“Oh, yes. Many times.”
“Well, when is he coming to New York anyway? And why does Aunt Theo want me to meet him?”
“Oh, that. Well—because he’s interesting, I suppose, and a man from whom you can learn the art of conversation.”
“The art of conversation?” I repeated.
“Why, don’t laugh, Franny. It’s of the utmost importance.”
“Will he tell me about Aunt Theo? He’s an old beau of hers, she says.” I gestured to the postcard.
“Oh, everybody is an old beau of Aunt Theo’s,” said Clover. “But yes, Leander will certainly be willing to tell you all about her, if you ask.”
“Did you invite him to the party?” I was thinking of the party we were having for Aunt Theo’s arrival.
“Of course!” Then she took a sip of her coffee and announced, “Also. I’ve been thinking, Franny. Don’t you want something to remember from your summer in New York? Summer always goes so fast! Why, you’ll be back in San Francisco before you know it.”
I laughed and said, “Oh, I think I already have lots to remember.”
“Oh, I know you do, but I mean, don’t you want to make some kind of statement this summer? To look back and say ‘That was the summer when…’?”
I saw what she meant. Val would always be able to say: “That was the summer I met Julian. The summer I fell in love.” But what would I be able to say?
“Well it’s just an idea I had,” Clover went on, “but I was thinking about your hair.”
I saw what she meant about that too. I pouted a little.
“Oh. I know. It isn’t as pretty as Val’s.”
“It doesn’t have to be like Val’s,” said Clover, “and by the way, no sulking. You’re also a very pretty young girl after your own fashion. To follow one’s own fashion. That’s the important thing. Theo would agree with me.”
“Theo was a model. She modeled in Paris.”
Clover ignored this and went on, “Anyway, I was just thinking I might take you to get a haircut. Long hair is pretty of course, but a haircut, a really good haircut, can be sophisticated. It can add distinction.” She paused and added: “Val, for instance, is a beautiful girl, but she does not necessarily have distinction.”
That did it. I would get my hair cut.
“Kenneth’s,” Clover announced. “Kenneth’s is the thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He did Marilyn’s hair, and Jackie’s … and Theo’s mother, whenever she came to New York. It’s the place.”
Kenneth’s was located at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, in a beautiful set of rooms with all these cool-looking black-and-white photographs. The staff there called me “mademoiselle,” which I filed away to tell Val. “Mademoiselle wants the Seberg,” said Clover, adding: “The Jean Seberg. That is, a pixie cut, very classic.”
“That is what we do best here,” the hairdresser assured Clover. “The classics.”
Snip, snip, went my long ashy brown hair I had never liked very much in the first place. Snip, snip, snip, one thin strand and then another. My eyes were closed, I wanted to open them to see the final results. Then I heard the hairdresser say, “Voilà, mademoiselle, the Seberg,” and I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Clover was right: I was completely transformed.
“I told you,” she said. “And your eyes are so beautiful. They just pop.”
“Can we go pick up some eyeliner? Please, Clover, please.” I was thinking of the dark green eyeliner Val always wore and how dramatic it looked.
“You’re, what, fourteen? Too young. What you have is a natural, gamine beauty. Enjoy it, why don’t you?”
Afterward Clover took me shopping, “to launch your new look.” We went straight to Bergdorf Goodman, and when I said, “Isn’t that terribly expensive?” Clover said, “Here’s what we’re going to do, Franny. We’re going to buy you the key pieces of wardrobe. Think of it as curating a collection. You will have these pieces for years, and no going around San Francisco buying cheap little things here and there with your friends, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. I liked the challenge of Clover’s proposition: the idea of curating a collection. Val would never have the discipline to do something like that and stick to it.