I stood in the hallway, oblivious to the fact that I was late to class, and frozen by the idea of dancing in front of the entire school. The events of the past few weeks, like watching Eddie Lo standing over a rival lying in a pool of blood, being grilled by Ganz, and nearly getting killed in Central Park, seemed to pale in comparison to the school dance.
A school dance was something out my element. Violence, shootings, etc., had always been part of my life. But, dancing in front of the senior class, in full view of all my friends, and teachers…there really should be a law against school dances.
Mr. Zoose saw me having a panic attack and asked me if I was all right. He looked just about back to normal.
“Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe!” I gasped for air.
Mr. Zoose said to calm down, and gave me a cup of water. I took a deep breath, and he asked what happened. I wasn’t sure if I could tell him; after all, he had intimate knowledge of my “problem.”
“Mr. Zoose, I’m going to the Coca Cola dance with Svetlana, but I don’t know how to dance, and she’s some kind of expert…I’m going to make a fool out myself.”
Mr. Zoose held back a laugh. “Look, you have time to practice…go watch some people dance on television and practice at home. Just have fun. I’m glad I bumped into you. Svetlana and I are over. It’s for the best; after all, I am married and want to stay married. I thank you for your help. I really don’t know what I was thinking.” He went into his classroom.
Sam approached and asked if I was having an asthma attack. I told him about the dance, and that I was going with Svetlana.
“All I could teach you is how we dance Persian Style!” He placed his hands in the air, and started twirling in a circle. Sam clapped his hands in a wide circular motion, and moved his hips. A dumb smile sprung across his face. Sam wanted to go to the dance, but was afraid his parents would freak out and suspect him of trying to become an American. “It’s different, the men dance with the men where my parents come from. And the women get excited.”
“You could take your girlfriend, the freshman,” I said.
“Oh that. Well, I called it off when she asked if we were going to the prom together. Ridiculous! Why would I go the prom with a freshman?” Sam smirked. “Besides now that I have been accepted to Harvard, I can probably get any girl in the school.”
“Maybe even a sophomore,” I said sarcastically.
Delancey walked toward us. She wondered if there was something wrong with my appendix, since I was still hunched over. Sam blurted out, “He’s nervous because he doesn’t know how to dance and he’s going to the Coca Cola dance with Svetlana.”
Delancey looked shocked. “I didn’t realize you two were still together.”
“We’re not…we are not together. We’re just friends,” I said quickly.
“Wow,” Delancey said, with flushed cheeks. She appeared devastated. I was livid with Sam for telling her about my situation.
“Are you going to the dance?” I asked her.
“I’m no longer sure. I thought I might have had a date, and now that doesn’t seem to be the case,” Delancey replied.
“Well maybe you and I could go together. I’m a real good dancer,” Sam said. I was in disbelief. One minute he wasn’t going, and the next he was asking out Delancey, right in front of me.
“I don’t think so,” Delancey said curtly. She looked at me and said, “By the way, there is a fundraiser this Friday night in Long Island…my mom is part of the group hosting. I came by to invite you; you should come, it will be a lot of fun, and I’ll get you in for free. You…can…bring who…ever.”
Before I could answer, Sam said, “We’ll be there, just give me the details.”
Delancey gave us an invitation and left. Sam was pleased with himself.
“First of all…I don’t know where to even begin! Why did you tell Delancey about me going to the April Dance with Svetlana? Second of all, you said you could not go to the dance…and third of all, you ask her out, right in front of me, and fourth of all, I don’t want to go to some stuffy fundraiser. We’ll be completely out of place. Those are rich Long Island people and two boys from Queens are going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Listen to me carefully….this is a good opportunity for you to see the other side. Rich people are great, very friendly, and it will do you some good. Besides you owe it to Delancey after stomping on her heart. You agreed to take Svetlana to the dance, not me. Also, it’s for a good cause, it’s a fundraiser. Charity is a good thing. Now, I will be going to the dance…to dance with Delancey. I’ll find a way,” Sam said.
The address on the invitation read Oyster Bay. It sounded so far away. A few things in life made me uncomfortable; being held at gunpoint in Central Park was one of them. Dancing in public was another. But the thing that made me most uncomfortable was being around rich people. I wasn’t ashamed that my father was one of the hardest working poor people on the planet. But I was not willing to be scrutinized by the rich. The last thing I needed was to go to this fundraiser, but Sam would not let me out of it, and now Delancey was expecting me.
I went shopping for clothes to wear to Delancey’s fundraiser and the dance. I ended up on Steinway Street in Astoria, a busy shopping area with stores run by mostly Greeks. I told the clerk my dilemma, that I needed an outfit for two occasions, and he sold me something that he said would be perfect. I was a little hesitant; after all, the guy dressed like a night club owner in Athens, with gold chains covering his hairy chest. I paid for it with the money I made from the café last weekend.
On Thursday, I went to the Ziegfield movie theater in the city, with Svetlana. She wore a leather skirt and white sweater. Her hair was made up nicely, but she had a strange expression on her face. She was not her usual self, and seemed aloof. We sat and watched the movie. Let me repeat that…we sat and watched the movie, in its entirety. There was no physical contact between us. She didn’t want to hold hands. She didn’t want to sit close, nothing at all. I wondered if it was this cold in Siberia. When the date ended, I looked at her as she walked away, and knew that my friendship with Svetlana was just about over.
On Friday, I was dreading the entire fundraiser ordeal. At lunch, Delancey confirmed our attendance. Sam asked her what to wear, and she said it was a dressy event.
“I don’t own a dress,” Sam said and then chuckled. Delancey seemed annoyed that Sam would be accompanying me. We would have to take the Long Island Railroad to Oyster Bay and then take a cab.
“My dad is going to pick us up at eleven. So going back won’t be that bad.” For all the trouble he’s worth, Sam always had a plan.
We decided to meet at the Nathan’s Hot Dog stand in Penn Station at seven o’clock. I wore my new suit and my father said I looked very European.
Sam was wearing a gray suit, white shirt, and skinny leather tie. His black shiny shoes matched his tie. He looked preppy and even wore a Harvard lapel pin. If Sam could carry a large flag that read “I’m going to Harvard” he would.
Sam laughed when he saw me. He said that I looked “like a Greek night club owner,” and then asked me for a souvlaki. It was going to be a long night.
We took the long ride on the Long Island Railroad. Through the dusty windows of the train, the congested streets of Queens flashed by. I had butterflies in my stomach; I had never been to Long Island before, and I didn’t know what to expect. I pictured myself in my strange outfit, and my Queens accent, trying to fit in.
We had to take a cab from the station to the house. When the cab pulled up in front of the house on Crescent Moon Drive, Sam told me to close my lower jaw. It was the biggest house I had ever seen, a contemporary design, on a dark, tree lined street with no other homes visible. The mansion was white, with a stucco and glass exterior. There were lots of windows, and a large circular driveway preceded it. It was built to be intimidating, and I sat frozen in the cab.
The cab driver was as astounded as I was. “This is some house,” he said. “Wow.” He took the words right out of my mouth. I paid the fare. Sam, as usual, did not have any money.
“How much bigger than my house do you think this is?” I asked Sam.
“At least six or seven times your house, and that’s just the first floor.”
We walked up the long cobble stone driveway. A man asked if we were the valets. Sam replied, “Not us, not tonight.”
When we arrived at the oversized entry doors, a butler in a black tuxedo immediately asked our names, and a man with a clipboard checked us in. The party was in the back. Sam and I walked through the house to find the back door. The floor was granite, and the ceilings were at least twelve feet high. The front stairs were marble, with dark wrought iron railings. There were several fireplaces. One was made of flat gray stones, stacked one on top of the other, all the way to the ceiling of the second floor. The kitchen was as big as my entire house, complete with cabinets made of shiny white metal. Sam and I stepped out of the kitchen by opening an oversized sliding glass door. We stepped onto a large wraparound limestone patio. The backyard looked as big as the Great Lawn in Central Park, which no longer seemed so great from where I was standing. There were lamp posts in the yard, but it was mostly dark.
Delancey gave me a big hug. She was dressed like a model from an upscale fashion catalog, wearing a blue dress and a matching scarf around her shoulders. It was made of silk, with a jeweled clip in the middle. She introduced us to her mother, who shook our hands, and thanked us for coming. There were no other young people; everyone else was an adult.
The deck was lit by torches, and several tables were set up with hot foods. The caterers walked around with serving trays and napkins. On the far left was a kidney shaped swimming pool, complete with a diving board and a swim up bar. The yard was enclosed by large old trees, some as high as fifty to sixty feet. Sam and I ate appetizers, but here on Long Island, the waiters referred to them as hors’doeuvres.
I felt uncomfortable, and completely out of place. I walked into the backyard, alone, as Sam stayed back and kept kissing up to Delancey’s mother. I now understood that Sam would fit in at the Ivy League. I lacked his social graces. Sam was a smooth talker. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a doctor’s son.
A waiter offered me a glass of white wine, and I took two glasses and walked deep into the sprawling backyard, into its darkest corner, hoping that no one would see me or follow me. I wanted this evening to be over, as my level of anxiety and social awkwardness increased with every person that said hello to me. I just wanted to be alone, away from their smiles and pleasantries.
In the corner of the backyard was a small house, with a sign that read “Cabana.” I peered in and saw some adults snorting lines of cocaine off a glass coffee table. They were laughing. Some had drinks in their hands. Brass needed to find his way to the suburbs if he was serious about making money.
The people in the cabana were friendly, and even offered me some of the white stuff. I declined, explaining that I was cutting back due to the recession. They roared with laughter. I slipped into the darkest portion of the yard, a corner dark as an abyss, behind the pool house, and slowly drank the wine. In this moment of social awkwardness, I knew that it wasn’t the party that was the problem, it was me. I stood under the shadows of a weeping willow tree with long leaves and dipping branches, and became an observer. I was far enough not to be seen. I watched in silence.
Sam, was talking to Delancey, and telling jokes to Delancey’s mother and her friends. He had them laughing non-stop. Delancey’s mother looked just liked her, tall, with regal features. When Sam told jokes, he couldn’t stop laughing. Sometimes he could barely get the punch line out.
The ladies laughed, and one reached over and held the Harvard pin on Sam’s lapel. She then moved her fingers slowly up and down his arm and shoulder. Sam looked very comfortable in this situation. On the other hand, I was insecure about my outfit, my hair, my shoes, my looks, and my family’s lack of money. Even my wallet was feeling insecure.
Sam told the ladies that he had been accepted to Harvard, and that his father was a doctor at New York Hospital. He was a really big hit, more so here than in high school. He was meant for parties outside of school. Delancey was glancing around, looking for someone. She leaned in and asked Sam a question, to which he shrugged and pointed in my general direction.
Sam was having a great time, talking to everyone he could. One of the pleasant things about acceptance to Harvard is that it happens to be a great conversation starter. Acceptance to a state college was really not much of a conversation piece. I finished my wine and gazed at the stars. It was a clear night, slightly cool, and there were more stars in the wealthy Long Island night sky than there ever was in all of Queens. You get a lot for your taxes out here. I was only about 30 miles away from home, but it felt like I was in another country. The Pinot Grigio was good, sweet, but dry.
I stared up at the heavens, noticing Orion’s belt, and the Big Dipper, and wondered if I would ever live in a house like this, if it was in my stars. I thought about my family, and how poor we were, and how my mother had worked long hours for such little pay before she passed. My father was good, hard working and honest. I wondered if we had some sort of family curse that prevented us from living a better life. I remembered a quote from last year’s English class. I said it out loud, “the fault lies not in our stars but in ourselves.”