Rebel McKenzie

by Candice Ransom

  I dried the same lunch plate over and over. Miss Odenia’s story wasn’t boring anymore. Her low voice almost hypnotized me.

  “Modeling agencies didn’t want me,” she said. “I wasn’t tall enough or pretty enough. So I worked as a photographer’s secretary. One day he had a job, but the hand model he hired never showed. Then he noticed my hands. Next thing I knew, I was holding a Sears iron like I was presenting the crown jewels. Nobody saw my face or my figure. Just my hands.”

  “This is like a story in a book,” Lacey Jane said with a sigh. “Were you rich?”

  Miss Odenia smiled. “Hand modeling is hard work. In those days pictures weren’t airbrushed. I kept my hands out of the sun so they wouldn’t get tan. While I was on the set, I had to hold my arms up in the air to drain the blood. See, blood settles in the hands and makes the blue veins stand out.”

  All of us except Doublewide checked our hands. My veins were like spiderwebs.

  “I took my portfolio of photographs to agencies to get jobs. One day I was at an agency when in comes a woman about my age. The other girls whispered, ‘She’s the Avon hand model.’ Plain as mud with a figure like a scrub board. But her hands were flawless. She never opened doors or windows or cans. She didn’t garden or clean. She always wore gloves. And she was treated like a queen. I wanted to be a hand model for Avon, like her.”

  By now I had nearly rubbed a hole in the plate. “Did you get to be one?”

  “I moved to New York City. Mama threw her apron over her head. She thought I’d be killed in the big, wicked city. I went on all the casting calls for Avon.” Her voice dropped a notch. “But I was never picked. My hands weren’t good enough for hand lotion photographs. They were only good enough to push the button on a blender or pour soup in a bowl. Or model gloves. And my hands were cast to use as jewelry store displays.”

  “But you were famous,” I broke in. “How come you’re here—” I stopped, realizing that everyone but me lived in Grandview Estates trailer park.

  “Living in a mobile home? Never married? No children or grandchildren?” Miss Odenia shook her head. “I lived the life I wanted. I got out of Terrapin Thicket and traveled all over the country. I have no regrets.”

  Before I could ask what she meant by that, Lacey Jane said, “What happened to Ercel Grady?”

  “Mama wrote to me every week faithful,” Miss Odenia replied. “She kept me up on the doings back home. Ercel Grady married the Scott girl, Rusleen. They had five children, eleven grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. Two years ago Ercel sent me a Christmas card. His wife had passed.”

  “Was it a big funeral?” Rudy butted in. “Open or closed casket? Did a whole bunch of cars drive out to the graveyard? That means the dead person had a lot of friends.”

  Lacey Jane stared at him. So did I. What was with that kid and his obsession with funerals? I dropped my tea towel on the counter and hustled Rudy toward the door. Doublewide jumped off Miss Odenia’s lap.

  “Time we were getting home,” I said, shooing Doublewide ahead of me. “Lynette will worry. Thanks for the lesson, Miz Odenia. See you later, Lacey Jane.”

  “Thanks for serving,” Miss Odenia hollered after me. “Be here tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll learn to pivot turn.”

  The Clunker was parked in the driveway. Its engine cracked and popped in the heat, which meant Lynette had only been home a few minutes. She trudged from the cluster of mailboxes, gripping a fistful of mail.

  She fixed me with an angry glare. “I walk in after a long hard day and what do I find? Doublewide’s throw-up on the bathroom rug, laundry strung all over the floor, and no supper.” Then she noticed Rudy, whose neck, knees, and elbows were caked with dirt. “Where have you been?”

  “Digging fossils down by the sewer. Rebel and Lacey Jane went to a party,” the little snitch replied. I could have throttled him.

  “The sewer! You know you’re not supposed to go down there! Rebel, why weren’t you watching him? What kind of a babysitter are you?”

  “The free kind.”

  Lynette shifted her weight so one hip jutted out. “Well, I’m glad you were having a big time while my son was wallowing in filth.”

  “I was not having a big time, unless you call being a waitress at Miz Odenia’s card party a blast,” I tossed back.

  “I didn’t notice Doublewide’s accident or I would have cleaned it up. The way that cat eats, no wonder he gets sick. I told Rudy three times to pick up his clothes. And like Old Mother Hubbard said to her dog, the cupboard is bare.”

  I folded my arms over my chest, daring Lynette to rip into me some more.

  But she said, “Shoot. I’ve been so busy with school I forgot to go grocery shopping. Look, I just got Chuck’s check. We’ll stop by the bank on the way to Kroger. And I’ll fix us a good supper when we get back.”

  “I want Tater Tots!” Rudy said.

  Lynette steered him toward the trailer. “You aren’t going anywhere like this.”

  I hurried in after them, wiping up Doublewide’s mess on the rug and collecting Rudy’s underwear. Fifteen minutes later, we were tooling down Frog Level Road in The Clunker. Lynette zipped by the drive-up window of the bank, then mashed the gas to Kroger.

  “We’re all starved cockeyed,” she said, swerving into the parking lot. “The absolute worst time to go grocery shopping. Don’t buy too much junk.”

  Even though he was way too old, Rudy hopped into a cart. His knees tucked under his chin, he hung on to the sides as I raced down the aisles. We filled the cart with all sorts of nutritious stuff like Hostess Sno Balls (pink and white), Clark bars, Nesquik, and Lucky Charms for Rudy, who finally decided to brave a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I didn’t think Lucky Charms was much of an improvement over RC floats, but if he didn’t eat it, I would. Gotta love that leprechaun!

  We met Lynette at the cookie aisle. Her cart was loaded with soft drinks, grape jelly, peanut butter, saltines, Wonder bread, milk, Velveeta, TV dinners, tuna potpies, and Rudy’s Tater Tots.

  She eyed the package of pink Sno Balls Rudy was holding. “Rebel, I told you not so much junk.”

  “Your cart wouldn’t win any home ec prizes, either,” I said. “We need cookies.”

  Lynette reached for the two-pound bag of gingersnaps that were on sale.

  “Not those,” I said hastily. “I don’t really like them.”

  “Then how come you ate a half a bag last night?” Rudy blabbed. “Mama, Rebel stayed in the bathroom a looong time this morning. Doublewide had to go in the yard.”

  I poked him. “Do we have any secrets in this family?”

  “And you complain about the way Doublewide eats. I could have told you gingersnaps give you the runs.” Lynette set the bag back on the shelf.

  I spotted a package of vanilla and chocolate cookies in different shapes. Some were frosted and some were plain. Stella D’Oro Lady Stella assortment. “These look delicioso.”

  “Four ninety-nine!” Lynette exclaimed when she saw the price. “Rebel, there are only about twelve cookies in that package.”

  “With that classy name, they’ll be worth it.”

  While Lynette fixed us a payday supper of tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and Tater Tots, Rudy and me put the groceries away. I tore the package of Stella D’Oro Lady Stella assortment open.

  “Don’t spoil your supper,” Lynette warned.

  “‘Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.’ I read that somewhere.”

  Lynette stirred the soup. “I don’t think school will ever get any better. Today Marcie—her station is next to mine—she begged me to cut her hair. She knows we’re only allowed to work on our mannequin heads. But she went on so, I took her in the break room and gave her a haircut.”

  “Did she like it?” I bit into a white-iced chocolate cookie.

  “Are you kidding? She said it looked like I used a chain saw. I told her she didn’t have the kind of hair for a choppy bob, but did she listen? So now Marcie’s telling t
he other girls I ruined her hair on purpose.”

  “Sic Lacey Jane on her. She’ll straighten her out,” I said.

  “Speaking of Lacey Jane,” Lynette said to me, “what were you and her up to today?”

  “We served the food and washed the dishes at Miz Odenia’s card party.” The chocolate cookie didn’t have much taste. I nibbled on a square pink-frosted vanilla.

  Lynette pretended to reel backward. “If I ask you to pick a poppy seed off the floor, you whine and carry on something awful. And you’re serving and washing dishes for Miz Matthews?”

  The pink-frosted cookie wasn’t any better. I tried a plain round vanilla. “Every day you tell me stuff to do and I do it, plus watch Rudy, which isn’t the easiest job in the world.”

  “Hey!” he protested.

  Lynette took the pan off the burner and poured the soup into two bowls, flipped our sandwiches over, and checked the Tater Tots in the oven. I marveled that she could do all of those things at once. I could pour the soup or flip the sandwiches or open the oven door, but only one thing at a time. Even then I’d probably mess up.

  “You know why I was working at Miz Odenia’s today?” I asked her.

  “I’ve been waiting.”

  “She’s teaching us how to be beauty pageant contestants.”

  “Say what?” A grilled cheese sandwich leaped out of the skillet. Lynette didn’t even bother to scrape it off the floor.

  “You heard right. Lacey Jane and me entered the Frog Level firemen’s carnival beauty pageant.” I didn’t tell her I borrowed the entry fee. Or that I forged her signature on the form. “Miz Odenia is showing us how to walk right. She was once—well, she knows about that stuff. In exchange, me and Lacey Jane serve at her parties.”

  Rudy piped up. “Miz Odenia told us a story about a turtle she was gonna marry.”

  Lynette didn’t even hear that ridiculous remark. “I can’t believe you of all people entered a beauty pageant !”

  I shrugged. “It’s something to do.” Like heck it was. I’d commit capital murder to get to that paleontology dig.

  Lynette came over and lifted my hair off my neck. “We should definitely put your hair up. With a few curls off to one side. And of course I’ll do your makeup.”

  I pushed her hand away. “No makeup. And no weird hairdos, Miss Chain Saw Stylist. I want to look like myself.”

  She gave my shoulder a little slap. “I ought to snatch you bald-headed for that remark. And if you look like yourself, you can forget about winning.”

  “The Stella D’Oro cookie people lied,” I said, shoving the bag across the table. “This isn’t an assortment. The cookies look different but they all taste the same.”

  Lynette brought over our plates. “Cookies are a lot like life, Rebel. A lot of it tastes the same.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. But then, my sister and me didn’t seem like we came from the same family, most of the time.

  You don’t have to go through life with “rabbit lashes.” Yes, Rebel McKenzie, this means you! Don’t walk around another second with eyeballs like olives in a jar. Take action now!

  Beef up puny eyelashes in five easy steps:

  1. Sleep on your back, not your stomach! Your eyes get all mashed in the mattress. See those little tiny hairs on the pillowcase? Bye-bye eyelashes.

  2. Grease your eyelashes with Vaseline right before bedtime. It makes them grow longer and thicker.

  3. Don’t rub your eyes! You pull out precious lashes.

  4. Use an eyelash curler. Place the curler part where your eyelashes grow out of your eyelids. Close the handle. Don’t squeeze too hard!

  5. Get out your trusty Vaseline. Sprinkle a little baby powder on your eyelashes. Add a teeny dab of Vaseline. Your eyelashes will look thicker and shinier instantly. And you have me to thank for it!

  Until next time…smile pretty!

  Kissy

  Before my eyelids cracked open, I heard somebody banging on the front door. I waited to see if Lynette would get it, but after the fourth set of bangs, I stumbled out of bed and into the hall. Since I was still wearing my daddy’s T-shirt that I sleep in, I unlocked the door and opened it just a sliver.

  “It’s me,” Lacey Jane said, bright as a new dime in a redand-white shorts set even though the sun had barely peeped over the 7-Eleven. “Take this. And this.” She handed me a large brown cat and a folded piece of pink paper.

  Doublewide lay heavily across my outstretched arms like a two-ton rag doll. The paper was bunched up in one hand, so I couldn’t read it.

  “Why are you bringing us our cat?” I asked. “We already know he lives here, unfortunately.”

  “Tell him that,” Lacey Jane said. “Daddy just came home, mad enough to bust. He was almost to work when this big ol’ thing jumped in the front seat.”

  “The cat rides in cars?”

  She nodded. “It’s not the first time Doublewide went to sleep in the back of Daddy’s van. Daddy said it better be the last. Did you know he used to pretend he was homeless and begged for table scraps? Doublewide, I mean. Not my daddy.”

  I dropped Doublewide—ker-plunk—on the floor. He ran off to investigate his food dish. “What’s the paper?”

  “I found it stuck in your door. I didn’t read it, but I bet I know what it is.”

  It took me four seconds to scan the latest edition of Bambi Lovering’s Expert Beauty Tips. Then I crumpled the paper in a tight ball, wishing it was Bambi’s head.

  “Don’t tell me you’re cursed with a beauty defect too,” Lacey Jane guessed.

  “Rabbit lashes.” I blinked several times to make my eyelashes flutter. They were not puny.

  Lacey Jane laughed. “Rabbit lashes! Next you’ll have guinea pig lips!”

  “You didn’t think it was so funny when she said you had piano legs.” The more I thought about Bambi’s nerve, the hotter I got.

  “Oh, good, you’re up.” Lynette rushed into the hall. She saw Lacey Jane and said, “Hey there, Lacey Jane.”

  Today Lynette wore her hair in a towering heap that defied gravity. A smooth layer covered the snarled teased part, like a sheet thrown over a brush pile.

  “Rebel,” she said, grabbing a banana from the wooden bowl on the counter, “I’m late. Will you make my bed? Ta-ta!” With a waggle of her fingers, she was out the door. No wonder she was late. It must have taken hours to back-comb her hair into a skyscraper.

  “‘Will you make my bed?’” I mocked Lynette’s new, mincing beauty-school voice. “‘And cook ten-course meals and rearrange the gravel in the driveway with tweezers?’ What I really want to do is give Bambi a gigantic Dutch rub.”

  “Get your chores over with first,” Lacey Jane said. “That’s what I do.”

  I looked at her. This was the first time she’d admitted that she did the housework now. It was a good moment to tell her I knew about her mother. Then Rudy came in.

  “Hey, Lacey Jane,” he said. “Hey, Rebel. Where’s Mama?”

  “She left already.” My mad was not going away. I had to do something before I exploded. “Rudy, go watch cartoons. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Just across the street. I’ll be right back. Don’t get into anything. Okay?”

  “’kay.”

  Lacey Jane tried to stop me. “Rebel, you’re still in your nightclothes!”

  “So what? Bambi Lovering has messed with the wrong person.” I pushed her aside and marched across the street.

  Lacey Jane’s sandals clip-clipped behind me. Rudy straggled behind her, and Doublewide brought up the rear. Nothing like leading a parade.

  Hopping up the cement steps, I leaned on the Loverings’ doorbell. The door jerked open so fast, I nearly fell inside.

  Bambi stood there in a purple bathrobe with glittery stars. A pink satin mask was pushed up on her forehead.

  “Kind of early for Halloween, isn’t it?” I said. “Or are you on your way to rob a bank?�
�

  “This is an eye mask, I’ll have you know. What are y’all doing here at this unearthly hour?”

  “I got your beauty tip,” I began. “Here’s what I think of—”

  Yarkyarkyarkyarkyark!

  Something very small, very furry, and very fast launched itself at me. Pin-sharp teeth locked on my ankle. I lifted my foot, but the critter hung on, growling.

  “Kissy!” Bambi picked up a wriggling tan-and-silver fur ball and tucked it under her chin. “Is that any way to behave? No attacking, not even if Rebel deserves it.”

  “It’s a dog,” Rudy cried. “Aw, isn’t it cute! When’d you get it?”

  “Yesterday,” Bambi said, stroking Kissy’s licorice-drop nose. “I bought her with my Miss John Deere prize money. She’s a Yorkie—Yorkshire terrier. She’ll only weigh about five pounds when she’s full-growed.”

  “You named her Kissy?” Lacey Jane asked.

  “Yeah, ’cause all I want to do is kiss this sweet li’l thing. Mwa, mwa, mwa, mmm-wa! ” Bambi plastered lip-smackers all over the poor dog’s fuzzy little head.

  Rudy held out his arms. “Can I hold her?” he asked, lovesick over both Bambi and her scrap of a dog.

  She looked at him. “You have a giant booger in your nose.”

  “And you’ve got a big stick up your butt,” I said, as Rudy turned away, his shoulders slumping. “Where do you get off telling people about their rabbit lashes and boogers?”

  “‘Good grooming habits are the way to start your day,’” she returned. “That’s from chapter two of the beauty advice book I’m writing.”

  “Are you for real? I bet your mama ordered you from the Sears catalog.”

  Doublewide sidled by my leg, staring up at Kissy, probably thinking it was a long-haired rat. Doublewide easily made three of that dog.

  Kissy wiggled out of Bambi’s grip and skittered over to the cat. Yarkyarkyarkyarkyarkyarkyark!