  Judy Lurie sat cross-legged on the floor of her room surveying the results of her labor. The room was a mess, even by her easy standards. But the box containing her last summer’s meager wardrobe had been thoroughly gone over and everything that could be salvaged was in piles ready for the family trunk. The empty battered suitcase and the books, she decided, could wait, since it was still five days before she and her parents, Minna and John Lurie, were to leave for the summer holiday. “So you’re going to Aspen!” a familiar voice ejaculated. “How wonderful for you and John!” Preoccupied as Judy was, the voices from the living room reached her dimly at first. Her room, a tiny alcove separated from the living room by heavy chintz draperies, frequently had its disadvantages. But there were compensations, too. You could hear and see and yet be delightfully invisible. “I wish I were able to go to Colorado!” another voice remarked with a shade of envy. “How wonderful for you and John.... By the way, where is John? Is he trying to hide from us?” “Hide?” her mother repeated, a slight flush spread over the lovely pale face. “Of course not. He was so sorry, so much music to pack....” Judy forgot her invisibility and nearly laughed out loud. When her mother had casually mentioned as they left the lunch table that some of the girls would be dropping in to say good-bye, her father, with a let-me-out-of-this look, took refuge in his studio. Lucky father, probably enjoying a book or a nap or fussing with his viola while she was imprisoned in this alcove, unless she wished to barge into the melee.... The voices of the guests were getting louder. Judy got up, stretched her cramped legs and cautiously pushed a corner of the drapery to one side. Nobody had gone. Instead the room overflowed with new arrivals. Gifts were heaped on the piano, purses on the fine mahogany tables, and a patent-leather bag stood on the mantel, making the Staffordshire dogs look even more foolish. “Minna,” one woman was saying, “with that glorious voice of yours you ought to be a sensation!” Her mother, surrounded by her guests, smiled happily. “Not a sensation, but it is a wonderful opportunity for me to study with Mme. Rousse and to work with some of the advanced pupils. And best of all, to sing in the opera. As for John, it’s just what he wanted. To play in the orchestra, have his own quartet and some teaching. It should be a good summer for all of us, especially since we will have Judy with us.” At the mention of her name, Judy listened attentively. “It’s lovely that she’s going with you; but Judy’s only about fifteen and a half. Isn’t that rather young to be attending the Aspen Music School?” “Oh, she’s not going to attend the school. Fifteen isn’t too young if one is a serious student but, as a matter of fact, Judy has given up the piano.” Minna’s sigh was audible through the chintz. “But she used to play so beautifully!” “That’s the pity of it.” Her mother went on retelling what Judy knew. “At the age of ten she was improvising songs and pieces. We thought we had produced another Mozart. Now she plays when the mood is on. She claims practicing dulls inspiration.” There was a slight titter of amusement, but one woman whom Judy had frequently seen at the house said earnestly, “But what will she do there, then?” “Oh, I’m not worried about Judy,” her mother said lightly. “She’s very resourceful, very intelligent.” The girl felt a warm glow of satisfaction. “She reads everything,” her mother went on. “My father considers her his special vessel for all his accumulated wisdom. Like him, she loves to sketch, preferably in oils. Now the canvases are left to molder in Mother’s attic—fortunately not here. I guess it’s anything but music!” Minna smiled at her questioner, “but Aspen ought to change all that.” Judy left her listening post trying to stem a feeling of rebellion at her mother’s words. Mechanically she began to straighten up the room and noticed the matching scarf of the new party dress which she had pressured her mother into buying for her. “Very well, for concerts then,” her mother had said as she finally succumbed. Judy hoped that both she and the dress were destined for more exciting occasions than mere concerts! The thought of the dress cheered her. She wished it weren’t already packed in the trunk, so that she could try it on again. The scarf would do. She draped it around her shoulders to suggest the dress and rubbed the dull surface of her mirror. “A real treasure from Colonial days,” her grandmother had said when she gave it to her. Well, maybe so; the frame was certainly beautiful, but the smoky surface didn’t help her visualize how dazzling she would look, the steel blue bringing out the deep blue of her eyes, the tight bodice and the billowy skirt, making her small waist look smaller still. She turned her head to one side. Hmmm. The nose was passable. The eyes, well, she knew they were her best feature. But why hadn’t she Mother’s creamy, pale skin instead of this healthy, dusky glow! She touched the thick brown hair held firmly by a rubber band. A pony tail was all right but some day her mother would weaken and she would get that permanent. A long, soft pageboy would hide these bony shoulders. She folded the scarf and laid it on her day bed. Then she wedged herself into the small Boston rocker, the first of her antique possessions. She rocked gently, repeating the question her mother had not answered. “What would she do in Aspen?” She wasn’t so sure about the blessedness of belonging to a family so entirely dedicated to music. Her growing misgivings had been heightened by her recent visit with her grandparents. Again she thought of what her grandmother had said. “Your father and mother will be busy all day with rehearsals, teaching, concerts, parties night and day. Why not spend the summer with us as you’ve done for years? You love the sea, racing the dog on the beach. I need you in the garden and your cousins will be back again for a visit. The youngsters on the block want you to teach them to swim—fifty cents a lesson.” Why, then, Judy wondered, had she given up so quickly a summer where she had been so happy in the past? Of course going to Aspen meant a trip to the West, to Colorado, the Rockies. The West was romantic. And her schoolmates were doing exciting things for the summer. One was going to a ranch in Wyoming. Her best friend was going to a work camp in Vermont. But these things cost money and Judy knew there was none to spare. One thing had influenced her above everything. When her parents received the invitation to join the staff at the Aspen Music School, the first thought of her mother and father had been not of the wonderful opportunity for themselves. No, over and over they had repeated, “At last Judy can spend a whole summer with us.” But in the weeks that followed they had become more and more immersed in their preparations, selecting music for the Quartet, conferring with the Dean of the Aspen School and as their excitement mounted, Judy felt hers diminish. She felt she didn’t belong in her parents’ world. They didn’t need her. She walked to the window and stared ahead of her.... The summers of the past took on an even rosier hue. The swims, the companionship of cousins rarely seen, the homey loving household of which she was so much a part. And the long summer evenings.... She saw herself again on the screened porch of the Beach House. A few young neighbors, whom her grandfather called his steady customers, were sitting near her. Her grandfather was reading “Hamlet.” How tender his voice as he spoke the lines of Ophelia. The moths beat their wings against the lamp, a soft droning accompaniment. With hands cupped over his mouth he made the trumpet sound. The King and Queen! The Duel scene... you could almost hear the clash of rapiers.... Hamlet was dying ... Laertes ... the Queen! What made Grandma leave the room at such a moment! But she returned almost at once carrying a tray of ice-cream covered with oozing red, red strawberries. And Grandfather, outraged at the sight, with an imperious gesture, waved her aside, declaiming as if it were part of the play, “Can’t you wait until they all decently die?” Judy smiled at the remembrance. She loved her parents. She didn’t want to hurt them, but at this moment she felt she must speak up before it was too late. She heard her father saying jovially, “Well, have the locusts finally gone?” Judy parted the draperies and peered through the opening. “Thank goodness, they’re all gone.” She took a deep breath and strode into the room. “Father,” she stopped and gulped. “You and mother are going to be so busy at Aspen. What will I do there? I don’t know anyone. I haven’t any friends there.” Her father looked startled but said nothing. “Why it’s childish to feel that way,” her mother answered easily. “There are loads of young people at the Aspen Music School. You’ll meet them.” “How? I’m not going as a music student. You know how things work out. Students all get involved in their school activities. I’ll just be an outsider. I’m worried,” her voice broke. “I want to have fun, but more than that, I want to do something for me—something that matters—if you know what I mean.” Mrs. Lurie looked distraught. “You don’t want to come with us? It’s the first summer in years that we’ve been able to plan to be together like a normal family. You’re sure to find companions.” She turned to her husband for support, but he had disappeared. “Judy,” her mother said with a touch of finality in her voice, “there’s no sensible reason why you can’t take up the piano again. Don’t set your mind against it. The whole atmosphere of Aspen engenders the love of music, the desire to study it.” “But that’s exactly what I don’t want, Mother. Can’t you understand my feelings? Practicing hours on end! I’ll never be a real performer, so why bother?” She hesitated and then went on, her voice almost inaudible. “I’d rather stay with Grandma and Grandpa at the Beach House, hearing poetry and plays that I love.” Her mother suddenly looked sad, and Judy was overcome with remorse. “Mother,” she began. The tired eyes looked at her questioningly, “Yes....” “I guess I’m just being selfish,” Judy said, then added desperately, “Maybe it’ll work out all right. I’ll go.” Minna smiled with relief. “I don’t think you’ll regret it. Sometimes new unfamiliar surroundings bring out a potential one didn’t know one possessed. Something good is bound to emerge from the three of us living together in a carefree atmosphere.” She paused, studying her daughter’s face. “Our careers have often come first—or so it seems, but for a little while we’d like to be just parents. Do you understand? It would have been an unbearable disappointment to your father.” John Lurie bounded into the room, excited as a schoolboy. “It’s all settled! It’s in the bag!” He grabbed his daughter and waltzed her around. “Father,” she begged when she could catch her breath, “what’s in the bag? What are you talking about?” “All right, I’ll tell you. A few weeks ago, the Dean mentioned that my friend Jim Crawley had gone ahead with his scheme and was opening a Little Theater in Aspen. That gave me an idea. It was the day after you were such a knock-out in the class play. I called him on the phone and told him, ‘I have a lovely, gifted daughter, nearly sixteen who’s going with us to Aspen. Do you think you have room for a budding Audrey Hepburn?’ He laughed that he didn’t know at the moment but he would get in touch with me. With all his plans, I guess he forgot about it. I’m ashamed to confess I forgot about it. But when you threatened to desert your music-driven parents for another summer to do something on your own, a flash illuminated this tired old brain. I just finished speaking with Jim. He says, if you’re half as good as I say, if you’ve got decent diction, are willing to cooperate in every way—that means, help paint scenery and fix costumes, and are willing to work for free, since we’ll be feeding and housing you, he’ll take you on. P.S. You’ve got the job.” “Father, you mean it! It’s not one of your practical jokes?” He nodded solemnly. “It’s too good to be true. I’ll be acting! Not in a school play but in a real theater!” “Oh, it’s only a barn,” her father made haste to explain. “Summer theaters are always in barns. That’s why they’re called the Straw Circuit.” “Oh, I’m so excited!” “And we’re just as happy for your sake,” her mother said, “but don’t get too carried away. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a walk-on or maybe a bit part as the little household slavey, in which you dust the stage furniture before the star walks on.” “It doesn’t matter! Just to smell the grease paint!” She flung her arms about her father and kissed him. “You’re wonderful. Absolutely the most. I can’t wait until I tell Grandfather.” Hurrah for the three Luries, professionals all. |
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