Readers may have seen what Sandy's boyfriend told her and what he did not tell her.
This is the introduction to Sandy, herself, as told in the first person by the character in "Fire Island 1960 Something." He later refers to the young woman in that story as his Diotima. Somewhere in my data files, he tells about meeting two prep school seniors that week, Pam and Sukie, who wanted to meet their classmates' goal of losing their virginity before returning to school. Lucky girls, but that is another story; this is about Sandy. He also mentions a girl he tutored that winter, his "tutee".
He is now a student at Columbia, still a gymnast, and has a summer job in the city. To introduce Sandy, however, more background is necessary to understand this first chapter, which is mostly about Martha.
Martha is a Norwegian au pair in his family, a nice help in the household, obviously not there to mind young children. His parents leave her to mind the house his first week on the job, while they spend the week on Fire Island with his younger sister, after he spent a week with her there. As comes through in this chapter, his parents' late misgivings about leaving him and Martha together alone are entirely justified. During the week, he eventually admits that Martha's uncritical suspicions are correct, that he and his sister enjoyed each other's company more - better - than siblings should.
There are also stories about Martha and his sister hidden my data files, but this is about Sandy, after the Friday night at the end of his week with Martha. To get a little ahead of this chapter, Martha spends the following week with his sister on Fire Island, intended by his parents as a short vacation for her, but certainly not the way the two of them enjoyed it.
During the first week on the job, a certain routine had developed. The supervisor for the students seem satisfied with my work, and as I expected, at lunch Friday someone suggested that we all go out for a drink "and get to know each other better."
We met outside the building, and someone suggested that we go to an old Irish bar on Fifth Avenue. It was a "hold-out" against the development of a new office building that would fill the whole block, the old building standing on a corner at the edge of the great hole for the foundation. Inside, nothing seemed to have been changed since the place was built, a stark contrast to the new development, but comfortable, and the group agreed that it deserved our trade for not giving in to the developer's attempt to buy it out.
The guys ordered beer, and most of the girls ordered a glass of wine. One ordered something non- alcoholic. Then we exchanged information about where we were going to college and what we were studying - the usual introductory discussion. Someone knew that I was a gymnast, so I had to tell a little. And a couple of the guys seemed to be most interested in learning more about the girls, of course. It was about what I had expected. Most of us had a second drink, and then there was some friendly joshing about college rivalries, and a little discrete competition for the attention of the girls, and their varying responses: the one or other accepting an invitation for another glass of wine; another insisting that she would pay for own - but having one. Still another demured and nursed the one she had.
If I hadn't been looking forward to the evening with Martha, I probably would have joined in the competition and not just observed everything, but that was also interesting, and apparently made me more interesting: one of the girls asking me if I wasn't going to have another beer. So I did and offered to buy her a drink, and she accepted. When they came, I held my glass up and almost said "skaal" and we drank.
But then as we chatted, I was wondering how to avoid any suggestion that we go somewhere else. I glanced at my watch and said that I had said I would be home by eight o'clock. When she looked disappointed, I said apologetically:
"I should have suggested that we might go out for a drink, ... Friday night ..."
She smiled and looked more understanding, and then added - maybe in response to my mentioning home:
"I'm sharing an apartment for the summer, ... well most of the time, when she isn't flying. Her roommate got married, and she needed someone to move in as soon as possible, until she decides if she will stay there - with someone for longer - or whatever. She flies overseas - United - away for three or four nights."
I nodded, wondering if she meant her explanation to be as suggestive as it seemed. I had already learned that she was going to be senior at Sarah Lawrence College, whose students were reputed to be liberal, not just in the arts.
"You are lucky," I remarked, and then grinned facetiously, thinking I had nothing to lose, and added:
"Let me know when she's flying to Sydney."
She seemed immediately to understand my implication and replied:
"I didn't mean that, ... that way," but then she couldn't repress a smile and added:
"But I guess it could have sounded like it."
I nodded and agreed:
"It did, ... or at least could have."
We both snickered and had a sip from our drinks as I thought to myself that it didn't hurt to be a bit fresh. And she didn't seem to have minded, only mildly changing the subject by remarking that Bronxville, where Sarah Lawrence is, wasn't far from Columbia, letting me think that she could be suggesting that we see each other during the winter. Then we chatted about other things. We knew we could find each other in the company and didn't have to exchange addresses or phone numbers. When she suggested another drink - "on me" - I refused, saying that I didn't want to be too high when I got home, which was true, and then I left, saying: "Till next time," and she looked pleased, and then I was on my way "home."
I walked up Fifth Avenue, thinking the fresh air - on a hot summer evening in the City? - the walk would be good after three beers, and then wondered about a "next time," and then admonishing myself for thinking about that while on my way to spend another night - and day and night - with Martha. But then I rationalized that it fitted in with our understanding that our affair was just for the week, and that it also demonstrated that I wasn't too emotionally involved - just loving her when we were making love. But that wasn't such a nice thought either; it sounded fine when we had just been doing it, but a little cheap at that moment. And then I wondered how Martha felt about it, hoping that she felt like I did, but without having to go through my last thoughts. But she hadn't been in my situation - the suggestion of possibly doing it with someone else - so that wouldn't have occurred to her.
I hoped not, not liking the thought that if she had been, she might have had the same thought I had had. No, she had been home, naked, doing laundry and cleaning - a nice vision - and then next week she was going to be on Fire Island with my sister, and at the end of the month she was going home. Fire Island: what kind of bathing suit did she have? Would she and my sister somehow agree to go naked in the house? They would, if one of them suggested it, but how could that occur? What would my sister tell about our week together ...?!
The short uptown blocks go fast with such thoughts and questions, and then I was only wondering how Martha would greet me when I opened the door, but first, I was just entering the building, greeting the doorman, and then in the elevator.
When I opened the door, she called "Hi" and then came to greet me, wearing a dress - another one - smiling and making me forget about my uncomfortable thoughts on the way home.
"Hello," I answered as she came closer. She chuckled and said: "You smell like you've been in a bar." "I have," I agreed: "... three beers,"
"... and a lot of cigarette smoke," she added, grinning.
"I guess so," I agreed: "... I didn't know you could tell."
"Um-hmm, give me your jacket and I'll brush it."
"Does that help?" I asked as I took it off and handed it to her.
"Some," she replied and went off with it, while it occurred to me that I probably hadn't heard about that before, since no one smoked in our family, and we seldom went to bars like that one; my parents, never.
Martha returned with my jacket after I had gone to the bathroom and was beginning to change, hanging it on my chair while I appreciated that there was something especially attractive about her simple dress; not so much the dress, but the way it fit her when she moved. It wasn't tight, but it seemed to accentuate her strong thighs - certainly didn't hide them. Then it occurred to me that artists and cartoonists drew dresses fitting that way, but in reality they seldom did. Martha noticed me looking at her and smiled and explained:
