The Pink Dress

by Anne Alexander

  Wonderful, practical, save-the-day Cathy. Sue felt almost lightheaded as she and Dave started down the street. She looked at him. “No books?” she asked.

  “Over the weekend?” Dave sounded amazed. “You must be moving the school.”

  “Just about.” Sue stopped in her tracks. “So what will you take?”

  “Huh?”

  “What will you carry?”

  “I don’t lug books.”

  “Here, then, take my violin.”

  Dave drew back as if the case might burn him, then reached hastily for Sue’s books. “You didn’t phone.” He made the statement in a flat voice.

  Sue looked quickly at her friends. They were maintaining a discreet distance ahead. “Neither did you.”

  “I told you to.”

  “Girls don’t phone boys.”

  “Who says?”

  “My parents.”

  “Who’s to know?”

  “Me. Besides, I don’t believe in it either.”

  “You’re an odd one.” Dave looked puzzled. “In my house I do what I want. I’m my own boss.”

  “I’m not. And I’m glad.” Sue felt a need to explain. “Maybe—maybe no one is boss. Mom and Dad—they’re the heads of the house. And they tell Kit and Jay and me things to help. We belong.”

  “Belong? Not me! Dad’s on the road too much. And my stepmother . . .” Dave gave an ugly laugh.

  Sue felt a wave of sympathy: Stepmother? She hadn’t known. She tried to think of something to say. Her pity must have shown.

  “Don’t bother.” Dave dismissed the subject. “Your friends . . .”

  Cathy and Ellen were standing at the corner. This was where they met and parted every day.

  “See you tonight,” Cathy remarked.

  “Remember. My dad’s turn.” Ellen grinned at Dave. “The show,” she explained archly.

  “Okay.” Sue wished Ellen wouldn’t be so obvious. But she only meant to help.

  “ ’By.” Dave raised his hand to the two girls in a half salute.

  “They’re nice,” Sue commented as she watched the two hurry off.

  Dave gave a noncommittal shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  They walked on in silence. Would Dave suggest a Coke or something? She hoped he wouldn’t because of Mom and Dad. And then she got mad because she knew he wouldn’t. He’d be embarrassed about carrying her books. No books had its romantic advantages, though. Holding hands for instance. No one could possibly hold hands with all this paraphernalia. They neared the corner where Dave took his departure Monday. A repeat performance today no doubt. Sue gave a mental shrug. There was some sort of saying. “When in Rome do as they do.” She reached for her books. “End of the line,” she stated.

  “Yeah, I go that way.” Dave handed over the books.

  “I guess you’re just scared.” Sue realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

  Dave snorted. “Scared? Me? What of?”

  “To meet parents—girls’ parents.”

  “Heck, no.” Dave’s voice was scornful. “It’s just. . . Heck, why go out of my way?”

  “Oh.”

  “Scared?” Now Dave’s eyes were stormy. “Gimme.” He reached for Sue’s books, then changed his mind and took the violin case. He walked with a determined stride, and Sue had to lengthen hers to keep up. As they passed Mrs. Cannon’s, Sue was careful not to glance toward the house.

  At her door she reached for her violin.

  Dave withheld it. “Scared?” he asked.

  It was Sue’s turn to be surprised. She opened the door. “Hi, Mom. I’m home,” she called.

  Her mother came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the corner of her apron. “Good,” she said. “I wonder if you could . . .” She stopped short when she saw Dave.

  “Mom,” Sue put in hurriedly. “I’d like you to meet Dave Young. Dave, this is my mother.”

  Dave placed the violin case carefully by the door and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Stevens,” he said, and he gave her the smile that knocked Taft girls for a loop.

  Before she could see Mom’s reaction, Jay and Kit tore into the room. “It’s Ricky,” yelled Jay. Then he, too, stopped short.

  “Dave,” Sue said. “This is Jay—and here’s Kit. Kids, this is Dave Young.”

  Jay stuffed his hands in his pockets and regarded Dave silently—almost belligerently.

  “Do you collect bugs?” Kit asked.

  Dave shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t.”

  “Ricky does. He’s in-ter-est-ting.” Kit said the four-syllable word slowly.

  Sue wished fervently she’d left well enough alone and said good-by to Dave at the corner. The look on his face was strange—one she couldn’t interpret.

  Mom came to the rescue. “Hurry, youngsters,” she said. “I need you in the kitchen.” She turned Kit around and gave her a friendly pat on her seat. Jay shrugged from her grasp. “You like my sister?” he asked gravely.

  Dave seemed to pull his glance from Kit’s retreating figure and turned to Jay. “Yeah,” he said with an amused smile.

  “She likes Ricky.” Jay made the announcement flatly.

  “That’s enough, young man.” Mom grasped Jay firmly by the shoulder and marched him toward the kitchen.

  Kit poked her head around the corner. “If you did collect bugs, then you would be in-ter-est-ting.”

  Sue opened her mouth but closed it again when she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “She’s cute,” Dave commented.

  “Sue,” Mom called, “if you and Dave would like some milk and cookies. . .”

  “Uh, no thanks, Mrs. Stevens. I’ve got to get going.”

  Sue opened the front door. If only Dave would get going. Jay and Kit were downright embarrassing. She’d have a talk with Mom about them. “’By, Dave. Thanks for carrying my stuff.”

  Dave hesitated. “Kit’s cute,” he repeated. He looked down at Sue. “Uh, I’ll be at the show. Meet you in the lobby.” He’d resumed his regular flip tone.

  As she closed the door behind him, Sue wondered. Was he ordering her again? Or was this a halfway date?

  That night at dinner, Sue braced herself. “Dad,” she said. “Dave walked me home today. He met Mom.”

  “A very pleasant boy, too,” Mom put in.

  “And, Dad, tonight when Cathy and Ellen and I go to the show . . .”

  “As usual,” Dad interrupted.

  “Well, Dave might be there too.”

  “So?”

  “What if—what if he wants to sit with me?”

  “You’re going with Cathy and Ellen?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll be with Cathy and Ellen?”

  Sue’s shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

  “Then I suggest . . .” Dad paused dramatically. “I suggest,” he repeated, “that you take care not to sit in the middle.”

  “Middle?” Sue repeated stupidly.

  “Perhaps ‘between’ would be a better word.” Dad gave Sue a broad, conspiratory wink.

  “Oh, Dad.” Sue jumped up from the table and gave him a hug. “Dad, you’re the best.”

  “Sure I’m the one you think is the best?” Dad teased.

  “Dave’s cute, too,” Sue admitted. “Isn’t he, Mom?”

  Mom laughed. “Reasonably so—for a boy his age.”

  “But he doesn’t collect bugs,” Kit protested.

  “And we like Ricky best,” Jay insisted.

  “I like everybody best.” Sue passed her plate for a piece of apple pie. “Everybody in the whole wide world . . . And I love apple pie.”

  5.

  Popcorn Brawl

  The usual Friday queue had already formed at the box office.

  “I’ll find out how long the show lasts.” Sue jumped from the car, and Cathy and Ellen made a slower exit. “Three hours and forty-five minutes, Mr. Scott,” she reported to Ellen’s father. Cathy and Ellen were already in line.r />
  Mr. Scott checked his watch. “I’ll be back for you at ten-twenty sharp.”

  Sue joined her friends, who were inching toward the box office. She counted out her money and handed it to Cathy. Last year she still managed to get in on a child’s ticket. Now she hadn’t a chance.

  The queue stretched to the corner. It must be a good picture, Sue reflected, as she noticed many grownups in the line. Usually, Friday was conceded to be kids’ night—teen-agers, that is. She scanned the line. Was Dave really coming? She couldn’t see him anywhere, although The Crowd was well represented.

  “Hey, wake up. I’ve got ’em.” Cathy waved the tickets at Sue. Still no Dave. The three girls found seats as usual in the tenth row from the back. Years ago—when they went to matinees—they decided that was their favorite row. Now they felt out of place in any other row. Sue searched the audience for Dave’s dark crew cut without success. Just then she saw Ricky and Chester coming down the aisle. “Hi,” she called.

  “Hi.” The boys returned the greeting, started to move on, then came over.

  “The picture is terrific,” announced Ricky. “My brother said so.”

  “Lots of other people must think so, too. Look at the mob.” Chester gave Ricky a shove. “Come on, let’s get seats.”

  Cathy glanced at the vacant seats beside them. “Here’s a couple,” she ventured.

  Sue saw Ricky hesitate. She’d often thought that if Ricky ever took time out to have a girl friend, he’d pick Cathy. “Well, maybe,” he said.

  “Come on.” Chester plucked at Ricky’s sweater. “Further down for us. Can’t see good way back here.”

  Ricky let himself be pushed forward. “See ya,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Well,” said Cathy with a shrug. “That’s the first time I’ve known them to be so nearsighted.”

  Ellen giggled. “Chester is just shy. He didn’t want us fighting over who sat next to him.”

  Sue frowned. More evading? Or was this a snub directed at her? They seemed Chester-inspired. She puzzled over it as the theater darkened and the picture started.

  For the next couple of hours the girls watched almost motionless. The picture was a thriller and built up such tension that when the man with the gun came unexpectedly into view, Ellen yelled “Look out!” and Sue found her own hand covering her mouth to stifle a scream.

  When the picture ended and the lights came on for intermission, Sue felt emotionally exhausted. She sat still while the aisle filled with kids surging out for popcorn and candy.

  “Hey, Sue,” said Ellen. “Your turn tonight for getting the popcorn. You’d better hurry or the next picture will start before you get back.”

  Sue found the kids four-deep around the candy and popcorn stand in the lobby. The noise they made was tremendous. She didn’t feel ready to become a part of the pushing mob—the picture had been really terrific. The sad part—did her eyes show she’d been crying? She furtively wiped them with the back of her hand.

  “Say, Sue.”

  She was startled by a hand on her shoulder. She spun around. Dave.

  “I’ve been looking for ya.” Dave proffered his bag of popcorn. “Where you sitting?”

  “With Cathy and Ellen.” Sue scooped a couple of pieces of popcorn out of the bag and popped them into her mouth. “I’m supposed to be buying that stuff for us.”

  “Here, hold this and I’ll get them for you.” Dave handed her the bag and she gave him the money. “Three bags full,” she said—and giggled. Like the black sheep, she thought. But Dave was apparently not up on his nursery rhymes, because he didn’t even crack a smile. Sue watched him start to plow through the mob. Then it just seemed to part and let him through. In a minute he was back.

  “Okay, lead the way,” he said. “I’ll carry ’em.”

  Latecomers were still filing in as Dave followed Sue down the aisle. Cathy was standing by her seat, fuming at a stout woman who was moving into the row.

  “This seat’s taken,” Sue heard her say. “My girl friend went out for popcorn. It’s taken.”

  The woman picked up Sue’s jacket and handed it to Cathy. “That’s right,” she said. “It is taken—by me.”

  Ellen gave a nervous giggle. “But where will Sue sit?” she asked. “She was with us.”

  The woman didn’t bother to answer. “Come, Henry, this is fine,” she said to the little man beside her.

  “Here she is now,” Cathy protested, pointing across the woman to Sue. “I keep telling her it’s your seat,” she explained.

  “First come, first served,” said the woman. “There are no reserved seats here.” She settled herself with the finality of a tombstone.

  Sue started to protest when she caught Dave’s amused grin.

  “Sit with ya,” Dave said, and his grin grew broader.

  “Here.” Sue took two bags of popcorn and passed them to Cathy and Ellen. She took her jacket in exchange. “Sit with you," she amended. “Wait for me—for sure,” she told Cathy and Ellen.

  She shot a withering look at the woman and man, then felt a little guilty about that look as she followed Dave down the aisle. Because she really wasn’t too unhappy about not sitting with Cathy and Ellen. In fact, sitting with just Dave would be much better. She noted with almost a smirk that Judy and Laura were in the row where Dave found a couple of seats. As she scrambled over the half dozen pairs of legs into the vacant seat, she looked back to make sure Cathy and Ellen saw where she was. She waved briefly, then settled into the seat next to Dave’s as the theater darkened and the newsreel came on.

  Sue munched her popcorn slowly during the news and the cartoon. Then the second feature started, and she leaned back to enjoy it. Dave put his arm across her shoulder, but she shifted her position and he settled for holding her hand.

  “How’s the cutie?” he whispered, and Sue was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see her blush at the compliment. She couldn’t think of an answer, not a flip one, anyway. “Did she find any good bugs yet?” he asked.

  Sue realized with a pang that he was talking about Kit. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Watch the picture.”

  Dave turned his attention to the screen briefly, then whispered. “Lousy picture.”

  Was it ever! This was not merely a B picture, it was a D-for-dull picture. She could sense the restlessness of the audience—the general shifting in seats, whispering that became audible, giggling.

  She felt something hit her neck and reached back and pulled a piece of popcorn out of her collar. Another hit her—then another. Soon popcorn was flying all around the theater. Dave’s hand went to the back of his neck as it hit him—then suddenly stood, turned, scooped a handful out of his bag, and hurled it back across the rows.

  “Don’t. Sit down,” hissed Sue. The adults behind them muttered angrily, warning Dave to stop. But he took another handful and flung it back deliberately.

  The whole theater seemed caught in a deluge of popcorn, and then a woman’s scream burst out above the din. A wave of raucous laughter almost drowned out her words. “I’m wet,” she sputtered. “I’m soaked.”

  “Somebody threw a water balloon,” Dave said. He looked back. “Here comes another one!” he warned.

  Sue saw a blue balloon wabbling toward them just in time to duck under it. The balloon splatted on the head of a man in front of them, splashing some of the water back on Sue.

  The theater was suddenly flooded with light, and Sue watched wide-eyed as the ushers and two policemen strode purposefully down the aisles. They stopped at row after row, motioning for youngsters to get out. They’d just passed her row when the man behind them spoke up. “He’s one,” he said. “I saw him myself. That one with the crew cut.”

  The police motioned Dave to the aisle and told Sue to follow. They were herded toward the lobby, and Sue’s knees shook so hard she could hardly walk. She looked frantically for Cathy and Ellen. They stared at her in widemouthed disbelief. Now what? Dave was ahead of her. His back had a sort of insolen
t slouch, and he was walking with deliberate slowness. He shook off the hand of the usher who tried to hurry him along. And then they were in the lobby with the manager, wild-eyed and red-faced, bellowing at them. “Get out,” he ordered, and his voice cracked with his rage. “Get out, you bums, and don’t come back—ever.”

  Sue felt herself being pushed toward the exit along with the others. She was scared, scared clear through. This couldn’t be happening—not to her. Not being kicked out of a show. Only hoodlums and delinquents were thrown out of places. She couldn’t go. Cathy and Ellen. . . Mr. Scott . . . she broke away and approached the manager.

  “Please, sir,” she said as she tugged gently on his coat sleeve, “please, sir, I can’t go. My friends are still here.”

  The manager brushed her hand away, his face livid. “Friends, you say. You mean we missed a couple troublemakers? Show them to us.”

  “No, sir, they aren’t troublemakers,” Sue tried to explain. “They’re my girl friends—and they—they didn’t have anything to do with the trouble.”

  “Where are they sitting?”

  “Tenth row from the back.” Sue said the words in almost a whisper. They—Cathy and Ellen—couldn’t be blamed for anything, could they?

  The manager looked doubtful. “Didn’t know we had rowdies back there.”

  Sue felt the color mount to her face. “I—I wasn’t with them. I was——”

  “She sat with me.” Dave was at her side.

  “So.” The manager’s voice was a sneer. “You come with a couple of friends, drop them for a hoodlum, cause a riot, and expect me to let you in again?”

  “But I didn’t,” Sue protested. “I didn’t do a thing.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but tears were very near. “I bought some popcorn and when I went back, this woman had my seat, and I ——”

  “Trouble?”

  Sue felt relief as she saw the policeman stand by the manager. Maybe he’d listen to reason. The lobby was deserted now, except for the four of them.

  “ I —” Sue started.

  “Just a pickup,” the manager interrupted, “trying to alibi her way out of trouble.” Sue felt dirty inside at the sneer in his voice.

  “You—you——”

  Sue saw Dave’s hands clench. His eyes were blazing as he took a step forward, hand drawn back.