the day was coming, Catherine knew, when she would have to quit school and go to work
full time. She would get a job as a secretary, but she was determined that she would never
surrender the dream that was going to give such rich, wonderful meaning to her life; and
the fact that she did not know what either the dream or the meaning was made it all the
more unbearably sad and futile. She told herself that she was probably going through
adolescence. Whatever it was, it was hell. Kids are too young to have to go through
adolescence, she thought bitterly.
There were two boys who thought they were in love with Catherine. One was Tony
Korman who was going to join his father’s law firm one day and who was a foot shorter
than Catherine. He had pasty skin and myopic watery eyes that adored her. The other was
Dean McDermott, who was fat and shy and wanted to be a dentist. Then of course, there
was Ron Peterson, but he was in a category by himself. Ron was Senn High’s football star,
and everybody said he was a cinch to go to college on an athletic scholarship. He was tall
and broad-shouldered, had the looks of a matinee idol and was easily the most popular boy
in school.
The only thing that kept Catherine from instantly getting engaged to Ron was the fact
that he was not aware she was alive. Every time she passed him in the school corridor, her
heart would begin to pound wildly. She would think up something clever and provocative
to say so he would ask her for a date. But when she approached him, her tongue would
stiffen, and they would pass each other in silence. Like the Queen Mary and a garbage
scow, Catherine thought hopelessly.
The financial problem was becoming acute. The rent was three months overdue, and
the only reason they had not been evicted was that the landlady was captivated by
Catherine’s father and his grandiose plans and inventions. Listening to him, Catherine was
filled with a poignant sadness. He was still his cheerful, optimistic self, but she could see
behind the frayed facade. The marvelous, careless charm that had always given a patina of
gaiety to everything he did had eroded. He reminded Catherine of a small boy in a middle-
aged man’s body spinning tales of the glorious future to hide the shabby failures of the
past. More than once she had seen him give a dinner party for a dozen people at Henrici’s
and then cheerfully take one of his guests aside and borrow enough to cover the check
plus a lavish tip, of course. Always lavish, for he had his reputation to maintain. But in
spite of all these things and in spite of the fact that Catherine knew that he had been a
casual and indifferent father to her, she loved this man. She loved his enthusiasm and
smiling energy in a world of frowning, sullen people. This was his gift, and he had always
been generous with it.
In the end, Catherine thought, he was better off with his wonderful dreams that would
never materialize, than her mother who was afraid to dream.
In April Catherine’s mother died of a heart attack. It was Catherine’s first
confrontation with death. Friends and neighbors filled the little apartment, offering their
condolences, with the false, whispered pieties that tragedy invokes.
Death had diminished Catherine’s mother to a tiny shriveled figure without juices or