“We do,” said Anna, checking her list. “And we’re almost ready to start. Got a thick sweater, Jenny, and some earmuffs? It’s gonna be cold in there.” Anna grinned at them, and Jenny nodded.
“I like your hair,” Norm Dubie told Jenny. Her hair had grown since she’d hacked it off, and now it stuck straight up and out in every direction.
“You look weird, like your finger’s stuck in a light socket,” Mary had told her only this morning. But Jenny had decided to let her hair grow so she could have braids.
“It’s splendid,” Norm Dubie said. “Your basic American gamine is what you are, Jenny. Are we on schedule?” he asked Anna. She said, “Are we ever?” and he looked glum.
“We’ll take good care of her, Mr. Chisholm,” Norm Dubie told their father. “Never fear.” Then, to Jenny’s delight, he removed his peaked hat and scratched the top of his head, which was very bald. But the hair was all his.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Chisholm!” Tina and Susan churned up, breathing hard. “Guess who’s here! Complete with skates! Guess!”
“Scott Borkowski,” Jenny guessed.
Tina looked sour. Sue stuck out her tongue. “Turkey. Think you’re so much just because you’re an extra.”
“Listen, girls, I have to be off,” their father said. “Behave yourselves and come right home when this is over, will you? I don’t know when your mother will show up—maybe not until tomorrow—but I’d like you there anyway. Be good,” and he bussed them both on the cheek and left.
“It’s a good thing my father was in a hurry,” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “He might’ve punched Scott Borkowski out. He was so mad last night he almost called up Scott Borkowski’s parents, but we talked him out of it.”
“Mary,” Jenny said, but Mary had Sue and Tina on tenterhooks and wanted to keep them there.
“My father practically had steam coming out of his ears, he was so mad when he got a load of the empty beer cans. He nearly blew his cork. I never saw him so mad. He was just about to call up our grandmother, to ask if we could stay with her, when the telephone rang.” Mary’s timing was perfect. She stopped talking, leaving Sue and Tina with their mouths hanging open.
“So what happened?” Sue asked, running her tongue over her lips, almost panting.
“We were saved by the bell, you might say.” Mary tossed her hair in an expert manner, adjusting her black velvet ribbon. “It was our mother saying she was coming home.”
“How come she’s coming home so soon?” Tina asked.
“It’s not so soon. She’s been gone for ages,” said Sue.
“She has not. She’s only been gone for eighteen days,” Jenny snapped.
“How come they picked you to skate in this movie?” Tina decided to change the subject. “I can understand why they picked Scott Borkowski on account of he’s a super skater. But Jenny skates on her ankles. Doesn’t she?” Tina turned to the others. “You know she does. She always has. Every time we go skating at the pond, we have to wait for Jenny because she’s always tagging behind, skating on her ankles. Wait’ll they find out! Just wait!” She and Susan went into gales of laughter. “They’ll take one look at Jenny skating on her ankles and they’ll throw her out on her ear!” They fell on each other’s shoulders, overcome with glee.
“All right, people. Let’s get the show on the road.” Norm Dubie spoke through a little megaphone. “With your cooperation we’ll get this scene shot in jig time. The sooner we start, the sooner we’re done. So let’s all pull together, please.”
Jenny was glad to get away from Susan and Tina. But she wished Mary were with her as she joined the crowd pushing its way toward the skating rink. Scott Borkowski had star shine, like Mrs. Carruthers had said, she thought, wishing she had some star shine of her own. Scott Borkowski could do no wrong. People thought of him as a star. Even if he drank beer and threw it all up, he was still a star. It was an odd thing.
She hadn’t skated since last winter. Maybe her ankles had gotten stronger. She certainly hoped so. And although she was still outside in the blazing heat, she shivered. She should never have said she could ice-skate. Because she couldn’t.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“No refreshments on ice,” the sign said. Underneath, someone had written in a big red scrawl, “NO HORSING AROUND EITHER.”
Jenny sat down and began to put on her skates. With a pang, she realized she’d forgotten socks. That was dumb, really dumb, but she hadn’t worn socks all summer and it was hard to remember everything. If her mother had been home, she would’ve remembered socks.
I’m going to have to tough it out, Jenny told herself. I wish I wasn’t even here. That wasn’t true; she was glad she’d been chosen. But right now she felt small and alone. If only Mary was here. Mary would help.
Jenny rummaged through the Lost and Found, looking for some socks. She stuck her head down deep inside the large grimy gray bin and decided it was better not to breathe until she got out of here. The smell was overpowering. There were plenty of socks in there, all right. Gingerly, she fished out a couple of beauties that smelled like low tide. One was too big, the other too small. They would have to do. She crowded her feet into the socks, then into the skates, hoping for the best.
Again she wished for Mary’s comforting presence. Lacing her skates had always been a problem. Mary usually helped. She could never seem to manage to lace them tightly enough by herself.
I think I can, I think I can, ran through Jenny’s brain as she tugged on the stiff laces. They didn’t seem to budge. She could feel the borrowed socks lumping up inside the skates. Jenny pulled and tugged and, having done her best, stood to get the feel of things. Which was not good. She sat down and, chin in hand, stared out across the rink. Skaters crowded the ice, skating somewhat self-consciously, carrying on animated conversations with friends or turning wooden faces toward the cameras that were set up at various intervals.
“Want some help?” It was Scott Borkowski, a.k.a. Harpo, sitting beside her on the bench for all the world to see. Despite her dislike of him, Jenny was pleased he was there.
“I can do it myself,” she said, and untied the laces, preparing to start all over.
“Here, let me.” He knelt, and with one pull on each, the laces tightened obediently.
“Try them now.” She stood. Things were much better. “Thanks,” she mumbled grudgingly.
“O.K., troops.” Norm Dubie’s voice rang out. “Pretend it’s snowing and blowing outside. It’s January, right, and you’re all having a ball. Let’s have some smiles here, folks, to show what a ball you’re having. A little winter music, please!”
The music commenced, and Jenny was astonished to see the flat-haired lady she’d spoken to in the line at the church hall take to the center of the ice, where she twisted and swooped solemnly, her little velvet skirt standing out from her narrow thighs as if it had been starched.
Emboldened by the flat-haired lady’s performance, as well as by her newly tightened laces, Jenny wobbled out onto the ice. Man, but those borrowed socks felt like lumps of coal inside her skates. Glide, glide, she told herself, gliding as best she could. Which wasn’t great, but it was her best. Her ankles, already feeling bruised and cold, grazed the ice. And she’d only just begun. Oh, for Mary’s hand holding hers!
Skaters whizzed by, hands clasped nonchalantly behind their backs, à la Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates. Jenny longed to clasp her hands casually behind her back, but knew in her heart that if she did, she’d fall on her face.
The flat-haired lady spun like a top in the rink’s center, her face devoid of expression, her hands and arms as graceful as any ballerina’s.
Doggedly Jenny skated on. If she stopped, she might never start again. Plus, the hordes of bozos zooming behind her might trample her to death. It was best to keep going. Even if she left a trail of blood behind herself.
A side door opened briefly to let someone out, and Jenny caught a glimpse of Mary and Sue and Tina huddled outside, peering in.
She pasted a big phony smile on her face and skated faster, wondering when this torture would end. Not only were her feet killing her; she was also on the brink of starvation. She’d even eat goat cheese if that was what was on the menu. She’d close her eyes and hold her nose, but she’d eat it. Gladly. A brief picture of hot chocolate with marshmallows bobbing on the surface, and of popcorn smothered in butter, passed briefly through her head and disappeared.
Around and around she went, like a windup toy. Forty bucks a day was a lot of bucks, but she was beginning to think it wasn’t nearly enough.
“All right, people! Let’s take a break.” Norm Dubie’s voice sounded sweet to her ears. “Snack bar is open, and it’s all on me. We’ll start filming again in ten minutes.”
A chorus of groans greeted this. “All right, all right,” said Norm Dubie. “Make that fifteen minutes.”
Jenny staggered off the ice and sat down. Heaven, just to take the load off her feet. How was she going to get to the snack bar without taking off her skates? And if she took them off, how would she get them back on?
“You looked like you were having a rough time.” Scott Borkowski stood there, looking at her. “Would you care for something to drink?” he asked, and his face flamed as they both remembered Mary asking just that not long ago in the kitchen.
“Sure. How about an orange drink? Harpo.” Jenny tacked on the Harpo deliberately, getting even.
“My name’s not Harpo,” Scott Borkowski said stiffly.
“It’s on account of your hair,” Jenny said. “It’s just like Harpo Marx’s hair.”
“Who’s Harpo Marx?”
“In the old Marx Brothers movie on TV, he’s the one who plays the harp. Do you know how to play the harp?”
“I thought only angels played the harp,” he said. “I don’t play anything. Orange drink it is,” and he went off toward the snack bar.
If only they could see me now, Jenny wished. If only the door would open and they looked inside and saw me drinking an orange drink with Scott Borkowski. Harpo, the barf king. The star shine kid.
“There you go.” He handed her an orange drink with a skinny straw sticking out. “Tell your sister I’m sorry if she got into trouble. On account of me, I mean.” Gingerly he balanced on the edge of the bench and stared down at his feet.
“You know what?” Jenny took a long drink. “My father almost called up your father to tell him you drank all our beer. But me and Mary talked him out of it. He was so mad. You wouldn’t believe how mad he was. He said your parents should know what you did.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had called,” Harpo said in an even tone. “It wouldn’t have done him any good. My father’s not there. He took off about four months ago. Him and his girl friend. My mother works two jobs, and my brother’s in the army. It’s only me at home mostly. So even if your father called, I would’ve pretended to be my father, and your father never would’ve known the difference. I can imitate my father’s voice really well.” He raised his head and looked straight at her, his eyes bleak.
“Oh,” Jenny said, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry.” She’d thought Scott Borkowski owed her and Mary an apology, and here she was apologizing to him instead.
Norm Dubie, another man in tow, approached the bench where they were sitting. “That’s the one I mean.” Norm Dubie pointed at them. “The one with the hair. You want to zero in on the one with the hair.”
Jenny and Scott Borkowski, a.k.a. Harpo, looked at each other, puzzled. “We both have hair,” Jenny said.
“The girl. At least, I think she’s a girl. She must be—her name’s Jenny,” and Norm Dubie smiled at her in a friendly way, letting her know he was only teasing.
“I gotta shove off,” Harpo said. “You want me to tighten those laces before I go? Better stand, see how they feel.”
Jenny stood. “Thanks,” she said. “They’re good. Maybe I’ll skate better this time around.”
“I want you to go on skating just the way you were, Jenny. It’s perfect. This is Joe, my number-one cameraman. Jenny, Joe. Joe, Jenny.” Joe nodded and Jenny nodded back. “I’ve had my eye on you, and you’re just right,” Norm Dubie said. “Keep on doing what you were doing, skating on your ankles, looking fairly miserable. That’s a winner, right, Joe? The all-American gamine we’ve been looking for. Just what this scene needs. Who doesn’t relate to ankle skating? Terrific!” Norm Dubie pumped Jenny’s hand enthusiastically.
“All right, people! Time’s up. Back at it, please. Let’s have some nice waltz music. Everybody at ’em.” Norm Dubie clapped his hands, and the skaters began to straggle back onto the ice.
It seemed to Jenny that she was gliding much more smoothly than she had been. She felt positively graceful. The flat-haired lady spun faster and faster, gaining momentum. Jenny imagined her taking off, leaving the ice and hitting the ceiling, as if she were filled with laughing gas, like in Mary Poppins.
Jenny skated in fits and starts: slow, fast, fast, slow. Harpo had laced her skates so tight that her circulation seemed to have stopped. Her feet felt numb, as if they weren’t there. Maybe they weren’t; maybe she really was skating on her ankles on account of her feet had disappeared. She checked. No, her feet were hanging in.
“Let’s go swimming after!” she heard someone shout. How could they go swimming when it was snowing outside? Jenny thought, before she remembered it was probably about ninety in the shade. So she’d looked fairly miserable. Deliberately, she tipped up the corners of her mouth in an imitation smile. The music and the noise in the rink were beginning to give her a headache. The orange drink sloshed around inside, making waves. The socks felt like sandpaper. She was certain her feet were bleeding.
Outside, Mary and Sue and Tina checked the clock on the church steeple one more time. “I think it’s stopped!” Tina wailed. “When are they coming out? I’m sick and tired of waiting.”
“So go home,” Mary suggested.
“If you think that kid was impossible before,” Susan snarled, “just you wait for after. That kid will be so impossible no one will be able to be in the same room with her. You watch!”
“Jenny’s not impossible.” Mary defended her. “She’s a very good kid, very loyal. And she never tells lies. I’ve never known Jenny to tell a lie.” Mary stretched the truth a trifle.
Tina mashed her lips together so they seemed to disappear completely. “Big deal,” she muttered. “Very big deal.”
Every time the door opened a crack, the three of them jockeyed for position to see inside, almost losing their noses in the process.
“Oh my Gawd!” Sue squealed suddenly, sending the other two flying with a couple of expert hip checks. “You are not going to believe this.” Sue, her face white, came away from the door’s crack. “You are simply not going to believe this. Guess who’s sitting on a bench talking to Scott Borkowski. Just guess.” Sue folded her hands on her front and cast her eyes toward heaven.
Mary and Tina looked at each other.
“Jenny?” Mary said, not believing it for a moment.
“Right!” Sue’s eyes almost popped from her head. “Li’lole Miss Jenny, sitting there like she was Marilyn Monroe or somebody, I can’t stand it! I simply cannot stand it!”
Sue let her head drop into her hands despairingly. “Forget impossible. Impossible is not the right word. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened. You know that?” Mary wasn’t positive, but she thought Sue might be crying. “Positively the absolute worst thing that ever happened.”
In silence, Mary and Tina nodded. Sue might just be right.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lunch was franks and burgers, all the potato chips you could eat, and more orange soda. No goat cheese. Jenny ate by herself, surrounded by a bunch of good-natured folks she’d not seen before. In the distance she could see Scott Borkowski, surrounded by lots of kids—some boys, mostly girls. After she went to the bathroom, she went out into the searing heat, to look for Mary and Tina a
nd Sue.
They were eating egg salad sandwiches from home. “Hey,” they said, twisting their hair in their thin fingers. “What’s new?” they asked, their faces flushed from the sun, their eyes avid.
“Mary, I wish you’d come inside with me,” Jenny said. I miss you.
“Oh, yeah?” Mary was pleased but didn’t want to admit it. “What’s going on in there? You meet any cute kids? See any movie stars?”
“The day seems never to end,” said Jenny. “It’s sort of fun, but it’s hard work, too. Norm Dubie told Joe to zero in on me with his camera. Scott Borkowski tightened my laces so I can skate better.”
She had made up her mind; she would not tell Mary or the others that Scott Borkowski’s father had run off with his girl friend. Not right away, anyway. She would keep the knowledge to herself, hidden in a place where only she could get at it. She felt sorry for him, and it was a feeling she had never really known before. Maybe no one else had ever been sorry for Scott Borkowski, and that made it special.
Tina slapped a hand to her chest dramatically and, tongue lolling like a dog’s, she gasped, “I have to cool off. How’s about we go swimming? Want to?” Her eyes skimmed over Jenny as if she weren’t there.
“Super idea!” Sue said. “Absolutely super! Come on, Mary, let’s go swimming.” Then, “Poor you,” she said to Jenny. “You have to go back into that creepy place and skate your little tuckis off. How are the ankles doing, Jen? I expect they’re soft as grapes by now, right? I’m amazed you’re still standing, with those ankles and everything. Poor little Jenny,” Sue crooned, smiling gently.
“I’ll be home as soon as we’re done here,” Jenny told Mary. “Maybe Mother will be home by the time I get there. You never can tell.”
“Come on, Mare,” Tina urged. “Let’s get going.”
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