Summer of '69(66)
Kate brings her menu up to her face to shield the aghast expression she can’t wish away. Bitsy Dunscombe is sleeping with an Opera House waiter. Kate realizes there’s a sexual revolution going on in the rest of the country, but she never thought it would infiltrate the upper echelons of society here on Nantucket.
“Don’t judge me, Katie Nichols,” Bitsy says. Kate dislikes her childhood nickname, although Bitsy is one of the few people who has known Kate long enough to use it. They’d taken sailing lessons together when they were only eleven years old. “I know you’ve always thought you were better than me with your four perfect children, but I have news for you…”
So this is Bitsy Dunscombe fueled by one too many, Kate thinks. She gets ugly—not only her language, but her face as well. Her expression contorts into a hideous mask with narrowed, accusing eyes and twisted lips. If she says anything about Tiger, Kate will slap her or throw a drink in her face. The piano player will stop right in the middle of “Try to Remember,” and the revelers at table 1 will gape first and gossip later, and who could blame them? Kate Levin and Bitsy Dunscombe are two middle-aged matrons, both impeccably bred and raised, who should be able to get through dinner at the Opera House without making a scene.
No, Kate thinks. She pulls her comportment out as though it were something tucked away in her pocketbook. “I never thought I was better than you, Bitsy. You have beautiful twin girls. You were much smarter than I—you didn’t make the mistake of marrying too young.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Bitsy whispers fiercely. “I won’t have it.”
At that moment, Arturo arrives with the wine, a cabernet that will complement both Bitsy’s boeuf and Kate’s canard. As Bitsy goes through the theatrics of tasting the wine, Kate gazes around the room. The Opera House is tiny, a jewel box, really, dark and magical, with the iconic velvet-lined phone booth in the corner where Kate once caught Wilder kissing the Broussards’ Swedish au pair. Wilder had been drunk, too drunk to know what he was doing, so Kate had forgiven him, despite the public humiliation.
Kate thinks of poor Blair, probably at that very moment lolling on the couch in front of the television like a walrus on an ice floe, stuffing her face with grilled-cheese sandwiches and pudding cups. Kate encouraged Blair to stick it out with Angus even though Angus is engaging in an affair with the woman named Trixie (who can only be a prostitute) because that was what Kate herself had done—she stuck it out. But why should poor Blair have to suffer as Kate did? For propriety’s sake? Propriety means next to nothing these days, as Bitsy Dunscombe is so plainly demonstrating. Why shouldn’t Blair be with Angus’s brother, Joey, if that’s who she really loves? Blair deserves to be adored. All women deserve to be adored.
“I’m sorry, Bitsy, your words came as a shock,” Kate says. She lowers her voice. “I assure you, I would never judge—”
“You should be positively ashamed of your daughter,” Bitsy says. She takes a long drink of her wine; it stains her lips purple. Kate wonders if Bitsy has heard about Blair; her presence on the island can hardly be kept hush-hush. The news must have circulated that Blair and Angus are having marital problems and perhaps someone got hold of the sordid story about Angus kicking Blair out of the apartment because he caught her with his own brother. But who would have leaked such a story? Exalta? Exalta meets Mrs. Winter for mimosas every morning. She might have said something accidentally, and everyone knows how Mrs. Winter holds a grudge against Blair for dumping her son, Larry.
Or maybe Bitsy is referring to Kirby? Maybe news of Kirby’s arrests made it from Boston to New York? Or maybe Kirby was involved with something even more nefarious? That spring, Kirby came home from college unannounced for three days midweek. She had offered no explanations and stayed holed up in her room, refusing all meals. Kate was traumatized by Tiger’s recent departure, but even so, she expressed concern and asked Kirby a few probing questions, which were batted back in her face like shuttlecocks. Over the years Kate had learned that with Kirby, emotions ran hot and hard for a time—much like the outdoor shower at All’s Fair—and then returned to normal. Sure enough, when the weekend rolled around, Kirby returned to Simmons, resigned if not cheery. Kate was secretly relieved that Kirby had decided to spend the summer on the Vineyard because it gave her one less person to worry about on a daily basis. Four children had seemed so perfect, so square, but Kate has to admit, much of the time it feels like too many.
“To which daughter are you referring?” Kate asks. She tastes the wine—it’s exquisite, but that only serves to annoy her—and regards Bitsy with open curiosity.
“Jessica,” Bitsy hisses. “She stole five dollars from Heather’s pocketbook while Heather was using the ladies’ room at the club. Five dollars and a lip gloss. Heather didn’t want to say anything but Helen was in the next stall and she spied on Jessie through the crack in the door. She said that Jessie reached right into Heather’s Bermuda bag, took the money and lip gloss, and walked out.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “Spare me, please. Jessie would never do such a thing. I would bet my life on it.”
“Helen saw her, Katie,” Bitsy says. “And Heather admitted the money was missing. She earned that money by—”
“Reading to the blind?” Kate interjects. She’s sick of hearing what a tireless do-gooder Heather is. She’s a Girl Scout, she feeds stray dogs, she takes the elderly for walks in their wheelchairs. Admittedly, Heather is far better than that little minx Helen. Helen has been trouble from day one. Of course she’s trying to pin this robbery on Jessie. Helen probably took the money herself! “Helen probably took the money herself,” Kate says. “And she’s trying to blame Jessie. How have you not considered that?”