by Susan Amesse
I go back to my room and wait for them to call back. A pebble hits my window. Brendan leans against his bike in the middle of the backyard. Today’s shirt reads, “Yes, I’m spoiled, so what’s your point?”
“Hey!” he yells. “What’s happening?”
“I’m grounded. Aren’t you?”
“No.”
That is so unfair!
“Want to take a ride to Antonia’s?”
“I’m grounded,” I repeat.
“On a spunkiness scale of one to ten, that would be a negative two,” he says, grinning. “But then, spunkiness needs constant practice.”
“I’m in enough trouble. Besides, I have to wait to hear back from a car rental company.”
“Too bad,” he says. “But, of course, if you’d rather sit inside and watch the rest of us carrying on with our lives…”
Why is he so irritating? Why does he always seem to make sense? I hope I’m not going to regret this, but I crawl out the window and hop onto the branch. The climb down is easier because I don’t have to be quiet.
“Is that Sarah?” He leans back, crossing his arms, like he’s appraising me. “The girl who’s grounded?”
I stare at him. “You love it when I break the rules, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Our eyes lock. “It’s a total ten.” I blush. He leans in and kisses me. It’s a wow!
“You’d better stop kissing me,” he says.
“I wasn’t kissing you,” I protest. “You were kissing me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he says. “And you’ll never prove it.”
What nerve! I’m never going to let him kiss me again. I don’t care how good a kisser he is. I get my bike out of the garage and we ride to South Beach.
I pedal fast and hard, filled with so many different feelings. Fear that someone might see me and tell my mother. Determination to find Antonia before my mother does. Total shock that I am once again defying my mother. And then there’s the fact that Brendan is here. I’m not sure what emotion that is.
I spot a Volvo coming in our direction and turn off the main street. It probably isn’t my mother, but I’m not taking any chances.
We pass a parked ice-cream truck and Brendan says, “How do astronauts eat their ice cream?” I shrug. “In floats.”
I laugh, but I’m trying to concentrate on what to say to Antonia. In a matter of minutes, we’ll be at her bungalow. I must be strong. She must help me.
“Did you hear about the ice-cream man that was found dead in his van? He was lying on the floor covered in nuts and raspberry sauce. The police believe he topped himself.” He taps my shoulder. “You don’t think my jokes are funny, do you?”
“Sure, they’re funny.”
“Last night, no one laughed, and they’re in the entertainment business. I’m worried.”
“They were a little preoccupied.”
He shakes his head. “I’m going to bomb at the Java Café.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say.
“You really think so?”
I nod. We reach the boardwalk and I feel better as I inhale the ocean air. Antonia will help me.
At the top of the steps, a man is pounding on Antonia’s door. “Open up. You won’t get away with this!” he yells. “There are laws on my side.”
Brendan motions for me to stay behind as he approaches the man. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I need to find Antonia DeMarco.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” says Brendan. “I guess she’s out.”
“Where is she?” The man turns. He’s large, with a mean and angry face. He’s wearing dark blue overalls and his hair is uncombed and sticking up in the back. Is he some kind of crazy person?
“Maybe we should leave,” I whisper to Brendan.
“We don’t know where she is,” Brendan says. “We’ll stay and wait.”
“I’ll wait too,” says the man. “She returned my new and expensive convertible with a big dent in the fender.”
“That’s terrible,” I say, moving closer. “So, you’re from the rental car company?”
“Rent-a-Dream,” he says. “Right now, it’s rent with a dent.”
“That’s funny,” says Brendan. The man glares. “I didn’t mean the situation, just the rhyme.”
“That’s terrible. It was such a nice car,” I say.
“What do you know about the dent?”
“Nothing,” I answer. “It’s just that Ms. DeMarco left something in the car that belongs to my mother.”
“What did she leave?” he asks.
“A folder full of plays for a contest. My mother doesn’t know they’re missing yet, and she’ll kill me if I don’t get them back. So do you think you could let me have them?” I tilt my head, hoping to look cool and respectable.
He smiles. “Sure. You can have what’s inside.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you.” I can’t believe it. I have the plays back. My mother will never know any of this happened. I’ve never been happier—
“All you have to do is pay for the dent; then you can take whatever you want.” He leans against the side of the house.
I look at Brendan. “How much would it cost?” he asks.
“Fifteen-fifty,” the man says coldly.
“Fifteen dollars and fifty cents? I have that at ho—”
“Fifteen hundred and fifty dollars!”
Brendan whistles. “That’s a lot of money.”
“I know.” The man looks at me. “This woman has acted irresponsibly with my property. Has she sent you here to bargain with me? Is that woman your mother?”
“No, she’s not.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. When I called her, she insisted I made the dent. She refuses to pay.”
“Sue her,” says Brendan.
“Or charge her credit card,” I add.
He shakes his head. “That crazy lady said she’ll dispute the charges. She said no one will believe me. I am a small businessman who doesn’t want any trouble. I have three kids and a wife to feed. I can’t wait while I have to fight with her credit company. It will take months to straighten out. If I can’t rent that car, I could go out of business.”
“Antonia took advantage of both of us,” I say.
“She’s a bad lady,” he says.
“Could we compromise?” says Brendan. “Since you’re both in trouble.”
“Like what?” asks the man.
“We’ll talk her into paying you, and you can give the plays to Sarah.”
“It isn’t fair to the people who wrote those plays,” I say. “They have nothing to do with this. A lot of innocent kids are going to suffer.”
“I can’t let you have them until I get a guarantee that the dent will be paid for. I’m sorry.” He looks at his watch. “I have to get back to work. Tell that crazy woman I’ll be back.”
We watch him leave.
“What am I going to do?” I say.
I hear a noise below. We peer over the railing. Antonia is quietly sneaking up the stairs. She reaches the landing, looking in the direction of the man. She turns to go in the bungalow but stops when she sees me. She’s wearing big sunglasses and a beautiful purple and pink sundress, and she’s carrying an expensive-looking tote bag. She still looks like a movie star. I want to run up and fling my arms around her. Instead, I say, “Antonia, you have to pay that man.”
She turns and bolts down the stairs.
NINETEEN
We race after her.
“Antonia!”
“Not now,” she says. “Go away, Sally.”
“It’s Sarah!” She quickens her pace.
“Stop,” I say, grabbing her arm.
“I really have to go.” She tries to pull away. “No! Please!” She frees her arm.
“Antonia, you have to pay for that dent.”
“Sarah’s plays are in that car,” adds Brendan. “The man won’t give them back until you pay.”
Antonia fans herself. “It’s s
o hot. I can’t think. I need to sit down. I need water.”
“Let’s go back upstairs,” I suggest.
“No.” She backs away. “I can’t go back there. He’ll find me.”
“Just pay him and get it over with,” says Brendan. “Fifteen-fifty isn’t that much for a best-selling author.”
“It’s not Mr. Rent-a-Dream I’m worried about.” She sobs. “You don’t know the trouble I’m in.” She sways and I grab her. “Please, get me something to drink. I’m dizzy.”
“Come upstairs, I’ll find something.”
“No, I can’t.… Please … Water … My blood pressure … I’ll pass out.”
“Brendan, do you mind? I’ll stay with her.”
“Better you than me.” He walks toward the boardwalk.
Antonia stumbles, weaving among the sunbathers. She reaches the water’s edge, kneels, and fans herself with her hat. She looks like a child who’s lost her parents.
I sit in the wet sand next to her. A little girl runs by, giggling as she tries to escape a wave. “Oh, to be young again,” says Antonia. “To start over so my life wouldn’t be in ruins.”
“It’s not in ruins,” I say. “You have a lot of fans and a movie deal.”
“I’m in big trouble, child. Charlene wrote Enraptured Thorns in My Heart. She gets all the royalties. I pay alimony to three husbands who’ve never worked a day in their lives. They’re young, handsome, and blood-thirsty.” She scoops a fistful of sand and lets it slowly seep out of her hand. “I have dozens of credit cards. Every one of them is maxed out. There are collection agencies who would like to find me, too. And then there’s this annoying little man who says I stole his plot for Love Hath No Fury.”
“Did you?” I ask.
“It’s possible that I might have read his manuscript at a writer’s conference. I really don’t remember. He can’t sue me. I’m broke. So he called me this morning and said he is going to go to the press.”
“You don’t even have the fifteen hundred and fifty dollars.”
She shakes her head. Brendan returns with a bottle of water. Antonia gulps it down.
We watch the waves for a while. “Antonia’s broke.”
“But she’s a best-selling author.”
“She has tons of financial problems. I kind of feel sorry for her.”
“Well, I don’t.” He turns to Antonia. “You can’t be broke. You have to pay for that dent. Not to mention the two bucks you owe me for the water.”
She sniffles. “No one understands me, not even you, Sally. You’re just like all the others.”
“My name is Sarah! And I’m not like the others! I trusted you and you let me down! You have to find a way to pay for that dent! I need those plays!”
“I have to pack, find Ophelia, and get away from here before that nasty man comes with the press.”
“But what about all those young writers who are counting on you to judge this contest? And there’s my mother. She’ll be furious.”
She gets up and heads toward the boardwalk, moving swiftly for a person who was dizzy just a few minutes ago.
We follow her. “I’ll make her stay, if I have to sit on her,” I say to Brendan.
He smiles. “On the spunkiness scale, that’s an eight.”
“Only eight!” We start up the steep stairs after her. Upstairs, someone is knocking loudly.
“Ms. DeMarco! Are you in there?”
We freeze. “It’s my mother!” I whisper.
“This way,” says Brendan. “Before she sees us.”
Like in a fire drill, the three of us move quickly and quietly, scurrying under the boardwalk.
“Antonia DeMarco! Open the door!” calls my mother. Antonia winces.
We hear footsteps above our heads. Don’t come down here! Please, Mom. As if reading my mind, Brendan grabs my hand and squeezes it. I can’t breathe. After a bit, she stomps down the stairs and I pray that she doesn’t come out on the beach. Finally, her footsteps retreat and she’s gone. I breathe.
As we crawl out from under the boardwalk, a woman with a great tan and a bright orange bathing suit walks by. She glances our way and stops. “Are you Antonia DeMarco? I just love Enraptured Thorns in My Heart. How did you come up with the idea?”
Now I understand why she doesn’t like that question.
Antonia looks at her for a long moment, wet sand clinging to her wrinkled sundress. “No, I’m not Antonia DeMarco. People mistake me for her all the time. I’m nobody.”
* * *
We go to a diner a block up from the beach. It’s lunchtime, so it’s crowded with workers from a nearby hospital.
“I can’t stand being such a failure,” says Antonia.
We go to a booth toward the back. Brendan and I sit facing Antonia. When the waitress comes by, Antonia orders a Waldorf salad and a double espresso.
“Who’s going to pay for all this food?” whispers Brendan.
I don’t know what to say.
Brendan turns to a group of nurses sitting at a booth across from us. “Hey,” he says. “Did you hear about the woman who walked into the emergency room? She says, ‘Doctor, Doctor, my little boy just swallowed a roll of film!’ ‘Hmmm,’ says the doctor. ‘Let’s hope nothing develops.’”
The nurses laugh. “Finally, a good audience,” he says.
He gets up and leans against the edge of their booth. “Another woman runs into the hospital, saying, ‘Doctor, Doctor, my son swallowed my pen, what should I do?’ The doctor says, ‘Use a pencil till I get there.’”
“Hey, this kid is funny,” one says. “We can sure use someone like you in the emergency room. Stop in sometime, we all work there.”
Brendan continues. “Two doctors…”
I’m happy for him. I stare into my glass of water. So far this week, I’ve been wrong about Georgina, Brendan, and Antonia. Not a good average. I hate admitting that Mom is a better judge of character than I am. Maybe it’s me who’s closed-minded.
Antonia moves the lettuce around on her plate. Then she puts down the fork and looks deep into my eyes. “If only I could turn my life around.”
“You can,” I say. “Start small by finding the money to pay for the dent. Think of all the young writers you’ll be helping.”
She nods. “You’re very wise and very right.”
“You must have money somewhere.”
She shakes her head.
“Couldn’t you sell something, like a piece of jewelry?”
She wipes her mouth. “Maybe. It’s just that I can’t think straight with all those people after me. If only I had someplace safe to go, just for a day or two. So I could calm down.” She smiles shyly. “Could you find such a place for me?” She puts her hand over mine. “You’re the only person who’s been nice to me. Help me begin to redeem myself. All I need is a little time.” Her eyes look teary and I hand her another napkin.
“Okay, I’ll try, but don’t just say you want to help me. You have to swear that you’ll really help me.”
“Absolutely. With your help, I will turn my life around.”
Can I trust her? Do I have a choice? Where can I hide her? Where, where, where? I rack my brain, but only one place comes to mind.
There’s a public phone in the lobby. I dial. It rings several times. She picks up.
“It’s me,” I say.
“It can’t be Sarah,” says Georgina. “I just told Sarah’s mother that Sarah is upstairs where Sarah is supposed to be.”
“This is Vicky,” I say. “I need a really big favor.”
“What is it, Vicky?”
“Antonia is in a lot of financial trouble. Can you take her home with you? Just for one night. It’ll give her some extra time to come up with the money. When we get the plays back, I’ll sit with her until she reads them.”
“No way,” answers Georgina.
“Please. It will only be for one night. I can’t take her to my house or to Brendan’s. I don’t know what else to do.”
&
nbsp; There’s silence on the other end. “Georgina?” My voice cracks.
After a long moment, she sighs. “For some strange reason, Granddad loves her books.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“Yes. But you really owe me now. Where are you?”
“We’re at the Dolphin Diner on Sand Lane. Can you come and get her?”
“I can’t come for Antonia unless Sarah is here to take care of the baby.”
“Sarah will be right there.”
“Good. She should hurry because her mum’s on her way home.”
“One other thing. Could you bring enough money for a Waldorf salad and a double espresso?” I hang up and go back to the booth. “Antonia, I found somewhere for you to stay tonight.”
“Where?” asks Brendan.
“With Georgina.”
“The dancer?”
“Yes.” I turn to Antonia. “You’ll be safe there, but you have to promise me that you will find something to sell.”
She pats my arm. “Absolutely.”
“Brendan, I have to get home. Will you stay with Antonia until Georgina picks her up?”
“I’m supposed to meet someone. It’s important.”
“Could you postpone it for an hour? This is very important. We shouldn’t leave her alone.”
He looks through his pockets. “I’ll see if I have her number.”
Her number? Is it Anne Marie Valgetti?
TWENTY
I get home minutes before Mom. Breathe. Pretend everything’s normal. I grab one of Jason’s storybooks and read to him about a naughty mouse. Mom walks into the living room and smiles. “Having fun?”
“You bet,” I say. “Right, Jason?” It’s a good thing he can’t talk yet.
She pulls at her hair. “I stopped by Antonia’s, but she wasn’t there. Do you know where she is?”
“No idea,” I say.
Mom kisses us both. “Has Georgina left?”
“She had to do something important.”
Mom stretches. “I’d like to feel human again. Do you mind if I take a short soak to wash away a rotten day?”
“Take your time.”
“Thank you, honey.” Mom goes upstairs. A little while later, I take Jason into the kitchen and dial Georgina.
