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"Anyway, before long, Agnes will have you singing at one of her gatherings."
"Was she really an actress?"
"Oh yes, and she still is. I don't mean on the stage or screen, but in real life. And she has all these old actor friends who come over for tea on Sundays. It's fun to listen to them reminisce. Did you meet Mrs. Liddy?"
"Yes. She's very nice."
"She and Agnes have been together for ages and ages. Sometimes, she's the only one Agnes will listen to, but don't worry, you'll love it here. You'll see. Just don't let Bones get you down."
"Why would he do that?"
"He's always so glum. I swear if he smiled, he'd crack his face," she said as the waitress brought our ice cream sodas.
"Why do you call him Bones?"
"When you see him, you'll know. Yummy," Trisha said and started sipping on her straw. Her personality was like a warm summer day. I had never seen such a happy, exuberant girl. "Better get to your soda," she said. "We have a lot to do and I have to get back to help with dinner. It's my week."
"Oh. Right."
Trisha insisted on paying. When she put down a tip for the waitress, I told her what had happened with the taxi driver.
"He had the nerve to ask?" She shook her head. "What am I saying? Of course, he had the nerve; he's a New York cabby. Come on," she said, taking my hand. Oh no, I thought, not another race down the sidewalk.
We hurried out of the luncheonette and turned left.
"How do you know which way to go? It all looks so confusing," I said. I had already forgotten from which direction we had come. The streets looked so similar.
"It's easier than you think. It won't take you long to find your way around. The school's only a block up and a block over," she added as we walked on.
"My boyfriend's name is Victor, but no one calls him anything but Vic," she said. "He writes a couple of times a week and calls once a week. And he's visited me twice already this summer."
"That's very nice. You're lucky to have someone who cares so much about you."
"But I've got to tell you a secret," she said, stopping and pulling me closer as if all the strangers passing by us on the sidewalk would be interested in our conversation.
"What is it?"
"There's a boy I like at the school—Graham Hill. He's s-o-o-o handsome. He's a senior, studying acting." Suddenly, the corners of her mouth drooped sadly. "But he doesn't even know I exist," she said. She looked down at the sidewalk and then snapped her head up. "Let's hurry," she said, charging off again and tugging me behind her. "They'll still be in rehearsal and we can get a look at him."
Hurry? I thought. What were we doing before?
When we came around the corner, I saw the Bernhardt School across the street. There was a very tall, iron bar fence around the grounds with vines threaded through most of it. The entrance opened on a driveway that snaked up and over a small knoll before reaching the gray stone building that reminded me of a castle because it was tall and round, but what looked like a more recent addition with a flat room ran off to the right. In that section the windows were larger. Off to the left, I saw two tennis courts, both presently in use. On one court two couples were playing doubles. Even with the sounds of the traffic, the horns honking, we could hear their occasional laughter.
The sky above had become a darker blue with a puffy, cotton ball cloud here and there. The breeze that lifted the strands of my hair and made them dance over my forehead was warm and salty. Beyond the school I could see the water that had been visible from the front steps of our apartment building.
"Come on," Trisha commanded as soon as the light turned green.
The grounds of the school surprised me. I hadn't thought I would find green grass, or flower beds, or the water fountains with benches and slate rock pathways in the middle of New York City. And there were great maple and oak trees with long thick branches casting cool shadows in which some students now sat or reclined, some reading, some talking softly, dozens of white and gray pigeons strutting bravely about them. It looked more like a beautiful park than school grounds.
"It's very pretty here," I said.
"It was once owned by a multimillionaire who loved Sarah Bernhardt, the famous actress, and decided to create this school in her name after she died. The school has been in existence since 1923, but everything's up-to-date. Ten years ago they added the new buildings. There's a plaque right there," Trisha said pointing to the fence. When we crossed the street, I stopped to read it.
TO THE MEMORY OF SARAH BERNHARDT
WHOSE BRIGHT LIGHT LIT UP THE STAGE
AS IT HAD NEVER BEEN LIT BEFORE
