Page 49 of Summer of '69
Part Two
July 1969
Summertime Blues
The good news is that Kirby’s air conditioner is doing its job. She has taken to calling the attic her igloo. As promised, Darren showed up the day after the carousel ride with the two-by-fours, and Evan must have let him in because when Kirby returned from the state beach that day, the unit was snug in the window and the novels had been returned to her bedside table with a note lying on top:Enjoy! XO, D.
The bad news is that this was nearly a week ago and Kirby hasn’t heard from Darren since. She had thought the invitation over to his house for steamers was all set, but when Sunday evening rolled around, he hadn’t called or stopped by to confirm the time. Even so, Kirby had gotten dressed and spent a torturous hour waiting on the front porch and listening for the phone to ring inside. She had considered strolling over to the Methodist Campground and simply knocking on the door of the blue house, but after consulting her Emily Post, she concluded that this would not do at all. Darren’s plans must have changed. Maybe the Frazier family had decided on pizza instead or maybe someone had gotten sick…or maybe Darren had decided that he didn’t like her after all. She had been thrilled with theXOpreceding his initial in the note, but maybe she’d been imbuing those letters with too much meaning.
Or maybe, on hearing that Darren had invited Kirby for dinner, his mother had said, “Absolutely not.”
If she had, it might have been because Kirby is white.
Or it might have been because Dr. Frazier knew that Kirby was Clarissa Bouvier.
Kirby tries to let thoughts of Darren go. He’s not the reason she’s on Martha’s Vineyard, after all. If Kirby had learned anything from Officer Scottie Turbo, it was this: Never let a man be responsible for your happiness. Kirby will be responsible for her own happiness from now on.
There are good things to think about. Kirby loves her job. She enjoys the guests, and her friendship with Mr. Ames has earned her a ride to and from work and the opportunity to nap mid-shift in the back office without worry. In her first review by Mrs. Bennie, Kirby earned high marks. Mrs. Bennie let Kirby know that the inn would be getting even busier now that July was upon them, and the guests would be more renowned. There was a rumor that Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow might be checking in, and Senator Kennedy was due to visit in two weeks.
“When we have VIP guests,” Mrs. Bennie said, “we must exercise discretion. Their privacy is our number-one priority.”
“Understood,” Kirby said. She found it hard to believe that she might be the only person standing between Frank Sinatra or Senator Kennedy and a potential scandal—but one never knew. One couple who’d checked in under the names Mr. Light and Miss Shadow had informed Kirby that they would be experimenting with LSD during their stay. They’d asked to be left completely alone for thirty-six hours—no newspaper drop-off, no housekeeping. Kirby had assured them she would personally see to it that they were not disturbed. She worried that she was being too lenient, too liberal, too indulgent. What if one or the other of them had a bad trip and did a swan dive off the roof? Would it be Kirby’s fault? But all had apparently gone just fine, and when the couple checked out, Miss Shadow had slipped Kirby an envelope containing a fifty-dollar bill.
When Kirby isn’t at work or asleep in her own private igloo, she hangs out with Patty and Luke. She worries about the role-playing or whatever it is they’re doing when they’re alone, but Kirby has learned that no one can judge a relationship except for the two people in it. And there’s no denying that Luke Winslow makes life exciting. One Monday afternoon, Luke appeared in the Willys Jeep with a cooler full of beer and a fat joint and drove Patty and Kirby all the way out to the cliffs of Gay Head. Kirby had heard all about the cliffs and they did not disappoint. They were striated in earth tones—ocher, rust, brick red—and dropped straight down to the churning ocean. The three of them sat on a blanket, cracked some beers, passed the joint around, and experienced the majesty of the place—breathtaking, ancient, holy. When Luke and Patty started necking, Kirby closed her eyes and fell back on the blanket, enjoying the sun on her face. She was nearly asleep when she heard them sneak off, and she was envious, not only because they were having sex in the great outdoors with an unparalleled view of Mother Nature, but also because they had each other and she had no one.
Being responsible for her own happiness, she has realized, is a lonely proposition.
Patty must sense Kirby’s loneliness because the following night she invites Kirby out for dinner and dancing with herself, Luke, and her brother Tommy. They go to the Dunes restaurant at the Katama Shores Motor Inn. It’s an old army barracks that has been converted into a modern, low-slung motel overlooking the ocean. The Dunes has a curved wall of windows, delicious finger foods, and live music, all of which makes Kirby feel like she’s walking into a sophisticated cocktail party.
Kirbylovesthe vibe. She thinks,I’m fine! I’m happy!
Luke gets them a table for four and Tommy sits next to Kirby and pulls his chair close to hers. Tommy is a male version of Patty. He’s a little overweight with a mop of dark hair and freckles. He’s not bad-looking or good-looking; he’s just a regular guy whose night has clearly beenmadeby meeting Kirby.
“You’re a knockout,” he says. His mouth is right at Kirby’s ear, which Kirby thinks is a bit forward, although it’s difficult to hear with the music. There’s a four-person band playing songs by the Beatles, the Turtles, and the Cyrkle.
“Oh, thanks,” Kirby says. For no good reason, the compliment sends her into a downward spiral of Darren-thought. After Scottie Turbo, Kirby was sure she would never like anyone again, but she likes Darren and she thought Darren liked her. Until his disappearing act. Kirby has gone over every word of their last conversation hundreds of times, wondering what she misconstrued, and she can’t figure it out. Maybe she isn’t meant for someone as quality as Darren. Maybe her life will be populated by ho-hum fellows like Tommy O’Callahan.
Across the table, Patty and Luke are enclosed in their usual love bubble. Luke summons the waitress in her high white patent leather boots and orders something; Kirby can’t hear what it is, but she hopes it’s potent. Her only hope is to get drunk.
The band plays “Red Rubber Ball.”
“Wanna dance?” Tommy asks.
“Sure,” Kirby says, though she doesn’t at all. The song is neither fast nor slow, though Tommy, of course, chooses to dance slowly. He encircles Kirby with his beefy arms and pulls her close. She makes space between them the way her mother taught her to when she was eleven years old. She regrets agreeing to dance; she should have had a drink first.
“So,” Kirby says. She isn’t sure what to ask Tommy O’Callahan. She knows he’s Patty’s brother, two years older, seventh in line behind Joseph, Claire, Matthew, John, Kevin, and Sara and ahead of Rose and Patty. She knows he grew up in South Boston and attended UMass Boston before coming to the Vineyard to manage the Strand movie theater. She considers asking about his political views—what does he think about the war? How does he feel about Nixon?—because his answers will either rule him out as a boyfriend entirely or make her more kindly disposed toward him. But the setting is too convivial for such dreary questions and Kirby is in such a fragile state of mind that talking about the war might break her. “How did you meet Luke?”
“Dumb luck,” Tommy says. “I was on my way over on the ferry and Luke approached me and said he was looking for roommates. So me and my buddy Eugene took a look at the place, and I mean, there was no question. Fifteen bucks a week for that house?Witha maid? It’s too good to be true. I pinch myself every day.”
Luke makes only thirty dollars a week in rent, Kirby thinks. She wonders if he gives the money to his parents or pockets it. It’s odd that Luke picked two strangers off the boat to be his roommates, isn’t it? Doesn’t he havefriends?He’s wealthy, good-looking, a man of leisure. Something doesn’t add up.
“Is he a nice guy?” Kirby asks.
Tommy shrugs. “Sure.”
The song ends and Kirby couldn’t be happier. They head back to the table, where four enormous electric-blue cocktails are waiting. Kirby sits down and takes a healthy slug of hers. A platter of shrimp arrives and another of Swedish meatballs. Patty locks eyes with Kirby and cocks her head toward Tommy, unmistakably asking,Do you like him?
Kirby casts her eyes down at her cocktail. She would like to swim in it.
