“My older brother, Lionel, is neat. He's going to be twenty-one.” And she didn't tell Gail he was gay. “He dropped out of school too, and he's making films for Fox.” She said it like a pro and Gail was impressed again. “My other brother is a jock and goes to the University of Alabama on a football scholarship. He'll be a junior this year. And my sisters are twins. One of them just went East to go to Barnard, and the other one is trying to be an actress here.”

“Wow! That's neat!”

“Lionel is … we've always been close … the others are … well,” she shrugged again, dismissing them at one blow, “a little strange at times.” It was what they said about her too, but she didn't care what they said now. She had a new friend of her own.

Gail bought two pairs of the same shoes in different colors. And a few minutes later, she looked at her watch.

“My Dad's picking me up at four, in front of the Beverly Wilshire. Do you want a ride somewhere?”

Anne hesitated. She had taken a cab from home, but it would be fun to ride with Gail. “You don't think he'd mind?”

“Not at all. He loves doing stuff like that.” Giving strangers rides? Anne laughed. Gail was naïve in some ways but she liked that about her. They crossed Wilshire Boulevard, and stood in front of the sumptuous hotel, waiting for the car to arrive, and Anne was impressed when she saw his car. He was driving a two-tone gray Rolls, and Gail waved frantically as he stopped. Anne thought she was kidding at first, because of the fancy car. But a stocky, thick-shouldered man, with features much like hers, leaned over and opened the door, and Gail hopped in and beckoned to Anne, then explained her instantly to the man at the wheel of the Rolls. “Hi, Daddy, I made a new friend. She's going to the same school as me next year.” He didn't look upset that she was hitching a ride, and warmly shook her hand. He wasn't a handsome man, but he had a kindly face, Anne decided. His name was Bill Stein, and Anne gathered that he was an attorney in the entertainment world, and she was sure he would know who her parents were, but she didn't offer their names. She was just Anne.

He took them to Will Wright's on Sunset Boulevard for ice cream. And he had a surprise for Gail that night, he said. They were going to dinner at Trader Vic's and then a movie with some friends. And the funniest thing of all was that the film was one of Ward and Faye's, but Anne only said that she had seen it and liked it a lot, and then they talked of other things. And all the time, she felt his eyes on her, as though he were trying to figure out who she was, but more as though he were trying to draw her out. And the odd thing was that she felt safe with him, and comfortable in a way that she rarely did with anyone. When they dropped her off, she hated to see them go, and she watched the gray Rolls disappear, anxious to see Gail again. She had given her her phone number on the drive home, and Gail had promised to call the next day and come over to swim in the pool. Anne could hardly wait. She wondered if Mr. Stein would drop her off. And she was surprised to see her own father at home when she walked in, until she glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost six o'clock.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He looked up at her from the glass of wine he was pouring himself. Faye wasn't home yet, and dinner wouldn't be for a couple of hours. He wanted to relax and watch the news, maybe take a swim, and enjoy his glass of wine. He didn't drink much anymore, only wine. And he was surprised to see Anne looking so pleased with herself, he couldn't imagine over what. Most of the time, she still hid in her room. “What did you do today?”

She looked at him for a long moment and then shrugged. “Nothing much.” And then she disappeared upstairs, as usual, and closed her bedroom door with a smile this time, thinking of her new friend.





CHAPTER 29




The Barbizon for Women had provided a pleasant home for Vanessa since she had arrived in New York. There were only women living there, it was in a nice neighborhood at Sixty-third and Lexington, there was a swimming pool, and a coffee shop downstairs. It met all her needs, and she was hardly there anyway. Louise Matthison lived there too. They went to Long Island on weekends, to people Louise knew, and eventually they found an apartment to share. It was on 115 Street on the West Side, and she knew her parents would have died if they'd seen the neighborhood. But it was close to Columbia, and all the kids lived up there. She didn't like it as much as the Barbizon, but there was more freedom here. They moved in a month before school began, and took turns buying groceries and doing household chores.

It was Vanessa's turn, as she struggled up the stairs one day with a bag of groceries in each arm. There was an ancient elevator which never worked, and she was afraid to get stuck in it anyway. It was easier just to stagger up the stairs to the third floor, but as she did on a hot August afternoon, after work, she found someone staring down at her. He was tall and he had auburn hair, a pleasant face, and he was wearing a tee shirt and shorts, and carrying a stack of papers in one hand as he looked at her.

“Do you need help?” She looked up at him and was about to decline, but she liked the look of him. There was something matter-of-fact and intelligent about the man that appealed to her instantly. He was the kind of man she had hoped to meet at Parker when she took the job. But she never seemed to meet anyone there who excited her, and this young man had something that appealed to her now. She wasn't sure what it was, maybe it was just the stack of papers he held. It looked like a manuscript to her, and she wasn't far wrong. That was exactly what it was, he explained, as he set her bags of groceries down outside her door. “Just move in?” He had never seen her before, and he'd been living there for years. He had moved in when he'd gone to graduate school, and he had finished the year before. But he'd been too lazy to move out, he had too many papers lying around. He was doing research for a thesis on philosophy, and he was thinking about writing a play, but he forgot about it all now, as he looked at the slim girl with the long blond hair. She nodded in answer to his question, and dug her key out of her bag.

“I moved in with a friend two weeks ago.”

“Starting graduate school next month?” He knew the type. He'd been dating them for years. He'd been at Columbia since 1962, and five years was a long time, almost six in fact. But she was smiling at him, amused. Lately, people had begun to think she was older than she was. It was a refreshing change after years of people thinking her less sophisticated and much younger than her twin.

“No. Undergraduate, but thanks for the compliment.”

He smiled ingenuously. He had nice teeth, and an attractive smile. “Not at all. Well, see you sometime.”

“Thanks again for the hand.” He clattered down the stairs with his manuscript in hand, and Vanessa heard a door slam on the second floor. She mentioned him to Louise that night, who grinned as she set her hair on rollers for work the next day.

“He sounds cute. How old do you think he is?”

“I don't know. Old, I guess. He said he was working on his thesis, and he was carrying a manuscript.”

“Maybe he was just putting you on.”

“I don't think so. He had to be pretty close to twenty-five.” Louise immediately lost interest in him, she had just turned eighteen, and she thought nineteen was old enough. Twenty-five wasn't even fun. They just wanted to climb into bed the first time around, and Louise wasn't ready for that.

And as it turned out, Vanessa was right, or pretty close. He was twenty-four, and they met each other again one Sunday night as the girls came home from a weekend in Quogue. They were juggling suitcases and tennis rackets, Louise's oversized hat, and Van's camera, and they were climbing out of the cab that had just brought them from Penn Station all the way uptown. He had parked his battered MG across the street and was watching them. He thought Vanessa had great legs in the shorts and sandals she wore. She looked a lot like Yvette Mimieux, right down to the turned-up nose, and she had fabulous green eyes, he had noticed that day on the stairs. He sauntered across the street, wearing shorts and a tee shirt again, and loafers without socks.

“Hi, there.” They hadn't introduced themselves and he didn't know her name, but he volunteered to help with the bags. He was juggling both tennis rackets, a suitcase in each hand, and his own briefcase, which was no small feat, and Vanessa was awkwardly attempting to help and thanking him, as everything fell in a heap in front of their door and he looked at her. “You guys sure drag a lot of stuff around.” And then in a soft voice, as Louise stepped inside, “Want to come down for a glass of wine?” Vanessa was tempted to, but she had the feeling he was putting a fast move on her. She didn't go to men's apartments, and she didn't really know who he was. He could have been the Boston Strangler for all she knew, but he seemed to read her mind. “You won't get raped, I swear. Not unless you agree.” He looked her over appraisingly and she blushed, as he wondered exactly how old she was. She looked about twenty-one but she had said she was an undergraduate. Maybe twenty, or even nineteen. She had a calm, tranquil air, and all that healthy blond beauty, which appealed to him. He was dying to spend some time with her.

Instead of going downstairs with him, she invited him in to join her roommate and herself for a beer. It wasn't what he would have preferred, but since he seemed to have no choice, he accepted gracefully, put the rest of their stuff inside the hall, closed the door, and looked around at what they'd done to the place. It had all been painted pale yellow and there were plants and magazines, and a lot of rattan, and some Indian prints, and there was a photograph of a large family on the wall. A massive group standing next to a swimming pool. It looked very California to him, and he inquired as to who they were, and then suddenly recognized Van, standing next to Valerie, with Lionel next to her.