ANDREW ELIOT’S DIARY
September 29, 1956
Sex.
I had given it a lot of thought all summer as I sweated my guts out at the construction job my father had so considerately arranged to enhance my acquaintance with physical labor. While my roommates, Newall and Wig, were off cruising the better beaches in Europe, the only thing I got to lay all summer was a lot of bricks.
I returned to Harvard for junior year determined to succeed where I had never failed — because I’d never even had the guts to try.
I was going to lose my virginity.
Mike and Dick came home with these incredible tales of trysting the nights away with nymphs of every nationality and cup size.
And yet peer pressure prevented me from asking either of them for advice — or more specifically for a phone number. I’d become the laughingstock of the Porcellian — not to mention Eliot House, the crew and probably even the biddies who served in the dining hall.
In desperation I thought of trying the notorious bars around Scollay Square, but I couldn’t work up the courage to go on my own. And besides, the whole idea was kind of sordid.
Who could help me?
The answer became apocalyptically clear the first evening I returned to my library job. For there, grinding away at his usual table, was Ted Lambros.
This time it was Andrew who begged Ted to come to his room for an urgent conversation.
Ted was puzzled, since he had never seen his friend so agitated.
“What’s up, Eliot?”
“Uh. How was your vacation, Ted?”
“Not bad, except I only got to see Sara for a couple of weekends. Otherwise it was just business as usual at The Marathon. Anyway, what’s your problem?”
Andrew wondered how the hell he could broach it.
“Hey, Lambros, can you keep a secret?” he asked.
“Who’re you talking to, Eliot? We have a sacred tenant-landlord relationship.”
Andrew opened another beer and took a long swig.
“Uh — you know I’ve been going to boarding schools since I was eight. The only girls we ever got to see were the ones they trucked in for tea dances and stuff. You know, prissy little ice maidens …”
“Yeah,” Ted replied. “I know the type.”
“Your high school was coed?”
“Sure, that’s one advantage of not having bucks.”
“So you must have been pretty young when you — uh — started going out with girls?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, treating the whole subject with an insouciant levity that suggested he was unaware of Andrew’s mounting anxiety.
“How old were you when you had your first — you know — experience?”
“Oh, about average,” Ted replied. “Maybe a little old, actually. I was almost sixteen.”
“Pro or amateur?”
“Oh, come on, Eliot, you don’t pay for that sort of thing. It was a hot pants little sophomore named Gloria. What about you?
“What about me?”
“How old were you when you lost it?”
“Ted,” Andrew muttered uneasily, “this may kind of shock you …”
“Don’t tell me, Eliot — you did it at eleven with your nanny!”
“I only wish. That’s what practically happened to Newall. No, what I wanted to tell you is — shit, this is so embarrassing — I still have it.”
The instant he confessed, Andrew was frightened that his friend might laugh. But instead, after a moment of reflection, Ted looked at him with genuine sympathy. “Hey, you got problems or something?”
“No — unless you call total fear a problem. I mean, I’ve had a lot of dates in the past few years, and I think some of them would have … cooperated. But I’ve been too scared to make the move. Because, frankly, Lambros, I’m not sure I have the technique. I mean, I’ve read all the books —
Ted put a paternal hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “My boy, I think you need what the football team calls a ‘practice scrimmage.’ ”
“Yeah. But I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Hey, no sweat, Andy. There are plenty of chicks from my high school still around Cambridge. They’d be tickled to go out with a Harvard man — especially a sophisticated guy from Eliot House.”
“But, Ted,” he responded with frenzy in his voice, “they can’t be utter pigs. I mean, I’ve gotta be seen with them. You know, in the dining room, or on some kind of date.”
“No, no. You don’t have to wine ’em and dine ’em. You just invite ’em to your room and let nature take its course. And don’t worry, the one I have in mind for you is really great-looking.”
“Hey, not
Ted Lambros laughed.
“Andy, Andy, stop being a goddamn puritan. Everything in life doesn’t have to be done the hard way. Look, why not meet me in front of Brigham’s at twelve-fifteen tomorrow? The little blonde ice-cream scooper is a real firecracker.”
He stood up and yawned. “Listen, it’s getting real late and I’ve got a nine o’clock. See you tomorrow.”
Andrew Eliot sat there shell-shocked. He had not expected things to move so fast. There were a million questions he still wanted to ask.
Outside Brigham’s the next day, he greeted Ted with annoyance.
“What the hell kept you? I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“Hey, I’m right on time. I had a class till noon. What’s the matter with you? C’mon, let’s get the show on the road.”
“Wait, wait, wait, Lambros. I’ve got to know what to do.”
Ted answered softly, “Listen, Eliot, just walk inside with me, order a cone, and when no one else is around I’ll introduce you to Lorraine.”
“Who’s Lorraine?”
“She’s your passport to paradise, baby. She’s a really good kid and just
“But, Ted, what exactly do I say?”
“Just give her one of your charming smiles and ask if she’d like to have a drink this afternoon. And Lorraine
