“Theodora Bell is a woman of inflexible principles, Franny,” Dad said.
Then Val made a good point: “But that doesn’t make any sense. I thought most East Coast people even if they disliked California still liked Northern California. I mean, everybody loves San Francisco.”
“Valentine! Theodora Bell is not everybody.”
“Oh, please,” said Val, with a roll of violet eyes. And she went back to eating her crepe. Which meant that I got to read the letter first.
“Oh my God, this is so exciting!” I announced.
“What is?” said Val, finally paying attention. And when she got to the end of the letter, she too said right away: “Oh my God, Franny’s right. This is so exciting!”
“What is?” Mom wanted to know.
“New York City!” Val burst out.
“New York City?” said Mom.
“New York City?” said Dad.
So then he took the letter from Val, and Mom read it over his shoulder, like couples do.
“Well,” she said afterward, “that’s Theo all over. I suppose you’re dying to go?”
“Now, now—” Dad began, in the voice that means: not so fast.
“Oh, Edward, but Theo’s arranged it so perfectly,” said Mom. “They’re going to have a chaperone. And we’ve met Clover before. In Paris once, don’t you remember?”
“I remember,” said Dad.
“Clover Leslie is a lovely young woman and I’m sure she’ll be a most responsible chaperone,” said Mom. “I feel all right sending the girls away if they’ll be staying with somebody we know. You thought she was lovely, Edward, remember. Remember,” she kept on saying, really begging him to let us go.
Meanwhile, Valentine was getting carried away, as if our parents had already said we could go, no questions asked.
“New York City!” exclaimed Valentine. “New York City! An apartment in the Village! Oh, just wait till I tell my friends. They’re going to be sooo jealous.”
“Valentine,” began Mom, to admonish her for being bratty. But Valentine didn’t listen. Instead she leaned over and whispered into my ear, “There will be cute boys there,” and I started to feel a little bit left out because I could already imagine a whole summer ahead of us in which she would be more excited about meeting cute boys in New York City than hanging out with me.
“Well, Edward?” said Mom. “What do you think?” It was clear that she already had decided to let us go, but then Mom can be kind of a pushover. Still, I could tell that she really did want us to get to go, because she said: “Remember, Theodora Bell was such a great influence on me when I was a young woman, and I’d love for her to be an influence on the girls’ life too. Also”—she reached for the letter across the table and skimmed it again—“it says that she’ll be joining Clover in New York the middle of August. So, she’ll be there too! The girls will get to meet her.”
By the end of breakfast, we’d all convinced Dad to say yes. I think it was the idea of us having a chaperone for part of the time that sold him. He remarked that Aunt Theo’s unusual proposal sounded like a very “educational” experiment. And Mom said: “Girls, it will be a summer to remember all your life.”
2
The Bluebird of Greenwich Village
The previous three summers, Val and I had gone to a music camp. We were sorry to miss it because we liked all the friends we’d made there, but no way would we give up the opportunity to go to New York.
“A program,” exclaimed Val. “A program! Who wants that? That’s like being in school. We’re going to have adventures. In New York City. We’re going to Live!”
I hoped so. Oh, how I hoped so! When you’re fourteen or even seventeen, it seems like you’re just waiting for Life with a Capital L to happen.
Meanwhile, every night at dinner, Mom and Dad drank wine and discussed Aunt Theo. She was our main subject of conversation in the days leading up to our trip.
Dad told us: “She used to be one of the great beauties of the age.”
“From a long line of beauties,” said Mom, and reminded us that Theo’s ancestors had been painted by John Singer Sargent, whose painting Portrait of Madame X of a redhead in a black velvet gown we once studied at school.
“And when she was at Radcliffe,” Dad chimed in, “she was on the cover of Mademoiselle. The college girl issue. Do they still do that issue anymore?”
“Edward!” exclaimed Mom, giggling. “I don’t even think that Mademoiselle exists anymore, does it? Let alone the college girl issue. Oh dear! We must be getting old.”
Now they both laughed, which is something I’ve noticed that grownups do when speaking of getting old, as if it were funny. But is it?
“And then after Radcliffe, of course, she was an Avedon model,” said Dad, trying to draw Val and me back into the grownup conversation.
“A what model?” asked Val.