The Cupid Chronicles

by Coleen Murtagh Paratore

  The good smells of Thanksgiving are wafting through the inn. We’re all just waiting for the turkey Mama and Papa B invite me to play Monopoly. Suzy-Jube is “catching up on her beauty sleep,” Mama B explains. Papa B picks the top hat. Mama B picks the car. I pick the little dog that looks like Scamp.

  The Blazers have a variation on the traditional Monopoly rules. Every time you pass go and collect $200, you have to put twenty bucks “income tax” in the center. If you land on “Free Parking” you win it. “Makes a nice year-end bonus,” Papa says.

  When I land on Community Chest, I tell the Blazers about Sam’s definition of “community rent,” how we all have to give back something good. The Blazers look at each other and smile.

  “That reminds me of that quote you had up on your Bramble Board last month,” Mama B says. “The one about spending yourself to get rich.” She winks at Papa B.

  Gramp Tweed sits next to me at dinner. “I’m going to try to see an old Doane Stuart School chum of mine when Nana and I are in the city next weekend. Chas Butler is an old-school philanthropist. He’s frugal unless he believes; but if he believes, he’s Santa Claus. I think maybe he’ll help the library campaign.”

  “Is he from Bramble?” I figure only someone from Bramble would care.

  “No,” Gramp says. “But Chas loves books the way we love books.”

  “Thanks so much, Gramp.” I hug him. “Good luck making Santa believe.”

  “Save some of that love for me,” Nana says to Gramp.

  Gramp laughs and kisses Nana. “Come on, Mrs. Tweed. Time to go. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, is the busiest day of the year for most retail stores. Everybody starts shopping for the holidays. Books and candy are popular presents. Nana and Gramp let me work in the store.

  It’s Friday so I check to see what Muffles is keeping warm. A Christmas Memory, by Truman Capote, and a book about writing, Bird by Bird.

  “Capote’s one of my favorites,” Gramp says. “Christmas Memory is a gem. And Bird, well, it’s food for the writer’s soul. I think you’ll like it, Willa.”

  “You haven’t steered me wrong yet, Gramp. Thanks.”

  It amazes me how Gramp knows just about every book in the store. And he knows his customers, too. He asks Mrs. Pasternack how her book club liked last month’s selection. He hands a new mystery set at an opera house to Mrs. DeBatista. She’s a mystery buff and an opera lover. Gramp asks Mr. Cohen if his grandson liked the book he suggested for his birthday. He shows Mr. Tompkins a new fly-fishing title.

  I don’t know how Gramp keeps all of those books and all of those people in his head like that, but he does. And his customers trust him, just like people trust Mrs. Saperstone. If they say a book is good, the book is good.

  I’m helping a customer when I happen to look out and see JFK walk by across the street. A minute later I see Ruby She crosses over and comes in.

  “Oh hi, Willa.” Ruby has a strange look on her face.

  “Can I help you find something?” I ask.

  “I’m good,” Ruby says. “Hey, did you see the new heart lockets at Wickstrom’s?”

  “No.” I turn a stack of new books by a favorite author face out on the shelf.

  “You can open the heart,” Ruby says, “and there’s room inside for two tiny pictures, one on each side, you know … like for a girl and her boyfriend.”

  “Willa,” Gramp calls, “would you please wrap Mrs. Miller’s order?”

  “Sure, Gramp.” When I finish, Ruby is gone.

  Extra workers come in at four. Nana finishes refilling the Swedish fish bin and says “come upstairs with me, Willa. I want to show you my new dress.”

  It’s black velvet with shiny silver beads around the neckline.

  “After the show, Alexander’s taking me to dinner and then dancing at the Rainbow Room.” Nana is so excited. “Do you think it’s fancy enough?”

  “Oh, it’s fancy, Nana. You look beautiful. Gramp’s a lucky guy And I’m proud of you for walking every day.”

  “I’ve lost nine pounds,” Nana says, “and I feel ten years younger.” Her happy face saddens a bit. “I know Stella thinks we’re foolish driving off-Cape in the winter at our age, during our busiest season, no less. You know how Stella feels about business. But you only live once, right? You’ve got to grab the glad while you can.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Suzanna Jubilee’s Advice

  For such as I am all, true lovers are,

  Unstaid and skittish in all motions else

  Save in the constant image of the creature

  That is beloved.

  —The Poet of Love, Twelfth Night

  I wake up Saturday to the sun streaming through my window. It’s going to be a beautiful day. After brunch I finish my homework and then head downstairs to talk to Suzanna. There are Blazers everywhere, grabbing the glad where they can. Charades in the living room. Poker in the den. Mama and Papa B are dozing by the fireplace. As I pass by Papa snorts and they wake up.

  “Suzy’s tummy’s feeling crummy,” Papa B says, patting his paunch in solidarity.

  “No reflection on the food, of course,” Mama B says. “Everything here is just delicious, honey. Your daddy’s an excellent cook. It’s just that Suzy-Jube’s been eating like a bird for the pageants, but here, the temptations were just too great.”

  I did see Suzanna tackling the bacon station three times this morning.

  Mama B smooths the spot next to her. “Sit a bit.” I do. Papa B sits on my other side. I’m trapped between friendly bears. Mama B lifts a thick album off the table. “This gives us a chance to brag a bit anyhoo. Let’s look-see Suzy-Jube’s modeling album. Your mama saw it earlier and she said to be sure to show you, too.”

  “Oh, sure,” I say. Thanks a lot, Stella.

  Chickles opens to a bald-headed baby who looks like every other bald-headed baby She turns a few pages. Now Suzanna has a huge wisp of white hair sticking up straight on her head like a duck. I dig my fingernails in.

  “And here’s Suzy-Jube when she was three,” Chickles says.

  I keep checking the clock as we travel on. On and on and on.

  Suzanna in a pink tutu, blue tutu, new braces, sparkly cape, purple gown, yellow gown … I smile and nod while inside I’m thinking about JFK. The peppermint kiss and the almost invitation to the movies and was that really his name Ruby swiped out of my hand for the Pats box seats and why hasn’t Ruby mentioned her date with Chris Ruggiero and what if she likes JFK again and what’s with the whole heart locket thing? I need to call Tina.

  “And here she is today,” Papa B says.

  Suzanna Jubilee is wearing a red bathing suit with a “Miss Brewer County” sash and tiara. She looks like Marilyn Monroe, shapely and gorgeous, with those white waterfall curls. I bet Suzanna has no trouble getting any boy she likes.

  “Isn’t she a beauty?” Papa B says in a quivering voice. “And she’s the sweetest, nicest girl you’d ever meet.”

  “Beautiful inside and out,” Mama B says. “And our baby girl’s gonna be the next Miss Daisydew USA. If she can just work on her talent.”

  Yes, finally I’ll find out. “What exactly is Suzanna’s tal—”

  “Now, Mama, stop.” Suzanna walks in. “I don’t want to hear another word about the talent portion of the competition. It’s just one eensy-weensy little part of the scoring and I’ve been practicing, hard. You’ll jinx me if you keep on—”

  “Won’t mention it again, sugarplum,” Mama B says.

  “Not a word,” Papa B promises.

  Oh, please, I’m dying to know.

  “Hello, Willa,” Suzanna says, looking at me. “Such a pretty little thing.”

  I pull my shoulders back and stick out my chest.

  “I’d love to see the ocean up here,” Suzanna says.

  “Oh, sure,” I say. “Let’s go.” I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to her.

  It’s warm so we
grab two bikes from the shed. “The beach is close,” I say.

  People stop and stare as we go by. A boy walks smack into a tree. A man in a jeep swerves up on the curb, just missing a telephone pole.

  Suzanna laughs. “Don’t worry, Willa. Happens everywhere I go.”

  Nature’s not immune to Suzy-Jube’s charms either. At Sandy Beach, the wind whistles loudly and gulls collide in the air. Fish leap up on the sand to see her. The tide rushes in … and stops.

  I wonder what JFK thought of her?

  “Who’s that handsome curly-haired boy you were with at the turkey dance?” Suzanna asks.

  “I wasn’t with him. We were all just hanging out as friends.”

  Suzanna laughs. “Honey, I can spot lovin’ eyes a hundred miles away. You couldn’t take your baby blues off that boy and he couldn’t keep his off you either.”

  “I don’t know, Suzanna. I’m so confused.”

  “Good,” she says, “if it ain’t confusing, it ain’t fun.”

  “But you see, there’s this other girl …”

  “The redhead with the big moo-mas?”

  “Ruby,” I say, and laugh. Suzanna laughs too.

  “I saw her,” she says. “But she can’t hold a candle to you, honey.”

  “Well, it’s just that I think Ruby likes JFK too.”

  “His name is J-F-K?” Suzanna gushes. “I just love a man with initials.”

  “And I think Ruby finagled it so that JFK won a trip to the Super Bowl with her in her family’s private jet—”

  “Whoa there,” Suzanna says. “Money can’t buy love, suga’. Not true love. If you want that boy, you’ve got to learn his heart.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got to find out what he loves. Maybe it’s a sport, or he’s got some big dream…. Find out what he loves and then show him you think it’s the most fascinating thing since cotton candy.”

  “But what if I don’t like the things he likes most?”

  “Don’t worry, Willa girl. You don’t look at someone the way you two were looking at each other if you don’t already know your hearts match.”

  The stretch limos with “Blazin’, Blazin’, it’s Amazin’” slogans painted on the sides pull up after dinner on Sunday. After Suzanna Jubilee’s Daisydew USA pageant next weekend, they’re off to Paris for Christmas and then to their California house for the Miss American Role Model preliminaries.

  There’s a whole lot of hugging and promises to be back in the spring.

  What does JFK love? I wonder as I write in my diary. I know he likes football. I know he likes rap music. But those are just things. I wonder what he really cares about inside? I wonder what he wants to be? I wonder if he has a dream….

  CHAPTER 21

  Winter Vacation Plans

  Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight,

  For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

  —Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

  Community Service meets after school. Plans for the “Summer in the Snow Beach Party” are swimming along nicely.

  “Sam is renting extra space heaters and getting sand for the floor,” I say.

  “Daddy knows the owner of the new Roche Brothers market,” Tina says. “I’ll see if they’ll donate the hot dogs and hamburgers.”

  JFK, Jessie, and Luke come in. “Where’s your new friend, Willa?” Luke asks.

  He means Suzanna Jubilee.

  “Her family left,” I say. “They were just visiting.”

  Jessie and Luke look distraught.

  “But it’s good you’re here,” I say “We’re making plans for the next fundraising event. A Summer in the Snow Beach Party in the barn.”

  “My uncle’s friend is a DJ,” JFK says. “He might do it for free. I’ll call him tonight.” JFK hasn’t said another word about the movies.

  “And Luke and I’ll play free, too,” Jessie volunteers.

  What’s a beach party without buoys? Tina and I look at each other and smile.

  “And how about a snowman contest?” I say. “If we have enough snow.”

  “We’ll be in our bathing suits, Willa,” Tina reminds me.

  “Oooh, nice,” Jessie says. Tina punches his arm and giggles.

  Oh no, bathing suits. How could I forget? I’d much rather be in a ski jacket outside making snowmen, than dancing in a bathing suit next to Tina and Ruby.

  We move on to the Midwinter Night’s Dream. The boys groan. “Just give me a job later,” JFK says to me as they leave.

  “The gym is reserved and I’m working on a band,” Ruby says. “Committee members, why don’t you give your reports?”

  Trish and Emily got all of the paper goods donated. Lauren says decorations are under control. Caroline found a florist. Alexa says Mama Java’s is supplying coffee and Kelsey’s sending home a flyer asking parents to make fancy desserts.

  “Okay, girls, listen to this!” Tina is dying to share her matchmaking questionnaire. She’s been working on it night and day.

  What’s your favorite food?

  What’s your favorite pizza topping?

  What’s your favorite dessert?”

  Are all the questions about food?” I ask

  “Food’s important, Willa. Especially to boys.

  4. What’s your favorite candy?

  5. What’s your favorite ice cream? … I mean the actual cold stuff …

  “Oh, come on, Tina….” I say.

  6. What’s your favorite TV show?

  7. What’s your all-time favorite movie?

  8. What’s your favorite team?

  9. What’s your favorite Cape beach?

  10. What’s your favorite gum?

  “And I’m still working on a tiebreaker—”

  “I’ve got an idea,” I say, but Tina and Ruby are late for nail appointments. “Same time next week,” I say I check with Mr. Kay about an algebra question then head to the lab to finish a science report. It’s getting dark by the time I leave school.

  Outside, I look up. The first star tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might … I turn the corner toward the bike racks and there is JFK. Sitting on the bench by the willow tree. He’s writing fast and furiously, like he’s got an idea that he doesn’t want to lose.

  I know that feeling. I wait until he’s finished. “Hi, Joseph.”

  “Willa, hi.” He closes the notebook.

  “Homework?” I ask.

  “Yeah, no … lyrics.”

  “Can I hear them?” I say. I sit down next to him on the bench.

  He looks at me. “I guess so.” He opens the notebook. “Here, you can read it.”

  Winter Vacation Plans

  rich burb mommas strategizing, private bay

  or ocean side?

  poor curb mommas agonizing, medicine

  or heat or fries?

  winter vacation plans

  “Wow, Joseph. This is rap? This is good. Really good.”

  “You like it?” He smiles.

  “I love it. ‘Winter Vacation Plans.’ Great title. What got you writing this?”

  “I don’t know,” JFK says. “It just bothers me that some people are mega-rich and other people can’t even buy their kids decent food or medicine when they’re sick. It’s not right. My mom volunteers at this homeless shelter in Hyannis and I help her sometimes. I thought it would just be old drunks. But no, lots of times it’s mothers with little kids who got evicted from their apartments or their husbands beat them up and they’re scared …”

  Wow, I had no idea he cared about these things. Important things. Not only is JFK beautiful on the outside, he’s beautiful on the inside, too. If I ever had one smidgen of doubt, I don’t anymore. I am totally in love with this boy.

  “And it’s funny,” JFK says, “but reading Shakespeare’s been good for my lyrics. I know everybody in class thinks his stories are lame, but that guy could groove. He had a rhythm. He’d have made a mean rapper.”

  “Well, maybe you could help Shakes
peare get his groove back.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” JFK says. He laughs. “Right after I end world hunger.”

  I write in my journal and then open Shakespeare to The Winter’s Tale:

  When you do dance, I wish you a wave o’ the sea,

  that you might ever do nothing but that.

  I imagine Shakespeare standing on a beach. He lived on an island, England, of course. I look out at the same ocean he did. And I can tell he loved nature.

  Here’s flowers for you … lavender … marigold…

  Daffodils that come before the swallow dares and take

  the winds of March with beauty.

  He talks so much about the wind, I’m certain Shakespeare knew that feeling of the sea wind whistling through your ears, walking until your worries wash away and your heart is light and happy.

  Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,

  And merrily hent the stile-a’.

  A merry heart goes all the day … sad tires in a mile-a.

  That passage always makes me smile-a. Some day I’ll see the Globe Theatre and visit the places that inspired old Will. Maybe JFK will come too.

  Shakespeare talks so much about love. It seems that word is in everything he wrote. I love a ballad in print … he said. Me too, Will, me too. Some day, I want to be a writer. But like you say in The Winter’s Tale … there’s time enough for that.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sing it, Sister!

  Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes

  Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated,

  The bird of dawning singeth all night long;

  And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad,

  The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

  No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

  So hallowed and so gracious is the time.

  —Shakespeare, Hamlet

  We do a lot of celebrating at BUC in December: Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa…. Mum starts the month off with a candlelight service. The room is packed.

  “Nearly all the world’s great religions speak of light this season,” Mum says. “The oil lamps of Hanukkah, the star over Bethlehem …”