It was the summer of 1921 when my family first ventured to California for a family reunion. We had recently come to learn, by telegram, that our family tree had extended beyond our East Coast clan to include a branch of the Prescotts who now live in the up-and-coming town of Los Angeles. Uncle Neal had sent my father, mother and me a train ticket.
We rode the train for a week and arrived to meet the long-lost branch of our family tree at their home. It was a luxuriant Spanish-style estate populated with rose gardens and outbuildings that served as a movie studio. Our uncle Neal had started Prescott Studios ten years, and it had been the source of his immense wealth.
Neal Prescott was a self-made man who had the vision and good luck to be at the right place at the right time. He would foresee the birth of the film industry as it migrated from East to West. He dressed in understated shirts and pants. His only sign of opulence was the watch that he wore on his left wrist.
Calm, confident, with a wonderful sense of humor, Neal Prescott was the model for the twentieth century man.
The afternoon after arriving, there was a grand dinner for the twenty assembled members of our family, and I came to realize that there were cousins , aunts, and uncles who had made it this far west while our side stayed east since the days of the Mayflower. The dinner itself was a feast for all the senses and the first time I had ever had Bananas Foster. For decades later, I always recall that magical day at Uncle Neal's whenever I have Bananas Foster, which remains my favorite dessert to this day.
After dinner found me alone on Uncle Jim's living room sofa-except for my cousin Connie and her friend Vivienne who sat quietly across the room. Connie sat across the room on the other sofa and listened to the radio as the sun slowly set orange over the hedges to the far end of the estate. She half listened to the radio and half eavesdropped on the adults talking in the kitchen two rooms away past the dining room. I heard news of the world, the movie business, and laughter intertwined within a background of Jazz music. A faint fragrance of roses and eucalyptus wafted through the evening air.
I asked Cousin Connie to explain just how we were related and she detailed that connection by saying her father and my father's fathers were cousins and so forth.
The living room was decorated all in gray and was offset by the green emerald earrings and light-blue necklaces that each of these ladies wore. The furnishings were all low to the floor, as was the style in those days. The cabinetry and bookshelves were made from Macassar ebony. The floor was covered in colorful carpets decorated in the art noveau style of the day. All matching sets of sofas, chairs, and tables were in gray. A tasteful Tiffany chandelier provided soft, muted light that was both warm and sparkling in certain places throughout the room.
My Cousin Connie's friend, Viv, was along for the party, and she showed an intense experience well beyond her twenty years. She rhapsodized about her recent trip around the world as a guest of the Prescotts. Connie and Viv had been friends since grammar school, and Viv was invited along this trip around the world.
She talked about shopping in Paris and Milan, skiing in the Alps, and her experience in the Orient, which I came to learn, was Bangkok, Istanbul, Tokyo, and Manila.
Viv slapped her thighs and playfully invited me to sit on her lap as if she would tell me her stories to a child. She wrapped the blanket around us both and we unabashedly cuddled. I felt as if I was taking advantage of her friendly side and was introduced to the first experience of ever being so close to a woman. Viv was the definition of flapper: her brown ringlets framed her beautiful face with big eyes under her blue sequined flapper hat. She wore a white blouse and stylish black pants. I assumed that this is how they behaved and dressed in California. This informal intimacy was the norm, so I played along as if I'd done it a hundred times before.
Viv and Connie exchanged stories of their shopping, skiing, golf, and automobile races all over the globe. But Viv alone relished in the secrets she had learned in the Orient.
I felt her warm hands on my shoulders and her breasts on my back. I smelled her perfume which enveloped me in a relaxing vanilla haze. She worked her hands down to my hips and playfully cupped my buttocks in an intimate yet innocent and playful manner. She placed her arm around my chest to better balance me on her lap. This was nothing sexual, just a woman holding her friend's cousin.
