It Burns a Lovely Light (8 page)

Mom and I are already looking at colleges. I'm thinking of applying to The New York Institute of Photography. That puts me in your midst. Consider this fair warning.

Love,

Farley

Dion,

Can you believe we're graduating high school? I made it by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. Vegas turned out to be extremely unhealthy for
me. My friends and I got in the habit of skipping school to hang out at the casino swimming pools, catching up on our tans and enjoying the ninety-nine cent all-you-can-eat buffets. Highly addictive, let me tell you. But thanks to the quality of my overall education and winning a few local photography
contests, I was accepted by The New York Institute of Photography! New York!

Love,

Farley

"Can we visit the Official MGM Lion again?" asked William, fiddling with his headgear. At first he had been concerned about the new metal addition to his braces. Superheroes didn't wear headgear. Then his
father let him in on some top-secret information: Headgear was a superhero's dream come true, as it interfered with the villain's listening devices. Now he only removed the contraption to eat.

"Not this time, professor," said Jack, saluting the
guard as he drove off the base.

How they could keep a lion in a casino was beyond Farley. They kept him in a cage with a collar around his neck. The worst part to her was that the animal didn't seem to mind; as if he didn't know any better.

"Tonight's a special night, hon," said Pauline, her eyes unusually bright. She had gotten Farley tickets to see Barry Manilow at Caesar's Palace - supposedly as a graduation gift. She wasn't fooling
anyone; whenever Pauline drove the car, her eight-track of Barry Manilow's Greatest Hits played non-stop.

At first they had all been delighted when Jack was assigned to Nellis, but the thrill of the lights and chaos of Las Vegas had long since
eroded. Farley's disenchantment began with the discovery - exactly one block from the flashing signs and neon lights of the strip - of multiple pawnshops, each filled with suitcases, watches, and wedding bands. Her photograph of two
horizontal shelves that seemed to go on forever, stacked floor to ceiling with luggage, won first prize and front page coverage in the Nevada Times photography contest.

"Dad, can we stop for a second?" asked Farley,
pointing toward the mountains. "I want to get a picture of the sun going down."

Pauline, Jack, and William climbed onto the hood of the car and leaned against the windshield, while Farley removed her Minolta and a wide angle lens from her case. Over the years the camera had been updated, but her
father's old brown leather case remained the same. She set up the tripod and began photographing the sunset behind the darkening mountain ridge.

"Now take one of 'us four,'" said Jack, patting
the hood of his old '69 Buick.

Farley set the timer, then ran and hopped on the hood. Everyone wrapped their arms around each other and smiled for the camera. The timer went off, capturing the James family at their best in mid-laugh, and lit
by the sizzling orange glow of the sunset.

As she gathered her equipment, Jack handed Farley a large manila envelope.

"We were going to wait until after the show to give you
this," he said, "but your brother is ready to implode. Happy Graduation."

"Happy Graduation!" echoed William, clenching his fists and bouncing up and down on the balls of his shoes.

The envelope contained a round-trip airplane ticket to Paris, five one-hundred dollar bills, and a colorful drawing of a girl with a camera around her neck. At the top, written in red crayon:

Farley and her trusty camera

Ready, Set, Wander Free!

"We've got you flying in and out of Paris," said Jack. "The rest of the trip is up to you. And don't worry; you'll be home in plenty of time for school."

Farley turned to her mother. "Are you all right with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason."

Because conversations in cinderblock duplexes are easily
overheard,
she thought, recalling an argument she heard only weeks ago.

'Don't you dare make me the bad guy, Jack James,' Pauline had said, clearly livid. Silverware clanked; Farley pictured her mother tossing
it in the dishwasher with the precise deliberation of a circus knife thrower. 'Of course (clank) there's nothing wrong with having a dream. But there is no (clank) way I am going to allow our daughter to flit across Europe (clank) by herself (clank), doing God (clank) knows what.'

'Spending the summer exploring Europe sounds a lot more wholesome than hanging around Vegas,' said Jack. 'The casino environment hasn't exactly worked out for her. And why do you always refer to her traveling as
'flitting' or 'traipsing'?'

The silverware tossing came to an abrupt halt.

'What is that supposed to mean? Are you implying I'm making light of our daughter's dreams?' Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. 'Maybe I'm
jealous... is that what you think?'

They were quiet for a while. The next time Farley heard her mother's voice, it was muffled, as if cocooned inside a great big Jack-hug. So typical.

'She is barely eighteen years old,' said Pauline, apparently
having come up for air. 'We are supposed to protect her, not send her out into the world all alone.'

Farley could practically hear her father scrubbing his face with his hands.

'She's not your average naive eighteen-year old,' he said. 'Not by a long shot.'

'Those photographs were museum-quality,' snapped Pauline. 'It's not Farley's fault her juvenile delinquent boyfriend wasn't sophisticated
enough to recognize a work of art. She has nothing to be ashamed of.'

Farley groaned. She was never going to live that one down.

'I wasn't talking about...that,' said Jack. 'What I
meant
was, she's already experienced that world we're sending her into. Strange food, exotic places, odd characters. Our daughter has no roots. She's been a nomad all her life. It's how we raised her. You know that, Pauline. So tell me, what's this really all about?'

Pauline spoke so softly, Farley had to hold her breath to hear.

'She'll be gone for the summer. Then she'll go away to college and we'll keep moving. We'll never all live together under one roof. This is the end of 'us four.'''

The sun disappeared and the air grew cool. Still clutching her envelope, Farley embraced her mother.

"We'll always be 'us four,' mom,'" she whispered.

William rolled down the back seat window.

"Can we go now?" he said. "I'm feeling dangerously close to malnutrition."

On the way to dinner all Farley could talk about was her
trip.

"First I'm going to Brittany. I can't wait to see Dad's Bigouden."

The Bigouden was a group of people native to Brittany, where Jack's Grandmere had lived. As a boy, he spent many happy summers swimming,
sailing, wandering through his grandmother's large raised garden beds, and fishing in Brittany's icy waters. His Grandmere, his last living relative, died when he was in high school. Jack had never taken his family to Brittany - the
place of his happiest childhood memories.

William frowned. "You mean the small people with the twisted legs?"

Pauline gave Jack an I-told-you-so glare.

Years ago, Jack used a loaf of bread to demonstrate the height of the traditional Bigouden woman's headdress. They had all laughed. But when he started in on the Bigouden's physical description, Pauline made him stop. She had seen the wheels in William's brain shift into over-frenzy. Many of the
Bigouden were short with large, round heads. Some of the older generation had a twisted way of walking- possibly hip dysplasia from inbreeding. Even now, some of William's drawings were of gnome-like creatures with Charlie Brown heads and
shriveled polio legs.

Driving home, the desert was pitch-dark. Windows down, stomachs full. The Buick sped through a universe of jackrabbits and night
noises, the pavement rushing below. To Farley, it felt more like flying than driving. She closed her eyes and inhaled, taking in the cool, fresh desert air and the sharp smell of sagebrush. This is what happiness feels like.

"Dad," said William from the darkness. "If
you stare at the road long enough, you can get hypnotized. Road Hypnosis. Also called White Line Fever, and Driving Hypnosis."

"I can't be hypnotized." Jack turned his head, a
silly look on his face. "Because I'm not paying attention to the road!"

"Very funny," said Pauline, slapping his arm. "Eyes on the road."

Pauline gave her hair a furious spray. Between Farley's
upcoming trip and college preparations, the past week had been insane. Jack was flying out at dawn, and the last thing she wanted to do tonight was drive halfway up a mountain to a cocktail party. Never mind that the host couldn't
keep his goddamn hands to himself. Ordinarily she would tell Jack and let him handle the situation, but this time the creep was his superior officer. Pauline giggled, imagining what her husband would do to the horny, pink-faced Colonel.

Coming up behind her, Jack kissed her neck. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I'm just happy, that's all."

"You're beautiful."

"Why, thank you." She turned her back to let him
zip her white linen dress. She leaned up and gently blew in his face. "How's my breath?"

"Delicious." He checked his watch. "We need
to leave in ten minutes."

"I'll be ready. Do you mind tucking William in?"

Jack sat on the edge of William's bed.

"I want you to help your mother while I'm gone,
professor," he said.

"Okay." William nodded earnestly. "Dad, will you be back in time for Farley's going away party?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

William resisted the urge to squeeze his penis, a babyish habit he was trying to shake, but fell back on in times of stress. Instead, he rubbed the binding of his blanket against his cheek.

"Jimmy Nott from down the street says he's too old to
get tucked in. Does that mean I'm too old to get tucked in like a taco?"

"Let's hope not," said Jack. "Your mother still tucks me in."

William exploded into giggles.

Jack wrapped up his goodnight story.

"...and the man of steel takes a mighty leap and soars through the air, leaving behind mean old Jimmy Nott, who gets smaller and
smaller by the second."

William felt better. He loved the way all his father's stories ended up with the superhero flying away, and the bad guys always got left behind.

Jack gave William's blanket an extra tuck. "Time for
your prayer, professor."

William folded his hands and closed his eyes.

"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to
take."

"Goodnight, professor." Jack kissed him on the forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Clicking his tongue, William faced the wall. He hated that prayer.

"Have fun," said Farley, flipping the channels on the television.

"We won't be late." Jack kissed her on the
forehead. "I have to catch a shuttle in the morning."

Pauline hopped on one foot as she slipped on a high heel. "Oh, that reminds me, Jack. I put your flight jacket on the kitchen
counter next to your suitcase, so you're all set for your trip."

"Farley." Jack waited until she looked up. "You take care of your brother."

"Dad..." she said, exasperated. "Go,
already!"

"Let's go, Jack," said Pauline, blowing a kiss to Farley. "She'll be fine."

Farley uncapped her parent's crystal decanter and poured two
fingers of scotch; neat, Joan Crawford-style. She didn't particularly like the taste of liquor, but something about tonight called for a mature drink. Donning Pauline's floor-length, powder-blue silk robe and diamond hair clip, she turned on the radio. She admired her reflection in the sliding glass doors as she danced around the living room, balancing her highball and waving an unlit cigarette. Finally, sweaty and reeking of Chanel, she stopped and studied her reflection.

"Actually," she said, turning her face this way
and that. Farley loved the way her face looked when she said the word 'actually.' The way her lips started off in a surprised '
Aahk'
then pushed in '
chew
,' back to a softer '
ahh'
and sliding into a smile
'
lee
.' Tonight, however, the face smiling back had the slightest hint of panic to it.

Lately an electric current of equal parts terror and excitement would come over her like a lovely admonition. Europe. Romance.
College. Sex. This summer she would roam new places and take deep, meaningful photographs. She would eat exotic foods and find romance, inevitably leading to sex. Then...college! She could already picture herself, hair falling over her
heavy books as she highlighted critical passages. Then there were the formals and club meetings and dorm parties, sit-ins and the protests-for-whatever-wasn't-fair, all while cramming and pulling all-nighters and bouncing in and out of love. Which would lead to sex.

Farley was used to anticipating the new and unknown. It was the thought of back-flipping out of the family nest that terrified her.

At ten-thirty she hung her mother's silk robe back in the closet and cleaned up her mini-party mess. Then she popped a bowl of popcorn
and searched for an old movie to watch on TV. After all, everything was better in black and white.

Larry Ryder put his truck in gear and started up Sunshine
Mountain. What a night. Nine years of shuffling cards, stacking chips, and dealing hand after hand, and it's 'Mr. Boot would like to see you in his office...come on in, close the door behind you, Larry...hate to do this...tough times...nothing personal.'