Summers in Bayville

ST. BARTHOLOMEW CHURCH – PARK AVENUE

MANHATTAN – DECEMBER 1955

I WILL, LUCIA Simmons whispered. As she looked away from Jason Van Voorhees’ hopeful hazel eyes, her heart filled with the latest desperate urge to escape.

The Bishop searched her face for what seemed like a lifetime as a knowing sadness filled his eyes. Then, with an imperceptible shake of his head, he continued. Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?

I do.

A low murmur of approval rippled through the congregation as Harold Simmons—of Sutton Place, Manhattan, and Bayville, Long Island—gave his only daughter away.

Lucia imagined her parents, their faces beaming, as they nodded across the center aisle to the Van Voorhees family and then behind them, where their friends, who were decked to the nines in white ties and long gowns, were also nodding.

Everyone had come to witness this joining of two prominent, Upper East Side families: the Simmonses of Simmons Shipping, Ltd. and the Van Voorheeses, lawyers for generations, whose lineage boasted two Supreme Court justices.

Everyone was filled with joy. Everyone except Lucia, whose only small victory lay in the fact that the Bishop had correctly pronounced her name: Loosha. Not the usual Loo-cee-ah or worse still Loo-chee-ah.

As the Bishop droned on, tears threatened, forcing her to take a deep breath to ease her constricted throat. The fragrance of the altar flowers, mingled with burning beeswax and the slight drift of sandalwood, overloaded her senses, filling her with panic. Lucia was trapped, about to be buried in a life she’d never planned to have.

The choir burst into Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring and Jason’s arm slipped though hers as they followed the Bishop toward the altar.

I, Jason, take thee, Lucia … His right hand trapped hers and held it until he had plighted his troth.

The Bishop reached to guide Lucia’s hand to Jason’s as he intoned, Repeat after me. I, Lucia …

She had no voice. What would she do? Her face felt icy and hot, her heartbeat a cannonade. Somehow, she managed to speak.

Then Jason grabbed her left hand. With this ring, I thee wed …

Soon, they were kneeling. Above them, the Bishop intoned something about perfect love and peace, the gift of children, and finally the awesome, Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.

Trumpets blared and church bells resounded as the couple moved quickly past a blur of smiling faces and out the double doors to the long line of black limousines waiting at the curb.

Hold up a minute. I need to fix your train again. Her maid of honor, Lucy Van Scalen, was just behind Lucia. Be careful not to bunch it up. You’ve got to look perfect for the reception.

Lucia stood trembling in the late December chill as her dearest friend rearranged her dress, while Jason and his best man scrambled into the back of the car. Finally, with a gentle nudge from Lucy, Lucia eased in to sit beside her husband.

Champagne? Jason shoved a cup at Lucia and started to pour.

Jason!

The harshness of her tone stopped his hand in mid-air. She tried to smile and take some of the starch out of her voice. Watch my dress. Please. The evening’s just beginning.

Oh … sorry, darling.

His voice was kind, but all she heard was condescension. She suppressed a sharp surge of annoyance, sighed, and looked out the window. She had made her bed. Now she would have to lie in it.

The morning after Jason proposed, Lucia knew it was a mistake. Why didn’t she return the ring then? Was it the excitement in her mother’s voice when she called to tell her the news? Or that evening, when she and Jason joined her parents and the Van Voorheeses at 21 for dinner?

Yes. Then. Both sets of parents’ obvious joy allayed her doubts and she quickly buried her misgivings. In between the prenuptial parties, Lucia concentrated on finding the perfect wedding dress instead of heeding the nibbles of dread she felt whenever quiet descended.

After scouring Seventh Avenue, Lucia and her mother Mary flew to Paris. Within the week, they settled on a simple peau de soie Empress Eugenie gown by Dior. In a bold move, Lucia chose the palest pink to accent her auburn hair. Her mother protested that her only daughter should be married in white, but she had to admit the effect was stunning.

The minute the gown slipped over her head, Lucia knew it was the perfect choice. The square décolletage emphasized her high bosom and the long train falling from just beneath her shoulder blades gave her height a soft majesty. The addition of her grandmother’s pearl tiara and lavaliere would make a perfect complement to the regal ensemble. She selected a dress of the same style, in a deeper shade of pink, for her eleven bridesmaids, who would be more than thrilled to wear Dior.

Even then, she could have called off the engagement. But when Bride Magazine announced it was covering the Simmons-Van Voorhees wedding as the fall fashion event, there was no longer an exit.

Lucy’s voice came out of the shadows, forcing Lucia to face the present. How long will you be gone?

Just a week. It was all we could get.

Jason leaned forward to add more champagne to Lucy’s outstretched cup, making an obvious effort not to pour above Lucia’s dress.

That act in itself was enough to make Lucia jump out of her skin, but what he said next made her furious. "A week was all she could get. To hear Lucia tell it, that magazine can’t exist without her."

I beg your pardon? Lucia squared her shoulders and made ready for battle, but changed her mind when she felt Lucy pat her knee and heard the panic in her voice.

Oh, Jason, Bermuda sounds wonderful! I’d adore going there on my honeymoon.

Jason laughed. You had your chance, Lucy Van Scalen. Remember? Sunday school? The fourth grade? I was sort of sweet on you, so I proposed. You turned me down flat. Broke my heart. Said there would be too many Vans in your name.

The best man groaned, God, I’m starved. He banged on the window separating them from the driver, and when the window rolled silently down, a large hamper was shoved into his waiting arms. Hooray! At least we won’t go hungry before we get through with the receiving line.

Lucia sniffed and looked away. She couldn’t help but take umbrage at that remark. Her parents had begged her to use the River Club for the reception. It was only a short ride from the church and much more convenient. But she stonewalled their suggestion and chose Piping Rock, which was more than thirty miles out on Long Island.

Now the entire party was being transported by limousine and bus convoy to the North Shore for a lavish, seated dinner in a room that had been especially upholstered in pale pink, pleated satin for the occasion.

Once the bridal party arrived, Lucia ignored the harassed photographer and left Jason standing, open-mouthed, while she raced to the dining room.

Just as she’d ordered, masses of pink dawn sweetheart roses trailed from heavy silver candelabras placed in the centers of the tables.

At each seat was a place card in calligraphy, where white-gloved waiters would later set scallops mousse with caviar to begin the meal. Then, while a quartet played several medieval tunes, a delicate Senegalese soup was to precede a main course of julienned breast of duck with truffles, followed by a curly endive salad with a wedge of Stilton cheese.

Lucia moved quickly between the tables and through the French doors to the tent, where the wedding party would spend the second half of the evening dancing to the music of Lester Lanin.

The sides and ceiling of the tent were draped in fabric in muted shades of watermelon and Caribbean blue, while lacy potted palms, placed strategically, provided a needed touch of green.

Lucia stood in the quiet, drinking in perfection. At least this would make up a little bit for her sad mistake.

She felt a hand on her shoulder as a voice filled with disdain came from behind. Your lap dog is waiting in the entryway to escort you to the bridal table.

She turned to look up at her brother, Elmore Simmons. He bore his father’s long narrow face and aquiline nose, which gave him a patrician elegance. His mother’s wide gray eyes stared from beneath thick copper lashes, but the expression on his face echoed the sneer in his voice.

I’m sure he is, Lucia sighed as she put up a hand. Oh, El, can’t you cut me a little slack? It’s too late now to do anything about this mess.

At that, Elmore let out a long, quivering breath. "I tried to tell you, my darling enfant terrible, but you just wouldn’t listen. If only you didn’t insist on running your life like a horse without a bit."

You’re right. You win. I’ll eat crow after the honeymoon, but I’m too tired to fight with you now.

Ah, victory at last, but such a sad triumph. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. I have to get back. I don’t want Germaine to get huffy. I have a room at the Plaza for the end of the evening.

Lucia swallowed hard a couple of times to stanch the pushing tears, then slowly followed her brother back to the charade.

After dinner, as the orchestra began to play, a glowing Mary Simmons motioned Jason and Lucia to the dance floor.

Each nodded and smiled at the circle of enthusiastic guests. Neither spoke. Neither had spoken to the other at all during the long dinner except to acknowledge toasts or to pass on a question asked by someone else.

Jason must have sensed her upset. He tried to make amends during the pictures, but she cut him off with an acid remark.

When she saw her father approach, Lucia brightened and whispered, Dad’s turn.

Jason grinned. See you later.

Was that relief she saw?

Once in her father’s arms, Lucia relaxed and leaned her head against his shoulder as they glided across the floor.

Harold Simmons was an excellent dancer, a reputation he rather enjoyed. Lucia looked up and smiled as he began to hum. I’m so glad you and Muv are happy, Dad.

Her father leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Our happiness has nothing to do with this event, darling. It’s your happiness we wish for tonight."

She struggled to speak around the huge lump in her throat. I am happy. Really, I am.

At midnight, Lucia and Jason cut the violet-covered, four-tiered wedding cake and suffered through an hour of slurred toasts, though she sadly realized her brother had disappeared.

The hard core stayed at the reception until the sun popped up, and the bride and groom barely made the morning flight to Bermuda.

AFTER THE LONG trip, both Lucia and Jason collapsed from exhaustion when they reached their cottage at the Mid Ocean Club. Fatigued from running on nervous energy since their engagement party in early September, they slept for the first two days.

Jason made no move to consummate the marriage, and Lucia didn’t push. It was a pleasant relief just to drift in and out of sleep and order room service.

In spite of her twenty-seven years, Lucia had next to no sexual experience. In college, she had been too mature for most of the boys she dated and had spurned their pawing overtures.

She wanted a cerebral lover, a man who was gentle yet strong. To her mind, Jason—with all his reserve—came the closest to her ideal. She was relieved when he made no attempt to bed her before the wedding.

They didn’t have much time alone after they became engaged. Both were busy in their jobs, and when they did meet, it was usually for one of the many pre-nuptial functions. Since both families moved in the same social orbit, there were at least two parties every week. The passion that might have taken place in the short course of their engagement never happened.

Lucia’s sexual initiation occurred before daybreak of the third day, when she was brought abruptly out of a dream as Jason thrust against her and roughly groped her breast. What? she murmured.

Roll over.

But, Jason …

Oh, God. I hope you’re not one of those who like to talk.

Before she could answer, his mouth covered hers and he invaded her body. His crude thrusts were more painful than she had ever imagined. Then he stiffened, groaned, and after a few spasms, rolled away.

Lucia stared into the darkness as silent tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and trickled into her hair. Was this what it was? Was this all it was?

As the remaining days dragged by, Jason made only two additional attempts at sex, each mimicking the first in the surprise assault and the quick retreat. Lucia would roll to her side, wait until Jason left for his daily round of golf, and then stand in the shower and cry until her breakfast tray arrived.

Each day, their late lunch was followed by a long afternoon at the beach with Lucia swathed in a terry robe and huddling under an umbrella as she watched Jason’s skin turn walnut. Evenings were devoted to formal meals, mostly eaten in silence while other guests openly speculated on their honeymoon status.

Lucia had to admit that Jason was good-looking, polite, and even sporadically charming. Certainly, his partnership in one of the leading New York firms decreed his brilliance. By the time they boarded the plane bound for New York, she had talked herself into thinking the marriage might work. That small hope dissolved when Jason casually asked when she would be quitting her job.

I have no intention of quitting, Jason. I thought you understood that.

Jason leaned away to study her for a long moment before he spoke. Naturally, I assumed … Good Lord, Lucia, there’s no reason for you to work now. I’m a full partner and making good money, more than enough to keep us in style. You should do some volunteering if you want to keep busy. League work or something.

Why on earth would I want to do that?

Well, all the other guys’ wives are chairing benefits and fund raisers. You know … Anyway, if you did volunteer work you’d fit in better.

Fit in?

Well, nobody can understand why you work when you don’t have to. Frankly, they think you’re nuts.

Lucia was so angry she could feel the blood coursing through her temples. Nuts? I’m nuts because I love my job? Because I can’t wait to get to work?

She was punching his arm with her finger as she spoke. "Let me set you straight right now, Jason Van Voorhees. I’ve put in a lot of time at that magazine. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve risen through the ranks faster than anyone else my age or sex. I have a great future at News Page, and nothing or nobody is going to interfere."

DECEMBER 1958

HERE IT IS. Daphne Mills slapped a stack of News Page magazines on the glass-topped table her boss used for a desk. The yellow banner slashing the cover of the magazine read: Senator Kennedy: Will Religion Be a Factor? by Lucia Simmons.

Lucia brushed an errant strand of auburn from her cheek and then pulled a rope of heavy pearls away from the pale, gray wool crepe suit she wore. She ran a well-manicured finger across the yellow slash in the upper right hand corner. I have to admit, it’s not so bad.

Daphne snorted. Not so bad? It’s fabulous.

Lucia smiled at her assistant’s display of unquestioning loyalty. Thanks, Daphne. I’m positive my brother Elmore hasn’t seen this, and it’s up to me to see that he does. After all, he said I would never make it.

Your brother must be a real jerk.

Not really. He just believes a woman’s place is in the home.

Daphne laughed. Don’t they all? I had a heck of a time getting a position other than secretary.

You have much more to give than sixty words a minute, Daph. Keep up the good work and you’ll be promoted away from me before you know it. Next, I’ll hear you’re after my job.

Dream on, lady. I have a long way to go before I make associate editor. Daphne headed for the door. I’ll be down in Copy if you need me.

Once Daphne was gone, Lucia picked up the magazine and flipped through the pages to the Kennedy article. Her name in twelve-point type was a sure sign of her success, as was an office of her own.

She’d managed to turn the minuscule cubbyhole into a spare but elegant space by painting the walls Celadon green and covering the small settee in the same shade. A vibrant antique prayer rug and an exciting Joan Miro print furnished the only other colors in the room.

Outside her office sat her shared secretary, Myrtle Trask, and across from her was Daphne’s desk. Lucia and Daphne were the only two women in editorial positions at the magazine. They were often referred to as Mutt and Jeff, since Daphne was as tiny as her boss was tall. Frizzy corn silk framed Daphne’s pleasant face and an engaging sprinkle of pale freckles covered her upturned nose and high cheeks.

The two things Lucia envied most in Daphne were her wide, deep green eyes and her easy patter with the opposite sex. But then, Daphne didn’t have Lucia’s job or her drive to