All anyone wanted to talk about, though, was vacation—when they were going or where they had been.
“You going anywhere this summer?” the clerk asked me later as we stacked packages of infant undershirts on a sale table.
“I don’t think so,” I told her. “What about you?”
“I’ve been here a year, so I get a week,” she said. “West Virginia, maybe. They say you’re either a beach person or a mountain person, and I never did like the water.”
I’d take whatever I could get, I decided. July turned into August, each day hotter than the one before. Dad let me use the car to drive over to Molly’s and critique some of the stuff she’d written for her essays. See if it was clear. I was glad to do it, but I couldn’t exactly call it a vacation.
I was feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t have any plans for a trip. Dad and Sylvia were saving money for remodeling our house. The most I could expect was a night at the movies. Then I thought of Molly. The most she could expect was to write some acceptable essays in the month we had left, and I felt ashamed of myself.
Jennifer Martin put me in misses’ sportswear for the rest of the summer. She said they’d be having almost continuous sales until the last of the summer stock was gone.
Juanita was the department manager of sportswear. She was about forty, short, and had long shiny hair, almost blue-black. She said that whenever the fitting rooms were clear, I could help out on the floor directing customers toward their favorite brands and finding the right size for customers in the fitting rooms.
Now that I could move around the floor more, friends came by to say hello. It added a little novelty to my day, but it also caused problems. We’re not supposed to visit with friends on the job, but if they want to buy something, it’s okay. When Penny came by looking for petites, I showed her some fabulous gauze tops to wear with jeans.
“These are great!” she said. “But aren’t you working at your dad’s store this summer?”
I rolled my eyes. “He wants me to broaden my horizons, explore the world.”
“Here in the sportswear department?” she said, and we laughed. “Good luck.”
It was Karen and Jill who gave me trouble. When Karen came by a few days later and picked out a swimsuit and cover-up, she waited till I’d gone back to the fitting rooms, then cornered me there. “Alice, how about letting me use your employee discount? I’m paying cash, so who’s to know?”
“I’m not sure, Karen,” I said reluctantly.
“What’s the harm? It could have been you paying cash, right? Some stores even have a ‘family and friends’ discount.”
“Well … just this once,” I said.
I wasn’t allowed to ring up sales, though, so Karen gave me the money and wandered off while I waited for a break in customers. Then I asked Juanita to ring them up for me, employee discount.
“Boy, you can buy a bathing suit just like that?” she said. “Did you even try this on?”
“It’ll fit,” I said, and gave her my employee number.
And then, wouldn’t you know, Jill came in the next day.
“Omigod!” she said. “I can’t believe it! I found these jeans in my size—for tall girls, you know? I’ve looked all over for them.”
“Your lucky day,” I said. They were great-looking jeans and cost more than I’d ever pay. Jill followed me over to a rack where I was marking down summer jackets and said, “Alice, please, please let me use your employee discount.”
“Oh, Jill, I can’t,” I said. “I’m going to be in big trouble if they catch me.”
“Are you kidding? Everyone does it!” she said. “They expect you to do it! I haven’t been able to find these anywhere else, and they’re so expensive. And you know what long legs I’ve got… .”
“Look. Just this once,” I said. “Do you have the money?”
“Yeah. Barely.”
“Come back in a half hour,” I told her, and she disappeared among the shoppers.
I took the jeans over to Juanita later and asked her to ring them up for me.
“Aren’t these a little long for you, Alice?” she asked. “In fact, they’d be much too long.”
“A gift for my cousin,” I lied. “She’s got legs to die for.” I could tell by the look she gave me that she didn’t quite believe me.
I wasn’t exactly cheerful when Jill came back. “The line stops here,” I said. “Don’t even think of telling anyone else, because I can’t do it again.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Jill said, and walked away on her extra-long legs.
One girl who didn’t ask for a discount made trouble of a different sort.
“Hey, Alice, I didn’t know you worked here!” a voice said one afternoon, and I turned to see Amy Sheldon from school. Some of the girls call her “Amy Clueless” because she never quite seems to be “with it.” She’s a master at non sequiturs, and she doesn’t appear to know how she affects other people. Even though you want to be kind to people with disabilities—if that’s what it was with Amy—it doesn’t mean they can’t drive you nuts sometimes.
“Hi, Amy,” I said. “Yeah, they keep me busy, all right.” I made a point of scooping up some shirts from a box and starting to walk away. “How you doing?”
“I’m glad you asked,” said Amy, but I wasn’t. “Well, right after school was out, I got this job dog-walking. Did you ever do that? I have to get up at seven every morning and walk three Irish setters before this woman goes to work… .”
“Uh-huh,” I said, walking even faster.
“Then at nine thirty I …”
I could see Juanita frowning at me from the counter.
“I’ve got to take these shirts to the stockroom, Amy,” I said.
“It’s okay, I’ll go with you,” Amy said. “After I walk the Irish setters, I have to—”
“I’ve got work to do, Amy,” I said. She’s not very good at subtleties.
“I can help,” said Amy.
“No. Employees only,” I told her. “Bye.”
When Juanita came back to the stockroom later, she said, “Your friend’s still hanging around out there, Alice. Jennifer Martin gets really upset when friends come by to gab.”
“She’s not exactly a friend,” I said, but that was unfair to Amy. “She’s someone from school who’s a little lost.”
“Well, she’ll have to get lost on her own time, not yours,” Juanita said. “I’m going to tell her you’ve gone to lunch.”
She did, and out of the small square window of the stockroom, I watched Amy turn and walk off to the children’s department.
If it weren’t for Les, the summer of my sophomore year would have been dullsville. I was off work on Sunday, and Dad and Sylvia had just come home from church when Les drove up and came inside.
“He can smell lunch from sixty paces,” I said as we were getting out the bagels and turkey and cheese.
“No, thanks. I had a late breakfast,” Lester said, but he looked excited. Keyed up. “I just wanted to run something by you.” He turned a chair away from the table and straddled it, arms resting on the back.
“Sure. What’s up? Thinking of buying a new car?” Dad asked.
“More important than that,” said Lester. “I’m going to ask Tracy to marry me.”
Wow! I thought. But I decided that a cheer was out of place, so I just grinned and waited for Dad to say something.
“Well, well!” Dad said, a surprised smile on his face. “That is news! When did you decide this?”
“When I realized she’s about the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met,” Les told us.
“We like her too, Les,” Sylvia said, leaning over to give him a hug. “How long have you guys known each other?”
“Eight months. I don’t believe in long courtships, like some people I know,” Lester teased. Dad grinned.
I didn’t open my mouth for fear Les would suddenly discover I was present and decide to continue the discussion with Dad in private. I spr
ead mustard on my bagel in slow motion so that even the knife wouldn’t attract his attention.
“Well, tell us! Have you met her family?” asked Sylvia.
Lester laughed. “Half of them, anyway. She’s got relatives coming and going. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, godmother, second cousins, uncles once removed …”
“And do you like them?” Sylvia asked.
Les thought about that. “Yes, I do. A little reserved, maybe. Very polite. There are so many of them, I’ve never talked to any one person for very long.”
“Well, we’ll be glad to welcome Tracy into this family, Les,” Dad said. “There’s nothing more exciting than meeting the person you want to spend the rest of your life with.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” said Les.
I couldn’t contain myself. “To Les and Tracy!” I said, holding up my glass of lemonade.
“I’ll drink to that!” said Sylvia, and Dad smiled and lifted his glass too.
Les grinned and stood up to leave, looking pleased. Then he turned to me and gave me his stern look. “And you are not to say one solitary word to anyone, Al,” he said. “When I’m ready to announce it, I’ll let you know.”
“Of course!” I said, as though the thought of rushing to the phone the moment he left and calling Liz and Pam and Gwen and Molly and Faith and Karen and Jill had never once crossed my mind.
“When do you plan to ask her, Les?” Sylvia wanted to know.
“Her birthday’s later this month. I’m going to take her out to dinner, pop the question, and then we’ll go shopping for a ring.”
I sat grinning all through lunch. Wouldn’t it be neat, I thought, if all our relatives came back for another wedding next spring? I wish we had relatives “coming and going.” I wish we had aunts and uncles and grandparents and godparents and uncles once removed who could just drop in for Sunday supper or a football game on Saturday afternoons. I love Aunt Sally and Uncle Milt and Carol and Grandpa McKinley and my uncles Howard and Harold, but I wish there were more of them. In our family—Dad and Sylvia and Les and I—we sort of do things two by two. I wish there were so many of us all living in the same town that we did things six by six or eight by eight.
“You know what would be perfect?” I said finally. “A black-and-white wedding! We could have black orchids and white carnations and a chocolate wedding cake with white frosting, and all the blacks would come in white and all the whites would wear black, and—”
“And what would a mixed-race person wear? One black sock and one white one?” Dad asked. “I thought love was color-blind, Al.”
And then I realized I was focusing on skin color again, and I shut up.
But Sylvia laughed. “The duty of the sister-in-law, remember, is to keep quiet and do as she’s told. Whatever Lester and Tracy choose is sure to be just right for them.”
At Mark’s the next evening a cold front had moved in, and it wasn’t a good night for swimming. We hung out for a while in the Stedmeisters’ family room. Keeno cracked us up going around the room and providing captions for the old family photos perched on end tables and bookshelves.
“Madam, I believe you’re standing on my foot.”
“Sir, does this animal belong to you?”
“Hubert, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times …”
I’m not sure how the Stedmeisters have put up with us all these years. Pamela said she thinks they let us hang out there so much because at least they know what Mark’s up to and where he is. But on this particular Monday things were falling a little flat.
Brian was driving a new car his dad had bought for him, a Toyota, and someone suggested we go over to Bethesda and check out the fountain in front of Barnes & Noble. A lot of kids hang out there on summer evenings—eat at the tables outside the Austin Grill. So we piled into three cars and headed for East-West Highway. I was sitting in the backseat of Brian’s car between Liz and Gwen. Keeno was up front with Brian, and all the others were driving with Justin and Jill or Mark. When we got to B&N, though, parking was horrendous. We tried two different parking garages, but they were full, and our cell phones were going like mad as we called each other to see what to do next.
Finally we decided to head out River Road to Potomac Pizza. I’d never been on that road before. It’s a wide highway, not too busy at night, with mansions set back from the street.
“Look at that one!” said Gwen, pointing to a huge white stucco house that must have had eight bedrooms, six baths, and a ballroom, floodlights illuminating the whole outside. “Do you suppose people actually live there, or is it owned by a diplomat for embassy parties?”
“And that one!” said Liz. “Ten bedrooms, at least!”
Up front, however, Keeno and Brian were talking horsepower.
“Sixty, man, and it’s like we’re crawling,” Brian said. “You don’t even feel the road in this baby.”
Maybe Brian couldn’t, but I could. I tensed up as the car went over a rise.
“Seventy-five, man, no shit!” Keeno exclaimed.
“The speed limit’s forty, Brian,” Gwen called.
The car kept accelerating.
“Brian, slow down!” said Liz.
“Hey, who’s driving, anyway?” said Brian. “You think I want to wreck this car? Just giving it a test run, that’s all.” The car raced on, Keeno murmuring appreciatively.
I thought about the crosses and flowers and teddy bears I’ve seen on the sides of roads where teenagers have crashed—there have been a lot of wrecks here in Montgomery County. Imagined Les and Tracy’s wedding taking place without me. And suddenly I said, “Brian, I’m going to throw up!”
“Hey! Not in my car!” he said, and immediately took his foot off the gas.
“Stick your head out the window!” Keeno said, laughing.
“No! I don’t want puke on the side of my car!” said Brian.
“I need to get out,” I told them.
The car slowed even more. I felt it pull to the right and worried that Brian was going to wreck us trying to get off in time. But finally we were rolling along the shoulder, and at last the car stopped, the emergency lights blinking.
Gwen and Liz and I got out.
“Are you really sick?” Gwen whispered.
“No, but I’m not getting back in the car with those maniacs,” I said.
“Hey!” yelled Keeno. “Hurry it up.”
“I’m not riding with you anymore,” I declared.
“What?” said Brian. “Granny thinks I’m going too fast?”
“Just keep your eyes closed,” said Keeno. “Come on.”
“Not with Brian driving,” I said, embarrassed and angry both.
“We can’t leave you out here on the side of the road at night,” said Brian.
“I’ve got my cell phone,” I told him.
Keeno laughed. “Who you gonna call? Your daddy?”
“I think I’ll call Brian’s daddy to come and get us,” I said angrily. “I’ll tell him Brian’s going eighty miles an hour in his new car in a forty-mile zone.”
“Oh, get in,” said Brian.
“No! You drive like an idiot!” I said.
“She’s right,” said Liz.
“Everybody drives ten miles over the speed limit, at least,” said Keeno.
“Not me,” said Gwen.
“Look, we’ve lost the other cars by now. Get in and I’ll go the speed limit. I promise. You can even sit up here and supervise,” said Brian.
We got back in, Brian drove the speed limit, and later, when we left the pizza place, Liz and Gwen and I rode back with Jill and Justin. I realized right then how important it is to have a game plan, because you just never know.
7
What Happened on Wednesday
I got off work Tuesday at six and checked my cell phone for messages as I rode the bus home. There was just one, and it was from Chris, the guy from stage crew, Faith’s new boyfriend.
Chris? I wondered, and li
stened: “Hi, Alice. Chris. Don’t know if you’re working tonight, but I thought we might get some of the gang together and take Molly to a movie. Faith talked to her this afternoon, and she said she was having a good day, so I figured it would be a good time to take her out. I’ll see who else I can round up. If you’re free, call me.”
Chris has got to be one of the nicest guys around. Wasn’t it strange, I thought, that Faith had been dating a rotten scumbag like Ron, and now she had a boyfriend like Chris? That trip to New York, where she and Chris started hanging out together, was a turning point in her life. It’s weird about turning points. What they are, I mean. When they happen.
I called Chris back after I got off the bus.
“I’m in!” I said. “I’d love to go!”
“Great. Harry’s coming, bringing a friend. We’re going to try to make the seven thirty show—that spy flick. I forget the name. Faith says that Molly likes spy movies. Pick you up in a half hour?”
“Sure,” I said.
Dad wasn’t home yet and Sylvia hadn’t started dinner, so I stuck a Lean Cuisine in the microwave and gulped it down with some orange juice. Sylvia was at the dining room table grading papers.
“I don’t have to be at work till noon tomorrow,” I told Sylvia from the doorway. “I’ll call if I’m going to be later than midnight.”
“Have fun,” she said, and I ran upstairs to brush my teeth and put on some eyeliner.
There were six of us: Chris and Faith and Molly, Harry, his friend, and me. Harry is gay, and his friend, Max, looked so much like him that they could have been brothers. Somebody once said that we tend to choose partners who resemble ourselves. I’m not sure if that’s true, but any friend of Harry’s was a friend of mine, because he was the guy who came to the rescue when some knuckle-heads were trying to stamp the comedy/tragedy stamp on my butt in ninth grade.
Chris drove, and Faith was squished between him and Molly in the front seat; I crawled in beside Harry and Max in back.
“Alice, Max. Max, Alice,” said Harry, grinning at me as I leaned toward them to close the door after me.
“Hi, Max,” I said. “Chris, this is such a good idea! I really needed a change.”