Before we left, everyone lined up on the lawn for a family photograph.
“Would you mind, Lynn?” Mr. Southgate handed me his camera.
“Tina?” Peter called out. “C’mon! I want you in this!”
“Make sure you get everyone in!” Mr. Southgate called to me as I focused on all of them.
Dorothy Southgate said, “I can take one with Lang in it, after he takes this one.”
“Lynn doesn’t want to be in it,” Mr. Southgate said.
“Lang!” Alex snapped. “Lang, Dad! For Gawd’s sake get it right for once!”
Mr. Southgate muttered, “You get it right, why don’t you?”
“Say cheese!” I said.
“Brie!” Mrs. Southgate laughed.
That got them all going.
“Roquefort!” someone shouted.
“Camembert!” Peter called out.
“Gorgonzola!” from Tina.
“Port-Salut!” Mr. Southgate.
Alex and I squeezed into the rear seat of a green Geo for the ride back to New York.
We weren’t talking.
I was thinking of all the family pictures everywhere in the house. Then I thought of Huguette telling me about that portrait of Nevada in her bedroom, and Cali with a nosebleed. She’d told me that she’d finally asked Nevada about it, asked him what it meant.
He’d said that it was some whim of the artist’s, that when he first saw it, he was furious. But Cali liked it. Cali made Nevada keep it. She’d said it was “honest.” Shortly after it was painted, she’d left Nevada.
I’d asked Huguette what she thought it meant.
“How do I know?” she’d said. “Maybe the artist saw her distress…. The funny thing is that’s the one picture where I look like her. I resented it being there where I can see it every morning when I wake up. But now I don’t. She looks so beautiful and vulnerable.”
“Well, she’s got a nosebleed. Who wouldn’t look vulnerable?”
“I think I remind him of her, a lot. I think Uncle Ben imagines I’m in distress, and that maybe he can save me when he couldn’t save her. He’ll save me from Martin, he thinks. Some screwbat idea like that!”
“Screwball,” I’d said.
I wanted to tell Alex about it, but I was already beginning to try to keep Huguette out of our conversations. I knew Alex was jealous of her, and of all that I was getting involved in at Roundelay.
When we saw the lights of the George Washington Bridge, Alex did his imitation of Clark Gable, the last line from The Misfits, when he told Marilyn Monroe, “Just head for that big star straight on. The highway’s under it, and it’ll take us right home.”
He reached for my hand.
From the front seat his cousin said, “Humphrey Bogart, right?”
TWENTY
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” MY MOTHER said. “Nick Ball called to say he’s at Allie’s in Sag Harbor. He wants you to call him.”
I was fresh from the shower. Huguette was waiting for me in the Aurora, down by the gates. It was pouring out. We were going to a one-o’clock matinee, something with Julia Roberts in it.
“Are you going out with Franklin tonight?”
“Yes. We’re going to see the new show at Guild Hall. Then we’re having dinner somewhere. When is Alex arriving?”
“Very late,” I said. “There’s a cast meeting after the performance. He has a ride.”
“Then he’s going to wake up the rottweilers.”
“Probably. Sorry about that.”
“I wish you could get hold of him and tell him to get dropped off down the road by the short cut. Then he could come up that back path without the dogs barking.”
“I’ll try. Mom, what’s going on with you and Franklin?”
“I like him. You would, too, if you’d give him a chance.”
“A chance to what? Be my daddy?”
“He couldn’t be any worse than the real one.”
I blew her a kiss, grabbed an umbrella, and hurried out the door.
As I walked through the rain, I thought about Nick. He’d called about a week ago, as I was hurrying to get to Sob Story. He’d said he wanted to talk with me. Nevada was having people for dinner that night and Mom was helping Franklin load up the Range Rover with stew and salad. I’d told Nick I’d call him when I had more time.
We never saw Nevada’s guests. Huguette said they were mostly musicians: people from his past. The Matero twins, who used to play backup, Twist—people like that.
Evenings, Huguette hung out with whoever was visiting Roundelay, or she holed up in her room writing long letters to Martin.
Most days I had odd jobs to perform around the estate. There was always something to do, and I’d need money in the fall when I went back to school. I was only getting six dollars an hour at Sob Story, working from five to ten P.M.
But some days Huguette and I played tennis, saw a movie, or drove around Southampton, Sag Harbor, Montauk: sightseeing.
I didn’t tell Alex how much time we were spending together. I knew he’d nag at me again to tell her about us. I would when I found the right moment. I couldn’t see just blurting it as I had that day with Brittany.
I wondered if that was what Nick wanted to talk about. I’d never called him back because I had an idea it was. I dreaded discussing it with Nick. Alex always said if you can lose a friend by coming out to him, you aren’t losing a friend. But it wasn’t that easy. I’d known Nick all my life. I didn’t want to test him that way. I was afraid of some big scene we’d never be able to get past.
That afternoon, the first words out of Huguette’s mouth were “I have to call Martin before four o’clock. It’ll be ten at night his time. His family goes to bed early, and I don’t want to wake them up.”
“There’s a phone booth right across from the movies,” I said. “We’ll head over there as soon as we get out.”
“Uncle Ben is having lunch at his agent’s. Then he’ll pick me up at four in front of Polo. I’ll leave the car in the lot behind Polo, unless Alex
