Summer of '79: A Summer of '69 Story(13)

Blair is going to tell Joey Whalen yes. Yes, she wants to be with him. She doesn’t care that he lives out of a suitcase. He can spend time at her house in Chestnut Hill; she can take the twins to Newport. It’ll be exciting. Blair will have a family situation that is just as wacky as everyone else at Radcliffe.

Her only problem now is a small one. She has to get rid of Larry. But how? He can’t take a hint!

Kirby approaches out of the darkness. “Anyone here want to smoke some weed?”

Blair says, “I bet Larry does.”

Both Joey and Larry laugh, then Larry clears his throat. “Actually, I’d love to.”

“Dynamite,” Kirby says. She’s wearing an ivory caftan, which in that moment makes her seem like an angel of mercy. “Come on, Larry. Let’s go for a walk.”

Kirby links her arm through Larry’s and they wander away. Blair reaches for Joey’s hand.

“Drive?” he says.

“You must read minds,” she says. “Let’s go.”





7. Life in the Fast Lane




The weed is schwag—Kirby got it from her Spring Street dealer, Pope, whose product is inconsistent—but it hardly matters because Kirby is with Larry Winter! Kirby stole him right out from under Blair’s nose!

It’s a triumph worthy of its own Cosmo column. When Dreams Come True: Hooking Up with Your Teenage Crush as a Grown Woman.

Seventeen years earlier, in 1962, back when Kennedy was president, Kirby harbored an excruciating crush on Larry Winter, but he had been in love with Blair. Kirby used to babysit Larry’s pain-in-the-ass little sisters and Larry would be saddled with the task of driving Kirby home at the end of the afternoon. Kirby was only fourteen, she wore braces and had acne across her forehead, and was every bit the Ugly Duckling. Larry, meanwhile, was a man—seventeen, eighteen—headed to Georgetown to major in political science. He wanted to run for president.

Reports from Mrs. Winter that were relayed to Kirby from Exalta pointed in a different direction. After college, Larry worked as the food and beverage manager at a private club in Vero Beach, Florida.

Kirby won’t lie: it was disappointing to hear this.

But then, recently, Exalta made a point of mentioning that one of the wealthy members of the Vero Beach Club had given Larry seed money and he was opening a nightclub in Key Largo.

A nightclub! That was something Kirby could get behind.

She isn’t at all surprised that Larry accepted her offer of a toke because everyone in the nightclub world partook in a little something, and usually more than a little and occasionally more than one thing. She also isn’t surprised when Larry exhales, winces, and says as he passes the joint back to Kirby, “This shit is terrible.”

“I know,” Kirby says. “Sorry. I do have some powder if you want to snort a line.”

“What?” Larry says. “You mean…cocaine?” He sounds completely scandalized and Kirby rolls her eyes, but it’s dark so he doesn’t see. You own a nightclub? she thinks. In the Florida Keys? Just south of Miami, which might as well be renamed Cocaine City?

“Yes,” Kirby says. “I mean cocaine.” She has a glass vial hanging from a chain around her neck, which she pulls over her head. She taps out a tiny amount onto the back of her thumb and snorts it up. “Want a line?”

“No, I don’t want a line!” Larry says. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You just did cocaine right in front of me.”

“Are you stuck in the Stone Age?” Kirby asks. “Because you sound like Fred Flintstone. I wouldn’t have pegged you as being so…square.”

Even in the dark, she can see Larry grin. His teeth are so white, she wonders if they’re fake. “I’m not square,” he says. “I was putting you on. Of course I want a line.”

Ha! Oh boy, Kirby is relieved. She had a vision of Larry tattling on her to Mrs. Winter or, worse, Kate, and then it would be straight to rehab for Kirby. She had thought twice about bringing the cocaine to Nantucket because no one on the island partied this way, but now her gamble has paid off. She is going to fly high with her teenage crush, Larry Winter.

She taps out a bump for Larry and he hoovers it right up, then sniffs, waiting for the rush to hit.

“God-damn!” he cries out at the ocean. He turns back to Kirby, who has capped the vial and tucked it back down her dress. “Is it all right if I kiss you?”

Hell, yes! Kirby thinks—and a second later, she and Larry Winter are making out. But something is wrong. Larry’s mouth is open too wide; it feels like he’s trying to swallow her. Maybe it’s the drugs, or maybe he’s just completely inept. They clash teeth, which makes a plasticky sound, and Kirby thinks, Definitely false teeth.

She pulls away. “Easy there, Cowboy.” She can feel Larry’s erection through his tight polyester pants. The Cosmo girl in her is mildly intrigued; it’s bigger than she imagined—but Kirby can’t decide how far she wants this to go. She finds herself in this position all the time when she’s out. She’ll be dancing with some guy and he’ll want more and if he’s cute, or ugly but confident, she’ll lead him to her secret alcove and kiss him. But she always remains in control of the situation. Occasionally this leads to sex in Kirby’s loft—she never goes home with anyone and she never, ever has sex in the club. Part of being a liberated woman, she tells the girls at the magazine—they hang on Kirby’s every word—is remaining free to walk away at any moment.