Pamela Lightsey, on the other hand, seemed to have been created just for him. She had everything a man in his position wanted in a wife—brains, beauty, heart, social status. Her parents were best friends with his own. The Lightsey fortune came from a jewelry empire, and they had given their daughter all the same advantages Philip enjoyed—private school, personal coaches, foreign travel, Ivy League college. She was blond and beautiful and accomplished, having mastered two languages and piano. This summer she was in Positano, perfecting her Italian.
Yet Philip had discovered one missing ingredient. When he looked into Pamela’s eyes, he didn’t get dizzy with love. That only happened with Mariska.
He forced himself to stop kissing her and set her down. “We should get a move on,” he said. “People will start to wonder where we are.”
By people, he meant his fellow counselors and staff. Most were guys like him who had spent their childhood summers at Kioga, guys who were jealous of Philip because he was going to marry Pamela Lightsey. Or so they thought. It was comforting—just a little—to know so many of them would be willing to catch her on the rebound.
His stomach churned every time he thought of breaking their engagement. He didn’t have a choice, though. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone—not to Pamela, nor to Mariska—to pretend nothing had changed over the summer. It wouldn’t be fair to the children he and Pamela had talked about having one day; kids deserved to grow up in a house full of love.
He should never have proposed to her last spring, on her birthday. But she had wanted him to, so much. One of the designers who worked for Lightsey Gold & Gem had created a one-of-a-kind ring, a 1.3 carat marquise-cut solitaire in a free-form setting of gold. He had knelt down before her in the middle of New Haven Green on campus—and in that starry-eyed moment, he could have sworn he loved her.
He was a fool. It had taken Mariska Majesky to finally show him what love was.
Outside the pavilion, he paused and squeezed her hand, then leaned down to say, “I love you.”
She rewarded him with a smile, then freed her hand. They walked into the dance side by side, like a couple of old friends.
The party was in full swing. His parents were circulating among the guests, always the perfect hosts. Even more perfect, he observed, trying not to cringe—the Lightseys were here. Pamela’s parents and his own were lifelong friends, another factor that complicated Philip’s plans. They went way, way back. Mr. Lightsey had been the best man at the Bellamys’ wedding, and the couples had been close ever since. It was almost as if a match between Philip and Pamela had been preordained. Each year, Pamela’s family came up at season’s end to help close up the camp and steal a few final days of summer before heading back to the city.
With the Lightseys around, he had to be extra careful. He had to be the one to tell Pamela, face-to-face. If she heard the news from her parents…He didn’t even want to think about that. And just to complicate matters, Mariska’s mother stood behind the buffet table, keeping the dessert trays filled. Helen Majesky’s berry pies and kolaches were legendary, and they didn’t last long.
Spying Mariska, Helen waved, though her smile appeared forced. Philip was pretty sure Helen suspected something was going on between him and Mariska, and disapproved. Of course she did. She knew he was engaged to Pamela and undoubtedly feared he’d break her daughter’s heart.
He wanted to reassure Helen, let her know he meant to spend the rest of his life making Mariska happy. Soon, he thought. I’ll straighten everything out soon.
Under the pavilion, he and Mariska went their separate ways, though he had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. A glow seemed to surround her, and even though he knew it came from the fairy lights strung along the railing, he thought it made her look magical, like someone from another world.
“Yo, Phil.” Earl, his best friend and college roommate, clapped him on the back. “You just missed the staff meeting at the boathouse.” That was code for getting high. Anthony George Earl the Third was extremely fond of weed, and indulged in it nightly. Sucking a bong almost seemed like another camp ritual.
“I’ll live. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Good plan. I’m starved.” His eyes were puffy and bright, evidence that he’d made the most of the staff meeting.
They moved along the buffet table, raising their voices to be heard over the music. “I’m going back on the morning train,” Earl said, munching on a mouthful of Bugles. “Man, I hate to leave this place.”
“I hear you.” Philip sneaked a glance at Mariska. She was dancing with Terry Davis, a local kid who did maintenance work around the camp. As usual, Davis was toasted. Built like a linebacker, he was known to drink a six-pack of beer in only minutes.
“She’s something, huh?” Earl commented, adding an extra scoop of potato salad to his plate.
“What? Who?” Philip played dumb. He’d been doing it all summer long.
“Sweet Mariska. Damn. Look at her.”
It took all of Philip’s self-control to keep from smacking the leer off Earl’s face. That, too, had been going on all summer long. Every guy in camp had the hots for Mariska.
“Man,” Earl continued, “I’d kill to have a piece of her.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Philip said, hanging on to his patience by a thread.
Unperturbed, Earl shrugged. He balanced his plate on one hand, grabbed a box of Screaming Yellow Zonkers with the other and found a seat at one of the tables placed along the periphery of the dance floor. “Well,” he said, “I would.”
“You are so full of shit,” Philip said, joining him.
“Nope, just horny. I think it’s affecting my mental health. I don’t know how you stayed so calm all summer long without getting laid.” Earl shoveled in several bites of potato salad. Like Philip, he was engaged, and his fiancée was overseas. Lydia had gone to Biafra to work as a Red Cross volunteer. Unlike Philip, Earl had stayed faithful, though he complained loudly about his noble sacrifice.
“So when does Lydia get back?” Philip asked.
“Two more weeks. Damn, I can’t wait. What about Miss America?” Earl called Pamela Miss America because she embodied the qualities of a beauty queen. She bore herself with a regal self-assurance, as though walking down a pageant runway. And there was always an invisible but impenetrable distance between her and the rest of the world.
“Next week,” Philip said.
“The waiting is hard, eh?”
“More than you know,” Philip admitted.
Earl dug into the barbecued ribs. “I don’t get it,” he said. “How do you know you’ve found the right girl? I mean, sometimes I know Lydia’s perfect for me. But other times, I see something like that—” he gestured at Mariska, who was now fast-dancing with a group of her local girlfriends “—and I can’t imagine sticking with one girl for the rest of my life.”
I can, thought Philip. But it’s not Pamela.
“Your parents make it look easy,” Earl said, giving them a wave.
Philip watched his mom and dad as they stepped onto the dance floor together. Despite the fact that they claimed to know nothing about rock and roll, they were lost in each other’s arms while Eric Clapton’s voice rasped from the speakers.
“See what I mean?” Earl commented. “I wonder how they knew.”
“Nobody knows for sure,” Philip said. “That’s why so many people make mistakes. Not because they’re stupid, but because they can only hope they’ve made the right choice.”
Although his parents did indeed have a happy marriage, Philip knew for a fact that they’d gotten off to a rough start. The Bellamys had been completely opposed to the marriage. Philip’s dad, Charles, had defied his family to be with Jane Gordon, whose family had founded Camp Kioga. Charles had dropped out of Yale in order to marry her and take over the running of the camp.
Eventually, there was a reconciliation between Charles and his parents. Maybe it was the four kids Jane had in quick succession, or maybe it was that the Bellamys finally understood that Charles and Jane’s love would not be denied.
That was how it would work for him and Mariska. He was sure of it. They would encounter doubts and resistance at first. Then the world would come to realize what he had discovered for himself this summer. He and Mariska belonged together forever.
“Dance with us,” ordered the Nielsen girls, striding over to the table as the music changed. “No way can you guys sit through ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
“Okay, you twisted my arm.” Earl got up, wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Sally and Kirsten Nielsen were fraternal twins. Guys at Kioga nicknamed them the Valkyries because of their size and handsome Nordic features, and their fearless tendency to grab guys they liked and carry them off. Philip was glad enough for an excuse to get out on the dance floor where Mariska was.
He noticed his parents and the Lightseys watching him, and felt a crushing weight of responsibility. There was so much he was expected to do once he finished college—Marry Pamela. Go to business school or law school. Have a family.
Mariska was dancing with Matthew Alger now. Philip felt a surge of possessiveness when he saw them together. Although he was heavyset, with straight blond hair, Alger tried to emulate his idol, John Travolta, right down to the blow-dried hair and polyester shirt open to display his chest. What a loser. Yet girls seemed to like him, for no reason Philip could figure.
The music glided into a slow song and Philip caught Mariska’s wrist, slipping between them. “My turn.”
“Back off,” said Alger, always spoiling for a fight. “You’re not wanted here.”
“That’s up to the lady.”
“You two.” Mariska laughed, then turned to Alger. “I haven’t danced with Philip yet, and you’re all leaving tomorrow.”
“Not me,” Alger informed her, squaring his shoulders with self-importance. “I’m going to be living in Avalon. Doing my senior thesis on city administration, and Avalon is the subject.”
Alger didn’t come from money but apparently had his share of brains. Suddenly Philip was on fire with envy. Alger got to stay in Avalon while Philip would be exiled to campus for another year.
With phony expansiveness, Alger backed off. “I guess I’ll see you around anyway, Mariska.”
Alger was sharp, an ambitious guy, Philip supposed, though a little off. Despite working as a bookkeeper and counselor for the camp all summer, he never quite fit in. “He’s a weirdo,” Philip said. “You should stay away from him.”
“I have to live in this town,” Mariska reminded him. “I can’t afford to make enemies.”
“Don’t be silly. After I finish school, we’ll live anywhere you want—New York, Chicago, San Francisco.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Then her gaze darted to the sidelines. “So those are Pamela’s parents. They’re scary.”
Philip frowned. “Not really. They’re just—”
“Just like your family,” she said. “They’re made of money.”
“They’re people, same as anyone.”
“Sure. Anyone with Gold & Gem after their name.”
He didn’t like it when she talked like that, as though coming from a working-class background set her apart from him. “Forget it,” he said. “You worry too much.”
The deejay announced that everyone should head down to the lakeshore for the final bonfire of the year, and everyone surged out of the pavilion en masse. The fire had a practical function as well as a traditional one. It was a way to get rid of the wooden delivery pallets and scrap lumber that had accumulated over the summer.
As people moved toward the pyramid of fire, Philip pressed his hand to the small of Mariska’s back and veered off the path.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“As if you didn’t know.”
“Someone will see.” All summer long, she’d been as concerned about discovery as he was, determined not to earn a reputation for stealing other girls’ fiancés.
He took her hand and steered her toward the row of bunkhouses. “No, they won’t.”
Someone did see, though. As they headed away from the lake, a match flared, illuminating the contemplative, inebriated face of Terry Davis. He held the match at arm’s length so that its weak light winked over Philip and Mariska.
“’Night, kids,” he said, an ironic smile on his face.
“Shit,” Philip said under his breath. “She’s not feeling well,” he explained to Davis. “I’m walking her…to her car.”
Davis’s gaze flickered. “Uh-huh.” He brought the match to the tip of his cigarette.
Philip and Mariska kept walking. “Never mind him,” Philip said. “He probably won’t remember anything tomorrow, anyway.” Despite the conviction in his words, he felt a thrum of apprehension in his chest. Over the summer, he and Mariska had grown increasingly inventive when it came to finding places to make love. They’d done it not just in the boathouse, but in some of the boats. In the panel van Mariska drove on her bread deliveries. On the bridge over Meerskill Falls.
Tonight, they decided to risk sneaking into the bungalow. As a senior counselor, he had private quarters, and there, illuminated only by a single night-light, he took her in his arms, leaning down to bury his face in her fragrant hair. “I can’t wait to be with you forever.”
“You’re going to have to. I better not stay out too late tonight. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning.”
He pulled back, studied her face. “Are you okay?”
“Just a checkup,” she said.
A sigh gusted from him. “Whew. I’m going to miss you so much.”
With delicate fingers, she unbuttoned the front of his shirt. “How much?”
“More than you know.” He caught his breath as she parted his shirt and pressed her lips to his throat.
“You’ll probably forget all about me once you’re back at college with your rich fiancée and high society friends.”
“Don’t talk like that. You know it’s not true.”
“All I have is your word for it.” Despite the accusation, a teasing note lightened her voice. “The rich boy’s word. What do rich girls do all the time, anyway?”
“They let rich boys make love to them,” he said, unzipping her dress in a smooth, practiced motion. He was excited now, but forced himself to slow down. He undid one cuff link and slipped it in his pocket.