Margaret’s book The Fish with the Deep Sea Smile had been published earlier that year by Dutton, and dozens of glowing reviews were sent her way. The Streamlined Pig was about to be published by Harper & Brothers, who asked her to think of a suitable nom de plume for her books with them. She was already published by Dutton and had been contracted by her friend Al Leventhal at Simon & Schuster to write a series of Disney books. It was suggested she use a different pen name with each publisher, and Margaret liked the idea of having unique names for her different writing styles or age-specific works. She hoped to come up with pen names that had hidden meanings, like Mark Twain, and was considering Darnel as a last name because it was one of the grasses used by Shakespeare’s King Lear to create his own worthless crown when he went mad. Like timothy grass, it also turned gold at harvest time—the same shade of gold as Margaret’s hair.
One afternoon, the trio found themselves in a predicament. Jessica had experienced a panic attack as they were rowing back to their rented house and insisted they pull the boat to shore. She hopped out and peered back at Tony and Margaret from behind a spruce tree, convinced that if she got back into the little rowboat she would die of a heart attack. The situation was growing dire because the sun was setting, and walking through the thick forest back to their rented house would be treacherous over land dotted with granite quarries. Margaret and Tony tried to appease their terrified friend, saying that they would row along the shoreline, but to no avail.
Fortunately, a large boat was cruising by and came to their rescue. At the helm was Big Bill Gaston, a handsome man with a ruddy face. He looked at the women. He felt no urgency to speak, and Margaret was suddenly self-conscious about her appearance. She was wearing a torn sweater and blue jeans. She typically took pride in her worn clothes and even had a name for them—boops—but under this man’s gaze, she found herself wishing that she had worn something more attractive for the day’s adventures.
Bill introduced himself, although Margaret already knew who he was. The tragic suicide of his wife, Rosamond Pinchot, earlier that year had made front-page news. Many of the reporters placed the blame on Bill, whom they described as a womanizer.
Bill offered to give Margaret and her friends a lift and to tow their boat. It took a great deal of persuading to get Jessica off dry land, but they boarded the boat, and Bill fixed them rum and Coca-Colas. Margaret watched him as he moved about the boat and talked with her friends. He appeared gracious and amiable, not at all the callous philanderer that the reporters had made him out to be. She liked his directness. She desperately wanted to make an impression on him, and when they discovered they had a friend in common, Margaret nervously chatted on about the fellow. She immediately regretted placing more importance on that friendship than it warranted. But there was something in Bill’s eyes that excited and aroused her; she wanted him to like her.
*
Bill came by the next day to take Jessica and Margaret sailing. He moored his boat, and they swam to a small island with a white pebbled shore. Lying near the great expanse of sea, they talked openly about their lives. The pretenses of adulthood were wiped away, and it felt like they were teenagers again. They played a game of telling secrets, pretending they were talking of someone else, but really sharing stories about their own lives, hopes, and dreams. Jessica confessed that she had dated a New Yorker once who was so wealthy that policemen stopped traffic when he drove her downtown; they had been able to speed straight through all the red lights. Margaret told them about a man who threatened to shoot himself if she didn’t marry him, but then didn’t. Bill wished life was just one long prom, with boys in tuxedos and girls who never grew older.
As the days passed, Bill served as their local guide. Maine had long been his family’s summer residence. After the death of his wife, it served as a haven for himself and his boys and their nanny. He had a comfortable home situated prominently above the water on a private island in the middle of the slough where Margaret and her friends were staying. For years, a steady stream of celebrities, politicians, and friends flocked there to swim in the calm waters around his island and dance under the stars on his outdoor ballroom floor. That summer, only a few of his friends came to visit, so he often sought time with Margaret alone. He made dinner for her at his home and took her for cruises on his luxurious boat to gaze at the stars.
Tony was not fond of Bill. Once Bill invited the three of them over for lunch and had promised to pick them up at their dock at one o’clock. They dressed and sat waiting for over an hour, but he never showed. Tony said Bill drank too much and was wrong for Margaret. But it didn’t matter what she said because Margaret was already too much in love to listen.
*
When Margaret returned to New York, Bill called her every day, begging her to come back to Maine. At the end of the summer, she hopped on a train to Rockport to go see him, but when she arrived, he was nowhere to be found. On the platform, there were groups of people kissing hellos or directing their chauffeurs to their luggage, but Margaret stood waiting, unsure of what to do. A cab driver saw her anxiety and offered to help with her bags. She declined. Bill would be there soon, she hoped.
She thought she saw Bill slouching her way but was mistaken. Had she gotten the day or time wrong? She looked up and down the platform again. The cab driver was waiting to see this final desperate sweep of her eyes. He sidled in, gripping one of her bags firmly, and asked where she needed to go. She told him to take her to the docks.
As the cab crested the hill, Margaret saw Bill tying off the stern of his boat. Relief washed over her. He hadn’t forgotten, after all. The cab driver unloaded her bags and walked them to the boat. Margaret barely noticed. When she faced Bill, the rest of the world disappeared. It was as if they were the only two people on an island. She loved how he looked in his casual summer clothes with his sun-browned skin. She could tell he was excited to see her, too, by the way he smiled up at her every so often as he tied ropes and placed bumpers around the boat.
They walked from the docks toward town and into a store that sold canned goods, meats, and an assortment of homegrown vegetables. It smelled of stale crackers. Old women from town shuffled around the store, and over Margaret’s head hung flypaper strips, too full to be of any more use. The place charmed her.
As they walked back to the boat, Margaret felt the gaze of the small town’s gossips upon them, but she didn’t care. She breathed in the mingled scent of kelp and salt water. She loved that smell. She and Bill untied the boat and set out to sea.
Margaret stood on the boat, watching the water and land around her. A bell buoy clanged on a distant wave, and a fish hawk wheeled above her. She saw its nest of sticks nearby in the top of an old dead tree. Moss hung from the tree’s branches, reminding her of the trees on Cumberland Island. She told Bill it looked like a tropical island. He promised to take her to a place with green moss, giant skunk cabbages, and blue irises all around. She would think she was in the jungle.