"I am too," Donna said.
Mary Beth giggled.
"That makes three of us."
Mark laughed to himself as he remembered how the day had begun. He and Ben had called the Chaparral Motel at nine, asked Mary Beth and Piper to a baseball game, and frowned when told that the sisters needed time together to do something important. He could not have known that Donna was already on her way to South Pasadena or that shopping and manicures held more weight than the Dodgers and the Cubs in the minds of two time travelers.
Mark and Ben drove to the motel after the game, blissfully unaware of the shopping spree. They picked up their dates at six, took them back to the Painted Lady, and enjoyed a beef stroganoff dinner that Donna had prepared.
Ben and Piper had stayed only for dinner and dessert. Five minutes after eating pie in honor of a terrific husband and father, they walked out the front door, jumped into the T-Bird, and drove directly to the Rose City Drive-In. Both had told their siblings that they wanted to exorcise the demons of the previous weekend by revisiting the haunted house.
Mark smiled at their bold and creative decision and also at his good fortune. Ben and Piper had done more than bury the hatchet. They had given their siblings an extra week to make sense of a situation that became more complicated by the day.
Mark gazed at Mary Beth as she carried out a light conversation with Donna and noticed that she wore the turquoise earrings she had purchased in Las Vegas. He had not noticed them until now and wondered if there were other things about her that he had not picked up. It was easy to miss details when one focused on a pleasant voice and a pretty face.
He thought briefly about the weekend in Nevada, which seemed a lifetime ago, and the man who had apparently followed the time travelers to Los Angeles. Though he no longer worried about the man with the deformed ear, he could not entirely forget him. He wondered whether a man in pursuit of a potential fortune would ever give up his search. He thought not.
Mark gave the matter another moment and then turned his attention to Donna and Mary Beth. He smiled at both, joined their conversation, and resumed a most enjoyable evening.
CHAPTER 38: MARK
Two hours later, after Donna had retired and a waxing moon had risen above the San Gabriel Mountains, Mark helped Mary Beth wash the dishes and then led her from the kitchen to a living room that all but announced its budding promise. The room featured a large sofa, a recliner, a jukebox, and a freestanding television set with "wrap-around" sound. A black rotary telephone, much like the one in the kitchen, sat on one table. A 1930s cathedral radio rose from another.
"This is my favorite room in the house," Mark said.
"I can see why," Mary Beth said. "It's filled with gadgets."
Mark smiled.
"Do you want to sit?"
Mary Beth nodded.
"I do."
Mark waited for Mary Beth to take a seat, plopped down next to her, and then threw his arm over her shoulders. He could literally feel her relax as she burrowed into his side.
"Did you enjoy dinner?" Mark asked.
"I did," Mary Beth said. "I enjoyed the whole day."
"My mother adores you."
"I like her too."
Mark pulled her closer.
"Was she helpful on your little shopping spree today?"
"She was more than helpful. She paid for everything," Mary Beth said. "She said Piper and I were the daughters she had always wanted to spoil. The comment made me cry."
"Why would it make you cry?"
Mary Beth lifted her head and stared at Mark.
"You really are a guy."
Mark laughed.
"I confess."
Mary Beth sighed.
"Your mom's comment made me cry because it reminded me that we don't always get the things we want in life. She'll never have daughters to spoil or even a husband to enjoy in old age. She'll be mired in memories and laments for the rest of her days."
"She'll be fine," Mark said. "She has Ben and me."
Mary Beth nodded.
"That's a lot. I just hope it's enough. Your mother has so much to give. It's a shame to see her call it quits before she's even fifty. It's just plain sad."
"I suppose it is," Mark said. "We've all had to make adjustments since last fall. Dad was a pretty big part of our lives. I still think of him every day. I think of him every time I walk into this room. He purchased every one of the 'gadgets' you see."
Mary Beth sat up, leaned forward, and gazed at the appliances in the room as if looking at relics in the Smithsonian Institution. She focused on the large machine in a distant corner.
"Tell me about the jukebox."
"What do you want to know?" Mark asked.
"I don't know. I guess everything. How did your dad get it? How much is it worth? How does it work? Is it loaded with records?" Mary Beth asked. "I've never seen anything like it."
Mark smiled.
"I keep forgetting that you're used to better things."
Mary Beth gave him a pointed glance.
"I'm used to different things, Mark. Not all are better."
Mark chuckled.
"I can't argue with that. I've seen the future."
Mary Beth raised a brow.
"Can you answer my questions, please?"
"OK. I'll try," Mark said. "The jukebox is a Wurlitzer 1015. Dad bought it six years ago for cost from a man in San Diego. I honestly don't know how much it's worth today, but I suspect it's worth a lot. It's still in mint condition and fully functional."
"How does it work?"
"You press a few buttons and wait for the music."
"You don't need coins?" Mary Beth asked.
Mark shook his head.
"That was an option Dad passed up. He refused to pay for his own music."
Mary Beth scolded him with a smile.
"You're a smart aleck. Do you know that?"
Mark laughed.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist."
Mary Beth sighed.
"Can we play something?"
Mark nodded.
"Come on. I'll show you what it can do."
Mark helped Mary Beth from the sofa and escorted her to the corner of the room and an appliance he knew well but rarely used. He flipped on a power switch in back and waited for the device – a flourish of bright lights, wood cabinetry, and chrome trim – to come to life.
Mary Beth placed her hands on the see-through dome as a kaleidoscope of lights flickered and the dormant music machine began to hum and click. She peeked through the small windows in front, frowned, and then looked at Mark.
"There's nothing printed on the title strips."
"I know."
"That makes no sense," Mary Beth said.
Mark chuckled.
"It does in this house."
"I don't understand."
"We never bothered to write the titles on the cards. Dad knew which buttons to push for his songs. Mom and Ben know which buttons to push for theirs. We all do."
"What do your guests do?" Mary Beth asked.
"They fend for themselves."
"That's not very hospitable."
"No," Mark said. He smiled. "It's not."
"Can you play something now?" Mary Beth asked.
Mark nodded.
"What would you like?"
Mary Beth looked at Mark.
"Play a slow song. I'd like to dance."
"You've got it."
Mark stepped toward the jukebox, pressed five buttons, and waited patiently as the machine selected the first vinyl disc. A moment later, he took Mary Beth in his arms, guided her to an open space, and started dancing to "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes."
"Do you like the Platters?" Mark asked.
Mary Beth nodded.
"I have an album of their greatest hits. Jordan gave it to me one Christmas. He said my life wouldn't be complete unless I listened to all the fifties classics at least once."
Mark laughed to himself at the
reference to "classics." He had never thought of fifties music as classic because, to him, it was cutting edge and fresh. He could not imagine what it would be like to go back in time and view the world as it was.
Mark pondered the comment for a moment and then turned his attention to the woman in his arms. He pulled Mary Beth close as they moved slowly, smoothly, and effortlessly across a squeaky hardwood floor. He wondered what it would be like to dance with her every night.
"What are you thinking?" Mark asked.
Mary Beth took a breath.
"I'm thinking about how much I'm going to miss you."
"We don't need to talk about that now."
"You're right. We don't."
Mark acknowledged the statement with a nod and gave the impression he had moved on to another subject, but he had not. Like Mary Beth, Ben, and Piper, he could not set aside the painful separation to come. He had allowed himself to hope that this magical experience could continue when he knew as well as anyone it could not.
"I wonder how our siblings are doing tonight," Mark said. He slowed the pace as the Platters gave way to Little Anthony and the Imperials. "I didn't see their reconcilement coming."
"I didn't either," Mary Beth said. "I guess Piper really wanted to go to the prom. Or maybe she likes Ben more than she let on. She hasn't told me much."
Mark smiled.
"I'm in the dark too. The only thing I know for sure is that my brother is a different person. He told me something today that he's never told me before."
"What's that?"
"He said he's caught the love bug."
"I'm not surprised," Mary Beth said. She gave Mark a sad smile. "It's going around."
Mark nodded.
"It is."
Mark resisted the temptation to elaborate. He wanted to say more. He wanted to do more. He wanted to act on feelings he had harbored for weeks, but he knew he could not. He had to man up and face the world as it was and not as he wished it to be.
So he focused on the music, the dancing, and the moment. He held Mary Beth close and moved in tight circles across the floor as "Tears on My Pillow" turned into "Since I Don't Have You" and "When I Fall in Love."
Mark did not look at Mary Beth's face during the last song. Nor did he look at it when the Wurlitzer traded Nat King Cole for Jo Stafford and "You Belong to Me." He did not want to see a smile or a frown or a glance that might somehow take away from the moment.
He could not maintain the posture for long. As Stafford began to sing about pyramids, sunsets, and marketplaces in old Algiers, Mark sensed a change – an unpleasant change. He felt Mary Beth slow her step and relax her hold. He heard her sniff. He saw her wipe away a tear.
"What's wrong?" Mark asked.
"It's nothing," Mary Beth said.
"People don't cry over nothing, Mary Beth. What's wrong?"
Mary Beth smiled through tears.
"It's just this song."
Mark slowed the pace even more.
"Don't you like it?"
"I love it. It's my favorite," Mary Beth said. She wiped away another tear. "I was going to play it at my reception."
Mark stopped the dance.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. Do you want me to change it?"
Mary Beth shook her head.
"No."
Mark put his hands to her face.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive," Mary Beth said. She sighed. "Just hold me."
CHAPTER 39: PIPER
South Pasadena, California – Monday, April 20, 1959
Piper glanced at the girl with the grin and then at the woman with the smile and tried to decide which deserved her attention. She went with the former. Even in an interesting art history class, Sally Warner beat the Mona Lisa seven days a week.
Piper waited patiently as Sam Ginsberg, her goateed instructor, adjusted an easel supporting an oversized print of Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece. When he turned his back and stepped toward the blackboard, she texted her BFF fifties style by passing her a folded note.
Ginsberg scribbled a few words on the board, turned around, and walked to a stool that stood next to the easel. He scanned the faces in his class of thirty and then plunged into the lesson, one of six on famous Renaissance paintings and the last before a midweek exam.
"Why is this woman smiling?" Ginsberg asked.
Piper saw a hand go up in the front row. Even from the back row she could tell the hand belonged to Bunny Martinez. The bubbly senior and recently elected prom queen never went anywhere without pink plastic bracelets on each wrist.
Ginsberg acknowledged the student.
"Bunny?"
"She's keeping a secret," Bunny said. "She knows something the artist doesn't and is having a laugh at his expense."
The teacher chuckled.
"She may be," Ginsberg said. "Da Vinci didn't leave us a lot of clues. Much of what we know about this painting comes from others. Does anyone else want to hazard a guess?"
Another hand shot up.
"Mona Lisa is smiling because she's thinking of killing someone," Tom Cline said. "Look at her eyes. She doesn't look happy."
Piper laughed with several other students. She knew Tom wasn't trying to be funny, but she thought he was funny nonetheless. If there was one thing she enjoyed about attending school in the 1950s, it was that no one checked their opinions at the door. They said what they thought and thought what they said.
Piper glanced again at Sally when Ginsberg got up, returned to the board, and wrote down two dates. She knew even before Sally dropped a hand to her side that she had a note ready.
The southerner reached to her right, took the note, and unfolded it on her desk. She scanned the vicinity for nosy neighbors. Seeing none, she read the message, let it sink in, and smiled.
"So what happened Saturday night? It's killing me not to know!"
Piper pondered the question, picked up her pencil, and scribbled a short reply.
"We kissed and made up!"
Piper passed the note to Sally and laughed when she started to read it. She knew her suggestive, detail-free reply would probably cause her friend to bust a vein. She returned her attention to Ginsberg when the oblivious instructor walked back to his stool.
"Can anyone tell me why the years 1503 and 1506 are important?" Ginsberg asked.
A cheerful junior raised her hand.
"It's when Mona Lisa was born," Sandy Perkins said.
Piper covered her mouth and bit her lip. It was all she could do to stifle a laugh. She would miss classes like this. She would miss it all.
The instructor smiled.
"You're close, Sandy. Though Lisa del Giocondo, the real Mona Lisa, was born in 1479, the painting that bears her likeness was 'born' between 1503 and 1506. Da Vinci did not just throw paint on a canvas and call it a day. He took three years to create the painting and during that time added numerous elements, including, some believe, Mona Lisa's iconic smile."
Sandy beamed.
"This brings me back to my original question," Ginsberg said. "If Mona Lisa is smiling, then why is she smiling?"
Ginsberg pointed to a boy in back.
"Randy?"
"She's smiling because she's plotting something," Randy Thompson said in a serious voice. "She's plotting something big."
"Is that so?" Ginsberg asked.
Randy nodded.
"She's going to put a frog in da Vinci's soup. She's mad at him for making her sit in a chair for three years and wants to put a croaker in his minestrone. It's the only thing that makes sense."
The class erupted in laughter.
"I like your interpretation," Ginsberg said. "I'm not sure many art historians would support it, but I admit it's the most creative I've ever heard."
Piper smiled when Randy acknowledged new laughs by standing up and bowing. One more student of art history had claimed his fifteen seconds of fame.
Ginsberg let his students enjoy the light moment until the talking and laughing
subsided. Then he reclaimed control of the class and returned to the matter at hand.
"Can anyone offer a more grounded interpretation?" Ginsberg said. "Why is the Mona Lisa smiling instead of frowning? What is this young Renaissance woman trying to tell us?"
Piper looked at Sally as she scribbled furiously on a sheet of notebook paper. She didn't need to see more to know that her friend was not pleased with her five-word reply.
Piper prepared to receive the long message but withdrew her hand when Ginsberg rephrased his question and called on another boy. She leaned forward as the senior, who sat next to Wayne Bridges in the front row, started to speak.
"I don't think Mona Lisa wants to kill anyone or put a frog in his soup," Ben Ryan said. "I think she's doing what a lot of women did back then. She's sending a message to men."
The teacher put a hand to his chin.
"What message is that, Ben?"
"I think she's telling every guy who's ever messed up that there's always a chance he can make things right," Ben said. He turned his head, gazed at Piper with thoughtful eyes, and then returned to the instructor. "She's sending a message of hope and forgiveness."
Ginsberg scratched his chin.
"You got all that from a smile?"
"I did, Mr. Ginsberg. I do."
Piper did not gauge Sally's reaction. Nor did she acknowledge the snickers and grins. She simply gazed at the youth in the pressed white shirt and lost herself in the moment.
She was no longer a time traveler having an adventure or a high school student having some fun. She was a girl seeing a boy as she had never seen him before. She was a woman in love.
CHAPTER 40: MARY BETH
Los Angeles, California – Friday, April 24, 1959
Mary Beth heard the sounds before she saw the sources. Along with eighty others, she heard the grunts, chants, and calls of ten "Tahitian warriors" before they carried a sacred roasted pig into the courtyard of Zeta Alpha Rho and placed it on an altar.
"I take it the PC police are off today," Mary Beth said.
"What do you mean?" Mark asked.
"I mean times have changed."
"I imagine they have."
Class of '59 (American Journey Book 4) Page 18