“Yes. I guess.”
“Remember how shy you were? But I pushed you out into the world. As a matter of fact, I am completely responsible for your success today. At least that’s what I tell everybody—so don’t you dare tell anybody any different.”
“OK.”
“You know I’m kidding, but really, Dena, aren’t you glad you got over your little theater and artsy phase?”
Dena was confused. “My artsy phase?”
“Oh, don’t you remember how you used to go to that stupid movie house all the time, the one that showed all those weird pictures?”
“Do you mean the Lyric?”
“Yes. You made me go see some old stupid clown picture that wasn’t even in English.”
“Children of Paradise? It was French.”
“Well, it was awful, whatever it was. You used to drag me to the craziest places, like I was a rag doll, and I let you. Mother said I had a weak mind and I guess she was right, but we had fun, didn’t we? You used to do the craziest things, always acting like a fool. Remember how much trouble we would get into giggling all night? Remember Judy Horne, the one with the sinus problem? Used to bang on our wall trying to get us to shut up. Remember on Kappa alumni day when you pretended you were a transfer student from Sweden? You wore some funny outfit and had an accent; it was a scream.”
“I did?”
“Yes, oh, and oh, my God—Greek week and that crazy song you wrote for the Kappa skit.”
Dena looked puzzled.
“Oh, you know! You made us all put balloons in our sweaters and we all sang ‘Thanks for the Mammaries.’ We were silly and happy as clams, we’d laugh from morning till night.”
“Really? I remember that you and I had fun but I don’t remember being all that happy all the time.”
“You were; nothing fazed you. You were always happy-go-lucky.”
“I was?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Are you sure?”
“Of course, I was your roommate. I guess I know.”
“That’s funny. I remember being sort of unhappy at school.”
“Oh, you were not! You were just a little moody, that’s all. And I just chalked that up to dramatic temperament; you had all the leads in those awful plays. You used to spend hours over at that theater doing something, all night long, and I’d have to sneak down and leave the back door unlocked for you. You spent so much time over there, everybody thought you had a secret boyfriend and you just wouldn’t tell us. And don’t you remember the night Mitzy McGruder and I—by the way, she’s married now … finally—snuck over to the theater and there you were at two o’clock in the morning prancing all over the stage all by yourself. You’d sing, then you’d laugh, and then you’d dance awhile; it was hysterical, you were a riot. What were you doing?”
Dena shook her head. “Lord knows. Acting, I guess, fooling with the lights. Who knows?”
“Well, whatever you were doing, it paid off. Here you are a big star. Now, tell me who all you’ve met.”
“Like who?”
“Stars. Did you ever meet Tony Curtis?”
“No.”
Sookie was visibly disappointed. “Oh, why don’t you interview him sometime? I’ll bet a lot of people would like to see that. You should listen to me, Dena, I’m the general public.”
Then a heavyset waitress came over and stood staring at Dena and asked her what her name was.
Dena looked up. “Excuse me?”
“What’s your name? Somebody said you were a celebrity or something.”
Sookie was happy to tell her. “This is Dena Nordstrom; you’ve seen her on television.”
The waitress, who had no idea who Dena was, said, “Can I have your autograph then?”
Sookie, an old pro by now, answered, “Sure, you can. Do you have a pencil and a piece of paper?”
The waitress handed Dena her check pad. “Here, put it on the back of this … make it to Billie.”
Billie turned around and yelled, “Thelma, come over here and get her autograph and get Dwayne out of the kitchen!”
Then she asked Sookie, “Can Dwayne have one?”
Sookie said, “Dena, can you do one for Dwayne?” Then Sookie asked the waitress, “Who’s Dwayne?”
“He’s the cook.”
“He’s the cook, Dena; you don’t mind, do you?”
Dena signed the other waitress’s pad. “All right, but tell him to hurry up.”
Billie handed her a piece of paper. “Here, just sign it. He’s busy. I’ll take it to him.”
Dena signed, the waitress took it. “Thank you.”
Sookie was beaming. “Oh, Dena, I feel just like a proud parent. I always knew you were going to be famous. I used to tell you that all the time, didn’t I?”
“You did?”
“Yes, don’t you remember anything?” Sookie looked at her wistfully. “Dena, don’t you miss the good old days? I hate having to be a grown woman. Of course, I wouldn’t take anything for Earle and my girls, but don’t you wish we could go back and not have to worry about anything, just be silly and date? I still remember all my Kappa songs. Do you?”
Dena glanced at her watch and was surprised to see how late it was. “Oh, damn, Sookie, I’ve got to go.”
Sookie wailed, “Oh, no. I feel like I didn’t get all my visit in. We just got started good.”
Dena said, “I know, but we’ll do it again really soon. I promise.”
Sookie suddenly panicked. “Wait! I almost forgot. I have to get a picture of us for the Kappa Key.” She rummaged around in her purse and brought out a camera. “It won’t take a second.” She called Billie the waitress over and made her take a photograph of them.
Sookie walked with her out to the limo and hugged her goodbye. “Promise me … promise that if you ever get back south of the Mason-Dixon line, you’ll call me and let me know. Because if you don’t I’ll find out and show up and embarrass you.”
Dena, laughing, got in the car. “I promise.”
“Oh, and listen, if you ever do meet Tony Curtis, tell him he has a big fan in Selma, Alabama.”
“I will.”
As she drove off Sookie waved and called, “Love you!”
On the plane, Dena ordered a Bloody Mary and sat there and thought about the girl Sookie had described. Could it possibly have been her? Could Sookie have been so wrong about her? The girl she thought she remembered had always been a sort of sad, dreamy kid who used to cry a lot, sit for hours staring at the leaves shining through the trees, longing for something so hard that it hurt. But what she had been longing for or where those feelings had gone, Dena did not know. The truth was she could barely remember that girl at all.
She ordered another Bloody Mary and slept all the way to New York.
City Lights
New York City
December 1951
When Dena was seven her mother got a job at Bergdorf’s in New York City and sent her to boarding school in Connecticut. She hated it—long, empty, dark halls and waiting to see her mother again. After about two months, the Mother Superior wrote a letter to her mother telling her that Dena was not mixing well with the other children. “We expect a certain amount of homesickness from our boarders, especially when the child is an only child, but I am afraid Dena is a hard case. It is clear that the child simply adores you and is terribly unhappy here. We usually encourage parents to allow their children time to get used to a new surrounding, but I am going to make an exception in our policy, and I wonder if she might have more weekends at home?”