the past,” she said cruelly, which wasn’t true either. They respected the traditions they had grown up with, but had struggled to move forward despite the blows in their lives, which their daughter had no concept of, nor did she care. She thought they were fossils, who understood nothing of the modern world. “The cotillion is a cattle market, Mom, and I don’t want to be one of the cows. They’re all looking for husbands, which is why they go to college too, and the minute they get engaged, they drop out. Or they get pregnant, and have to get married. I don’t want to get married, and I’m not going to let you show me off at the cotillion and marry me off to some snob.”
“What do you want?” her father asked her shortly before her eighteenth birthday. She had refused to apply to college, her grades were terrible, she barely studied, and flatly turned down the opportunity to be a debutante in the coming winter season, even to please her parents. Camille did what she wanted. She had racy friends who weren’t going to college either, and a weakness for all the handsome bad boys around town. James Dean, as the original angry young man, had been her hero, and she mourned his death for months when she was fifteen, which had been a turning point toward a darker side.
They worried about her constantly, and had for several years. She exasperated Eleanor, and Alex was always seeking a compromise and trying to reason with her, which seldom worked. They were both afraid she’d fall in with bad company and come to a bad end. It had happened to others. And she clearly had no intention of following her parents’ path. She insisted that a new day had dawned and the old traditions meant nothing to her.
Camille was startled when her father asked her what she wanted. She insisted they had never asked her that before, and just tried to impose their wishes on her. Alex decided to try a new tack. She had threatened to run away several times, but never had. But he saw it as a possible outcome if they were too strict with her, and wanted to avoid that at all costs. She hated living over their store, no matter how elegant it was, or how profitable. She thought everything they sold was like old bones in a cemetery. It took all of Eleanor’s self-control not to take the bait of her insults and get drawn into arguments with her. Alex had stronger nerves. She was their only child and he didn’t want to lose her, neither did Eleanor, but she and Camille argued constantly, and were at odds.
“I want to sing,” Camille said simply. It had been her passion all her life. Her voice was untrained but as beautiful as it always had been. And she was a gorgeous young woman, and looked older than her years. “I want to sing with a band, and make albums with them.” It had been her dream since her early teens.
Several well-known bands had gotten their start in San Francisco, and Alex knew there were a number of small music producers in town, but he had no idea who they were.
“How would you make that happen?” he asked, curious about what she’d say, as her mother cringed. The kind of people she’d meet in show business seriously worried her, and would only make things worse. Alex wanted to negotiate a truce with her if he could.
“I know a couple of boys in bands. One of them said I could go to Vegas with them sometime and audition there.” Las Vegas was becoming a mecca of showgirls and musicians, but also Sodom and Gomorrah in their minds. A lot of the big stars from Hollywood went there, like Frank Sinatra and his crowd, and Eleanor didn’t want her falling into their hands. Prostitution was also rampant there, which drew a dangerous element for young girls. Alex didn’t like it any more than his wife did, but he thought that if they let Camille get a taste of the music world, she’d tire of it quickly and come home to settle down. Maybe not to be a debutante, they had given up on that, but to get an education, and a respectable job. They thought she should work, as they did, and wanted her to lead a wholesome life, anathema to Camille.