargo Wagon, Till There Was You, Marian the Librarian, the square dance number, and most of the others! The bit of side business that you added for the train number was classic."

I laughed. "Actually, the Rock Island bits were added by Roy..."

"You suggested Roy, who nobody actually considered, as he was a sophomore just as you, and he worked wonderfully! In addition, every one of the numbers you were responsible for were nearly showstoppers, not just the ones that were supposed to be showstoppers," Mr. Proilet interrupted. "Trouble got an ovation, but just about anybody could make that song get one--it was written as an ovation piece. You made the Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You duet an ovation piece! Almost all of the parts you put your effort into were showstoppers, Jim."

I shook my head.

"Jim, you couldn't have put your own personal mark on this play any more if you managed to stick Hooked on a Feeling into it, somewhere. In fact, I was waiting to hear the barbershop sing that on their offstage walk instead of Good Night Ladies!"

I laughed. Roy actually suggested that--jokingly, of course--at one point.

"Jim, you have more talent as a sixteen year old than I see in professional conductors of major symphonies. I don't think Lenny Bernstein will be looking over his shoulder at you--at least, not until you graduate--but he's a fucking minority!"

I never heard my music teacher use profanity before. He was really impassioned.

"Have you thought of Julliard?" Mr. Proilet asked, seriously.

I shook my head. "Kristen has her heart set on Harvard, and she's going to wait two years for me to be there with her. New York and Boston are five hours away by car, but on a college student's schedule..."

"How about Berklee? That's in Boston."

I heard of that school. A bit different than Julliard, but almost as prestigious. I hadn't really considered actually attending college. I thought I'd find a job somewhere in Cambridge as a trumpet or piano player...

Mr. Proilet saw the uncertainty in my eyes. "Jim, you have a magical gift. When I first saw you in seventh grade, I thought, 'another damned prima-donna.' Thurd said that you were exceptional, but he says that a lot. This was one time when he delivered. If anything, he understated your ability!"

Mr. Thurd was my music teacher in Junior High. I remember Mr. Proilet didn't take me seriously the first year I did the musical, but by the time the show went to performance, the relationship between Mr. Proilet and I completely changed. We were no longer adversarial, and he kept pushing me to try more and more things. I was singled out as a soloist as well, which didn't make me very popular with the older students.

"Mr. Proilet, I mean no offense, but I'm quite aware that there are two ways to spell the word 'musician, '" I said. "The most common way is B-R-O-K-E. Maybe if Kris and I get married, money won't be a problem. If that happens, I'll be able to play just for the fun of it. I don't want to..."

Mr. Proilet wouldn't hear it. "If you have money, you're ahead of the game. You need to consider this: Bernstein isn't hurting for money, neither is Fiedler. You have the potential to dwarf either one. You might not do the Pops every year, or you might not get the opportunity to rewrite Romeo and Juliet as a musical, but you'll do your own thing. I know it, Jim."

"I still have a couple of years in school," I said. "I'll continue to work at what I'm doing. I think it's fun, and while it continues to be fun, I'll continue doing it."

Mr. Proilet sighed. "You give me a couple of years, and don't slack off. I'll get you a scholarship so that Kristen doesn't need to be an issue. Marry her--she's your muse and just the two of you together spurs you on to astronomical heights. I've seen you grow this year more than you have in any other previous year, and this year, whenever you did something wonderful, Kristen was right there. However, even if anything happens with the two of you, I can probably get you a scholarship to Julliard, Berklee, or anywhere else that has a realistic music program."

I never saw Mr. Proilet so animated. It was embarrassing. I don't consider myself to be as good as any of the people the Mr. Proilet was saying, but I figured he was just trying to hammer the point home.

"I'll make you this promise, Mr. Proilet."

"Jean." He pronounced it the French way, like "John."

"Jean?"

"My first name. You are more than my equal. Call me Jean. If you wish to call me Mister in class, feel free. Between us, we're friends. Soon I'll be calling you Mister."

"If you say so," I said, feeling strange. "I'll make you this promise, Jean: When music becomes work, I will stop working. Until then, I'll continue working hard at it. All right?"

My music teacher furrowed his brow trying to make sense of what I said. Finally, he smiled. "The day that music becomes work to you, we'll have a real American Pie... it will definitely be the day the music dies."

I laughed at the reference. It was difficult to consider this man that I've called Mr. Proilet as 'Jean, ' but I'd try to remember. As long as music continued to be fun, it would be what I liked to do. Doing it with Mr. Proilet was always fun.

Mr. Proilet paid the tab and he drove me back to the High School. Kristen was waiting by her Camaro.

"Sorry for stealing Jim for so long, Kristen," Mr. Proilet said.

"That's all right. I just got out from doing some planning with some friends a few minutes ago."

In the car, and back at the apartment, Kristen and I talked about what Mr. Proilet said. I told her my big fear: a school such as Julliard might be so focused on turning me into their idea of a musician that I might never become my own idea of a musician.

"Why didn't you tell that to your teacher?" Kristen asked.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "My idea of a musician is difficult to imagine, Kristen. If you're with me, then it's easy."

"I'll be with you, Jim."

I looked at the seriousness in Kristen's eyes. "I know you will. Would you really like to live a musician's life?"

Kristen shrugged. "I'd be a musician's wife. It's not the same."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "You misunderstood me. Would you like to live a musician's life?"

"Me? A musician?" Kristen laughed.

She saw the serious look in my eyes. "Yes, you."

"Why?"

"I've seen you play. I've seen you help Amy. You get almost as much joy out of music as I do, and you put less than a tenth of the effort that I do."

"Me?" Kristen was completely taken by surprise.

"You become a musician--a millionaire musician," I said, smiling. "I'll become one as well. Together, we can redefine music together."

"The two of us?" Kristen said.

From the look that Kristen gave me, it occurred to me that she never even considered this option.

I found one of my best male friends in the hallway the next day. "Roy? I need help with a female singer."

Roy looked at me strangely. "The musical is over, the concert is over. Are you thinking of putting words to Pomp and Circumstance?"

I laughed at the suggestion, and tried to merge the words "Hooked on a Feeling" to the processional to Pomp. The two of us laughed at that. "Actually, I have somebody with a wonderful voice, but it has never been trained."

"How old? Fourteen?"

"Not Merry, and she's fifteen," I smiled. "Eighteen."

"Kristen?"

I nodded. Roy and I seemed to communicate a lot with few words.

Roy thought a few moments. "Eighteen is old."

"Not impossible, though," I said.

"Didn't say that. What's her range? Alto?"

"Don't classify her. Let her find her own range."

Roy nodded. "She plays keyboards surprisingly well. You starting a group?"

I laughed. "Maybe eventually. How long before we could get something... interesting?"

Roy shrugged. "Have you told her your plans?"

"Not exactly."

It was Roy's turn to laugh. "After you get out of the hospital, Jim!"

I was sitting in the music room. It was the Monday before the Senior Weekend. Thursday evening would be the Prom. For the rest of the weekend, Kristen made her own plans that involved us as well as Camille, Patty and Toby, Wendy and Gerry, Roy and Jill, Jackie and a guy named Steve, Lynette, Tiny and June. Tiny and June were a surprising last minute addition, and Lynette and Camille were both going stag.

Mr. Proilet was in his "father" mood.

"Jim, you can turn a bunch of musically challenged students into the equivalent of a Broadway production."

"You've told me that."

"You cannot turn Kristen into the female Jim Crittenhouse in a matter of weeks!"

"I've got a couple of years..." I started.

Mr. Proilet let out an audible sigh. "Kristen is talented. Have you talked to her about singing?"

"No," I admitted. "I wanted to sound it out with Roy and..."

"That's not the way you do it, Jim, and you know it," my teacher told me. "You're not her Svengali!"

"Her what?" I asked.

"Look it up at the library. Ask your friend Camille. You're trying to turn her into Pygmalion... look that up, too."

"What are you saying?"

"Why do you do all you do with music?" Mr. Proilet asked.

"Because I love it."

"Exactly!"

"Exactly what?" I asked, confused.

"If you force music on Kristen, it will turn her off. What happens when somebody tries to force you to play a stringed instrument?"

I remembered a particularly obnoxious music teacher in elementary school that thought that I should be a violin virtuoso.

Suddenly, I understood my teacher's worries. "Am I doing that?"

"Sadly, yes," Mr. Proilet said. "If you force her, she'll resent it. You'll be driving a wedge between the two of you."

I sighed. "How do I do it, then?"

"Slowly, and let her choose her own pace. She's not you, so don't use yourself as a benchmark. Treat her the same way as you treated that actor that played Harold Hill in the musical. Work with her, but don't push her. Keep it fun, and let her be herself."

My teacher gave me more advice that day, but I realized that I learned the important bits.

At the senior prom, I danced to a lot of the songs with Kristen. As I listened to the group that was performing, I was assessing their talents, spotting their weaknesses, and thinking how slight changes could transform them from a band that did proms to a band that could get the bigger venues.

June Rodgers and Tiny Jonas found the two of us on the dance floor, and June asked if we could switch partners.

I smiled. "Sure."

I then took Tiny by the arms and started to dance with him, which had the effect of reducing Kristen and June into convulsions of laughter, among other people.

We quickly switched so that I was with June, and Tiny was with Kristen.

June was a lovely cheerleader, and she was about three or four inches smaller than Kristen. She had a cute face, and she was very light on her feet. Dancing with June made me feel that I was a much better dancer than I really was.

I looked at Kristen and Tiny. They were dancing close together. June saw where my attention was, and moved closer to me and we slow danced together as well.

After that song, it seemed that I was on a list as a partner for each and every cheerleader present at the prom. One after another, they took over, one dance at a time.

When Lynette Robbins took her turn, I asked, "How come I'm the focus of attention from the cheerleaders?"

Lynette looked at me as if I was kidding her. "You don't know?"

"No," I answered, seriously.

"The cheerleaders never had as good a friend as you, Jim."

Lynette said this so seriously that I was speechless. Despite the fact the song the band was playing was a fast number, she pulled her body close to mine, and I could feel the warmth of her body through my clothes.

After the end of the song, Camille started toward us, but Lynette shot her a look, and continued dancing the next song with me.

The next song was a slower number, and Lynette was still slow dancing with me. Lynette moved her lips toward my ears and whispered, "You are the most wonderful guy in school. You refuse to take advantage of girls when given the opportunity. You also alerted Cammy about the best cheerleader we've had. You had a lot to do with getting rid of that asshole Tim Hawking."

I shrugged. I knew that Lynette didn't know the entire story about Tim Hawking.

"You hang out with Cammy, but you don't really ogle the cheerleaders. In fact, you're the opposite of a cheerleader groupie; you are a real friend. We owe you a lot, and we seniors will be saddened to know that we won't be around with you the next couple of years."

"Cammy said you and she have a thing for Kristen," I said, trying to change the subject.

Instead of looking shocked, Lynette simply nodded. "Cammy and I swing both ways."

I remembered my conversation with Will Swift last Thanksgiving, and adapted one of his favorite sayings. "That means you have the capacity to love twice as many people as I can."

Lynette actually stopped dancing and stared at me. She didn't see me laughing at her. After a few moments, she started dancing with me again. "You know, if I said that to any other guy, they'd try to tell me how much they understand while trying to get me to agree to a threesome with Cammy. You didn't do that. You really are amazing."

I didn't mention that I have had many opportunities to have a threesome with Cammy, but never took any.

"I know a guy who also 'swings both ways, ' as you put it," I said. "He's a really nice person. If you were trying to shock me, it didn't work."

"You are very unusual," Lynette said.

She then stopped dancing and gave me a long kiss in the middle of the dance floor. Her tongue was insistent and our action was noticed by many people, including Kristen, who mostly looked amused.

"I'm looking forward to this weekend," Lynette said after finally breaking the kiss.

"So am I," I said, smiling.

We were in one of a set of limos that Kristen hired leaving the senior prom.

I felt a little out of place. Of all the people in our group, Roy and I were the youngest by at least a year. Of course, being the boyfriend of the hostess for the rest of the weekend gave me certain benefits of being the "host."

Surprisingly, none of the guys treated me as a kid. They seemed quite interested in what I had to say, and spoke with me about the kind of songs they liked (after all, popular music was considered my specialty, and one people could identify with).

I think I earned my own badges over the past year. After all, I was known as "Oogie" to just about everybody in my school. Since the name referred to the song I dedicated to the most wonderful girl in the world, I found that I had little problem with it.

Of course, my real friends called me Jim. The big exception was Kristen, who called me "Oogie" just about any time the feeling hit her. Did I have a problem with that? Are you fucking kidding?

Actually, the people who were part of Kristen's birthday party started referring to me as "Oogie Woogie," the name that Camille came up with before Kristen's birthday party. I thought of "Oogie Woogie" as a persona, and not as myself; that showman who had no embarrassment when he stood at a microphone and sang a very personal love song to the Goddess of his dreams in front of strangers and even her parents. The guy who could get his lover's mother to sing a song in public after having left the field for almost twenty years.

When Tiny wasn't with June, he was near me. I think other people bothered him. He was known as an athlete, but due to his skin color and other biases, he really never was part of the "in crowd." He felt more comfortable with the musical crowd, which readily accepted him once we found out he was talented, and that crowd seemed to have no concept of skin color or stupid stereotypes... at least, that described most of the people who were part of my jazz band.

Tiny seemed to think that he owed me a debt of gratitude. I thought this was strange, since Tiny was the savior of nearly every pretty girl in the school: Tim Hawking had all the makings of a serial rapist with the scary benefit of owning Lucky Tickets.

I didn't know how to handle Tiny, except as an equal. He was nearly my equal on my favorite instrument, the trumpet. I would even go so far as to say that he was better at coming up with improvisational solos. If I looked at him that way, I could easily treat him as an equal. The fact that June got along with nearly everybody also helped out.

We were going to a vacation villa on Lake Michigan that had ten bedrooms, an equal number of bathrooms, lots of living space, and a boathouse on a tributary that easily led to the lake. The boathouse contained a cabin cruiser and two outboard power boats.

When we arrived, the owner of the property showed us all around, and gave everybody a half hour lesson on boating safety. During the summer, there was a roped in swimming area that was accessible from the property, but the owner pointed out that the temperature of the lake water was in the forties, so lake swimming was probably not a good idea. Luckily, there was a large heated pool that was currently in an enclosure that would be perfect for the anticipated weather.

At the lake, the owner pointed out the buoys that identified the deep waters necessary for reaching the Great Lake. We were also warned to stay out of the lake during bad weather; it may be a lake, but it was a Great Lake and its size made it dangerous when the weather turned.

Although the owner knew that we were all on a senior weekend, Kristen apparently dealt with him previously as was made clear when he always called her by her first name. She paid a hefty security deposit for the long weekend we were going to be there. Even in the event of emergency, the owner could be reached and at the property within minutes.

At one time or another during the school year, I partied with nearly everybody except June, and nobody seemed to be heavy drinkers. Even so, there were a couple of cases of Budweiser when we unpacked. By my reckoning, there would be a bit more than three cans of beer for every person in our group--a number I thought was a bit high, but Kristen assured me that amount could be managed.

Being one of the youngest people at the property, I had the least knowledge of what to expect on a "senior weekend."

Kristen and I got the master bedroom, and the others picked rooms that were convenient. People quickly changed into bathing suits and about a half hour after the owner left, we started to head down to the swimming pool.

Outside the boathouse were a few canoes and a couple of row boats, and some couples made plans to use the boats in the future. Kristen suggested that every couple that uses a boat let Camille or her know so that there was an accounting for all the equipment and people.

I swam for about an hour and then moved out of the pool, resting on one of the lounge chairs outside in the fresh air. Tiny and June took out a row boat, and I could see him rowing the two of them out toward the lake. I watched as he dipped the paddles expertly into the water.

Kristen asked if I wanted to take one of the boats into the lake, and I declined. I was a bit water-logged and wanted get back to the villa. It was a warm day, about seventy degrees, but the air still felt a bit chilly after leaving the warm pool. Camille seemed to feel the same way, and the two of us went back into the villa.

"This is a great change of pace," I said to Camille once we were back in the house.

"In what way?"

"I've been doing music, music, music since the year began. Don't get me wrong... I love it! This is just a change of pace. I don't have to write anything. I don't have to help somebody who is having problems... I don't even have a fucking piano nearby. You know?"

"How did you get so old?" Camille asked.

"Huh?" I asked.

"You sound like a teacher, not a student," Camille said. "We're supposed to be having the time of our lives. We're in high school. Maybe we sweat a bit with homework and tests, but this is supposed to be the time of our lives."

"That's not how things are happening with me," I observed.

"You have a lot of responsibilities. Your jazz band, the musical, tutoring Tiny and Toby. And you are in fucking tenth grade!"

"Yeah," I said. Actually, I didn't have any complaints, but not having any particular responsibilities relieved a burden that I hadn't even realized that I was carrying until now. "Wait until next year. Everybody will expect me to top this year."

"That's a quick way to an early grave, Jim," Camille said. "My dad was like that. Work, work, work. A heart attack on the job, and he's gone. Poof! Just like that."

"I don't think..."

"I'm not saying that you're heart attack material, Jim," Camille said, softly. "I'm just saying that you don't need to save the world. The one thing I didn't mention before was that on top of all those other responsibilities, you have to deal with those tickets and assholes like Tim Hawking."

I shrugged.

Camille kissed me warmly. "You're a knight in shining armor, Jim."

I didn't feel like a fucking knight, but with Camille kissing me, I didn't feel like complaining.

After we kissed, I decided to have a talk that I was waiting to have with Camille for a while.

"Have you written to your Valentine?" I asked.

"You mean, Will?"

"Yeah."

I saw that Camille's eyes were unfocused as she thought about Kristen's brother. It was obvious that she still had it bad for him.

"What's the attraction?" I asked.

Camille looked at me sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Cammy," I said, soothingly. "I love Will. He loves Kristen and he seems to love me as well. I have nothing against him. However, the moment the two of you laid eyes on one another, it was as if Kristen and I were just a minor inconvenience."

"I feel... something... when I see him. I still feel it when I think about him."

"What is it?"

Camille looked at me, wondering if she could trust me. She must have realized that she already entrusted quite a lot in me already. "I... can't say, but I see something in his eyes. It's mystical."

This sounded like what Will told me. I didn't laugh at her. Instead, I said, "He says I have a strange aura."

"He doesn't recognize yours, although he saw it in Debbie, and he now sees it a little bit in Kristen and me."

"Debbie? Your sister?"

"Yeah," Camille said. "Will met my sister, saw her aura, and ran away. He sees it around me, but differently."

"This sounds so..."

"I know, Jim," Camille said. "If you don't see it, it's difficult to understand it. Will actually sees it. What he describes is strange, but you have to admit that there is no explanation for your Lucky Tickets either, but they do exist. I've learned to accept some weird things. I can tell that Will is serious when he tells me about his auras, and I believe him. He has no reason to lie to me."

"I sort of feel that way as well," I admitted. "Will first told me about his auras when we were touring MIT. I felt it was a bit ironic, but I could tell he was serious."

"Jim, when you see auras around people, you don't always tell people about it. Will trusts you quite a lot to tell you. I think he's only told Kristen, you, and me about them."

"I know, but you didn't answer my question. What's the attraction between you and Will?"

"All right," Camille said. "Will is bisexual. So am I."

"And..." I said, prodding Camille.

"Jim, you sleep with me a few times a week, right?"

"Yes..."

"And you love Kristen, wholly and totally."

Of course, I thought. "Uh, huh..."

"And I love her as well."

"I'll accept that."

Camille raised her eyebrows. "Interesting way to put it, Jim."

"Cammy, I have no way to know what's going on in your mind. You say you are in love with Kristen, and you act that way. I'll accept that."

"You don't go any further?" Camille asked.

"Will told me that as a bisexual, he loves everybody. It sounds wonderful, the way he puts it. At the same time, however, it sounds lonely. He'll love anybody, which is not the same thing. He doesn't discriminate, which may be considered something positive, but what if you don't discriminate between a good person... such as Albert Schweitzer, and a bad person... such as Adolph Hitler?"

Camille considered my remarks. It was a measure of how much she valued my opinions, even when she disagreed with them.

"You point out an interesting trap, Jim."

"I talked with Will for a while last Thanksgiving."

Camille said, "What I was thinking is that Will fits a part of me that nobody else does. It's a part of me that he fits perfectly. At the same time, Kristen fits a different part of me. I could be with both and there would be no overlap."

"And how is that different when you are with Kristen and me?"

"You and Kristen fit, and Kristen and I fit," Camille said. "It's almost the same thing, but with her."

"The way that you describe it, Camille, is that no two people can possibly love one another a hundred percent."

"Huh?"

"You fit Kristen, I fit Kristen. That's a hundred percent between three people. Will fits you, Kristen fits you. Another hundred percent between three people."

"Yeah?" Camille looked confused.

"Up until you came into our bed, Camille, I would have sworn that Kristen fits me, one hundred percent. I thought I fit her the same way."

"What changed?"

"Love isn't either/or, Camille. I can love Kristen one hundred percent, and still love you. You and I don't actively make love with each other in bed, but that's because we both don't know Kristen's feelings on the matter. What if Kristen asked you to fuck me?"

"She won't!" Camille said.

"You can predict Kristen like that? Congratulations, Cammy. I've yet to be that sure of her myself. She seems to have a terrible jealous streak in her, but at the same time, she already gave you and Patty permission when she came back from Austria last winter. Remember?"

Camille didn't answer, but obviously remembered Kristen's conversation with Patty and her.

I continued. "I don't think there's another guy that will love her like me, even her brother. She knows that. She accepts you because there's no competition between us. However, that day when you told me about the tickets on Lake Shore Point, Kristen was angry and thought I might be thinking of you romantically."

Camille looked shocked. "What?"

"It didn't take much for me to reassure Kristen, but her jealousy is still there. Do you remember that terrible fight that Kristen and I had last autumn?"

"The one that Sherry helped you guys through?"

"Yeah," I said. "This is private, because it's between Kristen and me, but I thought you might want to know. Kristen sort of insinuated that she wanted me to sleep with somebody else... make love to another girl. I didn't want to--the only girl for me was and is Kristen. There was more to that argument but that's really personal. Anyway, she can be jealous on the one hand, and want me to have sex with another girl at the same time!"

There was silence as Camille thought about what I just said.

"Anyway," I continued, "you love her differently. I can't read your mind, but I wouldn't be surprised if you loved her a hundred percent. I also love Kristen one hundred percent. You don't add them together, Camille."

Camille shook her head. "That can't be. Anything I can do with Kristen, you can also do, physically."