Al and I ate standing up so we wouldn’t dirty the clean counters. “I like your hair that way,” I told her. Her mother had fixed Al’s hair in a French braid.
“Yeah. She said it makes my face look thinner. Between you and me, I think she’s full of it,” Al said glumly. “I’m up for cheek surgery. How about it?” She blew out her cheeks at me.
“You look like a blowfish,” I said.
“I am making a fashion statement,” Al said. “One minute I’m in pigtails, the next in a French braid. Am I a kid or am I a hotshot?”
My father wandered into the kitchen looking bemused. He said hello and wandered out as he had come.
“Did you ask your mother about whether your father was romantic or not?” Al asked me.
“I forgot,” I said. “I will.”
“I brought my sweats just in case we land another freebie,” Al said. “I bet he gives us one.”
“Bet you he won’t.”
“Five bucks,” Al said. We shook on it. She owes me about a hundred bucks, but she says I owe her about two hundred, on bets alone. We never pay, we just bet.
When we finally started out, the sun had gone under a bunch of dark clouds and a cold wind had sprung up.
“Do you think this is real life?” Al asked me as we hurried to beat the rain. “This, I mean,” and she made a lavish gesture that took in our surroundings: the street, the buildings, the city. “Is this the real world or is it a fake?”
It’s a good thing I was used to her mood swings, otherwise I couldn’t handle them.
“It’s as real as you make it, I guess,” I said.
“Suppose it’s not real, suppose it’s phony,” Al said. Her mood had darkened, along with the sky. “Suppose we never find out what the real world is like. Suppose we keep on fooling ourselves that we’re kids, but we grow up, get out of school, make lots of money in jobs we love, get married, have kids, and that’s it.”
“Whaddaya mean, that’s it?” I said. “That sounds like quite a lot.”
“Maybe I want more out of life,” she said.
“That’s why we’re going to Al’s Health Club,” I said. “So you can have more. More abs, more pecs, more gluts, and a much, much tighter behind,” and I sped along the pavement as fast as I could so she couldn’t catch up with me.
“Help ya?” asked a burly lady behind the desk, wearing a peaked hat with NAPA written across the front and a set of earphones attached.
“Is Al here?” we asked her.
“Al?” For a second her roving glance lit on us and she even smiled. Then she looked over our heads as if she was searching for Al in the corners. “I think he’s in back. Things are kinda rocky, what with deliveries and all. Stuff doesn’t show up, he goes ape. Better not bother him today. He’s like a gorilla today, a gorilla what just sat on an ant heap.” The lady gave out a short, sharp laugh that sounded like a dog barking.
“How’s business?” Al said.
“Good,” the lady said, nodding vigorously. “Not bad, good. You shoulda been here yesterday. The joint was jumping. Saturdays are best. You get your money people in on Saturdays. They want to shape up, look sleek for a big night on the town. You get your bank presidents, your Madison Ave. types.
“Sundays, like today,” the lady continued, “you get your basic weirdos. You wouldn’t believe the weirdos Sundays bring in. Our clientele goes to church, we got a big church-going crowd, believe it or not. Sundays,” the burly lady leaned over the counter, tapping one long, perfect, red nail against the glass, “are for weirdos. This morning I have a gentleman, he comes in and wants the machine he’s using to face north so he faces north too when he’s working out, so he can be aligned with the planets. That what he says, ‘aligned with the planets.’ You ever heard that before? No, me neither,” she said, as if Al and I had spoken.
“They tell you all the nuts are in California these days,” the burly lady went on, obviously wound up, “but don’t you believe them. There are plenty of nuts in these parts, a lot of ’em around. They eat Sunday dinner, come down here to work it off. There’s all these starving people we got, living in doorways and boxes and all. They could use some of the dough these people spend on getting their bodies in shape. Think of the little kids who don’t eat their supper on acount of there’s no supper to eat. Think of it if you want to drive yourself nuts. Yes, darling. Help ya?” the burly lady said, calming down.
A lady in red stood in front of the desk, biting her lips.
“My fiancé lives in Seattle,” she said, “and he only gets east once a month and I wondered if we could both use the same membership.”
“Listen, darling,” the burly lady said, “if it was up to me, you could bring your boyfriend any old time. But I’m not the boss lady. Check with Al. He’s the boss. And like I’m telling these girls here, Al’s a regular gorilla which sat on an ant heap today. Try him next week, why dontcha.”
Al and I moved off and sat on a bench and watched people work out on the Nautilus machine.
“How about if I slip into the dressing room and into my sweats?” Al said.
“Try it. If it doesn’t work, so you tried,” I said.
We looked for Ms. Bolton, but she wasn’t around. She’d said she might come on Sunday.
“Probably she’s out on a blind date,” Al said.
We’d decided to split and were halfway to the door when we saw Big Al come storming out of the back, his arms waving, eyes wild.
“Everybody outa here!” he shouted. He rushed toward us, swerving, flapping his arms like some kind of wounded bird.
“Out! Ya hear me? I said Out and I mean Out! All youse! Out!” As we watched, astounded and astonished, Al seemed to swell, as if he’d been filled with air. His face was practically purple.
Some people moved toward the door sideways, like crabs, keeping an eye on Al to make sure he kept his distance. Some stayed where they were, riding bicycles, running in place, working out with their eyes closed, paying him no mind. Lots of New Yorkers are used to bizarre behavior and don’t let it get to them.
Still, several women scuttled into the dressing room and came out with their clothes clutched under their arms, not wanting to stop to change.
The burly lady with the headphones on her hat moved toward Al, not in any hurry. We saw her say something to him, then we saw him push her toward the door with a series of short, sharp jabs.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“He’s loco,” Al said. “Either that or he’s drunk.”
“I don’t think he’s drunk,” I said. “He sure looks funny, though.”
“Maybe he’s having a heart attack,” Al said. All the time we were talking we were moving toward the door.
It seemed to me Al’s face was turning purpler by the minute. I tried to think what that was a symptom of and couldn’t. I didn’t think it was anything the Heimlich maneuver could help. I practice the Heimlich maneuver on Teddy quite a lot, when he lets me, because if ever I’m in a restaurant and somebody chokes on a piece of steak, I plan to save his life. Or hers, of course.
The rush of cold air felt good on our faces. We stood on the sidewalk, undecided, looking back at the health club. Several angry stragglers joined us, talking to anyone who would listen.
“We pay good money, you think he’d treat us right, right?” a man said. “What’s with the guy? He’s loony, if you ask me. They oughta come and haul him to Bellevue. I wouldn’t come back here if he got on his knees and begged me. There are plenty of fitness places you can go, have a relaxing workout, tone yourself up. Who needs it.”
“Maybe we should stick around,” I said.
“Nah.” Al started walking toward Third Avenue. “No sense hanging around. I bet all it is is he had a fight with his wife and she called him up and said ‘Get your buns home, else I toss the pot roast out the window.’”
“You think?” I wasn’t convinced.
“Sure. It’s something simple like that,” Al said. “Marital discord is rife
. You’re lucky your mother and father don’t fight.”
“They do,” I said. “Only they fight quietly.”
“That’s the neatest trick of the week,” Al told me.
A long, shiny limo cruised down the street toward us, as black and sleek as a snake.
“Whaddya want to bet that’s some celeb who heard about Al’s freebie and he’s going there now to check it out,” Al said. “Boy, is he in for a shock.”
Al and I turned to watch as the limo slowed in front of the health club. Maybe Al was right, maybe it was Elizabeth Taylor or Woody, up for a free workout. Woody sure could use one. So could Liz, if you ask me.
The window on the passenger side rolled down slowly and an arm came out. There was something in the arm’s hand. With one quick, expert toss, the something sailed out the window of the car and shattered the window of Al’s Health Club with a tremendous roar. Flames shot up and the building shook.
“Down!” Al shouted and pulled me into the shelter of a nearby doorway.
We hit the deck, the way they do on TV. My nose scraped the pavement and began to bleed.
The street was filled with noise. People ran back and forth, mouths wide, eyes wild. Some ran as fast as their feet would carry them, crouching low, making themselves small.
“What is it! It’s a bomb! It’s the Russians!” Those were some of the things we heard.
“Look! Up there!” One man paused in his flight and pointed to the sky. “It’s one of them bombers, long-range bombers. See?” and he shook the little boy in his arms. “See, up there. Sooner or later, it had to happen.”
Al and I cowered in the doorway. Blood dripped out of my nose. Someone tapped on the glass. We looked up. A face was pushed against the pane, distorting the features.
“Get outa here!” the face hollered. “I want no trouble here. Get outa here or I’ll call the cops!”
Al and I clutched one another.
I put a hand on my nose.
“I think it was a fire bomb,” Al whispered. The face was still there and words came out of its mouth, but we huddled there, not knowing what to do, where to go.
We heard a key rattling in the lock. The person was coming to get us. Al took my hand and pulled me out of the doorway and down the block.
“Someone threw a fire bomb at Al’s Heath Club and it just missed us,” Al said, struggling to stay cool.
“My mother said be home before dark,” I said. “We better get home right away. It’s almost dark.”
Al gave me a strange look.
“The sun just came out,” she said.
I felt very cold.
“I don’t care what you say,” I told her. “I’m going home. My mother worries about me if I’m not home in time. I don’t want her to worry about me.”
We heard the sirens. It sounded as if every ambulance and fire engine and police car in the entire city was racing to where we were.
“I’m going,” I said, but I didn’t move. My feet were made of lead.
Al put her hand to her head. “My hair’s burning,” she said. “I can smell it.”
The whole block smelled of fire.
“Come on,” I said, tugging at her sleeve.
To my surprise, she came along.
We wobbled homeward. Halfway there, Al stopped dead.
“I wonder if Al’s O.K.,” she said.
“They’ll take care of him,” I said.
“Pretend nothing happened, when we get home,” Al said.
“She didn’t want to let me go,” I said. “My mother didn’t want to let me go.”
Al didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes were huge as she poked a thumb behind us and said, “You want real life, that’s real.”
“You were the one who wanted real,” I reminded her. I felt as if I might be sick. “Now that you know what real’s like, maybe you better settle for make-believe.”
Eighteen
“Pretend nothing happened,” Al whispered. As the door opened, I could hear my mother and father talking in the kitchen.
“Just pretend nothing happened,” Al said again, very tense, very anxious. She kept running her fingers through her bangs, checking to see if they were stilll there. She was driving me crazy, doing that. Stop, I wanted to say. Stop. Stop. I didn’t have the strength.
Be cool, I told myself. I moved my shoulders to loosen them up. Get cool and stay there. Impossible.
“Hi,” I said, standing in the hall, not wanting to go all the way into the brightly lit room.
“Here we are,” Al said.
“What on earth happened to you?” my mother asked. She put down the spoon she was holding. My father was taking something out of the oven.
“You’re just in time,” he said.
“I’ll make some tea,” my mother said. She always makes tea in a crisis.
“No, thanks,” I said.
Before I swallowed anything, I’d have to get rid of the lump in my throat.
“Could I please have a glass of water?” Al said.
My mother got it for her.
“Sit down,” she said. We sat at the kitchen counter.
“I’d like some ice cream, please,” I said. “How about you, Al? Want some?”
Al nodded. Her bangs looked strange. Usually they lie flat on her forehead. Now they stuck straight out, as if she had on her homemade head band, which she didn’t.
“Is your mother home, Al?” my father said.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think so. She told me where she was going, but I don’t remember what she said. Maybe she’s at a matinee with Stan.”
“What’s your number?” My father went to the telephone. Al told him and he dialed and let the phone ring quite a long time before hanging up.
“Maybe she’s taking a tub,” I said.
Teddy wandered in, looked at us, and blinked.
“You guys get caught in a tornado?” he said.
Trust Teddy.
“Shut up,” I said.
Teddy slitted his little eyes at us.
“You look like you got totaled in an avalanche,” he said.
“Mom, can’t you make him shut up?” I said. “He makes my head hurt, he talks so much.”
“Teddy, I think it might be a good idea if you turned the TV on,” my father said. Teddy gawked. This was a first, all right. Usually he was told it would be a good idea if he turned the TV off.
“What happened to her nose?” I heard Teddy say as my father propelled him out of the kitchen. “She get caught in a dog fight or something?”
My mother gave us tea and ice cream, without an argument. It was mint chocolate chip. I put a spoonful of ice cream into my tea and watched it disintegrate. It didn’t taste too bad. I’d never tried putting ice cream into hot tea before.
My spoon made a loud noise in my cup. Al drank her water, then ate some ice cream. I could hear her swallowing.
“You’re home early,” my mother said after a long silence. She kept swabbing down the counters with a sponge, although they looked perfectly clean to me.
“You want to talk about it?” she asked. “Tell us what happened.”
“No,” I said.
“Actually,” Al said, “it was kind of bizarre. Not your basic Sunday-afternoon outing, if you get me. There was this enormous limo coming down the street, and somebody threw something out the window and there was this gigantic burst of flame and a big loud noise. Like a bomb going off.”
She got off the stool and began to pace.
“Of course, I’ve never heard a real live bomb go off before,” she said. “I’ve only experienced it in the movies or on the tube. But it was definitely a bomb, probably a fire bomb. I’ve read about fire bombs. He went around shouting for everybody to get out, flapping his arms and acting sort of crazy.”
Al pushed her bangs back so they stuck up straight. She looked funny, but I didn’t laugh.
“He knew, I guess,” Al said. “Somebody warned him. Otherwise, it might’ve got us.”
My mother went after an imaginary spot on the counter as if it had been a rodent. Or a cockroach.
“The good Lord was watching out for you,” she said.
“Good Lord, heck,” I said. “It was Al watching out for us. That’s his name, Al. He owns the health club. He gave us a freebie. We took our teacher, Ms. Bolton, too. We worked out and everything. He’s looking for word-of-mouth customers. He just opened.”
Al licked her hand and ran it over her bangs.
“You can’t kid me,” she said. “It was the mob. Bet you anything. Bet you a thousand big ones,” she said to me.
“Sure,” I said.
“That’s just the kind of thing the mob’s famous for,” Al went on. “It’s on TV all the time. You do something they don’t like, they fire-bomb you. Those bozos don’t fool around.”
My father stood in the doorway, listening.
“Do you think I should call the doctor?” my mother asked my father.
He shook his head. “They’re all right,” he said. “They’ll be fine.”
I wanted to lie down in the worst way, but I knew if I did my mother would freak.
“Let’s play Russian Bank,” I said to Al.
“What?” she said.
“Russian Bank,” I said. “Like we played last night.”
“No, thanks,” Al said. “I think I’ll go home and take a shower. I feel sort of dirty.”
“I’ll go with you,” my mother said. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“I’m fine, really,” Al said. “Thanks anyway, but I’m really fine.”
I went to the door with her.
“I’m not telling my mother anything,” she said fiercely. “She can’t handle violence. Mum’s the word.” And she laid a finger on her lips.
Al was halfway down the hall when the elevator door opened. Out came Al’s mother and a man. That must be Stan, I thought. He’s not so cute.
“Well, hello!” Al’s mother said gaily. She was smiling and laughing and having a good time with Stan.
Al tucked her head down and fumbled for her key.
“Hi, Ma,” she mumbled.
“Alexandra,” her mother cried. “What on earth’s happened to you? Look at you. Something bad has happened. Tell me.”
Al’s Blind Date: The Al Series, Book Six Page 9
