Читать книгу Strings - Megan Edwards - Страница 13

Chapter 6

Whenever I size up new locales, it’s always Santa Barbara I use as a measuring stick. Nowhere on the California coast has architecture wedded its setting with such seductive perfection. White adobe and terra cotta tile mingle with the dark green spires of ancient cedars. The city slopes gently down to its world-famous coastline, where miles of sugar-white beaches greet the rolling turquoise surf. Balmy ocean breezes bear the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle almost every day of the year. In spring, the whole place erupts in an ecstatic explosion of fuchsias, begonias, roses, bougainvillea, and geraniums.

Ever since my four years at Haviland, no matter where I’ve lived, I have always cultivated at least one geranium in a red clay pot to remind me of that riotous California springtime. When denizens of less temperate zones assail me with long-winded speeches about how they could never live in a place that has no seasons, I never try to set them straight. I just look at my geranium and remember rebirth on the Western edge. I remember Santa Barbara and being seventeen. I remember Olivia.

On Saturday, I got up at four to practice my violin, then stationed myself on a terrace next to the science building at eight thirty. I could see the gym from my vantage point, and my plan was to wait until I saw the station wagon pull into the parking lot. Then I’d saunter on down in a fashion I desperately hoped would come across as casual. Unfortunately, Mr. Gillespie was working early in his lab, and he saw me through the side window. He immediately joined me on the terrace.

“Spencer!” he called jovially as he emerged from the building. “What brings you to science land so early on a Saturday?”

I could tell that Mr. Gillespie, whom I actually liked a lot, was in a mood to chat.

“Oh, uh—”

“I think I’ve finally convinced Puck to stop barking at the orchestra,” Mr. G. continued. “Now all we have to worry about is the audience.” Puck, Mr. Gillespie’s sheepdog, had the role of King Pellinore’s shaggy companion in Camelot. His looks made him perfect for the part, but his personality was making things difficult.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I replied, still wondering how I could escape and find a better place to count down to nine o’clock in private.

“Well,” said Mr. G. heartily, “at least we’ve got the perfect Lancelot.” He clapped me on the back.

“Sir—I’ve got to go. I’ve got an appointment,” I blurted. With Mr. Gillespie staring after me, I took off down the stone steps to the path below. I was still trotting when I turned right onto the one-lane road that led to the gym parking lot and heard a car closing in behind me. I jumped over the curb and turned to see Olivia and her mother laughing behind a dusty windshield. I smiled lamely. So much for looking casual. Olivia stepped out, opened the back door, and disappeared inside.

“You ride in front!” she called, leaning out of the window. “Your legs are longer than mine!”

I slid onto the peeling vinyl and pulled the door shut. The car smelled of incense, and a string of glass beads swung from the rearview mirror.

“Hello, Mrs. de la Vega,” I said. “Thank you for inviting me to come along today.”

“You can call me Eleanor unless it makes you feel uncomfortable, Ted,” she replied. “And you’re welcome, but you really have to thank Olivia. It was all her idea.”

I twisted my head around. “Thank you, Olivia,” I said. Olivia smiled her response from the back seat.

Both Eleanor and Olivia were wearing long dresses. Eleanor’s was a Shakespearean-style gown with a tight bodice that pushed her breasts up and gave her eye-catching cleavage. I tried not to stare at her as she drove but, until that morning, I had never seen her in anything except a brown housekeeper’s uniform that made her look at least two decades older than she was. I hadn’t been able to picture her as a performer, but now, with her hair attractively styled and her face made up with professional skill, I could no longer imagine her mopping floors. Like her daughter, she was beautiful. She had the same delicate fingers, I noted as I watched her navigate the curving road down the hill. Her hair was lighter, and she had freckles, but her green eyes were the same shade as Olivia’s. And they laughed the same, a bubbly giggle that made me laugh, too.

Olivia’s dress wasn’t a costume. It was made of something white and gauzy, and the bodice was much more modest than Eleanor’s. Olivia was wearing a wreath of flowers in her hair, and the whole effect was delightfully Botticellian. The two of them made me feel terminally un-hip. My plaid madras shirt and khaki slacks might have been considered “cool” at my parents’ tennis club, but in the current context I felt like a charter member of the Young Republicans. If you don’t remember the sixties, that was a designation far worse than “nerd.” At least I didn’t sport a crew cut, and I had, at the last minute, decided to wear sandals.

I couldn’t worry about my wardrobe for long. Eleanor and Olivia were too busy laughing and making plans for me to feel self-conscious.

“I’ll be playing all day, Ted,” said Eleanor. “You and Olivia will be on your own until six or so. How long did you sign out for?”

Haviland required that all boarding students “sign out” when they left campus, which was only allowed on weekends and, if you were a senior with decent grades, a couple of evenings during the week. Students weren’t allowed to keep cars on campus, which, given the isolated location of the school, seriously limited your travel options unless you had local friends.

“I said I’d be back around nine.”

“Oh, good! That’ll give us time for dinner! Can we go to Carmen’s, Mom?” Olivia’s obvious enthusiasm for making the day last as long as possible lifted my spirits.

“We’ll see, Livie,” replied Eleanor. “We’ll just play things by ear.”

After four days of planning and worrying, I liked the idea of just letting things unfold. I liked Eleanor, too, and the psychedelic peace symbol stuck to her dashboard. I liked riding through the orange groves along Highway 150, and I liked that Olivia was humming as we drove. Our sweet and happy journey brought us at last to Isla Vista Park, where a jolly crowd was gathering and music was already rising over the lawns that sloped down to the sea.