“On this magic day our character becomes defined, our growth is accelerated, our emotional transitions are made. Sometimes, maybe once in a lifetime, there will be a string of these magic days, one after another, so full of life and change and challenge that we are completely transformed by the experience and our souls become suffused with a boundless joy. During that time we are often overcome by the simple and incredible miracle of just being alive. This is the story of one such magic period.
“It was spring break in Fort Lauderdale. Our swimming season had just finished at Harvard and my uncle, as a present for my twenty-first birthday, offered to let me use his condominium in Florida for a couple of weeks so I could unwind from the twin rigors of studying and swimming practice…”
Nick had not looked at these pages for almost ten years. As he read the first few paragraphs he remembered, vividly, the ecstasy in which they were written. It was two nights before the party. She was at some social function that night, would be too late, would come by first thing in the morning. I couldn’t sleep. It was the first night in a week I had been away from her. He stopped for a moment, old emotions twisting around inside him, making him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous. He read the first paragraph again. It was also before the pain. Before the incredible goddamn pain.
For almost thirty minutes music had been playing on the radio. Nick had heard it, he knew it was there, but he could not have identified any of the songs. It had been background music. Now, just at the moment when his memories of Monique were the most poignant, the Miami “classic rock and roll station, WMIM, 99.9 on your FM dial,” played Cyndi Lauper’s haunting 1984 hit “Time After Time.” The music seemed to increase markedly in amplitude. Nick had to sit down and grab a breath. Until the song, he had been able to deal with his memories of Monique. But somehow that song, the one he had played on the cassette player in his car almost every night as he had made the drive from Fort Lauderdale to Palm Beach to see her, carried with it all the youthful love, joy, fear, and anger that had marked the entire affair. Nick was overwhelmed. As he sat on the couch and listened to the song, hot tears welled up in his eyes and then ran softly down his cheeks.
“…Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick, and think of you… Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new… Flashback, warm nights, almost left behind… Suitcase of memories… Time after Time.”
2
YOU say, go slow, I fall behind… The second hand unwinds…” Brenda leaned over and turned the volume down on the cassette player. “It’s me, Mr. Stubbs, honest. Brenda Goldfine. Don’t you recognize me?” She was shouting at an old man in a blue uniform who was sitting on a stool in a small circular tower in the middle of the road. “And that’s Teresa Silver in the back. She’s not feeling too well. Come on, open the gate and let us through.”
The security guard climbed down from his stool and slowly walked out in front of Nick’s old Pontiac. He wrote the license number down on a note pad and then came around to Brenda’s window. “All right this time, Brenda, but this is not according to the rules. All visitors coming into Windsor Cove after ten o’clock at night must be cleared ahead of time.”
At length the guard raised the gate and Nick moved his car forward again. “The guy’s really a pain in the ass,” Brenda said to Nick, smacking her gum as she talked, “Christ, you’d think he owned one of the places or something.” Nick had heard about Windsor Cove. Or rather had read about it. Once when he was over at his uncle’s home in Potomac, Maryland, there had been a copy of Town and Country magazine on the table and he had read about the “gracious life of Windsor Cove.” Now, as he drove past the estates in the most prestigious section of Palm Beach, he was awed by the personal wealth displayed.
“Over there. That’s Teresa’s house.” Brenda pointed at a colonial house set back about a hundred yards from the road. Nick drove into the long semicircular driveway and eventually stopped in front of a walkway leading to the front of the house. It was an imposing place. Two full floors, six white columns over twenty feet high, an opulent door whose top half was an arched, stained glass window of a white heron in flight against a blue sky filled with fleecy clouds.
Brenda looked in the back of the car where her friend was passed out. “Look, I’d better handle this. I’ll go up and talk to Mrs. Silver and explain what happened and everything. Otherwise you could be in deep shit. Sometimes she jumps to conclusions.”
By the time Brenda reached the front door to ring the bell, it had already opened. An attractive woman in a red silk blouse and a pair of chic black slacks was waiting. Nick guessed that she had probably been called by the security guard. He couldn’t tell much about the conversation, but he could see that Teresa’s mother was asking questions. After a couple of minutes, Brenda and the woman came back to the car. “You didn’t tell me she was still passed out,” Nick heard a surprisingly husky voice say. There was also some kind of accent, European perhaps. “You know, Brenda, this is absolutely the last time she can go anywhere with you. You just can’t control her. I’m not even sure that you try.” The voice was angry but not strident.
Nick opened his door and climbed out of the car. “This is the guy I was telling you about, Mrs. Silver,” Brenda said. “Without him Teresa might still be lying on the beach.”
Mrs. Silver extended her hand. Nick took it, feeling a little awkward. He didn’t know how to shake hands with a woman. “I understand that I’m in your debt, young man,” Mrs. Silver said graciously. “Brenda tells me that you rescued Teresa from all sorts of horrors.” The light from the street lamps played about her sculptured face. Her hand was soft, sensual. Nick smelled just a trace of perfume, something exotic. Her eyes were fixed on his, unwavering, inquisitive.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Nick said clumsily. “I mean, well, she had had too much to drink and I thought the crowd of teenagers she was with were a little bit out of control.” He stopped. She was still watching him, measuring him. He was becoming agitated and didn’t understand why. “Somebody had to help her and I just happened to be there…” He trailed off weakly.
Mrs. Silver thanked him again and turned to Brenda. “Your mother’s expecting you, dear. We’ll stay out front until you get home. Flash your lights to let us know you’re there.” Brenda looked happy to be dismissed. She scampered off into the night in the direction of the nearest house about a hundred yards away.
There was a momentary pause as they watched the sixteen-year-old disappear into the night. Nick found himself stealing furtive looks at Mrs. Silver’s profile. An inchoate awareness of what he was feeling made him more nervous. Jesus, she’s beautiful. And young. How could she be the girl’s mother? He was wrestling with a jumble of thoughts as he saw the lights flicker in the distance.
“Good,” she said, turning to Nick with a smile, “Brenda’s home. Now we can worry about Teresa.” She stopped for a moment and laughed. “Oh, I almost forgot. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Teresa’s mother, Monica Silver.”
“I’m Nick Williams,” he said in response. Her dark eyes were fixed on him again. In the reflected light the expression in her eyes seemed to vary. One moment she was a pixie, then a seductress, then a very proper Palm Beach society woman. Or was Nick imagining it? He couldn’t return her gaze anymore. He felt his cheeks flush as he averted his eyes.