Someone to Watch Over Me
By Ruthless Bunny
Usually when I got back from lunch my boss, I'll refer to him as Lucifer for now, had some mess of his that he wanted me to sort out. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into his office and discovered him neatly shot in the head and quite dead.
As you can imagine, it was a bit of shock, but I soon recovered enough to call 911. When traumatic things happen, you have a tendency to process the information in bits. I remember that it took two attempts before I could master hitting the three necessary numbers in the right sequence. I remember that my secretary, Mrs. Connor looked at me and asked me if she could help. I remember that when the operator asked me what my emergency was that I calmly reported that it appeared that someone had been shot. At least that's what it looked like to me. I'm naturally skeptical, and I don't automatically jump to conclusions.
The fire department arrived first. They pronounced him dead and then we all just waited around for the police. Then a patrolman arrived and made a big show of taking careful notes as we waited for the detectives. I'm guessing that this is more of a tactic to keep everyone hanging around, and not so much an effort at gathering information.
The things that crossed my mind during the wait were of calling my friend Angela to let her know that I would be late in meeting her for drinks. Isn't it funny how the social niceties you learn as a child permeate your actions? I also wondered if Wendell, as his mother had christened him, had picked up his dry cleaning. Then I thought about Mr. and Mrs. Kim and how they would be stuck with five white Brooks Brothers shirts, heavy starch, with the monogram, WWW. Perhaps they could sell them to some Internet entrepreneur at their annual unclaimed laundry sale.
The policeman asked mundane questions. Where had I been? With whom? Could anyone verify my story? As I gave what little information I could, I heard a familiar voice in the hallway.
I knew it at once, although I rejected the notion out of hand. It seemed improbable that after all these years... A tall, broad man walked across the threshold. I recognized the eyes right away and realized that I was in danger of losing my composure. A fair, petite woman followed him. They both wore badges and I knew that not only had the detectives arrived, but that one of them took the form of my first love, Bobby.
I first met Bobby the summer I turned seventeen. I was about to enter my senior year and I needed some tutoring for the SATs. My mother fostered hopes of my attending one of the Seven Sisters schools and to that end had wanted me to become as well prepared as possible. My mother had also decided that I needed to take care of college entrance exams early because I was to formally "come-out" the following June and I would be too busy with parties to be bothered with things like college entrance exams.
Bobby was an acquaintance of my brother's from school. I don't know that they traveled in the same circles, but it was known that Bobby was very bright and that he needed to earn some money to help out with school expenses. When Mother informed me that I would be studying with a tutor I pouted. I am a rather intelligent person, I made good grades, I told her that I could probably study on my own and do just fine. "You'll do no such thing. You'll come home from school and your life will be whirlwind of tennis, riding, swimming and parties and by the time September rolls around, you'll be lucky if you can remember how to fill out the test form correctly. No. You'll study with this young man every day. There will be plenty of time for parties later." I didn't fight with my mother because history had proven that resistance was futile.
It was decided that Bobby would stay the summer with us in our house on Long Island. With my brothers Peter and Greg home as well, I was assured that even if I couldn't go to parties, that parties would regularly come to me.
It was a warm June day and I was finishing breakfast on the terrace. I was hoping to meet my friend Serena for a game of tennis later in the afternoon, so I thought that I'd try and set up a schedule with Bobby that would accommodate my social life as well as my academic study.
He came down into the kitchen wearing a puzzled look on his face. "Looking for some breakfast?" I was always polite to our houseguests.
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the kitchen. "Yes. Am I too late?"
I wondered what he expected. Yes, our house was quite large, and we did have a staff, but we weren't the kind of family who expected the cook to prepare a full buffet every morning. "No, we're open 24 hours a day here. What do you usually like to eat?" I got up to put my cereal bowl and coffee mug in the dishwasher.
He thought about it. "What did you have?"
"I had Special K, but I'm dieting until July of 1982, don't go by me. I can make you an egg and toast if you like." There was something about him that I liked. When he looked at me, he really looked. I got the impression that he was sizing me up and not just from the neck down.
"I'd like that. So you can cook?" He sat down on one of the stools at the counter while I got the eggs out of the fridge.
"A few things." I held up the egg carton and he indicated that he'd like two "Enough to keep a guest from going hungry. We're pretty informal around here. Breakfast is catch as catch can. We usually lunch out and dinner is either here or at a party somewhere. How do you like them?"
I lit the gas on the stove under the frying pan and studied his face. I was attracted to his dark eyes. There was an earnestness there that none of the boys that I knew had. "Scrambled. So where do I fit into all of this?"
I went back into the fridge and found some things to mix into the eggs, some ham, cheese, onions, nothing much. "Well, technically, you're our guest, so you come along with us when we go somewhere. Unless you'd rather stay home and read, or go visit friends you might have somewhere around here."
"I kind of got the impression that I was an employee." He stirred some sugar into the cup of coffee that I had poured for him.
"No, you're not one of the staff. Yes, you're being paid to tutor me, but you're also a friend of Peter's, so technically, you're a guest." I placed the plate in front of him and he gave me a smile.
"This looks good." He started to eat and I watched him.
There's something about watching a man eat your cooking, even if it's just eggs. Right away I started to feel protective of Bobby. "So where are you from?"
He stopped for a minute and thought about it. I thought that was weird because I know where I'm from. "I live in the city."
"That's kind of vague. Did you grow up there too?" I put the pan in the sink and ran some water into it. Lina, our cook, preferred that we not try to clean her pans. She had some kind of method.
He chewed and paused, "Yes."
"Okay. So what do you like to do for fun?" I figured that we had done the origins thing to death; I got the impression that he didn't want to talk about it.
"Fun?" He asked.
"Fun. You know, what you do when you aren't in class, or studying or sleeping." I poured a glass of juice for each of us.
"I don't know." It seemed like it never occurred to him to have fun. "What do you like to do?" He handed me his dishes and I stacked them in the dishwasher.
"I play tennis, swim, ride my horse, read romance novels, go to dances, talk with my friends, and go to parties. The usual stuff. So is it true that college parties are more fun than high school parties?" I didn't have an awful lot on my mind as a teenager.
"I don't know." He bent his head down and looked up at me through his eyebrows. It was strange and unsettling.
"Don't you go to parties?" It seemed inconceivable that a person would go to college and not go to parties. What would be the point of that?
"No. I have other things to do."
I was intrigued; this guy was different from all the other guys I knew. The guys I knew played a sport, studied enough to get by in school and went to parties. We drank enough to have fun, but not enough to disgrace ourselves. "So what other things do you like to do?"
"I have to keep my grades up to keep my scholarship." He seemed ashamed, but I was impressed. I didn't know anyone dedicated enough to their schoolwork, or bright enough to earn a scholarship.
"Wow, a scholarship. You must be a real brain." I smiled at him, to let him know that I thought that his being smart was a good thing.
"Yes, and if you were using yours you'd realize that that's why I'm here. You need to be tutored, I'm the tutor. So how do you want to work this?" He got up and headed towards the patio, "can we go out here?"
I nodded. There was something stunning in the way that he commanded the room. At first he seemed timid and shy, but now he was taking over. He opened the French door and we walked outside. There was the morning garden, where I usually ate breakfast, beyond that was the swimming pool, then the tennis courts. There was a bit of lawn and then the dock. "Well, I guess we can work in the morning after breakfast and then we'll be free from lunch on to do what we want."
"You think that your parents are paying me to do a bit of studying in the morning and that we're just going to vacation the rest of the time?"
Yes, that's exactly what I thought. I shrugged, "what else? I mean, I'm not Rapunzel, I'm not locked in a tower. I do have a life!" I also had a date for tennis that might involve cute guys, and nothing was taking that off the agenda.
"I think we need to talk with your Mom, when she hired me, I had a slightly different understanding. So does this go all the way to the water?" He motioned towards a footpath through the grass.
"Yes, come on, I'll show you." We walked through the grounds and he shook his head. I wasn't sure exactly what he was thinking about, all I knew was that it was a gorgeous day and that I had a whole summer ahead of me full of fun and friends.
We waked to the water's edge and he sat down to take off his shoes. Soon he was standing knee-deep in the water. I kicked off my Papagallo sandals and waded in ankle deep with him. "Do you really think that my Mother wants me to study all summer long?" Again, I pouted, eager to try it with a different audience.
He laughed, "I'll be that look lets you manipulate all sorts of people in your life. Hey, I don't care. Whatever your Mom says, is good enough for me. She's signing the check."
"Okay. So lets get back to the house and square away our schedule with her. Then we're free to make plans." I picked up my sandals and we headed barefoot, back to the house.
Mother was in the kitchen for her second cup of coffee. "So there you are. I thought you could use Daddy's study for your lessons."
"Right, about that, so how much of the day should we be studying?" I scratched my knee as I asked.
"Cynthia, please." I stopped scratching. Mother looked at Bobby, "what do you think a good schedule would be?"
I looked over at Bobby, I implored him with my eyes, but he deliberately avoided looking at me, "I'm not sure, what were Cynthia's scores on the PSAT?"
"Language was fine, she was in the eightieth percentile. It's the quantitative score that her father and I are concerned about. She also needs some test strategies and Miller analogies." Mother poured more cream into her mug.
"In that case I think that two hours a day should be sufficient. Any more than that would be too taxing." He held his breath waiting to see if my mother agreed with his assessment.
"Good, that gives her plenty of time to peruse her other...interests." She looked at me and smiled, "I wouldn't want you to miss out darling."
I hugged her, Mother is so understanding.
"Was there something else that you might need me to do Mrs. White?" Bobby seemed to be at a loss.
"No Bobby, that's fine and call me Camilla. I'm sure you'd like to go out with the boys, see some of your friends. It's bad enough that we're so far away from the city that you have to stay here all summer. Just work out the schedule together. I'm expecting great things." She finished her coffee and went upstairs to dress for some meeting.
"Wow, I get paid for doing this." He paraphrased Steve Martin's famous line.
"Hey, I've got a one o'clock tennis game, let's get cracking." I smacked him in the arm and he followed me into the study.
Bobby and I worked together every morning. We had a little routine. He'd come down to the kitchen and I'd cook breakfast for him. We'd outline the lessons and then we'd go to the study until noon.
As they got to know him, Peter and Greg became Bobby's friends. We all would take the Jeep and go to the village to see what was happening. Sometimes we'd just drive someplace and get clams. Bobby and I would sit in the back seat, bouncing around the countryside.
I'd go to the barn and ride my horse Jezebel, while Bobby waited patiently for me. Once I got him to ride, but I think that the idea of surrendering to the horse bothered him. I told him everything that I knew about horses. Being a lifelong horsewoman, it took awhile. What I liked about Bobby was that he paid rapt attention to me when I was telling him something interesting, and he found every subject interesting.
One evening we were at my friend Bitsy's birthday party. It was a huge pool party and I knew tons of people there. I danced with boys that I knew from school, or from the club or from other parties. During a set of slow songs I glanced over and saw Bobby sitting under a paper lantern watching me. I waved. He nodded, but didn't make any attempt to come over to join my friends.
I went to him, to see if he wanted to be introduced to some of the guests. He smiled and shook his head. He took me by the hand and we walked out onto the lawn away from the lights and music of the party. We were close to the water and I could hear it lapping at the shore. The air smelled of jasmine and salt. A gentle breeze caused the skirt of my dress to swirl around my bare legs. He lay down in the grass and patted the area next to him, inviting me to lie next to him.
The grass was cool next to my skin, which was electric from anticipation. I hoped that he wanted to kiss me. Frankly I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted to breathe. "So, it's a beautiful night..." He looked at me and put his finger to his lips. He took my hand and held it. I was amazed at how soft his hand was. Everything about Bobby surprised me. He was so different than anyone we knew and yet he fit in too. We must have stared at the night sky for two hours without speaking. I was mesmerized.
One day we were in the library finding something to pass the time until dinner. He fingered the spines of the books. Some leather, some paper. He pulled one down and handed it to me, "read this and you'll understand about me." It was a collection of John Donne's poems. I took it from him, determined to commit them all to memory. I then looked for my favorite book, Very Good, Jeeves, by P.G. Wodehouse. "Lighten up, Bobby." I smiled at him and tweaked his nose.
The few remaining days of that summer were spent feinting at each other without scoring a touch. Every day brought me to that moment when I knew that he would leave and I would never see him again.
Mother and I were going through my things, prior to my return to school. My mind wasn't on the task; it was impossible to focus. All I could think about was Bobby. How would I get through the day without him?
"Darling, have you thought about your escorts for your parties?" Mother sat folding my uniforms and cast-off clothing.
I sighed, the debutante thing was about to kick into high gear. I already had an appointment for choosing my dress at Bergdorf's the following month. "Escorts? I suppose Peter and Greg will do, maybe cousin Charles?" I really was at a loss; escorts were the last thing on my mind.
"Well certainly your brothers...Charles is out of the question." Mother felt that Charles was a bit too wild and unpredictable. "What about Bobby? You get along with him, and Mrs. Guest was saying that he told her the most amusing story at Cornelia's party last week."
I dropped the blouse I had been hanging up. I bent down and let out my breath, hoping that I didn't betray anything in my expression. "Bobby? That's a good idea. He's nice." It occurred to me that he might not have the wherewithal to dress the part, but I needn't have worried. Mother was a tiger for details.
"I like him too, he's a sensible young man. I'll speak to him and we'll arrange for him to have the things he needs. He can take you to the Junior Assemblies in December, so he can see what it's like. I think he'll be very handsome in a dinner suit."
She wasn't the only one who thought so.
In the fall we all returned to school. By some miracle Bobby had agreed to my mother's plan. I lamely explained to Bobby that we needed to get together in the city, so that I could tell him what to expect from the "Deb" experience. I don't think he believed me for a minute, but he said that he would call me. At the bottom of my trunk when I returned to school was the book of Donne's poems.
I heard Eloise call my name from the hall phone, "Cyyynnn-th-iiiiaaa!"
I ran out to claim the receiver and she whispered, soto voce, "it's a boy!" At our school getting a call from a boy was a big deal. I found myself with a small circle of eager girls, waiting to hear about a romantic intrigue.
"Hello?" I prayed that it was Bobby, and not my brother calling to ask what we should get mother for her birthday.
"Cynthia?" I'd know that voice anywhere, I sucked in my breath and stood on tiptoe. The girls in the hall started a quiet twitter.
"Bobby?" We might have gone on monosyllabically for an hour if we didn't have a five-minute time limit on phone calls. "It's great to hear from you."
"Cynthia, Peter suggested that I call you. I understand that you can get a pass for the day. We can come get you. How's Saturday?" I had planned to do research on my English paper on Saturday, but for Bobby, all bets were off. I could hear him shuffling as he fussed with the receiver waiting for my reply. I milked it for a few seconds.
"You and Peter? Um, okay. I can leave after breakfast on Saturday, around ten. You'll have to come to the Head Mistress's office though." I twirled the cord around my finger.
"Okay, Saturday then." He didn't hang up and he didn't say anything.
"Saturday." I waited too, I heard him breathe, I turned away from the group and tucked the phone into my collar, "I can't wait," I whispered.
"Me either," he whispered back. I thought my knees would buckle. "Good night Cynthia, sleep well." Again, he didn't hang up.
"Good night Bobby." I didn't want to hang up, I wanted to stand in the hallway of my dorm and listen to him breathe until Saturday.
Unfortunately the Proctor poked her head out of her room. "Miss White, free up the phone for someone else please!"
"I've got to go. I'll see you Saturday." I hung up, not waiting for his reply, knowing that they'd have to surgically remove the instrument from my hand if he said one more thing to me.
As soon as the receiver hit the cradle a squeal went around the girls in the hall. I gave a delighted jump and then became stricken, "Oh My God! What am I going to wear?" Instantly I was dragged into to rooms and having clothing forced upon me. I only had three days to prepare!
On Saturday I waited impatiently on one of the ancient wooden chairs in the office. Two other girls were waiting for their rides into the world. They were probably going to dentist appointments, or perhaps to the symphony. I was waiting for Bobby. I glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past the hour. I worried my thumbnail, what if they didn't come for me after all? I was wearing my new favorite outfit, tight blue jeans, butterscotch colored Frye boots and a starched white cotton blouse. I had a problem deciding between my add-a-bead necklace and my shell earrings. I went with the necklace. The other girls both wore typical Saturday outfits of comfortable slacks and wrinkled shirts, probably from the previous day's uniform. In a girls school we never dressed to impress each other. As it was I had to run around to borrow enough make-up from my suitemates just to look decent. I mashed my lips together and felt the thick layer of Meadow Honey lip-gloss slide between them. I reached into the leather satchel that doubled as my purse and got a tissue to blot the excess goo.
"Don't bother, you look beautiful." His voice startled me; he seemed so adult, especially in the administration building of my school.
I blushed and smiled, I would have giggled, but I didn't want to give the other girls the satisfaction. I was a senior and I was going out with my college boyfriend. Or at least that's what I wanted them to think. That's what I wanted to think.
I signed out and promised to be back by ten that night. I had never before hated curfew with such virulence. We walked out into the sunshine of an Indian summer morning. Everything seemed so crisp, the air, the crunch of the leaves on the walkway, the way that Bobby walked toward my brother's Jeep. I expected to see Peter in the driver's seat, waiting to say something embarrassing, but he wasn't there.
Bobby smiled at me as he held the door open for me, "do you mind? Peter had to beg off at the last minute. He let me borrow his car."
Mind? Was he crazy? "No, it's great. So where are we going?"
"Everywhere." He started the engine and we backed out sending gravel flying.
I'll always remember the fall of 1981 like a montage in the movies. We'd listen to college radio, Elvis Costello, The Police, Blondie, Talking Heads, REM, all the best music. That Jeep still remains my all-time favorite vehicle. We drove into the mountains to picnic under trees. We drove along the coast, stopping to find smooth stones and shells. We drove into the city to the museums. We were two kids, falling in love and the only place we could go was the world.
Aside from our private time, there were the obligations. When a girl decides (or has it thrust upon her, as I did) to become a debutante, there are events and parties she must attend. Bobby told me the story of how my father took him to Brooks Brothers to be outfitted as my escort. I don't know how he dealt with the whole issue of letting someone buy him a wardrobe, but apparently my Dad gave him some kind of "guide for life" that revolved around ties and cuff links. I do know that whenever he came to pick me up, that he looked dreamy. I must admit though, I liked him best in an old shirt and his 501s.
It's customary for Debs to attend the balls the year prior to their coming out. I remember at the Junior Assemblies right before Christmas, that I couldn't wait to get him outside so that he could keep me warm. We left through a door off the ballroom and found ourselves in a small courtyard. I could still hear the orchestra faintly playing "Isn't it Romantic". I sipped champagne as he held me close. I wouldn't call it dancing, more like clinging to each other, even so he was light on his feet.
"So what excuse are we going to use after next year?" Although I was rarely intimidated by events in my life, I always weighed each word I said to Bobby. I feared that one wrong word might make him leave. Champagne made me bold enough to ask him what I wanted to know.
"Excuse?" I felt him shiver in the frosty air.
"I can't be a Deb forever. This time next year I'll have gone to my last cotillion. I'll be able to hang up my white dress and gloves and venture into the world as a regular young woman. I'll wear black and use too much kohl around my eyes. Will you still like me then, or is it the big, puffy dress that turns you on?"
He sighed, "This time next year?"
"Right, only 367 shopping days until Christmas 1982. I have my party in June, at the house, we'll have a tent. I've been invited to come out at the Junior Assembly, the Infirmary and the International. All of them are the week of Christmas next year. So..." I took another sip of my wine, "What will be our excuse after that?"
He stepped back and looked me in the eye; creating a frigid chill where our warmth had been, "I wish I could stay here forever, I do, but I have obligations."
"Obligations?" My idea of an obligation was a charity tea.
"I'm graduating next January, then I'm going into the Army. You know that I'm in the reserves?" He reminded me as though I were a child. I nodded, numb, with cold and disappointment. "They paid my tuition, I have to serve." He shrugged, indicating that it was a fixed point, one we could move around but not escape.
"So you're going away?" I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that there would be a natural time that we would separate, I didn't know that it was so close. Only a year, then he would be gone.
"Yes, I'm going away. I don't even know where yet. Besides, anything could happen in a year. By then you might be tired of me. You won't even call me to be your escort, you'll find some other guy. I'm sure there are tons of guys who'd love to go out with you." He smiled, to let me know that he still wanted to be with me.
My feelings were hurt, that's how young and shallow I was then. I didn't understand why he couldn't get out of it. Just pay the tuition back. "How can you think that I'd get tired of you...I.." I stopped myself. One thing that I had learned was never to wear my heart on my sleeve, not even my big, Princess Diana, taffeta, puffy sleeve.
"Me too." He hugged me into his dinner jacket. "Me too Cynthia."
From then on I spent my time with him counting the days, hours, minutes left remaining.
Bobby had a way of ingratiating himself with people. I remember after a party at the Plaza had ended a group of us were looking for somewhere to go. Studio 54 was passe and it was too early for eggs and pancakes. "I know a place, but it's not in the best part of town."
That piqued our interest, we didn't often stray out of our territory. Ian, Bitsy's date, headed for his car, "Lead on McDuff!"
"Just so you don't wake Duncan with thy knocking, some people have to work tomorrow." Bobby and I piled into the back seat of Ian's Karman Ghia.
The party was in Alphabet City, at the time a terrible part of town. We walked up three flights to get to the apartment where the party was. Music blared from speakers that were hanging from the ceiling and there was a small crowd congregated on the fire escape. We had the presence of mind to stop at the liquor store for reinforcements, so our unlikely crew was welcome. At first it was strange, a bunch of Debs and their preppy boyfriends at a loft party, but somehow it all worked. As usual, Bobby and I found a place to be alone, in the stairwell.
"Bobby, you know the nicest people. Are these friends of yours from school?" I leaned into him, trying to breathe in his warm, sweet smell, and not the mustiness of the hallway.
"Some are, one's my roommate." He rested his chin on my head.
"So this is where you live?" I tried to keep the horror out of my voice.
"Yes. Is it very gruesome?" He seemed to want my approval.
"No," I lied, "I'm sure it's lovely when it's not full of people drinking Purple Jesus punch and giving each other tattoos."
He smiled ruefully, "No, it's like this most of the time."
There wasn't anything that I could say. This was his life. He was a brilliant guy, he didn't have any money and he was doing whatever he could to survive. At that age you don't worry about money. When you have money, and let's be honest, when you have a lot of money, the fact that other people aren't similarly blessed comes as a shock. That was the first time that I felt the division between us. I was born wealthy and Bobby wasn't. I still loved him, for me it didn't change anything. But how did he feel about it? How did it change our relationship? Did he do things differently with me because I had a trust fund? I never worried that he was after my money, but now I was aware that other people might think that he was.
"Bobby, does it bother you that I'm such a frivolous idiot?" I gathered my skirt up under me, just in case there were creepy crawlies around.
He laughed, "No, I love that you're frivolous, and I've never thought that you were an idiot." He wrapped his arms around me. I felt so safe with him. "Does it bother you that I'm..." He couldn't finish his thought.
"You're perfect." I meant it. He was perfect for me. We may have come from different backgrounds, but at our core we were the same.
We had taken to exchanging "mix tapes", with both of us so reticent to actually talk about our feelings, we communicated with music.
After Christmas Break, I got a tape with "South Central Rain" on it. More of a mood setter than a statement. There was an afternoon that we had spent in the Jeep, watching the rain and cuddling in the back seat. Even now when I hear that song I remember the absolute happiness of that time. I hear the guitar into and I can smell him, feel him and hear him, just as though he were in the room with me.
I sent him one with "Accidents Will Happen" on it, mostly for the line, "she says she can't go home, without a chaperone." Although the song is about people who fall in love, and about a girl on a social whirl. I really thought I hit the nail on the head with that one, until I got "Don't Stand So Close to Me." Bobby won that round.
The one that brought him running was when I sent him "Thunder Road".
He called up for me from the foyer. I was studying for a French test, or rather procrastinating studying, which was very near the same thing in my world. I had my hair up in a scrunchie and I was wearing sweatpants and Peter's old Choat T-shirt. I was a mess. The proctor knocked on our door and told me I had a visitor.
I saw Bobby out in the quad. I threw my coat on and met him under the street lamp. His coat was pulled up around his neck and he was wearing a scarf up to his nose. "What on earth are you doing here?" I was delighted and confused.
"You sent me the tape. I wanted to talk to you about it." He looked so grim.
Truthfully I had forgotten where we were with the tapes. I was and am impulsive, I didn't really expect him to treat it like an emergency. I thought seriously about making love with Bobby very early on, I wondered what it would be like, I wondered if it would change my life. I had the romantic notion that we would make love and then we'd love each other forever. We might be separated, but we'd stay true to each other until be could be together again. I saw it as sealing our covenant of love. I was such a moron. I looked at him standing in the frozen quad and waited for him to explain. "Yes, I sent you the tape. What do you think?"
He paced a bit and rubbed the back of his neck, a move I learned meant that I had discommoded him. I smiled, I liked shaking him up. "I don't know."
"You don't know? Come on, you know." No matter how much he controlled our relationship, I knew that I was in charge now.
"Okay, I know. Of course, I want to..." He appealed to me.
"Come on you can say it, make love to me." I laughed at him, he seemed so serious. I felt happy when we were together, I just wanted to celebrate. I thought of sex with Bobby as an extension of that celebration. Like dancing with pure joy, or singing with delight.
"It's more than that, it's more than physical." He stood close to me and took both of my hands in his, "you know that I'm going away. I may not be able to call you or write to you. Things will change when you go to college, I don't want..." He dropped my hands and huffed in frustration.
"I know all of that!" I protested, he seemed to making a very big deal. "What are you afraid of?"
"Our relationship will change. It will get complicated. It won't be fun anymore. I'm afraid that I'll do something wrong and I'll hurt you. I can't get involved because I'm not going to stay here. You deserve someone who can make his life around you. I can't be that man. I have other things that I need to do. Cynthia, as much as I love you, I'm not giving up my future for you. I'm not going to lead you on, I'm not going to make love to you so that I can leave you later. I don't think that I could stand hurting you that way, I know I can't stand hurting myself that way."
As much as I loved him there were things about him that I might never understand. "Bobby, no matter what, even after you go, I'll still feel this way about you."
"I don't understand."
"The way I see it, when we make love, we'll just be moving to another level. I know that you're leaving. I understand that you aren't promising to come back to me. I don't want to tie you down, I don't want to trap you. I want to make beautiful memories. If you don't want to, I understand, but examine your motives. Are you really afraid of hurting me? Are you afraid of being hurt? I can't predict what will happen, or how I'll feel. Right now, I just want you. There's no reason, just love and desire." I hugged him in his sentinel stance. He refused to yield, standing rigid.
"Cynthia, you're not like any other girl." Finally he hugged me back, "I've got to consider everything. But hold that thought." He leaned in, and rather than the perfunctory kiss he usually gave me at the end of the evening, he kissed me deeply. Until that moment I had been innocent. The kissing that I had done with boys in the past was nothing like this. It was the difference between candlelight and lightening. I had a glimmer of understanding. We were playing with fire.
Eventually Bobby relented. About a month before graduation he came to get me. I remember the silence as we drove to his apartment. I was nervous, excited, scared and so in love with him. I studied his face in the passing streetlights. He looked so grim. "We don't have to if you don't want to". I didn't want to force him.
"Hmm? What?" He came out of his fog and looked at me as he drove. "Have you changed your mind?"
"No, but if you want to change yours..."
He didn't speak for a full minute, "I haven't changed my mind. I think you're right."
I smiled, "I like being right."
He laughed, "Cynthia, you are going to ruin me for other women."
"That was my plan all along." It was actually. Intellectually I knew that we weren't going to get married and have kids, but in the back of my mind I harbored a slender hope that some time in the future, he'd come back to me.
"I don't know if it's a good thing or not." His mood got lighter and I felt more comfortable with him.
"It's not. And there's a hitch, too." I bounced as we hit a pothole.
"A hitch? So this isn't a fully formed plan?"
"Yes it is, but it's a plan that involves a sacrifice. Not only are you ruined for other women, but I'm ruined for other men." I let him chew on that.
"What if it's true?" Always such a worrier.
"So what if it is?" I was naive, I had no idea that we were speaking the truth as it would come to be.
He shrugged, "I'm willing to take that risk."
We parked a few blocks away from his place. We walked hand in hand quietly through the desolate street. We got to his door and he gave me one last out, "It's not too late. I can take you back to school."
"Open the door." I commanded.
He unlocked the door and kicked it open, before I could move, he picked me up and carried me in and to his room in the back of his apartment. I tried to glean a look around. The filthy bachelor pad had morphed into a shabby but clean loft. The furniture may have been mismatched and the kitchen may have been installed at the turn of the century, but it was clean and tidy. It was also absent of dodgy roommates. "Where is..." I started to ask.
"Shhhh. He nudged his bedroom door open and slammed it shut. He kissed me as he placed me on the bed. As though he had choreographed it, he turned on the music, lit the candles, and dimmed the lights. Roxy Music cued up in the tape player and "More Than This" wafted through the room. He kissed my forehead, "I know that it's not champagne and strawberries at The Plaza..."
"No, " I replied, "it's better."
I think that there must be two categories of "first times". The usual, disappointing and shameful, and there is mine, brilliant and wonderful. Aside from the absolute bliss, I remember really looking at Bobby's room. He had a print of John Everett Millais's "Ophelia" on the wall by his dresser. If you don't know it, it's a rather morbid piece, but beautiful and peaceful at the same time. It features Ophelia, the "mad maiden" from Hamlet. It shows her floating in the water, surrounded by flowers and garlands. At first you think, gosh, how lovely, then you realize that this is her death, and it's sad and tragic. I turned away from it.
The sheets smelled of Downy fabric softener. They were plain white sheets and they had been bleached nearly phosphorescent. There was an old oak dresser that could have been an heirloom or found on the sidewalk on trash day. While the room showed no signs of disarray, his desk was another story. An attempt had been made to sort things into piles, and the piles were neat, but it was obvious that he'd never be able to find anything in all that neatness. The matchstick bamboo blinds on the window kept out the sunlight and probably an ugly view of a brick wall and the alley.
I looked over at him and he seemed to be drowsy. I couldn't understand it, my heart was pounding and my brain was swirling around with all sorts of random thoughts. Of course my first thought was, how can I get some of this on a regular basis. I was thinking about how we were going to arrange for another stint of Bobby as a houseguest over the summer. With my 1510 SAT scores, we'd need a better ruse than a live-in tutor. I thought about my graduation, how could I keep a straight face when Bobby and my parents were all brought back together. I was desperate to look at myself in a mirror to see if I could see an obvious physical change. I was about to get out of the bed when Bobby reached for me, "Lay down and rest. You think too much."
There was a parenthesis on my happiness, that was Bobby's graduation in January. But before that was my debut. It's weird about heavily anticipated events. It seems like you plan them forever and as they approach, time accelerates and before you know it the event is over and all that's left is writing the thank-you notes.
My graduation was held in the West Garden of my school. 82 of us walked in white gowns and mortar boards across the stage to Pomp and Circumstance. We had a small family celebration at 21, Bobby wore his blue suit that night and entertained us all with tales of his participation in psych experiments. I sat across from him at the table, watching him tease my younger brother Greg and joke around with my parents. It would be so natural for him to stay with us.
The photographs from my party in June look more like wedding pictures than debutante portraits. I've got the typical Bacharach formal sitting, with me in my white dress and gloves. That's the one on the piano in the front room at my mother's house. It took me years to put away the posed photo of Bobby and me at the base of the staircase at my mother's house. He's facing the camera with a photogenic smile and I've got my gloved hands on his chest and staring up at him with the most insipid look on my face.
Ultimately Bobby came to stay with us that summer. Father gave him an internship at his firm. I'd spend my days with my friends, or at teas, or at luncheons, or with other debutantes. My time was frittered away with beauty treatments, dress fittings and other amusements. Evenings Bobby and I showed up at all the right parties and events. We were charming, making sure to mix and mingle. I'm sure that people thought that Bobby was some distant cousin. I acted properly, as a well-bred girl should, never betraying a deeper relationship. Nights...we stole pleasure late, after the house had gone to bed. We'd sneak out and explore the grounds, and each other. In the mornings, I'd be asleep in my room and Bobby would be up with Father and on his way to a day of toil in the world of high finance. Poor thing.
In the fall I was packed off to college. It was familiar, living with other girls in a dorm, but I had the freedom to come and go as I pleased. Luckily Amtrak provided the transportation, so I could see Bobby on weekends.
I tried to savor the last bits of time we had together, but it was going so fast. I tried to imprint every moment in my memory. What song we listened to, what we ate, where we went, what he said to me. I wanted to memorize everything. I fantasized that if I were imprisoned somewhere, that I could pass my sentence happily remembering all of these details.
All too soon Christmas Vacation arrived. I was ensconced in my old room, with Bobby down the hall in what we had all learned to regard as his room. It was too cold outside to tryst on the grounds and I was too timid to attempt anything in my parents house.
I got an idea. We had gone into the city for the Junior Assembly. My father presented me there, we danced the silly dance and then we had the party. Cornelia had been the star of the season. People magazine had named her "Deb of the Year." Press swarmed the party. I had told my mother that I had plans to spend the night with a friend in town. I grabbed Bobby and in the commotion, we made our escape. He didn't know what to say when we pulled up in front of the hotel.
"What's this?" His confusion written on his face.
"Champagne and strawberries at The Plaza." I took his hand and led him through the lobby and to the room that I had rented earlier in the day.
Eventually Bobby graduated. There was no commencement ceremony. He just went to his last class and that was that. He was invited to the ceremony in May, but by then who knew where he'd be? I wanted to mark the occasion. I booked a table at the Russian Tea Room and I bought him a present. It wasn't as ostentatious as the Alfa Romeo my parents bought for my graduation/birthday present, but I thought it suited him.
We had finished our appetizer of caviar and cranberry vodka and I placed the thin box on the table.
"Ah, you got me a present." He tilted his head sideways to examine the wrapping. "Hermes?" He gave it the proper French pronunciation.
"It seemed appropriate." I shrugged. I had agonized over his present, and finally decided on this.
He carefully untied the bow and slid his fingers under the tape. He unwrapped the present with the same deliberation he gave to undressing me. It made me want him right there in the restaurant. Finally the paper gave way and he opened the box. A whiff of leather accompanied the removal of the lid. "Oh." He stared into the box admiring my choice.
"Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful." He traced a seam with his finger and then opened it, revealing the second present. "Oh," he exclaimed again. "This is too much."
"Well, you can't have a lovely portfolio like that and not have a pen to match." I smiled at him. "Good luck with your life Bobby."
He continued to touch his gifts. He took the cap off the pen and scribbled with a flourish on the pad of paper. "This is great. Really. I love it. Thank you." He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
Later that week he left.
In the intervening years I had met other men and had other lovers, but my prediction had come to pass, I was ruined for other men. I don't think that it was so much that Bobby was so special, although that was part of it. I think that I had developed a standard from which I didn't dare deviate. When you've had a truly great love affair, every relationship you have after that suffers in comparison.
It's unfair really. I was at my most carefree that year or so. I had no responsibilities, no worries. I was on an adventure that was destined to end, but I was allowed to enjoy every minute of it. Once I became an adult, and I took on the mantle of adulthood, other influences come to play in relationships. I had a job, with its stresses. I had to live on my own, with all that entails. I had to pick up my dry cleaning, buy work clothes, go to the gym and get a baby present for Alissa's shower. You can't recapture that time in your life when all you have to do is live for the moment.
This all zipped through my mind as I regarded my former lover. Delight is a wholly inappropriate emotion with a corpse in the next room, but what the hell? He was dead and in life he was a real prick. "Bobby!" I jumped up and restrained myself from pouncing on him.
"Cynthia." He didn't even sound surprised, but he did seem pleased, "this is Detective Eames, Eames, this is Cynthia." I can understand why there wasn't more to the introduction. It could have been awkward. "We're going to examine the victim, can you wait, we're going to need some information." So professional. I was half tempted to watch him do his job. I wanted to see how he had turned out. Aside from being a police detective.
As they went into Wendell's office I heard Eames say, "So what's up with you and Cindy out there?" I heard the snap of latex gloves.
"Cynthia," he corrected, "her name is Cynthia, and she's an old friend."
I was pleased that he chose to put it that way. They bumped around his office for a while collecting microscopic particles and quarks for all I know. I tried to go back to my office to get some work done, but I was too antsy. I hate to admit this, but I think I was stunted in my emotional growth. Some days I have to remind myself that I'm not an eighteen-year old debutante, but a forty-year old woman. Although I look damn good for forty. I've kept my figure and I'm proud to say that it's all mine. I'm still coming to terms with the bifocals.
Finally they finished. They interviewed the staff. Apparently the murder occurred during our lunch hour, so the only one in the office at the time was Wendell. After it was ascertained that the junior staffers and the administrative assistants didn't know much of anything except that as always, Wendell had decided to dine in on his usual frozen dinner, no one had much to add. They were all dismissed and headed home, presumably with a dilly of an answer to the question, "so how was work?"
They saved me for last. Wendell was the director, but I was the brains of the outfit. Bobby circled around me, if I didn't know better I'd have thought he was trying to guess who my dressmaker was. "Everything as you remember?"
"Pretty much," he nodded, "do you know of any reason why someone would shoot Mr. Wallace? Did he have any enemies?"
I sat on the sofa in the reception area, my feet were killing me. "It's hard to say, he wasn't an easy man to get along with." I could be diplomatic, no sense in speaking ill of the dead. Besides, anything I said would be nothing more than speculation.
Eames sat down opposite me, I glanced down at her shoes, much more sensible than mine, but probably just as uncomfortable after a long day. "Has anything been different or strange in the past week or so?"
"We're economists in a think tank, our days thrive on the mundane. We eschew the different and strange, at least in our professional lives." I shrugged. I heard scratching and looked up, Bobby was taking notes, I couldn't help but smile. He smiled back self-consciously.
"Think ?" The Mont Blanc pen poised over the tablet in the Hermes portfolio.
"It depends, we are bi-partisan officially, but we do lean in that direction. In this office we concentrate on the infrastructure of third-world countries. Mr. Wallace specialized in roadways and transportation." I couldn't imagine anything more boring.
"And your specialty?" He was leaning over at a ninety degree angle, it was an exaggeration of what he had done years before. The whole thing was so strange. I still wanted to jump him.
"Telecommunications." I stifled a yawn. I wasn't tired, just bored. I wanted a drink, I wanted a drink with Bobby.
"Really?" He was unflatteringly incredulous.
"Yes." No more needed than that.
"Have there been any strange phone calls, any people who seemed out of place?" Eames re-phrased her earlier question.
"I don't know, I don't answer the phones. You could check the phone log, I'll print you out a copy." I walked over to the computer and soon the printer was churning out a month's worth of telephone records. "Do you need more than the past thirty days?"
"No, that should be fine." She sat back and gave Bobby a look.
So did I. He seemed uncomfortable. We all sat in silence, finally he spoke. "I guess that's it then. If you remember anything..."
"Yes, where should I call you?" Again, I smiled.
He reached into his coat pocket and gave me one of his cards. His thumb underlined his cell phone number. He transmitted his request through his eyes and I nodded. The coroner's office took poor Wendell away and gave me the name of a company that specialized in cleaning up crime scenes. I suspected that we'd all be working out of the UN for a day or two. Personally, I planned to telecommute. I gathered up my things and locked up. I was desperate for that drink. I dialed the number from the lobby. He answered right away and I saw him through the glass doors on the street.
"Cynthia, I can't believe that it's you." He swept me up in the hug I was aching for.
"Hell of a reunion." I mumbled into his neck, I swear he was wearing Eau d'Hadrian. God, he smelled good.
"Do you have time for a drink?" He asked, "We can catch up properly."
"I never thought you'd ask, let's go someplace quiet." I steered him towards 21.
We sat in a booth and gave each other the short version of the past twenty-some-odd years. I told him about my brothers, their wives and children. I told him about all of my friends, people that he knew. I told him about my parents. I waited for him to tell me something. I only found out about his job.
"But seriously Bobby, what have you been doing?" There had to be more to him than his badge.
Again with the head tilt. "I work. It's important."
"Okay, but what do you do for fun?" Haven't we been here before?
"Fun?" He had to think about it. He always had to think about it.
"You know, that thing you're supposed to do between work, sleep and more work." I held up my glass and indicated that another martini would be most welcome.
"My job is fun." He reached over and took my hand in both of his, they were still soft. "Do you still ride?"
"Of course. I do everything I've always done. I'm the one constant in New York, I'm the stereotypical dilettante socialite. The city would collapse without me. Bobby, let's get real here, unless you've been under a rock, you must read about me every so often. Don't tell me you've stopped reading the society page." I ate the olives off the little plastic sword and realized that I was hungry. "I want a hamburger." I motioned the waitress over and ordered one for each of us. "So why haven't you called?"
He coughed, or choked. "Call you?"
"You mean to tell me that it never occurred to you to look me up, not even some night when you were maudlin with drink? You're a detective, I know you could have found my number." I kicked off my shoes under the table.
"And said what? Hi, beautiful, wealthy socialite, I'm the blue collar slob you had a fling with when you were a Deb?" He finished his drink just as the waitress brought him a refill.
"Oh, I wish you had. You look great, are you doing as well as you seem?" All I wanted was for him to hold me, well that and the hamburger, I was starving.
"No." He sighed and pushed away his drink.
"I'm sorry. Is it anything a night with an old friend could cure?" I had three martinis and I was still looking for that burger, I started to feel courageous.
He laughed, finally. "Maybe."
It didn't take us long to eat dinner and take a cab to my apartment. I must have looked a sight to Julio, the night doorman. Bobby held my shoes and kept me steady as I weaved towards my door.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ever the gentleman.
I kicked the door open and jumped into his arms, causing him to lose balance and drop my shoes in the foyer. "Carry me to bed." I commanded. "I'm bossy and used to getting my way."
Once we got to bed it was easy enough to just lay there and talk in the dark. I put some CDs in the changer and we listened to familiar music. We slept a little, here and there, but mostly we reveled in each other's presence.
In the morning he left to go to work. I called Mrs. Connor to make the appropriate arrangements and decided to take a mental health day. For the first time in years I have something wonderful to look forward to.
Bobby strolled into the squad room looking relaxed and happy. Eames felt compelled to look up at him as he put his things on the desk and offered her a Starbuck's coffee and scone. "You look chipper."
"Do I?" he hung up his coat and sat down to plan his day. "Has the M.E. got a preliminary report yet on Wallace?" He might as well get right to it.
Eames was still looking at him. "You haven't been home to change."
"I'll go at lunch. I want to get this squared away." He reached over for a new manila file and began to review his notes.
"Bobby, what's going on...wait a minute, does this have something to do with Cynthia?" She grinned at him, trying to get in on his secret.
High pitched ringing cut her short. He checked the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number, "Goren." Then his face went pale.
The voice on the phone was familiar, British, female. Nicole. "So, you've got a bounce in your step this morning. Don't say I never gave you anything. But remember, what I give...I can also take away."
"Nicole..." He whispered hoarsely into the phone, but she had gone. "Damn."