“Gilda,” said her mother, rummaging in her purse and then handing Gilda a crumpled tissue, “I can promise you that your father will never be forgotten.”
Gilda blew her nose and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I know it’s been hard for you and Stephen,” said her mother wearily. “This killer work schedule of mine certainly hasn’t helped things; I know I haven’t been around enough to spend time with you.” She sighed. “I could try to call in sick tonight—”
“No—I’ll be fine,” said Gilda, now feeling guilty for complaining. She knew that her family needed the money her mother earned from working overtime.
“Well, I have a day off next week,” Gilda’s mother said. “How about going to the movies or something?”
“Okay,” said Gilda, still sniffling. She knew it was rare for her mother to spend money on frivolous things like going to the movies.
“It’s been a while since we did anything fun as a family.”
“That’s okay,” said Gilda. “Fun is overrated.”
Gilda’s mother frowned at her, thinking that her daughter often said the strangest things. “Well, you can be sure that if your father were here right now, he would be very proud of your trip to San Francisco. He’d be telling all his friends!”
Gilda smiled weakly.
“He never got to go there himself, so he would want to know every single detail.”
I’ll write him a letter with all the details, Gilda thought.
Juliet left her first art class feeling as if all her senses were heightened. As she walked along the bustling city street carrying a large sketchbook under her arm, she noticed colors, sounds, odors—but instead of cringing from her surroundings as she usually did, she merely observed without feeling afraid. She was aware of the hard soles of her sandals striking the sidewalk and her slightly labored breathing as she climbed a hill, hurrying to catch a bus. It was impossible to name the new feeling; it was simply the sense that for once, there wasn’t something terribly wrong somewhere.
At first, Juliet had been terrified to go to the summer art class located at a downtown studio; after all, she would probably be the youngest person there, and what if nobody thought she was any good? But then she thought of Gilda. Gilda would shrug impatiently and say, “So what’s the big deal? Just go to the stupid art class!”
As it turned out, Juliet was the youngest in the class, but it didn’t matter. In fact, she sensed that she might have more in common with the nineteen-year-old boy with blue hair and a pierced nose and the silver-haired woman in her sixties than she did with most of the girls at her own school. Maybe these are my people, Juliet thought.
Juliet knew that her father didn’t want her to wander through the city on her own, but she had a sudden impulse: she wanted to go to Chinatown. So instead of getting on the bus that would turn toward Pacific Heights, she followed a crowd of people aboard a crowded city bus that smelled of sweat and cabbages and managed to find a seat as the vehicle lurched into motion and creaked up the steep hill.
Juliet had been learning to sketch faces, and now she studied the people around her. Each face was a landscape of lines, contours, lumps, and shadows; each concealed a mystery or a sad story.
When the bus reached Chinatown, Juliet followed the herd of people that spilled through the narrow doors onto the sidewalk in front of a fruit-and-vegetable market. She paused for a moment, noticing that the lemongrass, snow peas, limes, and mushrooms of all shapes and sizes appeared very vivid in the late-afternoon sunlight—as if they radiated little rainbows of color. That image would make a nice still life, she thought. Then she wandered down the street until she found the Chinese temple that she and Gilda had visited before.
Juliet knew that what she was planning to do was irrational. Nevertheless, she had an idea that she felt compelled to carry out. She tried to imagine that she was in Chinatown with Gilda. If Gilda were here, Juliet thought, she would walk directly into the temple without a second thought.
In her pocket, Juliet carried a letter.
Inside the temple, Juliet watched the corners of her letter turn brown in the flame of a candle. There was a small surge of orange-and-yellow light as the altar flame dissolved the words, leaving behind only an acrid aroma.
Good-bye, Aunt Melanie.
At home in her room, Gilda discovered an unopened letter from Wendy Choy that had been left on her bed:
Gilda was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy at the news that Wendy had a boyfriend, even if this boy was short and chubby. Wendy had never had a boyfriend before, so this development was alarming indeed. Did this mean Wendy might seek a completely new social life when she returned to school? Gilda also thought this was the most annoyingly girlish letter Wendy had ever written. Had Wendy tossed her brain into Lake Michigan? What kind of twit would allow herself to write the phrase totally cute, with cute eyes and smile?
PROGRESS REPORT
TO: GILDA JOYCE
FROM: GILDA JOYCE
RE: THE DISAPPOINTMENT OF FRIENDSHIP
Wendy has obviously changed completely while she’s been at camp. I may have to find a new best friend, because the next thing you know, Wendy will be trying out for cheerleading or dropping out of school to become a teenage mom.
It’s obvious that Wendy doesn’t miss me at all.
(NOTE TO SELF: Get some French-kissing experience ASAP!)
Dear Wendy:
Congratulations on the boyfriend.
I must admit that I’m disappointed to hear that you’re not the best musician at camp. I normally wouldn’t say this, but this time, your mother may be right. The time you’re spending French-kissing could be spent practicing your instrument. After all, your parents aren’t rich, you know. They’re hardworking people who simply want a little respect. They could have just sent you to cheer-leading camp if they had known that all you want to do is humiliate them by sticking your tongue in the mouth of every chubby boy you meet, but they assumed you wanted to improve yourself and get an education.
By the way, I Just returned from San Francisco, where I solved my first psychic investigation.
Remember that weird girl I wrote you about (Juliet)? She’s not so bad after all. We kind of became friends. Consequently, I didn’t miss you as much as I thought I would.
Gilda chewed her fingernail for a moment. She knew she wasn’t being completely honest. The truth was that she did miss Wendy and wished she had some reassurance that they would still be best friends when Wendy returned from camp. Gilda found some white correction fluid and painted over the last sentence she had written. Then she typed over it:
The truth is, I wish you could have been there.
Stephen peered into Gilda’s room. “Want some pizza?” he asked. “I brought a whole pepperoni-and-sausage pizza home from work.”
Gilda turned to look at her brother. Wearing a T-shirt that advertised jumbo’s pizza, he smelled like a busy restaurant—a mixture of sweat, grease, and melted cheese.
“I thought you worked at Roscoe’s Chicken and Fish,” said Gilda.
“I do, but this is my second job. Actually, it’s my third, because I’ve also been mowing lawns.”
“Always the slacker,” Gilda joked. “So you must be filthy rich by now with all those jobs.”
“Well, some of us have to work for a living. Others of us get free trips to exotic cities.”
“Hey, I earned my trip to San Francisco.”
“Mom said you just invited yourself.”
Gilda couldn’t deny that this was true. However, she felt that the trip had ultimately been earned through her efforts to help Juliet solve a mystery. Of course, there was no point in trying to explain her psychic investigation work to her brother; he would be even less likely to believe the details of her adventure than her mother.
“I’m saving money to buy a car,” Stephen explained as he and Gilda grabbed plates, napkins, and slices of pizza in the kitchen.
Sitting across
from her brother at the kitchen table with the pizza box between them, Gilda remembered how Stephen and his father used to look at the automotive section of the classified ads in the paper every Sunday, and how the two often spoke of the various used cars Stephen might purchase after he turned sixteen. She guessed that Stephen must miss those conversations now.
Gilda watched as her brother folded a large piece of pizza in half and then gulped it down like a sandwich. “You know,” she said, “I never noticed it before, but you eat pizza the same way Dad used to.”
“The best way to eat it,” Stephen replied with his mouth full.
For once, Stephen didn’t flinch or sulk when she mentioned their father. With this note of encouragement, Gilda decided to bring up another topic that had been nagging her ever since she returned home. “So,” she ventured, “it sounds like there have been some new developments around here while I was away.”
“Like what?” Stephen asked, grabbing another slice of pizza.
“Like this Fred Pickens character!”
“Oh, that guy.” Stephen took another large bite of pizza.
“You’ve met him?”
“Just once,” said Stephen, wiping some tomato sauce from his chin. “He came over to pick Mom up.”
“And?”
Stephen shrugged. “He’s a nice enough guy, I guess. Kind of a doofus, though.”
“What does this Fred Pickens look like?”
Stephen shrugged. “Average. Bearded guy.”
“He has a beard! Why didn’t you tell me that right away?”
“So what if he has a beard?”
“Men with mustaches and beards are always hiding something.”
“That’s a load of crap.”
“It’s true! Facial hair is like a little disguise. Especially if the hair covers a man’s mouth. Was it a really long mustache and beard?”
“It was a normal beard. Are you going to eat that piece of pizza or not?”
“And what color was his hair?”
“I don’t know. Brown, I think. Brown with some gray in it. Look, I’m sure you’ll have a chance to spy on him the next time he comes over.”
“Oh, don’t worry—I will,” said Gilda, picking up her slice of pizza, and then putting it down on her plate again without taking a bite. “You know,” she continued, “for all we know, this Fred could become our new father someday.”
Stephen flinched, but he quickly shook his head, dismissing the idea. “First of all,” he said, “he would be our stepfather, not our father. Second, that won’t happen anyway because Mom wouldn’t marry a doofus. And third, they practically just met, and this whole thing is none of our business. Besides, she’s been in a really good mood lately, and it’s been nice not hearing her asking me to do five million extra chores for a change—so in my opinion, maybe this Fred isn’t so bad if she wants to hang out with him.”
Gilda couldn’t help reflecting that this was possibly the longest series of sentences Stephen had spoken to her in quite some time. In fact, she couldn’t remember when they had actually sat down at the kitchen table together to talk instead of watching TV while they ate. It was nice. Really nice. Was it possible she had actually missed him?
“I suppose you make some fair points,” Gilda admitted. Perhaps she was blowing things out of proportion. Whatever happens, Stephen and I will have to deal with it together, she thought. She surprised herself by hoping this was a sign that they were going to be closer friends again.
PROGRESS REPORT
TO: GILDA JOYCE
FROM: GILDA JOYCE
PROJECT #1: PSYCHIC INVESTIGATION—”THE GHOST IN THE TOWER”
STATUS: INVESTIGATION SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED
PROJECT #2: NOVEL-IN-PROGRESS—”THE GHOST IN THE TOWER” BY GILDA JOYCE
STATUS: Although only one page has been written thus far, the novel is off to a splendid start. With her go-getting attitude, designer clothes, extensive dating experience, and outstanding psychic abilities, the novel’s main character, Fiona Sparks, is sure to be a big hit.
NOTE TO SELF: Don’t forget to add some gory scenes and a love interest.
DEADLINE: With steady work, I’ll be able to finish the novel by the end of the summer–just in time to leave the manuscript on Mrs. Weintraub’s desk on the first day of school.
Gilda put on her cat’s-eye sunglasses and ran out the front door. For some reason, she felt unusually happy as she walked down the familiar neighborhood sidewalk.
She decided to stop at the Gas Mart first, just to see whether Plaid Pants had gotten fired yet and whether he had continued to wear his hideous trousers well into the middle of the summer. Maybe he also owns plaid shorts, Gilda thought. Next, she would go check on Mrs. Frickle. With any luck, she would be wearing her pink wig today.
Check out the second book starring Gilda Joyce,
GiLDA JOYCE
and the Ladies of the Lake
When her mother suggests she apply for a scholarship to Our Lady of Sorrows, an exclusive Catholic girls’ school, thirteen year-old Gilda Joyce is reluctant to agree. After all, why should she trade in her leopard print jacket and stiletto heels for a goofy pink uniform? But when Gilda learns that freshman Dolores Lambert drowned on the campus and may be haunting the grounds, Gilda goes undercover to explore the mystery at Our Lady. Using all her psychic and investigative skills, Gilda discovers a secret club and the dark truth behind Dolores’s death. Solving this mystery will put Gilda in more danger than she ever imagined, and will put all her brashness, bravery and smarts to the test. See why School Library Journal raves, “Gilda Joyce deserves a place right next to her inspiration, Harriet he Spy”, starred review.
Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator Page 21