The Summer Invitation (16 page)

Was he blushing? Just a little? Why—maybe he was shy. Boys sometimes were, I’d noticed. The nice ones, anyway.

“I’m Franny,” I said, putting out my hand. “Franny Lord.”

“Alexander,” he said.

“Alexander what?”

I became aware, as I was saying this, that I was tilting my head to the side and there was this kind of lilt in my voice. Oh, no, I thought. I’m turning into Valentine! I’m
flirting.

“Alexander Austin.”

“Hello, Alexander Austin,” I said, and laughed.
Just because.
“Do you live around here?”

“Oh, no, just visiting. I’m from Boston actually.”

“Boston!” I was thinking of Clover and Aunt Theo.

“You’ve been there?”

“No actually,” I admitted. “I’m not from New York either. I’m from San Francisco. My sister, Valentine, and I have been spending the summer here. But Clover—she’s our chaperone—she’s from Boston…”

“Your chaperone?”

“Oh yes. Aunt Theodora insisted we had to have one while we were here.”

“Aunt Theodora?” And now he was the one laughing at me. But not unkindly. Just enough so that I knew that he had a sense of humor, which is
very, very important.
“What does a chaperone do, anyway?”

“I guess it might sound kind of silly, but she’s teaching us how to be young ladies. Now we wear dresses all the time. We didn’t used to, back in San Francisco. Aunt Theo wants us to learn how to live Life with a capital L.”

“Oh, I get it now. This is supposed to be your sentimental education,” he said.

“What?”

“Flaubert.”

“Oh, right. We haven’t read him yet. Valentine and I go to French school,” I added.

“Ah! French. Would you believe it? I study Greek and Latin.”

“In Boston?”

“Uh-huh. My parents are professors. We always come to New York to see exhibits. We came this weekend to go see this one at the Frick on the Turkish influence in—”

“I was just at the Frick!” I said. “We sat
for hours
by the fountain.”

“Didn’t you look at any of the artwork?”

“Well, some.”

“Didn’t you get to look at any of the porcelains and bronzes, at least?”

I paused. Was now the time to tell him that really I preferred paintings? Would I have been so self-conscious if I’d been talking to another girl? Probably not.

“We spent a long time in the Fragonard Room,” I said. “That’s Clover’s favorite.”

By now the weather had started to clear. It was still raining but only very lightly, and as if reading my mind, Alexander closed the umbrella. I saw drops of water fall. They were this delicate lilac color.

“Shall we?” he said.

I thought of hesitating, but decided against it. With a stranger, you don’t have to act shy; you can act like anybody you want to be. That’s what I was trying to do right now, when I said simply: “Yes.”

And then he led me toward the water—the Hudson. New York City seen from this view was timeless; I thought of movie openings and postcards. There was a big white ship in the distance.

“That’s the
Queen Mary 2
,” said Alexander, sounding knowledgeable and all of a sudden much older than a teenage boy. “The original
Queen Mary
is retired. She’s moored somewhere in Long Beach, with nowhere to go.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I know a lot about ships. I even build ship models.” And now he was blushing again, but there was this kind of defiance mixed in with the blushing, as if actually he was dying for me to be impressed.

“Oh, how—” I began.

“I always wanted to be a naval architect,” he said. “But the thing is, the age of the really beautiful ships is past. They don’t build them like that anymore. So now I think I’ll probably be a regular architect.”

“My mother’s an architect!” I exclaimed, and had this pleasant feeling of the two of us having things in common.

“What kind of buildings does she do?”

“Oh, wineries and stuff. We live in San Francisco, so—”

Alexander was looking at me with this deep focus, almost as if he were playing an instrument, and I thought all of a sudden of Julian being a cellist. I thought: This is what Valentine must have felt when she was with him. All of this exciting attention. I forgot where we were in the conversation. I was still thinking about lilac-colored raindrops.

Then suddenly I was conscious that the heat wave had lifted. The city was cooling. The flowers along the High Line were blown open and damp. I could still see that big white ship, swaying in the distance.

Alexander Austin, I thought to myself, stealing a glance at him from underneath my lashes. Why couldn’t I see him again, anyway? After all, I had the perfect invitation in mind …

“How long are you in town?” I asked him. “Do you want to come to this party I’m having on August 14?”

19

An Omelet and a Bottle of Champagne

I decided against telling Valentine or even Clover about meeting Alexander on the the High Line. For one thing, I liked having a secret. For another, I figured that they would get to meet him at Aunt Theo’s party, and when they did, wouldn’t they be surprised!

But I thought that Aunt Theo would like to know. (When you have a crush, you do want to confide in somebody! Otherwise it doesn’t feel quite real somehow.) So I went back to that Italian stationery store on Lexington and chose a card with delphiniums on it because I was feeling all romantic and because delphiniums are some of the prettiest flowers. And I wrote her:

Dear Aunt Theodora,

I just thought you’d want to know. It happened: I found an admirer who interests
me.
You can look forward to meeting him at the party, as I look forward to finally meeting
you.
He will be my mystery guest.

Safe travels and see you soon
__

XXX

Frances

As things turned out, there wasn’t as much to do as I had thought there would be to get ready for the party. Back at home, whenever Mom and Dad throw a party, they always get all nervous, cleaning the house and making lots of new recipes to impress their friends. But Clover said that what Aunt Theo liked best was for the feel of a party to be spontaneous.

“What does Aunt Theo serve at her parties?” I asked Clover.

“Deviled eggs.”

“Deviled eggs and what else?” Valentine wanted to know.

“Just deviled eggs. Or, if she doesn’t make deviled eggs, then maybe she’ll make an omelet.”

“What do you mean,
an omelet
?” repeated Valentine. “You mean to say that she makes one omelet, for a whole bunch of people?”

Clover nodded.

“But that’s
ridiculous.
That’s
insane.
I would
starve
!”

Val and I do like to eat. Whenever we’re at a party with our parents, we go straight for the cheese platter: it’s true.

“An omelet and a bottle of champagne, Theo used to say…” said Clover dreamily.

“I know!” I said, remembering that it was still the month of August and probably going to be very hot on the night of the party. “Let’s have picnic foods. Like, not deviled eggs, they’re too sloppy! Let’s have hard-boiled eggs and those yummy pale green olives and cold chicken—chicken is so delicious when it’s cold, cold, cold—and tomatoes and salt and…”

“Sea salt,” said Valentine, opinionated.

“Sure, sea salt. And fruit. Fruit for dessert!”

“Figs,” said Clover. “Figs would be just the thing in August.”

“I don’t like that,” said Val. “Not that I have anything against figs, but. It does seem to me that if you want a party to be festive, you have to have cake.”

“Wise words, Valentine,” admitted Clover. “Franny, dear, I think your sister’s quite right. If you want a party to be festive, you have to have cake. Even if Aunt Theo will not be likely to eat it herself.”

“We will!” Val and I said together, and laughed. Cake is like cheese and crackers. We simply can’t resist it.

Leave it to Clover to know
the
place to go for cake. She knows
the
place to go for everything. And when the day of the party finally came she sent us uptown to a bakery on Madison Avenue called Lady M. It was very fancy and also it was Japanese. There were these Japanese ladies behind the counter. Val and I oohed and a ahed, and got to taste different samples. There was this green tea crepe cake which I thought was just heaven—the most
exquisite
soft pale green: like eating poetry—but Val said, no, we have to get chocolate. I did have to admit she had a point about that. So we ended up choosing this type of cake they called “Checkers,” which was black and white and really great-looking. Classic-looking, I thought, just the thing for Aunt Theo. Still, who could resist vanilla and chocolate sponge cake with fresh whipped cream? Not us! Oh, I hoped that Aunt Theo would like it, even though—to tell you the truth—I couldn’t really picture her eating pastry. Pastry is for mere human beings, and she still seemed to me from everything I had heard about her to be something apart or above.

20

Palazzo

“Who’s coming to this party anyway?” Val wanted to know. We were on the secret roof-deck, secret no more, and the three of us were busy arranging flowers. Anemones in particular—Clover had bought bunches and bunches of them, saying that they were her favorite. Anemones are purple and red and white and look kind of like sea creatures. Not as pretty as roses, say, but
interesting.
Kind of like Aunt Theo herself.

“Why, Valentine,” Clover said now, “that’s a very rude question.”

“It is?” Val sounded genuinely shocked that Clover would say this.

“Well, I am only quoting Aunt Theo,” Clover admitted. “Once, when I was young, oh, younger than you, I made the mistake of asking her that. Asking her who was coming to a party, I mean. And she said that was a very rude question, and then I did just what you did, Valentine. I asked her why.”

“Oh, yeah, and what was the reason?”

“She said:
Because every party should be a mystery.
”

“Hmm,” said Valentine, and went back to arranging anemones.

That was kind of how I felt about Alexander Austin showing up tonight: I wanted him to be a mystery, a “mystery guest,” as I had said. I saw what it was that Aunt Theo was talking about.

Clover, as if she were reading my mind, said, “A party should be a place where one can fall in love, for instance, Aunt Theo thought. But unexpectedly. Unexpectedly is best.”

Valentine said in an actressy kind of voice, as if she were reading a line out of a play, “Oh, but I shall never love again.”

Once we were done with decorating it, the secret roof-deck looked very pretty, with its terra-cotta pots and little lemon trees. The days were getting shorter now and the light falling on the roof-deck was already a soft pinky-lilac color. Guests were coming at 7:00.

“And when does Aunt Theo get here again?” I asked Clover, wanting to be ready the second she made an entrance. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Her plane gets in at eight, so by the time she gets here, the party will be in full swing. She’ll like that! She’s always so interested, at parties, in seeing who is hitting it off with whom, and that kind of thing.”

“Are you talking about romance?” asked Valentine, because this was the important thing in life, obviously.

“That, and friendship too,” said Clover slyly, even though it was romance that Valentine and I were thinking of. We were dressed as if we were expecting it, anyway. Valentine was wearing the long blue-and-green-striped Missoni dress Clover had given her, and not wanting me to feel left out, Clover gave me an old dress of hers to wear too—a long pink cotton one that came from India. I felt all floaty and romantic in it, and to make things even more so I decided to wear my black velvet bow in my hair. Clover had on pink too—pink palazzo pants over a black leotard. That was a word I learned for the first time tonight:
palazzo.
I think it’s a very striking word.

“But I thought that you said Aunt Theo didn’t like for women to wear trousers,” sniffed Valentine, because unlike me she missed being able to wear blue jeans and was looking forward to putting them on as soon as we got back to San Francisco.

“But these aren’t
trousers-trousers
,” said Clover grandly. “These are more like hostess pants.”

“Does Aunt Theo have a pair of hostess pants too?” I inquired.

“Oh yes. Hers are black, though.”

The mention of the color black reminded me of something.

“Clover?”

“Yes, Franny?” She was now arranging hard-boiled eggs on an old blue china platter. Once the eggs were arranged, she sprinkled chives over them.

“You know how I’ve always pictured Aunt Theo as looking like…?”

“What?”

I paused to give my words emphasis.

“Like a cross between an angel and a witch.”

“You’ll get to see her tonight soon enough,” said Val, who I knew deep down was not as interested in meeting Aunt Theo in person as I was.

“What witch? What witch are you talking about?”

It was a male voice speaking. Not one I recognized. I looked, and there was this strange man standing behind us on the secret roof-deck. Before any of us could say anything, he and Clover were embracing like old friends.

“Ellery!” I heard Clover exclaiming. “I didn’t hear the buzzer. Were you announced?”

“Oh, please. Oscar remembered me from the old days,” Ellery said.

“You were talking of Theo, I suppose,” said Ellery. “Or, as I like to think of her, Theodora Wentworth Whitin Bell.”

“Oh, thank you for reminding me of that, Ellery,” said Clover, turning to address Valentine and me. “Remember, Aunt Theo is very big on people using last names. When you meet her tonight, do be sure to introduce yourself with your full names. Also, if you happen to remember, say ‘How do you do?’ rather than ‘Nice to meet you.’ Aunt Theo prefers the former.”

“But that sounds all pretentious,” moaned Val. And even I had to agree with her for once, explaining to Clover: “Val’s right. In San Francisco we always say ‘Nice to meet you.’ That’s what Mom and Dad say too.”