Only With You

Chapter 5: The city of dreamers

As I looked out of the backseat of my dad's car window, on the beautiful Thursday afternoon it was, my mind was pondering on the new discovery that was LA. The city of angels, shared many common aspects with my hometown New York. The tall buildings , the diversity, and the advertisements carefully placed on each block reminded me of the place I once, well for many years called home.
Los Angeles, the beauty that it was, seemed much more toned down than New York City. It seemed to be for the nicer people, the ones longing for a life filled with sunshine. Excitement even. Where you see the movie stars. Not the beatnik writers or the poets or the rain.
Yes, I was born in New York. 1944. After the war cooled down we moved to Paris for two years, while far he was developing the new company. I liked it there in Paris. The people there didn't see me as a no good american child as they saw others. I was one of them. I was the girl who was handed flowers by random people on the streets. The one asked to play jump rope with the other kids. I had many friends there, but that life I knew and loved was taken from me almost instantly.
So my life returned to normal. We moved to a lovely mansion two blocks away Greenwich village. And that's where I grew up. With the writers and the beatniks and the people who hated many things in life. Some of my fondest memories were set at the night owl cafe, at about the age of twelve. Id sneak out on school nights, and run to be with my older beatnik friends including the one who started everything for the beatniks. Jack Kerouac. I couldn't be around him often though, he was on drugs. So I did the beatnik scene till about 14 then I straightened out to the good girl I am today.
It was tough for me at times. I didn't want to be the girl who was friends with the stars. I didn't want to be crowded in the hallways from girls asking to get 'Nat King Coles' autograph. I didn't want them to know that I'd occasionally go to dinner with Frank Sinatra, or Judy Garland. I felt all the people around me wanting to know me for my hook ups. There was only one girl I trusted. My best friend, my (as close as you can get to a) sister. I met her right after I moved back from Paris. She'd had a lot of struggles with her family and frankly didn't give a damn who I was. She was there for me Every time my father would leave to go to England or Los Angeles and not come back for months.
Refocusing my gaze onto the blocks of Los Angeles, moving past my very eyes I realized that Id miss my Best friend most, because as far as I knew we were never moving back.
But change is good, I thought, our car drifting towards the Hollywood hills. "Father, is our house up there?" I said repositioning my head scarf and resting my hands on the back of my fathers seat.
"Sure is!"
"Oh boy! Doesn't Marilyn have a home up here?"
"Well yes dear, many stars do live up here."
We stopped in front of a house with a large brass gate, with a large M on it. For mercer. The gates opened and our car proceeded to explore the long stretch driveway, assorted with at least 50 apple trees on each side.
The car approached the large White House, bigger than the one we had in New York. Three stories in hight , and a pool in the back.
I got my room situated with all of the things I packed, and then took dads car and drove down to meet the boys, who were staying at a hotel right off muscle beach.
The boys were set up to meet at Capitol for the first time tomorrow and you could tell. As I walked into the Wilson's suite I was caught up in a frenzy. "Brian did you take my shirt again?"
"Has anyone seen my sticks?"
"Where are the chicks man? I thought we were supposed to be surrounded by chicks by now!"
"Damnit, David, were not famous yet."
I sat down at the table, waiting for someone to notice my existence. And believe me, it took a while.
"Shit, Lana where'd you come from." Mike said walking past, eating an orange.
"Dennis, your steady is here."
"Oh, gee, damn," Dennis ran out of his room.
"Im sorry baby. We've just been so nervous. Im sorry I didn't see you."
Dennis sat in the chair next to me. "Hey, Lana I just realized, your birthdays next week. Boy were gonna need to celebrate."
"Dennis," I said smiling. "Let's go get you a milkshake. And then go to my new house and you can set up my record player. Deal?"
He smiled and lifted my chin gently with his fingers. "Sounds perfect."
So we snuck out, cruised around trying to find a burger joint had our milkshake and hurried back up to the hills.
"Hey, Lana?"
"Yeah Denny?"
"So does this mean you've told your parents about us?"
Suddenly I stopped and quickly landed my foot on the brake. The car jolted forwards then stayed still.
"oh gee."
"So you haven't then?"
"Uh no. Im just scared Dennis."
"You're scared they will think Im a no good punk, is that it?" Dennis started looking disappointed and frankly a bit angry.
"No not at all," I paused and realized we were still in the middle of the street, and that cars were passing us every which way. "Common Denny, let's go. Let's go tell them together, because I'm willing." I took my foot off the break and continued on our way.
The gates opening on my house seemed to symbolize a new breakthrough with Dennis. The closer we got to the house I felt better and better about telling them.
I shut the heavy front door behind me "Mother Im home. I brought someone too."
"Oh, darling, you made a friend already?" Mom popped her head out of the kitchen, which she was already cooking away in.
"No, mother, this is Dennis. He's uh from the band dad is producing. The beach boys."
"Oh boy," mom said as she fixed her hair. "It's a pleasure to meet you Dennis, I'm Betty Mercer. Oh I sure hope you could stay for dinner!"
"Nice to meet you Mrs. Mercer!" Dennis said, shaking mothers hand.
"Mom, were gonna go set up my record player upstairs until dinner!"
We walked up a flight on the beautiful staircase as moms voice echoed in the background "have fun!"
Dennis was much of a tech genius, he set up my old record player in no time.
We sat in my new room, with three small lamps on that made the room glow instead of be light. Dennis and I sat across from each-other with the record player in between us. He grabbed one of my boxes entitled 'records' and put it on his lap.
"Hmmmm lets see what we got here." He smiled, opening the cardboard. He took my records out one by one. Occasionally he'd either smirk at one or say "gee, you have good taste." Finally he chose one out of the box to listen to. He hid it behind his back, got up, and snuck behind me. With one hand he covered my eyes gently and with the other put on the record. I giggled softly. As the vinyl produced empty noise before hitting the grooves of music, Dennis grabbed my hands and lifted me up with him. All the sudden, a beautiful old melody rung in my ears. It was my fathers record, one he would dance to with my mother when he wasn't away on business. It was moonglow. An instrumental song from 1934. I often listened to this song as a child, especially in Paris. I'd open up the window of our flat, which was so high up you could see the whole city. I'd either lay on the terrace or stand and look at the Eiffel. I got the same comfort as dancing with Dennis.
Although dancing now a days seemed to consist of jiving and swinging and twisting; this dance seemed to take me back to the forties. The way he grabbed my waist, and I put my cheek onto his, and each of us blew lightly in each others ears.
"Laaaanaaaa" he whispered
"Dennny" I replied, giggling.
"I was wondering," he spun me around slowly "have you ever been in love?" I could almost hear the smirk on his face.
I closed my eyes and smiled. "Never, have you?"
"Never, well not before I-" the door knocked and we split apart easily. What was he going to say? Was this going to be a breakthrough moment? Or not at all. And the fact that bothers me most was that this beautiful moment was ruined suddenly by two little words that came from my mothers lips.
"Dinners ready!"