but I kept my mouth shut. That remark would only have made us seem more pathetic. Besides, upon her arrival the attic became the place I most wanted to spend New Year’s Eve.
Johnny sat down in the children’s chair, and Louisa sat where Johnny had been. She pointed to Johnny’s record player, where Larry Kert’s version of “Maria” emanated from the mesh-covered speaker. “You’re sure wearing that out. I could hear it down in my room. What are you listening to?”
“ West Side Story, ” said Johnny. “But this isn’t the movie soundtrack. It’s the original Broadway recording.”
The distinction meant nothing to her. “Don’t you ever play anything else?”
I reached down and picked up the stack of albums we’d brought to the party. “What do you want to hear? We’ve got Dave Brubeck. The Kingston Trio. The Brothers Four. Odetta.”
“You have any Ricky Nelson?”
“Nope,” Johnny answered. “Sorry.”
“Bobby Vee?”
“No Bobby Vee.”
She shrugged and pointed to the bottle at Johnny’s feet. “What are you ringing in the New Year with?” Midnight was hours away.
“Blackberry brandy. Want a drink?”
“You have any more beers?”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. What the hell.”
“You want me to get you a glass?” offered Johnny.
Louisa laughed. “Don’t bother.” She reached for the bottle, twisted the top off, and then did exactly what a teenage boy would do: she wiped the rim with the palm of her hand.
After two swallows she grimaced and handed the brandy back to Johnny. “You could put that on pancakes.” Nevertheless, after the bottle passed from Johnny to me, she accepted it when it came back to her.
For a long time no one said anything. We simply circulated the bottle and listened to Larry Kert and Carol Lawrence profess their doomed love. As Tony and Maria approached their fate, Johnny grew increasingly drunk. Louisa was visibly bored, and she didn’t even know how the story ended....
Louisa spoke up. “This must be a real fancy affair your folks went to tonight,” she said to Johnny. “I saw the red dress your mom was wearing. Jesus, was that something!”
Johnny nodded. “They go to that dance every year. It goes on all night, and then when it’s over the McDonoughs—they own the hotel—open up the restaurant and fix bacon and eggs for everybody.”
The music was over, but no one got up to put on another record.
“But she won’t wear that dress again next year, will she? It’s a new dress every year, I’m sure.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“She’ll probably wear it once, and then it’ll end up over there.” Louisa pointed to a standing wardrobe filled with garment bags.
“Could be.”
“Damn fancy dress for this town,” she observed. “Is your mom from Willow Falls?”
“Detroit. She and my dad met at the University of Michigan.”
“How the hell did they end up here? A doctor—he can go anywhere.”
Louisa may not have been from Willow Falls, but it hadn’t taken her long to understand why so many people in our town worshipped Rex Dunbar. He wasn’t like the mayor, whose family had become wealthy selling Chevrolets to the residents of Willow Falls for decades. Nor was he like L. D. Smalley, who had been drawing up deeds and writing wills in town for over thirty years, or Gordon Ruland, whose family had been selling groceries in Willow Falls almost as long as the town had been there. As admired as these and other men were, they were in Willow Falls because they were from there. But Rex Dunbar and his stylish, beautiful wife—as Louisa said, they could have gone anywhere.
“After my dad got out of the service,” Johnny said, “he and my mom got in the car and took off. They were planning to drive out to the West Coast and take their time getting there. They stopped in Willow Falls for gas, and they liked the town right away. They thought it would be a good place to raise a family.”
“To each his own,” said Louisa,
Johnny sat down in the children’s chair, and Louisa sat where Johnny had been. She pointed to Johnny’s record player, where Larry Kert’s version of “Maria” emanated from the mesh-covered speaker. “You’re sure wearing that out. I could hear it down in my room. What are you listening to?”
“ West Side Story, ” said Johnny. “But this isn’t the movie soundtrack. It’s the original Broadway recording.”
The distinction meant nothing to her. “Don’t you ever play anything else?”
I reached down and picked up the stack of albums we’d brought to the party. “What do you want to hear? We’ve got Dave Brubeck. The Kingston Trio. The Brothers Four. Odetta.”
“You have any Ricky Nelson?”
“Nope,” Johnny answered. “Sorry.”
“Bobby Vee?”
“No Bobby Vee.”
She shrugged and pointed to the bottle at Johnny’s feet. “What are you ringing in the New Year with?” Midnight was hours away.
“Blackberry brandy. Want a drink?”
“You have any more beers?”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. What the hell.”
“You want me to get you a glass?” offered Johnny.
Louisa laughed. “Don’t bother.” She reached for the bottle, twisted the top off, and then did exactly what a teenage boy would do: she wiped the rim with the palm of her hand.
After two swallows she grimaced and handed the brandy back to Johnny. “You could put that on pancakes.” Nevertheless, after the bottle passed from Johnny to me, she accepted it when it came back to her.
For a long time no one said anything. We simply circulated the bottle and listened to Larry Kert and Carol Lawrence profess their doomed love. As Tony and Maria approached their fate, Johnny grew increasingly drunk. Louisa was visibly bored, and she didn’t even know how the story ended....
Louisa spoke up. “This must be a real fancy affair your folks went to tonight,” she said to Johnny. “I saw the red dress your mom was wearing. Jesus, was that something!”
Johnny nodded. “They go to that dance every year. It goes on all night, and then when it’s over the McDonoughs—they own the hotel—open up the restaurant and fix bacon and eggs for everybody.”
The music was over, but no one got up to put on another record.
“But she won’t wear that dress again next year, will she? It’s a new dress every year, I’m sure.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“She’ll probably wear it once, and then it’ll end up over there.” Louisa pointed to a standing wardrobe filled with garment bags.
“Could be.”
“Damn fancy dress for this town,” she observed. “Is your mom from Willow Falls?”
“Detroit. She and my dad met at the University of Michigan.”
“How the hell did they end up here? A doctor—he can go anywhere.”
Louisa may not have been from Willow Falls, but it hadn’t taken her long to understand why so many people in our town worshipped Rex Dunbar. He wasn’t like the mayor, whose family had become wealthy selling Chevrolets to the residents of Willow Falls for decades. Nor was he like L. D. Smalley, who had been drawing up deeds and writing wills in town for over thirty years, or Gordon Ruland, whose family had been selling groceries in Willow Falls almost as long as the town had been there. As admired as these and other men were, they were in Willow Falls because they were from there. But Rex Dunbar and his stylish, beautiful wife—as Louisa said, they could have gone anywhere.
“After my dad got out of the service,” Johnny said, “he and my mom got in the car and took off. They were planning to drive out to the West Coast and take their time getting there. They stopped in Willow Falls for gas, and they liked the town right away. They thought it would be a good place to raise a family.”
“To each his own,” said Louisa,
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