BFF*

by Judy Blume

  I still hadn’t worn the bathing suit Mom bought for me. Nobody thought that was strange because Iris doesn’t wear a bathing suit either. She says she’s allergic to the sun. I told her that’s a real coincidence, because so am I. When Iris does sit outside she wears a wide-brimmed straw hat. The only makeup she uses is lip gloss, which she carries around in her pocket and smears on her lips at least a hundred times a day. I wonder if Dad gets it on his face when they kiss. I hate to think of them kissing! But I’m sure they do. Iris is always touching Dad. She touches him a lot more than he touches her but I haven’t heard him complaining. I wonder if Mom knows about her.

  We were eating out every night at medium fancy restaurants where I ordered huge dinners and finished every mouthful. “You certainly have a healthy appetite,” Iris said one night.

  “Yes,” I said, “isn’t Dad lucky … suppose he had a daughter with anorexia instead?”

  “Mmm …” Iris said. She says that a lot.

  Everyone around here is thin. Everyone except me. Well, who cares! Since I’ve been here I eat as much as I feel like eating, whenever I feel like eating.

  After dinner, we’d usually play a game of Scrabble and I’d eat either ice cream or cookies, depending on what I’d had for dessert at the restaurant. I’m getting good at Scrabble. Once I scored thirty-two points on the word fusty. Iris asked if I knew what it meant. “Yes,” I told her. It has two meanings—one is musty and the other is old-fashioned. She couldn’t believe I knew so much.

  Yesterday, Dad took Bruce on a fishing trip. The boat left at five AM. Dad wanted me to come, too, but I said, “No, thanks.” I don’t like the idea of fishing. It’s bloody and disgusting. I was really shocked that Bruce wanted to go. After all, fishing is a violent act. But I didn’t discuss that with him. I was afraid if I did he’d have more nightmares, about fish getting nuked.

  “If you won’t come with us I’ll ask Iris to keep you company,” Dad said.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I told him.

  “Iris won’t mind. And the two of you can spend the day reading.”

  There was no point in arguing.

  I slept until ten that morning. And when I got up Iris was already there, reading on the deck. I heard her radio. She plays classical music all the time. In some ways she reminds me of Rachel, like the way she reads a book a day and the kind of music she enjoys. I wonder if Rachel will be like Iris when she grows up. I wonder if Iris and Rachel would get along if Iris were Mr. Robinson’s friend.

  I threw on my shorts and shirt and carried the container of orange juice out onto the deck.

  “Good morning,” Iris said.

  “Morning,” I answered, taking a swig of juice directly from the carton.

  “Why don’t you get a glass, Stephanie?” Iris said. “It’s more sanitary that way.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said, taking another drink.

  “I was thinking about the rest of us,” Iris said.

  I ignored that and wiped the juice off my mouth with the back of my hand. “So …” I said, “how long have you and Dad known each other?”

  “About six weeks,” she said. “We met in the laundry room right before Thanksgiving.” She smiled when she said that. She and Dad must think that meeting in the laundry room is really cute.

  “We had a fabulous Thanksgiving,” I told her. “Mom and Dad were so glad to see each other!” I drank from the carton again. “Dad was hoping Mom would come out here for the holidays but she had to go to Italy … on business.”

  I didn’t wait for Iris’s reaction. I went back inside and pulled my wallet out of my duffel bag. Then I went out to the deck again. “You want to see a picture of my mother?” I asked, flipping through the photos in my wallet. When I came to Mom’s I flashed it in front of Iris’s face. “Isn’t she pretty?”

  Iris studied the picture.

  “She’s got a very successful travel agency,” I said. “She’s a real go-getter … she makes a lot more money than Dad.” I had no idea if that was true but it sounded good. “They’ve been married fifteen years,” I added. “May twenty-fourth is their anniversary.”

  Iris marked her place in the book she’d been reading with a piece of Kleenex. Then she closed the book and rested it in her lap. “I know how you feel about me, Stephanie,” she said, looking directly at me.

  “No, you don’t,” I told her.

  “Okay … maybe I don’t know, exactly, but …”

  “That’s right. You don’t know exactly.”

  “Well, you’re making it pretty clear,” Iris said.

  I leaned over the railing of the deck and looked down. “My parents are trying to work out their problems,” I told her, “and I don’t think Dad can work his out with you hanging around night and day.”

  “Will you please watch what you’re doing!” Iris said as I leaned over even farther.

  I could taste the orange juice coming up. If I do fall, I thought, I probably won’t die. I’ll probably just break an arm or leg. We’re only three stories up. “You’re wasting your time if you think Dad’s going to marry you,” I said, “because this is just a trial separation which means you’re just a trial girlfriend.” I straightened up and sat in the canvas chair, opposite Iris, with my arms folded across my chest. “So why don’t you go and find somebody else?”

  Tears sprang to Iris’s eyes. “You know, at first I wanted you to like me,” she said, “but now I really don’t care if you do or you don’t.” She jumped up. “Excuse me … I just remembered there’s something I have to do at home.”

  “Take your time …” I called after her.

  I spent the rest of the morning sitting in the deck chair, looking out at the ocean, and wondering why I didn’t feel better now that I’d told Iris my true feelings.

  While I was eating lunch Alison called and asked me to come to Malibu either tomorrow or the next day. I told her I couldn’t.

  Alison was disappointed. “Mom says she’ll send a car for you so your folks won’t have to make the trip.”

  “I wish I could,” I said, “but …”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” Alison asked.

  “What would I be trying to tell you?”

  “That you’re embarrassed to ride in a car with a driver?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Are you embarrassed because you think we’ll have a house full of movie stars?”

  “No … I never even thought of that.” Actually, a house full of movie stars sounded pretty good to me. And I’d love to see Alison’s house. Most of all, I’d love to see Alison. But I just can’t do it. I can’t explain what’s going on here. And I can’t pretend that I’m having a great time when I’m not. Alison would know in a second that something is wrong.

  “It’s very quiet around here,” Alison said. “Mom hasn’t been feeling well so she’s resting a lot.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Leon says she’s exhausted from filming the series.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “I suppose I could come to your father’s place.”

  “No,” I said, quickly. “It’s very crowded here and …”

  “I guess you want to spend as much time as possible with him,” Alison said.

  “Yes.”

  “I understand,” Alison said. “I’d feel the same way.”

  Just as I hung up the phone Iris came back. She didn’t say a word. She just went out to the deck and settled in again, with her books and her radio.

  I ran out of the apartment and down the outside stairs leading to the beach. Oh, I hated Iris! And I hated Dad for having her around when this was supposed to be our vacation! I walked along the ocean’s edge for more than an hour. I came back full of sand, my eyes stinging from the salt air. I knew Iris would tell Dad what had happened between us so I spent the rest of the afternoon in the bathtub, planning my defense.

  That night, instead of going out to dinner, Dad decided to cook th
e fish he and Bruce had caught.

  “We don’t like fish,” I said.

  “You’ve never had fish this fresh,” Dad said.

  “Does it have bones?”

  “If you get one you just spit it out.”

  “I think I’ll have tuna,” I said.

  “Tuna is fish,” Dad said.

  “But it’s in a can,” I told him. “And it doesn’t have any bones.”

  “I’ll have tuna, too,” Bruce said.

  Dad sighed. “You two don’t know what you’re missing. Maybe Iris will come over and help me eat this fish.”

  But Iris told Dad she thought she’d stay at home for a change. So Dad took some fish down the hall to her apartment. He was gone for an hour.

  After dinner, instead of playing Scrabble, Dad called me into his room. He shut the door and said, “You were very rude to Iris today.”

  “I told her the truth,” I said. “I told her that you and Mom are trying to work out your problems, which is what you told me.”

  “I expect you to treat my friends with respect, Stephanie.”

  “Respect has to be earned,” I said.

  “Where did you hear that?” he asked.

  “I read it in one of Mom’s books about raising kids.”

  “I see,” Dad said.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to read some of those books.”

  Dad raised his voice. “I don’t need you telling me what to read!”

  “I think I’ll go home tomorrow,” I said, my voice breaking. “I think I’ll stay with Gran Lola until Mom gets back.”

  “You’re not going home until January second,” Dad said.

  “We’ll see!” I told him, turning on my heels.

  He came up behind me and grabbed my arm. “You are not going home until the second!” he repeated.

  I shook free of him. “What am I … a prisoner here?”

  “Prisoners don’t get to go to Disneyland,” Dad said. “And that’s where we’re going tomorrow.”

  “Is Iris coming with us?”

  “No … Iris has other plans.”

  “Too bad,” I said as I left Dad’s room. I went directly to the refrigerator and took out the jar of peanut butter. I’ve told Iris that we don’t keep our peanut butter in the refrigerator but she doesn’t listen. I opened the jar, stuck in my finger and dug out a cold blob. I put it in my mouth all at once. Then I got ready for bed.

  On the plane going home, I said to Bruce, “Mom and Dad probably won’t be back together by my birthday.”

  “I know,” Bruce said. He was working one of those puzzles where you have to move small plastic tiles around until you get the numbers in the right order. Shirley’s father gave it to him. “They’re probably going to get divorced.”

  “They are not,” I said.

  “Then what about Iris?”

  “Iris is just a fling.”

  “What’s a fling?” he asked.

  “A romance that doesn’t last.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’ve read a lot of romances.”

  “Oh,” Bruce said. “I hope you’re right.” He moved around a few more tiles, then he held the puzzle up for me to see. “Look at this … I got it!”

  Reunion

  I was so glad to get home! I called Alison, then Rachel. We made plans to get together that night, right after dinner. Rachel said she’d come to my house first, then we’d walk over to Alison’s.

  When Rachel rang the bell I answered the door. “Hi …” she said, “welcome home.” She didn’t shriek or jump up and down so neither did I.

  As soon as Mom heard Rachel’s voice she came into the hall and gave her a hug. “Happy New Year!”

  “Happy New Year to you, too,” Rachel said. “How was Venice?”

  Mom glanced at me. “It was wonderful,” she said, slowly. “Of course it was hard to be away from the family …”

  “I know what you mean,” Rachel said. “I could never be away from my family over the holidays.”

  “Did Charles get home?” Mom asked.

  “No, he went to visit a friend from school … in Florida.”

  “That’s a good place to have a friend this time of year.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re going over to Alison’s now,” I told Mom.

  “Be back by eight-thirty,” Mom said. “Tomorrow’s a school day. And take your flashlight.”

  As soon as we were outside Rachel said, “Your father must have been really disappointed.”

  “About what?”

  “That your mother went to Venice.”

  “Oh, yeah … but he understood. She had to go. It was a business trip.”

  “At least she had a nice time, though,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah.” I shined the flashlight on my wrist. “Look what she brought me.” I was wearing a bracelet made of something called Murano beads. Each one is a different color and decorated in a different way.

  “It’s pretty,” Rachel said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you and Alison see a lot of each other in California?” Rachel asked.

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “No time,” I explained.

  “But you at least got to her house in Malibu … right?”

  “No … we never got together at all.”

  “What?” Rachel said. “I can’t believe it!”

  “I know.”

  “But why?”

  “I told you … no time. My father had so many plans. Fishing trips, Disneyland … every day it was something else.”

  “How was Disneyland?”

  “Bruce thought it was great but I think we’re getting kind of old for it.” I didn’t add that Dad had accused me of acting sullen and unpleasant that day or that I had told him it was all his fault. Actually, Dad and I never really talked again after the night we argued over Iris. I kept hoping he’d call me into his room and say, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Steph … and I realize that you and Bruce and Mom are the most important people in my life. But he didn’t. He didn’t even say he loves me, that no matter what he’ll always love me.

  When we got to Alison’s the three of us hugged. “I can’t believe you and Steph didn’t see each other even once!” Rachel said to Alison.

  “I know,” Alison said. “I was so disappointed but … c’est la vie!”

  C’est la vie is French for that’s life.

  Gena and Leon came out to greet us and wish us a Happy New Year.

  Then we went upstairs to Alison’s room. Rachel stretched out on the bed and began to brush Maizie. I sat on the floor with Alison. She pulled a gauzy blue shirt and skirt out of a Christmas box and held it up. “Mom and Leon gave it to me. I’m thinking of wearing it to the dance.”

  “What dance?” I asked.

  “The Ground Hog Day dance,” Alison said. “Remember?”

  “Oh, that.” I had forgotten all about it. “I’ll bet none of the seventh grade boys even know how to dance.”

  “So, we’ll teach them!” Alison said.

  I thought about teaching Peter Klaff to dance. Would I say, Forward, to the side, together … backward, to the side, together … the way Sadie Wishnik had the day she’d taught Alison and me to rumba in her kitchen?

  Maizie turned and grabbed the brush out of Rachel’s hand. She jumped off the bed with it between her teeth, carried it across the room and hid it, like a bone, behind Alison’s desk.

  “You are the silliest dog!” Alison said, scooping her up and kissing her. Maizie wriggled out of Alison’s arms and attacked the tissue paper on the floor.

  Rachel kind of rolled off the bed, sat behind Alison on the floor and said, “Can I braid your hair?”

  “Sure,” Alison said.

  Last year, when I had long hair, Rachel liked to braid mine.

  I made a ball out of tissue paper and tossed it across the room. Maizie chased it.

  “Show Alison the bracelet your
mother brought you from Venice,” Rachel said, as she divided Alison’s hair into sections.

  “I love Venice!” Alison said. “Muscle Beach … the crazies on roller skates …”

  “Not Venice, California,” Rachel said. “Venice, Italy.”

  “Oh, she went to that Venice,” Alison said. “Mom and Pierre took me there when I was little. We rode in a gondola.”

  “This is what she brought me,” I said, holding my wrist in front of Alison’s face.

  “It’s beautiful,” Alison said.

  “Thanks.” I made another tissue paper ball and called, “Go get it, Maizie …” Then I said, “It was a business trip. Mom had to check out the hotels and restaurants for her clients.” I glanced over at Rachel, who was fastening Alison’s braids with the barrettes I’d given to her for Christmas.

  Alison held her braids out to the sides like Pippi Longstocking, making us laugh. “Want to play Spit?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. Alison has figured out a way for the three of us to play at the same time, by using two decks of cards.

  She grabbed them off her desk and handed them to me. I shuffled them and handed them back to her, to cut. Then she handed them to Rachel, to deal.

  “When are the two of you going to grow up and quit playing this ridiculous game?” Rachel asked. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking around.

  “Probably never!” Alison said, taking it as a joke.

  Rachel began to deal our hands but before we got going Alison said, “If you could dance with only one boy at the Ground Hog Day dance who would it be?”

  “I can’t think of any boy in seventh grade,” Rachel said.

  “Suppose it could be any boy at school?” Alison asked.

  “Ummm …” Rachel said, sticking her tongue into her cheek, “I guess it would be Jeremy Dragon.”

  “He’s in love with Dana,” I reminded her.

  Rachel put down the cards. “We’re not talking about reality,” she said. “We’re talking about fantasy.”

  “Even so,” I said, “that’s a dumb fantasy because you know it can’t happen.”

  “There’s no such thing as a dumb fantasy,” Rachel said. “Besides, every girl needs a fantasy boyfriend. Isn’t that why you have that stupid poster over your bed?”