Rhonda the Rubber Woman

by Peterson, Norma;

  I sipped my coffee, feeling at loose ends. I thought of asking Doc where Lyndora was but I was afraid he’d ask why I wanted to know. Why couldn’t people mind their own business anyway?

  I looked at Genevieve and Shirley and thought about something Eddie’d said one day, that I sometimes acted as if I didn’t like Nancy all that much. Eddie could be real outspoken. I figured he got it from circus folks. Gypsies. Snake charmers. People who grew up in places that smelled like garlic. I’d said what a thing to say, just because I had to scold her once in a while, every mother did that. Eddie’d said don’t get in a huff, I can understand it was tough, gettin’ stuck with a kid you didn’t ask for, and I’d gone swimmy in the head. Some things you’re just not supposed to talk about out loud.

  Suddenly now out of the blue I pictured myself back when I was pregnant, walking to work one day, scared Mama might die, and thinking if she did, maybe I’d put the baby in the ragman’s truck so it wouldn’t be my penance like the reverend said. I wondered what my life would have been like if I’d really done it, then I shook my head to shoo the thought away. I flicked ashes into a black ashtray that had a picture of the cute little Phillip Morris bellhop on it. I picked up a McCall’s magazine that was laying on the counter and flipped through pages.

  Hey, look on the bright side, I told myself. She’s lucky she’s always had three square meals. Plenty of treats. Pineapple puff. Bread pudding. Tandy Takes. That’s more than a lot of kids. Raising a kid can wear anyone to a frazzle, especially when you have bad nerves. I wasn’t the only one. I’d heard Mildred and Charlotte from work complain enough times. Kids take a lot out of you. In the magazine, a Kotex ad said it’s hard to be all out for victory some days, but if millions can keep going in comfort every day, so can you.

  Genevieve was telling a joke, interrupting herself with chuckles as she went along. I couldn’t hear it all, just the ending. “My wife? I thought that was your wife.” Shirley giggled like a kid.

  Maybe I should take Nancy out alone once in a while, I thought. Just the two of us. Have a couple of laughs. I knew some good jokes—I heard them at the factory. Maybe I was too grouchy sometimes. Oh, well, who isn’t? I’d make up for it. I’d fuss over her a little more on my birthday. After she and Eddie pulled their surprise. I’d show her I appreciated it.

  “Lyndora,” I said to myself. It sounded more like a woman’s name than a town. I started thinking about a woman named Lyndora. I saw the Ipana girl. I saw the Kreml shampoo lady.

  I sneaked another peek at Genevieve. She was talking to Shirley now in a low voice, looking pleased as punch. Of course, it’s easier for some folks being a mother. Some folks get all the breaks. I started massaging my neck. Bottom to top. Throat to chin. I tilted my chin up. I reminded myself to get the chin strap out when I went upstairs.

  18

  NANCY, 1945

  On the last day of July, Eddie drove me to Belvedere to meet Mr. Encarnacion, who ran the Magic Midway, a carnival that travelled all over Pennsylvania. The Magic Midway had a side show with a two-headed baby in a jar and a human pincushion—a guy who stuck needles in his arms, slept on nails, and laid his face down in pieces of jagged glass while kids stood on his back. There was a fat lady, a snake charmer, and a belly dancer.

  Mr. Encarnacion sat on a folding chair outside a blue trailer, eating a piece of fried chicken from a plate perched on top of an upended garbage can.

  “Hey, Armando,” Eddie hollered as we got out of the car. “Say hello to Nancy here, world’s youngest rubber woman.”

  Mr. Encarnacion looked up and laughed. He had the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. He was dark skinned and wore a shirt that was open in front, with bristly black hair showing underneath a St. Christopher’s medal and a garlic necklace.

  “Eddie Jeffers, you old son of a bitch,” he yelled. He put the drumstick down on the plate and wiped his hands on his pants. “And say hello to my two new girlfriends here.” He stuck his forearm out to show a tattoo of two dancing girls on the biceps. Then he flexed his muscles and the girls’ boobs popped out. He and Eddie snickered and I felt my face go hot.

  Mr. Encarnacion turned to me. “A rubber woman, huh?” He jiggled the garlic rope at his throat. “Sure, and next thing you’re gonna tell me ya got a chicken with teeth, right? A chicken eats corn on the cob, smiles like Bugs Bunny.”

  Eddie grinned for a second, a hank of hair falling down over his forehead. My mother loved it when Eddie’s hair fell down. She thought it made him look like Clark Gable. She loved Clark Gable and got real crabby once when somebody told her Clark had false teeth and bad breath.

  “Seein’ is believin’, right, Armando?” Eddie said.

  “I can’t argue with that.” Mr. Encarnacion squinted at me. “You came all the way over from Marysville, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, okay, go ahead, do your stuff.”

  I took off my dungarees and shirt. I had on the spangled outfit underneath that Eddie’s circus friend had made for me—a red top with sequins and beads and a red and black bottom with a zigzag pattern like on Superman’s chest. I’d loved the outfit the minute I saw it. It had a circus smell to it—makeup or pomade mixed with the smell of animals and popcorn.

  Now it felt scratchy against my skin, like a store-bought Halloween costume, and the beads and sequins were suddenly heavy and hot, but I didn’t care. I still felt glamorous.

  I sat on the ground and curled my feet up around my waist. I crossed my arms behind me and grabbed my feet, pulling them back so from the front it looked like I was just a stump of a person. I unwound, stood and bent forward, touching my nose to the ground, and moving slowly so Mr. Encarnacion would wonder if I’d make it, although I knew I would. Squatting down I crawled into a potato sack a little bit at a time until I was curled up into a ball while Eddie sang “Ac-centuate the Positive,” then I rolled. The sack had been Eddie’s idea to help me stay curled up and he’d dyed it a bright fuschia to look more carnivaly.

  It was blistering hot in the sack and the sequins chafed my skin, but I liked the feeling of being in charge of my own tight little world as Eddie’s whispery singing cheered me on. I rolled in one direction for a few feet, then in another. I pretended I was on a curtained stage in a grand theater where Mr. and Mrs. Felker sat in the front row, beaming. I pictured Mrs. Felker turning and bragging to the people around them, “That’s our son’s fiancee performing, you know. Rhonda is just her stage name. Anyway, pretty soon she’s going to be one of the Felker clan.”

  I crawled out of the sack, straightened up and flung my hair back. Eddie had said to toss my hair, it gave the act a little luster. I’d worried at first what he meant by luster. It sounded dirty, and there was a part of me that still didn’t trust Eddie, but then I looked it up in the dictionary and felt better. Finally I did my backbend and walked on all fours in a circle, finishing up in front of Eddie and Mr. Encarnacion. I threw out my arms and beamed, trying to ignore the sledgehammer pounding in my chest, the sweat rolling into my eyes.

  Mr. Encarnacion narrowed his eyelids at me as though he was peeking in at fish in a bowl. “Well, now, you’ve been doing a little practicing, haven’t you, young lady?”

  I grinned and nodded. The sweat felt like little bugs crawling on me.

  “Okay, how’s about it?” Eddie asked. “We got a winner here or am I a monkey’s uncle?”

  Mr. Encarnacion screwed up his mouth. “Well, she’s not bad, and I did have a tattooed gal run off with a sailor. But I’ve been thinking of taking on a guy with no arms, a guy eats with his feet, that’s the kind of act the marks go for. I’d be taking more of a chance with a rubber woman.”

  Eddie scoffed. “Suit yourself, Armando. We’ll go put somebody else on Easy Street.”

  Mr. Encarnacion picked up the piece of chicken, bit off a chunk with his white teeth and chewed. A flap of chicken skin hung out of the corner of his mouth until he sucked it in. “Okay, okay,” he said. “What the hell? I’ll try her out for a
week when we come through Marysville in August. But not for pay, just a tryout to see if the marks go for her.”

  That was enough for Eddie. He jumped up like he’d been sitting on a tack and pumped Mr. Encarnacion’s hand. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Armando, gettin’ the first crack at a classy act like this. One week gratis, that’s it. You’re not interested, we’ll go put somebody else on Easy Street.”

  Driving home Eddie said, “So you’re goin’ on the stage, huh, kiddo? Howzit feel?”

  “Funny.”

  “Funny!” He guffawed. “So how’s about we do a dress rehearsal at your mom’s birthday party? It’ll help work off some of the stage fright.”

  I felt a pinch in my chest. “Oh, geez, Eddie, I don’t know. It’s her party. It doesn’t seem right, my showing off. My mom hates showoffs.”

  “Waddaya mean?” He shot me a sidewise glance. “I thought we agreed it’d be her birthday surprise. I thought we agreed she’d get a kick out of it.”

  I looked out the window and thought back to when I was a kid and my mother played Horsey Go Round the Table with me. We’d scramble around the kitchen table on our hands and knees to see who could finish first. She always won. Once Aunt Cora said to her, “Georgia, you know, the mom is supposed to let the kid win.” My mother had looked up with a bewildered expression, as though Cora’d accused her of raiding my piggy bank. She let me win after that but you could tell she never enjoyed the game as much.

  “Hey, kiddo, ya on another planet someplace?”

  I blinked, confused for a minute. “Sorry. I was just thinking I’m not sure my mom will get a kick out of it, after all.”

  “You two. Cheez.” Eddie shook his head. “You’re like vinegar and oil, you two.”

  “It’s not just that. I guess I’m … uh … feeling a little superstitious,” I lied. “It might be bad luck to do the routine ahead of time. Maybe I should wait for the Magic Midway.”

  Eddie pursed his lips and nodded his head at the windshield. “Hmmm. Well, that figures. Showbiz folks are superstitious.” He glanced at me. “Guess you’re a natural, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Okay, I won’t push ya as long as ya don’t fink out on me at the Magic Midway.”

  “Oh, no, I won’t, I promise.” That was the truth. I couldn’t wait to do my routine for the Magic Midway. The Magic Midway was going to be my ticket out of town.

  “So we’ll have to come up pronto with a surprise for your mom’s shindig. She’s gonna wonder what we’ve been doing with all the rehearsin’.”

  “Yeah.” But I knew Eddie would think of something. We’d come a long way, me and Eddie, from the day he moved in when just a whiff of his Vitalis made me gag.

  I got out the writing paper and pulled the copy of Homefront Magazine from my bookbag. I’d swiped the magazine from Doc’s the day before, just after Eddie and I got back from Belvedere and I’d started worrying whether Mr. Encarnacion would really take me on. In case he didn’t, I wanted a backup escape plan.

  I turned to the Victory Canteen page and ran my index finger down the list looking for names of servicemen from cities far enough away so they wouldn’t know anybody in Marysville. I didn’t want to make a mistake like the Foul Rift story again.

  I settled on two soldiers. One was Duane Uhler, from a place called Hatfield, Pennsylvania. He said he worked as a grocery boy and a theater usher and he liked to swim and play the clarinet. My throat went thick as I thought to myself, that would really show Bobby if I married another clarinet player. Duane said what he looked forward to the most was getting back to Hatfield and just doing something simple like putting on a pair of pajamas again.

  The other guy was Bruno Sletter from South Philadelphia. He’d been a salesman for Pillsbury flour and he liked to play golf and listen to the Andrews Sisters. He said he’d give anything for a good piece of all-American bread with peanut butter and a glass of cold milk.

  Writing to Duane, I tried to picture him playing his clarinet, back arched, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders hunched, trying not to see Bobby instead. I told Duane I was seventeen instead of fifteen and had green eyes and shiny dark hair and I worked at a shirt factory now but I was planning to go to commercial school. I said I might be a secretary and move to a bigger city unless something happened to change my mind. Maybe get married or something. I liked saying that I might do one thing or I might do the other. I told him I loved swimming and clarinet music. The more I wrote, the more I calmed down, as though each word took me one more step away from who I really was.

  Then I wrote to Bruno, saying pretty much the same thing, except I told Bruno I loved golf and the Andrews Sisters and that I was amazed at what he said about the peanut butter because I knew if I was on the war front, that would be the very thing I’d miss the most, too.

  I reread the letters and decided they needed a fancy quote at the end. I studied my treasury of quotations and found a good one.

  “P.S.—Remember what Ralph Waldo Emerson said. Self-trust is the essence of heroism,” I wrote on each letter. I grabbed two envelopes and raced toward the post office, spurts and spasms going crazy in my stomach.

  We had my mom’s party at Aunt Cora’s at noon on August eighth. Aunt Cora opened the door looking gorgeous. Ever since she’d got the job modeling girdles for Finkel’s Department Store catalog, she had an excuse to primp. Today she wore a coral colored halter top and a white accordion-pleated skirt. The creamy rouge on her cheeks matched her blouse and her silky blond hair was brushed back behind her ears to show off silver earrings that spiraled down her neck like teeny winding staircases.

  She gave me a hug, and for a minute I closed my eyes and wanted to be back in Clinton with her, walking with books on our heads and Uncle Walt still off in the European Theater. I opened my eyes and glanced at my uncle to see if he had somehow read my thoughts, but he just smiled and shook a Camel out of a pack.

  Aunt Cora had told us he was better. He’d been seeing a counselor who told him keeping busy would be the ticket, so he’d gone back to work at the post office.

  “So, how’s business?” Eddie asked as he settled down on the sofa.

  “Oh, well, can’t complain, I guess.” Uncle Walt shrugged. “Except they got me stuck in the sorting department.” He plunked into a chair. “At least until the old leg is done with its overhaul.” He slapped at his khaki pants.

  Everyone looked at his leg, then got quiet. The truth was, it didn’t look like there was anything wrong with it at all compared to Eddie’s shriveled foot.

  I cleared my throat. “So tell us about your modeling job, Aunt Cora,” I said. “It sounds so glamorous.”

  “Oh, it’s fun. I love it,” she gushed, her eyes bright. “You know, I never realized until I went to work for Finkel’s that girdles are good for your health.”

  “Really? How?” my mother asked.

  “Well, they keep all your parts in place.”

  “Isn’t that something?” my mother said. “I never thought of that.” She tugged at her own two-way stretch underneath her blue two-piece dress. “It makes sense when you think of it, doesn’t it?” She looked at Eddie, who just shrugged.

  Uncle Walt got a glint in his eye. “I can believe it,” he said. “You should hear Cora when she takes one of those buggers—oh, excuse me, ladies—corsets—off. She sounds like a Greyhound bus door opening.”

  Everybody howled, even Eddie. Aunt Cora didn’t mind. She knew she had a good shape, and the joke broke the ice. Uncle Walt sounded like his old self again. Maybe he didn’t resent Aunt Cora working, after all, now that he was back on the job himself. I’d heard on the radio that some men came back from the war and griped about their wives holding down good jobs. One guy had even said what was worse, she liked it. That sounded crazy to me. I couldn’t figure out if it was a part of the shell shock or if men just needed a lot of boosting in life.

  We ate lunch in the dining room: barbecues, ham and cheese sandwiches, deviled eggs, potato sa
lad, pickles and Ritz crackers. Then we sang happy birthday as Aunt Cora marched in from the kitchen with a lemon supreme fluff cake. While we drank coffee, my mom opened her presents. Cora and Walt gave her a cigarette case. I’d bought her a box of handkerchiefs, and Eddie gave her a bottle of perfume in a holder that was shaped like a lady wearing a black corset with a big red silk rose at the bosom.

  Then everybody moved back to the living room for our surprise. Eddie pretended he was a master of ceremonies announcing an act at a Stage Door Canteen. He flashed a mile-wide smile, pushed up his yellow shirt sleeves, and rubbed his hands together.

  “Well, now, we have a very, very special performance today in honor of Miss Georgia Sayers’ birthday,” he said. “Just one moment, ladies and gentlemen, and the show will begin.”

  Eddie and I hot-footed it into the vestibule to get our props and put on a record of Hoagy Carmichael singing “Georgia on My Mind.” When he got to the chorus, we high-stepped into the living room singing, along with Hoagy and adding some extras. On the first line, “Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through,” Eddie took a clock out of his jacket pocket and held it up and I moved the hands around to show a day going by. The next line, “Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind,” we slapped homemade paper caps on our heads that we’d plastered pictures of my mom all over, and sashayed around in a circle for everyone to get a good look. My mom hooted as loud as one of those papier mâché ladies in front of a fun house.

  Eddie had a great time looking devilish like Hoagy. On the next line, “Georgia, Georgia, the sight of you” we put on crazy glasses with crossed eyes painted on them. Aunt Cora snorted. We went on like that through the whole song, with everyone practically dying of laughter.

  At the end I was supposed to take a curtsy, but something came over me and I did one of my twists instead. Maybe everybody hooting went to my head and brought out the ham in me. Maybe deep down I wanted to irritate my mother or show off a little, or both. Anyway, I threw myself into a backbend until my hands touched the floor behind me and I did a little pirouette on all fours. Just once around in a circle, real quick. I got up and tossed my hair so it fluffed out.