One of the paintings Linda admired, and was writing about in her article, was a small canvas ascribed to Giorgione called The Forbidden Fruit which showed Hades, the King of Hell, handing Persephone a small silver plate with a few shimmering pomegranate seeds glowing in the center, so bright they might well be rubies. Persephone, her cheekbones hollow, her eyes huge and starving, is waving the plate away with one hand, but she’s looking at it with longing, her lips parted, and it’s clear that she’s tempted, that she’s on the verge of eating one of the bright, dangerous seeds that will keep her in Hell for part of every year. That’s how I felt as my hand reached out for the stem of the glass, as I brought the ruby liquid closer to my face and lifted the rim to my lips. Jack was watching me, smiling a little, and I told myself to thwart him, to set the glass back down on the table, but I was unable to do anything but swallow a mouthful. I felt my cheeks getting red. I took a larger gulp.

Le Grand Canale Venise, 1908
(Oil on canvas, 73.5 × 92.5 cm)
BY Claude Monet
National Gallery, London

“She likes it.” Jack laughed.

Linda looked at me. “Oh, Christ, Jack! I told her father I wouldn’t give her any alcohol.”

“You didn’t. I did.”

I set the glass down. Simone looked at me.

Well, I didn’t have to finish the glass, I told myself. But I took another sip. A few minutes later I felt something brush my knee under the table, and I jerked my chair back. Jack immediately stood up. “I’ll get some more bread,” he said. He grabbed the bread basket and as he passed Simone, he tousled her hair with an affectionate gesture. Her shoulder blades shot up to her ears.

The next morning at breakfast Linda passed me the basket of rolls. “Jack said he’d be happy to take you out to the Lido today so you can swim. You and Simone. You can have lunch and spend the day. I’m hoping to finish my draft.”

“I don’t want to go.” Simone said.

“He’ll rent you a chair. You can read your new Nancy Drew novel under an umbrella. Your cousin would probably like a chance to get in the water, it’s gotten so hot.”

“I don’t mind the heat,” I said.

“Did you bring your suit?”

My eyes met Simone’s eyes. She was squeezing her turban-shaped hard roll so tightly that the crust was flaking onto the table cloth. I’d shown her my new swim suit. It was blue with a shirred top, and the straps crossed in the back. “No,” I said. “I forgot.”

“Never mind. You can wear one of mine. I have one that should fit you.” Linda laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t pretend to be doing you kids a favor. You’ll be doing me a favor by staying out of my hair all day.” She looked at her watch. “He’ll be here in an hour.”

In hindsight, it seems as if all I had to do was tell Linda that I thought Jack was a little creepy, and that Simone didn’t like him. But I didn’t know exactly how to put it or what I meant by creepy. He was handsome, he was charming, and she was clearly in love with him. Once in the park a man had exposed himself to me, and I’d run home in tears. It had taken me a long time to explain to my mother what had happened, and she seemed to be angrier at me than at the man. When the police came to the house to interview me and get a description of the man, their questions made me feel guilty. Why was I running around the park by myself? Why was I hanging upside down on the monkey bars in a dress? How long had I watched the man?