When it was time to leave at last, Scott helped me on with my jacket and kidded around a little with the girl at the counter who asked about our costumes.
“Fun evening, Alice,” Scott said as he walked me up to our porch. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“I’m glad you could come,” I said. I didn’t have to wonder if I should invite him in, because Don and Christy were waiting for him out in the car. “Good night, Scott,” I said, looking up at him.
“G’night,” he said, and kissed me on the forehead. The forehead! Like I was eleven years old or something. He squeezed my hand, then trotted back down the steps, across the board sidewalk to the street, and as he opened his door, I opened mine. They closed at exactly the same time.
6
Intimate Conversation
The best part of having a new adventure is telling your friends. Even a bummer can have the makings of a good story. For Elizabeth, the Sadie Hawkins Day dance was a terrific tale she could tell again and again. But for me, the dance was a sort of nonevent. There was no romance to report, no huge embarrassment to share.
At the Melody Inn the next morning, I wished I hadn’t told anyone I was going to the dance. Both Marilyn, Dad’s assistant manager, and David were watching for me, anticipation in their eyes.
“No,” I said, giving them what I hoped was a wry smile as I slipped my bag under the counter.
“Oh?” said Marilyn.
“Neither good nor bad.”
“Okay,” she said, and knew enough not to ask more.
“A blah sort of evening,” I told David. “Nothing spectacular either way.”
“It happens,” he said.
Dad and Sylvia had been curious, of course, but mostly I talked about Liz and how funny and fabulous she had been. They laughed at my description of the big race. When I told them that Scott and Don and Christy and I had gone to Starbucks later, and that Scott brought me home first, that seemed to answer whatever else Dad needed to know. But I could tell from Sylvia’s eyes that being brought home first, when your date is doing the driving, is not a good thing.
“Well,” she said, in a confidential whisper, “you have the prom to look forward to, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I said. She understood.
Pamela invited Liz and me to her house for a sleepover that evening so we could talk about the dance. I figured we’d chill out in Pamela’s bedroom, but when I got there, Mr. Jones and Meredith—the woman he’s engaged to—said they were going into D.C. for dinner and a show, and Meredith had left taco fixings for us. So we sprawled out on the living-room rug instead.
“I can’t wait until our remodeling is finished and I can invite you over,” I told them.
“Neither can we!” said Pamela. “It’s been ages since I’ve been inside your house. When will they be finished?”
“A couple of weeks, they’re telling us. At least, that’s when the plastic sheets come down and we can start moving our stuff into the new addition.”
“Did you invite Scott to come in?” asked Liz.
“Are you kidding? I was ready to go the minute he came to the door,” I joked, and immediately changed the subject. “Liz, when did you get to the dance? What did they do—keep you hidden until the big moment? And why didn’t you tell us?”
She giggled. “I waited until they called, and then Dad drove me over. They told me not to tell anyone about the race, so I didn’t.”
“Well, you sure had a crowd around you the last time I checked,” said Pamela, grinning. “Mostly guys, too!”
Liz was positively radiant. “You know what one boy said to me? ‘I never would have suspected.’ I asked what he meant by that, and he looked embarrassed. He just mumbled something about how funny I was, but later—when the music started again—he came back and we danced.”
“Well! Liz!” I said, smiling. “Who was he?”
“I didn’t even get his name. Another guy came over, and then I danced with him.”
Pamela and I beamed at her like proud mamas. The next best thing to having a great evening yourself is seeing one of your friends, who really needs it, having a good time. And then we noticed that Liz looked a bit—well, more than a bit—fuller under her crewneck T-shirt.
“Keeping a little reminder of the Sadie Hawkins Day dance?” I said, nodding toward her chest.
She laughed. “Yeah. I thought I’d try out the push-up bra, get a little more use out of it. Unless it’s false advertising.”
“Hey, guys will like you for more than that,” I said.
“Let’s hope,” said Elizabeth.
Pamela turned her attention to me. “Soooo,” she said, dumping another spoonful of meat in a taco shell, then heaping on the cheese. She took a crunchy bite and chewed for a minute. “How’d it go with Scott?”
I didn’t want to prolong the pain. “It was just an okay evening,” I said. “We went to Starbucks afterward with Don and Christy, then he brought me home. Before he took them home.”
Pamela winced. “Ouch,” she said.
“I know.” I idly ran my finger over my plate, picking up the odd bits of cheese.
“No … sparks?” asked Liz.
“Not really. We danced. He was sweet. Attentive. Friendly. How’s that? No cheek-to-cheek dancing. No hand squeezes.”
“What happened when he got you home?” asked Pamela, as though if she kept at it long enough, she could extract something.
I sighed. “He kissed me on the forehead.”
Pam and Liz both groaned.
“But it’s a start, maybe,” Liz said encouragingly.
“Well, if he had to start somewhere, I’d suggest farther down,” said Pamela, and at least that made us laugh. If you can laugh with your girlfriends, you don’t feel all that bad.
“Did he at least have a good time?” Liz asked.
“I think so. He liked all the stuff connected to Sadie Hawkins—we all did. The Schmoo bowling alley and stuff. The food was good. He liked the conversation with Don and Christy about colleges and student loans and stuff, but I was more or less a bystander. I mean, what do I know?”
“So there just wasn’t any … guy/girl sort of feeling? On his part, I mean? Nothing sexy?” asked Pamela.
“I’d say it was more just friends,” I said ruefully.
We sat quietly for a few moments.
“I saw him stop at the GSA table,” said Pamela. “Maybe he’s gay.”
“Maybe he’s not!” I said. “He took a girl to the Snow Ball. Maybe it’s me. Why is it that whenever a guy doesn’t pay attention to a girl, some girls assume he must be gay?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” Pamela said.
“Of course there isn’t, but why can’t it be that he’s just not that into me? Period.”
“Then why did he agree to go?” asked Liz.
“Maybe he wasn’t sure how he felt about me. Maybe he was just curious. Maybe he hoped bells would ring and violins would play, and it didn’t happen. Who knows?”
“But … what’s not to like, Alice? You looked wonderful!” said Pamela.
That made me laugh in spite of myself. “So did a hundred other girls. You don’t fall for every guy just because he looks good and is interested in you, do you?” My eyes narrowed. “Do you?”
“Is that a trick question?” Pamela asked, and we laughed.
She settled back against the cushions we’d propped against the couch. “I think I’m just plain lucky to have Tim, because it’s not just looks that matter to us. We talk a lot. I’ve never liked a guy as much as I like Tim, you know?”
I grinned. “I know it. If you’d been dancing any closer, you’d have been joined by osmosis.”
Pamela glanced at me quickly and there was something about her face, her smile… .
“Pamela?” I said.
She pretended to wipe her mouth, but I think she was trying to disguise her smile. “Yeah, we’re close,” she said.
I studied her. “How
close is close?”
“Close,” said Pamela.
Liz looked as though she were holding her breath. “Close close?” she asked.
“Close close,” said Pamela. Anyone listening to our conversation would have thought we were insane.
“You … you … did it?” I asked, and I’m not sure why I was surprised, but I was. I mean, we had promised each other once, the three of us, that whoever had sex first—intercourse, I mean—would tell the others what it was like.
“Oh … my … God!” Liz gasped.
“Wow!” I said.
“And you didn’t tell us?” Liz cried.
Pamela laughed. “I wasn’t about to ask your permission.”
“When?” I said. “For how long?”
“Two months ago,” Pamela told us, smiling down at her hands. “And six or seven times since.”
“Whew!” I said, trying hard to take it all in.
Liz was still astonished. “Where?”
“Here. Dad works until six, you know. Tim’s house sometimes. And, yes, Liz, quit looking at me like that. We do use condoms, if that’s what you were about to ask.”
Liz giggled.
What to ask? Man, oh, man, this was important. This was education. This was … Pamela!
“Okay, tell all,” I said. “What was it like?”
There was a sparkle in her eyes. “Well, imagine waves crashing against the shore and fireworks going off and an avalanche,” she said.
“That’s what it’s like?” asked Liz.
“No,” said Pamela, and we giggled some more. “It isn’t like any of that. But it’s exciting and it feels good and it’s a little frustrating and you don’t want it to stop. And just thinking about doing it makes you want to do it again.”
I was trying to put those pieces together and come out with an “experience,” but I was having a hard time of it. I began to wonder if we should be asking all these personal questions. I wanted details, but it also seemed very private. I was sure it was private when Pamela said, “I figure it gets better with time. We’re still exploring …”—she broke into a smile again—“… and that’s the fun part.”
We knew then that the question period was over, but Liz had one more: “Just tell me this: The first time, does it hurt?”
“Yeah. Enough that I made him stop. I was bleeding a little. We tried again later. Once you heal, though, after a couple of days, you’re fine. It’s sort of like a little cut down there.”
Liz pushed back against the pillows and thrust both hands between her legs. “That’s it. I’m going to be a nun,” she said.
“No, you’re not. You’ll love it. Choose a gentle guy, though. Don’t let it be someone like Brian.”
We both looked at her. “Brian Brewster? Did he ever …?”
“No, but he wanted to. I can’t imagine Brian being gentle with anyone.”
We thought about that a moment.
“You know, I thought he might change after the accident,” said Liz. “I really thought that he’d think about that little girl and what the accident might mean for the rest of her life, but he’s just been a cranky bore. All he does is complain because he can’t drive for a year.”
“It’s like he goes around with a big ‘Me’ sign on his shirt,” I added. “If Brian was religious, he’d worship himself. It’s as though that little girl is an obstacle to his career. ‘Man, I’ve got things to do!’ he says. ‘This is my junior year. It’s not like I purposely tried to hurt someone.’”
We groaned.
“You know what I heard?” said Pamela. “Keeno told me that Brian’s dad promised him a new car if he’d just wait out the year without getting in any more trouble. A new car!”
Keeno, a friend of Brian’s from another school, probably knows him better than anyone else. Sometimes he goes to the movies with us. But I think maybe he’s getting a little sick of Brian too.
“Oh, man!” I said.
“Anyone ever meet his dad? Maybe he’s just as self-centered as Brian,” said Liz. “I’ve heard that if you want to know what your future husband will be like in twenty years, take a look at his dad. I suppose that goes for a girl, too—she’ll be like her mother. Which means that any guy who is serious about me should study my mom. Now there’s a sobering thought.”
Pamela rolled her eyes. “God forbid! Or mine!”
I was the only one who didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even understand the feeling. I would give anything in this world to be like my mother. To see my mother. To know what she had really been like.
By the time I went to school on Monday, I began to feel that my crush on Scott was fading. There’s something about knowing for sure that you aren’t special to somebody that both breaks your heart and frees you. Or maybe I’m just the kind of girl who doesn’t go after the unattainable. I’ve never been nuts over a celebrity—guys I know I’ll never have or perhaps wouldn’t even like if I got to know them.
If Scott had loved me madly once and now he didn’t, that would be one thing. If I had rejected him and now I wanted him back, that would be different too. But when I saw him at his locker Monday and stopped by to say hello, and he smiled that same friendly, platonic smile as before, I didn’t feel my pulse speed up the way I used to. Just a little ache.
The romance wasn’t over, because it had never really begun. What I mean is, I was over it. I no longer imagined that his smile meant something personal. And when we had our next staff meeting for The Edge on Wednesday, I didn’t get the familiar ting when we worked side by side and our arms touched. I had been crushing on him, but there was also a wisp of a thought that I’d wanted to go out with him at least once to compare him to Patrick—to see what kind of guy I preferred. No, I was definitely over him. I think… .
Two months ago, I thought I had a handle on who I was. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Lester called that night and I was trying to explain it to him. He’d wanted to ask Dad about something, but Dad wasn’t home, and he got me instead.
“I used to think I knew the real Alice,” I told him. “‘Almost Alice’ is more like it. I’m not absolutely positive I’m over Scott; I’m not completely sure that Patrick and I are right for each other, and if we are, how serious we should get; I wish I could do something wild and funny like Liz did at the dance, but I don’t know if it’s really me… .”
“Why do you have to have the answers to any of this right now?” Les asked me.
“I just want to be sure of something, Lester! If I can’t be sure about a guy, can’t I at least be sure of myself?”
“But why?” he asked. “Why do you have to have your future all wrapped up like a Christmas present, ready for you to open when you’re twenty-five or something? Why can’t you just relax and let things happen?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I just can’t.”
7
Pushing Pamela
When you can’t figure yourself out, you concentrate on friends, and that’s why I now focused on Pamela. Liz and Gwen and I were determined that she try out for a part in the spring musical, Guys and Dolls, to be performed the last two weekends in April. A sign-up sheet for auditions was posted outside the choir room, and anyone could ask to borrow a copy of the songs and to try out between March 10 and 12. The cast would be posted on Friday, March 14.
It’s weird about Pamela. In elementary school she was a real show-off and loved being the center of attention. She always said she wanted to be an actress or a model, and she got the lead in our sixth-grade play. In high school she joined the Drama Club in her freshman year, then dropped out the second semester. She said she couldn’t possibly compete with all those talented people. I finally persuaded her to sign up again last year—just for stage crew along with me—and she did. But even though she’s been taking voice lessons, she still doesn’t feel she’s “good enough” to try for anything more.
Liz and Gwen and I decided to change all that.
First, I called Tim. “We nee
d your help,” I said. “We want to persuade Pamela to try out for Guys and Dolls, but she really needs a push. Do you think you could talk her into it?”
“I suggested it myself,” he said. “She sings when she’s around me. She sings around you guys. She sings along with the car radio. But when I try to get her to—you know—really perform, she clams up. I’ll see what I can do.”
Next, Liz invited Pamela and Tim and Gwen and me to her house on Friday night just to hang out—watch a DVD or something, she said. Gwen had signed out a book of songs from Guys and Dolls and brought it along with her.
“One guy and four girls?” Pamela had asked when Liz told her who was coming.
“I’ll let my little brother hang with us,” Liz joked.
It was Tim who brought the video of Guys and Dolls, starring Frank Sinatra, Jean Simmons, Vivian Blaine, and Marlon Brando, who, would you believe, sang “Luck Be a Lady.”
“Hey! What is this?” Pamela asked suspiciously as the credits rolled on the screen and we passed the popcorn around.
“Stage crew’s supposed to watch it, remember?” I said. “Get some idea of what we’ll be dealing with.” We watched the singers and dancers converge on Times Square. The story, of course, is about a gambler who bets another that he can’t get a date with the pretty Salvation Army–type sergeant, Sarah Brown.
“We just want to get you interested, Pamela, that’s all,” Liz said. “You can sing! You can dance! You can act! You’re a natural!”
Pamela only laughed and answered in a Brooklyn accent, just like the character Adelaide: “Aw, youse guiys, quit ya kiddin’.” We laughed.
To tell the truth, we were only thinking about Pamela being in the chorus line when the movie began.
“Hey, Pamela, you can do that!” Liz would say when a dancer kicked up one leg.
“And don’t tell us you can’t sing like that,” Gwen said when Sister Sarah began “Follow the Fold.”
Almost Alice Page 6
