Dangerously Alice

  Carol laughed. “Not very. I was at this nursing convention in Boston. I’d been out for a drink with two of my girlfriends after a long day of training sessions, and I went back to my room in the hotel about midnight. I’d only been in the room once, when I’d signed in and taken my bags up, and I couldn’t remember the number. So I got out the ‘welcome slip’ to see what the number was. The clerk had written it down, but I mistook a nine for a seven. And there I was, at half past midnight, trying to open the door of Room 607 instead of 609.”

  “How embarrassing!” I said.

  “I’m turning the handle and pushing and trying to put the card in upside down and everything else I could think of. And finally, down the hall, the elevator door opens and this man starts toward me. I was terrified. I mean, here I am out in the hall all by myself in the early morning, and I can see he’s heading straight for me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I stepped over to the fire alarm box on the wall and put my hand on the lever. When he gets about twenty feet away, I say, ‘If you come any closer, I’ll pull it, and I’m not kidding.’ And he says, ‘Miss, believe me, I’m here to help you,’ and just then the door to 607 opens, and a man in his shorts and T-shirt says, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’”

  “Which one was Lawrence?” I asked eagerly.

  “The man in the hall, the one in the suit. The guy in the room had called the desk and said someone was trying to break in. Larry was manager-in-training that weekend, so they sent him up to see what was going on.”

  We both laughed. “Oh, Carol, I can just see you!” I said.

  “The guy in the shorts says to Larry, ‘Stop her before she wakes the whole floor,’ and Larry says, ‘Miss, I think you have the wrong room. Could I see your card, please? I’m the manager.’”

  “And then what?” I asked.

  “He opens the door to Room 609 and tells me if I just calm down, he’ll treat me to dinner the following night. I was embarrassed right down to the bone!”

  “And did you go to dinner?” I wanted to know.

  “No. I had other plans and told him I’d be going back to Chicago the day after. He said, ‘Well, I’ll be working in Chicago after I finish here in Boston, so why don’t you give me your phone number and we’ll do it another time?’ And we did. About four months later I get a call from a Lawrence Swenson, and after that we started going out. And fell in love.”

  I sighed dramatically. “I hope I’m that lucky someday.”

  “Well, I can think of easier ways to meet someone, but it’s a story we laugh about now,” said Carol.

  We were quiet for a moment or two. Then I asked, “So why’d you move in together? Why don’t you just get married?”

  “Because I want to be sure,” said Carol. “I had one bad marriage, and I don’t want another. I keep reminding myself that I thought I was in love then, too, so I want to make sure I’m not deluding myself a second time.”

  I thought about that. “Some people live together for seven or eight years and still don’t know if they’re ready to marry,” I said.

  “I think if you have to question yourself that long, you’re not ready,” she said. “Larry would get married tomorrow if I gave the word. But I want to wait a few more months to be certain. I wouldn’t hurt that man for the world.”

  She had been lying on her back all this time, and now she turned over and faced me. “So … what’s new with you? Are you going out with anyone special?”

  “Not really,” I told her. “But I’ve got a date for the Snow Ball—a guy named Tony.”

  “Yeah? Nice?”

  “Well … yeah. I guess,” I said.

  “You guess? Is he hot? Is that the attraction?” asked Carol.

  I grinned. “Yeah, pretty hot. And he’s a senior.”

  “Aha! Has your dad met him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “Dad’s not too crazy about him, but I had a long talk with Tony last year. He’s a different person when he talks about himself and his feelings and everything,” I said. “He just seemed to need someone to really open up with.”

  “Hmmm,” said Carol. “Hot and needy, huh? That’s a lethal combination.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, he makes you think you’re the only one who understands him. And then he’s in your arms, and you’re stroking his forehead, and one thing leads to another. …”

  I laughed nervously. “We’re just sort of friends. Nothing like that. We’re on the newspaper staff together.”

  “Uh-huh …”

  “I had no idea he was going to ask me. He just walked into homeroom one morning and asked to speak to me. And in front of everyone, he asks if I’d go to the dance with him.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah. I was like, ‘Omigod, and he’s a senior!’” I said.

  “Uh-huh …”

  “That was pretty exciting.”

  “Sounds a little like me and my sailor,” Carol said. “I was sitting in this deli near campus, and I could see this sailor at another table, looking at me. My girlfriends had left before I did—I was studying for a test—and he came over and asked if he could sit down.”

  “Were you thrilled?”

  “Sure. You know—a man in uniform, all that stuff. We talked awhile—he was stationed in Chicago—and he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. There was a little park nearby. I was through with classes for the day, so I said sure. I mean, what can happen to you out on the sidewalk on a warm March day? We got along real well and started going out. He was wild and crazy and made me laugh. It was so much more fun than sitting in class, studying for tests, that four weeks later, when he was on leave, we eloped. I left the university, and we got married and went to Mexico for a honeymoon. I sent Mom and Dad a postcard, letting them know. And I never realized how deeply that hurt them till I was older.”

  “They didn’t like him?”

  “They didn’t even know him. Had never met him. I’m their only child, and I didn’t even include them in the wedding.”

  “Oh, man. And then?”

  “After a year or so, he was still wild and crazy, but I didn’t laugh about it anymore. I found out he was seeing other women, and after the divorce it took me a long time to get my confidence back. I started going to night school, taking business courses, and eventually got my degree and a job as secretary for this nursing association. And … I’ve been there ever since.”

  “And now you’re the assistant director! Yay for you, Carol!” I said.

  She rolled over on her back again and pulled the covers up under her chin. “Yeah, I have to tell myself that now and then when things are rough. ‘If you survived that marriage and that divorce, you can survive anything,’ I say. Looking back, I think, ‘Was that really me?’ A girl who would leave college and marry a guy she’d only known for four weeks?”

  “It must have been, because you did it,” I said.

  “One part of me, anyway,” said Carol. “It’s like I didn’t even know the rest of me—the other part. Had to find that out the hard way.”

  “Well, I hope you and Larry will be very happy and you’ll love living together and you’ll get married and you’ll never be sorry,” I said.

  “And I hope you have a great time at the dance and that all your hotshot fella does is talk,” she said.

  “Well, I hope he does a little more than that,” I told her.

  8

  The Quarrel

  It was as though the last week of November, circled on my calendar, was a blinking neon light. My eye fell on it as soon as I entered my bedroom. It was like “the first week of the rest of my life.” I could drive the car with friends in it and go wherever I wanted. Well, almost. Around the area, I mean. And, of course, the Snow Ball was Friday night.

  Just as he’d promised, Dad let me have the car that Monday, and I drove Liz to school, but I could hardly wait for a “Girls’ Night Out.”

  “Where shal
l we go?” I asked the others in the cafeteria.

  “Did we decide on a night?” asked Liz.

  “Yolanda wants to be in on it too,” said Gwen, referring to her friend from another school who hangs out with us now and then.

  “Great,” I said. “I can fit three in the backseat.”

  “I heard about this student hangout in Georgetown where they card you but put a bracelet on you if you’re under twenty-one. You can sit at the tables like everyone else, but they won’t serve you alcohol. Great band,” Pamela told us.

  “Yeah, that’s Edgar’s!” said Gwen. “My brothers love that place.”

  “Let’s do it!” said Liz.

  “There’s a cover charge, though,” Pamela told us. “Let me get the details, and then we’ll decide.”

  “And dress like college girls!” said Liz. “I know just what I want to wear.”

  “Hot college girls!” Gwen corrected. “College girls out on the town!”

  I felt as though everything about me was different—my walk, my talk, my voice, my face, my hair. … Little by little I was getting inducted into adult life, and it felt very, very good.

  On Tuesday, Liz’s mom drove us to school, and as soon as we got inside, Pamela came racing down the hall toward us.

  “Did you check your e-mail last night?” she asked me.

  “No, I went to bed early. Why?”

  “We’re on for tonight!” she said. “Can you do it? There’s no cover charge on Tuesdays, and some guys from St. John’s are going to be there!”

  “I think I can do it!” I said. “Liz?”

  “Probably, if we’re not out too late,” she said.

  “We can go early and eat there,” Pamela told us. “They’ve got sandwiches and stuff.”

  We asked Gwen at lunchtime, and she said she could make it. Everything seemed to be falling into place, like the gods had prepared the way.

  “Tonight it is,” I said, and we set a time when I would pick each girl up. We’d split the parking fee in Georgetown.

  All day I mentally tried on jeans and tops and belts and shoes. I felt like I could scarcely wait to get to college. To be a college student. It was so completely satisfying to be the driver for Girls’ Night Out—driving around, picking everyone up, tooting the horn in the driveway, my high-heeled shoe on the brake pedal. Dangly jangly earrings, I decided. Earrings and heels—and the tightest jeans I owned, most definitely.

  Sylvia wasn’t home yet when I got in the house. I took my books up to my room and worked on geometry so I wouldn’t have to do it later. Did a work sheet for history, started reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings for English, but I was too excited to concentrate. I decided I’d rather drive Dad’s car. Sylvia’s was nicer, but Dad’s was smaller and a little easier to handle, and I’d be driving into D.C.

  Every so often my computer would ding, and I’d check the e-mail.

  Heels? asked Gwen. Yo says stilettos.

  Whatever uv got, I replied

  See if you can stay out til midnight, Alice, Pamela wrote, in case we want 2 do sumthing with the guys after.

  Fat chance, I thought.

  At five I showered and put on fresh makeup, my best jeans, and a silk shirt. Everything but my heels. When I heard Sylvia in the kitchen, I padded downstairs barefoot.

  She had rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and was rinsing off spinach leaves at the sink.

  “Well!” she said. “You sure look spiffy!”

  I smiled. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s in Baltimore at a conference,” she said.

  “Baltimore?” I asked. “When will he be home?”

  “Around ten, I suppose. Why?”

  “Oh no!” I cried. “I wanted to use his car. Sylvia, can I drive yours tonight?”

  She glanced over at me, hands on the colander. “Why, no, Alice! I’m going to a teacher’s retirement dinner.”

  “Tonight?” I wailed. “Oh, Sylvia, I promised my friends! We’re having Girls’ Night Out, and we heard about this fabulous place in Georgetown, and there’s no cover charge on Tuesdays!”

  “Well, this is the first I’ve heard about it,” she said, giving the colander another shake and setting it down on the counter.

  “It’s the last week of November, remember? I’ve been waiting all this time to have friends in the car with me, and there’s no cover charge on Tuesdays, and some guys from St. John’s are going to meet us there. …”

  “One of the other girls will have to drive, I’m afraid, because I’ve got to have my car,” Sylvia said. “I’m sorry.”

  I was desperate. “But can’t you go with someone else or take a taxi? Just this one night?”

  Sylvia turned and faced me, glancing quickly at the clock, and I could see she was in no mood to argue. “No, I can’t. I’m taking Beth, and she’s recovering from back surgery. I’ve got my car seat adjusted especially for her, pillows and everything. You’ll just have to go with someone else.”

  “But there are medical taxis!” I said. “You know, for handicapped people. You could call one of those and—”

  “Alice, I am not putting Beth in a taxi. I told her I’d pick her up, and I’m taking my car,” Sylvia said firmly.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. “How can this be happening?” I cried. “You and Dad both knew I’ve been looking forward to this week for a long time! For months! I even have it circled on my calendar!”

  “If you reserved our cars for the entire week, nobody told us,” said Sylvia, moving past me to get something from the refrigerator. She sounded impatient and irritated, but not half as angry as I was.

  I wouldn’t give up. “It just seems like it would be easier for you and Beth to go with someone else than for me and four of my friends to completely rearrange our plans,” I said, selfish as it sounded.

  And it certainly sounded that way to Sylvia, because she snapped, “Well, it’s not! And if I were you, Alice, I’d quit the arguing and start calling my friends to see what else we could work out.”

  I already knew the answer to that. I stormed out of the kitchen and on upstairs and grabbed my cell phone. There was no point in calling Liz because she only has her learner’s permit. I called Pamela’s number.

  “You’re kidding!” she cried. “No, I can’t get the car! Even if Dad was home, he wouldn’t let me drive to D.C., and anyway, he’s out with Meredith. Alice, you’ve got to make her let you. She owes you one, remember?”

  I called Gwen.

  “No deal,” she said. “Dad’s out shopping at Best Buy, and Jerome’s the only brother here. He’s got a sports car, seats two. We’d still need a second car.”

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, holding back tears. “Yolanda? Can she drive?”

  “Don’t even think it. She’s having a huge fight with her folks. I think we’d just better pack it in, Alice. We’ll do it another time.”

  “But I’m all dressed! I did my nails and everything! Even my toenails!” I wailed.

  “So did I. Bummer.”

  “There’s got to be a way!” I said. “I’ll call Lester.”

  “Good luck,” said Gwen.

  I called, but he wasn’t home. George, one of his roommates, answered and said that both Les and Paul, the other roommate, were out for the evening. I was almost too angry to cry.

  Sylvia appeared in the doorway of my room. “Alice, I’ve left a shrimp and spinach salad in the fridge for your dinner,” she said.

  “I don’t want it!” I said. And then, “It just seems to me, Sylvia, that since I caved on the subject of your cat, you could do this one favor for me! This is huge for me! Everyone’s counting on it.”

  “If you let me know something in advance, sure,” said Sylvia. “But not tonight, and I’m sick of arguing about it.” She turned and started down the hall.

  I felt the blood rushing to my face, anger almost choking me. “And I’m sick of you!” I said, leaping up to slam my door, and I found myself stepping in something warm an
d mushy. I looked down to see that Annabelle had been in my room and had thrown up on my rug, right next to my high-heeled shoes. On one of the shoes! And Beth, the woman who was ruining our plans for this evening, was the one who had given her to us.

  I went ballistic. I yanked open the door and screamed, “And take your cat with you! She puked all over my shoes! I never wanted her here, and you know it!”

  Sylvia turned around and stood looking at me. It wasn’t the calm, beautiful face of the teacher I’d loved back in seventh grade. In fact, there was a flash of anger I hadn’t seen before.

  “You don’t have to scream to make a point,” she said, carefully enunciating each word.

  “Well, nothing else works!” I cried. “Everything is your way ever since you moved in here. The cat, the cooking, the remodeling—everything! If you think I’m unreasonable, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be sixteen and have four other girls depending on you.”

  “Then perhaps sixteen is too young to have any empathy for a woman in pain from back surgery who’s going to be driven as carefully and gently as I can manage, to a teacher’s retirement dinner that she has been looking forward to for a long time,” said Sylvia icily.

  “I do have empathy, but you could go in a taxi for the handicapped, and you know it. All you have to do is call one!” I said.

  “And if you and your friends want to hire a taxi to take you to Georgetown, all you have to do is call one,” Sylvia said.

  I lunged for the door, my toes still squishy with cat puke, and slammed it. Then I opened it and slammed it again as hard as I could. I heard plaster fall between the walls.

  I sat down on the bed breathing hard and crying from both rage and shock at what I’d said. Sylvia knew that we could never afford a taxi to take us all the way to Georgetown. Half of me knew that I had behaved abominably, and the other half knew that this was long overdue, that always, always, whatever I wanted came last. I grabbed an old T-shirt beside my bed and wiped the cat puke off my toes. I wanted to take it out in the hall and shove it in Sylvia’s face.

  Liz called and said that Pamela had called her. “It’s off, then?” she asked.