Speaking with a high squeaky voice I said, “Where is The Legina Stone?” (The name Mimosa sounded Japanese to me, so I did my best Japanese accent.)
Fiona said, “Mimosa wants to know where The Legina Stone is, ducks. You don’t happen to know a stone by that name, do you?”
Widdup scratched his head. “I can’t think of any.”
Malcolm interrupted with his high-pitched windy voice, as if a monsoon had hit his wind pipe. “Where is Tallulah’s Regina Stone.”
Fiona said, “Funny that Ben should bring up Tallulah. I’ve been thinking of her all day today for some reason. And just look at Spot, will you?” At the mention of Tallulah’s name, Spot got up from his place beside Widdup’s chair and started circling as if he were trying to catch his tail.
Malcolm asked, “Where is The Regina Stone?”
Widdup answered, “I wish I knew, Ben. Fiona and I would like to know which one of those buskers took it.” He looked at Fiona and asked, “Wouldn’t we, dear?”
Fiona nodded.
Malcolm stopped trying to speak in a haunting way and asked straight out. “How were you two able to afford this nice house plus the greenhouses plus all these acres?”
“Why, Ben,” Fiona said, “we thought you knew. Tallulah left us her apartment in the city. It was worth a half a million. We’ve just done very well. We love you, Ben, and will never sell you, but we’ve sold a lot of your cousins. But don’t worry and lose all your leaves again, dearie. They all have good homes. People don’t come to Smarty Plants to buy unless they guarantee our babies good homes.”
Malcolm said, “Come on, Jeanmarie. They didn’t take it. We better get back to Jericho Tel before we begin growing roots.”
Fiona tilted her head and said, “Why are you calling Mimosa Jeanmarie, Ben? Is she undergoing a mutation?”
Malcolm said, “She’s fine, Fiona. She’s just having a little identity crisis.”
“She’s so shy, you know. I wondered if she was just trying out new names.”
Widdup said, “She’s beyond the age where she should be doing that, love. Mimosa here is as old as Ben.”
I said, “Let’s get out of here, Malcolm.”
“Just a minute,” he said. He went over to Spot and patted him. Spot turned over onto his back. Malcolm started giving his underside a good rub, but I said, “Papillon!” and we disappeared from Smarty Plants.
Tallulah says, “Never wear jewelry that spells something. The quality should tell you everything except the time.”
nine
THERE WAS FROST on the ground when I started for school the next morning, so I wore my quilted vest. It was one that Mother had bought me in a Western Shop when we lived in Texas. She had appliqued and embroidered designs of mountains and a setting sun on the back, and on one half of the front she had embroidered a yellow rose of Texas, and on the other half, she had done an oil derrick in silver threads.
Malcolm was waiting for me when I came out of the trailer. He studied my vest but didn’t say anything until we were a few feet from the bus stop. “Nice threads,” he said. “Did you do it?” I told him that my mother had. “I didn’t think you had. It’s so neat. Turn around,” he said. I did. “I like the sun.”
“Don’t you like the mountains?”
“Just because I said I like the sun doesn’t mean that I don’t like the mountains. I like the whole thing. All right?”
“All right,” I said, and we boarded the bus.
That year no one at school wore anything but blue jeans. The fact that everyone wore blue jeans did not make it any easier to know what to wear. It was important that your blue jeans have the proper drop waist and bell bottoms. And it was necessary that they look as if they had been washed a lot. Worn and faded was the order of the day for the jeans, and worn and tie-dyed was the order of the day for tops. I heard one clone brag that she didn’t own a dress and another say that her mother wouldn’t sit near her in church because she had insisted on wearing an unironed blouse. What would have been really different that year would have been for a clone to show up at church in a dress, one that was ironed. The girl clones at Singer Grove were just like the ones in Texas; they knocked themselves out to be like everyone else and then bragged about how they were different. All their differences put into a pot and boiled down wouldn’t spice baby food. By trying to brag about how different they were, they just really showed how alike they were, because all their differences were alike.
The boy clones bragged about not being into clothes, but no one can wear clothes without being into them, and I saw two of them standing in front of a shoe store with their faces pressed against the window looking at boots with two-inch heels.
No one in all of Singer Grove Middle School had a vest like mine. It was authentic western wear, made into a work of art by my mother.
As I boarded the bus with Malcolm, I saw several of the clones looking me over, but they said nothing. I figured that they were as jealous of me as Josephs brothers were jealous of his cloak of many colors. School started, and I put the vest in my locker and forgot about it until I had to put it on to go home.
I still rushed to get on the school bus after school. I was less worried about becoming sick, but I was eager to get home to dump my books and go to Jericho Tel. I was sitting in the first seat behind the driver, bending over tying my shoe when two of the clones from my class got on. One of them was saying, “Her hair looks like it was cut with a lawn mower.” I recognized the voice of Lynette Hrivnak. The clone who was with her said, “And did you see that strange thing she wore today? I think she must shop for her clothes at Goodwill.” Then they saw me tying my shoe and made exaggerated shushing sounds to each other before taking their usual places in the back of the bus. I heard them giggle.
I did not look up from fastening my shoe immediately. If only I were invisible, I thought, I would go to the back of the bus where they were sitting and tweak their noses, pull their hair, run my fingernails across their cheeks, tear their T-shirts, kick their ankles, bop their chins, bite their hands, sock them in their stomachs and leave without their knowing what had tweaked, pulled, scratched, bopped, torn, kicked, bit and socked them.
Leaning down had brought blood to my face, and rage had heated me up until I felt like a Franklin stove. I took the time to tie knots in my shoes, then took a deep breath and made a decision. Rather than pretending that I had not heard anything, I would look up and find the faces that belonged to those voices. I did that.
I stared at Lynette first until she felt my eyes on her. I said nothing. At first she arched her eyebrows and stared back; her fellow clone did the same. I continued to stare. Lynette looked away, and the other attempted to smile. But the attempt did not come off. Before she had a chance to look away, I smiled. I continued to smile at her until she looked away in confusion. And all the rest of the way to Empire Estates Mobile Home Park, I stared at those clones, and I smiled each time one of them dared to return my look. By the time I got off the bus at my stop, I was very glad that I was visible. And I was so satisfied with what I had done that I didn’t even bother telling Malcolm.
“YOUR GARMENT is divine,” Tallulah said by way of greeting. “Come closer, let me look at it. Yes, you should always dress to suit yourself, Jeanmarie. I have never been a fan of fashion but I am a devotee of style. Remember that, darling. Stars have style.”
Stars have style. She knew! Tallulah knew that I was a future famous person. She knew that I was going to be a star.
I told Tallulah about how the clones had made fun of me on the bus and how I had stared them down. “They were jealous; I know they liked it,” I said, “I could see it in their eyes, but they will never admit it.”
“It wasn’t your vest they were jealous of,” Tallulah said. “They were jealous that you had the courage to wear something that was really different.” She then dismissed the whole subject with a wave of her hand and by saying, “Really, darling, don’t seek great reviews from small minds. They ha
ve neither the character nor the vocabulary for them.”
Malcolm was becoming impatient, and he asked Tallulah where she would be sending us. She did not answer directly but said that she was very curious about Nicolai Ion Simonescu. His IRS form showed that his place of employment was Queens, and he was living in Glen Cove. “I guess he did not marry Emmagene after all,” Tallulah said. “On the form where it says name of spouse, he has written Lucinda Wells. He also has a total of four dependents including himself.” She continued reading from the form, “Two children, Samuel and Amy Elizabeth. His place of business is called Nick’s Novelties. I don’t like the name. He was such talented young man Judging from his income tax return Nick’s Novelties is a success. Tallulah wonders what Nick’s Novelties does. I guess he is not a ventriloquist any longer. I simply adored Anna Karenina. Adored her, I tell you. Let Tallulah do one of Nicolai Ion’s routines for you.”
She rearranged the pillows from her divan so that they propped her upright. She spread her legs as if she were holding a cello between her knees or holding a dummy on one of them. She started to speak and then stopped. “I forgot to describe Anna Karenina. She is dressed in a white satin gown, and she wears long white gloves and a tiara. Nicolai begins by telling his audience that Anna Karenina has been living in a far corner of Russia and does not know that Russia no longer has a czar. Czar is Russian for king, darlings. You ought to know what royalty calls itself.”
“Were you royalty?” Malcolm asked.
“In my way, darling, I was. I ruled Broadway.”
I had to ask Tallulah to continue telling us about Anna Karenina.
“Anna Karenina has been sent to the United States as the Russian ambassador to the United Nations, but, of course, she knows nothing of democracy and thinks that the United Nations is a large palace on the East River, and that everyone has been invited to a costume ball. That’s the only way she can explain why the Arabs are dressed in bumooses, and the Africans are wearing dashikis, and the Indians have their heads wrapped in those divine turbans.”
Then Tallulah really began. She spoke in two voices, one for Nicolai, and one for Anna Karenina. Anna’s voice had a thick Russian accent. Nicolai asks Anna how she likes the United Nations.
ANNA: Is not bad, but I have make order for new furniture for the castle.
NICOLAI: What is wrong with the furniture you have now?
ANNA: Half of people make sleep at desks because they have not enough of bedrooms. I have order beds for guests to sleep.
NICOLAI: But, Mrs. Karenina, those people are not your house guests. They need desks, not beds. They are representatives of the world’s nations. They are there to help all the countries in the world get along with each other.
ANNA: Cannot be possible. Is house party. They make only talk. Vairy much talk. Vairy much talk about money, vairy much talk about how expensive is everything.
NICOLAI: Yes, Mrs. Karenina. They are there to talk about the business of the nations.
ANNA: How can be business? Everybody say how poor he is. Just like big house party. Everybody dress up, everybody arrive in limousine, everybody kiss and shake hands in front and say terrible things in back, everybody talk, and nobody listen. Is house party, I tell you. Is house party.
NICOLAI: Tell me, Mrs. Karenina, what do you think of Leonid Brezhnev?
ANNA: Him, I nevair invite again. He look terrible in tuxedo, and when I ask him to clear up the table, he say that no, he not do, that he is head of party. I ask him what kind of party is that, and he tell me Communist Party.
NICOLAI: Yes, that is true. Leonid Brezhnev is head of the Communist Party. All of Russia is part of the Communist Party now.
ANNA: What they serve at thees party?
NICOLAI: No, Anna, everyone serves the party.
ANNA: You call me Anna. I call you Nicky. Now, tell me, Nicky, what you mean, everybody serve the party? How can be, everybody serving the party? Who are guests if everybody serve?
NICOLAI: Your whole country is now part of the Communist Party. No one is a guest, and no one is a host.
ANNA: Is no fun at such party.
Malcolm and I applauded. Without getting up from her lounge, Tallulah bent down from the waist and swept her arm along the floor and took a bow. She pulled her legs back up on the sofa, leaned back, lit a cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke and said, “Oh, he was a talented one all right, that Nicolai Ion. I wonder why he did not many Emmagene, and I wonder if he took The Regina Stone.”
Malcolm said, “We’ll soon find out.”
“Not today,” Tallulah said. “Not today.” She waved her hands impatiently. Malcolm and I stood there like two dummies, not knowing what to do until Spot came forward and started nudging us downstage. Tallulah seemed to be staring off into space; she seemed to have no interest at all in our presence. She looked down briefly and smiled at Spot until we stood directly under the Epigene. “Spot has given us the shaft,” Malcolm said just as we were swept Topside and visible.
THERE WAS no call for us on Saturday after Mother and I returned from our weekly round of laundry and shopping. There was no call for us all of that weekend nor on Monday and Tuesday of the following week. On Wednesday Malcolm and I ran all the way to Jericho Tel from the bus stop without even stopping at home to dump our books. Spot was not there. We walked away wondering if Tallulah had gotten mixed up with the change from Daylight Savings Time to Standard Time. She was very bad at numbers. Maybe she had set her clock forward instead of back. We discussed this possibility at length; we were hoping for an easy explanation. What we tried not thinking of was that Tallulah didn’t want us: that either she did not want us to solve the mystery of The Regina Stone, or she thought that we couldn’t. Or worse, she just didn’t want to see us anymore.
On Thursday, we decided to take our shovels to Jericho Tel. We had convinced ourselves that Tallulah wanted us, needed us, but that something had gone wrong with her or with the Epigene, and she couldn’t reach us. We decided that it would be an act of kindness to break in. We stood together at the center of the Tel and pushed our shovels hard against the turf, but the minute the blades hit the dirt, they sent off sparks that spun us reeling back to the border of trees. Malcolm was dumped on one side of the weathergram tree, and I was on the other. It was not only our feelings that were hurt. We got the message: Appearances at Rahab Station were by invitation only. Tallulah didn’t want us.
And on that day when sparks flew from our shovels, sparks flew between Malcolm and me.
It began with Malcolm saying that maybe all Tallulah had wanted from us was to locate the buskers. “The way I figure it, Tallulah is done with us.”
“Done with us?” I said. “She can’t be done with us, I am not done with her.”
“That’s an example of your illogical mind.”
“But we have unfinished business. We haven’t found The Regina Stone.”
“Maybe it was never lost. Have you ever noticed that Tallulah never sends Spot Topside with his collar on. She never said those were all rhinestones. A dog collar full of rhinestones would be a logical place to hide a big diamond.”
I said that I had noticed, but I had not put the two things together, and Malcolm said that he was not surprised that I had not, for it took a logical mind to figure out things like that. Then he said that he didn’t see how being invisible accomplished anything.
“You may be super logical, Malcolm, but there is something wrong with you if you think that everything has to accomplish something. If everything had to accomplish something, there wouldn’t be any music.”
“I can live without ever returning to Rahab Station,” he said.
“Well, I can’t.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Of course, you can.”
“I’m not finished.”
“None of us is finished. No one is ever finished until he is dead.”
“You’re even wrong about that, logic-head. Tallulah is dead; you car. look her up in the encyclopedia and see that sh
e is dead, but she isn’t finished.”
“All I am saying is that she is finished with us.”
“Well, don’t say it because she isn’t.”
“Just because you don’t want to believe it, doesn’t make it true. The facts seem to bear me out.”
I mimicked him. “ ‘The facts seem to bear me out.’ You’re so full of facts that I wonder why you don’t franchise your brain to The World Almanac. ‘The facts seem to bear me out.’ ”
“The fact is that I’m getting tired of being sent Topside to do her errands. I can live without ever being invisible again.”
“Well, I can’t,” I screamed.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic. Drama is my future.”
He flicked his hands as if he were swatting an annoying insect. “Well, it’s not mine. Being invisible may help you, but it doesn’t help me one little bit.”
“Come to think of it, Malcolm, I don’t know why Tallulah invited you into Rahab Station at all.”
“She let me into Rahab Station because she needed someone who had some sense and who could be orderly and methodical about doing her errands.”
“Orderly and methodical! Hunh! Who left his hand in his pocket? Not me. Not me.”
“Who got the information from the IRS? That’s the kind of orderly and methodical that you could never do, will never do, will never be able to do and neither could Tallulah, and I’ll tell you why. Because you can’t think straight, and neither can she. She may have invited you because of what she can do for you—give you hints about being a lah-de-dah actress—but she invited me for my brain. It’s as simple as that. I don’t need Tallulah, and I don’t need Jericho Tel, and I don’t care if we never get back to Rahab Station.”
“You do, too, need Tallulah.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“I can’t think of one.”
He crossed his arms across his chest and smirked. “See? You can’t think of one, and do you want to know why? Because you can’t think. Period. That’s your biggest problem, Jeanmarie. You can’t think.”
Up From Jericho Tel Page 9