We are in the patio garden at Tilly’s parents’ house. I arrange to spend the summer in Newport with Cornelia. Her parents will be in Europe, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. She invites everyone to drop in whenever they want.
Topper says he might come and see us, if I would like him to. His grandmother has a house in Newport. She’s getting old and he really ought to spend some time with her. The sun’s in my eyes, and I feel my cheeks growing warmer. I tell him that would be lovely, then quickly look away when he holds my gaze and says, “Good.”
Tilly’s headed to the Vineyard. She might stop by, depending on what she feels like doing. She’s being very cool and casual about it.
“How are the Kennedys?” Topper asks. “Are Jackie and Jack settling into married life?” Topper likes Jack. He may have thoughts on old Joe Kennedy, but he really likes his children.
Tilly tells him all the news. I get up to greet Tilly’s father, who has walked out to see us, just as the conversation flows to Ted.
We all laugh at Ted’s messes and wonder what will become of him. Tilly’s father says that he’s known a lot of young men like Ted Kennedy who have eventually cleaned up their acts and made something of themselves, so we shouldn’t write him off just yet. He bids us a good day and goes back inside.
***
I get a call out of nowhere in June.
“It’s me,” I hear a familiar voice say. “I’m sorry, but I had to tell you something. He is laughing. They called me back!”
“Who called?” I ask, half-awake. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Marion Keisker,” he says, ignoring the rest.
“Oh, wow. Congratulations!” I say, pleased, sitting up in bed.
“They want me to come in and do a song for them.”
“That’s amazing!” I tell him, rubbing my eyes. “But… why are you calling me?”
“I didn’t know how not to,” he sighs. There’s a silence. “I didn’t know who else I’d most want to tell.”
“That’s very sweet,” I reply. “How are you?”
“I miss you,” he says.
“Ah,” I respond, hearing the tension in his voice.
“I been keepin’ myself real busy, Buzzy,’cause if I don’t, I’ll drown in all this hurt from losin’ you,” he snaps, as if it’s my fault. “Ain’t you even the least bit happy for me? I only called to tell you. To hear your voice.”
He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything.
The following week, I receive a letter saying the recording session didn’t go too well, and that he needs me home to help him work through it. It makes me chortle. I have to go home anyway, there’s some business to attend to with my finances. Grandpa George is insistent that I learn to take care of myself, to be properly taught in the art of making and keeping one’s money. I also want to spend a bit of time with Miss Mary before heading off to meet Cornelia and the gang later in the summer.
***
I arrive on the afternoon of July 3rd. The boy is waiting for me at the airport.
“Early dinner, then a movie?” he asks, acting like nothing ever came between us.
“Sure,” I say, surprised by his newfound mannish ways.
“Good,” he says, steering me toward his daddy’s old car. “Hop in.”
On the way back to the house to drop off my things, he talks nonstop, one long sentence full of news. I only catch half of it, the session that didn’t go so great, how it’s always better when I’m here to see him through things, Dixie (his girlfriend, who’s lovely but…), the funeral for some singer he’s heartbroken over (a name I don’t even recognise), Dixie going on holiday, work, and thank God I’m home.
“We’re here,” he says in a joyous tone, pulling into the driveway. “Let’s drop your things and say hello to Miss Mary.”
“Hey, Miss Mary! Good to see you.” And we’re off again.
“Please,” I say, as he keeps going, his monologue now stretching past two hours without coming up for air. “Stop. I need to catch my breath.”
He looks wounded. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just… I just…” His old childhood stammer slips out, the one that always comes when he’s nervous. “Sorry. How are you?” he asks, folding his arms on the table at the diner where we are now, leaning across and looking at me. “No, really. How are you?” It’s the first pause he’s taken since I arrived, and the first time we’ve stopped to connect.
We’re back.
***
We file into the Hippodrome. He’s bought us tickets for a double bill: the new Hitchcock, Rear Window, and that new Marlon Brando film, On the Waterfront. We lose ourselves completely, until a familiar voice cuts through the dark, calling his name.
It’s his mother.
She has no problem marching down the aisle of a crowded theatre, hollering for her nineteen-year-old son. She drags him out by the elbow to tell him he’s had a call and needs to ring a boy named Scotty Moore back.
“Sorry,” he says, peeking back at me. “It’s Sun Records. We gotta head home so I can call him.”
After he talks to Scotty on the phone, he hangs up and turns to me with a grin. “See? Minute you show up, everything starts goin’ right again.”
His mother shakes her head and mutters, “He ain’t wrong, you know,” before walking off.
“I need sleep,” I tell him. “I’ve got to go home.”
He’s still riding the high of the call. “Aw, poor baby. Do you really?” he says, pulling me in for a hug. “Well, I’m comin’ with you then.”
***
Back at my house, once we’re up in my room, I immediately notice something’s changed.
“What on earth happened here?” I ask, scanning the mess.
“Ah…” he pauses, sheepish. “Yeah, so, I kind of moved in. I use this place to relax, y’know? It’s where I go to clear my head.”
Miss Mary, standing behind us with a stack of clean linens, nods without surprise. “Yes,” she says with a small, knowing smile.
“I see.” I take another look. It’s chaos. The boy chortles, deflecting from the fact that this no longer looks like my room.
“Okay,” he says brightly, diving onto the bed and stretching out. He pats the space next to him, wanting me to lie down too.
I know he wants to talk all night. But I’m too tired. The moment my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold.
I wake at dawn to his voice mid-sentence. He’s already talking at me.
“Oh, there you are!” he says, eyes lighting up. “Good to have you back among the livin’. I brought coffee.” He hands me a hot cup of mocha. “Here you go, doll.”
Then, without skipping a beat: “Now listen, today we’re goin’ to Scotty’s. I can’t go by myself. You know how I get. All jittery on my own. You’ll come?”
“Okay,” I murmur, still half-asleep. “But I’m not just here to be your servant, you know. No chance of that happening.”
He laughs, already buzzing like a live wire.
My World of Interiors 