Summer in the City

  She said the lower school librarian had come in and selected books for us. Noelle, Josh, Sam, and I picked up our lunches and followed Ms. Mahler to the lower school. The librarian had also left a key to a closet full of costumes and props. As we sat on the miniature chairs at a short-legged table, we chose the tales we wanted to do and decided who would read each part, then we sorted through the closet of theatrical stuff. Sam started getting silly and put on a Goldilocks wig. Every time Josh laughed at his friend, I noticed it—felt it—maybe because I still found it surprising.

  At one o’clock, Sam and I collected our kids from the bus and played a version of soccer that should have been called Mob Ball; wherever the ball rolled, so did a mob of kids. Even the goalie kicked a goal at the other end of the field. After wearing out the kids and taking a water and bathroom break, we went inside for art. I don’t know what it is about glue, but I have never escaped an arts-and-crafts class without getting things stuck to me.

  “Do you want me to tell you that you’ve got macaroni on your butt?” Sam whispered, as we shepherded our flock to the library.

  “Left side or right?”

  “Both.”

  I reached back with both hands and brushed myself off, which disappointed several third graders who had been waiting to see if I’d crunch when I sat down.

  The sweet little second graders were thrilled to be in with the big third graders, and our third graders were just as delighted to show off in front of the younger kids. It took some effort to seat them on the library floor and quiet them down, but once the stories began, the kids entered a whole different zone. Their favorite tale was Little Red Riding Hood.

  Noelle came skipping onto our makeshift stage area in a red cape with a hood that framed her face so perfectly I thought our fearless woodsman—Sam—might jump into the scene to save her a bit too soon. Sam, however, stayed with me off to the side, seeming glad for an excuse to stare at her.

  Enter the Big Bad Wolf. Josh prowled across the stage, wearing tall gray ears and a long tail that was attached to his belt loop in the back.

  “Oooo,” breathed the campers.

  He grinned wickedly, smacked his lips, and cocked his head one way, then the other, studying his audience as if choosing his dinner. One of the kids hissed at him.

  “So many arms and legs, so little time,” said Josh, as he continued to prowl and eye the kids. Noelle skipped past him, pretending she didn’t see him.

  “I’m very hungry,” said Josh. “And I love little ears, and little noses, and sweet little toes and fingers.”

  The kids wriggled with pleasure and a fun kind of fear.

  “Thumbs are tough, though. They’re way over-developed, ever since Game Boy. I never eat thumbs.”

  Some of the kids held up their thumbs, showing them off.

  “Well, well, well,” Josh said, eyeing Noelle, “here comes a tender morsel. I’m going to hide.”

  Josh crouched behind a chair, where he was anything but actually hidden, and Noelle skipped toward him.

  “No, no, go back, go back!” the kids cried. “There’s a wolf!”

  I was amazed to see that my toughest customers had totally bought into this bit of pretend.

  Noelle turned around, as if she were listening to them. “I guess I’ll take the long route to Grandma’s.”

  Now Josh stood up, hands on his hips. He glowered at the kids, who happily hissed back at him. Then he assumed a different pose. Swinging his tail, like a lifeguard swinging a whistle, he strutted his stuff, making his move toward Noelle. The kids just giggled, but Sam and I were leaning against the wall, doubled up with laughter.

  “I told you he was cocky,” Sam whispered to me.

  “Oh, little miss Red Riding Hood,” Josh called, his voice arching upward. He called her three times, then finally said, “Yo, Red!”

  Noelle turned. “Is that a friendly voice I hear?”

  “No, no! It’s a wolf!” screamed the kids.

  But this time, Little Red Riding Hood wouldn’t listen to their advice. She told the wolf exactly where she was going. And when he advised her not to hurry, but to stop and enjoy the flowers along the way, she did just that. The wolf, wiggling his fingers with eagerness, scooted toward “Grandma’s.”

  Scene two: Dressed in somebody’s old flannel-and-lace nightgown with a frilly dust cap on my head, I stretched out on a library table. I placed a blanket on my legs, laid back, and pretended to snore. Josh rapped on another table, and I sat straight up.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me,” Josh answer in a high-pitched voice, which made the kids squeal. “Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “Little Red Riding Hood? Oh my dearest, my sweetest, my loveliest—”

  “That’s me,” Josh said.

  “Come in, come in!”

  He peeked around an imaginary door.

  “Why,” I exclaimed, squinting at him, “Little Red Riding Hood, how big your eyes have grown.”

  “The better to see you, Grandmama.”

  “Why, Little Red Riding Hood, how big your nose has become.”

  “The better to smell you, Grandmama.”

  “Why, Little Red Riding Hood, how big your mouth is.”

  “The better to eat you up!” Josh shouted and rushed through the imaginary door.

  I guess it was instinct. Just as he reached me, I hopped off the table. He came around it, and I faked him out with my best basketball move and went around to the other side. We inched back and forth, the table-bed between us.

  “You little brat,” he said—to me, not Grandmama.

  “What makes you think that Grandma gave up without a fight?” I hissed back. Then I turned and hurdled a chair. The kids hooted and hollered as he chased me around the library.

  When I passed Ms. Mahler sitting by the back door, I thought, Oh God, I’m in for it. I raced up to the staging area, dodging chairs left and right, and finally let Josh catch me. One moment, he had me by the forearms, the next moment I was in the air. In one quick motion he had picked me up and flung me like a sack over his shoulder. I hung head downward and beat my hands against his back. The kids cheered.

  “Hey,” I hollered at them, “you’re not supposed to cheer for the Big Bad Wolf.” But they didn’t care. They applauded loudly as he carried me off to the costume closet.

  “You’re a lot of trouble, Grandma,” he said, as he dumped me on a pile of clothes, but when I peeked at him through the nightgown that he was helping me pull off, he was laughing. Together we yanked the gown down over his square body. When I transferred the dust cap from my head to his, arranging it over his wolf ears, he looked so ridiculous, the white ruffles framing his face and pink lace around his neck, I couldn’t help it, I laughed and laughed and could barely stand up.

  “Is something funny?” he asked, not cracking a smile, but his eyes dancing with that golden light.

  Then “Grandmama” scooted out to the bed, hopped up on it, and pulled the covers to his chin. The kids howled at the sight of him dressed up like that, and Little Red Riding Hood had to take a moment to get her composure. Even the big M, sitting back by the door, was giggling.

  Red and Wolf ran through the big eyes, big nose, and big mouth lines, then the wolf pounced. Red didn’t put up a fight, but the woodsman sure did. The kids ate up every moment of the hammiest struggle ever performed on stage. While Josh and Sam clashed, Josh threw his dust cap, then his gown “off stage,” as we had arranged at our lunch meeting. I grabbed them, put them on, and waited for Sam to pursue Josh to my side of the stage. Sam cornered Josh, but it took some work with his cardboard ax to finish him off, especially since Josh decided to rise twice from the dead. Finally, he flopped back, and I, dressed as Grandmama, stepped over his body. “Ta da!”

  “Oh, Grandmama! You’re alive!” Noelle cried, flinging her arms around me.

  “Ow!”

  Josh had bitten my ankle, then quickly flopped on his back again.

  The applause
was thunderous, as thunderous as it gets with little second- and third-grade hands, then Ms. Mahler stood up and gave a shrill blow of her silver whistle. “Buses, children, we must get you to your buses.”

  I glanced at the clock. We were ten minutes over.

  Sam in his Robin Hood “woodsman” hat, Noelle in her red cape, me in my nightgown and cap, and Josh in his ears and tail, herded the kids outside.

  “Nice outfit, girlfriend,” Mona said to me. Her fifth graders were already in their bus seats.

  “You ought to see Josh in it.”

  Once the kids were boarded, Ms. Mahler turned to the four of us. There was a tiny smile on her face. “You made my day,” she said.

  Chapter 20

  At six P.M., Mona and I were sniffing every bottle and tube in my mother’s bathroom collection.

  “Too fussy,” I said, twisting a cap closed and slipping the tube back on the shelf, “way too fussy.”

  “How about this?” Mona held a bottle beneath my nose.

  “Ooooh!”

  “Want some?” she asked, as she dabbed it on herself.

  “No, no, we can’t both smell like you, Mona. If he likes it, that has to become your scent, something he connects with you, something that you leave behind on his shirt collar and drive him crazy with.”

  “You’ve been reading up,” she said. “I suppose I should write down the name.”

  “See if he likes it first. Do you think it’s okay to wear this necklace—”

  “It’s gorgeous on you, you had better wear it.”

  “I mean, since it’s from Andrew and…” my voice drifted off. It was mine now, wasn’t it? It’s not like he owned my right to wear it. “We should get down there,” I said. “The guys have been here for more than five minutes and who knows what my mother is entertaining them with.”

  My fears were fulfilled. As we entered the room behind the living room, my mother was showing Ted the outline for her current book, and Josh was reading the Post-its and scraps taped to the wall near her writing chair.

  “That’s really interesting, Rita,” Ted said, and sounded truly intrigued, but then the radar that comes with love—or maybe it was the new scent—made him turn to see Mona. If Mona had looked good in the mirror, and she did, she looked fabulous now, glowing, though how that was possible in a room with little natural light, I didn’t know.

  Ted was looking pretty hot himself. “Hi,” he said. “I’m glad you could come tonight.”

  He was so sincere, my mother got the same look on her face that she gets when watching a mushy scene in a movie.

  Meanwhile, Josh was riveted to whatever he was reading on the wall. I walked over to him and leaned closer to see.

  Through endless summer days and sleepless nights, the secret flame of desire burned in him. Each accidental touch of her hand seared his skin. The lightest brush of her fingers sent heat pulsing through his loins. She was wildfire in his veins and he dreamed of her coming to him and…

  “Whoa! Mom!” I exclaimed.

  Josh looked over his shoulder at me. Realizing how close I was, I stepped back quickly. “Mom, do you have to leave things like this on the wall?”

  She squinted a little to see what we were reading. “Well, usually, if I like a passage but it doesn’t belong in a chapter, I stick it up somewhere so I can use it when the time is right. You’re blushing, baby,” she added.

  “Thank you for pointing that out.”

  She smiled at Josh, then observed, “You’re looking a little rosy, too.”

  “Let’s go,” I said, and grabbed Mona’s arm, towing her toward the living room and the front street, where Ted was parked.

  As Ted drove, Josh and I took on the job of keeping up an easy flow of conversation. I admired the way Josh slipped in little things he knew about Mona, complimentary tidbits, although she really didn’t need anyone’s help scoring points with Ted.

  We parked in a multilevel garage and walked toward the stadium. There is something so exciting about a summer evening with a baseball crowd gathering, fans eddying around street vendors who are hawking T-shirts and hats and brightly colored pennants. We passed through Camden Yards’s tall iron gates. Inside, fans were lining up at Boog’s Barbecue, which was spouting huge puffs of smoke between the renovated brick warehouse that formed one side of the stadium and the playing field.

  We found our seats in the upper deck, behind home plate as Ted had promised, which gave us a fabulous view of the field. Camden Yards was built so that from home plate looking outward you saw the city skyline between left and right field. Now the orange sun, setting behind us, was gleaming off glass buildings that rose up against a purple sky.

  “Wow!” I said. “Wow! What a stadium!”

  Josh leaned forward in his seat and smiled at me across Ted and Mona. I had entered the row first, and Mona had scooted in behind me. Josh had to insist and finally push Ted in next, so that Ted sat next to Mona. It was amazing to me how clumsy people in love could be, although I preferred Ted’s awkward moves to the smoothness of Andrew. Andrew was a little too sure of the script.

  “I knew you’d like it here, Jamie,” Ted said.

  “Wouldn’t you like to get down on that field and run those bases?” Mona asked me, sounding like herself again.

  “We could show them how it’s done,” I said.

  “Ha!” That was Josh’s comment.

  We stood for the national anthem, shouted out “O!” for Orioles when we got to that part of the song—Ted explained that it was a Baltimore tradition—and watched the game as it settled into a pitchers’ duel.

  The problem with pitchers’ duels is that you need to talk about them. When there are lots of hits and base running, you can jump up and down and cheer, but when two pitchers are mowing down the hitters one after another, you need to concentrate on the finer points of the game, wonder about the statistics, and talk strategy as if you, yourself, once managed a major league club. But my baseball buddy who was capable of doing that was on the other side of Mona, and they were focused totally on each other. I became bored, then irritated.

  They didn’t need us here, I thought. Why was I taking part in this dumb charade? I was like a freakin’ chaperone. Get a grip, Ted.

  I decided I’d better get myself clear of them for a few minutes. “I’ll be back,” I said, climbing over legs and heading toward the stadium ramp.

  As soon as I reached the concourse, I felt better. I bought myself a hot dog and a Coke and started watching the game on the TV mounted near the concession stand. The Baltimore announcers were discussing the pitch selection and calling up stats, and I felt like someone was finally talking to me. The fifth inning was over, and the next one started, but I didn’t want to go back. Maybe they’d think I got stuck in a long food line, I thought.

  I leaned against the stadium wall, crumpling up my foil, wondering what else to eat. The Orioles got a hit and I heard the people inside the stadium roar.

  “Having a good time?”

  I jumped at the sound of Josh’s voice. “Oh, hi.”

  “I thought maybe you’d gotten lost,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Is the game any better out here?”

  “Depends on what kind of game you like,” I replied.

  He smiled.

  “They, uh, they’re kind of getting to me,” I admitted.

  “Me, too. How are the hot dogs?”

  “Great.”

  The stadium roared and we stopped to watch the TV screen. Men on first and third.

  “Can I buy you another one?” he asked.

  “No, I’m going for the ice cream, I think.”

  We got in line together and watched as the Orioles scored their first run and then got themselves caught in a rundown between second and third.

  “What are you doing?!” I scolded the player.

  “The third-base coach should have stopped him,” said Josh. “He should have been watching him, especially since he’s a rookie.”
/>
  We paid for our food, and I followed Josh to a window in the concourse, where we could watch the monitor from a distance, as well as lean on the concrete wall and look out over the city. Streetlamps, the lights of row houses, and the taillights of cars on a highway curling away from the city glittered in the dusk. The Orioles played spectacular defense. Josh and I discussed the problems of small- and medium-market teams in baseball. I was totally happy. I wished I could spend the whole game out there with him.

  Josh balled up the foil from his hot dog and tossed it twenty feet, landing it neatly into a trash receptacle.

  “Nice shot.”

  “Thanks. So,” he said, resting his elbows on the window, looking toward the horizon of twinkling lights, “are you a believer yet?”

  “In what?”

  “Love at first sight.”

  I leaned on my elbows next to him. “I’ve been thinking about it,” I said. “I think that a lot of people are immediately and incredibly attracted to somebody else. It’s one of those things that happen frequently. And, one time in a million, it turns out to be the real thing. One time in a billion, it turns out to be real for both people.”

  “Cynic.”

  “I’m just reporting what I see.”

  “Or maybe what you feel,” he suggested.

  “All I know is, I could never fall in love that way.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I played with my necklace. “I just won’t let myself. I know that there are too many things a person doesn’t see right away.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Like the fact that a guy wants to make varsity football more than anything and your dad is the coach. Like the fact that a guy wants to sew up his position at tight end, and your dad’s the coach.”