Intensely Alice

  I gave him a sympathetic smile and turned again to the window. The cargo doors were being shut, and a man with headphones was backing away from the plane, signaling the pilots. The engine noise grew louder, and I folded my hands in my lap and closed my eyes as the plane began its turn toward a runway.

  “First flight?”

  I opened my eyes and saw the middle-aged man studying me.

  “No,” I said. “I’ve flown before.” I was glad I was wearing my long pendant earrings, though, and my slinky tangerine-colored shirt, to give me a more sophisticated look. I didn’t want anyone treating me like a nervous ten-year-old, explaining all the different engine noises I was going to hear.

  “Douglas,” the man said. I thought he was giving me the name of the plane’s manufacturer. Then he added, “Doug Carpenter.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Alice McKinley.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” he said, and nodded toward the sunlight now flooding through my window. “I think this will be a very pleasant flight.”

  “Hope so,” I said.

  He opened his briefcase and took out a paperback book. I turned toward the window again. We were at the end of a runway, and I watched another plane taking off on a course perpendicular to ours. The long silver body pointed upward, reflecting the sun, leaving a muffled roar in its wake. Then it was gone. Our plane began to move, turned, and the engines revved up louder and louder as we picked up speed.

  I pressed my lips together. Faster and faster we went, and then the world outside the window began to slant and we were off the ground.

  Stay up, stay up! I silently begged the pilot. A clunking sound beneath the plane told me the landing gear was up. I also realized that my hands were now gripping the armrests so hard that my knuckles were white.

  Doug was smiling at me. “Could I buy you something to drink?” he asked.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” I said. “I just don’t like takeoffs.” As though I had flown a dozen times before.

  “I guess if you fly as much as I do, they’re as common as taking your shoes off,” he said. “Where you going?”

  “My cousin’s wedding in Chicago. One of the bridesmaids is sick—well, pregnant, really—so I’m taking her place. All sort of last minute.”

  “You’ll make a beautiful bridesmaid,” said Douglas. And when I didn’t respond—turned toward the window, in fact—he opened his book and began reading. Ten minutes later, though, when I faced forward again, he turned his book upside down on his lap and said, “Bridesmaid, huh? Seen the dress?”

  “No, but Carol has great taste, so it’s probably elegant.”

  “Even more so with you in it,” said Douglas, and seemed to be studying my face. “You’re … let me guess … college freshman?”

  “Almost,” I said, leaving it open as to whether I was starting this fall.

  “Those were great years—high school, college,” said Doug. He leaned toward me confidentially, and I expected to hear that he’d been the high school quarterback. “I was one of those guys who was into everything—sports, student council, yearbook, girls … whatever there was, bring it on.”

  His elbow was resting against mine on the armrest, and I discreetly moved mine and let it rest in my lap. Then I closed my eyes and settled back, as though I wanted to sleep.

  “How about you?” he asked after a few minutes. “How involved are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “At school. Extracurricular stuff.”

  “Oh. Just a few things. Drama Club and features editor of our paper.”

  “Features editor? That’s great. What are some of the stories you’ve done?”

  “Well, I did one last year about what goes on in our town after midnight. My girlfriend went with me to research it. We wanted to see where two runaway girls might find food and a place to sleep—how hard it would be to survive on our own.”

  “That was crazy,” Doug said. “Two girls out alone like that … anything could have happened. What were you? You know … Kind of asking for it? Curious?”

  “Not that curious,” I said. “Two guys from school were assigned to follow us at a distance—see that we were okay. But you’re right, that could have been dangerous.”

  “So … ,” he said, and now I realized that his leg was pressing against my leg. I moved it. “Those other two guys … the ones assigned to protect you … your boyfriends?”

  “No,” I said, laughing a little too self-consciously. “Just friends. Part of the newspaper staff.” I looked out the window again.

  “You’ve got a boyfriend, though,” he said, and his voice was softer. “Pretty girl like you has got to have a boyfriend.” The leg was back.

  This time I moved mine deliberately. “Yes,” I said, in as businesslike a tone as I could. “I have a boyfriend at the University of Chicago, and I’m going to meet him after the wedding.”

  “Aha!” Doug said triumphantly. Then, more softly, “That’s the real reason for the trip, right?” He was trying to get me to laugh, and he got a smile. “What’s his name?”

  “Never mind. You don’t need to know that,” I said, trying to humor him and turn him off at the same time, struggling to stay polite.

  “Okay. How long have you known Mr. No-Name?”

  “Forever,” I said. “Since sixth grade.”

  “Sixth grade! Wow! Must be pretty hot stuff.” He glanced around at the Asian man on the other side of him, checking, I suppose, to see if he was still sleeping. He was. Then he leaned over so far that his face was half a foot from mine. “So … what are you and Mr. No-Name going to do while you’re in Chicago? Want some good places to go, I could name a few.” He idly placed one hand on my knee.

  I reacted immediately, picked up his hand and put it back on his own leg. He laughed.

  “No, thanks,” I said coldly.

  He must have thought I was playing with him. He glanced again at the sleeping man beside him, and this time, when the hand came back, he squeezed my knee. “You know what I think?” he said. “I think there isn’t any Mr. No-Name. And I’ll bet I could show you a really good time in Chicago if you’d let me.”

  “MR. CARPENTER, WOULD YOU PLEASE TAKE YOUR HAND OFF MY KNEE?” I said, in as loud a voice as I could muster.

  The Asian man opened his eyes. People across the aisle leaned forward and looked over. A man in front of us turned around and looked over the back of his seat.

  Doug immediately removed his hand and his face flushed. The flight attendant came quickly down the aisle. Doug picked up his book and his briefcase and stood up.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and climbed over the man in the aisle seat.

  “Is everything all right here?” the attendant asked me.

  “It is now,” I said.

  Douglas Carpenter never came back.

  Uncle Milt met me at O’Hare. Flying to Chicago by myself was nothing compared to finding my way through the maze of endless corridors, overhead signs, entrances, exits, and escalators in the terminal. Miraculously, I finally found baggage pickup and, even more miraculously, saw my uncle in a bright yellow polo shirt, looking around him, head turning like a periscope.

  He saw me before I could reach him, and a huge grin spread across his broad, craggy face. He held out his arms and gave me a bear hug.

  “My favorite niece,” he said.

  “Your only niece,” I reminded him. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “How was the flight, honey?”

  I wasn’t about to tell him about Douglas Carpenter because he’d tell Aunt Sally, and she’d put me under protective custody for the duration. “Fine,” I said.

  “You never saw such commotion back at the house,” said Milt as we edged our way over to the conveyor belt where other passengers were waiting. “Carol’s staying with us this week, so all the bridal stuff—bridesmaids’ dresses, the favors, the bows, the ribbons—is everywhere. We tried to keep things out of the room where your folks will be sleeping, but it’s a lost caus
e.”

  There was a bump and thud as the flaps at one end of the conveyor belt flew open and two suitcases toppled through, one falling over on the other. Passengers inched closer as more bags came through, and every now and then a hand reached out and caught one.

  “What color is your suitcase? You see it?” Uncle Milt asked.

  “Navy blue with a red stripe along the top and sides,” I said. “I don’t see it yet.”

  I studied my uncle as he leaned forward, watching for my bag. His face was a little thinner, and the skin under his chin was loose and flabby. His hair was thinner too, but he still had the same old sparkle in his eyes. He reached out once for a blue suitcase but pulled back when he saw a big green ribbon tied to the handle. I realized with a pang that every time I saw my aunt and uncle, they’d look a little older. The same must be true when they saw my dad. Changes I didn’t notice from one day to the next would be far more noticeable to them.

  The crowd began to thin out as people found their bags and left. The few remaining suitcases were going around a third and a fourth time, but my bag wasn’t among them.

  “What’s happened to it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Uncle Milt. “You had your name on it, right? Luggage tag and all?”

  “Yes. And they ticketed it again when I checked it in.”

  “Got the stub?”

  I gave him my carry-on bag to hold and searched my purse. The stub was in the pocket that held my cell phone, and I handed it to him.

  “Let’s see what I can do,” he said, and went over to an employee standing by the conveyor belt. “Got any more bags back there?” he asked. “Still one missing.”

  “What color?” the man asked, and we told him. He went in a side door, and when he came back, he was empty-handed.

  “Nope,” he said. “No more bags back there.”

  6

  The List

  My throat tightened, my temples throbbed. My shoes! My strapless bra! My cutoffs, sneakers, and … the lacy black pants and the condoms.

  “I had our gift for Carol and Larry in it!” I cried. “And everything I need for the wedding.”

  “Was probably put on another plane,” the employee said as my face registered panic. “Lots of planes leaving for Chicago. Go to the claim office and fill out a form. They’ll put a tracer on it.”

  “The wedding’s in three days!” I said, choking out the words.

  “Oh, most bags don’t stay lost that long,” the man said, and directed us to the claim office.

  We had to stand in line again, with other passengers looking as upset as I was. Uncle Milt had my carry-on bag over his shoulder, and I wished I’d put my “necessaries” in there. It did have my makeup, my curling iron, and hair dryer, but I could have used anyone’s hair dryer. Could have bought makeup at any drugstore. Why hadn’t I packed more carefully?

  “May I help you?” a clerk said at last as we finally reached her desk.

  “This young lady’s bag is missing,” Milt said, showing the luggage claim ticket.

  “It’s for a wedding in three days!” I said. “I’ve got to have it!”

  The brown-haired clerk in the tortoiseshell glasses said, “You’re not the bride, I hope.”

  “No, but I’m a bridesmaid.”

  “We usually locate a bag in a day or two,” the woman said. “Briefly, can you describe the contents?”

  “A wedding present, a pair of sneakers, shorts, a pair of beige sandals, some underwear—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Any jewelry or valuables? We do have a limit on liability.”

  “No,” I said miserably. We filled out the form and left.

  “When we locate the bag, we’ll deliver it to your Chicago address,” the clerk said. And then, looking over my shoulder, “Next.”

  I rode back to Aunt Sally’s in shock. I imagined the tag coming off my suitcase. Imagined airline employees going through my stuff, looking for an address. I imagined somebody calling Aunt Sally and telling her about the condoms. I even wondered if Doug Carpenter stole my bag just for embarrassing him on the plane.

  Aunt Sally almost smothered me in her arms when we got to their place. “Oh, Alice, you look more like Marie every day,” she said. “You’ve got her chin and cheekbones exactly!”

  She was upset about my missing suitcase, but Carol simply shrugged it off. “If it doesn’t come by tomorrow, Alice, my maid of honor will take you shopping and we’ll get whatever you need. Don’t worry about it. That’s what maids of honor are for.”

  Carol looked fantastic. She always did have a nice figure, but she looked even better now. Tall, hair the same color as mine, though I think she’d added highlights. Right now it was tied in a ponytail, and Carol was wearing shorts and a tee.

  “Let’s go up and try on your dress to see if it needs alterations,” she said. “We’ve got a seamstress standing by. Then we’ll think about my bachelorette party. You’d look fine in what you’ve got on.”

  There was bridal stuff everywhere—a mountain of gifts in one corner of the dining room, boxes of bridal favors, baskets of bows… .

  But the bridesmaid’s dress wasn’t at all what I expected. It was short. It was peach-colored. It was clingy, with little gathers where a wide band of peach Lycra circled the waist. There were narrow straps over the shoulders, with a bit of a ruffle along the edge, and the round neckline dipped so low, I’ll bet you’d be able to see my nipples if you tried. It was more like a wisp of a sundress made for someone who wore a 36D bra.

  “Wow!” was all I could say. Then, “Wow!” again.

  Carol laughed at my astonishment. “It takes a while,” she said. “The other bridemaids’ dresses are lilac, apple green, and turquoise. Dad says we’ll look like a seaside orchard.”

  “They’re certainly summery,” I told her.

  “All my bridesmaids like them,” she said happily.

  “But won’t your friend—the one who’s pregnant—want this dress? It was supposed to be hers in the first place.”

  “Well, we’re going to alter it for you. That neckline needs to come up a bit, don’t you think? No, Joan and her husband are so excited about the pregnancy, it’s the only thing on her mind right now,” Carol told me. “The dress is yours for coming to Chicago early and helping me out.”

  Aunt Sally came up with her sewing box and soon had the shoulder seams pinned, the front taken in a little. The rest of the dress was fine, and I looked rather stunning in it, actually. I’d look even better in heels.

  “Now,” said Carol, when we’d finished, “the girls are coming to pick us up at eight, and I’ve got to wash my hair. Do you need anything at all? Makeup?”

  “No worries. I’ve got a few things in my carry-on bag that should see me through this evening,” I told her.

  “Good. Shower if you like, but this is just going to be fun and casual.”

  Aunt Sally studied us uncertainly. “Remember, Carol, she’s underage. I’ve heard about these bachelorette parties. We don’t want to have to bail you girls out or anything.”

  Carol gave her mom an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “We’ll return her as pure as the driven snow,” she promised, and then, with a wink to me, “although snow in Chicago doesn’t stay clean for very long.”

  There were three other bridesmaids: Anne, who was the maid of honor, Heather, and Becky. They arrived in an SUV, driven by Anne’s neighbor, an ex-Marine who was getting paid to be our designated driver and bodyguard for the evening, Carol had told me.

  Charlie was a large, good-natured guy who said that it was his job to see that we had a good time, but if any of us got into difficulty during the evening, all we had to do was signal. I wished he’d been sitting on the other side of Douglas Carpenter on the plane ride to Chicago.

  In the backseat Carol had to give up the T-shirt she was wearing for a special white shirt with BRIDE in big blue letters and a short veil that fell halfway down her back, held on by a headband.

  At
a dance club called Polly’s Place, Charlie gave our reservation number, and we were led to a special room with a sign over the door saying GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT. Another bridal group was just leaving, laughing raucously, and I figured this club must see a lot of bachelorette parties.

  The manager welcomed us and said that by tradition, all bachelorette parties began their evening in this room playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey.

  Huh? I thought. But then we saw a large picture on the wall of a handsome guy in his birthday suit, minus one important piece of equipment. And we howled when the manager handed each of us a paper copy of “the equipment” and a thumbtack to pin it where it belonged.

  One by one we were blindfolded, turned around three times, and gently shoved in the direction of the picture, to pin our “tail” where we figured it should go.

  We shrieked when Heather placed hers on the man’s left nipple. I got mine a bit closer when I attached it to his navel. Anne went too low and pinned it on his knee, and Carol’s attempt got the biggest laugh when she pinned the man’s penis to his right hand so that he appeared to be holding it.

  I had worried that I might feel as out of place here as I’d felt at the bridal shower for Crystal Harkins way back when. But Anne was funny, Heather was warm and friendly, and Becky was as spontaneous as a ten-year-old, so we got along fine.

  “Hey!” Becky had exclaimed when she’d received a paper penis and discovered that one of the testicles had been torn off.

  “Oh, Becky, you’ve got a one-nut man!” Heather sympathized.

  “Manager! Manager!” Anne called. “We’ve got an undescended testicle here!” and we howled with laughter.

  When we’d finished the game, we went back into the main room. It had a bar along one side, small tables at the back. A band was playing at the other end of the dance floor. Charlie went to the bar and brought back beers for Carol and her friends, a Sprite for me. The manager had insisted, he said. Finally, after we’d danced for a while, Charlie reached into his jacket pocket and, with a flourish, pulled out a paper. “And now … ,” he said, “the list!”