July 1956
A few days after the Punch Bowl Incident, just before dinner, Dad made an announcement.
“Kids, I have a special surprise.”
Shit, I thought, here we go again. The last surprise, a new life in Marin, flopped. What now?
“Kids, we’re moving to a ranch, a big house, lots of room on hundreds of acres.” Shit, I thought, we’re going to end up living with the hicks in Point Reyes.
“Dad,” Bud said, “we don’t want to live way out in the sticks, we’re city boys.”
“No, it’s just outside San Rafael. It even has a pool.”
He’s getting wackier, I thought. Maybe he’s had another stroke. “Dad, come on, we don’t have a pot to piss in. How the hell are we gonna pull this off?”
Mom must have been in on it. She just sat there smiling. Dad, beaming, brushed aside my concerns. “No problem, Louie Frietas is going to let us live there till I get things together. You know, it’s the family ranch just outside San Rafael. Louie uses the cottage, and no one uses the house.”
Louie was a dark-skinned, crafty-eyed bachelor, beloved CYO coach at St. Rafael’s Catholic School and a member of the prominent, wealthy, land-rich, Portuguese milk-farming clan. He was also an uncle of Spike Frietas, one of our snobby Marin Catholic classmates. It sounded to me like Dad hit Louie up for money and we ended up with a mansion and a pool.
I looked at Bud. He seemed to buy it. Maybe things were gonna get better. The words, “a swimming pool” echoed through my head. Shit. Not bad. The Smiths with a pool. I was already planning parties, barbecues.
“Hey, let’s take a look before it gets dark,” Dad said.
The ranch was bordered on one side by Tierra Linda, the Eichler subdivision, the first suburban development west of San Rafael. It lined one side of the valley north of Frietas Boulevard.
Rolling, oak-filled hills and open fields surrounded the ranch. The house, down a long eucalyptus-lined driveway, was barely visible from the 101 Freeway frontage road. The three-story Victorian with a wraparound porch and French doors, vines clinging to old posts, was badly in need of a paint job. It sat in neglected regal splendor. To me, it was a country mansion.
The pool was just across the circular drive, in front of wide stairs leading to an enormous, oak front door. Surrounded by palm trees and green lawn, its water glistened and shimmered in the sunset, beckoning to me to jump in.
The kids looked wide-eyed.
“Whoopi,” Jane yelled. “It’s so big!”
The house was filled with Oriental rugs, rich mahogany tables and antiques. The kids ran from room to room through the first floor checking out the living room, dining room, kitchen, pantry, parlor, den, and a bathroom. They ran up the long stairway to the second floor, which had a long hallway connecting with six bedrooms and two bathrooms. The third story was a high-ceilinged, unfinished attic piled with boxes, furniture, cabinets, chests, and who knew what treasures.
That night, in bed, my mind raced with plans. Happy days were here again. I couldn’t wait to call my old buddies from the city and invite them to a first weekend barbecue and dip in the pool. What a great come on.
“Say, how would you girls like to go for a midnight swim at our ranch?” I pictured nubile bodies, gliding through the moonlit waters, hugging, kissing and dry-humping through the night. On a sultry summer afternoon, I could say, “It’s kinda hot today. How’d you like to cool off in our pool?” Visions of thighs glistening with suntan oil, bottoms wiggling and shaking on the diving board filled my sleepy head.
First thing, the next day, I called Don and Mike, my best buddies from St. Cecilia’s. “Hey, can you come up for a little swim and barbecue at our ranch?”
“Sounds fantastic. A pool? I’ll be there. I can borrow my brother’s car,” Mike replied.
Don, a fast mover with the girls, jumped at the chance to score some points. “I just met a couple of girls from Lincoln at a party last night. Can I invite them?”
My mouth watered, “Sure, the more the merrier.”
Dad wasn’t around that morning. He was checking out a job lead and then had a get-together with Louie Frietas to nail down the exact move-in date.
A few hours later, Dad came home somewhat subdued.
“Hey, Dad, we’re so excited! Don Leonardini and Mike Gaffney and a few girls are coming for a swim and a barbecue to celebrate the first weekend in our ranch.”
He grimaced. “Kids, I’m sorry about this, but we can’t use the pool that weekend. It’s the Frietas family pool day.”
“Ah, hell,” I said, “what a drag. Well, I’ll call them and say we have to postpone it. Wish I knew sooner.”
“Well, it’s more than that. We can’t use the pool at all. Period.”
“You gotta be kidding. Why? There must be some times they aren’t using it.”
“Don’t make it hard on me. We need a place to stay, with or without the pool. We just can’t use it. It’s off-limits.
“Fuck them. Fuck their pool. Fuck their house.” I shouted.