|
|
 |
 |
|
| Diahann Carroll, actress and singer |
The Magic Words |
|
|
The same year I started modeling I acquired my first boyfriend. Tommy was eighteen, a full three years older than I was, and had already graduated from high school. He was the star boxer in our neighborhood, the winner of the Golden Gloves contest sponsored by the Daily News.
After two years of going together, we finally made love for the first time. I was terrified of sex and had put it off for as long as possible. (I can still hear my mother's voice: "Nice girls don't 'do it' until they're married" or "Remember, if you let yourself get swept away in the passion of the moment and become pregnant, your life will be ruined forever.") But for all his saintly patience, Tommy was persistent. "Listen, you're sweet and you're lovely, but let's face it, I can't keep going on like this. It's ridiculous." And then he came up with a wonderful line: "And, um, I have to tell you, there's this other girl who wouldn't mind going all the way. It doesn't have to be anything more than that, and it won't change my feelings for you — but I'm just going to have to do it."
Those were the magic words. I've never been any good at sharing my men with other women. And I wanted to be wanted. So we made a plan. He would take care of the protection. I would tell my mother I'd be studying in the library after school. We would meet at his home, since both his parents would be away for the afternoon.
I walked to his house like a condemned murderer on her way to the electric chair.
We struggled to make conversation for a while, but then it was time. I closed my eyes and blanked it all out. I remember nothing. When it was over, I cried. "This is it?" I thought to myself. And then came the realization — "Oh my God! What have I done!" Tommy, who must have thought I was crying for another reason, hugged me and said not to worry — he had taken the necessary precautions. Naturally, I went into the bathroom to look in the mirror and found that I really didn't look any different. I wanted to leave, but he asked me to stay. When his sister came home, she was attentive and kind (she knew what her brother had asked me to do). The three of us sat around talking, and I began to feel less strange. "Well, maybe this isn't the end of the world," I found myself thinking. "Maybe the next time, it might be all right to open just one eye." (New York, 1950)
from Diahann! An Autobiography by Diahann Carroll with Ross Firestone (Little, Brown, © 1986)
© 2000 Nerve.com, Inc.
|
|
|
|
|
