You know something? I think that when I grow up, I’m going to require more information too.
But this man in the movie, this Jerome, didn’t require any more information than long shiny blond hair and a pair of pretty knees. If you ask me, Laura is a much more likable character than Claire: she has all these interesting thoughts and feelings, while all Claire does is stroll around in a tiny blue bikini. She hardly speaks at all. So what is the point of the movie? Beauty is enough? Love is illogical? Both of these things?
Near the end of the movie, Jerome finally does get to touch Claire’s knee. They’re left alone at the summerhouse together and he tells her that her boyfriend’s been cheating on her, which is true, but still, it’s not very nice of him to just break the news to her out of the blue. It’s raining outside, really coming down. So, Claire starts crying, and the rain keeps falling, and it’s very dramatic. Jerome sits down next to her as though he’s going to comfort her but you can see what he’s after—her knee! She’s wearing a short black sweater dress. And Jerome lets her cry and hands her a handkerchief but then slowly, very slowly, he reaches out and places his hand on her knee. He starts massaging it for a really long time.
The camera pulls away, and you see the lake looking all misty. The rain stops.
That’s all that happens between them. He doesn’t try to get away with anything else.
But just as I started shifting in my seat, figuring the movie would be over soon, I looked over at Valentine, and Julian was stroking her knee. Val had this blissful expression on her face, sort of like, you know, when you take your first taste of Nutella and you can’t believe how utterly silky and delicious it is? Like that.
I turned my eyes back to the movie screen. I was getting a little embarrassed. I didn’t want them to catch me looking. And anyway the movie wasn’t over. Jerome describes the experience of touching Claire’s knee to his friend Aurora, the lady novelist. He seems very proud of himself.
So here was yet another message about Love. That it doesn’t last? That desiring what you want is more interesting than finally getting it?
I couldn’t help it, I looked over at Val again. But I didn’t look at her knee this time; I looked at her face with the same blissful, drifting expression. And you know what? Suddenly, for the first time this summer, I wasn’t jealous of her. I was worried. Julian took us all the way downtown and dropped us off at Aunt Theo’s after the movie. I knew that Val wanted to show off our address for the summer. When we entered the lobby, she made a big point of saying hello to Oscar, the Viennese doorman. “Why, hello, Oscar,” and he said right back, “Good evening, Miss Valentine.” I thought she might invite Julian upstairs with us, but she didn’t. She kissed him good night in front of the elevator, slipping away just as the doors closed.
Inside the elevator she looked very satisfied, and I said, “Quite the movie star, aren’t you?”
“Come off it, Franny. You’re just jealous. Now. Isn’t he handsome? Did you see he has—”
“Deep blue eyes and wavy black hair?”
“Well, he does, doesn’t he?”
We got out on the seventeenth floor and let ourselves into the apartment. But when we let ourselves in, there was Clover, lying on the sofa in a crepe de chine robe, weeping.
11
Lemon Soufflé
“Carlo,” she said. “Carlo’s dead.”
“Oh,” we both said, rather disappointed. In a way, I’d been hoping for some big drama. I pictured Carlo’s plump, wiggly green body, in that beautiful shade of rich clay green, wiggly no more. By now Clover had stopped weeping, but there were still faint tears running down her face and her eyes were red. I went to the stove and put on another pot of tea.
“Where did you find him?” asked Valentine.
“Val!” I said. I didn’t think that was a very sensitive question.
“Oh it’s fine, Franny,” said Clover, getting up from the sofa and carrying her teacup over to the kitchen. “On the roof-deck. On that green velvet love seat, actually. I went out there to read my book, and I tried nudging Carlo over, he always did hog that love seat, but no luck. His body was just kind of—stiff—and I knew.” She wiped a tear from her eye with the sleeve of her robe and went on, “It’s so silly, crying like this over a turtle. But I’d had him for years! And then, Theo gave him to me, you know,” she added, as if that explained everything.
“We have a dog in San Francisco,” said Valentine, again, I thought, not with a great deal of sympathy. “His name is Pommes, like pommes frites.”
“I know,” said Clover. “You’ve told me.”
“I want cookies,” Val said. “Oh! I know. Mint Milanos. I have to have Mint Milanos. Franny—”
“I will not,” I said. “If you want cookies, you can go get your own cookies.”
“How did you know I was going to ask that?”
“Because you’re always asking me to do things like that. You’re always bossing me.”