The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 1 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Mr Haddock knocks on his son’s bedroom door. “Ben, is everything okay in there? All our guests are here — are you coming down? Everyone wants to see you!”

He opens the door to find Ben sitting on the edge of his bed. Ben is dressed and ready for his graduation party, but his face is empty, apathetic. “Dad, can you just give me a little time? I need to be alone for a bit.”

Mr Haddock makes an effort not to sigh. He knows, after twenty-one years, how obstinate and awkward his son can be. Same as he was as a child, Haddock tells himself. Inwardly, he sighed. So often, I’m afraid that Benjamin never grew up. He sits on the edge of the bed, next to his son. “Is there anything wrong?” he asks in a soft voice.

“It’s my future,” Ben replies. “I don’t know what to do. Until now, I was looking forward to graduation, but now that I’m graduated — it’s like I said, I don’t know what to do. My future is a great big empty blank. There’s no light — it’s all darkness.”

Mr Haddock smiled and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s only natural, Ben. You’ve been running a race — all your life, really — and suddenly it’s done. Yes, okay, it’s anticlimactic. There’s no big payoff. So what do you do? You stop. You reflect. You reset… you reboot yourself. Then, after your little break, you’ll see your future bright and clear, stretched out in front of you, just like before. You’ll see! Everything’s going to be fine.”

“If you say so,” Ben says, unconvinced.

“I do say so,” his father affirmed. “And right now, your mother and I want you to come downstairs and put in an appearance. All our friends are here. They’ve come to wish you well. Some of them might help you out in the future, you know. Can you just come downstairs, shake a few hands, smile a little—”

“Glad-hand everyone, you mean,” Ben interrupts.

“Yes, exactly. That is exactly what I mean. Can you do that?” When Ben hesitates, his father adds, “Can you do it for your mother? She’s gone to a lot of trouble to put this party together. For you. For you.” Without waiting for an answer, Mr Haddock began to leave the room. Then, almost as an afterthought, he stopped in the doorway, looked back, and told Ben, “Your friends Bagger and Jenny are here. They said they can’t stay long.”

Ben nodded, almost imperceptively. His father turned. At the head of the stairs, he stopped and looked down. Turning back, he entered Ben’s room, and in a low voice said, “Viv Errisson is here, and she’ll want to speak with you.”

Ben groaned as if in physical pain.

“Listen, Ben, I’ve heard she’s been giving pretty generous graduation presents, so remember: be nice to her. Smile and listen.”

Ben protested, “She is the bossiest woman in the world!”

His father continued in a low voice, so as not be overheard. “She’s also the richest woman in town. And the most successful. AND the most connected. Don’t say anything to offend her. If you can’t agree outright to whatever she tells you, at least tell her that you’ll think about what she’s said.”

“Why?” Ben asked in a suspicious tone. “Is she going to give me advice?”

“Probably,” his father answered, growing irritated at Ben’s recalcitrance. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to listen to her!” Mr Haddock took a breath and calmed himself. If he pushed Ben too hard, he knew the boy would only dig his heels in harder. “Just give her a few minutes of your time. The sooner she talks to you, the sooner she’ll leave. Okay?”

Ben twisted his mouth to the side, but he didn’t refuse.

As his father descended the stairs, Ben stood up and looked out the window. He was surprised to see a young woman walking through his backyard toward his house. She had brown hair and wore a pretty blue dress. He couldn’t see her face, but her body was definitely sexy. Her curves were in all the right places. As he watched her hips sway and her breasts lightly bob, he kept hoping for a view of her face. Then it hit him: this wasn’t a young woman at all! At least not what *he* would call “young” — this woman was his mother’s age. It was Mrs Crusoe, who lived in the house behind them. She was taking a shortcut: through her backyard, over the little footbridge, and through the Haddocks’ backyard. Perhaps she felt his eyes upon her, for she looked up and spotted him in the window. She smiled and waved.

Surprised and startled at being seen, Ben instinctively jumped away from the window. Then, feeling foolish about his reaction, he peeked out. She was still looking up, smiling even more broadly. She waved again. This time, he waved back. Then she put her head down and disappeared from view for a few moments as she climbed the stone steps up from the lower garden. When she reached the top of the steps, she stopped next to the swimming pool and adjusted her scarf. She pulled it from her neck in a smooth motion. The blue silk slid off her body like liquid smoke. While she fiddled with the material, Ben — his face partly hidden behind the curtain — gazed directly down his lovely neighbor’s cleavage. He watched until she covered her neck and breasts with the scarf again. When she entered the house and was out of sight, he sighed.

Ben felt aroused and guilty. Mrs Crusoe was always the best-looking of his mother’s friends — she was one of his first crushes when he was a young boy. But he’d never seen her in this light before: as an attractive woman, as a sexual creature, as an object of desire. At the same time, it was wrong, wasn’t it? They were twenty years apart in age… and she was married, for goodness sake! He couldn’t let himself look at her that way — he’d only end up making a fool of himself and getting into no end of trouble.

 

---

 

Still uncomfortable and embarrassed by his new feelings — and feeling silly about jumping away from the window — Ben made his way downstairs. He had to greet his parents’ friends, and he was looking forward to seeing Bagger and Jenny. They knew each other since elementary school, and he hadn’t seen them since last summer. They had some catching-up to do.

But first he had to contend with Mrs Errisson. She waited at the bottom of the stairs, so she could waylaid him before anyone else had a chance to say hello. Taking him by the arm, she led him to a quiet corner.

“Benjamin,” she told him, “I don’t know you very well, but I have heard many good things about you.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“However, I have to warn you that your life is changing, as of this moment. Until now, your life, for the most part, has been decided for you. It’s mainly centered around school. I’ve heard that you’ve been diligent and responsible. Now it’s time for something additional, and that’s initiative. You’re going to have to find your way, make your own decisions, motivate yourself. This is the end to going along. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Ben said.

Mrs Errisson looked Ben in the face, and clearly she had her doubts.

“Well, that’s all I have to say. I hope you’ll take it to heart. Say goodbye to your parents for me.”

“Are you leaving?” Ben asked.

“Yes, I have two other stops to make today. Best of luck, young man. You’ve made a good foundation. Try to use it wisely.”

Much to Ben’s relief, Mrs Errisson left right away.

The living room was noisy and packed with people. The crowd spilled over into the kitchen. Near the fireplace, his mother had arranged a buffet and a bar — both generously stocked. She really pulled out all the stops. Everyone had a drink in their hand. Ben had never seen so many people in his house. If it wasn’t so cool outside, the guests would have moved out to the deck, near the swimming pool, but that wasn’t happening. The french doors were open, though: the press of people made the living room pretty warm. A few of the men were wiping their brows as they talked and drank and ate.

Now that Ben was free of Mrs Errisson, someone called out, “There he is! There’s our boy!” Then came a few shouts of “Hello, Ben!” and “Congratulations!” and a low voice began to sing “For he’s a jolly good fellow...” Everyone joined in, then cheered and applauded.

Ben, embarrassed and happy, flattered by the attention, diligently made his way through the crowd. He did a good job of it: greeting everyone by name, smiling, shaking hands. His mother’s female friends made a big show of kissing him, then rubbing their lipstick off his cheek, laughing.

Inside himself, Ben still winced at the painful uncertainty of his future. A new general sense of powerlessness and apathy lurked in the background of his mind. Ben wondered whether his dark feelings showed upon his face. He glanced in a mirror, but his face appeared a mask. Unless he smiled, he didn’t show any emotion whatsoever. Whether he did or not, his parents’ friends were too enthusiastic to notice. They’d already put in a solid half-hour of drinking before Ben appeared. They were there to smile and laugh, to slap Ben on the back, to wish him well.

All of them asked the same question: “Now that you’ve got your degree, what are you going to do? Will you go on to your masters, or will you look for a job?”

Luckily, Ben never had to answer. So many people wanted his attention, he found he could get by with a smile and a nod. If he got as far as opening his mouth to speak, another of his parents’ friends would grab his hand and start talking. The honest truth was, Ben had no idea at all what he was going to do, but he knew he shouldn’t say so.

His father very helpfully put a drink in his hand, and extricated him from conversations that lasted more than a minute.

When Ben finally arrived at the buffet, he took a moment to survey the sea of heads. He wanted to find Bagger and Jenny. And — with a mixture of fear and guilt — he wanted to locate Mrs Crusoe. He needed to get a grip on his embarrassment and excitement before he saw her again. He still hadn’t cooked up an excuse for jumping away from the window.

He felt a hand on his arm. It was Jenny! She appeared out of nowhere, and slipped her arm into his. Jenny gave him a warm, soft kiss on his cheek. “Hello there, college boy — I mean graduate. How are you? Do you feel different?” She took a moment to scrutinize him, from his choice of shoes to his haircut. “You look different! You’re all grown up now! Do you feel all grown up? Seriously, though! Are you taller, or fitter, or something? Look at you!” She playfully felt his chest and bicep. She touched his shoulder and tickled his side for a second, all the while smiling her sunny smile at him. He drew a breath, overwhelmed by her flood of words, her flurry of touching, and her sudden proximity. For a moment, when an awkward guest pushed his way to the buffet, Jenny’s body was pressed against Ben’s. He felt the warmth of her flesh, felt the scent of her skin. Jenny’s eyes widened in amusement. Their noses nearly touched, and Ben was struck to see that she stood at exactly his height. They literally saw eye-to-eye.

The two stepped back from the buffet, out of the way of the hungry horde, and moved apart, laughing. Bagger appeared at that moment, worming his way through the crowd. He tooked their arms and led the pair even farther from the buffet, to a niche near the stairs where they could stand apart from the room. It was quieter there, and cool air flowed down from above.

“What’s going on here? You trying to steal my girl?” Bagger joked good-naturedly. “Huh? Do you see this, Ben? See this?” He grabbed Jenny’s left hand and lifted it to Ben’s face, turning her hand to display a respectably sized diamond, set in a filigree band of white gold.

“Wow!” Ben exclaimed. “That’s some ring!”

“Yep,” Bagger acknowledged, nodding, “It sure is! Do you know what that ring means, Ben?”

“Yes, of course — that you two are getting married! Congratulations! I had no idea!”

“Ben, what that ring means is, Back off, buddy — she’s taken.”

“Oh, Bagger—” Jenny protested.

“I’m joking! I’m only joking!” Bagger replied, his hands in the air, signalling surrender. “Ben knows me. He knows I’m joking.” Laughing, he gave Ben a one-armed hug.

“Listen, Ben” Jenny said, in an apologetic tone, “We’re going to have to leave in a few minutes. We have to meet our mothers — both our mothers! — for some—” she signed wearily “—for some wedding stuff. It’s endless! You wouldn’t believe what a perpetual headache the seating chart turned out to be! Anyway, we’re getting married in six weeks, and there’s so much left to do!”

“You can’t leave!” Ben protested. “You just got here! And I haven’t seen you in months!”

“Actually, we’ve been here for a while,” Bagger contradicted. “We’ve been waiting for you. But you were up in your room, with your door closed. What were you doing in there? Hey boy?” He nudged Ben playfully in the ribs with his elbow.

“Sorry,” Ben told them.

“We have all summer,” Jenny replied. “And except for our honeymoon, we’re not leaving town. We’ll see each other, don’t worry.” She looked across the crowded room and located Ben’s parents. “I’ve got to go say goodbye to your parents. Then I’ll come back and say bye to you.”

The two men watched her walk away, As she slipped gracefully into the crowd, Ben said, “You’re a lucky guy, Bagger. She’s beautiful. She’s probably the most attractive woman in town. And you’re the one who gets to marry her!” Then he poked Bagger in the chest with his finger and asked, “So how come I’m not your best man?”

“Yeah,” Bagger said, as if he hadn’t heard the question. He leaned in close and in a low voice said, “She’s beautiful, yeah. She’s smoking hot. Her body… it’s to die for. But, BUT, she’s a virgin. Can you believe it? It’s driving me nuts. I’ve been climbing the walls for months. She’s saving herself. She wants to wait until our wedding night. I just can’t take it. In the meantime I’m losing my mind. Do you know, I’ve never even seen her naked?” He gestured mutely in frustration.

Ben had no idea what to respond. Luckily, Bagger wasn’t looking for a response. He was only looking for an ear. After a conspiratorial look around, he leaned in even closer, his head touching Ben’s, and in an even more confidential tone, he spoke into Ben’s ear. “Ben, I want to make sure you come to my bachelor parties — parties, plural — there’s going to be two of them, believe it or not. My DAD wants to throw me one — can you believe that? My own father wants to plan my bachelor party. There’s something fundamentally wrong with that. I mean, who wants to party with their parents?”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. But the real party, the actual final blowout end to my single years — THAT one, I’m planning myself. I’m going to hire a woman, or some women — you know what I’m talking about, right? You know the kind of women I mean?” If the words weren’t clear enough, Bagger’s leering smile and the insistent nudge, nudge with his elbow were unambiguous.

Before Ben could compose any response, Jenny returned, “Okay, Ben, I left your wedding invitation on the table with your graduation presents. I know we’re rushing everything — sorry! But please come! You have to come! Do you promise?”

Ben smiled and promised he’d be there. He kissed her cheek. Bagger gave him an affectionate punch on the arm, and the couple slipped away and out the door.

Their departure left Ben feeling a little deflated, let down. He wanted to go back upstairs to his room, but there were still hands to shake. He headed for the kitchen, moving a step or two at a time, smiling, shaking hands, getting hugs and kisses and congratulations.

When he reached the french doors, he paused to drink in the cool air. He still hadn’t seen Mrs Crusoe. Turning back to look into the room, he spotted Mr Crusoe, laughing it up with a young girl, and another man. Crusoe had his arm around the girl’s waist, and he held her close. Ben was shocked. Their posture, the easy way the girl leaned into Crusoe, the proprietary way he held her, all implied intimacy — sexual intimacy. How could he advertise his infidelity so openly?

The other man turned, and Ben caught a glimpse of his profile. It was Bagger’s father, Crusoe’s boss. Ben shook his head. He’d do his best to avoid the pair of them. Bagger’s dad very deliberately put his hand on the girl’s ass. She reacted immediately, turning her offended face to him. She said something. Her response made him smile, and he waited a few moments before removing his hand. Then, after she turned her face away, he waited a moment, then placed his hand back on her butt, then took it away before she reacted.

Ben was always uncomfortable around Bagger’s dad. He always called him “Mr Bagstone,” but everyone else called him the Bagman, a nickname he picked up back in high school. Bagstone was a crude man who sincerely believed that everyone was as crude and perverse as he was. In his mind, the only difference between himself and the rest of the world was that he was “man enough to admit it.”

That girl, though… Ben was sure he knew her, although he’d only caught a fleeting glance at her face. It came to him in a flash: Her name was Justine. Justine… something. She’d been two years ahead of him in high school, which meant that there were nearly 20 years between her and Mr Crusoe. Yuck.

And speaking of yuck, after the Bagman finished his game with Justine’s derriere, he lifted his gaze, and his face took on an ugly, predatory look. The lift in his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the way his eyes roved, you could see that he was looking for a woman to devour. Some unfortunate woman there in the room had caught his eye, and he wanted her: he wanted to take her, pull her clothes off, and have her, right there. It was the Bagman’s caveman countenance, and it made him ugly.

But who was he looking at? Ben took a step back and tried to follow the man’s gaze. As far as he could tell, it was — none other than Mrs Crusoe! Ben was revolted. What a party this has turned out to be! he told himself, and without another thought he turned away, crossed the deck, passed the swimming pool, and raced down the stone stairs to the lower garden.

Ben’s mother named that area “the lower garden.” It was not a garden, as such: it was really a wide, long lawn: grass stretching between a high retaining wall and the little creek that separated the Haddock’s property from the Crusoe’s. There weren’t any flowers or vegetables or fruits in this “garden” — there was a small patio made of paving stones surrounded by concrete benches, and a little nook where Ben often went to be alone. The nook held nothing but a concrete bench; there wasn’t room for anything else. This nook wasn’t exactly hidden; it was on your right as you came down the stairs, but if you didn’t turn your head to look, you’d miss it.

Ben settled himself on the bench and thought about what he’d seen. He felt badly for Mrs Crusoe: it must be humiliating for your husband to parade his lover in front of you and all your friends. And Justine! He didn’t know her at all, really, aside from her name. He’d seen her at school, but given the two year gap in their ages, their paths didn’t cross. They were never in class together, and had no friends in common. Still, he'd never have guessed she was the kind of girl who’d sleep with a married man!

Another possibility occurred to him: Could Mrs Crusoe be okay with it? Maybe they have threesomes, the Crusoes and Justine? Or foursomes, if the women could bear the loathsome Bagman? Ben began to daydream, picturing Justine kissing Mr Crusoe, while the Bagman played with her behind. In his imagination he tried to pull Mrs Crusoe into the picture, but somehow he couldn’t. His imagination wouldn’t take that step.

And then, he froze.

The click clack of heels on the stone steps made him catch his breath. He didn’t want to be caught here, by anyone. This place had always been his secret hideout — a place where he could always be alone. Now, he’d end up captive to whichever of his parents’ friends was coming down. It would be an endless, unendurable series of polite remarks and forced smiles with no possibility of escape. There was another set of stairs, going up the other side. He could make a run for it. But he’d probably be seen. He couldn’t be that rude. So he sat and held his breath and tried somehow to will himself invisible.

The clicking of heels stopped, and a figure stepped into view. It was Mrs Crusoe. She was looking straight ahead of her, towards her house. She hadn’t seen Ben. If she didn’t turn her head, she’d miss him.

She turned her head the other way, away from Ben, as she fished a cigarette and lighter from her bag. She took a puff and shivered a little as she blew out a cloud of smoke. Ben realized that she wasn’t wearing her blue scarf.

Without turning, without apparently noticing Ben, Mrs Crusoe walked out of his view. She was still down there with him in the lower garden, but he couldn’t tell where. He could smell the smoke from her cigarette as it lingered in the air.

He looked at his watch and waited, not daring to move. He knew it was stupid. Still, if she caught him, he’d fess up and tell her that he’d just wanted to be alone. She was probably the only one of his parents’ friends who’d understand.

After three or four minutes, she came back into view, but a little farther off, near the stone patio. This time, she was facing Ben’s house. Again, he saw her from the side. If she only turned her head a little to her left, she’d see him. But she didn’t turn. Instead, she lifted one foot and carefully stubbed out her cigarette. Once she was sure it was well dead, she tossed the butt into the bushes. Then, she looked at the toe of her shoes and let out a soft “Damn!” She set her left foot a little ahead of her, and bent down, straight-legged, to examine it. Her dress was the sort that draped over her figure, and as she bent forward, it followed the outline of her leg, her hip, her butt. The weight and curve of her breast were plainly visible as they hung against the soft cloth. Ben caught his breath. Here he was again, aroused and guilty. He shouldn’t, he knew: she was older, she was married, she was his mother’s friend. And yet, she was so sexy, so desirable.

After picking at her shoe for a few moments, she straightened up and turned her back to him. She walked over the stone patio, and standing on the grass, lifted one foot to the closest stone bench. She bent forward, and her dress took on the curves of her derriere. Pretty awesome, for a woman her age! Ben silently exclaimed. His chest tightened with anxiety and the fear of discovery: he didn’t want to be discovered sitting there, like a spy, like a letcher, letching after his neighbor.

Mrs Crusoe’s foot wobbled as her back heel sank into the grass. She caught herself, and walked around the bench so she could stand on the more stable paving stones. Now she was facing Ben — she’d have to see him! He prepared himself to greet her, to apologize — to apologize for everything: for the window, for hiding, for spying… but she didn’t look up.

She propped her foot on the stone bench, her stance more stable now, and bent forward to examine her shoe. Ben couldn’t see what she was looking at; from his vantage point, her shoe looked fine. As Ben watched, Mrs Crusoe gathered her skirt toward her, baring her knee, and giving Ben a clear and open view of her legs, bare from the tops of her shoes to bottom of her panties. Ben’s heart and breathing seemed to stop. He could see the soft mound between her thighs, covered by cream-colored underwear, hemmed by a discrete black crocheted border.

Her bending forward also exposed her cleavage to Ben. He could see her soft white skin, and the gap between her full, round breasts as they lightly swayed.

She remained that way for a minute. A long minute. Ben, electrified, wanted to move or shout or warn her of his presence, but it was too late. He’d have to chance her seeing him there — and she was sure to see him there.

But no: she stood without lifting her head. She brushed off her skirt. She adjusted her breasts. Then she lifted her skirt, giving Ben the leg show once again as she tugged her underwear from her intimate folds. Then, after what seemed a final shake to her skirt, she abruptly turned her back to Ben and took a step toward the set of stairs at the other side of the garden.

Just when Ben thought the show was over, Mrs Crusoe bunched up her skirt in back, showing Ben her derriere. She tugged on her panties, adjusting them to make herself more comfortable. To close the show, she ran her hands over her buttocks, and finally let her skirt fall.

She walked away without looking back, slowly click-clacking her way up to the deck, where the other guests were.

She left Ben shaking. What a close call! he told himself. There were so many times when she could have seen me! Thinking on the sights he’d seen, he blushed so hard, he nearly felt sunburned.

Ben touched his brow, surprised to find beads of sweat. It was a cool day, nearly cold, but here he was, perspiring. He wiped his face with his hands, and wiped his hands on the grass. He stood up. He sat down. He stood again and paced. He needed to calm himself. He sat again and drummed his fingers. For once, I wish I smoked! he exclaimed internally.

He sat for a full five minutes. Then, judging that enough time had passed, he climbed the far stairs, the same stairs that she had used. Ben assumed that she wouldn’t tarry at the top, and that he’d have less chance of bumping into her.

But he was wrong.

Ben expected the deck to be empty — just as it was when he exited the house. It was too cool to be hospitable, so all the guests pressed together inside. Instead, Ben found two people there, standing off to the side, out of sight of the other guests: Mr and Mrs Crusoe. Their voices were too low for Ben to hear, but the intensity of their exchange was clear from their body language. Mr Crusoe was tense: his shoulders tight, his teeth and fists clenched, his face contorted with anger. Mrs Crusoe was much cooler externally. One hand held a lit cigarette up to her face. Her other hand was under her elbow. Her face was a cold mask. Her jaw and lips were tight with anger.

Ben knew it was too late for him to turn back. As he approached, he heard part of their exchange:

Mr Crusoe said, through clenched teeth: “I’ll be late, I told you. I’ll be out late. I’m going for drinks with the Bagman. We have a few things to discuss.”

“Late?” she repeated. “Late? Chad, are you coming home at all? If you respect me at all, just tell me. Just say that you’re not coming home. Do you think that I’m an idiot?”

“We’ve gone over and over this—” he began, but abruptly cut off when he caught sight of Ben.

Mr Crusoe was a part of Ben’s life from the time Ben was born, but he was not one of Ben’s favorite people. Mr Crusoe was arrogant, pushy, and full of himself. Everything he said was all hearty and phony. He was such a fake, he was able to drop his ugly demeanor in a moment, and held out his hand to Ben.

“How ya doing there, Ben, Benjy, Benny-boy, Ben!” he chortled, and followed up with an exaggerated, bone-crushing handshake.

“I’m great, Mr Crusoe, just great. How about you?”

“Never better, son! Never better.” He fixed his gaze on Ben, grinning, looking him straight in the eye. He set his hand ponderously on Ben’s shoulder and smiled. After a pause, he said, “Ben, the graduate.” Then he chuckled. “Ben,” he repeated.

“Yes, Mr Crusoe?”

“Ben.”

“Here I am, Mr Crusoe.”

“Can I tell you something, Ben? Are you listening?” He paused, and grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Are you listening, Ben?”

“Yes, I’m listening. What is it, Mr Crusoe?”

“I have a word for you. One word.” He paused again, laughing to himself. “Are you ready, Ben? The word is: plastics.” He poked Ben painfully in the chest with his forefinger. “Think about it.” Then he poked him again.

Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I.. uh… I don’t understand.”

Mrs Crusoe came to his rescue. “Oh, Chad!” she exclaimed. “He’s too young to get that joke! I’m sure he’s never even heard of that film.”

“Hmmph!” Mr Crusoe grunted, shrugging it off. He gave Ben’s chest a third painful poke and said, “Think about it, will you?” Then he walked off laughing, enormously pleased with himself.

Ben put his hand on his chest, sure there’d be bruises later. “What was all that about?” he lamented.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him, stepping closer to brush some imaginary crumbs off his shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

“Honestly, a little, yes.”

“Aww,” she cooed, cutely, her eyes twinkling. “Poor little thing!”

He flushed in embarrassment. “Anyway,” she explained, “there was a movie, late sixties, called The Graduate. It starts out — well, it starts out just like this, at a graduation party for a young man.” She stopped and looked around the room. “And, oddly, just like this, all the guests were his parents’ friends. Ben, weren’t any of your friends invited?”

He shrugged. “My college friends don’t live around here, and my high school friends… I haven’t gotten back in touch with them yet. Honestly, I don’t know if I will.”

“I see.”

“Um, so, what else happens in that movie? Why did Mr Crusoe say plastics to me like that? Was that a big joke in the film?”

“Oh, no. It was just a little thing, near the beginning, but for some reason everyone remembers that line. It typifies the way that Ben’s parents’ generation know what’s going on in a commercial way, but have no idea what young people want.”

“Ben? Why did you say ‘Ben’s parents’?”

She laughed, a lovely light laugh. “How funny! I didn’t even think — the name of the main character in the film is Ben. Just like you.”

“Maybe I should watch this movie,” Ben mused. “Maybe it would help me understand what’s going on with my life.”

“No, it won’t,” she told him, looking a little embarrassed. Ben noticed this, and puzzled, asked, “Why don’t you tell me what happens in the movie, then, and save me the trouble of seeing it?”

Her drink was nearly empty, and Ben had none. Her husband had apparently noticed this before he walked away, because he arrived at that moment with a martini for her and some sort of mixed drink for Ben. He raised his glass in salute, and walked backwards into the crowd. When he disappeared, she muttered, “He’s already three sheets to the wind.”

Ben had no idea what to reply, so he repeated, “So what about the movie?”

“Fine,” she said, resigned to it, and took a big sip of her martini. “He graduates from college. He worries about his future. He blunders around. He doesn’t know what to do. He has an affair with an older woman, and then he runs off with her daughter.” By the time she got to the end, she was blushing. “On her wedding day.”

“On whose wedding day?” Ben asked stupidly.

“On the daughter’s wedding day, of course!”

Ben tried to take it in. “He sounds like a real asshole,” he concluded.

She nodded. “Well, at the time, the anti-hero was a popular figure.”

Ben frowned. “What’s an anti-hero?”

Mrs Crusoe sighed, then after chewing her lower lip for a moment, said, “An asshole.”

Ben nodded. “I have zero desire to see this film,” he told her.

“Good,” she said, with a sense of relief. Then she scanned the room, her eyes stopping on her husband, who was loudly recounting an off-color joke to Justine and the Bagman. She cleared her throat and said, “Ben, I’m going to go say goodbye to your parents, and then I’m going home.”

“Do you need a ride?” he asked without thinking.

“No,” she said. “I’ll just go through the yard and cross the little bridge.” She pointed to her house, clearly visible where they stood.

“Okay,” he said.

“Let me give you a kiss to congratulate you,” she said. After setting her glass on a little table, she put her palm flat against the center of his chest and gently pushed him toward the edge of the deck, until they were both out of sight of the guests inside the house. She moved her hand to his shoulder. Standing on tip-toe, she planted her warm, soft lips on his. He was startled, but he closed his eyes. He felt himself sink into that kiss. It seemed to put him in another world. He could have stayed in that kiss forever.

But of course, it quickly ended. She pulled her face away from his, and he felt himself bathed in the intoxicating scent she wore. She studied his face and asked in a soft, low voice, “Did you like that?”

“Uh-huh,” he whispered.

“Good,” she said, and planted another, but much shorter, kiss on his mouth. “It’s nice to know I’ve still got it.” She smiled at him for a moment, then turned to walk away.

At the top of the stairs, she turned and with a grin told him, “You’d better wipe that lipstick off you. All the women here know my color.” She took another step, then stopped to say, “Tell your parents goodbye for me. And thanks for the lovely party.” After that, she slowly descended and disappeared from sight.

He took a sip of the drink Mr Crusoe had given him. It was horrible; it seemed like a mixture of maple syrup and rubbing alcohol. He dumped it in a bush, and set the empty glass next to Mrs Crusoe’s. Then, on an impulse, he picked up her drink and took a sip, placing his lips where hers had been: where her lipstick had marked the rim. After he finished the drink, he carefully wiped her lipstick from his lips, folded the napkin, and put it in his pocket.

Ben found himself smiling. It seemed like the first genuine smile he’d had today. He stood up straighter, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then he dove into the crowd and made his way to the bar. He wanted another martini.