Falling in Love Read online

  I couldn’t really believe that this false resume would get me work as a legal secretary but I was grateful to Dede for at least trying to help me. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem,” she smiled. “We Geminis have to stick together.”

  I gaped, surprised. “How did you know?” I didn’t know much about astrology but I did know that my June birthday made me a Gemini.

  “You’ve got split personality written all over you.” Dede laughed. “Just kidding. I don’t follow it that much but I can always spot another Gemini. When’s your birthday?”

  “June thirteenth.”

  “Sixteenth. We’re almost celestial twins.”

  Then Dede was off to the bathroom and in a few minutes emerged in the silk dress, gloves and a new hairdo, coming over to me with a twirl. “What do you think?”

  “Fantastic.” It truly was a stunning transformation into some kind of flapper.

  Dede dropped her card on the table and said, “Go do it. If you have any questions or problems, call me. Drop my name as a reference. The top agencies all know me and one day everyone will know me,” she made a grand gesture, “as a star.” Then she was gone.

  The next day, I began doing exactly what Dede said. I was so nervous that I failed the first test, barely passed the second one and did respectable at the third agency. By the fourth one, the woman said that she would send me out. But when she didn’t call the next day, I finally went to the first agency on Dede’s list, passed the test, smiled a lot and the next day they sent me to a midtown law firm to fill in for three days.

  The firm was on a high floor with light airy offices and plush carpets. I worked for a young woman associate who was a gift. She did almost all of her own work and mostly just asked me to print out her documents. On Friday, after the secretarial supervisor signed my time card, I skipped my way to the elevator. I even knew what a brief was! Lawyer slang for a Memorandum of Law. I was a legal secretary, a working member of society. I knew that somehow, some way, I was going to make it.

  I got paid the following Tuesday. I called Dede and offered to buy her a drink out of my newly-earned legal-secretarial wages. We agreed to meet at a swank Upper Westside restaurant. But I got on the wrong train and arrived late. Dede was perched on a bar stool dressed in a low-cut blouse and a skirt that slid well above her knees when she crossed her legs. The empty stool beside her was evidently reserved for me because, although several men in suits hovered around her, none had attempted to sit there. Dede shared smiles with each of them, as if unable to choose between such a wealth of manhood.

  When she saw me, she cried, “Sherry, over here!” The men parted to form a path to the empty stool and I took my place beside Dede. “What are you drinking?” Dede asked.

  “Mineral water,” I replied. I didn’t want to begin my career as a bona fide New York secretary mouthing excuses for being late and hung over. Moderation had never been my strong suit so I decided to give temperance a try.

  “You sure?” I nodded. “Mick? An Evian, please,” Dede called out to the bartender who was shaking a cocktail. “Put it on my tab,” Dede laughed, and three men leaned over the bar armed with cash.

  Wearing only simple slacks and a sweater, I wasn’t decked out like Dede, whose skirt seemed to slide up even more when she turned to me but the men still smiled eagerly at me so I guess I passed some kind of test. After glancing around the bar, I noticed that the guys greatly outnumbered the girls and I figured that anyone remotely resembling a female would have passed that same test.

  Dede gave me a look and leaned over to me, “You okay? Anything the matter?”

  “I just thought that we would be having a drink together, and that I was buying.”

  Dede smiled and whispered, “We can go out for a bite afterward and we can talk then. But, hey, why pay when you don’t have to. Living in New York is too expensive to not enjoy a few freebies when they come our way.”

  For the next hour, Dede swapped stories with the guys, expertly playing one off against another. A couple of guys edged up to me and tried a few lines, some sincere, some not so sincere, but I acted like I was fascinated by Dede’s every word. Drinking water gave me some kind of new resolve and I was surprised at how easy it was to fend off guys when I was sober. I wondered if I didn’t drink anymore that somehow I might not only rid myself of hangovers but also rid myself of waking up besides nameless guys.

  Finally, Dede announced that she and I had to leave for an engagement. A tall good-looking guy teasingly blocked her exit. “Not until I get you phone number.”

  “I tell you what,” Dede said to them all. “Give me your cards and I’ll throw them into a hat. The lucky winner gets to buy me dinner this weekend.”

  The guys groaned as if knowing she was lying, even as they did quick draws for their cards. Armed with their names and occupations, Dede lead me outside.

  “Are you really going to call one?” I asked Dede as she put them into her purse.

  She laughed. “Get serious. I just don’t want to dump them into the corner trashcan. They’ll be looking for that.”

  I shook my head in amazement.

  “Hey, flirting is good for you, Sherry. Keeps the juices flowing. You should do more of it. But life is all about who you go home with and wrap your legs around. I’ve already got my guy. We’re going to make movies all day and fuck all night.”

  Dede circled a couple of corners to make sure that none of her admirers were tailing us. Then she headed down Ninth Avenue, explaining that we could do Chinese, Indian or burgers on a budget. I shrugged so Dede chose Chinese, “I love their Sesame Chicken. Basically caramelized chicken. Pure sugar. Besides they’re new immigrants who haven’t figured out that everyone else only gives you one free glass of wine. They keep refilling your glass.”

  I opted for a free diet Pepsi instead of the wine and Dede wondered, “You don’t drink?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes, I drink too much.”

  “Don’t we all,” she laughed.

  When the drinks arrived, Dede raised her glass in a toast. “To continued employment,” she said. “And may we rise above the legal profession.”

  “Thank you so much for my resume. I’d never have gotten work without it.”

  “My pleasure and hey, you’re doing the job. So what’s the harm?” She smiled warmly. “Actually, I’m glad you’re doing better. You seemed a little lost and I have a thing for other only childs.”

  I stared at her. “How did you know that?”

  “I can always tell,” she said, sipping her wine. “They always have this look. Like their life has been missing something from the beginning and they’re still trying to find it. Am I right?” She looked at me and I nodded weakly. “I mean, did you ever hear of a couple saying, ‘We’ll stop after one child.’ Two, maybe, three, sure, four, for sure, but nobody says they only want one child. Right?”

  “Probably,” I admitted.

  “So what was with your parents? Divorce?”

  “My dad died when I was young,” I said, “and I never really knew my mother.” I briefly explained that I’d come to New York in search of my mother even though I thought she was in California.

  “You and Columbus have a lot in common,” Dede surmised. “Guess telephones haven’t made it to Indiana yet, huh?”

  “I wanted to leave my hometown, anyway. Thought I’d just try New York. Bright lights and all that.”

  Dede stared at me for a long moment and I became very uncomfortable. Then she softened into a sympathetic smile. “Okay, Sherry. We both know that there is more to this little trip but you don’t want to tell me and I won’t press you. Besides, it’s probably a bad idea because I’m an actor. Tell me with too much emotion and trust me, I’m sure to use it.” She laughed lightly. She had a beautiful, cheerful laugh. “It’s not stealing if I’m warning you.” She sipped her wine and said, “Personally, I think the phrase is just misspelled. There is no such thing as an ‘only child,’ only a ‘lonely chil
d.’ Am I right? Were you lonely?” She held up her hands to show she wasn’t prying. “Just yes or no?”

  I nodded.

  “Sure,” she went on with barely a pause. “I know there are lonely childs who supposedly had tons of friends but I didn’t. Did you? Yes or no?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ve only had one close friend in my entire life and he was a horse.”

  “I didn’t even have any stuffed toys,” I admitted.

  Dede laughed. “No, Sherry, I mean a real horse.”

  Dede explained that she grew up in Palm Springs, California, with an attractive serial-marrying mother who occasionally referred to Dede as her “diaphragm in the drawer” baby. Her mother continually married well to anyone rich enough to support her habit of owning horses. But Dede said her mother’s only true love was her beautiful bay half-Arabian stallion named Crown. Dede said, “The love and devotion that she showed Crown ripped me apart. They competed in dressage at the Grand Prix level and when they were in the ring, damn it, they were like poetry in motion. I just sat there in awe, watching them.”

  I must have looked lost because Dede informed me, “Dressage is like equine ballet. It’s beautiful, elegant and supposedly represents the highest level of training that a horse can achieve.”

  Dede swigged her wine. “So to be near my mother, I decided to take up riding. To let me know what she thought of my idea she bought this high-strung, full-blood Arab gelding with this really impressive name but I just called him Cool. He was absolutely gorgeous but the problem was no one could ride him. So she hires, Jo, this well-meaning but mediocre trainer who was afraid to ride Cool herself because he kept trying to buck her off.

  “So now I had this horse that neither my mother nor Jo would let me ride. I still never saw my mother because she was only around the stables during the day when I was in school and she’d be out all evening indulging some husband or looking for a new one. I had all these problems I wanted to bitch about and all this love to give that no one wanted. Jo told me that Cool was too dangerous to go near but I was semi-suicidal anyway. So every night I’d go out to the stables and hug him or just sit in his stall and pour my heart out.

  “I think he must have felt the same way because one night I was crying really hard and he started nuzzling me and licking the tears off my face. I couldn’t believe it. Someone was finally listening to me and it was a fucking horse!”

  Dede downed more wine. “Then one evening, the setting sun was so beautiful, I said, ‘Cool, let’s go for a ride,’ and he reared up. Not a lot, but it probably would have been enough to put me on my ass. You’re not supposed to show fear, so I tacked him up anyway. We went outside and instead of taking his reins I grabbed two fistfuls of hair. If he was going to deck me, I was taking half his mane with me. But he just stood there so I give him a leg and he goes straight toward a fence. He starts picking up speed and I realize he’s about to jump the damn thing. I grab the reins and turn him and before I knew it we were galloping across the desert bathed in the sunset. I’d never been on a horse without an instructor and I loved the freedom.

  “We started going out every evening and he usually reared up whenever we left and had to return home. I realized that bucking was how Cool expressed his emotion. When we’d leave, he’d jump for joy and when we had to return home, he’d rear up like some extreme hoof stomping.

  “I decided to try dressage moves and it was a hilarious. Cool and I out in the desert trying flying changes and half-passes. I didn’t really know any cues, so I just made up my own. Cool was always perfect for me but he was still trying to toss off Jo. So I finally got Jo to let me ride him in the ring. She just told us what she wanted and Cool and I would figure out a way to do it. And every evening, we’d still go out into the desert. Sometimes, we’d practice. Sometimes, we just ride. Then one night, we were out so late that it getting really dark. I started racing for home to make sure my mother didn’t catch us when suddenly, we were airborne. What a thrill! The next day, I saw that Cool had jumped over a fallen cactus. So then we added jumping to our routine and Cool loved it.

  “Finally, Jo said we were good enough to compete in the Arabian classes but I couldn’t see myself in Western Pleasure or Country Pleasure, nothing like that. Then I saw Native Costume and loved the idea of riding around looking like the Queen of Sheba. So we started competing in small shows and incredibly, my mother started taking an interest in me, but just to point out my mistakes in the show ring. She used to love to sigh and say this one line behind my back, even though I was always close enough to hear it. It was, ‘I’m doing my best but my daughter just doesn’t have what it takes to be a champion.’”

  Dede took another swig of wine. “So, ironically,” she said with her own huge sigh, “I started messing up on purpose, just to get my mother’s attention. It got ridiculous. I had to make enough mistakes so that my mother would notice me but still ride well enough to make into the Top Ten so that I could go on to the next level and do it all over again. God knows, she would never give me a compliment. Finally, I kept this insane balancing act all the way up to Nationals.”

  Although I didn’t really know anything about Arabian horses or competing on them, I loved the way Dede told a story, with such flair and drama.

  “Since her horse was the highest ranked Arab in dressage,” Dede continued, “my mother often did presentations at the Arabian Nationals and she was going to do a couple that year.”

  Dede gave a dramatic pause, then continued, “Right before my finals competition, her horse was injured in his stall. It was only minor but, of course, my mother had to be with Crown rather than watch me. The previous year, I’d done badly in the Finals because I wanted her attention, as lame as it was, more than a rosette. But since she wasn’t there to see my mistakes, I didn’t have any reason to make any mistakes so I just rode. Cool was waiting for me to screw up and when I didn’t, he relaxed and started stepping around the ring like he owned the place. We both loved it.

  “At the end, you line up to give the judges one last look. But as soon as the judges’ cards were in, I would head toward the gate, ostensibly to talk to my trainer but really, I wanted to be able to make quick exit when I wasn’t called for the Top Ten. Jo was usually sympathetic but this time she was just standing there silent and looking really frightened. Finally, she said softly, ‘Dede, get back in line. There’s no way that you’re getting out of here without wearing satin.’ I laughed because I thought she was kidding. But she said, ‘I’m serious. I’m afraid to think about how high this could go.’ “I laughed again, now a little nervous at the idea of making Top Ten at Nationals.

  “Then I heard a gravelly voice say, ‘She’s right, you know.’ I turned and saw this ancient-looking man with these thick glasses in the front row of a sponsor’s box. He had on a sports coat and a tie and looked like the last person you’d expect to see at a horse show. He just stared at me with those magnified eyes. Then he added, ‘Young lady, I don’t know who you are but if you are not at least Reserve Champion, these judges would be a joke. And I do not believe they are.’

  “Was he crazy? Reserve Champion! That’s the runner-up, second in the nation. Then I got scared. If I was Reserve Champion, my mother would probably kill me in a jealous rage. But I figured he was too blind and too old to be taken seriously. Then Jo again commanded me, ‘Get back in line.’ But now I was too scared to move. Then I heard my number called for Top Ten and I glanced at the ancient guy who gave me this wrinkled loving smile with a wink.

  “I went up and received my rosette. The Top Ten winners then went down to the far end of the ring to wait. The other kids were chattering away but I stayed off to the side. When they were ready to call the Reserve Champion, the place went dead silent. Then they called another rider and I was relieved because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to handle it.

  “Finally, they were ready to call the Champion and the announcer booms out, ‘your unanimous Champion.’ You see, they
make this big deal out of a unanimous Champion. In racing, the fastest time wins, end of story. But judging is very subjective and different judges may look for different things so there can be a controversy when the crowd thinks one horse should win and judges pick another. Anyway, he booms out ‘unanimous’ twice and then I hear what might have been my number but the place went into this uproar and Cool rears up higher then I’d ever seen him jump before. I’m just trying to stay on the damn horse while also looking for Jo to see if she is smiling or not but I can’t find her.

  “Then, suddenly, Cool starts strutting down the ring. At first, I thought he might be bolting for the exit because of the noise but instead he struts right up to the presenter. I finally spot Jo and she looks in complete shock and I’m in a total panic because I’m afraid the presenter or the ring steward is going to yell for me to get the hell out of there but instead the presenter gives me this sweet smile and says, ‘Congratulations.’ I swear that horse had known he’d won and his rearing up was just the highest jump for joy he’d ever done.

  “The next thing I know, I’m festooned with these rosettes and banners and Cool is starting to strut around the ring, when I see my mother walk into the arena and stare at me with a face full of shock and horror. I thought about screwing up then to try to pacify her but I knew nothing would do that now. Maybe I wasn’t a champion and maybe I didn’t deserve all that silk, but nobody seemed to know that but me, and Cool was already moving around the ring like a star. I decided that I could at least act like a champion, especially since I knew that my mother would make sure that I never got another chance. So I did act like a champion and we circled that ring like we owned it. Then, just to make sure they all got it, we went around twice.

  “That was when I decided to be an actor. And you know what? I’ve watched that victory lap hundreds of times and if it wasn’t real, it was pure method acting. I’d put us up against anyone. We were, truly, poetry in motion. Either I had to be a hell of a champion or a hell of an acter.”

  They refilled Dede’s glass and she downed half of it in one gulp. “Then, of course,” she added gravely, “disaster hit. Because Cool was now a national champion, my mother said that he was worth a lot of money and that she was going to sell him for my college fund. I tried to stop her but every time I heard another of her friends telling her how watching Cool and I in the ring had left them “breathless,” I knew I was doomed. Of course, she sold Cool to the absolute worst person possible, this bitch who didn’t want a horse. She just wanted a rosette. She didn’t even come out and ride Cool or have a vet check, she just wired the money and had him shipped to her. Watching him leave was the worst day of my life.