Chapter 5: Tightrope Summer

“Connie,” Helen Steffano suggested, “now that you’re back for the summer, why don’t you look up some of your old friends?”

There were several answers to that question, answers that Connie thought her mom should be able to figure out for herself. The kids Connie had gone through the first six grades with had been freshmen the previous year. The kids she’d gone through eighth grade with had been sophomores the previous year. Connie had been a junior the previous year. And they’d all changed drastically in the intervening time. The girls had hated boys; they didn’t anymore.

None of these barriers would have been enough to destroy deep loyalties and friendships, but Connie had never shared any of those. What she’d had with her roommates at St. Wigbert’s boarding school the last year had been the deepest friendships she could remember. And probably none of those girls would call Connie a best friend.

Anyway, Connie had the company of girls all winter. What she wanted now was the company of boys. “Well, Helen, I think I’ll go to the pool. I’ll probably meet some of them there. It’s not as if I called them up thinking they had been waiting for two years for me to notice them.”

“A phone call doesn’t mean that.”

There was no point in arguing. “Thanks.”

Connie had to buy a new bathing suit before going to the pool. She looked longingly at the bikinis. They were a great way to show off one’s boobs. Unfortunately, Connie barely had boobs. Her A-cup bras shielded her boobs, but they didn’t restrain them. She bought a one-piece suit. It was tight enough and cut high enough on the bottom to show off her buns, probably her best feature.

Andre and Helen had taken to eating dinner at separate times. Connie joined Andre on Mondays and Wednesdays for a late dinner. She ate earlier with Helen on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On weekends, when only one parent was home, she ate with that one and sometimes cooked the meal.

There were some kids at the pool when she got there. There always had been. She didn’t mind that there was nobody she knew; she did mind that they all seemed to know each other. Connie started to work on getting her swimming back. Surreptitiously, she watched and listened to the others. She learned the names of the boys. Then she realized she didn’t have the nerve to express interest in a boy who hadn’t expressed interest in her. She started to learn the names of the girls, too.

She lay face down on a towel by the pool side and listened. One of the boys did look her way. Considering some of the other girls at the pool, how they looked and what they were wearing, this was a compliment.

The next day, she had the onset of a sunburn. She stayed away from the pool. Indeed, she stayed away from people. “Be more careful next time, okay?” Helen said.

“I will.” She stayed in her room and read the books Andre had lent her. She should start back on her quatrains. Then she had another thought. She might not have done a year’s worth of quatrains like Andre had advised, but she had done a good many. And it wasn’t like Andre would ever look at them. She started off with a daily limerick instead.

She felt ready to go to the pool again Thursday. Going back to her locker immediately after swimming, she slathered on sunscreen and returned to the pool. She lay on her towel for three more hours, but she didn’t get much notice. She paid particular attention to the girls who got the most attention from the boys this time. One thing she noticed was that they, all the girls when she looked for it, were wearing makeup. It wasn’t her idea of preparing for a long period in the pool, but maybe that wasn’t why they came. It wasn’t why she had come.

“Helen?” Her mom looked startled. Maybe she was surprised at the attention. Connie hadn’t started a conversation with her for a year. “At St. Wigbert’s, we don’t wear makeup.”

“I know that, dear.”

“Could you teach me how to put it on?”

“Gladly. We’ll start with mine, and then I’ll help you buy your own.”

Helen seemed pleased to have something she could teach Connie. And, Connie had to admit, it was something about which her mom was an expert. She made a distinction between ‘enhancement,’ the makeup you wear to make you look like your eyes, lips, and skin are more beautiful than they really are, and ‘glaring,’ the makeup you wear to show that you are wearing makeup. “At your age, dear, the girls all want the other girls to know that they are wearing makeup. At my age, women want men to think we really look like this.”

It being two inconvenient bus rides to the pool, she asked Andre for a ride on Saturday. “I didn’t know you were so interested in swimming, Princess,” he said. “What is this? Every other day.”

“About that.” She took a long pause. Andre was so out of it, but did she really want him to know her reason? “It’s where the boys are, after all.”

He laughed. “Princess, it isn’t where the fish are swimming that matters, it’s where the fish are biting. Are the fish biting at the pool?”

“Not really.”

“Look. You’re a bright girl. The only C on your report card was in gym. So you spend your time where the boys get to see your weakest point. There are fewer boys in the library, but those boys will be more impressed with you.”

Connie swam for a bit, then returned to the locker room to put on sunscreen and makeup. The makeup took a long time. Not ten minutes after she returned to her towel, there started to be an influx of young kids and their parents. The kids Connie’s age moved off to the area around the deep end of the pool. Connie took advantage of that movement to join them. Nobody told her that she couldn’t, but nobody spoke to her, either. She had lots of time to think. She might take up Andre’s idea. She couldn’t do worse.

For that matter, the pool was closed the next day. She could go to church. That was one place where you could meet people. And she wouldn’t mind meeting other girls, even meeting adults, if she also met boys.

She was a little surprised when she did attend St. Andrew’s. Women, even teachers, wore makeup to St. Stephen’s but it was what Helen would call ‘enhancement.’ If a student showed up in makeup, she’d be lucky to scrub her own face instead of a teacher’s doing it for her. Girls at St. Andrew’s wore a lot of makeup. The rector greeted her on the way out; she introduced herself. She decided that she didn’t want to meet any other people with her face blank.

The next day, she left her towel by the deep end of the pool, next to those of the other kids her age. Nobody spoke with her, though. She picked out one girl, named Karen. When Karen was neither swimming nor talking, she approached her. “Pardon me, but you look familiar. I can’t think from where, though.”

“Can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Look, let me run down a few places.” She mentioned her grade school, a few other places.

“No,” said Karen. She recited her own schools.

“Sorry.”

“No sweat. If you don’t go to Sherman, you must not live around here.”

“I do, but not close. I’d be going to Roosevelt, but I’m in a private school instead.”

“Lucky you.”

“I wish. I can see more boys right now than I saw all year in school. That’s not true; last year, we had one -- count them, one -- dance on campus to which boys were invited.”

“I couldn’t live like that.”

“I wouldn’t call it living.”

When another girl spoke to her, Karen introduced Connie. Unfortunately, the one fact she communicated was that Connie went to a private school. Still Connie was now a member of the group, sort of. The girl’s name was Bert.

If Connie realized that she was now a member of the group, Karen and Bert did not. She was left out of later conversation. For that matter, she had little to contribute to most of the subjects she heard. Wednesday, Karen wasn’t there. A fair number of girls seemed to be missing, Bert among them.

After her swim and makeup application, Connie got tired of waiting for Karen to appear. She could ask one of the other girls if she knew where she was. But, since there were more boys at the pool than girls, it would be natural to ask a boy. She had already noted Kent, who seemed to be unattached. He wasn’t the neatest-looking boy in that crowd, but he wasn’t covered with pimples either. Connie had no illusions that she could compete for the neatest-looking boy.

“Do you know where Karen is?” she asked Kent.

“If you don’t,” he said, “I don’t. Kent.”

“Connie.”

“Come here a lot. From around here?”

“Over on Denver Place. This pool isn’t close, but it’s the closest.”

Ironically, the introduction that Karen hadn’t made when she was there was provided by her absence. Connie had come to the pool to meet boys. She realized vaguely that Kent had come -- for at least one of his reasons -- to meet girls. They talked desultorily for the rest of the afternoon and the next two days. Saturday, there was another influx of families and no Kent.

Sunday, she made herself up carefully (and demurely) before going to church. When she stayed after, several people introduced themselves. “I’m out of town in the winter,” she explained. “I go to church there. What is St. Lawrence like?”

One person called: “Steve!”

A man walked over. “Steve Marshall runs our youth group. Maybe you’d be interested.” If a man was running it, it had boys as well as girls. She certainly would be interested.

“Actually,” Mr. Marshall said, “the group runs itself. I’m just there so the vestry has someone to blame if something goes wrong. Our next meeting is this Tuesday. Interested?”

“What time?” she asked.

“Seven o’clock, officially. I’m there at quarter to, but we usually don’t start quite on time. It will be over by 8:30, though. I chase everybody out at nine.”

Some other people were still talking. Connie looked for a likely girl standing around and not deep in a conversation. “Pardon me. Are you a member of the youth group?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Marshall invited me to the meeting Tuesday. I can imagine showing up dressed like this, and everybody else is in rough clothes. I can imagine showing up in rough clothes, and everybody thinks, ‘She wore that to church?’ What should I wear? It’s no use asking Mr. Marshall.”

“No kidding. He’d tell you that anything is acceptable. And, of course, anything is. Nobody is going to slam the door in your face.”

“I’d just sit there blushing.”

“Just school clothes.”

“And what would that be?” Connie asked, “I don’t go to school around here.”

“The usual. Jeans and a blouse. Just not the jeans you’d clean the attic in. And the blouse shouldn’t be provocative. God sees me taking a shower naked, but the church would fall down if Father Mike saw a bit of cleavage.”

“Thanks. I’m Connie.”

“I’m Rachel.”

Connie preferred concealing blouses; maybe people would think that she had something to conceal.

Even though more of the girls came back to the pool on Monday, Kent still spoke to Connie. With Kent including her in the conversation, and Karen and Bert at least willing to talk to her, she was gradually accepted by the others. Connie had some experience in being the new kid. She didn’t start subjects or express any outrageous opinions.

Liz, one of her roommates at school, had a birthday coming up. Connie wrote a quatrain just for her and sent it.

Tuesday evening, she had to settle for the jeans she lounged around the house in. The good-looking ones no longer fit. She got to church a few minutes before the youth group was scheduled to begin, even so. That was lucky, since the church covered a good deal of ground and had a number of entrances. The fourth one she tried led to Mr. Marshall and a few kids setting up chairs. Connie was introduced to the kids and then helped carry the chairs.

Connie glanced at her watch at 7:12 when Mr. Marshall called the meeting to order and again at 8:17 when Curt, the president of the group, officially adjourned them. Then the official discussion gave way to cookies and socializing. Only a few people left before Mr. Marshall told them he was going to turn off the lights in five minutes. Connie had come to meet kids, perfectly willing to suffer through whatever else was involved. Clearly, most of the others felt the same way. “I’m glad you could come,” said Curt as they headed out the door. He sounded like a kid imitating a politician.

“Thanks. I’m glad I came. When is the next meeting?”

“Fourth Tuesday in July.”

She walked with a couple other kids, separating as people went in their houses or turned down a block. “Where do you live?” asked a boy, she remembered that his name was Ted.

“Denver Place. Another two blocks.”

“I’ll walk you home, it’s after nine. I’m Ted, by the way.”

“I know. I’m Connie.”

“I know. Only one new face for me to learn.”

He waited on the walk until she had opened the door, then waved and walked back.

On Wednesday Kent asked her to a movie. “Sure,” she said. “When?”

“Saturday. Say six o’clock?”

“It’s a date.”

Kent arrived driving a car. He came inside, apparently expecting to. Andre spoke to him, sounding like a movie dad to Connie, but Kent didn’t complain then or afterwards. The movie was okay, a mindless comedy. Kent sat with his arm around her shoulder. He drove her home and walked her to the porch steps. She was expecting the kiss he gave her. He should have taken the lessons from Joan; his tongue jammed its way into her mouth instead of teasing.

Well, she had a boyfriend. What she lacked was romance. Still, she wouldn’t go back to St. Wigbert’s next year as the only girl in the senior class who had never gone out on a date. Her period started that night, reminding her that she was a woman, she shouldn’t be dreaming of romance like a silly girl.

Sunday, she spoke with a couple of the kids from the youth group after church. Ted’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, gave her a ride home. She and Ted sat in the back. “Steffano?” asked Mrs. Reynolds, “as in the poet?”

“Yes.” Andre was a celebrity in certain circles in Hartford. Her Hartford teachers had all been impressed by the relationship. Ted’s mother was the first person among her new acquaintances who had, and she didn’t pursue the question. Connie was just as glad. She was, as businesses said, reimaging herself. She wasn’t about to lie about anything, but St. Wigbert’s put off her new friends at the pool enough. ‘Daughter of a famous poet’ would be worse.

Ironically, the kids at church who were more likely to accept St. Wigbert’s -- it was, after all, an Episcopalian school -- hadn’t heard about it.

After Helen got home from the cabin, she knocked on Connie’s door. “Did you have a nice time on your date last night, dear?”

“Yes.” It seemed to Connie a lousy time to ask.

“Look, dear, there are some things I should tell you. That I should have told you before.” Helen didn’t tell her any facts she hadn’t heard before. St. Wigbert’s was an old school with an old curriculum, but the curriculum wasn’t so old that it omitted sex education. Helen’s take on things was a little different, though. She emphasized that the boy would want everything. “You have to decide what you are going to do, dear. And, if you decide to have unprotected sex, you have to bear the child and/or the disease. For that matter, you’ll want to go farther with some boys than with others. Whenever you don’t want to do something with that boy right then, whether it’s kissing with your mouth open or going all the way, you tell the boy that you don’t do it. He’ll be much happier with a girl who doesn’t for anybody than with a girl who won’t for him. And if you change your mind later, he’ll be perfectly happy being the exception. I think you’d be stupid to go very far with your first boy, but you don’t care what I think.”

The last was true. On the other hand, when Helen told Connie that the boys would keep coming around after she said ‘no,’ she was speaking from experience. Still, it was a weird time for ‘The Talk.’ She’d had one date.

Connie had found that most of her jeans from the previous summer didn’t fit. ‘Tight’ was one thing, a good thing; ‘too tight to button’ was another thing. Monday, instead of the pool, she went shopping. She bought the tightest jeans she thought she could sit in for an hour and a half.

She went back to the pool Wednesday. She changed into her suit and applied sunscreen, but when she got out to the pool area, she lay down on her towel immediately. She didn’t feel like actually swimming that day.

Kent came up to her. “Was it something I did?” he whispered.

“Why, no.” she said in a normal tone of voice.

“Shhh. Why weren’t you here for two days?”

“I had some things to do. Shopping.” She realized that she would have come if she hadn’t had her period. She could swim with a Tampax in, but she felt the liquid all over her and worried that some of it was leaking from inside. “I enjoyed the movie; didn’t I say so?”

“Well, yes. But I didn’t see you afterwards.”

“I enjoyed myself. I’m sorry I didn’t come. I don’t come swimming every day.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to play the heavy. I just missed you.” Missed her? They’d spoken fewer than ten times.

“I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me.”

“Maybe we should exchange phone numbers.”

“That would be good. But let’s wait ‘til we’re outside. I didn’t bring a pencil with me.”

“You didn’t? Don’t you always carry one with you when you go swimming?”

She could tell that he was joking. “A fountain pen and notebook. I forgot them today.”

He not only gave her a phone number and took hers, he gave her a ride home, too. It wasn’t until she was home that she wondered how worried he had been. There wasn’t another Steffano family in the phone book.

Friday, they were as friendly as ever. The movie she’d seen was one of the group’s topics of conversation.

Saturday was the Fourth. Andre, ever cynical and more cynical about patriotism than about most things, never celebrated it. He went up to the cabin, it being his weekend. Connie didn’t feel particularly patriotic, but she loved the fireworks. She went to watch them with Helen.

Sunday, Ted drove her home again. “Mind if I call you?” he asked.

“No.”

A few hours afterward, he did. “Look, would you be willing to go to a movie on Tuesday?”

“Certainly.” They set the time.

Connie, who had never had a boyfriend, who had only played spin-the-bottle a few times years ago, now had two boyfriends.

Monday Connie swam when she got to the pool and put on sunscreen and makeup afterwards. She spread her towel a few inches from Kent’s. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi. Do you come here every day?” His tan looked like it, and it was barely July. Of course, her tan would have been better if she hadn’t had the first case of sunburn.

“Pretty near. You seem to come every other day -- if that.”

“I can only swim so much, can only stand so much sun. I might come more often as my tan gets better. Slathering on sunscreen to lie in the sun doesn’t make much sense.”

“Look, there’s a dance Friday night. Would you like to come?”

“I warn you. I’ve been dancing, but they were old-fashioned dances.”

“You’re an old-fashioned girl.”

“I’m a modern girl who goes to an old fashioned school.”

“Well, there’s nothing to modern dances. I’m not asking you to be my partner in a fancy demonstration. I don’t do those myself. Want to learn?”

“I’d love to. My mom will want to know where I am.”

He told her, vaguely. “Ride home with me, and I’ll tell you again in the car. I may have the address in the car.” He didn’t, and his search was cursory. “Let’s go look at it.” He drove for a few minutes and pointed out the club. She took down the address. It had once been a factory, and it looked -- from the outside -- as if it still were one.

“Do any of the other girls go to that club, Karen or any of them?” she asked.

“Jenny. I don’t know about Karen. Why?”

“Because I need to know what to wear. Boys!”

Connie now had two dates in her future. Neither boy knew about the other, which might not be fair according to the unwritten rules. Still, Connie was traveling in two different circles. For all she knew, both boys went out with several girls, too. She wouldn’t ask. As long as they didn’t ask for a commitment, she wasn’t cheating. Besides, they had each issued the invitation, she hadn’t started anything.

Ted, in his turn, came in to meet her parents. Andre and Helen were civil to each other as well as to Ted. Connie could tell they were making an effort. He had his parents’ car and drove her to the theater. He bought them a box of popcorn to share and sat touching her only where their arms met due to the closeness of the seats. They talked about the movie on the drive home. When Ted had parked as close to her house as he could get, he walked around the car to open her side and help her out. He walked her to the front door. Connie waited for the kiss, but it didn’t come. “Thank you,” Ted said. “I enjoyed this very much.”

“Thank you. I enjoyed it, too.” Then he waited while she opened the door and went inside.

“Have fun, Princess?” Andre asked from the living room.

“I’m a big girl, Andre. You don’t need to wait up for me after my dates.”

“And I’m an old man, but not old enough to go to bed this early. I didn’t ask what you did. I didn’t set strict rules. I asked if you had had fun.”

He was right. “I had a lot of fun, thank you. Hollywood doesn’t do a bad job if you see the movies in the right company.”

“Anything blow up in the movie?”

“No.”

“Then it was a good movie.”

Ted was a gentleman, probably a gentle man. She imagined his gentle kiss while she brushed her nipples as lightly as possible. She took herself over and curled up in sleep.

Wednesday, Jenny told her that jeans and a top were fine. Kent told her that he would be by Friday at 8:30, He was. Admission to the club included four ‘drink tickets’ apiece, which only covered soft drinks. Kent held on to all eight tickets, but he got her drinks. The dances weren’t too hard, even though their only relationship to what she had learned was that they involved moving in time to music. Kent parked on the way home; ‘on the way’ being far out of the way. He kissed her, stuffing his tongue into her mouth again. When he put his hand on her boob, he did it roughly. When the hand dropped down to her lap, she realized that he was going to go as far as she would let him. Helen wasn’t wrong about everything.

She pushed his hands away. “Now sit there, with your hands in your own lap.” He did, looking unhappy. “And keep your tongue in your own mouth.” She leaned over and kissed him. She put her hands up to move his face to where the kiss was comfortable. After licking his lips, she pushed just the tip of her tongue in to meet his. They kissed like that for a bit. “Now, I think it’s time to go home, don’t you?”

He drove her home. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad. I am a bit disappointed. I thought you wanted to dance with me.”

“I did. I do.”

“What you were doing wasn’t dancing. If I hadn’t said ‘no’ at all, where would you have stopped?” He didn’t answer. “Which means I have to say ‘no.’ Now, doesn’t it?”

He walked her to her porch steps. She turned up her face for the kiss, but kept her mouth closed when his tongue tried to enter. Despite her example a few minutes before, Kent didn’t bother to lick her lips.

When they ate breakfast, Andre told her, “I’ve been meaning to talk about this. You need to learn to type. Your school teaches it, but they really underemphasize it. You can take it next year, or next summer. I wanted you to take it this summer, but the community college won’t admit fifteen-year-olds. I might have some influence, if you really want to do that now.”

“It’s too late.”

“There are two summer sessions. The second one starts in three weeks. You don’t want them you to turn you into a secretary; you want to be able to type your papers in college. One session is fine.” She loved the way he said, ‘you want.’ Andre wanted; Connie didn’t. Still, typing her papers would be a help. Joan and Liz typed.

“I’ll ask at school.” Which would delay the work until after that summer. She was starting to have a full summer schedule; she hadn’t even got around to reviewing the Latin she’d intended to. Not that she wanted to tell Andre why.

“I’ll buy you a typewriter when it’s time. You’ll need a portable, an electric portable maybe.”

“Thanks, Andre.”

St. Andrew’s had a much bigger building than St. Stephen’s had. There were fewer people at the service than the second service at St. Stephen’s during the school year, though. Every family group sat in a pew by itself. When the Reynolds family took the pew in front of the one in which Connie was sitting, she smiled at Ted. After the service he offered her a ride home. This time, he drove, and she sat beside him. His parents were in the back seat. “Thank you very much,” she said as she got out. Whether she was thanking Ted, who was the obvious instigator of the drive, or his parents, who owned the car, she couldn’t tell. All three said she was welcome.

Ted called to thank her for the last date and to ask her out to see another movie that Tuesday. “Thanks,” she said.

She wondered whether she had turned Kent into an enemy. Still, if she had, he was only interested in her for one thing. Well, of course he was only interested in one thing; she herself was only interested in one thing, if not quite the same thing. She hadn’t asked his opinion of world affairs, after all. But, if he wasn’t willing to pursue the one thing slowly and subtly, she couldn’t afford to date him. She wanted an entry into the world of boys with girls; she didn’t want an entry into the world of parenthood.

Monday when he came into the pool area, Kent put his towel down next to hers and looked inquisitively at her. She nodded. He started to whisper to her. “Look,” she said, “are you going to offer me another ride home?”

“Sure.” Which told her that Kent wasn’t about to blow her off.

“Let’s talk then, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Anything you can shout, you can shout now. I just don’t want to whisper in front of the others.”

“Okay.”

They (especially Kent) took part in the general conversation. “Ready to leave?” he asked her. She nodded and gathered up her towel. On the ride back, he said, “First of all, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“I told you I wasn’t.”

“Would you go to a dance with me this Friday?”

“Same time?”

“Yes, same club. You’re not 21, are you?”

“No.” Did she look 21? Some days, she wondered whether she looked fifteen.

“Then there aren’t a hell of a lot of places to dance in the summer. If they serve drinks, they won’t let you in.”

“I used to go to restaurants with my parents. They drank. I was a heck of a lot younger than I am now.”

“Yeah, but the rules for dance clubs are different.”

The movie Tuesday was a disaster, even by Andre’s standards. There were three explosions in the course of the film. Ted drove her home without parking and walked her to the door. “Sorry,” he said.

“You didn’t produce the movie.” Not that he might not have done a better job.

His hand on her face was gentle, and so was his kiss. “Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night.”

Wednesday, she and Kent talked with the other kids. Jenny asked her how the dance had gone. “All right. I liked dancing. It’s more fun than the ones I’m used to.” If they were going to know she went to St. Wigbert’s they were going to know she didn’t enjoy it.

That night, Ted called and thanked her for the date. “Look,” he said. “Would you like to see another movie next Tuesday, despite the last one?”

“I’d love to. The quality of the movies isn’t really your fault.”

He mentioned the name of the movie. “Are you allowed to go to movies like this?” She hadn’t any idea what the movie in question was like. “Or maybe you don’t approve of erotic movies yourself, but this one is supposed to be good. It’s not gratuitous.”

“I don’t have any objections, and I’m sure my parents don’t.”

“Ask, okay? I don’t want you to get in any trouble. I especially don’t want them to make trouble about your going out with me.”

“Same time?”

“Yes.”

After the dance Friday, Kent parked in the same place. “Let’s set some rules,” she said.

“What are the rules?” She was tempted to do the kissing. But still, the boy took the lead; even the dance classes at St. Wigbert’s made that point.

“You can’t touch anywhere my bathing suit does. And keep your tongue to yourself.”

Kent reached over and held her shoulders as they kissed. She moved into his grasp. His kiss was more tentative than his previous ones had been. When she was satisfied, he would be gentle, she licked his lips. His grip on her shoulders tightened. It would be hard to escape, but he got no more violent. When she broke the kiss and pushed on his chest, he moved back. “Like my licking your lips?” she asked.