“Marilyn!” Alice cried when the car pulled into the driveway. The former school classmates hugged for several seconds in the driveway. “I’m so glad you’re here! It’s been forever!”
Marilyn noticed that Alice seemed only slightly different than she remembered. She had grown a bit taller, and her light blonde hair had already bleached out a bit from the sun. Her skin was bronzed from laying out in the sun.
Mr. Broadman welcomed Mr. Coolidge with a handshake and an invitation inside for a cold drink, which he accepted. The gentlemen retired to the back of the house, where there was a wet bar. Mrs. Broadman greeted Marilyn and Alice inside the doorway and offered her help carrying Marilyn’s things upstairs to her room.
Marilyn’s room for the summer was a tidy but warm yellow perch at the back of the house, over the kitchen downstairs, with a view down of the sea about a hundred yards away. The furniture was mission style cherry: a vanity and mirror on one side of the bed, an armoire caddy corned on the other, and a decently sized writing table beneath the single, large window. Alice’s bedroom was next door. There were two other bedrooms on the second floor, one of which would be occupied by Mr. Coolidge for a night before he returned to Confluence. Mr. and Mrs. Broadman stayed on the first floor.
Alice chatted nonstop as Marilyn unpacked her things—mostly about her first year at Meredith College in North Carolina. “There’s not much to do in Raleigh, especially out where we are, but it’s a lovely group of girls. We all get along perfectly, and on Friday and Saturday nights, we go to the parties at N.C. State with all the farm boys. It’s a real riot.”
“I still cannot believe you wound up at that school” Marilyn said, grinning. “Of all the people to go and live in a place like that! Who on earth entertains you?”
“You should talk, Mrs. Mawr,” Alice kidded back. “Have you learned to crochet yet?”
Mrs. Broadman returned to their room to let them know that dinner would be at six thirty. “Come on,” Alice said, “let’s go sit outside while the adults plot.”
The Broadman House was once the original Broadman Inn. The original design featured eight bedrooms (the four original rooms upstairs, and four downstairs where there is now a parlor, piano room, and bar area), and the business operated as a bed and breakfast of sorts for folks traveling up the coast. When Mr. Broadman inherited the Inn from his parents, he set about designing and constructing a more modern hotel across the yard from the house, which is where the new Broadman Inn now sits. The Broadman House remains a taste of Victorian grandeur. A shaded porch wraps front and back, and a terrace off Alice’s bedroom on the side of the house commands a breath-taking view of the coastline south toward town.
As Coulter Point became more popular as a vacation destination, and tourists began booking the rooms solidly through the summer season, Mr. Broadman added onto the new building, and later, when Alice was in grade school, he bought the restaurant that had been built just down the road. Just a few years later, he purchased several houses nearby and turned them into guest cottages. Business boomed, and the Broadman family quickly became the single largest property owner on the point.
Still, the Broadman House had its own domain in the compound, and a small forest of oak trees in the front yard shielded it from the view of the new hotel. The girls wandered out to the back porch and sat on wicker chairs facing the Atlantic.
“I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to have you here,” Alice said. “There’s never anything to do here in the summers anymore. I can only play so many hands of bridge with Mother and her friends before I begin to feel stir crazy.”
“Well, I don’t doubt that,” Marilyn said. “I must warn you, though, I’m not much of a bridge player.”
Alice giggled. “My goal is to avoid playing a single hand of bridge this summer. But I do have another plan for us, and it’s more fun.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s work at the restaurant this summer. We’ll be hostesses. My father said it’d be alright, but he probably won’t pay us.”
“You’re asking for free labor?”
“I’m offering free access to boys and booze,” she laughed. “There’s a bar inside the restaurant with the most gorgeous boy you’ve ever met named Billy. And there are the boys in the kitchen, too, who are incredible fun to be around.”
Marilyn grinned. “I can’t believe you’ve asked me down here to spend the entire summer getting into trouble with you. This isn’t the Alice Broadman I remember from school. Aren’t you supposed to be taking lessons on good posture?”
“The hell with that!” Alice said. “Bo-oor—ring!”
“Besides,” she continued, “my parents have given me full reign of the whole place, and they don’t care if I’m out late at the restaurant. It’s the perfect excuse to see boys!”
“You’d better tell me more,” Marilyn said.
“Okay. The one I want to introduce you to first is a boy named Charlie. He’s a tall, brooding hulk of a man. He has the most amazing arms you’ve ever seen. Now, Charlie lives here year-round, and his dad is a fisherman, and sometimes he has to go out with his dad to help with the catch, and The Red Scare gives him a hard time—"
“The Red Scare?”
“Mr. Moscow. That’s the manager of the restaurant. He’s kind of a hard ass, but everybody stays in line when he’s around. Anyway, Charlie works out on the boat with his dad sometimes, so he’s got this wonderful dark tan and dark brown puppy dog eyes. You are going to fall for him, I promise.”
“Surely you’ve claimed one of these boys for yourself.”
“Of course,” she said. “Naturally, I’ve picked out one of the bus boys. He is adorable, and he has shaggy blonde hair. He plays in a band!”
“Oh my Lord, you’re dating a musician.”
“We’re not dating!” Alice said, her voice lower. “And don’t say it so loud—my parents would completely panic if they knew I was hanging around the hired help.”
“Okay, so what do you call it?”
“We’re talking,” Alice said. “And drinking together! These boys are all a great time. You are going to love it here!”
Monday, September 27, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Brief Trip Home
Marilyn left her lunch with Victor Salarino relieved and excited about the summer.
She also felt uneasy.
“What I am doing is, simply, deceptive,” she wrote in her journal. “It is obvious that my parents do not approve of my having anything to do with Victor, and though I haven’t exactly promised them that I wouldn’t see him again, they are certainly under the assumption that I am taking the train home and leaving Victor in New York.”
“Instead,” she paused, taking time to doodle a long ellipsis at the bottom of the page, each circle darkened with thought.
She also felt uneasy.
“What I am doing is, simply, deceptive,” she wrote in her journal. “It is obvious that my parents do not approve of my having anything to do with Victor, and though I haven’t exactly promised them that I wouldn’t see him again, they are certainly under the assumption that I am taking the train home and leaving Victor in New York.”
“Instead,” she paused, taking time to doodle a long ellipsis at the bottom of the page, each circle darkened with thought.
***
Alice was thrilled to welcome her friend to her family’s summer home, and she wrote to Marilyn, asking her to join her in two weeks. Marilyn’s parents had sent her to Coulter Point with Alice a couple of times before, and had no problem with her summer plans. That left just ten days that Marilyn had to endure being at home.
Surprisingly, they weren’t terrible. Marilyn’s father didn’t bring up the subject at all, and her mother left her alone for the most part. She had a habit of alluding to the incident on the sailboat in subtle ways, which Marilyn found annoying, but there was nothing to do but wait. By the end of the month, she would be at Coulter Point, away from Confluence and away from her parents, and there she would be free to see Victor as many times as he cared to make the trip.
The point was a lengthy trip away from New York, which somewhat concerned Marilyn, but Victor had promised at least one weekend with her. Her heart raced every time she thought about it.
There was an incident at church, though, that added credibility to her parents’ anger. Pastor Roberts ended the service with the traditional time for announcements. Helen Daugherty stood up to announce that the Confluence Women’s Club was looking forward to extending invitations to several young women this summer to join the club for a reception and begin the year-long process toward membership. And then, she went on to read a list out loud that included all of Marilyn’s classmates—but not Marilyn Coolidge.
As they left the receiving line afterward, Marilyn’s mother approached Helen.
“Why, Mrs. Coolidge,” she smiled. “Good afternoon.”
“Helen, dear, it seems you’ve made an omission on your list of young ladies to invite to the club.”
Marilyn wanted to shrink away, but her mother had firmly taken hold of her wrist.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Helen said.
“You know right well what I mean, Mrs. Daugherty.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. “Mrs. Coolidge,” Helen said quietly, her eyes looking away from Marilyn and her mother, “our club is selective. We are a small group. We can only accommodate so many new members every year, and there were several young women who did not receive invitations.”
“Mrs. Daugherty, I would normally have thought this list and your reading it in front of God and everybody was a simple act of error, but given your willful ignorance on this subject, I can only assume you are acting in a very distasteful way. Marilyn deserves an invitation.”
“I cannot,” Helen replied firmly, her voice even quieter. “We have strict standards of character for our members, Mrs. Coolidge. You of all people should know that—you wrote our Code of Matronly Conduct, after all.”
Marilyn and her mother walked home from church in silence. Once they were inside, she spoke up. “Thank you,” she said, touching her mother’s arm. “You were awfully kind to have defended me.”
Her mother’s lips drew tight. “I shouldn’t have had to in the first place.”
But that was all; Marilyn’s mother retreated to her bedroom to change for lunch, and when they took their meal, nothing more of the matter was said.
“My home no longer feels like home,” Marilyn later wrote in her journal. “And that worries me. A person needs a place to go where everything feels all right, where she feels safe and well. This town doesn’t seem to recognize me anymore, and I don’t feel like I know it either.”
Two days later, Mr. Coolidge packed his daughter’s suitcases into the car and drove her down to Coulter Point.
“Helen, dear, it seems you’ve made an omission on your list of young ladies to invite to the club.”
Marilyn wanted to shrink away, but her mother had firmly taken hold of her wrist.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Helen said.
“You know right well what I mean, Mrs. Daugherty.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. “Mrs. Coolidge,” Helen said quietly, her eyes looking away from Marilyn and her mother, “our club is selective. We are a small group. We can only accommodate so many new members every year, and there were several young women who did not receive invitations.”
“Mrs. Daugherty, I would normally have thought this list and your reading it in front of God and everybody was a simple act of error, but given your willful ignorance on this subject, I can only assume you are acting in a very distasteful way. Marilyn deserves an invitation.”
“I cannot,” Helen replied firmly, her voice even quieter. “We have strict standards of character for our members, Mrs. Coolidge. You of all people should know that—you wrote our Code of Matronly Conduct, after all.”
Marilyn and her mother walked home from church in silence. Once they were inside, she spoke up. “Thank you,” she said, touching her mother’s arm. “You were awfully kind to have defended me.”
Her mother’s lips drew tight. “I shouldn’t have had to in the first place.”
But that was all; Marilyn’s mother retreated to her bedroom to change for lunch, and when they took their meal, nothing more of the matter was said.
“My home no longer feels like home,” Marilyn later wrote in her journal. “And that worries me. A person needs a place to go where everything feels all right, where she feels safe and well. This town doesn’t seem to recognize me anymore, and I don’t feel like I know it either.”
Two days later, Mr. Coolidge packed his daughter’s suitcases into the car and drove her down to Coulter Point.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
A Last Lunch
One of the many quirks of small towns like Confluence is that the residents here all seem to vacation in common places. Rest assured, we don’t all go to the same place together, but many folks enjoy their summer sojourns on Coulter Point. There, they own or rent houses, spend a week or two away from our village here, and relax.
I’ve been out to Coulter Point a few times. It’s an old fishing town filled with cedar-shingled houses weathered gray by years of exposure. Most of the places there are modest in comparison to some of the beach mansions I’ve seen, and they all have a fair spit of land to call their own. The village sits on the land side of a peninsula, and the houses extend outward into the bay like an upside-down comma. You can drive there in just a few hours.
As Marilyn’s semester in New York came to an end, she felt more and more dread about returning to Confluence. Her father’s letter, as well as the last phone call with her mother, assured Marilyn that her parents were disappointed with her. Besides, she was turning twenty years old this summer. What on earth would a woman her age do around town? She certainly didn’t want to face two months of living with her parents, dreading whenever the subject of Victor Salarino came about.
“I cannot help but question the decency of a man who would roll about on the deck of a boat with you in broad daylight,” her mother had said on the telephone. “Did you know that people still ask us if you’re running around with that hooligan?”
“He’s not a hooligan, Mother,” Marilyn replied. “He’s a good man, and he’s quite responsible. I’ve explained the entire situation to you before. He practically saved me from going overboard!”
“Well, you had no business gallivanting around on a sailboat, anyway!” she said. “Of all things! We told people you were there to learn and study. We expected you to be studying, to be behaving, and then you show up in the gossip pages with some New York playboy.”
And on her mother went. They had raised her better than that. This was no way of acting like a lady. There was a reputation at stake—the whole family looked bad because of this. They were embarrassed. Marilyn had made them look like liars.
So it was with great relief to Marilyn when a letter arrived from one of her oldest friends from Confluence, Alice Broadman. It read:
Dear Marilyn,
How are you? When are you coming home for the summer? The terms at Meredith end early, and I’ve been home for a week. It’s awfully boring here in town.
Anyway, I wanted to ask: won’t you come to Coulter Point with me this summer? My family will spend the whole season there, and I know it would be fun to spend the time with you. Write back.
Love,
Alice
Marilyn didn’t hesitate to go directly to her desk, pull out her stationery, and respond immediately. Nothing could be better, she said. With that looming and awkward matter out of the way, Marilyn faced another before she left New York: what to say to Victor. They had arranged a lunch together on the Saturday before she left for Confluence.
It was already summer-hot when Victor picked Marilyn up in his convertible. They decided on a favorite restaurant called Wyatt’s and sat at a table on the sidewalk. Victor ordered a steak sandwich, and Marilyn had a cold salad.
If you’ve ever had a lunch like this one, in which two people sit and attempt to delay an uncomfortable conversation, you’ll know that it wasn’t until the waiter brought the check that either of them brought up the simple subject that Marilyn was leaving New York in less than a week.
“I’m going to miss this, Victor,” she said to him. “I’m going to miss coming here for lunch, and I’m going to miss having lunch with you.”
Victor nodded and wiped his chin off with his napkin. He took an extra moment to fold it carefully before he placed it on the table. He was thinking through what he would say. Finally: “I’m going to miss having lunch with you, too.”
Marilyn waited for a few seconds to gather a bit of courage. “You know, Victor, I---“
“Before you say anything else,” he interrupted, “would you mind if I tell you something?”
She smiled. “Not at all.”
“I’ve had a wonderful time with you the last few months, and I want you to know that I care about you a lot. I know the entire mess with your parents has been rough on you, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Well, I am. It would be rough on me, and I know it’s a mess for you. I’ve never met your mother and father, but I’m quite sure they don’t like me.”
“But if they only got to know you—“
“If they only got to know me, I’m sure things would be worse,” he grinned. “So we’re here now having lunch at our favorite place, and we’ve got this awful thing lurking about with you going home, and I want to save you a bit of trouble.”
He paused to let the waiter clear their plates. “If you want to get back on the train home and take the memories of a great time in New York with you, that’s fine. I will try to be the gentleman that nobody in your family could possibly imagine me to be, and I will let you go.”
Marilyn felt the pit of her stomach drop a bit. “I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“Me either,” he said. Suddenly he laughed. “But I’m not sure how on earth this would ever work out.”
She reached across the table for his hand. “Victor, I’m not going home this summer. I’m going out to Coulter Point with a friend of mine and her family. I’ll be there by the first of June.”
When Marilyn had sat down at this restaurant table, she had carried with her the difficult understanding that when they left, she and Victor would part ways. A springtime romance would only be that, and nothing more. She had been careful all along to keep her emotion in check, to remind herself to feel strong, to leave with a calm face.
Suddenly, though, she wasn’t so sure of herself.
Victor smiled. “Really? Couldn’t bear the thought of your mother and father pressing you all summer long?”
“Oh dear,” she said.
“No summer volleyball leagues?”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll have games organized at Coulter Point.”
“What will you do all summer? I know you—you’re not the kind to just lollygag about on the beach. I didn’t know people still went to Coulter Point.”
Marilyn felt her face flush with the slightest embarrassment. “Of course people still go there.”
“There’s nothing to do!”
“But isn’t that the point?”
Victor laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’d go a bit crazy there, I think.”
“You might if you had to stay there all summer long,” she conceded. “My friend Alice’s family owns an inn on the point. They don’t live there or run the place, but they do spend summers living in the main house. Why don’t you come out and stay a couple of days?”
“And what exactly would I fill my time with?” Victor asked.
“I imagine you could take me to lunch,” she said.
I’ve been out to Coulter Point a few times. It’s an old fishing town filled with cedar-shingled houses weathered gray by years of exposure. Most of the places there are modest in comparison to some of the beach mansions I’ve seen, and they all have a fair spit of land to call their own. The village sits on the land side of a peninsula, and the houses extend outward into the bay like an upside-down comma. You can drive there in just a few hours.
As Marilyn’s semester in New York came to an end, she felt more and more dread about returning to Confluence. Her father’s letter, as well as the last phone call with her mother, assured Marilyn that her parents were disappointed with her. Besides, she was turning twenty years old this summer. What on earth would a woman her age do around town? She certainly didn’t want to face two months of living with her parents, dreading whenever the subject of Victor Salarino came about.
“I cannot help but question the decency of a man who would roll about on the deck of a boat with you in broad daylight,” her mother had said on the telephone. “Did you know that people still ask us if you’re running around with that hooligan?”
“He’s not a hooligan, Mother,” Marilyn replied. “He’s a good man, and he’s quite responsible. I’ve explained the entire situation to you before. He practically saved me from going overboard!”
“Well, you had no business gallivanting around on a sailboat, anyway!” she said. “Of all things! We told people you were there to learn and study. We expected you to be studying, to be behaving, and then you show up in the gossip pages with some New York playboy.”
And on her mother went. They had raised her better than that. This was no way of acting like a lady. There was a reputation at stake—the whole family looked bad because of this. They were embarrassed. Marilyn had made them look like liars.
So it was with great relief to Marilyn when a letter arrived from one of her oldest friends from Confluence, Alice Broadman. It read:
Dear Marilyn,
How are you? When are you coming home for the summer? The terms at Meredith end early, and I’ve been home for a week. It’s awfully boring here in town.
Anyway, I wanted to ask: won’t you come to Coulter Point with me this summer? My family will spend the whole season there, and I know it would be fun to spend the time with you. Write back.
Love,
Alice
Marilyn didn’t hesitate to go directly to her desk, pull out her stationery, and respond immediately. Nothing could be better, she said. With that looming and awkward matter out of the way, Marilyn faced another before she left New York: what to say to Victor. They had arranged a lunch together on the Saturday before she left for Confluence.
It was already summer-hot when Victor picked Marilyn up in his convertible. They decided on a favorite restaurant called Wyatt’s and sat at a table on the sidewalk. Victor ordered a steak sandwich, and Marilyn had a cold salad.
If you’ve ever had a lunch like this one, in which two people sit and attempt to delay an uncomfortable conversation, you’ll know that it wasn’t until the waiter brought the check that either of them brought up the simple subject that Marilyn was leaving New York in less than a week.
“I’m going to miss this, Victor,” she said to him. “I’m going to miss coming here for lunch, and I’m going to miss having lunch with you.”
Victor nodded and wiped his chin off with his napkin. He took an extra moment to fold it carefully before he placed it on the table. He was thinking through what he would say. Finally: “I’m going to miss having lunch with you, too.”
Marilyn waited for a few seconds to gather a bit of courage. “You know, Victor, I---“
“Before you say anything else,” he interrupted, “would you mind if I tell you something?”
She smiled. “Not at all.”
“I’ve had a wonderful time with you the last few months, and I want you to know that I care about you a lot. I know the entire mess with your parents has been rough on you, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Well, I am. It would be rough on me, and I know it’s a mess for you. I’ve never met your mother and father, but I’m quite sure they don’t like me.”
“But if they only got to know you—“
“If they only got to know me, I’m sure things would be worse,” he grinned. “So we’re here now having lunch at our favorite place, and we’ve got this awful thing lurking about with you going home, and I want to save you a bit of trouble.”
He paused to let the waiter clear their plates. “If you want to get back on the train home and take the memories of a great time in New York with you, that’s fine. I will try to be the gentleman that nobody in your family could possibly imagine me to be, and I will let you go.”
Marilyn felt the pit of her stomach drop a bit. “I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“Me either,” he said. Suddenly he laughed. “But I’m not sure how on earth this would ever work out.”
She reached across the table for his hand. “Victor, I’m not going home this summer. I’m going out to Coulter Point with a friend of mine and her family. I’ll be there by the first of June.”
When Marilyn had sat down at this restaurant table, she had carried with her the difficult understanding that when they left, she and Victor would part ways. A springtime romance would only be that, and nothing more. She had been careful all along to keep her emotion in check, to remind herself to feel strong, to leave with a calm face.
Suddenly, though, she wasn’t so sure of herself.
Victor smiled. “Really? Couldn’t bear the thought of your mother and father pressing you all summer long?”
“Oh dear,” she said.
“No summer volleyball leagues?”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll have games organized at Coulter Point.”
“What will you do all summer? I know you—you’re not the kind to just lollygag about on the beach. I didn’t know people still went to Coulter Point.”
Marilyn felt her face flush with the slightest embarrassment. “Of course people still go there.”
“There’s nothing to do!”
“But isn’t that the point?”
Victor laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’d go a bit crazy there, I think.”
“You might if you had to stay there all summer long,” she conceded. “My friend Alice’s family owns an inn on the point. They don’t live there or run the place, but they do spend summers living in the main house. Why don’t you come out and stay a couple of days?”
“And what exactly would I fill my time with?” Victor asked.
“I imagine you could take me to lunch,” she said.
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