Chapter 31: Moonglow

“When do you have to be back at college?” he asks as I pick him up from Palm Springs Municipal Airport.

“Last week of September.”

“What about Topper? Where is he?”

“He’s back at Harvard.” I reply. 

I change to other topics before the boy can ask more questions. 

We pull into the drive of my house, and I lead the way inside. 

“It’s a cool house,” he says, stepping toward the glass doors. “Cool pool.”

“Have you been to Palm Springs before?”

“No,” he grins. “’Course not. Too fancy out here. You forget where I’m from.” He slips into a drawl. “I’m just a poor country boy.”

I smile. “Hasn’t stopped you from going places.”

“It sure hasn’t,” he says, strutting toward me. “But I’m gonna take you somewhere incredible right here and now.”

I run, laughing. He catches up, tilts his head. “What’s your favourite song?”

“Anything with the moon in it, or flying. My favourite’s Billie Holiday’s Blue Moon. Songs with flying or moons are always good. I’ve never heard a bad one.”

He grins. “You’re cute. Never stop bein’ cute.”

“I probably won’t.” I say. 

***

The next morning, Mr Sinatra comes over. He’s surprised to see the boy, and not Topper.
“Who’s this?” he asks, glancing at the boy. “Where’s Mr Montgomery?” 

“Mr Sinatra…” 

“Please, call me Frank,” he says, taking my hand.

“This is a very dear old friend of mine,” I tell him. 

“He’s also a singer. Like you.” 

The boy’s so excited he starts stuttering, saying all the wrong things. Mr S and his man can’t get away fast enough. 

“Walk me to the car,” he says, waving off the boy. 

As we walk, he lowers his voice. “I hope this isn’t what it looks like. You’re with him? I thought it was Mr Montgomery.” He squeezes my hand. 

“It probably isn’t what you think,” I say lightly. “And yes, I am with Mr Montgomery. The boy’s a wonderful performer, you should hear him sometime.”
Frank glances back at the house. “What’s his name again?”
I tell him.
“I think I’ve heard rumblings,” he says. “I’ll look him up.”
“That’s good.”
“I should warn you, musicians make terrible lovers. Unless your goal is to share.”
“I have a feeling you’ll grow fond of him eventually,” I say, ignoring his warning.
He laughs, climbing into the car. “Okay, Birdie. Send my regards to Mr Montgomery. Tell him to pop by Twin Palms.”
“I will, Chairman. Thank you.”

***

When I go back inside, the boy is all shook up.
“What the heck? What a moment.”
“Do you like Palm Springs yet?” I tease.
“You betcha,” he says, grinning. “Who’s next, Marilyn Monroe for tea? James Dean for a midnight drive?”
“You never know.” I walk to close the glass doors leading out to the pool.
“Wanna drive down to the Racquet Club for lunch?”
“The Racquet Club? Sure do.”

And the funny thing is, when we pull into the lot, Marilyn Monroe, chaperoned, pulls out in a cream-coloured car, and the boy just about loses it.
“Keep your hair on,” I laugh, taking his hand. “Are you hungry?”
“Always,” he says, still looking around like he’s landed on another planet.
“This is somethin’, ain’t it?”
And I catch myself, hoping he’ll behave. Hoping he won’t make a scene. I don’t want to think like this, but I do.
After all, I’m still only twenty.

***

“I’m so glad I came here,” he says later, lounging by the pool. “I can’t believe how insane this place is.”

“When I grow up,” he adds, half-joking, “I want a place here too.”

I bring him a drink. “Here you go.”

“You can stay here whenever you like,” I tell him. “Until you get a place of your own.”

“But I can’t, can I? Not with your Mr Man coming around all the time.”

I look at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” He’s quiet. “You love him?”

“I care about him very much.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

“I know what you asked.”

He looks away. “Feels different now, don’t it? You and me.”

“Everything’s different now,” I say. “You’re on the road. I’m at college. We’re not kids anymore.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then:

“I like that you have a life of your own,” he says. “Didn’t think I would, back when we were kids. And I sure don’t want any of my other girlies to be so independent.”

He glances over. “But I like it for you. It keeps us even.”

“Maybe that’s the key to the two of us,” I say. “We never have time to grow tired of each other.”

“Exactly,” he says, “don’t mean I ain’t jealous though.” 

***

Cary invites us back to the Racquet Club, he’s out here now too. The boy spends the afternoon in the pool, chatting up girls. Mr Grant grows more and more heated.
“He’s insecure,” I tell him. “He doesn’t know how to handle the Palm Springs crowd yet. He’s just… deflecting. I’ve known him since we were kids. I know his mind.”
Cary frowns. “That ain’t cricket.”
Elizabeth agrees, she’s popped over to pinch a cigarette and catches the end of our conversation.
“You can’t let a man treat you like this,” she says. “Be firmer. You deserve better.”
But I don’t mind. Not really.
Cary tells her my actual boyfriend is a different kettle of fish, a gentleman. A real mensch.
“Good!” Elizabeth laughs. She’s only a few years older than me, but so grown-up, so cool. I adore her.
“Gotta dash,” she says, kissing us both. She’s only here on a break from filming Giant in Texas.
“Bye, country boy,” she calls toward the pool.

The boy hears her. He’s flying high and embarrassed all at once, humbled just as he was trying to flirt with a couple of daughters of…
He slinks up to our table, dripping, quiet now.
When I finish lunch, I thank Mr Grant for the marvellous day.
“You’re welcome, baby,” Cary says, standing to hug me.

He shakes the boy’s hand. “You’re lucky to have a girl like her in your life.”
The boy is all shy now. “I sure am, Mr Grant. She’s all kinds of wonderful. I thank God every day I know her.”
“Atta boy,” Cary says. “Now you kids enjoy yourselves.”

When we get to the car, I don’t say a word.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You made me look like a fool.”

“I was just havin’ fun…”

“You were showing off. There’s a difference.”

“You’re bein’ a drag,” he tries to make light of it.

***

“I’m still hungry,” the boy says on the drive back to the house. 

“Well, you should’ve spent your time at the club differently, shouldn’t you?” I mutter.

“Yes. I should. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’ll rustle you something up at the house.”

We’re halfway home when a silver Porsche comes flying out of nowhere, cutting across the lane and nearly crashing into us. It’s a sleek little Spyder, fast as hell, with 130 painted on the side. All I catch is a flop of dark blond hair and the back of the driver’s head.

I slam the brakes.

“What a bloody-minded maniac,” I gasp, heart pounding.

The boy, who’d nodded off, jerks upright.

“What happened?”

“Never mind,” I say, hands gripping the wheel. “We survived.”

Looks like Elizabeth isn’t the only one from the Giant set spending her break in Palm Springs.

***

The boy tells me he has trouble sleeping.
“Well, I’ve always had trouble sleepin’,” he says. “But when you’re around, I sleep like a baby. Don’t know how. But it’s gettin’ worse when you ain’t there, and I can’t fix it.”
“If you don’t get your sleep, everything else falls apart, your health, your voice…everything.” I pause. “Have you seen a doctor?”

He shrugs. “I got somethin’ that helps. When I need it.”

“What kind of something?”

“Just pills. Ain’t a big deal.”

My chest tightens. “What kind of pills?”

“I don’t know, whatever the doc gives me when I ask.”

“How do you not know what you’re taking?” I ask. 

“I ain’t a baby, Birdie. I can handle myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying…”

“You’re sayin’ I’m messin’ up. You’re sayin’ I need you to fix me.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then WHAT is it?”

I don’t know. So I say nothing.

***

He has to go back on the road. It’s only been a few days, but he has shows lined up almost daily for the rest of the year. I worry how he’ll manage. Thank God he’s so young, or he might already be in trouble.

I take him to the airport and kiss him goodbye.
“Christmas?” he asks.
“For sure. You take care of yourself, won’t you, my boy?”
“I will. And you do the same now, my little darlin’,” he says. We both start laughing, and off he runs to catch his plane.