by Edward Bloor
Dad came in the kitchen. He wouldn't even look at me. He said, to no one in particular, "Looks like we're all leaving together."
The four of us walked out to the carport. Nina unlocked the Corvette and said to me, "Roberta, do you want to ride with your dad?"
Kristin answered pointedly, "No. She doesn't."
Nina told her, "Hey, you know, it's not like I have a real backseat here. That's all I'm saying."
I looked at Dad's beat-up Malibu. I told him, "I guess I'll ride with them."
He said, "Okay, honey. You're going to go to the mall office, right? I know Suzie has something to tell you about the big show today. All three of you." Dad looked Nina up and down. "The way you girls look, it makes me wish I were sixteen again."
I squeezed into the back. Kristin muttered disgustedly, "Yeah. I bet it does."
We rocketed up Everglades Boulevard and stopped at the light at Route 27. Just to our right, five yards from the intersection, a family of three—a father, a mother, and a little girl—was erecting a homemade shrine. The shrine consisted of a framed picture of a young man in a high school cap and gown, a bouquet of white flowers, and a small white cross. The father solemnly hammered the cross into the ground. The photo and the bouquet were attached to it.
Nina said to Kristin, "You know what that is, right? That's a Spanish thing. They're making a shrine to that dead boy, probably their son."
"Why do it there?"
"Because that's the spot where his soul departed this earth."
"What?"
"That's where he got killed. He probably got hit by a car. Or he got killed driving his own car."
I said, "That happens here a lot, Kristin."
She sounded genuinely surprised. "It does?"
"Oh yeah. I see them when I'm walking to work, families like this, and they're not only Spanish. All kinds of people do this. They come to the spot where the accident happened."
The light changed, and Nina roared across Route 27. She parked diagonally, across two spaces, right near the front of the mall. As I got out of the car, I saw Sam standing at his vandalized BMW. He was just across the row from us, hoisting a video camera. He walked in a slow circle around the car, videotaping the damage.
I stood watching him while Nina and Kristin gathered up their stuff. Sam must have sensed that I was standing there, because he lowered the camera and looked over at me. That gave me a funny feeling. He stared at me intensely, trying to figure out who I was. I almost yelled, "Trick or treat," but I contained myself.
Sam was still staring when Nina and Kristin started off toward the mall. Kristin yelled, "Come on, Roberta."
Nina jerked her head in Sam's direction. "That's the guy who runs Crescent, right?"
I said, "Yeah. That's Sam. Samir Samad."
"What is he? An Arab or something?"
"I think he's from California."
"No, no, no. Look at him. He looks like he ought to be wearing one of those sheets. You know what I mean?"
"No. Not really."
"Like he's an Arab. In the desert."
Kristin said, "You heard her, Nina. He's from California. That makes him an American."
"Hey, my mother's from Havana. She doesn't care if you call her a Cuban. She calls herself one." She turned to me. "Anyway, Roberta, whatever he is, he was checking you out."
"He was?"
"Are you blind, girl? He was checking you out big time. His tongue was practically hanging down to the ground."
"It was not."
Kristin looked in my eyes. "Do you like him?"
"I don't know."
Nina asked, "Well, do you like that type?"
"I don't know. I guess so."
"Because, you see, I do not. I like a hard-body type. I don't like guys who have that soft-body type. You know? Like that Pillsbury Doughboy look? Kristin, what's the word I'm looking for?"
"I have no idea."
"Pudgy? Is that a word?"
I said, "Yeah. That's a word."
"Well, he looks pudgy. Like he's got too high a percentage of body fat, you know, for his height."
I defended Sam. "He's not fat."
"Maybe not now, but he's gonna be. He's gonna be, like, some big fat Arab camel trader."
Kristin said, "I don't believe you, Nina. You are such a racist. You're like Hitler."
"What are you talking about? No way I'm a racist!" Nina paused and then added, "You're the one who lived in Germany. So don't go calling me Hitler."
"So don't go calling people fat Arabs."
"I'm not. I'm just stating a fact. Okay? A biological fact. I say the same thing about Carlos. It's his body type. In ten years Carlos is going to be a fat Cuban. He's got that body type, that pudgy body type. That's all I'm saying."
People entering and leaving the mall spotted us and stopped to stare. Especially the men. Even little boys and really old men. Nina and Kristin ignored them all. They leaned against the glass of SunBelt Savings, Slot #62, to switch their sandals for their high heels. Nina took out a handkerchief and dabbed her face. Then her jaw dropped. She pointed across the mallway to the office and gasped. "Madre de Dios! What is that?"
I looked over there, too. Suzie was holding up a poster-board and talking to someone who, even from this distance, could only be Betty the Goth.
Kristin asked her, "What? What are you talking about?"
"That thing over there, with the witch makeup. What is that supposed to be?"
I said, "That's Betty the Goth."
"The who?"
"Goth. You know, the goth kids?"
"No."
Kristin said, "You've seen her around. She works in the food court."
"Hey, if I ever saw her, I must have blocked it out."
The three of us started across the mallway. Kristin needled her. "At least she's not an Arab."
Nina shot her a look as she pushed open the glass door.
Suzie shouted out, "Ah! Here come the other models now. Look at you two! You look fabulous." Suzie's eyes fell on me. A puzzled expression came over her face. "Roberta? Uh, you look very different today." The three of us joined Betty and stood around Suzie's desk. "Uh, Roberta, didn't your dad tell you what the story is today?"
I said, "The story?"
Suzie looked at me, troubled. "Yes, we have a story for the modeling show today, if you want to call it that, or a theme, or whatever. It's all about Before and After." Suzie held up four white posters. Two had BEFORE printed on them, and two had AFTER. She told me, "You and Betty are going to be the Befores, and Nina and Kristin are going to be the Afters." She looked at all of us in turn. "Do you understand? It's 'Before and After you go shopping at the West End Mall.'"
Suzie stepped quickly over to the window and started banging on the glass. Dad was across the mallway with Hawg and Ironman. Suzie gestured impatiently for him to come join us.
Kristin leaned toward me and whispered, "Did you know anything about this?"
Before I could answer, Dad burst through the door, grinning. Suzie spoke to him sharply. "Bob, didn't you explain the story to Roberta?"
"What story?"
Suzie's jaw clenched. "The story about the modeling show. The one that I spent all that time last night explaining to you."
Dad stopped grinning. "No, I was going to leave that up to you. Why? Is there a problem?"
Suzie's eyes rolled up to the ceiling, where they stayed for several seconds. Then they rolled back down to Dad. She said sarcastically, "Okay. Here is an explanation of the problem then, just for you: Roberta is supposed to be a Before." Dad narrowed his eyes at her. He clearly did not like being spoken to this way, especially not in front of us. Suzie, sensing this, backed off a little. She tried to smile at me. "Roberta, sweetie, you look great. But, the fact is, you look too great. You look so great that I now have one Before and three Afters in the modeling show. Do you understand?"
I understood perfectly. I said, "Yes."
"I need you to look the way you look
ed when I picked you for the show. The way you always look."
Kristin spoke up. "This stinks, Roberta. Don't do it."
Dad, to everyone's surprise, agreed. "Roberta, you don't have to do this if you don't want to." He looked hard at Suzie. "Does she, Suzie?"
But Suzie was ready for him. "No, of course not. If Roberta doesn't want to do it, then she doesn't have to do it. But I need to know that right away. Somebody has to play this part in the show, and it is fifty dollars for two hours' work. I need to go over to the food court and get somebody else, if that's what Roberta wants."
I answered her immediately. "No, that's not what I want. I want the fifty dollars."
Suzie contorted the left side of her face in a combination of a wink and a smile. "Of course you do." She came around the desk. She walked over and put her hand through Dad's arm. "It really doesn't matter to me who plays what. You can switch roles if you want to."
Nina scoffed at that suggestion. She looked at Betty and addressed her for the first time. "I'll tell you what, I'll be the Before, and you be the After. Okay? I'll be Before you lose your mind, and you be After."
Betty, calm as always, replied, "Fine with me."
Kristin was still shaking her head back and forth, like she was thinking of bailing out. I told her, "Kristin, it's okay. Give me that cold cream and I'll get this junk off my face."
Kristin sighed deeply. Then she took me by the elbow and led me into Suzie's bathroom. There was a big box of tissues in there. She told me, "Close your eyes. And don't open them for a long time. Not until I say so."
Kristin dipped tissues into the cold cream (which really was cold) and started to smear it around my eyes. She worked at removing all the makeup that she and Nina had just put on me. She kept muttering, "This stinks, Roberta. This really stinks. You don't want fifty dollars this bad."
"Yes, I do."
"Then I'll give it to you. I'm serious. I have it in savings. I'll get it out today and give it to you."
"Don't be ridiculous. This is no big deal."
I heard Suzie come in. She asked Kristin, "Now, what are we going to do about her hair? We need to do something about her hair, too."
Kristin didn't answer her. I could feel Kristin's strong fingers making circles around my eye sockets, removing all the green shadow. But then I could feel another pair of hands. They had to be Suzie's. Her hands started to push and pull at my hair. Then I felt a comb tugging at it.
Suzie said, "If we can just pull this hair forward and then run it straight down at the sides, like Roberta usually wears it. You know, flat, and straight down. That'll be okay."
Suzie's hands finally finished flattening my hair. She went away. Kristin finally told me, "Okay. You can open your eyes."
I looked into the mirror. I was pretty much back to my old self. Though my hair did look a little bit better than usual.
We went back out and joined the others at Suzie's desk. She visually examined the four of us. "I want one of you on each team to be the timer. Nina and Kristin, it should probably be you two. Every five minutes you should change your position. People love that! They're watching you stand perfectly still, wondering if you're a mannequin or a real girl, and then suddenly you move! So when the timer sees that five minutes have passed, she moves, and the other model moves with her. You both, very smoothly, change from one pose to another." Suzie demonstrated by assuming a mannequin position. "Like, from this"—she slowly changed from that pose into another one—"to this."
Suzie picked up the posters. "I have Nina and Betty starting out in the window of Slot Number Nine, next to Crescent Electronics. You'll be there for the first hour."
Nina protested, "Wait a minute, I want to be with Kristin."
"No, no. You girls are both Afters. Each pair needs a Before and an After. I have you and Betty together because you both have dark hair and eyes, and other similar features."
"Similar?"
"I have Roberta and her cousin together, too, because, you know, they're related. Kristin and Roberta, I have you in the window of Slot Number Sixty-one, right across from Arcane. Then, after one hour, the two teams will switch locations. Empty stores are on the master key, so each team gets a master key." Suzie handed a key to Betty and one to me. "Okay? It's almost twelve o'clock. High noon. Showtime."
Nobody except Suzie seemed eager to begin, but we all picked up our poster signs and walked to the door. Suzie added, "Let's have fun doing this, girls. I know the customers are going to have a lot of fun watching you."
Nina and Kristin led the way out, in their high heels, with their AFTER signs. Betty and I followed with our BEFORE signs. When we reached the rotunda, Nina said, "Later," to Kristin and turned left. She and Betty headed off toward Slot #9.
Kristin and I walked up to Slot #61. I used my master key on the sliding-glass door. I pulled it open a foot, and we both slipped into the abandoned store. Once inside, Kristin stepped carefully over the mannequins and climbed up onto the window platform.
I remained staring at the mannequins for a moment. Someone had pushed them off the platform. They were lying stiffly and awkwardly, like they had been murdered here, like they had been struggling the very moment rigor mortis had set in.
Kristin said, "Come on up. Let's get this over with."
I slid the doors closed and stood next to Kristin. I saw that she had leaned her sign up against the glass, so I did the same. Kristin said, "Let's start with one of these." She stood with her right leg and right arm back, her left leg bent slightly, and her left hand on her hip. I mimicked her. No one walked by for a long moment. Kristin whispered to me, "I hate this. Do you hate this?"
"No. What's to hate about it? It's fifty dollars."
"I hate what she did to you."
"What?"
Kristin sighed, a stiff mannequin sigh. "Never mind."
Our first audience member had a familiar face. It was Mrs. Roman. She walked by and recognized me. She stopped and stared, clearly clueless as to what was going on. She tapped on the Plexiglas, and said very loudly, "Roberta, what are you doing in there? What does this sign mean?"
Kristin spoke out of the side of her mouth, like a ventriloquist. "Don't answer. You're an actress. An actress who's playing a mannequin."
An old couple joined Mrs. Roman at the window. They both carried flyers that explained the "story." They were soon joined by about ten other people, all carrying flyers, all eager to see us in action ... or in inaction. Most of their attention, of course, was on Kristin—on her clothes, and makeup, and hair. A couple of them, though, pointed at me, and at my sign, and laughed.
Mrs. Roman left, but she came right back with Mrs. Weiss. Mrs. Weiss did not look confused. She looked angry. She never even looked up at me. She read my sign. She read Kristin's sign. Then she shook her head and left.
In my pose—head up, eyes straight ahead—I could see directly into Arcane. Karl was at the register, reading. After about ten minutes Hawg and Ironman strolled out and stopped in the middle of the mallway to look at us. Hawg stared intently at Kristin. Ironman seemed to be staring at the floor.
We heard some noise, and then a group of loud teenage boys appeared in front of us. I recognized them right away—the skinny blond kid and the two football guys from last night. They were acting obnoxious, and the blond kid was the worst one. He started showing off for the other two. He had on a blue dress shirt. He started unbuttoning the shirt, stroking his chest, and making sounds like striptease music. The guys with him began laughing, while the older customers all edged away.
Kristin muttered to me, "Do you believe this?"
I said, "Do you want me to go get Uncle Frank?"
"What for?"
"I don't know. To protect us?"
"Don't worry about it."
The three Xavier guys pressed closer. The blond kid positioned himself right in front of Kristin. He stuck his tongue out as far as he could and pressed it against the glass. Then he started moaning.
Kristin
said, "Okay, that's it. Time to change positions." Kristin turned slowly and delivered a solid karate kick to the Plexiglas. The window bowed outward and smacked into the blond guy's teeth. He yelled and snapped his head backward, covering his mouth with his hand.
The remaining old people covered their own mouths, as if in sympathy. But Hawg didn't. He laughed, long and loud. He bellowed, "Good kick, Kristin! That's a three-point field goal."
The two other Xavier guys rounded on Hawg and Ironman. It looked like a fight was about to break out. One of them, the driver from last night, was about a foot taller than Hawg. He walked up to him, looked down, and pulled back his fist as if to punch him. Hawg caught him in the stomach with a quick right jab, doubling the guy over. The remaining Xavier guy, the one who had been talking to Nina, took a step toward Hawg, but then he thought better of it and stopped. He took his two wounded comrades by the elbows, and the three of them started backing away. He yelled at Hawg, "You're dead! You know that? You're dead when you try to leave here tonight, fatso."
Hawg answered calmly, "I ain't leavin'. I'm here right now, son. Come and get it."
"You're the one who's gonna get it. Tonight!"
"I'm here right now. Come on and give it to me."
"We know where to find you, cracker boy."
"Yeah, right here. You can find me right here. Right now."
The Xavier guys soon disappeared from our view. Hawg remained standing in his same spot for a while, as if to prove a point. Then he and Ironman walked back into Arcane.
More people stopped to stare at us, but without further incident. After about ten changes in position, Kristin announced, "Okay, that's it. That's one hour."
We climbed back down and exited Slot #61 carefully. We turned left and immediately saw Nina and Betty the Goth coming across the rotunda. Nina was in her stockings. A guy was walking behind her carrying her shoes. Betty was behind him.
Nina looked at Kristin, but neither of them said anything. Betty smiled at me and asked, "How's it going?"
I said, "Okay."
Our time over in Slot #9 was very different. People didn't pay much attention to us there. I guess the novelty of the live modeling had already worn off. Sam walked by once. He stopped to look at us. Kristin muttered, "There he is."