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By Root 415 0

for a ride—anyplace. There wasn’t much crime in the city then, and if you owned a motorcycle, you parked it outside your apartment and in the morning it was still there. It was wonderful on summer nights to cruise around the city at one, two or three A.M. wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a girl on the seat behind me. If I didn’t start out with one, I’d find one. There was a lovely Jewish girl named Edna whose father was very rich. She was bright, well educated and beautiful, with lovely brown hair and skin that was almost Oriental in color, and she lived with her father in a deluxe apartment on Park Avenue. For some reason, what I remember best about it were the drapes: the windows were covered with two layers of gossamer white curtains, first a lush tier of pleated satin, then floor-length folds of feathery white silk with the texture of a bridal veil. About two o’clock one morning, when I pulled up to her building on my motorcycle, the doorman looked at me as if I were a longshoreman who’d taken a wrong turn on his way to the docks. I climbed off the motorcycle and asked him to call Edna on the house telephone and tell her that Mr. Brando wanted to see her.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked.

I told him Edna was expecting me, which was not true, and said she would be very put out if she were informed later that I had called and not been allowed to come up.

With a doubtful look, the doorman dialed her apartment and woke her up. Over the phone, pressed to his ear, I heard a frail, sleepy voice say, “Who?”

“Mr. Brando.”

I couldn’t hear the next exchange, but the man hung up the phone and said, “Take the elevator to the left.”

“I know it well,” I said and turned my back on him to express how annoyed I was at the delay.

Edna’s father was asleep in his bedroom and we went into hers. There was a soft breeze, and the silk and satin curtains billowed behind her like the canopy of a silken parachute. She was wearing a very attractive soft satin nightgown. I pulled the sheets back and was almost paralyzed by the fragrance of her warm body.

Edna didn’t say anything while I got undressed. I got into bed and she put a soft, lovely arm around me. After we made love, she asked, “Would you like something to eat?” It was about four A.M. and still dark outside, although a narrow shaft of yellow moonlight pierced the curtains, casting a glow across the room. When I nodded, she went into the kitchen and fixed a tray set with Irish linen, English silver, French crystal, orange juice, eggs and perfectly done toast, all wonderfully arranged. I remember eating that breakfast with her beside me, the silver and crystal in front of me, thinking, This is the life, boy. If this ain’t it, you’re never gonna find it.

I had many romantic experiences like this, but I’ll always remember that particular one. I don’t know where Edna is now. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to her, but I’ve often wondered what became of her.

After the opening of A Streetcar Named Desire, Shattuck Military Academy began sending me letters inviting me to return. The commandant said that I was the most famous Shattuck man ever. “Please come back,” he said, “we’re really proud of you.”

I always thought it was unstylish of them to do this after they had kicked me out, and I ignored the letters. I’ve never gone back to Shattuck and never intend to.

20

FOR A LONG TIME I had the adolescent notion that I was a tough guy. I liked to box because of a silly idea that it would make me more of a man. I wanted to be tough like my father, who was not only a good boxer but a mean barroom fighter. I’m not saying I consciously wanted to be like my father—that was the last thing I wanted because I hated him—but I probably absorbed some of his characteristics inadvertently. He was a strong man; I may have believed that being strong meant being worthy, and, in my twenties, I considered myself a pretty decent boxer. During the run of Streetcar, I often persuaded a member of the crew to spar with me between acts. I bought some gloves and we threw a few punches at each