“But I’m just a poor working missionary kid,” I tell her. “I gotta stay within my means.”
She laughs. “Well, you may not be a fashion diva yet, but you’ve certainly come up a few notches. And summer has barely begun.” Then she goes to her closet and emerges with a pair of sunnies with large, dark blue frames. “These shades are Tommy Hilfiger,” she tells me. “Why don’t you take them since I never wear them anyway?”
“Cool.” I try them on and check out my image in her big mirror. “Thanks a lot.”
“Now we should go down and work on our tans,” she suggests as she starts pulling off her top.
“Right,” I say, dashing back to my room. “Meet ya down there.” I dump out the contents of my bags all over my bed, a Yankee sea of red, white, and blue. I examine my treasures again, finally deciding to try out my new bikini today, just to make sure that my tan lines match it correctly. My stomach finally peeled, and fortunately the tan is starting to match up with the rest of me now. I put the new sunnies into the beach bag along with the Tommy thongs and cover-up, just to see if it all works, and suddenly I feel like I’m almost there. I’m almost in the same league as Vanessa and Elisa. Now, as far as Felicia goes . . . well, I don’t really want to think about that yet. Maybe later when my head is clear and I’m feeling more relaxed.
After sunning with Vanessa for nearly an hour, I cannot take it anymore. I decide to dive into the pool. I swim a few laps, satisfied that my Tommy bikini holds up just fine for swimming. The top actually stayed in place during and after my dive, making me think it might actually work for surfing, once I determine how well I can stay upright on the board, that is. Finally I climb out and fall like a dripping-wet noodle into the chaise next to Vanessa. I am about to fall asleep when I hear the muffled ringing of a cell phone. Mine is still upstairs, and I leave it turned off most of the time anyway. Vanessa says a foul word, then fumbles through her bag until she finally locates it. Then, after a quick recovery, she says, “Hey,” in her laid-back telephone voice. After a few seconds of silence she continues, this time with a bit more enthusiasm, as if this was a call she really wanted to take. “Yeah, that sounds great.” Pause. “Uh-huh, seven is fine. See ya.”
Then she hangs up and turns to me and lets out a high-pitched squeal that makes the yardman, who is working on a hedge past the pool, nearly jump out of his sneakers. “Do you know who that was?” she demands as if I’m clairvoyant or something.
“Who?”
“Only Bryce Fisher.”
“Oh . . .” I nod, recognizing this name. Bryce, I already know, is Vanessa’s primary love interest of late. They started dating toward the end of the school year, going to the prom and then Bryce’s graduation party. But practically the next day, Bryce was whisked off with his grandma on a trip to the Mediterranean, or some exotic place like that, apparently to keep her company since she was still getting over the loss of her husband.
“So he’s back?”
“Yes!” she exclaims happily. “And he’s taking me out tonight and plans to be at the beach party tomorrow.” She sighs now. “Oh, life truly is beautiful, Hannah.”
“It’ll be fun to actually meet him,” I tell her. I’ve seen his photos, and frankly, I am not that impressed by his dark, somber eyes and overly serious expression. Also, I don’t get the weird haircut or dark framed glasses, which, in my opinion, make him look like a dag. Of course, I’d never admit this to my smitten cousin. But I am curious as to what she sees in this guy. Well, other than money. She told me he drives a very expensive Porsche that his grandmother gave him for graduation, so his family is obviously quite wealthy.
“Oh, Hannah, I feel bad to leave you home all alone,” she says suddenly. “I guess you could come with — ”
“No way!”
She looks relieved. “Oh, good. You really don’t mind being home by yourself, do you? Because I know Mom and Dad are going out tonight too, but maybe you could join them — ”
“Really, I’m perfectly fine on my own. I’m totally wrecked from my first week of work and getting up at the crack of dawn, you know. I might even go to bed early. And I don’t mind having a bit of rest before the big party tomorrow.”
“You’re such a sensible girl, Hannah. Guess it comes from growing up as a missionary kid, huh?”
I shrug, then turn over to sun my back. “Yeah, maybe so,” I mutter, wishing this conversation would end. I think the truth is, I’m not overly fond of being considered “sensible” these days. And if I could do just what I liked, I’d probably be rich and free and able to go out tonight too. Oh, not as a third wheel with Vanessa and Bryce. But I wouldn’t exactly mind a date with Wyatt. As if that’s ever going to happen. But even if she’s poor, a girl can dream.
Later that afternoon, Vanessa makes me sit on her bed and watch as she tries on outfit after designer outfit, piling her expensive rejects on the floor.
“What’s up?” asks Aunt Lori, sticking her head in the door.
“I don’t have a thing to wear,” moans Vanessa with more drama than seems necessary.
“For what?” asks Aunt Lori as she gives me a little hello wave.
Then Vanessa explains about Bryce getting home and their unexpected date tonight and how she wants to look totally perfect. “I mean, it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him, and he’s been off in Europe looking at girls who are probably totally chic and rich and — argh!” She collapses onto the bed beside me, and for a moment I think she’s actually passed out.
Aunt Lori seems to consider her daughter’s quandary as she picks up a pair of pale yellow, low-cut Capri pants and gives them a shake. “These look awfully good on you, Vanessa.”
Vanessa suddenly comes to, sits up, and takes notice. “Yeah, but with what?”
“How about that white Iceberg top of mine? The one you’re always drooling over.”
“Seriously? Mom! You’d let me wear that?”
“What are mothers for?”
Vanessa leaps to her feet and gives her mom a big hug. “You’re the best, Mom.”
“How about you?” Aunt Lori turns her attention to me now. “What are you up to tonight, Hannah? Big date?”
I make a laughing sound. “No way. I plan to just veg out tonight. I’m beat from my big working week.”
“Hey,” calls Uncle Ron from the hallway. “Guys allowed in there?”
Vanessa, who has been clad in only her bra and underwear up until now, quickly pulls on the closest T-shirt and jeans and tells her dad to come in. “Join the party,” she says as she flops down on the bed again. Then Aunt Lori fills him in on Vanessa’s big plans and then, more pathetically, how I’m too worn out from all my hard work to go out and have any fun tonight.
“Wait,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t really want to go out tonight. And besides, we’re going to that beach party tomorrow, and I need to rest up so I can surf.”
Uncle Ron chuckles. “Now that’s something I’d like to see. Are you any good?”
I shrug. “It’s been a while. But I used to have fun.”
“What are you using for a board?”
“Guess I’ll have to rent one.” Of course, this reminds me of my hopes for getting a draw. As much as I hate to ask this in front of everyone, I’m not sure when I’ll have this opportunity again. “Do you know how much that will cost? I’m running a bit short on cash . . . in fact, I was sort of wondering if I might possibly get a draw. I heard someone at work saying that he was getting a draw and I thought — ”
“Of course!” Uncle Ron slaps his forehead with his palm. “I should’ve realized that you’d be running low on cash by now. Just let me go down to my office, and I’ll write you a check.” He glances at his watch. “And if you hurry, Hannah, you might even make it to the bank before closing time. There’s a small branch of U.S. Bank right down the — ”
“Right,” I say quickly. “You mean the one in Stanley Square.”
The next thing I know,
I’ve got a check for $2,000 in my purse, and I’m driving Uncle Ron’s Jeep over to the bank and opening an account.
“You’re Ron Johnson’s niece?” says the olive-skinned woman who’s helping me. “He’s one of our favorite customers.”
“I’m staying with them,” I explain. “And he’s letting me work at his business for the summer.”
“Isn’t that nice.” She’s looking over the paperwork I filled out. “So you want checking and savings?”
“That’s right. Mostly savings, I reckon. But Uncle Ron told me to get a checking account too. Although I’ve never written a check in my life.”
She smiles. “You’ll learn fast. And nowadays most people rarely write checks anyway.” She goes on to explain how a debit card works. “You can use them anywhere. And we have ATMs all over.”
“What’s an ATM?” I ask.
Then she explains, and I realize that everything in the States seems to be invented for the purpose of saving time. And yet everyone seems to be running around as if there’s not enough of it.
“Would you like to have it activated for Visa too?”
I frown. “But I’m actually a citizen,” I tell her. “At least I am here in the States. It’s only over in New Guinea where I need a visa.”
She laughs, then pats my hand. “You’re charming, dear. No, I mean for credit. We can activate the Visa account, and then you can use your card to withdraw money from your checking — as a debit — or you can use it as a credit account. For when you’re running low on cash.”
“I can do that?”
She smiles. “Well, I may have spoken too quickly, but I’m guessing that because you’re Ron Johnson’s niece, it shouldn’t prove much of a problem. But since it’s getting late and this is Friday, perhaps I’ll just run the paperwork on Monday. That is, if you want the Visa account activated.”
“Okay,” I finally agree, thinking it might save me from having to ask my uncle for any more advances. “I guess that would be convenient.”
“Oh, yes. It’s very convenient.”
And just like that, it’s done. I walk out with some temporary paperwork, a fistful of cash, and the promise of receiving actual cards in the next couple of weeks. Only in America!
When I get back home (funny how I think of this place as home now), no one is here. I walk around the quiet house for a bit and then finally decide to forage for food. Despite the fact that my relatives have money, they always seem to be short on food. Vanessa says it’s because she and her mom are watching their weight. But Uncle Ron is never very happy about it. As a result, he picks up his own “supplies.” Early on, he let me know where he stashes them. “Don’t tell Vanessa or Lori,” he warned. “They’ll either eat it or throw it out. But feel free to help yourself.”
And so I do. Back at the group home, we seldom get things like this — “junk food,” as Vanessa calls it. But during my short stay in the States, I’ve already developed an appreciation for things like Cheetos and Ding Dongs and Snickers bars. I’m not overly fond of fizzy drinks (or soda, as it’s called). They’re a bit sweet for my taste. Well, other than the lemony sorts. And unfortunately, my uncle’s taste leans more to Dr Pepper and Pepsi (neither of which I can stand) or beer. Now, I suppose I am wondering about the beer. Naturally, any form of alcohol is forbidden at both the mission and the school. Consequently neither of my parents drink or ever has as far as I know. But Uncle Ron usually has at least one, if not several, beers in the course of an evening.
One of my friends back in PNG (a braggy sort of girl named Leah) told me that she drinks beer all the time when she’s “back home in Melbourne.” She even claims that her grandparents give it to her. And she tells everyone she likes it! Not only that, but once she graduates and leaves PNG to go to uni Down Under, she says she plans to drink all the time.
I guess Leah has made me curious as to why so many people drink it and think it’s so great. I look in the fridge to see that there are probably at least a dozen bottles of beer in there. And I wonder if my uncle will notice if one goes missing. And even if he does, will he ever guess that MK Hannah is the culprit? Probably not. So I go for it. I grab a beer, then take my bag of Cheetos and a Ding Dong and go out by the pool.
As expected, the Cheetos and Ding Dong taste just fine, but when I pop open the beer and take a big, long swig (just like my uncle does), the same swig comes spewing right back out and all over the patio. Yuck! And yuck again! I don’t see how anyone can drink this nasty stuff. It tastes foul and bitter, like something you might use to clean upholstery. I go back inside and pour the smelly beer down the sink, then rinse and stow the empty bottle in the bin where my uncle drops them. Then I fill a pitcher with water, add a bit of soap, and take it out to clean up my mess.
I feel a bit embarrassed to have sneaked and then wasted one of my uncle’s beers. But somehow I think he would understand. Not that I plan on telling him.
I finally tire of loitering around the backyard and decide to go inside and see what’s on the telly tonight. After flipping through hundreds of channels, I eventually find an old black-and-white movie that looks good, but after about an hour I get so sleepy that I flick off the big flat screen and trek upstairs to finish watching the movie in my room. I remain slightly fascinated by the fact that I have a real live telly built right into the armoire that’s in my room — and that it gets all the same channels as the big-screen one downstairs. But then, I realize, there are tellies in most of the rooms in this house, including the kitchen and laundry room, and even my aunt and uncle’s master bathroom has its own flat screen. It’s mounted on the wall and situated to be viewed from the comfort of the oversized jet tub. Truly amazing.
But I can finally keep my eyes open no longer. I reach for the remote and turn it off. I can still see the flickering images of the black-and-white movie in the backs of my eyeballs. It was an old thirties flick — kind of a Cinderella story. Very predictable and rather put-you-to-sleep boring. And yet it captured my attention too. And I felt I could relate to the character, a young girl who gets pulled into the world of the rich and famous and yet never quite fits in, although I’m sure it all ended well for her.
As I’m drifting to sleep, I tell myself that I can fit in. That money isn’t everything and that people can get to know me for who I am and perhaps even like me. Do I pretend that I haven’t spent far more money than ever before on clothes? Clothes that are meant to impress others? Of course not. Call it denial or survival or even fatigue. But somehow I do not believe it is wrong. Or so I tell myself as I fall asleep.
twelve
MOST PEOPLE WOULD SLEEP IN ON THEIR FIRST DAY OFF, BUT NOT ME. I’m up early as usual, and I reckon Uncle Ron is pleased that I made coffee.
“Thanks,” he says as he heads out for work. He still works Saturdays at the office, even though he probably doesn’t have to. “Have fun surfing today.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Hope I don’t look like a total dork out there.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, Hannah. I bet you’ll be just fine. You seem like the kind of girl who always lands on her feet.” I desperately hope he’s right.
I drive the Jeep with the top down so that I can stick the board in back (Uncle Ron’s suggestion). Plus, Bryce wanted to pick up Vanessa (in his classic Porsche, no doubt). Vanessa told me that the car had belonged to his grandfather before he died and that Bryce’s dad was mad as a cut snake when Grandma-ma gave it to Bryce for graduation (well, those weren’t her exact words). Apparently the car’s worth about $100,000! I can’t believe that any car is worth that much. Never mind that an eighteen-year-old kid gets to drive around in it for free. I really don’t like to whinge, but sometimes I reckon life’s not fair.
Renting the board is easy enough, so at least the day starts out well. But as soon as I hit the beach, things start to go downhill fast.
“Oh, what a darling suit, Hannah,” Felicia says as I come out onto her family’s private beach lugging my less-than-impressive rent
al surfboard. “My little sister used to have one just like that, back when Tommy was all the rage.”
“Right,” I say to her, nodding as if her words don’t hurt. “Nice place you have here, Felicia. Thanks for inviting me.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay for a beach party now and then. But mostly we don’t use it much. Daddy keeps threatening to sell it.”
“Sell it?” says Wyatt as he joins us. “Hey, Hannah.” Then his attention diverts back to Felicia. “Seriously, Felice, he’s not going to sell this place, is he? You guys got one of the coolest spots down here.”
She smiles, flirtatiously I think. “Maybe you should talk directly to Daddy, Wyatt. He seems to think you’ve got good sense. Especially after the way you saved our skin last weekend.” Then she begins to recap their exciting adventure on the high seas, sailing about in her daddy’s sixty-foot sailboat, higher than —
“Are Vanessa and Bryce here yet?” I ask, interrupting her tale.
“Over there.” She points to some beach chairs and low tables that are arranged down in the sand near what appears to be a volleyball net.
“Thanks,” I tell her with a smile about as genuine as her cup size. Vanessa already told me that Felicia had them “enhanced” for Christmas last year. Wonder how her parents wrapped that little present?
I trudge through the sand over to where Vanessa and Bryce are sitting and visiting with some friends. It has not escaped my attention that some of these kids, including Bryce, are consuming alcohol. Mostly beer it seems — the expensive kind with fancy labels. I’m not entirely sure what’s in Vanessa’s plastic cup. It looks pink and bubbly. Maybe just some fruity sort of soda.
“Hi,” I say to Vanessa in a flat-sounding voice. Already I wish that I hadn’t come. It’s obvious that I am still the misfit in this crowd, Tommy Hilfiger or not. Sometimes I reckon I’m just a “glutton for punishment,” as Sophie used to say.
“Oh, Hannah,” Vanessa says sweetly. “I was just telling Bryce about you.” Then she introduces me to him and her other mates, acting as if I am visiting royalty or a Down-Under celeb-type, perhaps a second cousin of Nicole Kidman or even Russell Crowe.
Fool's Gold Page 10