“I hope we’re not too early,” I said. I sounded like my mother. When you catch yourself sounding like your own mother, beware. You have to watch stuff like that.
Al didn’t say anything.
“Come on in the kitchen,” Thelma said in a loud voice. “I’m making spaghetti. Polly taught me how.” We followed. Al and I fought for last position as Thelma led the way. Al won. She always wins things like that. She hid behind me. She’s taller and wider than I am so it’s not easy. But she has a way of crouching down and making herself small when she wants to. Thelma had on designer jeans. The name of the designer bobbed on Thelma’s rear end.
“I just wore any old thing,” Al said in a voice as loud as Thelma’s. “I’m packing to go to my father’s farm next week. All my good stuff is already packed.” Thelma didn’t answer. She was too busy introducing us.
One thing I really hate is coming into a roomful of strangers. I really do hate it.
There was a girl named Daisy and three boys named Ned and Tommy and Art. They were all sort of lolling around on the counter tops, eating M & M’s and talking with their mouths open, talking around the chocolate. They barely acknowledged our presence. Thelma stirred the spaghetti and Al stayed behind me, using me as a shield. Daisy and Thelma looked like twins. In addition to wearing matching designer jeans, they had pierced ears that were plugged with tiny gold earrings. They wore identical perky little bows to hold back their perky hair. They were all talking about going to law school, getting their master’s degrees. And going to Harvard for their M.B.A.s. It was like being in a foreign country.
Daisy said she was planning on being the president of a large corporation, which is why it was essential she have an M.B.A. Tommy had his heart set on being a successful corporation lawyer.
“Like my father,” Tommy said, cramming in the M & M’s. “My father makes big bucks. That’s what I’m out for, the big bucks.”
“Who do you think makes more money,” Ned asked suddenly, his eyes glittering, “the president of General Motors or the president of Chase Manhattan?” General Motors got two votes, Chase Manhattan three. Al and I didn’t open our mouths. I was afraid to look at her. I ate so many M&M’s I didn’t know how I could handle spaghetti too. Sometimes nervousness makes you eat too much.
At long last Al cleared her throat. I thought, Oh-oh. “How old are you guys, anyway?” she said.
They were all thirteen. I happen to know for a fact that Thelma’s birthday is five days after mine. Which makes Thelma twelve, any way you slice it. I could’ve been rotten and brought that up, but I didn’t.
“How come you’re already planning on how much dough you’re going to make?” Al said. “You’re not even in high school yet.”
They looked flabbergasted. They looked at each other.
Ned said in a cracked voice, “You wanna be a big fish in a little pond or a little fish in a big pond?”
“What’s that got to do with the price of onions?” Al asked him.
That shut him up. He didn’t know what to say, so he threw another handful of candy into his mouth.
“Supper’s ready!” Thelma cried. We all sat down.
“Perry can’t come,” Thelma said, tossing the Parmesan cheese around as if it were confetti. “His mother said he might be coming down with chicken pox.”
Al looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. Scratch one twerp.
Al twirled her spaghetti around her fork like a pro. “What about you?” She pointed her fork at the boy named Art. Food seemed to have made her bold. Art was the only one who hadn’t said what he was going to do to make big bucks.
“What corporation are you going to be president of?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve got a trust fund,” Art explained. “I’m going to direct movies. I might also write the script and produce the flick, too.” He had little pudgy cheeks and little pudgy hands, and he wore a shirt with an alligator on it. The alligator shirt is the tip-off. If you see a kid wearing a shirt with an alligator on it, you can be pretty sure of his personality.
“My IQ hangs in there around one forty, one forty-one,” Art said nonchalantly. “Also, I test real good.”
“What’re you going to major in—English?” Al asked him, her face blank.
He looked surprised. “How’d you know?” he said.
“Your grammar. I figured you for an English major.” She smiled at him so ferociously that he blinked.
“Where are your parents, Thelma?” I asked nervously. I wanted to change the subject. My mother would flip if she knew I was at a party where there were no chaperons. My mother has a chaperon fetish.
“They’re in the study,” Thelma said. “They’re playing bridge. They don’t like to be disturbed when they’re playing bridge.”
Al kept sneaking looks at her watch. I pretended I didn’t notice.
After the ice cream we played records. Thelma and Daisy danced. With each other. Al and I sat there, busily avoiding each other’s eyes. I was sorry I’d talked her into coming. If we’d ever looked straight at each other, it would’ve been disaster. Al excused herself and went to the bathroom. Art and Tommy and Ned sat in a tight little circle, discussing their careers. With their heads together, their hands making swooping gestures, all they needed, I thought, was three big black cigars to complete the picture.
Al came back, and then I went to the bathroom. I locked the door and sat there for a while, wondering how soon we could go home. My stomach felt peculiar. Someone tapped on the door and said, “You all right?” so I knew it was time for me to rejoin the group.
The music stopped, and Daisy and Thelma sat down. I could feel Al glaring at me. She wanted to go. So did I. But sometimes it’s hard to make the first move. Then Tommy said his family was taking him to the Riviera in late July. Ned said he’d already been to the Riviera. He clued the group in on a couple of three-star restaurants that he thought worth going to. Daisy said the month to go to the Riviera was August.
“Not August!” Thelma said, shocked. “It’s too crowded in August. My parents always go in October.”
My head started to hurt. Where was the Riviera? I’d never heard of it. I thought maybe it was in New Jersey, but I wasn’t sure.
“Did you know,” Al said. Everyone looked at her. I could tell from her face she didn’t know what she was going to say next. Either that or she’d forgotten.
Al got her second wind.
“Did you know that in some Mediterranean countries,” she said in a rush, “men stick their handkerchiefs under their arms, in their armpits, to get them nice and smelly. They don’t use too much deodorant there, you know.” She smiled around at us all. “Then they dance around and wave the handkerchiefs at the girl they want to put the moves on.” She stopped, exhausted, I think. I know I was. The rest of them looked at each other. They looked as if they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I excused myself and practically ran to the powder room.
When I got back, no one was talking. Al jumped up as if she’d been shot out of her chair.
“My father will kill me,” I said. “It’s getting late.” Thelma ran with us to the front door. “Thanks,” we said, “it was a blast.” Thelma swung the door back and forth, waiting for us to go.
“If you want a taxi,” she said, “the doorman will get you one.”
“Ciao,” Al said. “That’s Italian for ‘good-bye,’” she said to Thelma, baring her teeth in a terrible smile. The door closed, the elevator arrived. We got in.
“Where’s the Riviera?” I said.
Al shrugged so her shoulders almost touched her ears. “France, Italy. Mostly France.”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought it was in New Jersey.”
Al just looked at me.
My father had given us money to take a taxi home. He didn’t want us out on the street late at night. It was almost nine. It felt like midnight. Just as we got to the corner, a crosstown bus pulled up. We hopped on. Luckily, we had the exact change.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as we walked to the back of the bus. “The handkerchief bit, I mean.”
“Listen,” Al said in a fierce voice, “if I’d had a handkerchief handy, I would’ve stuffed it in the alligator kid’s mouth. Do you realize”—she fixed me with her most steely glance—“do you realize that Brian could’ve taken on all three of those wimps and tossed them over his left shoulder? He’s got these gigantic muscles, from pitching hay and all. And Brian wouldn’t wear an alligator shirt if you paid him,” she said proudly.
“If he did, they’d probably throw him out of the 4-H club,” I said, joking. I laughed at my own joke. It was the only time all night that I’d laughed. Al didn’t smile.
“Farming is very strenuous, you know,” she went on. “Those nerds would be wiped out after a half hour of doing farm work. That kind of work Brian does every day.” For the rest of the way home she talked about Brian and his muscles. I began to think he must be a combination of the Incredible Hulk and Superman.
As we rode up in the elevator in our building, I said, “I think Thelma is trying to find herself.”
“Yeah?” Al said. She fumbled for her key, which she keeps on a chain around her neck. “Well, when she does, tell her to get lost for me, O.K.?” She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. “Have a weird day,” she said, doing a couple of pretty good bumps and grinds.
“I already did,” I told her. Then I went into our apartment and went to bed.
CHAPTER 9
I was so tired I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the dark listening to the sound of the television. My father was watching an old movie. I thought about Thelma’s party, about the twerpy talk about the Riviera. The only good thing that happened was that I’d managed to keep my mouth shut and hadn’t let it slip that I thought the Riviera was in New Jersey. Boy, that would’ve been the end.
How come I never get to go anyplace? How come everyone I know has been somewhere or is going? Polly’s a world traveler, due to her father’s job. Al’s got big, exciting plans to go to the farm, have a barn dance, plus homemade ice cream. Even Teddy gets to go to Connecticut. Only I sit home. I lead a very boring life, I’ve decided.
When I woke in the morning, it was raining. I lay with my hands behind my head and listened to the rain slap against the windows. It was cooler already. Good.
“Those guys are certainly into culture,” I said aloud. Wait’ll I told Polly about last night. I’d write her today.
My father was fixing breakfast when I came into the kitchen. “How come you’re not at the office?” I said. “It’s late.”
“It’s also Saturday,” he said, expertly flipping his egg. He’s not so hot at cooking, but I will say he flips a mean egg.
“It feels like Tuesday,” I said.
“Suppose we splurge tonight and go out to dinner. How would that be?” my father said.
“Oh, Dad!” I hugged him. “That would be super. Just you and me. Wonderful! Just for that, I’ll clean the house before Mom comes home.”
“That’d be nice. And I’ll do the marketing. What do we need?”
“Everything,” I told him. “Milk, butter, eggs, meat, veggies. But if we’re going out tonight, you don’t have to buy stuff until tomorrow. The stores stay open on Sunday half day, I think.”
After I ate and got dressed, I decided to go over to Al’s. I’d write to Polly later.
“I’m over at Al’s if you want me,” I said. My father was concentrating so hard on making out the shopping list I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. I opened the door and turned around.
“I’m at Al’s, Dad,” I said again.
He looked up. “I thought Al was off and running to the bucolic fleshpots,” he said. That’s the way he talks sometimes. He gets it from his father. I’m used to it. You have to know what “bucolic” means, not to mention “fleshpots.” In our family we use the dictionary a lot. I’m always amazed at how much my father hears. He appears to be a man who lives in his own world. He also is hard-of-hearing. That’s what he says, but I’ve noticed he hears what he wants to. I hadn’t been sure he even knew Al was going to the farm.
“She leaves Wednesday,” I said. “For three weeks.”
“Um. Well, you’ll miss her, I know. Tell her for me I hope she has a bon voyage. I bet she’s excited.”
“She is,” I said. Until that minute I hadn’t realized how much I would miss Al. When my father said that, it hit me. I’d miss her like mad. Three weeks was a long time to be gone. One time Al had said something about asking her father and Louise if I could go with her to the farm. But she’d never mentioned it again. I knew she couldn’t take a perfect stranger there. Still, I kept hoping she’d bring it up again. But she hadn’t, and I knew, in my secret heart, she wouldn’t. Polly was still at the Cape. That left me. My two best friends would be gone. Boy.
“Dad, do you think we could afford to go on a vacation this year?” I asked.
“It doesn’t look promising,” my father said.
One thing about my father, he didn’t say, “We’ll see.” If there’s anything I hate, it’s when grown-ups say, “We’ll see.”
I rang Al’s bell. Every time I do that I’m glad we live so close. It’s great to be able to zap down the hall and ring your best friend’s bell.
She opened the door. She had on her Peanuts pajamas. She says she knows she’s too old to wear Peanuts pajamas, but she does, anyway.
“My mother’s sick,” she said. “I’m taking her to the doctor.” Her voice was different, dull and so low it was hard to hear.
“What?” I said. “The doctor?”
“I called him and he said to bring her over. He can’t come out to see her. He’s too busy. She’s getting dressed now.”
“What’s the matter with her?” I said.
“She’s got this cough,” Al said.
I nodded. “You told me.”
“She coughed all last night. This morning she said she thought she’d stay in bed. So I got scared. She almost never stays home from work. So I called the doctor. And he said, ‘Does she have any pain in her chest?’ and I asked her if she had any pain in her chest, and she said she had a little. So then the doctor said put her in a cab and bring her right over to his office. So that’s what I’m doing.”
Her voice didn’t change all the time she was talking. It was as if she were reciting words that meant nothing.
“You want me to go with you?” I said. “My father could go, if you want.”
Al shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said. “I can manage.” And slowly, softly, the door started to close, until it was only open a crack.
“You’re sure?” I said to Al’s eye, which was all I could see of her. “If you need anything, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I heard her say. Then the crack disappeared and she went with it.
CHAPTER 10
“You better go with her, Dad,” I told my father. “She said she didn’t need any help, but I think you ought to at least offer.”
I listened as my father dialed Al’s number and talked to her. He offered his services, said he’d be glad to accompany her and her mother to the doctor. She told him the same thing she told me. “I can manage,” she said over the phone. I heard her. “Thank you anyway, but I can manage.”
“Well,” my father told her, “we’ll be here if you need us, Al.” Then he hung up.
“I’ve done all I could do,” he said. “If she doesn’t want anyone to go along, you certainly can’t force yourself on them. Al will manage. At least she’s seeing that her mother gets to the doctor. That’s the important thing.” Then he went to the store to do the marketing.
I sat down and tried to write a letter to Polly. I tried to make the letter funny, to make Polly laugh as I wrote about last night at Thelma’s. I had to be careful, though. Polly and Thelma were friends. I didn’t want to make too much fun of Thelma. Polly wouldn’t like it if I did. I told about the other kids and how all they talked about was how
they were going to make big bucks when they grew up. And I also told her about the conversation about the Riviera and what Al had said about the handkerchief tucked into the armpit. That would give Polly a good laugh.
Every time I heard a noise in the hall, I got up and listened at the door. Once or twice I opened the door. The hall was always empty. Time passed very slowly. Every time I checked the clock, only a few minutes had gone by. I went back to my letter writing. I told Polly about going to Tiffany’s, leaving out the part about what Al said about maybe marrying Brian and living off the land. I told her about the zoo. I’d make Polly sorry she was missing all the fun here at home. Temperature 85, humidity 90 percent. She only thought she was having a blast going sailing and swimming every day. What did she know?
My wastebasket filled up gradually with balls of paper I’d thrown away. Letter writing is not the easiest thing in the world. At last I heard the elevator door opening. I rushed to the door. My father stood there, juggling two big bags of groceries, trying to hit the doorbell with his elbow. I let him in.
“Would you believe this little bit of food cost me more than fifty dollars?” he said. It does men good to do the marketing, my mother says. That’s the only way they’re going to learn about the high cost of living. I helped him unpack the stuff. I kept going to the door and listening. Maybe I could help when Al and her mother got home. Probably the doctor would give Al’s mother some medicine to fix her up. Al might have to go to the drugstore to get a prescription filled. I could sit with her mother while she went.
The minutes dragged by. My father said it had stopped raining. He went out to do some errands, pick up some things at the dry cleaner’s. I thought if Al didn’t get home soon, I’d split a gut. It had been more than two hours, now, since she’d left. Usually doctors keep you waiting in the office. That’s why they have so many magazines for patients to read. I hoped he wouldn’t keep Al’s mother waiting too long.
On the other hand, maybe Al would call me from her apartment. Instead of ringing the bell, that is. I hate waiting for the telephone to ring. The suspense is terrible. To keep myself busy, I put clean sheets on the beds. Not Teddy’s. He wouldn’t know a clean sheet if it hit him in the face. Just my parents’ bed and mine. The phone still hadn’t rung. I made us some deviled ham for sandwiches for lunch. I jazzed it up with pickle relish and some chopped egg. My father would never recognize that deviled ham.
Al(exandra) the Great: The Al Series, Book Four Page 4