I round the corner and see, much to my relief, that Shirley's car isn't in the driveway. So I let myself in and go straight up to Mike's room, which is where I'm getting the raincoat Frank asked me to bring. I wonder why he wants me to bring a raincoat of all things. Well, it's no weirder than some of the other things he's had me dress up in. He didn't say what kind of raincoat, so I hope Mike's is okay. Anyway, it's the best I can do.
I take it out of his closet and try it on. It's too big, of course, but I hope that won't matter. It looks more like a trench coat than a raincoat; Mike stole it from school one year, from the drama department when they were putting on Guys and Dolls. He said it made him look like a gangster, like it was the perfect coat to deal drugs in. It really is a pretty cool coat, kind of like what spies wear. I hope Frank likes it, not that it really matters. Knowing him, I probably won't keep it on very long.
The front door opens, which means Shirley's arrived upon the scene, so I take off Mike's raincoat, stuff it into my backpack, and head into my room before she can come upstairs and see what I'm up to. I guess now everything's in order for tomorrow's big event. I'm not really sure what to expect but I'm sure Frank will know what to do. And even though I'm not his first girl, I hope I'll be his last. I hope after tomorrow, he'll want to be with me and nobody else forever. That's what I'm going to wish for when I blow out the candles on my birthday cake. I'm sure Shirley will at least get me a cake, and birthday wishes have been known to come true. I mean, I didn't even wish for Frank, and he just showed up in my life like a miracle. So if that can happen, who knows what else life has in store?
ELEVEN
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday tome … I know it's pretty corny, but I do feel special today, even though it's just a day like any other day. December 17, 1971, my sixteenth birthday.
I get out of bed, shower and dress, and then pause at the top of the stairs because I hear someone in the kitchen, which is very unusual. Normally at this time Fred is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway and Shirley is snoring away to beat the band. I stall as long as possible but I can't stay up here forever, so I finally go into the kitchen and there's Shirley in her green velour bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers and there's Fred in his work clothes.
“Happy birthday,” Fred and Shirley say in unison, like they rehearsed it.
Shirley's even set the table like she's Donna Reed or we're some other TV family from the fifties that actually eats breakfast together.
“Want a bagel?” she asks, which is totally bizarre because whenever Shirley makes me breakfast, which is pretty much never, she offers me Special K and skim milk, and if I'm lucky, half a grapefruit or a piece of plain dry toast. I guess everyone's on their best behavior today, so I don't say Shirley you jest, like I'm tempted to; I just say yes and sit down. But before I can take my first bite of bagel, Fred hands me an envelope.
“Thanks,” I say, and when I tear it open, I almost have a heart attack because there, taped to the pink, flowery card that says Happy Sweet Sixteen to Our Darling Daughter, is something I never thought I'd see in my entire life: a car key.
“What's this?” I ask Fred, since I know better than to think the Rents are giving me wheels for my birthday. Mike doesn't even own a car yet, and he'd totally blow his stack if his baby sister got one first.
“It's a key to my car for when you get your learner's permit,” Fred says, and then he attacks his fried eggs, which are totally runny and disgusting so I try not to look. “I'm going to teach you how to drive, just like I taught Mike.”
Oh great. This is not something to look forward to, because if I remember correctly, there was a lot of screaming and door-slamming and stormy silences at the dinner table between the time Mike got his learner's permit and the time he got his driver's license.
“Thanks a lot, Fred,” I say, pocketing the key. I figure we can discuss the driving lessons another time.
“And here's another present,” Shirley says, handing me a little box all wrapped up in silver paper and tied with a shiny white bow. Usually we wait and do presents at night, but I guess sixteen is more special than regular birthdays.
I take off the wrapping paper and almost gasp because the box is exactly the same as the one Shirley keeps her wedding ring in. Same size, same shape, same color, same everything. Shirley's never said anything about the ring so I'm pretty sure she hasn't noticed it's missing, but still, this box makes me nervous. The lid even creaks exactly like Shirley's wedding ring box, which freaks me out even more, but I just make myself act normal, whatever that means, and peek inside.
It's a locket. A gold locket shaped like a heart with tiny flowers etched into it. I have to admit it's really pretty, even though it's not exactly my style. I'm not the kind of girl that goes in for hearts and flowers, which Shirley would realize if she ever bothered to open her eyes. But for some reason, I don't want to hurt her feelings today, so I don't say anything. It's weird, but like everyone else, I'm on my best behavior, too.
“Here, I'll put it on for you.” Shirley takes the locket out of my hands before I can say anything and steps behind me. I lift all my hair off my neck so she can fasten the chain.
“It looks beautiful,” Shirley says when I turn around. “My mother got it from her mother when she was sixteen and she gave it to me when I was sixteen. I've been saving it for you ever since you were a little girl.”
“Thanks, Shirley.”
“You're welcome.” She tilts her head a little to the left, the same way Ronnie's toy poodle does when you say to her, “Pompom, want to go out?” I know that's my cue to give Shirley a kiss on the cheek, so I do. And then before I can step back, Shirley grabs me with both arms and gives me this enormous, bone-crushing hug, which is something she's never done before. And believe me, for someone as skinny as a cigarette, Shirley's a lot stronger than she looks. I put my arms around her and hug her back because I don't know what else to do, and I'm surprised at how fragile she feels. Like I could snap her bones in half if I wanted to.
Finally Shirley releases me and steps back. “Do you really like it?” she asks, reaching out to adjust the locket.
“Yeah, Shirley,” I say, and I mean it too. It's pretty cool to think that Shirley had this present waiting for me even before I was born. Though I wonder if Shirley was really saving it for Melissa, my sister who died. Since she was older, she would have turned sixteen first. Maybe we would have shared it. Or fought over it. Except that if she didn't die, I wouldn't even be here, so I guess that's all beside the point.
I eat my toasted bagel and then hurry off to school. And who's the first person I see when I get there?
Donald Caruso, of course.
“Ooh, Dee-Dee,” he says the minute I take off my coat. “Your girlfriend sent you a locket. You must be dee-lirious with joy.”
“Listen, you moron.” I go right up in his face. “This is a family heirloom and it's the only thing I have from my great-grandmother who died in the Holocaust, so just lay off, you hear me?”
“Sorry.” Donald actually looks apologetic as he backs away. Of course, what I said wasn't true, but I'm especially not in the mood for Donald today. I'm not in the mood for anything except that final bell, which is taking forever to ring. I keep looking at the clock and this is how I tell time: four hours and twenty minutes till Frank, three hours and fifteen minutes till Frank, two hours till Frank, one hour till Frank …
Finally school is over, thank God. I don't think I could sit still one minute longer. I grab my knapsack and peek inside to make sure Mike's raincoat is still in there, which is silly, since it can't exactly open my locker and walk away. Then I head out the door without even buttoning up my jacket and it's not exactly July. But I don't care. I get to the spot where I usually meet Frank a little early, hoping that he'll be there already because he just can't wait to see me, the way I can't wait to see him. But he's not here yet, which doesn't really surprise me. Frank isn't one to mess with our routine.
I
stamp my feet a little, trying to stay warm while I wait for him. It's so cold out, I wish I was in Bessie's barn with her, but I'm sure I won't be out here much longer. Frank will be here any minute. While I wait for him, I look at my new locket. I open it and shut it, and then for some reason, I decide to take it off and put it in my pocket next to my lucky shell, because what if Frank sees it and thinks some guy gave it to me instead of Shirley? Then he'll get all mad and jealous. Yeah, like what guy would ever give me a locket, Batman?
So where is Frank already? I don't have a watch on, but I know it's past the time when he usually gets here. I can't even think about the possibility that he's not going to show up, so I start walking up and down a little, waving my arms to keep the blood flowing, and then, just because I feel like it, I break into this ridiculous cheer: “Frank, Frank he's our man, if he can't do it, no one can!” And I shake my hands out in front of my chest like I'm holding two pompoms or something. And then, just as I start in with, “Two, four, six, eight, Frankie Boy is really great,” I hear his car take the corner and my heart starts beating so fast I'm afraid it's going to explode right there in my chest.
“How come you're late?” I ask as soon as I get in the car. God, what a moron I am. I sound just like Shirley when Fred gets home late from the office. Shirley says I never think before I speak and for once in her life she's right.
But Frank doesn't get mad, which is a nice surprise; you never know with Frank. “I just wanted to give you one last chance to change your mind,” he says, putting his hand on my knee as he starts to drive. “This is a very serious thing, Vanessa.”
Duh, like I don't know that. I mean, you could get a horrible disease like syphilis and die from what we're about to do, or you could get pregnant and have a baby if you're not careful. Which is weird when you think about it. Sex really is a matter of life and death.
“I didn't change my mind” is all I say, since I don't want to get all intense and heavy on Frank. Then I sit back in my seat and stare at his hand. It's so good to see it again—weird pinkie and all—I feel like, I don't know, picking it up and squeezing it or kissing it even. I also feel like peeking into the backseat to see if Frank got me a birthday present, but I don't dare turn around.
Frank doesn't say one word the rest of the way to the house and I'm worried he forgot it's my birthday, but now isn't exactly the time to remind him. I mean, he did show up and everything, didn't he? Yeah, but he hasn't even wished me a happy birthday. It wouldn't kill him to at least say that. I'm kind of mad, but when we get to the house I see what a big fat idiot I am because Frank has decorated the entire downstairs of the house with streamers and balloons and everything. There's a banner that says Sweet Sixteen hung up in the kitchen too, and on the counter there's even a little cake with pink and white frosting and sixteen candles in it.
“Frank, you're the best,” I say, giving him a hug, and even though he's not usually into big displays of affection, he holds me close and strokes my hair for a minute. Then he gets out his matches and lights all the candles and while I think of a wish, he lights himself a butt. I don't know what to wish for since I already have Frank, which is everything I want. I think a minute more and then wish that this year would fly by so I'll turn seventeen and then Frank and I won't have to sneak around anymore and we can be together forever. Then I take a deep breath and blow out all my candles on the first try, which means my wish will definitely come true.
I take the candles out of my cake, cut two pieces with my Swiss army knife, and serve them to us on plates that say Sweet Sixteen. Frank only takes one little bite of his, and you'd think I'd be too nervous to eat too, but I actually finish my piece and have another.
When I'm done eating, Frank says, “Let's go upstairs,” so we do. I thought maybe he'd tell me to go upstairs first and put on the raincoat, but it's weird, he made such a big deal out of me bringing it, but he hasn't even mentioned it yet. I take my knapsack upstairs anyway and follow Frank into the room where the sleeping bags are.
“Get undressed,” Frank says, unzipping his jacket.
I drop my knapsack in the corner. “Don't you want me to put on an outfit or something?”
“Yeah, your birthday suit, birthday girl,” he says, and then he chuckles at his joke, which is so funny I forgot to laugh.
“Can't I put an outfit on?” I ask Frank, and even though he's annoyed, he says okay. I don't know why, but I feel a little scared to be totally naked if he's going to be totally naked too. I change into my black lace outfit, come back into the sleeping bag room, and then for the first time ever, watch Frank take off his clothes.
First he bends over to take off his work boots and socks, but as soon as his bare feet hit the floor, he puts his socks right back on. “Criminy, it's cold in here,” he says, like that's news to me. It's been freezing for the past month, but how would Frank know that? He's never even taken off his jacket.
Next he unbuckles his belt and drops it on the floor, where it curls up like a sleeping snake. Then he undoes his pants and lets them drop to his ankles and I don't mean to stare, but Frank has the hairiest legs I've ever seen. He's wearing white boxer shorts and he leaves them on while he takes off his shirt and his undershirt, and I try to keep my face still so I don't look shocked because Frank is just one big fat hairball, he really is. I mean, Fred has some hair on his chest and so does Mike, but Frank— I hate to say this—he's like a total ape. He's got thick dark hair on his chest, his stomach, his arms, and even his shoulders, too.
Frank drops his clothes on the floor and then just stands there in his underwear. “Don't be scared, Vanessa,” he says, so I guess he can tell I am. “C'mere, baby.” He speaks in his nice, soothing voice, which makes me happy. I go to him and let him hug me a little. Then he releases me and speaks gruffly. “Get the raincoat.”
I bend over for my knapsack and pull out Mike's trench coat. It's pretty wrinkled from being balled up all day, but I don't think Frank will notice. I shake the coat out and hold it up. “Do you want me to put it on?”
Frank startles and looks taken aback for a minute. He stares at the coat and then at me. His eyes go back and forth—the coat, my face, the coat, my face—and then this look comes over him that I've never seen before. He seems puzzled or confused, but he's kind of sad too, or maybe even a little scared, and then he starts to laugh. And I mean really laugh, not his usual snort or chuckle or smirk. Frank is completely hysterical. We're talking hyena here. He actually has to hold on to the wall for support, and his whole body shakes as he laughs, roars, guffaws; he even doubles over and slaps his knee. I don't even have a clue here and I wish somebody would please tell me what in the world is so funny. I feel like a complete imbecile standing around almost naked holding Mike's wrinkled raincoat while Frank gets his jollies. And I'm mad, too, because this is not the way I thought my birthday would be.
Frank straightens up, looks at me, smiles, and then— I can tell he doesn't want to, but he just can't help himself—he loses it again. “Oh, Vanessa, you poor baby.” Frank finally gets it together and drops down to his knees on top of the sleeping bags. “C'mere, birthday girl.” He holds out his hand and I take it, even though I don't really want to, and let him pull me down on the floor.
“A raincoat”—he smiles and I'm afraid he's going to lose it again but he doesn't—“a raincoat is slang for a condom.”
Oh my God, I don't believe it. He meant a condom? I feel like such a moron holding Mike's raincoat, I want to just rip it to shreds, or ball it up and chuck it out the window. I am just so unbelievably stupid.
“Frank,” I say, trying to control my voice so I don't cry. “Why didn't you just say condom if you meant condom?”
“Vanessa, I thought you'd know what I meant,” he says. “Why in the world would I want you to bring a raincoat?”
Because you're weird, Frank, I want to say but of course I don't.
“When I was your age, we always called them raincoats,” Frank goes on, and I feel like asking, W
hen was that, Frank, 1922? “You know, raincoats, rubbers, anything that keeps you dry.”
I can hardly even look at him, I feel so dumb. “I'm sorry, Frank,” I mumble into his chest. I wouldn't even blame him for getting mad, but he doesn't.
“Oh, Vanessa.” He lays me down and takes me in his arms, the way he knows I like. “You really are sixteen, aren't you?”
No, Frank, I think, I'm a hundred and twelve, but I can't stay mad for long, especially when he holds me so soft and so tight.
“Are we still going to do it?” I ask after a while.
“Oh, baby, I want to, you know how much I want to. But we can't.” Frank's voice is sad, and I feel like crying again, I'm such a total failure.
“But it's my birthday and I wanted it to be special,” I say, and then I can't help it, I do begin to blubber. “Can't we do it anyway? I won't get pregnant, I promise. And even if I do, I'll take care of it.”
Frank stops stroking me and sits up sharply, making me sit up too. “Now you listen to me, Vanessa,” he says, and he's not mad exactly, just stern. “Don't you ever ever think of not using protection, you hear me? You've always got to look out for yourself. I don't care what kind of line a guy gives you. Guys can't be trusted. Believe me, I'm a guy. I know.”
Frank's eyes are blazing, like he's really mad at someone, but I don't think it's me. And what is he now, my father? What's with the lecture?
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