1967! My goodness he was old.
Meanwhile, Julian and Valentine weren’t even attempting to make conversation. They were just staring at each other across the candlelit table, pretty much drowning in each other’s eyes.
The dessert arrived, bitter chocolate pot de crème with raspberries.
“What is that?” asked the essayist, poking.
“Chocolate,” I said.
“Oh, chocolate. Good! Berries,” he said, in a wondering tone, poking again. “Blackberries?”
“Raspberries.”
“Oh.” He seemed disappointed.
When we got up from the table, the essayist gave me his mailing address, in Vermont. Another correspondent for me!
We walked downstairs and I watched all the fancy old people get into limousines. There so many of them, stretched all the way down the block! I’d never seen limos before, not in real life. I guess I was so busy paying attention to the limos, I somehow lost sight of Valentine. I looked around and couldn’t find her until I saw the whisper of a long white dress: she was the only woman in the whole crowd who had on a dress that color. I guess women must stop wearing white dresses after a certain age, like after they get married. She and Julian were strolling down the hill toward Riverside Drive. The sky was pitch-black now, and you could see the lights throwing these sparkly streamers on it. Julian was carrying his black cello case, and I thought that between that and Val in her white dress, they made a gorgeous picture.
I started to follow them, and finally I shouted, “Hey, Val! Valentine!”
But it was Julian, not Val, who turned and looked at me. They stopped walking.
“Hey, Franny,” he said. “You have a good time tonight?”
“Oh—yes!” I said. “But—”
The limos were driving off, and I started to wonder how we were going to get home. Probably by subway. As long as Julian was with us, I figured it would be okay.
“But?” asked Val, sounding very impatient.
Mom and Dad had said that whenever we were out late, we should call Clover to let her know when we’d be home. If it was ever really late, Clover would come and get us. I mentioned this to Val.
“Well—shouldn’t we call Clover to let her know that we’re out of the event?”
Then I saw Val glance at Julian, rather helplessly.
“I think—” began Julian, but Val interrupted him, saying, “Sorry, can you excuse us for a sec?”
So then Julian stood back from us with his cello, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening to us.
“Franny,” said Val, her eyes flashing in the moonlight, “I’m not coming home tonight and there’s no way you can make me and you’re not going to call Clover.”
“But, Val…”
“Oh, please, Franny, for once would you not ‘But, Val’ me? Come on, you’ll get home fine and you’ll just tell Clover, but only if she asks, that I’m coming home later. I’m coming home later, and I’ll be fine.”
I thought that Val was taking advantage of Clover being such a nice chaperone, and I said so.
“Clover’s all right, Franny, but Clover couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Understand what, Val?”
Valentine tossed her red curls and said, “Being in love,” as though I were an absolute idiot.
Meanwhile, Julian was pacing in the background and had started to look a little impatient, and suddenly I started to feel very young, and I was very embarrassed to be treated this way.
I turned to see if there were any limousines left. There weren’t, but I did see a couple of regular yellow taxis. And then just as Julian called to us, “Hey, Franny, why don’t we town with you?” I drew myself up straight and addressed him but not Valentine. I knew she wouldn’t like that. Trying to keep my voice cool, I said: “Thank you, Julian, but I think I’d prefer a take a taxi back by myself if you don’t mind.”
“Let me walk you,” he said, but I wouldn’t let him. I walked off and got into a taxi. I couldn’t help but hope that Val was looking at me as I did it and thinking how grownup I looked. She didn’t have a proper little black dress yet, I remembered, and I did.
But once I got inside the taxi I didn’t feel quite as tough as before, little black dress or no little black dress. For one thing, the ride seemed to go on forever and ever. We were really very far away from Aunt Theo’s, since it was all the way downtown. Sometimes you forget how big New York City is, and then you see it at night from the inside of a car: it’s glamorous, all right, but also kind of threatening. I got the sense that it was true: I was only one person out of millions in this city. And all of a sudden I started to feel lonely. Not just lonely—sad. I was sad because of Valentine. It was all over, our life together in San Francisco, as girls. When we got back home, everything would be different. Would we ever sing out loud again?
If it takes forever I will wait for you
For a thousand summers I will wait for you …
15
Where’s Valentine?