towel slung over her back. The maître d’ seated them at a table overlooking Worth Avenue, where they could watch women window-shopping while their patient chauffeurs trailed them like the world’s worst Secret Service.
Jackie didn’t even need to look at the menu. “Two Cokes, one shrimp cocktail, two BLTs, please,” she said, then lookedup at Franny. “Is that okay?” Franny thought it was hysterical that she was Jackie’s first Jewish friend, and Jackie still had tiny panic attacks when she was confronted by something that struck her as a Jewish issue. Bacon was one of them. She didn’t know enough to worry about the shrimp.
“It’s fine,” Franny said.
The waiter came back with two tall, slim glasses of fizzy Coke, straws bobbing happily. They both lunged forward and sucked, the sugar gliding across the roofs of their mouths and then all the way through their veins.
“I love Florida,” Franny said, and right then, Jackie did, too.
The reason Jackie’s family stayed at the Breakers every year was for the Preservation of Newport Society’s Pearl of the Sea Ball. Jackie hated wearing skirts and shoes with heels and so she started planning their exit strategy as soon as they were in the hotel room. Jackie pretended to be totally unconscious of Franny’s excitement. She tried to tell her everything she hated about the ball: There was an orchestra. There was a seated dinner. There were boys from all over the country, slick with money. Rockefellers. Kennedys. There would be photographers from the Shiny Sheet, the same photographers who took pictures of Teddy when he was too drunk and had his arms around every woman at once. Franny’s eyes got wider and wider and Jackie knew she’d said the wrong thing. There was no way they were going to miss a minute of it.
The Johnsons, Jackie’s parents, had real first names, but almost nobody used them. Her father’s name was Edward, and her mother’swas Elizabeth, though other women tended to call her other things: Bitsy, Betsy, Betty. This had long since seemed strange to Jackie, but Franny raised an eyebrow every time somebody called her something new. Jackie’s mother would kiss them on both cheeks, no matter what they’d called her. She went with the girls to the pool, claiming she just wanted some sun, but Jackie knew she wanted to keep an eye on them. Jackie spent most of her time diving off the highest board and ignoring her mother’s requests to talk to other children. She told Franny they’d been kidnapped. They were hostages.
The shallow end was long enough to sit in, and Franny stretched her legs out. That way, she said, the sun could continue to have direct access to the largest number of pores. Every few minutes, Jackie would swim past, her goggled eyes open and unblinking, leap out of the pool, and run back around to the diving board. This was something Jackie knew Franny liked about her: dogged enthusiasm.
“Hey!” she said as she jogged around the bottom lobe of the pool. It was shaped like an eggplant, they’d decided. A gigantic eggplant filled with chlorine. “Jackknife!” Since Franny didn’t know the names of any dives, Jackie had to make her own requests. Behind her, Jackie could hear her mother’s small groan at the noise they were making.
“Jackie the Jackknife,” Franny said, seconding the motion with as much decorum as possible. She wanted Jackie’s mother to like her. There were countless other girls the Johnsons could have brought in her place: Jackie had shown her photo albums filled with pictures of friends from Portsmouth Abbey. She knew their names by heart: Susan andLaura and Barbara and Jane. Franny looked most like Jane, who also had dark hair and was small. Jackie’s mother didn’t like Jane, though, and so she’d invited Franny instead. When Franny asked why Jackie’s mother didn’t like Jane, Jackie told her it was because she was a “bad influence,” which meant that Jane smoked and drank too much.
Jackie didn’t even need to look at the menu. “Two Cokes, one shrimp cocktail, two BLTs, please,” she said, then lookedup at Franny. “Is that okay?” Franny thought it was hysterical that she was Jackie’s first Jewish friend, and Jackie still had tiny panic attacks when she was confronted by something that struck her as a Jewish issue. Bacon was one of them. She didn’t know enough to worry about the shrimp.
“It’s fine,” Franny said.
The waiter came back with two tall, slim glasses of fizzy Coke, straws bobbing happily. They both lunged forward and sucked, the sugar gliding across the roofs of their mouths and then all the way through their veins.
“I love Florida,” Franny said, and right then, Jackie did, too.
The reason Jackie’s family stayed at the Breakers every year was for the Preservation of Newport Society’s Pearl of the Sea Ball. Jackie hated wearing skirts and shoes with heels and so she started planning their exit strategy as soon as they were in the hotel room. Jackie pretended to be totally unconscious of Franny’s excitement. She tried to tell her everything she hated about the ball: There was an orchestra. There was a seated dinner. There were boys from all over the country, slick with money. Rockefellers. Kennedys. There would be photographers from the Shiny Sheet, the same photographers who took pictures of Teddy when he was too drunk and had his arms around every woman at once. Franny’s eyes got wider and wider and Jackie knew she’d said the wrong thing. There was no way they were going to miss a minute of it.
The Johnsons, Jackie’s parents, had real first names, but almost nobody used them. Her father’s name was Edward, and her mother’swas Elizabeth, though other women tended to call her other things: Bitsy, Betsy, Betty. This had long since seemed strange to Jackie, but Franny raised an eyebrow every time somebody called her something new. Jackie’s mother would kiss them on both cheeks, no matter what they’d called her. She went with the girls to the pool, claiming she just wanted some sun, but Jackie knew she wanted to keep an eye on them. Jackie spent most of her time diving off the highest board and ignoring her mother’s requests to talk to other children. She told Franny they’d been kidnapped. They were hostages.
The shallow end was long enough to sit in, and Franny stretched her legs out. That way, she said, the sun could continue to have direct access to the largest number of pores. Every few minutes, Jackie would swim past, her goggled eyes open and unblinking, leap out of the pool, and run back around to the diving board. This was something Jackie knew Franny liked about her: dogged enthusiasm.
“Hey!” she said as she jogged around the bottom lobe of the pool. It was shaped like an eggplant, they’d decided. A gigantic eggplant filled with chlorine. “Jackknife!” Since Franny didn’t know the names of any dives, Jackie had to make her own requests. Behind her, Jackie could hear her mother’s small groan at the noise they were making.
“Jackie the Jackknife,” Franny said, seconding the motion with as much decorum as possible. She wanted Jackie’s mother to like her. There were countless other girls the Johnsons could have brought in her place: Jackie had shown her photo albums filled with pictures of friends from Portsmouth Abbey. She knew their names by heart: Susan andLaura and Barbara and Jane. Franny looked most like Jane, who also had dark hair and was small. Jackie’s mother didn’t like Jane, though, and so she’d invited Franny instead. When Franny asked why Jackie’s mother didn’t like Jane, Jackie told her it was because she was a “bad influence,” which meant that Jane smoked and drank too much.
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