Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way

by Rohn Federbush

  Sure she dived into books at the first hint of trouble, but at least she knew who she was. They were all pretending, while she was content to what, read scripts? Almost the same thing! Understanding their need for escape helped Sally draw her next, more mature, breath as she called hello to Mother.

  Nevertheless, Sally longed to return to a simpler time on the farm when copulation was only fit for farm animals.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  September 1958

  On the first Monday in September after Art and Tony returned to college for their second year, Jill called asking Sally to spend the weekend with her down in Lincoln, Illinois, where the boys attended Lincoln College. “Art Woods asked Tony if you could come down with me. Are you dating Art?”

  “I know him from school.” Sally couldn’t understand why she was defending herself.

  “So you have been dating.”

  “No. We just ran into each other.” Sally didn’t want to share the details of the last time she’d seen Art Woods in June.

  Sixty miles west of Chicago the mighty Fox River cuts a north-south meandering path through the farming plains of Illinois. In St. Charles, ‘streets’ were laid out parallel to the river on the west side balancing the ‘avenues’ which terrace the riverbed’s rising slope to the east. As a teenager, she hoped to escape the valley.

  The first week out of school, she accepted a job at DuKane, a privately owned electronics firm. Each day she drove her father’s Buick east to her secretarial job. Each night she returned west. She often thought if the sun would stop blinding her, she might find a way out of the river valley. Typing dull business letters left her hungry for more exciting worlds -- and words.

  Watching Sally grumble through their scant bookshelves one Friday night, Mother reminded her the public library was only eighteen blocks away on the other side of town. Daddy needed the car in the morning but she could walk the short distance.

  Bright and early Saturday morning Sally headed for the library. The four blocks of Dean Street ended at the high-school hill, which was the highest point on the west side of town. Descending east toward the Fox River, she passed St. Patrick’s school, the priest house and the church where they attended seven o’clock Mass each Sunday. Regulars, her mother was pious, Daddy off-handed. Sally’s beliefs claimed the one constant and sanctioned toe-hold on life.

  Past the gas station and hardware store, she slowed her pace, gawking into the windows of Carson’s, the most expensive women’s clothing store in town. Across the street the shoe store beckoned. Daddy said she owned enough shoes to put soles on a caterpillar. The Hotel Baker’s Nelson’s jewelry-shop window held a few trinkets of interest, but the sound of the wide Fox River spilling over the north dam drew her down the hill to the bridge.

  She would check out the south dam on her return trip. Maybe all farmers’ daughters love to watch water flowing toward promised destinations. The past made sense standing next to the talking stream. But she was a house painter’s daughter now, making her weekend more pleasurable with a gallery of books. The steepest hill, thankfully on the way to the library, passed between twin peaks of the modest Methodist and the fancy Presbyterian churches. Planning to carry as many books as possible back from the library, she calculated each slight incline. She scheduled her trek early enough to arrive cool and un-rumpled as the main doors opened.

  The domed, modest brick structure boasted Ionic columns outside and mahogany paneling inside. If souls needed buildings, Sally’s spirit chose a library over a church, anytime. She breathed better among books. The promise of friends remaining constant on the shelves, their words of wisdom unchanged, their homes secure in idyllic sites, compelled her to appreciate each book’s binding, each category’s rightness, each hushed word appropriate to the hallowed air. The smells of leather, glue, and mildew rose as a heady incense in the diffuse light from the rim of high windows in the oval room.

  The librarian recognized her as a frequent patron; but never presumed on her privacy by asking about her family. Besides, Sally underwent the creation of a new personality each time she entered, transformed by the content of the latest, borrowed books written by Kafka, Maugham, Stevenson, and Emily Dickinson. It was a miracle her feet still reached the pavement because her mind rose another inch above reality. She brought a pillowcase to lug new books home. After two hours careful selection, Sally picked eight red books by Anatole France, a slim blue volume by Voltaire, a yellow one by Christopher Fry, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and Othello, and three volumes of the History of the Jews. Trying to ignore the frowning librarian, Sally filled her cloth bag with the treasures.

  The summer heat of late June made the burden heavier than expected. Tempted to drag the bag, Sally rested at the bridge before hitching the load up onto the other shoulder.

  “Santa Claus.” Art Woods taunted as he slowly drove up in his father’s MG. “Need a lift?”

  Sally stopped to put down her load. “Is there room in that little thing for these and me?”

  He double-parked and came over, lifted the bag of books into the trunk. “Way too many. I thought you were too smart for summer school?”

  “Don’t you read?” She asked, trying not to sound snobbish as she stretched out her grateful legs in the little car.

  “Not in summer. College will come fast enough.”

  Sally wished she’d brought more Kleenex as she dabbed at her forehead and nose.

  In the car, Art chatted about not getting accepted at Princeton the year before, and his father’s disappointment. Lincoln College would do for a second year, if he could maintain a passing grade. “Dad says one more semester of bad grades and I’m out.”

  Sally couldn’t seriously consider going away to college. Mother insisted she take shorthand and typing the last two years of high school. Her little brother needed the family’s extra funds for the Seminary. “If I can afford it, I guess I’ll take evening courses at Elgin Community this fall.”

  “We should trade parents. My dad would love to have a kid with your brains.”

  “You’ve read Robinson Crusoe, right?”

  “Everybody had to.”

  “No they didn’t.” Sally pulled the visor down and checked her hair in the mirror. “You own a brain.”

  “When I told my father I was reading Crusoe, he told me I was still reading kids’ books.”

  Sally didn’t want to discuss the merits of parents. “Remember how Crusoe read a bible passage to sustain him every day? “I can’t remember where now; but I read a book where a business man picked up Robinson Crusoe each morning the same way -- to hear what the universe was saying to him.”

  “I’ll try it in Lincoln.” Art went on to describe dinners with his parents. Not fun. The night before he stared at his emptied plate listening to his father demean Tony Montgomery. “My dad says I might amount to something if Tony would leave me alone. But Tony’s grades are better than mine.”

  “Folks always want us to be better than themselves.”

  ‘But never as bad.” Art laughed.

  As Art slowed, before downshifting for the turn from Main to the Dean Street turn-off, Sally’s imagination went into high gear. She envisioned them escaping their parents, riding off to catch the sunset, starting a life together, talking forever into the night, even laying embraced in each other’s arms on some uninhabited island. She sighed as Art made the turn.

  “What?’ he asked.

  “I’ve missed you.” She gathered her wits.

  In the driveway Art sat quietly with the car’s engine purring. As Sally started to open the door, he reached across her and closed it. “It’s nice to have a fan club at home.” The he kissed her cheek.

  “I’m it.” She smiled at him. Her appreciation for every line of his body, every tone of his being, made her forget for a moment all the doubts about her own attractiveness. As she got out of the car, she glanced back. Art’s arm was outstretched toward her empty seat. She smiled good-bye again, content. She would
hear from him.

  Still on the telephone with Jill, Sally contemplated falsely claiming to have dated Art. There was no sense lying. “A ride home, just a ride home from the library.”

  “Sure, sure,” Jill said. “Will your mother let you come down with me?”

  “I’m nineteen. What shall I pack?”

  “It’s homecoming. You could take your prom dress.”

  When Sally hung up, the dreadful high-school prom night replayed itself. Her sister, Loretta, had arranged a date with a friend of her husband. Bill, the date’s name was, didn’t say three words the entire evening. In her nervousness, Sally talked non-stop from the moment she got in the boy’s car until they stood in the dark, smelly gym maneuvering around the dippy decorations she helped put up. Bill’s zombie appearance remained intact while he danced. At times, she experienced an overwhelming pity for the guy. He probably thought he she was the worst date in the place. Jill and Tony stopped by their table. Tony complimented Sally’s dress; but when Bill remained silent, Jill had rolled her eyes and pulled Tony away. It was stupid to go out with the idiot. Fifteen library books on Sally’s bookshelf stood ready to provide more heartbeats. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, if Bill was paid to accompany her.

  So, Art Woods had asked to see her, to visit him at college, not directly, but by way of Jill. Why hadn’t he called her? She would take the dumb dress, which needed at least a second night out before her mother gave it away to the church’s auction.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  June 1958

  On the day of the Lincoln trip, Sally wore blue-and-white checked, thigh-gripping shorts which showed off her fitness. Thank God for Flicka, the rental horse she road every rainless Saturday. The posting exercise firmed up the last of her baby fat. The blouse with a matching collar could be turned up so her hair wouldn’t cling to her neck in the heat. Her prescription sunglasses might even impress Jill.

  The drive down to Lincoln was tiresome, with monotonous flat landscape creeping by. They stopped for gas once. After handing Jill a ten spot for the gas, Sally hurried into the dirty bathroom. The walls were gray from fumes, the sink untouchable. When she tried unlocking the door to leave, it wouldn’t open. She pulled and pounded until Jill came over and yelled directions. The sticky lock finally gave way and the door opened. “Locked in a dirty, gas station washroom for eternity,” Sally said, as she got in the car. “There’s a description of Dante’s Inferno.”

  “We wasted ten minutes.” Jill’s short red hair never dared slip out of place. Her khaki shorts kept their pleat and her dark green blouse remained free of any perspiration stains. Easy to become acquainted with on the surface, Jill kept her inner-self hidden. Jill didn’t delve into the workings of her own mind. A block of some kind rose to shield her from self-scrutiny. Outside she exuded perfection, while her soul stayed crouched in a morass of fear. Fear of what? Probably rejection. Jill continued to harp on two subjects. One was how much her father hated Tony and the other was how long did Sally know Art.

  Sally devised a defense. Whenever Art was the subject of inquiry, she would ask a question about Tony. Jill said she didn’t know why she was so attracted to Tony.

  “The lack of moral severity could make Tony a delight.”

  “Moral severity?” Jill hooted. “Half the time people don’t know what you’re talking about. What is Dante’s Inferno? All I know is my father wants Tony to leave me alone!”

  When they finally reached the Lincoln campus, Sally escaped the confining car. Tall elms provided slim shade on the leaf-strewn paths to the dormitory. A hint of wintry breeze cooled her lungs, heightened her spirits. Awkward around Tony and Jill, Sally thought Art’s cold hello meant he was as uncomfortable. Tony’s mocking remarks about Sally’s appearance sounded too familiar, insincere. Art suggested lunch. Sally was too excited to eat in the diner.

  Tony told an off-color joke. Sally couldn’t laugh, it was so gross. Art groaned, but Jill laughed on cue. Sally ordered coffee, but when the black sludge arrived it proved too tepid to drink.

  Jill scolded her. “We’re all waiting for you to finish your coffee.”

  “I don’t want it.” She was embarrassed by Jill’s vehemence.

  “Then why did you order it?” Tony demanded.

  “Never mind.” Art defended her.

  “It’s too cold.” Sally looked into Art’s eyes.

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay.” Then turning to Jill and Tony, he offered, “Let’s go for a ride.”

  “Good idea.” Tony winked. He drove Jill’s car with Art and Sally in the back seat.

  Art slid over next to Sally and put his arm around her shoulder with his other hand on her knee. “Why do you smell like fresh cut grass?”

  Sally laughed. “I was born on a farm?” She gave herself up to the delicious pleasure of being held by Art. Every few miles, she pushed his hand back down to her knee, twice. Finally, Art put his head in her lap pulling her down for a kiss. Sally returned his sweet kisses. How had she existed, survived so long without them. Her hair swept his face whenever she straightened up. She loved his face. His great dark eyes were offset with long black lashes. She wanted to bite them they seemed so tantalizing. His nose was straight and not too thin. Changing expressions caused his forehead to seem prominent when his thick brows lowered giving his eyes a predatory hood. His square jaw-line kept his full lips in balance. “It’s a wonder,” she said, “women don’t lay down in front of you in the street so you can walk on them.”

  “Wow! Tony, did you hear what she said?”

  Tony turned around in the driver’s seat causing Jill to cry out as she rescued the abandoned wheel. “The kid likes you.” Tony laughed, but Sally turned away from his lecherous grin.

  Art kissed her a full minute, then whispered in her ear. “I like you, too.”

  Tony found a bumpy, country path behind a field of standing corn. Jill and Tony slipped out of the car leaving Art and Sally alone. “Have fun.” Tony called as Jill pulled him into the rows of corn.

  Art held Sally close, wrapping his arms around her, burying his sweet head in her shoulder. “I’m so glad you came. You feel like home to me.”

  “We’re safe now.” They clung together for an hour. Art fell asleep in her arms. She roused him with a kiss when she spied Tony and a rumpled Jill returning.

  “Hey let the guy come up for air.” Tony slammed into the car.

  Art stretched into a yawn. “Boy am I thirsty.”

  “Sally sucked him dry,” Tony rescued a corn shuck out of Jill’s hair, then explained to Sally with a leer, “We rolled around a bit in the hay.”

  “He’s just kidding.”

  “Oh no I’m not, Miss Priss.” No one commented as they drove to the motel where Jill and Sally needed to change clothes for the dance.

  “We’ll be right back.” Tony slapped Jill on the bottom. “Keep it warm for me.”

  After they left Sally said, “I can see why your father hates Tony.”

  “And why I have to have him.” Jill stripped for her shower.

  The boys came back with a six-pack. Tony joined Jill in the shower. Art tried to make polite conversation. He finally turned on the television. They sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, watching some football heroes smash into each other for half an hour.

  “Who’s winning?” Tony asked, zipping up his pants as further evidence when he joined them.

  Jill finally came out decently wrapped in a robe, with her red hair up in one of the motel towels. “Your turn,” she said to Sally. “You guys get out of here so we can get ready. And don’t forget the corsages.”

  “Geez!” Tony grabbed the six-pack.

  “Leave it here,” Art said. “Just take a swig. We don’t need to get arrested for drunk driving.” He waved at Sally and they were gone.

  Jill got under the covers, “That guy wears me out! Don’t let me sleep past six. They’ll be back at seven.” She rolled over and was out like a light.

&
nbsp; Sally turned off the television set and undressed in the bathroom. The couple left one towel untouched.

  At the dance, Art continued to compliment Sally’s dress. “Blue is really your color and you have the sweetest body.”

  “Now if I could just stop blushing.”

  “It suits you.” Art moved his hand up and down the back of the gown. “Your blush let me know you were a passionate girl. Remember in the library when we first spoke?”

  “I didn’t think you would remember.”

  “I do. And then I was so stupid showing off in front of Tony.”

  Sally smiled as Art led her out onto the floor. Their steps weren’t intricate. She loved being held in his arms with the sweet music and pushing crowd around them. “I wish this could go on forever.”

  When they rejoined Tony and Jill at their table, Sally could tell something was amiss. Tony pounded the table. “Guess why she came down here?” He pointed to a tearful Jill with his thumb. “Her daddy wants her to date Chuck Reddinger, that rich wimp.” Tony slumped in his chair for a moment before hissing, “Slut!” He stomped out of the college dance hall.

  Jill combed her hair with her fingers. “Daddy never liked him.”

  Sally shuddered. Art draped his arm around Sally’s shoulders as if to protect her. The three of them sat in silence until a small, almost fat girl came up and asked Art in a halting voice to dance with her. Art turned a questioning look to Sally, who nodded politely. Encouraged by his willingness to dance, four other girls lined up for Sally’s permission.

  After the sixth beauty whisked Art away, Jill couldn’t resist. “Art seems to be having a good time away at school.” Sally admitted Art made a lot of friends, but then how could a handsome man not be flattered by all the attention. When Art sat down again, Jill said, “We have to get back. I want to start out early for home.”

  Art kissed Sally in a long embrace before he let her get into the car. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I’m reading Robinson Crusoe every day. Can you get a car of your own?”

  “I will.” Sally planned to come down every weekend.