After I meet Louis and finally lose my virginity I spend a week in the Catskills with my parents. I’m 17 and we’re at a big Jewish resort with a nineteenth century shingle style hotel and cottages and restaurants and a New York comedian at night, tennis courts, a lake and swimming pool, a golf course. It isn’t my vacation of choice but my parents don’t want to leave me home alone because the last time they did I walk a few blocks to our garage and tell the man on duty that I am Mr Moses’s daughter, then I go for a drive. I don’t have a license but I pick up two firemen and sleep with them and we all eat pizza in their bed. But bad luck, my father keeps track of his odometer and figures out what I did, not the firemen of course but the rest. He first blames the garage attendant for taking the car out but the attendant cries Boss, it wasn’t me, my father calls the man Chief and the attendant calls my father Boss, and finally Chief points the finger at me and my protestations of innocence convince nobody. My father has to give Chief a five dollar bill for wrongfully accusing him.
I don’t resist going away with my parents, as it turns out wherever we stay I can have fun and now that I have started I find it very easy to have sex. On our last vacation to Florida I go bed with the chef from the hotel. He is older and looks a little like Punch with black hair and a hooked nose, afterwards he props himself up on an elbow and looks sad, he tells me he misses his wife and children in France, he kisses me while I murmur something sympathetic.
In the Catskills I am drawn to one of the waiters, he goes to Cornell and works at the resort every summer, we hardly exchange a word, you know how you can want to kiss someone without even knowing his name, just touching him is like fire, we hurry to my room at the hotel and throw ourselves onto the bed and it is glorious. We finish, we are laying all panting on the messy sheets when there is a knock on the door and it is my father. In a panic I push the boy into the bathroom to get dressed, pull my own clothes on, all the time calling through the door to wait a minute, be right there, and finally I throw the door open, hi Daddy I say brightly, and then the waiter comes out of the bathroom all red-faced, my friend was just changing his clothes, I say, my father asks doesn’t he have his own room, and I babble something to rebut this perfectly legitimate question, oh my god, just finish and let’s get out of here.
I tell these stories and you might ask, are they true, and I am tempted to lie and say not really, I am exaggerating.