An American Love Story Read Free Page B

end, everyone applauding and cheering. Then they pulled the boy who had written it onto the stage, the eighth-grade boy who had been sitting in the first row, wearing a suit and tie; his proud parents sitting next to him beaming. “Author, author,” people yelled. At first Bambi thought they were calling “Arthur.”
    He bowed to the audience. His face was shiny with pride and delight. His parents were looking up at him, just glowing, the same way the parents of the mean girl who played the Silver Princess were glowing, the way everybody was, looking up at these two.
    It was at that moment Bambi realized the one thing she wantedmost in life. The feeling was so strong it seemed to fill her whole body, like heat, and she knew it would never go away. The one thing she wanted most in life, even though she was only six years old and didn’t yet know exactly how to be it, was to be Special.

 
2
    1960—NEW YORK
    T herewere thirty “adult westerns” on prime time television that year, more than ever before or since. There were hip detectives surrounded by beautiful women, Kookie combed his hair on the exotic Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, and there were warm, loving, wholesome families whose teenage children bore nicknames like Princess, Bud, and Kitten. Television housewives were always slim and well coiffed, they wore makeup, aprons and high heels with their housedresses. They sometimes even wore pearls in the kitchen, and their feet never hurt. The lucky viewers who could afford to had color TV.
    Laura and Clay had several color sets in their new apartment at The Dakota, and Laura, who had been confined to bed during the last few months of her pregnancy, watched everything. Clay had become quite a star at the agency, having developed two of his own star clients and made two successful packages with them for television, and he talked to Laura of how he wanted to become aproducer. Television was now on film and came from the big Hollywood studios instead of New York. During the long, boring days of forced immobility Laura waited for him to come home to tell her about this vital new world of his. She was proud she was a part of this progress and knew so much, and she encouraged him like a cheerleader. She was not aware that she knew nothing.
    The huge apartment was only partly furnished. The immense living room with its tall French windows and rich wood-paneled walls, its elegant marble-manteled fireplace and glistening wooden floors, lay dreaming, waiting for her touch. It was Versailles, it was a fantasy, it was being an adult. It would be family. When she looked at it Laura’s breath caught in her throat with joy, thinking of the long years of their future to come.
    Some of the things she’d ordered hadn’t arrived yet, but there were still so many more to be bought to fill all those rooms. Clay wanted antiques and good paintings, and said that when she was liberated from her bed again they would go to auctions together. Meanwhile he had gotten her a decorator. Laura held court in her king-size bed while the decorator’s lively male assistant brought her swatches and objects, photos and sketches. Something about it reminded her of mounting a new ballet, and kept her from feeling uncomfortable with her new responsibility.
    She never heard from anyone at the company. Anyway, they were on tour. She had been thrown into a different world, while theirs continued, and she realized they didn’t have much in common with her anymore. They wouldn’t want to hear every detail of her preparations for the baby, the way her best friend Tanya did.
    Tanya came to see her every day. Seeing her round, lovely face and merry eyes, or even hearing her indestructibly happy voice on the phone, always cheered Laura up. They had been best friends since they were children at ballet school. It had become apparent by the time they were in their teens that Laura would someday be a great ballerina and Tanya never would. Tanya didn’t care.