Ann Beattie - Love Always

“Oh, gross,” Nicole said.

“Maybe we can get them to package the doll with a St. Francis dog. The dog can go on search and destroy missions for Barbie,” Edward said.

“Ken is a wimp,” Peter said. “He gives homosexuals a bad name.”

“Who’s Ken?” Maureen said.

“The Ken doll. He has a little chefs hat that he’s supposed to wear out to the barbecue pit. It makes him look like one of those paper-frilled lamb chops.”

“I don’t even believe that you guys keep up with Barbie and Ken,” Nicole said.

“Hildon,” Lucy said, in the brief moment she had to speak to him privately, as he held open the back door for them to get out, “Maureen is looking at me.”

“So am I,” he said.

A college girl in a scooped-neck green dress with ruffles around the neck and hem gave them a table on the side patio. The sky was chalky, and a band of pink was widening on the horizon. A Japanese tourist took a picture of his wife, who was sitting on the stone wall that wound around the patio. He handed the camera to his wife and stood in front of the wall, hands straight at his sides.

Another girl came and asked what they would like to drink. After Edward ordered a Rémy, he pushed his chair back and went over to the tourists, who seemed to be trying to get their waitress’ eye to take their picture. They both seemed very happy when they realized Edward was volunteering to do it. Edward raised the camera to his eye, then lowered it.

“You have a fisheye lens on here,” he said.

“Thank you very much,” the man said. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. His fingertips rested on the wing of a large, embroidered butterfly. She was brushing his hand away when Edward clicked the camera. The man smiled and rushed forward.

“Let me take one more,” Edward said. “I caught you just when you were moving your hand.”

“Thank you,” the man said.

“One more,” Edward said, holding up his finger. He pointed to the camera.

“Thank you,” the man said, walking back to where his wife stood. He stood beside her, as rigid as a soldier standing beside a tree. Edward took the picture.

“Thank you very much,” the man said, taking the camera from Edward and walking back to his table.

There were small Wedgwood bud vases on the tables, with a pink tea rose, a daisy, and a bachelor’s button in each. The scalloped edge of the yellow and white striped canopy blew in the breeze. In the street, five boys were yelling and playing wheelies with their bikes. A little white dog ran along the curb, yapping at them.

The Japanese tourists were deep in conversation, staring at their table but looking away when anyone at the table looked at them.

The inn didn’t have Perrier, so Nicole ordered ginger ale. It came with a cherry and a slice of orange on the rim. The waitress put another brandy snifter in front of Edward, and frozen strawberry daiquiris in front of the rest. “Shirley Temple,” she said, as she put Nicole’s drink down.

“What?” Nicole said.

“You know what that is, don’t you?” Edward said.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Nicole said.

“It’s what they call that — ginger ale. No alcohol.”

“Is he putting me on?” Nicole said.

“No,” Lucy said.

“Bobby Blue’s mother collects Shirley Temple stuff. She has cups with Shirley Temple on them and dolls and all. When Bobby was a baby, he had golden hair, and she used to curl it like Shirley Temple’s. I think Shirley Temple is gross.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Maureen said.

“When she was a kid they used to tie a tourniquet around her breasts so she’d still look like a little girl. That’s so sick.”

“They did that to Judy Garland,” Peter said.

“God,” Nicole said. “No studio would do that now. They just tell lies about people’s age and stuff. That’s really pointless most of the time — like, they’re really not going to find out your age if you went to Hollywood High, right? Sure.”

“To Gary Hart,” Noonan said, raising his glass.

“Who?” Nicole said.

“You’re kidding,” Maureen said.

No one pursued it.

“No wonder those kids that were in the movies back then went crazy. It’s really sick to tie down people’s tits. I’ll bet you that doesn’t happen to anybody now,” Noonan said.

Nicole took a sip of her ginger ale. “I know a girl who had silicone put in her calves so they’d be pretty for this beach movie she was making. Something went wrong and all the stuff fell into her ankles and she had to have an operation.”

“Excuse me,” the Japanese tourist said. His hands were clasped over the front of his camera. He bowed his head so that his chin almost touched his hands. “Excuse me: I am Stephanie Sykes.” He lit up with a smile and nodded his head again.

“Stephanie Sykes,” Hildon said. He looked at Nicole.

Nicole smiled. She had been recognized.

“Doctor Cooper!” the tourist said.

“Me? No. I’m not on the show. I’m an artist. A photographer,” Edward said.

“I’m a photographer,” the man said.

“You’re a photographer too?” Edward said.

“I’m a photographer,” the man said, smiling and pointing at Edward.

“Oh, I am,” Edward said. “Yes.”

“Thank you very much,” the man said.

Lucy caught his wife’s eye, across the patio. The woman smiled at her. The man reached across the table and she shook his hand. “I am good Stephanie Sykes,” he said.

“Thank you,” Nicole said.

The man smiled and bowed and went back to his table. At the table next to theirs a man who looked familiar to Lucy sat with a tall blond woman and a curly-haired little girl. The little girl was pleading with them to buy her a Duran Duran album. “Is he the one who dresses like a girl?” the man said. “That’s Boy George. Everybody knows that,” the little girl said. “What’s the story with Boy George?” the man said. “Does he do break dancing?” It was the man she had seen at the airport, with the baby. The next time she looked, both the woman and man were looking at their table. Lucy smiled. Under the table, Hildon rubbed her knee. Peter removed a piece of lint from Noonan’s shirt. In the distance fireworks were exploding. The waitress came to the table and asked if they wanted another round.

“I think we’d better move on down the line,” Hildon said.

“Just bring me one more Rémy to bolt down with the check,” Edward said, handing her his gold American Express card.

“No, no,” Noonan said, reaching for his wallet. “Expense account,” Edward said.

The little girl from the other table got up and walked away. The woman looked at the man and sighed. “You shouldn’t tease her so much,” she said. “She sat still this afternoon when you explained what the different birds were. She doesn’t have any particular interest in birds, you know. You wouldn’t like it if she pretended she couldn’t keep a crow straight from a swallow.”

“I wasn’t putting her on that time,” he said. “Pretend to be a little interested, even if you aren’t,” the woman said.

“I listen to this stuff night and day. How am I supposed to keep it all straight?” The man finished his drink and took a sip of his wife’s wine.

The waitress came back to the table with the bill. There was a little piece of paper with “Stephanie Sykes” written on it. Edward looked surprised. He handed it to Nicole. Nicole read it and shook her head. She handed it to Lucy, seeming slightly embarrassed. “I am just a dishwasher,” the note said, “but I love Stephanie Sykes. I will treasure your ginger ale glass always. — Harry Woods.”

Maureen read it over Lucy’s shoulder. “It must be the strangest feeling to be recognized. Especially if you don’t even know who’s watching you,” Maureen said.