When Carlene started basketball practice, she at least stopped spending so much time alone, but she never brought any of the girls home. She didn’t want to have to explain Walter, who practically lived there now.
She had always had a lot of nervous energy, which was probably one reason she was so good at basketball. It had at least gotten her a boyfriend—the best boyfriend in the whole school. Jerry could have had any girl he wanted, and he liked her.She had his picture beside her bed, and at night she would stare at it for a long time and then kiss it before she turned out the light. He had dark hair, nearly as black as her mother’s, and amber-brown bedroom eyes, the whitest teeth you ever saw, and a small brown mole above the right corner of his mouth. In the picture he was smiling a crooked little half smile. Just looking at the picture made her heart pound. He was a great kisser—soft, warm lips; sweet breath. And he was going to be somebody important one day—a lawyer or, maybe down the road, a congressman or senator. She dreamed that they would get married after they got out of school. Carlene Golden,she wrote in her notebook. Mrs. Jerald Anthony Golden.She loved his name, so shiny and bright. She would work while Jerry went to college and law school, then she could quit because he would make lots of money, and they could go to Little Rock or Hot Springs for dinner at fancy restaurants every night if they wanted to. Maybe take the Baths or go to Oaklawn and watch the horses run. He would play golf out at the country club while she swam in the pool. They would get a brick house with a room for her mother, and she could quit the chicken plant. They would burn down the trailer if they wanted to, roast weenies in the fire of the hateful thing.
She liked to think about a life like that. It was her second-best daydream. The best was that she would go to Hollywood and make some movies and become a star, then get married to Jerry. Either way, it was going to be so perfect. There was only one problem. No way could she forget where her daddy was while she had to look at Walter Tucker every day.
28.Cherry
There was going to be a big party, kind of a housewarming or shopwarming or whatever, at the Family Hand. Baby and I had finished the murals, the black-light room was done, and we had registered at Du U for our senior year. Tripp enrolled there, too, and the three of us were taking the same drawing class. I usually had to get some kind of job during the school year for pocket money, and last year it was being the model for this same class—figure drawing. It paid five dollars an hour, four hours a week, more than any other job on campus, which is the main reason I took it. That, plus my secret ambition to be a model, which I have never before told anybody about, because it is embarrassing. I mean, I know I am too weird-looking to be a model like Maud Adams or Colleen Corby, and there is no way I could ever go to New York City, which you would have to do if you wanted to be in the magazines, but I could at least model for figure-drawing class. That was a start.
Of course, we weren’t allowed to draw nudes—thank goodness. I certainly wouldn’t have done it if I had to be naked. I did have to wear a bikini, though, which was bad enough. If you think sitting still is an easy way to make money, think again; it is not. Besides the fact that you are every minute worrying that your pubic hair might be showing in spite of shaving it around the edges, you have to hold the same position for anywhere from two or three minutes to sometimes as long as an hour without moving, or at least moving very much. Never in your life has your nose itched like it does when you are posing for figure drawing and can’t scratch it. I felt like I earned every penny.
But this year, I would be on the other end of the pencil. Besides figure drawing, Baby and I had third-year oil painting, second-year ceramics, advanced studio, which included copper enameling, weaving, printmaking, and stuff like that, and a course in the English poets, just for some variety. Next semester would be our practice teaching, and then we would be out. Out in the world, as they say. It was scary and exciting at the same time.
But all that would be later. The big thing right now was the party. The Family Hand looked phenomenal, if I do say so myself. To tell you the honest truth, I didn’t know which I liked better, my own jungle or Baby’s psychedelic room upstairs with the black-light room, which was separated from the juice bar by a heavy red velvet curtain. Jimi Hendrix and the Grateful Dead seemed to float on the black walls in the eerie light, and the water bed took up most of the room. Baby had painted stars and planets on the ceiling with special black-light paint and looking up, you almost felt like you were in outer space. It was so cool. I love the way a black light makes your teeth look white and your skin, black. If you have on a white shirt, it glows like it is electric. My hair looked like I had stuck my finger in a light socket. It freaked everyone out.
The shop had been open for less than a week, and already it was the favorite hangout of the college kids. A lot of stuff had been sold, and they had to buy a second juicer. It was packed all evening, and kids lounged under big signs that said alcoholic beverages and drugs were not allowed. Ricky Don hadn’t come back in, and as far as I knew, he wasn’t hanging around across the street.
I spent a fair amount of time there just admiring my own work, which is a little conceited, I know, but everyone else seemed to like it a lot, too. I had used my fifty dollars from painting the murals to buy a robin’s egg–blue turquoise and silver squash-blossom necklace. I shouldn’t have done it, but it just kept staring at me from the case every day as I worked, calling out my name: “Cherrrrrrrry! Come and get meeee!” I just had to have it. It went with everything I owned, whether it was jeans and a white shirt, miniskirts and poor-boy sweaters, or long Indian-print dresses. Mama said it was a good investment and I would have it as long as I lived, so I didn’t feel too bad about it, even though it was the most money I had ever spent on anything.
—
The night of the party was clear and full of stars, not as hot as it had been—you could almost catch a whiff of fall in the air. The tables and clothes racks had been pushed against the walls to make a dance floor, and of course Bean and John Cool and the Draggons were playing. The word was out that if anybody brought beer or liquor, they would not be allowed back. Ever. This was an unspoken effort to show the law and everyone else that the Family Hand was just a clean-cut place for the youth of Sweet Valley to hang out in.
I even brought Mama and the aunts to see the murals. G. Dub and some of his friends were coming, but the uncles and Daddy weren’t too interested.
“I know you do nice work, Cheryl Ann. I’ll see it sometime,” Daddy said, and gave me a little pat on the arm. I wish he thought more of my art. Sometimes I feel like he thinks I am just playing, like if a job doesn’t have something to do with sick people, it isn’t real work.
Mama was excited to be coming with me to a party. She hesitated at first, because she thought she would be the oldest one there, but I told her all kinds of people would be coming. It was an open house, and everyone was curious. We had never gone to a party or anything like this together without Daddy, and I think she felt like a naughty little girl. He was going to a revival that Brother Dane was preaching over at Salem’s Crossing, so he was happy. I think he would go to church every single day if he could.
—
“I don’t know what to wear to one of these things, Cherry,” Mama said as I sat on her bed and she riffled through her closet.
“Anything you have will be fine, Mama. You always look nice.”
She dug around in the back and pulled out an old peasant blouse, the ones that have embroidery and elastic around the neck, and a full red skirt. She buckled on a black leather cincher belt and tugged the blouse shoulders down, just a little. She looked really sexy, with her blond hair down around her shoulders.
“What do you think?”
“Uh, are you sure you want to wear that, Mama? I mean, it’s kind of . . . you know.”
“You think it’s too much?”
“It’s not really a mom dress.”
“Oh. Well, what do you want me to wear?”
“Maybe
your dark-brown shirtwaist or something.”
She took off the skirt and blouse and put on her shirtwaist. I think she was a little disappointed, but I was not going to be responsible if somebody said something to her that she didn’t like. I didn’t want her to be embarrassed. She did wear a pair of spike-heeled pumps, though, and I let that go.
We got there early, so she could see the work without the crowds. She and the aunts weren’t going to stay for the dancing, of course; they just wanted to see our work.
Mama and the aunts went through the racks, picking out things they might want to try on sometime later. Lucille and I walked around the room, looking at the mural.
“Which one is you?”
I showed her me, dressed in a You-Tarzan-Me-Jane leopard skin, swinging on a vine. My hair was, of course, straight in the painting, flying out behind me as I swung, and I had fudged the size of my feet. Artist’s prerogative. Tripp was hanging out of a tree house by one hand like a monkey, and Rainy Day was a mermaid lying on a rock, with her tail languidly floating among lily pads (sort of borrowed from Monet and John William Waterhouse). John Cool perched in a tree, eating a banana, and Baby was in a tiger skin, swinging on a vine that would collide with mine at any minute. Bean sat under a thatched hut, playing bongos, while Rocky danced; he was wearing his yellow aviator sunglasses.
Lucille laughed. “These are great, Cherry. They really look like all of you. Who are those other ones peeping out of the grass and all? Is that Ricky Don?”
“Yeah. He has to keep his eye on things.” I had snuck Ricky Don in, hiding in the bushes, watching all of us. I don’t know why I did it. It just seemed right. Nobody had said anything about it, although I was afraid Tripp might ask me to paint him out.
We looked some more, then Lucille took me aside and whispered, “Okay. So where are the bongs?”
“The what?”
“Don’t give me that. The bongs. The pipes. The pot stuff. I know what kind of a place this is.”
“It’s legal, Lucille. They don’t sell drugs here.”
“Did they hide them? I want to see what they look like.” She had that glow in her eyes.
I sighed. “They are right over here.”
We went around the counter to the case of bongs and pipes. They weren’t exactly hidden, but they were well out of the traffic pattern. An Indian shawl was draped over the case. It was locked, as Lucille found out when she tried to open it.
“Wow. How do they work?”
“What makes you think I know how they work?”
“Oh, come on. You are going out with a head. Everyone knows that. You must have done it.”
“Everyone knows that? Who’s everyone?”
“All the girls at the beauty school. Tripp Barlow is a most interesting new boy in town. Word gets around.”
My face got numb. It sure doesn’t take long in this town for everybody to know your business.
“Well?” She poked me in the ribs. “Have you smoked pot or not? Don’t lie.”
“All right! I did. But just once. I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Don’t be that way! You know I can’t do it because of the nursing, but if I could I would. Maybe when Jim Floyd gets back we’ll try it. Do you think Tripp would get us some?”
“Lucille! No, Tripp is not going to get you any pot! And you have to swear you won’t tell anybody what I just told you. Especially those loud-mouths at the beauty school.”
“You know I won’t tell . . .”
“Swear! Pinkie swear.”
“All right! Pinkie swear.”
We licked our right pinkies and hooked them around each other. I knew she would never tell on a pinkie swear. But I had to talk to Tripp. I wished he would hurry and get here.
She was too much, that Lucille. I had a bad feeling that she was an accident waiting to happen. But then I had always felt that way about her, and it had never much come to anything yet. She was more settled-down than I was.
Mama and them had gone upstairs to look at Baby’s painting and see the black-light room. We heard a baby squealing and found them behind the red velvet curtain. They had Tiffany LaDawn on the water bed, bouncing her up and down. She was having a great time. I sat down beside her and helped bounce. I wondered what she thought about all of us looking so weird under the black light.
“Ooh, oopsie daisy! Widdle dirl is having a ride!” Up and down Lucille went, sloshing the water. The bed rolled and rocked. I started to get a little queasy.
“Y’all go on and play with her awhile. I’m going to get something to drink.” I weaved out, leaving them there.
Downstairs, more people were beginning to arrive. Baby came in with her brothers and her sister Pilar, who was fourteen but looked like twenty-five with all the makeup she was wearing. She either had developed overnight or was stuffing her bra with Kleenex. I suspected Kleenex. She was chewing gum, popping pink bubbles, and trying not to act like she was excited. G. Dub followed them in, and Pilar almost swallowed her gum. The girl obviously had a crush on my cousin. She was growing up in a hurry.
“Hey, y’all. This is some crowd, huh?” I said as they came over to me. “I guess this is our first two-woman show, Baby. What do y’all think?”
“Well, it’s colorful, that’s for sure,” G. Dub said. “I like it, Cherry. You did real good.”
Pilar came over and stood next to him. She put her arm through his and looked up at him with adoring eyes.
“G. Dub, the part Baby did is upstairs. Do you want me to take you up there and see it?” she said. “There is a really cool black-light room, too. With a water bed.”
“After a while, little girl.” He tousled her hair, and she blushed. She was so cute. G. Dub didn’t have a clue that she liked him. Men are so dense sometimes.
Rocky went over to help Bean, who was setting up the amplifiers. The band wasn’t going to start playing until a little later, around ten, when the older curiosity seekers would probably be gone. Most people in this town eat supper at five and are sound asleep by nine or ten.
Rainy Day scurried around putting out bowls of Fritos and bean dip. There wasn’t going to be a whole lot of food and people had to buy the drinks at the juice bar, but that didn’t matter. There was still going to be a big crowd.
Tripp came up behind and grabbed me. “Hey, gorgeous. Everybody loves your jungle.” He nearly made me jump out of my skin.
“Don’t scare me like that!” I just hate to be startled.
“You better watch yourself,” G. Dub said. “One time I did that to Cherry, and she swung around and clocked me!”
“And you deserved it, too, sneaking up on me like that! You have to learn how to make noise when you walk, G. Dub, or clear your throat or something.”
“Thanks for the warning, G. Dub. Cherry looks like a girl who could pack a punch.”
I gave him a tap on the chin, not too gently, and then took him by the hand. “Y’all excuse us for a minute, okay? I need to show Tripp something.”
I took him over to the corner and pretended to point out the picture of him, even though he had seen it a zillion times before.
“Lucille said that everyone knows we smoked pot, Tripp.”
“What? Who did she say knew?”
“The girls at the beauty school were talking about it. If Ricky Don hears this, there’s no telling what he might do.”
“Cherry sweetness, you worry too much about Ricky Don. Cops can’t go around arresting people for gossip. They have to have evidence. Those girls don’t know anything. They just want to cause trouble. They’re jealous of you.”
“Jealous of me?”
“Sure.”
“For what?”
“You have me, don’t you?”
“Oh. Right. Boy, there’s no conceit in your family, is there? You have it all.”
He laughed and hugged me. “Stop worrying. I’m careful. I would never let anything happen to you. You’re my girl.”
Tripp’s girl. It
had been a long time since anybody really wanted me to be his girl. I got shy all of a sudden, and started toward the stairs.
“Come on upstairs and meet the rest of my family.”
They were sitting at the bar drinking apple juice. Lucille had Tiffany LaDawn up on her shoulder, jiggling her up and down, patting her on the back. I wondered if the kid ever spent a minute perfectly still. She obviously hadn’t inherited my motion-sickness tendencies, thank goodness.
“Mama, Aunt Juanita, Aunt Rubynell, Lucille—y’all, this is Tripp Barlow. I might have mentioned him.”
“Just once or twice. Hello, Tripp. It’s real nice to see you,” Mama said.
“I knew your mother looked like your sister, but you didn’t tell me you had such young and beautiful aunts and this gorgeous cousin. If I didn’t know better, I would think you all were sisters.”
“He sure knows how to do it, doesn’t he?” Lucille said. “But that’s okay, Tripp. You can call me gorgeous anytime you want to.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. And look at this little beauty-in-training.” He reached out and took Tiffany LaDawn from Lucille, like he was used to babies. I waited for her to scream, but she didn’t. She gave him a big gummy smile. She was Lucille, Jr., all right. In fact, they were all smiling. When a whole family of women, from youngest to oldest, is in love with somebody, he must be some kind of guy. He gave the baby back to her mother, and got us some juice. Rainy Day was struggling up the stairs with a big bowl of Hawaiian Punch, and I went over to help her.
“I decided to put out some punch. It wasn’t right for everyone to have to buy the drinks,” she said. The two of us carried it as steadily as we could over to the table she had set up. Only a little sloshed out.
“We did a great week’s business, Cherry. Sold nearly all my Raku. I am going to have to work overtime to make more pots. I’ve been thinking. Would you like to work here a few hours a week? I didn’t realize how much time running this place was going to take.”
Windchill Summer Page 23