Outrageously Alice

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  Marilyn was chatty and sparkly, and took second helpings of everything. She looked as though she were ready to conquer the world—Lester, anyway—now that the competition was out of the way.

  Les was quiet. He was serious and polite and acted about ten years older. Where would we all be and what would we be doing the following Thanksgiving? I wondered.

  Marilyn left early because both she and Lester had papers to write over the weekend, and Les had a big exam coming up. But Janice hung around till every last piece of food was put away, the turkey carcass was picked over and plunked in the trash bag, and the dishes done. Once you let Janice Sherman in your house, she doesn’t stop till the place is organized, and I was afraid she’d tackle our closets next. Dad tried to get her to sit down in the living room for a while.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing more I can do?” she asked.

  “Only sit and watch this old man fall asleep,” he joked. “Alice and I have a big day tomorrow, and I hate to admit it, but I’m tired.”

  “Well, it was a wonderful Thanksgiving, Ben. I loved being a part of your family,” she said.

  That was a proposal if I ever heard one, but Dad just gave her a squeeze, helped her on with her coat, and carried her dishes and containers out to the car.

  “She’s not, is she?” I asked him as soon as he came back inside.

  “Who’s not what?”

  “A part of our family?”

  “Not unless we adopt her or something.”

  “Dad, please don’t marry Janice Sherman.”

  “Good grief, it never entered my head.”

  “Then let’s keep it that way,” I said.

  As I passed Lester’s room later, I saw him sitting at his desk with tablets and textbooks all around him. He stopped to stretch, tipping his head way back, and saw me standing in the doorway.

  “What’s this? A spy?”

  I walked on in and leaned against his closet door.

  “Could I ask a personal question?” I said.

  “If I can answer it in thirty seconds.” He took a drink of Pepsi from the can on his desk.

  “Are you real upset you didn’t get an invitation to Crystal’s wedding?”

  For once, he didn’t try to turn one of my questions into a joke.

  “In a way,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to look at Crystal as a lovely chapter in my life, and that’s all. I’ve got the memories, and I really hope she and Peter are happy. He seems nice enough, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Good,” I said. “And you’re not the least bit sorry she made the choice for you, and that it’s Marilyn you’ve ended up with, not Crystal?” Maybe I would make a great psychiatrist.

  “Hello? Did I miss something here? Is Marilyn the last woman on earth?”

  “No … I just thought … with Crystal out of the picture, maybe …”

  “Cut it out, Al. And don’t go putting ideas in Marilyn’s head, either. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Elizabeth and Pamela both came over the next day to help me put on my bridesmaid’s dress and specially dyed shoes to match, and the string of fake pearls and the earrings.

  “I’ll powder your back,” said Elizabeth after I’d put on the slip and strapless bra.

  “Powder my back?” I said. “Why?”

  “So it doesn’t shine,” she said. “Women are always supposed to powder themselves when they wear backless dresses so their skin doesn’t shine.”

  I don’t know where Elizabeth gets this stuff. Her mother looks normal enough. “Elizabeth, tell me,” I said. “I really want to know. What’s wrong with a shiny back?”

  Even Pamela had never heard that one.

  “It shows she’s perspiring,” said Elizabeth.

  “So?”

  “So she’s sweating! Women aren’t supposed to sweat.”

  I guessed it would be breathing, next.

  “Elizabeth, everyone sweats. What do you suppose our bodies do when we play volleyball? Leak?”

  “Well, in the olden days,” Elizabeth informed us, “they referred to it as ‘glowing.’ If a woman sweat, it meant she did manual labor, and if she did manual labor, she was no lady.”

  “We’ve come a long way, baby!” said Pamela, and we laughed, even Elizabeth.

  Nevertheless, my back was powdered, my fingernails polished, my hair curled, my eyebrows plucked, my makeup applied, my panty hose untwisted, and finally the beautiful jade green gown was slipped over my head. I looked like Cinderella. Dad took a picture.

  Patrick rode over on his bike to see me off, and I felt as though I was the one getting married. I realized I was the first one of our crowd to be a bridesmaid, and we all knew this was a big step into the adult world.

  “What’s this Danny guy like?” Patrick asked as he held the car door open for me and waited while I got the hem of my dress inside.

  “Nice. High school senior. He wants to go into engineering,” I said.

  “He make any moves on you?”

  Why is it that when a guy asks about love, it sounds like wrestling or something?

  “He was a gentleman,” I said.

  “Good,” said Patrick.

  Dad and I got to the church a half hour early, and then everyone stood around and waited for the bride. They say that brides are always late for their own weddings, but when it became fifteen minutes past the hour, then twenty, I began to get nervous.

  What if Lester wasn’t home studying at all? What if he and Crystal had this secret plan to elope at the last minute? Wouldn’t that be wild?

  Standing at the back of the sanctuary, I could see people looking at their watches now and then, or turning around to see if Crystal had come. Even Peter wandered into the foyer asking us if anyone had seen Crystal.

  I realized I still wanted something outrageous to happen—if not to me, then to someone else. I wanted it to be something a lot more profound than dyeing my hair green. There were too many unresolved things in my life: Dad and Miss Summers; Janice Sherman without either a boyfriend or a uterus; Patrick acting dumb; Mark acting worse; Pamela’s parents separating; Elizabeth refusing to go out alone with Justin Collier, who was obviously wild about her. Me … Everything about me was up in the air.

  I wanted action! Decisions! I wanted, as Les might say, an event to change the course of human destiny, mine in particular. I wanted chapters to close, so that others could open up, and I could get on with it!

  And then, just as I was prepared for anything, I heard whispers from downstairs. Crystal was coming up with her maid of honor holding her train. She looked as happy and excited as any other bride on her wedding day, and if she was thinking at all of Lester, you sure couldn’t tell it.

  The music changed suddenly to something louder and more grand, and people sat up expectantly. A door opened on one side of the altar, and Peter came in with his best man. Then the ushers joined them. Peter stood with his hands folded in front of him, half turned so that he could see the back of the sanctuary. All the men were wearing tuxedos.

  The bridesmaids lined up in the proper order, and I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I was the bridesmaid who went first because I was the one who knew Crystal the least or because I was the shortest, but I didn’t mind. Listening for my cue, I started slowly down the aisle. I couldn’t help smiling, especially when I saw Dad smiling at me from one of the side pews.

  The hard part was standing on one foot for a second before moving the other foot up. That little pause where you hope you don’t fall over sideways.

  Peter smiled at me, though, and everyone else was looking in my direction. I knew that once I got to the altar, the other bridesmaids would be halfway down, and then the maid of honor, so I just let my beautiful dress rustle as I walked, and let my beautiful toes peek out of my beautiful open-toed shoes, and let my beautiful hands hold my beautiful bouquet, smiling my beautiful smile.

  I moved on over to the far end of the altar, across from the groomsmen, and turned so I was
half facing the congregation. The other bridesmaids were on their way, and finally Crystal appeared in the doorway, holding her father’s arm.

  The music changed again, bolder still, and everybody stood up. I almost expected the organist to play “God Save the Queen.” I wonder why people do that at weddings—stand up for the bride? As though she’s more important than the groom. When people are standing, no one can see her, anyway.

  But finally Crystal got to the front of the church, her dad kissed her cheek and let go of her arm, then everyone sat down again except the wedding party, and the ceremony began.

  I realized suddenly that my eyes had filled with tears. No! I didn’t want to cry! I didn’t want my mascara to run. But the ceremony was so solemn and beautiful, I couldn’t help it. What I wanted, I guess, was for it to be Lester standing up here in front of the church with his friends. Lester looking at Crystal the way Peter was looking at her, and for both of them to live happily ever after. I gulped and swallowed, and when I could, I slipped one hand to my face and quickly wiped my eyes.

  And then I saw Lester standing at the back of the church, to one side of the doorway. My heart almost stopped. He hadn’t received an invitation, but he’d come anyway.

  Yes! Do something outrageous, Lester! I pleaded silently. Charge down the aisle, swoop Crystal up in your arms with her petticoats rustling and her satin shoes pointed toward the ceiling! I wanted her to say, “Oh, Lester, I hoped you’d come!” and Lester to say, “I can’t live without you. Sorry, Pete!”

  Now, Lester, now! I begged with my eyes. I didn’t want my life to go on undecided the way it had. I wanted Lester married now! I wanted Dad engaged! I wanted to know if I would really become a psychiatrist, and I wanted all my friends to get their heads on straight.

  I must have been staring so hard at Lester that the bridesmaid beside me noticed, because she gave a little nudge. I concentrated on the minister again, but when I glanced toward the back of the church a moment later, Lester was gone. The minister asked if anyone knew of any reason Crystal and Peter should not marry, and no one said a word. Les had just wanted to close a chapter in his own life, that was all.

  By the time I heard the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife; Peter, you may kiss your bride,” I was weeping again, and when the wedding procession went back up the aisle, and I put my arm in Danny’s, he fished a tissue out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  Everyone else got to go to the hotel where the reception was being held, but the wedding party had to stay at the church longer to have their photographs taken. I decided one thing: I never want to be an actress or model. I absolutely cannot stand to wait and wait and wait. For people to be ready. For the photographer to be ready. For lining up and checking heights and straightening collars and arranging dresses. When the photographer snapped our pictures at last, my smile felt as though it had been carved into my face with a penknife, and my jaw ached from looking pleasant.

  At last we were done, and we drove to the reception. We entered couple by couple until finally the bride and groom were announced. The band began to play, and Crystal and Peter danced slowly around the floor, their eyes on each other, the spotlight on them. Then the bride danced with her father, the groom danced with his mother, and I was glad when all the obligatory dancing was over because it meant we could eat.

  Dad had found some people he knew to sit with, but I sat at the head table beside Danny, with the wedding party. There were lots of toasts to the bride and groom, and every time people starred clapping rhythmically, Crystal and Peter were supposed to stop eating and kiss each other. Finally they didn’t pay attention to the clapping anymore and just ate.

  Dad said I could have a sip of champagne to toast the bridal couple, but no more. There was a bar, though, and a table full of beer on ice, and I noticed that Danny had a couple of beers.

  It’s strange, but as I was sitting there at the head table looking out over the room, I began to feel that my life was moving forward—that at last I was growing up, because I realized how foolish it would have been if Lester had run off with Crystal. She’d made her decision with no guarantees whatsoever, and Les and I had to do the same. Maybe Lester wouldn’t marry anyone. Maybe I’d change my mind and decide not to be a psychiatrist after all, but at least I was inching closer to the person I wanted to be—more than just a clone of everyone else, but not so outrageously different that I had to wear green spikes on my head.

  I had just taken a bite of my scalloped potatoes when Danny said, “Come on, let’s dance.” Other people were out on the floor, so I wiped my mouth and got up.

  Please help me remember how to slow-dance! I prayed, and wondered if God paid attention to a girl who seemed to pray most when she was in a tight spot.

  As soon as Danny put his arms around me, I could smell the beer. I really hate the smell of it. But it was Crystal’s wedding, after all, and I decided I’d be a good sport. I put one hand on Danny’s shoulder. Instead of holding my other hand out to one side, though, Danny held it between us, at chest level, so he was sort of pressing his hand against my breast.

  He smiled at me through half-closed eyes, and kept pulling me closer. We stayed at the edge of the crowd, out of the spotlight, and moved back and forth from one foot to the other, but it seemed we were hardly moving at all. It made me uncomfortable. I suppose it was flattering in a way that Danny was so attracted to me, but how did I know it was me that was doing this to him and not the beer?

  He leaned forward and nuzzled my face, then licked my ear, moaning a little. I tried to pull away and laugh it off, but he just pressed closer against me. Our bodies were so close already, I felt like a grilled cheese sandwich. I thought of all the times in seventh grade I had watched the older kids kissing by their lockers, their bodies glued to each other, and how I had envied them.

  But suddenly I didn’t want Danny’s beer breath in my face. I didn’t want his tongue in my ear and his hand pushing down on the small of my back.

  “Danny …” I said.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered lazily, and moved me slowly around the floor.

  “I’d like to go back and finish my dinner,” I said.

  “You can always eat. It’ll wait,” he said.

  “Please stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “What you’re doing.”

  He moaned again. “What am I doing?”

  The music stopped, but Danny didn’t let go. He kept moving me around the edge of the dance floor, and we were still locked together, like two dogs in an alley. It was embarrassing.

  The music began again. It wasn’t a song I recognized, but the ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three were familiar.

  And suddenly I pushed myself away from Danny, removing his fingers from my back, and walked over to Dad.

  “It’s a waltz,” I said, and smiled.

  I didn’t even see what happened to Danny. Dad and I moved around the dance floor, the fastest couple there, taking this big first step, and then two little catch-up steps. ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three … Around and around we whirled. We were really traveling, and a few couples moved back to make room.

  I just smiled and smiled. I couldn’t help it. Dad was smiling too. He looked at me as though I were a princess, and for that one night I was.

  Crystal may have married the wrong man, and Patrick might never grow up, and who knew what would happen to Pamela, Elizabeth, and Sylvia Summers. But right at that moment, on the day after Thanksgiving, I was doing a waltz with my father, and we made quite a couple. Outrageous, in fact!

  Find out what happens

  next for Alice in

  A PROMISING START

  ONE OF MY TEACHERS, MR. EVERETT, used to tell us, “Be a person who makes things happen; don’t just let life happen to you.”

  I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately because I’m starting to plan my life—as much as any life can be planned, I guess—and I wrote down my list of priorities. What do I most want to happen first? T
hat’s easy: I want my dad to marry Miss Summers—the gorgeous teacher with the blue eyes and light brown hair.

  They’ve been seeing each other for a whole year now, ever since seventh grade when I invited her to go to the Messiah Sing-Along with us. When Dad found out I’d invited my English teacher, he thought she’d be a little old woman he’d have to help down the steps, and was delighted to find that she’s intelligent, warm, talented, gracious, beautiful, and, in short, a real sweetheart. She’d make a wonderful wife for Dad and a mom for me, with only one little hitch: Someone else is in love with her, too: Jim Sorringer, our vice-principal.

  I’m pretty sure she loves my dad; I’ve seen the way they look at each other, and they enjoy the same things. It was when Mr. Sorringer took a leave of absence to get his Ph.D. in California that Sylvia Summers and Dad first met, and now that Sorringer’s back in the picture, Miss Summers is torn between the two great loves of her life. That’s the way I see it, anyway. The other priorities on my list are:

  2. Decide on a career I’d really love, which I think is going to be psychiatry, but I’m not sure.

  3. Get to know some other guys, even though I really, really like Patrick Long.

  4. Do something about my body—hair, skin, waist, legs—everything.

  5. Be a better sister to Lester and a better friend to Elizabeth and Pamela.

  Those are my short-term goals. Marriage and kids and a house and stuff aren’t even in the picture yet, but I decided these are the things I should think about first. And since numbers two through five would be a whole lot easier if I had a mother to help me make decisions, I’ve committed myself to putting all my energy into getting Dad and Miss Summers married.

  I used to think I couldn’t stand it if they didn’t. The thought of having to go through high school, to dances, through breakups and disappointments, getting married, even, without a mom’s advice, somebody to talk to late at night about woman stuff, was just too awful. Now, though, I realize that even a mom can’t solve everything, but I still want Miss Summers to marry my dad, for his sake. Worse than not having a mother myself is seeing my dad unhappy. My own mom died when I was in kindergarten. Lester remembers her better than I do because he’s seven years older than I am. I keep getting memories of her mixed up with memories of Aunt Sally, who took care of us for a while after Mom died.