Last Night at the Blue Angel

by Rebecca Rotert

  I found Sister sitting on an overturned pail outside her door, looking at the sky.

  Hi, peanut, she said. I sat down in the grass next to her. Don’t be discouraged about today, she said, smiling. God’s ways are mysterious. Where’d you disappear to?

  To meet Laura.

  She looked at me a long time.

  She’s going to talk to her dad about getting me a job at the bank, I said.

  Well, at least you’d be together, said Sister.

  That’s what Laura said.

  Good, work is good. She looked at the sky. You could save for college, she said to herself.

  We listened to Ella. Killdeer circled above a field in the distance. Their song frantic. Kill-DEER. Kill-DEER.

  Don’t you get lonely out here? I asked her.

  Hmm, she said. Yes. But loneliness is good. Loneliness usually means longing and longing’s not so bad. Listen. And Ella sang: “They’re writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star’s above, but not for me.”

  See? Sister said, like that explained everything.

  Laura showed up at the farm the next morning before we’d even finished breakfast. Mama was still in her sleeping gown and embarrassed to be seen by her.

  Don’t worry, Miss Hutnik, it’s just me! Laura said, but Mama was always embarrassed by her presence in our ramshackle house, we all were.

  Laura swiped up a heel of bread left on the table and took a bite. You make the best bread, Miss Hutnik, you do. But I’m here on business. I need to steal Naomi. My dad’s agreed to give her an interview for Miss Catherine’s old post at the bank and I’ve got to bring her up to speed. Do you mind? she said to Mama, hooking her arm through mine.

  Of course not, Mama said, her back to us.

  Laura waited for something more and then said, Well, all right, then. See you all later.

  We ran out of the house before Mama could change her mind.

  I believe I just rescued you from a day of grim chores, said Laura. So thanks are in order?

  I don’t like you seeing how we live.

  You’ve always been poor. The first time I saw you you were wearing shoes with buttons! Buttons! She tried to get me to laugh at this.

  I think one day you’re going to realize how different we are.

  She took me by the shoulders. We’re alike in every way that matters. You hear me? Then she kissed me hard and fast on the lips and we were off down the road, she talking about how her brother David was back from Kansas City, and how bad her mother’s pie turned out the night before, on and on, and all I could think was, I have been kissed.

  We got to her house and played with the dogs. Then Laura spotted her brother off in the scrub trees in the side yard. An old roadster was parked there, half covered with weeds. He had the trunk open and was bent over it.

  Laura ran toward him. Come on!

  What on earth are you looking for? she said, startling him.

  He pulled out a plaid suitcase, smiling. Just remembered where I put this.

  Laura’s face pinched. What would you want with that old thing?

  I’m sentimental, he said, glancing in my direction. David had become incredibly handsome but he still looked like him. He was wearing a striped suit and tie and cuff links. He was a man.

  Who’s your friend? he asked, not listening to her, just staring at me.

  Oh, David, don’t you remember Naomi? said Laura, presenting me with both arms.

  Holy cripes! You were just a ragamuffin last time I saw you. Mean, if I remember. He leaned against the car. I didn’t know what to do with my arms. I crossed them in front of my chest.

  Still am, I said.

  Laura laughed and squeezed my arm. She is! I looked over at the horizon like I had other things on my mind.

  David reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim silver case. He popped it open. Have a look here, he said. He presented a small square of paper to Laura and took out another for me. It read: David Miller, Proprietor, the Neon Parrot.

  What’s a “proprietor” do? I asked.

  He leaned down a bit to remind me I was smaller than he, and looked at me like there was nothing else in the world but me and his eyes on me. Wouldn’t you like to know? he said.

  I had hated boys for looking at Laura this way but I’d never been on the receiving end before.

  Laura stared at David staring at me. Her eyes narrowed on him until he stood up straight and looked away.

  It means he thinks he’s Boss Pendergast or something, said Laura.

  He put one hand on the roof of the car and his other hand on his hip. He was so long. I remembered him playing with us when we were little, how fun it was to try to run by him and not get caught.

  You come visit me someday, I’ll show you, he said with a grin.

  She’ll do no such thing, said Laura, hooking her arm in mine, her whole face smiling except for her eyes.

  I stood there feeling like I’d walked into some kind of trouble, so I looked around to make as though I hadn’t seen anything.

  Where’d the dogs go? I asked.

  Take care of my sister, ragamuffin. You hear? he said to me, tossing his plaid suitcase into the back and then lowering himself into the driver’s seat of his pale blue convertible.

  Seems like you’re the one needs looking after, I said.

  He leaned his arm on his window. You got the devil in you, I swear to God.

  Maybe, I said, tilting up my chin so I could look down at him.

  He laughed and slapped the window’s frame. Good-bye, ladies, he said.

  I followed Laura into the kitchen, where her mother and father sat, dressed, impeccably, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee from a full silver service.

  Is he gone? Mr. Miller asked.

  You remember Naomi, said Laura.

  Hello, darling, said Mrs. Miller, standing and giving me a kiss on each cheek. She was statuesque in an emerald-green dress with an upright collar, a tiny waist, and a full skirt. Her black hair was twisted up and secured with a large brown comb. I would have been happy to inspect her, all of these details, for the rest of the morning.

  Mr. Miller looked at me over the top of his paper. You’re going to come talk to me on Monday, I hear.

  Yes, sir.

  I trust you’ve got your shenanigans out of your system?

  Daddy! That was a hundred years ago, said Laura.

  I have, sir, I said.

  He shook his paper upright again. Good to know.

  You’ll stay for lunch? Mrs. Miller asked.

  I shook my head. I have chores. But thank you.

  Work ethic, said Mr. Miller to his paper.

  Come on, said Laura, and I followed her up the staircase. The wall along the stairs was covered with family photographs. In the newer ones, I searched for Laura and David. They were so similar—their lines, their ease, the way they seemed to be daring you to forget yourself when they looked at you—and I longed to be one of them or between them or close enough to take on their ways.

  In Laura’s room, which was yellow and white—the walls, the bedspread, the furniture—she hauled out an armful of dresses from her closet and threw them on the bed like excess was a nuisance she had to deal with every day.

  She picked up one dress after another, gripping the skirts, turning them this way and that, making piles. I didn’t know what sort of science was going on but Laura was quite serious about it.

  All right, she said, hands on her hips. Let’s try these first. She held a dress up to me and tilted her head.

  Well? she said.

  I looked at her.

  Your little smock?

  I didn’t move.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, said Laura.

  Turn around, I said.

  I was frozen by my fear of her and by my desire, like I had to settle on one quick so I could proceed.

  Laura dropped the dress on the pile and stood in front of me.

  You’ve got to be kidding. You’re shy? she said.<
br />
  She unbuttoned my dress, pushed it off my shoulders. I pulled my arms out as fast as I could in order to cover my breasts.

  Don’t, she said, taking my wrists in her fingers and pulling my hands away. Let me look at you.

  I felt like she was seeing me in an entirely new light because of how David had looked at me. I slowly let my arms fall to my sides.

  Your brother was flirting with me.

  Laura slid my dress over my hips and it dropped to the floor.

  What does he know? she said. I’m the one who knows you.

  Then she touched my ribs and looked me in the eyes. She tilted her head and held her hand underneath my breast, as though to gauge the weight of it. I squeezed my legs together, like I could contain my body, which seemed to be running out, emptying.

  I’m sorry, she said, pulling her hand away suddenly and taking a step back.

  I turned to face the bed and the dresses piled there, I touched them, lifted the skirts just to see what was underneath. Tried to breathe. To stop myself.

  Laura stood beside me and our arms touched. I stepped behind her, putting my arms around her as she let her head fall back a little. I felt my breasts push against her back and pulled her tight to me. When I slid my hand up under her skirt, I heard her breath pull in like she might say something, but she didn’t. Her hipbone moved under my forearm, the little adjustment she had to make so she could open her legs wider. Heat came through her dress and she made a sound like some small thing was stuck and she couldn’t get it loose.

  Mrs. Miller walked across the floor downstairs. Her heels banged the old wood floor. Lunch, girls! she yelled, and Laura spun around to face me, her face flushed, electric. I grabbed her jaw gently and held it until she finally took a normal breath. And then I kissed her.

  Be right down, said Laura without taking her eyes off me.

  She picked up the dress. Lavender with blue flowers. Here.

  I held the dress and stared at her.

  Step into it like this, she said, opening the dress for me like a ring. She zipped it up and arranged it on my body. I stood in front of the mirror and watched as she put her face in my hair.

  You surprise me, she said.

  At that, I ran out of her room, down the stairs, and out the front door, the soft cotton of that full skirt dancing around my legs. The dogs chased me as far as the main road and stopped, exactly sure of just how far they could go.

  CHAPTER 12

  SISTER IDALIA WAS not in her room when I went there. There was a man chopping a cottonwood down by the creek, so I sat on Sister’s pail and watched him while I waited for her. When he started up the hill I realized it was Sister Idalia. She was wearing men’s wool trousers, cinched at the waist with some rope, a flannel checked barn jacket, and was without her coif.

  I couldn’t speak. Your hair.

  Oh, I didn’t expect to be seen by anyone.

  I threw my arms around her.

  She pulled apart and looked at me. What is it, peanut?

  I don’t know what to do.

  Then let’s walk. We went down the hill to the creek. There was no haze, no dust in the sky, just fast, bulbous clouds. It was one of those days that is ninety-eight percent sky and two percent everything else under the sun.

  We sat down by the water.

  I’m someone else, I said.

  Sister looked at the creek. She will sit here like this with me until the end of time, I thought.

  It’s Laura, I finally said.

  Sister nodded like she already knew the whole story.

  I love her, I whispered.

  I know. She squinted at the creek.

  I kissed her, I said, because I didn’t think she understood.

  Sister looked at me, smiled. Oh, peanut.

  I know God is going to strike me down. I can feel it. Right here, I said, grabbing my stomach.

  Oh, no, no, no, she said. This is what God is. Love. See?

  I shook my head. I don’t know what to do.

  I don’t either, said Sister.

  Haven’t you ever been in love? I asked.

  Sister looked at me for a long time. Once.

  What happened?

  They separated us. Sent me here.

  We looked at the river, listened to its movement.

  I have to be with her, I said.

  I know, she said, squeezing tears from her eyes with her thumb and middle finger. Isn’t it terrible?

  Yes, I said.

  She pressed her hands into my cheeks. I want to tell you to be careful but . . . It’s what we say about love. Be careful. And it’s, well, erroneous.

  I don’t know that word.

  It’s wrong. Be bold instead. Love her. She had tears again. Okay?

  Okay, I said.

  Just then we heard, Sister Idalia! Sister! Laura was shouting up by the schoolhouse. Sisterrrr!

  Sister pulled the string and key from around her neck and put it over mine.

  Maybe Laura would like Dinah Washington, she said, looking at the creek. I’m going to finish cutting that tree up. It will take me the better part of the afternoon, I expect.

  Laura called my name up on the hill. Creek water rushed around the larger stones. There was not enough time to think. I got on my knees and hugged Sister hard. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.

  In the still, quiet air of Sister’s room, I got to look at Laura the way I wanted. It made her shy.

  How’d you know I’d come here? I asked.

  You’re always out here. You and Sister I are . . . friends, right?

  I shrugged and looked around Sister’s room until I felt infinitely guilty for shrugging. Yes, we are friends.

  Like we are? asked Laura, fiddling with a pleat against my hip because she could, because we were alone and the dress was hers, after all.

  No, I said.

  Will you kiss me again? asked Laura.

  I held her face and kissed her mouth and her chin. She looked at me like she was working out a math problem.

  I have to get back, she said.

  Okay, I said, believing the answer to her math problem was to leave.

  I want to be alone with you, she said.

  We are alone.

  I want time, she said, looking at me again.

  Then we’ll get time, I told her, trying not to smile.

  CHAPTER 13

  ON MONDAY, I ironed the lavender dress and set my hair. I stuffed a bit of tissue paper into the toes of Mama’s Sunday shoes and walked to town, into Miller’s Bank and Trust, into Mr. Miller’s big, carpeted office.

  Mr. Miller said hello, how are you, how’s the family, etc. And, Now, how many of you are there?

  Seven, sir.

  He leaned forward. Is that a Polish imperative?

  He gave me a simple math test, looked it over, and threw it away. Mostly, Miss Hutnik, I just need you to be pleasant and attractive and efficient. It would boil down to that, he said. Think you can manage?

  Yes, sir.

  Well, then, let’s start you today, he said, and it occurred to me that with love as my motivation, I might be capable of just about anything.

  The work was easy. Math mostly. And writing numbers in tiny boxes.

  Laura and I ate lunch together on the bench in the alleyway. Her mother packed her twice as much as she could eat and she shared with me.

  She’s trying to fatten me up for Alan Lawry, she said, handing me a piece of cold fried chicken. I took a bite.

  She what?

  Nothing.

  I imagined Laura with Alan and had to force myself to chew the food in my mouth and swallow. It was all temporary—us, work—and would end as soon as some man came along and put us away in a little place in town or back on another farm. We were something to exchange hands, like cattle. I thought of Mother. I’d never seen her do anything but work and pause to catch her breath.

  My Mother played the piano. When she was young. Back in Poland.

  Your mother? said Laura
. She any good?

  I’ve never heard her. It’s just a story now.

  Well, that’s terribly sad, said Laura.

  We finished our lunch and leaned our backs against the building’s warm bricks.

  Sister I’s brother sent her some new records, I said.

  Laura looked straight ahead. That so?

  She said we could listen to them if we wanted. Saturday.

  Laura became very still. Then she ran back into the bank and came out with a sheet of stationery and a pencil. She tapped her pencil on the paper.

  What are you doing? I asked.

  A plan. If we’re going to do this, we need a foolproof plan.

  On Saturday, Laura and I prepared an elaborate lunch in the Miller kitchen. I had the plan fixed in my head and every move I made passed through it.

  Mr. and Mrs. Miller sat at the table, he with the paper, she with the latest copy of Look magazine. “Margaret . . . the Girl and the Princess” was written across the cover below side-by-side images of Margaret the woman and Margaret the Princess. She was somehow entirely the same and entirely different and it gave me hope for myself.

  Are you planning to feed the troops? asked Mrs. Miller, scanning the food on the counter.

  No, said Laura. Just us. She lined a basket with a linen towel.

  And Sister, I said.

  Laura scowled at me.

  Mrs. Miller bent to check her lipstick in the toaster. I could’ve sworn Sister was going to Topeka for the day.

  No, said Laura.

  And what is it you’re doing? Mrs. Miller asked, folding wax paper around a sandwich.

  We’re helping her strip the desks. Horrible things written on them, horrible little pictures, said Laura with a shudder.

  Seems like she could make the boys clean ’em up, said Mr. Miller, suddenly listening. No doubt they did it. Unless it was Naomi, he teased. Like I belonged to him, to them.

  I told you, said Laura, she’s reformed.

  Bad girls don’t reform, doll. They just get better at hiding. He stood up and stretched. Isn’t that right, sugar pie? he asked his wife.