Then, after a few minutes, I went and sat at the typewriter. But all I had was the idea of being locked in a tower again. And that was such a baby story. I wanted to write something sweeping like Hawaii or universal about the human condition like my favorite, The Great Gatsby. And all I knew was my own spoiled existence.
The phone rang, and I heard Ada’s bedroom door shut. So I stomped down the hallway, not bothering to be quiet, and went downstairs, then slipped on my shoes and left the house. I avoided the beach—I didn’t want to see Freddy in this mood—and headed toward town instead. I walked up the two blocks to Dune Drive and then turned, almost colliding with Shirley.
“Hello, Marilyn,” she said coolly.
“Hi,” I said, surprised by her lack of effusiveness compared to when I had seen her previously. Shirley moved to keep walking. “Wait,” I said, grabbing her arm. “Are you mad at me?”
She glared. “I thought you wanted to be my friend. Not use me to get to Freddy.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the only reason you came to dinner.”
“It is not. I had no idea he was your brother.” She made a disbelieving face, and I mimed crossing my heart. “Swear. I had no idea. And I wasn’t even a little interested.”
“Past tense,” Shirley said. “I don’t understand why he goes after all my friends. Can’t he find his own girls?”
A slight alarm went off in my head, but I needed to know. “All your friends?”
“Most of them.”
“Not the one who looks like a potato though?”
She tried not to laugh, but couldn’t quite contain it. “Honestly, Marilyn, he’s such bad news. I don’t know why you’d want to go out with him.”
I linked an arm through hers. “Darling, I’m having a rough day today. Can we put this behind us? I’ll buy you an ice cream cone.”
She hesitated a moment, then let me lead her into town. “Why is your day so rough?”
I sighed. “Where to begin? Ada got me a typewriter—I told her I wanted to be a writer. You’re only the second person I’ve said that out loud to. And she’s mad I haven’t written something to rival Shakespeare yet.”
“What have you written?”
“Don’t you start now too, Shirl.”
“Well, they say people write what they know. You’ve got this big, glamorous New York life. Write about that.”
“It’s not so glamorous.”
“You know about rakes like my brother.”
I chuckled. “So the glamour girl and the rake? Sounds like one of the paperbacks I have to sneak out of my mother’s closet because they’re off limits.”
Shirley grinned. “My mother has a box of those too.”
“We should trade notes.”
She laughed. “What about Ada?”
“If she has a box of racy novels, I wouldn’t know. Her bedroom is strictly off limits. She probably has suits of human skin hanging in the closet.”
“That’s horrifying. But no. She’s interesting. Write about her.”
I studied Shirley’s profile, an idea forming. Her family actually made the much better story. Imagine marrying blindly into that mess. What if a Freddy-like character met a Marilyn-like character, but away from his family? They have a whirlwind romance and elope, only to meet his parents and—no, that read like a horror novel. I was no Shirley Jackson.
“I’ll think about it,” I said eventually. “And you don’t need to worry about me and Freddy. It’s just a little bit of fun.”
“He likes you.”
I smiled, but I played it off, framing my chin with my hands. “Who doesn’t?”
The idea that had formed with Shirley continued to intrigue me though. What if it was more of a comedy of manners? The two sets of in-laws clashing while the young couple tries to begin a life together? Ada’s bedroom door was still closed when I got back to the house, a murmur through the wall telling me she was on the phone, so I went to my room, closed the door, and sat at the typewriter, where I began to write.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“I wish we didn’t have to sneak around,” Freddy said as we walked to his car Sunday night. I had written three chapters, but I hadn’t yet told him that I was working on a novel. Then again, he never asked what I wanted to do with my life other than the assumed marriage and children either.
“I know,” I said.
“Why can’t we just talk to your aunt?”
I didn’t respond as Freddy opened the car door for me. When he had shut my door, climbed in his side, and started the engine, I finally said, “It’s complicated with her.”
“What about your parents? Surely they’d approve. I’m going to be a lawyer after all.”
I looked over at him. “Have you decided, then?”
“I believe I have.” He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “New York has a lot of law schools. Some of the best in fact.”
“You wouldn’t stay in Philadelphia?”
He looked at me. “Would you want me to?” My heart was racing. “You sure you want to go to the boardwalk tonight? We could take the Garden State all the way up to the city.”
I looked at the clock on the dash. “And scare my parents half to death. It’d be two in the morning by the time we got there. Not the impression you’d want to make.”
“No,” he said. “But I’m serious. Tell me which dragon to slay and I will.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “No dragons. Let’s just keep getting to know each other and the rest . . . Well, it’ll work itself out when it needs to.”
He wrapped his arm around me, and the night enveloped us as we crossed the marshes, going south this time on the Parkway to the much closer and more casual Wildwood boardwalk. This wasn’t a place to see and be seen like Atlantic City. Kids ran amok, chased by tired parents, who looked as if they regretted all their choices under the amusement park that loomed over the boards.
“Good clean fun,” Freddy said as we walked past a motel. “Unless you wanted to rent a room.”
“Freddy,” I said warningly.
He threw up his hands. “I’m kidding. I mean, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to. But no. Our first time should be more special than that.” He pulled me in and kissed the top of my head. “And I would never pressure you.”
I looked up at him warily. “Shirley says you’ve been with practically all her friends.”
“Shirley’s mouth is too big.”
“Is that all this is though?”
Freddy stopped walking. “I’m insulted that you would ask that.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Marilyn.”
I didn’t reply.
He took a deep breath. I hadn’t seen him mad yet, but I could sense he was getting there. “No. That isn’t what this is. If it were, yes, I’d be pressuring you. Is that what you want to hear?”
No. It wasn’t.
“We all have a past,” he continued. “You do too. The first thing you told me about yourself was about that rabbi’s son. I’m not grilling you about whether you’re with me because you’re bored.” He took my hand. “I’m here with you because I like you. You’re not like the Philadelphia girls. I wasn’t kidding when I called you a siren. I don’t understand it. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to settle down yet. And I definitely don’t want an Ada match. But I look at you and . . .” He trailed off.
“And?”