Audition by Barbara Walters Read Free Book Online Page B

cottage had been in Falmouth, when I got home from school my mother and often my father were around. I remember my parents dressing to go to the Latin Quarter for dinner and the shows, both of them looking so spiffy. I have memories, too, of leaving for school early in the morning and meeting my parents just coming home. They would kiss me hello or good-bye or both and then go off to bed. None of this seemed unusual to me.
    If there is one thing that distinguishes that early time in Florida, it is my parents’ joy. Especially my mother’s. I had never seen her so happy, and that, of course, made me happy. My father gave her a beautiful lynx coat to wear on chilly evenings, and she treasured it. I can still picture her in that fluffy coat, looking radiant.
    It was extremely hard for my mother to live on Palm Island and not be able to drive. She had to be chauffeured everywhere. Just as I was driven to elementary school in Miami Beach every morning by the gardener and then picked up every day after school, my mother, if she wanted to buy even a pair of stockings or go to the market, had to be dropped off and picked up again. So, without telling my father, my mother tried to overcome her fears and took driving lessons.
    I wore braces on my teeth in those days, the ones with elastic bands on each end (I hated them, of course), and my orthodontist was located in Miami, so my mother practiced her driving by taking me to and from the dentist. He had a parking lot, so she didn’t have to worry too much about parallel parking, which was not her strength. Then came the big day when my father was returning from a trip to Boston. My mother and I surprised him at the airport, and my mother drove us home. My father was thrilled.
    My mother drove for a short time after that, but she never really lost her fear; when the city became more crowded she gave it up. In case you don’t believe in parental influence, to this day I don’t drive. It’s a real pain in the neck. I did drive shortly after graduating from college. My father even bought me an Oldsmobile convertible, but my mother’s fear was deep in me and I stopped, never to start again. I was always afraid of hitting another car and am still a nervous backseat passenger.
    Now remember, when I talk about this driving business, that my little friends from school also couldn’t drive and their parents thought it a nuisance to drive them to and from Palm Island, so the girlfriends I made at school rarely came home to play with me. Guess who became my “new best friend”? Mr. Dwyer.
    What can I say? He took a shine to me. He went to his racetrack every day and often took me with him on weekends. I wasn’t allowed inside the track because I was too young, but we parked where I could see the horses. I would give Mr. Dwyer the few dollars my father had given me, and Mr. Dwyer would make bets for me. Magically I always won.
    One of the things I hope happens as a result of this book is that I somehow get answers to questions that have puzzled me for years. Like what became of Mr. Dwyer after he left our house? And who was the chauffeur/bodyguard who shared his bedroom? Is it possible that Mr. Dwyer was gay? In those days the only reference to “gay” I’d ever heard was in the Latin Quarter’s theme song, “So This Is Gay Paree.” But in retrospect it seems somewhat logical. I don’t remember my parents ever talking about him again after that year, and I haven’t really thought about Mr. Dwyer until now. But I’d love to know the truth about him.
    I did have one friend from school, Phyllis Fine, whose show business father, Larry Fine, was one of the now-legendary Three Stooges. They lived in a hotel in Miami Beach. Phyllis was pretty and blond, and like me, was alone a lot. She would sometimes come to visit me on Palm Island, and occasionally I would sleep over at the hotel with her, but those visits were rare. Again, we had to be picked up, waited for, and driven home.
    School