Bimmy took a sudden interest in her hands, fanned out across her TV table placemat, but it was Sadie who came to my rescue. She scooped me up and cradled me onto her lap, rocking and cooing, “I know, it's scary. I would be scared, too. But you're okay, you're okay.”
The fun was over, the rest of the movie watched in silence, and an invaluable lesson learned. My mother's concern stretched only so far.
Meanwhile, Rose and Sadie's child rearing clashes were becoming more evident. Case in point: the day all three of us went into New York City for a delicious lunch at Lord & Taylor's restaurant, The Birdcage. All morning, I had been busy getting my clothes together in high anticipation of the lunch and maybe Singin’ In the Rain afterward. I was high on girlish adrenaline.
As soon as we entered The Birdcage, we were steered over to a table by a pretty young woman and the ladies soon chatted away, flying high in the big city atmosphere. That was their biggest mistake. By ignoring me completely, in time I got bored and searched for some form of distraction. I found it in a small basket of sealed-tight creamers in the center of the table, just waiting for young exploring hands.
Rose's steely eyes caught me head on. “Don't try to open those up, Lily.”
I didn't even slow down.
“Lily…”
Sadie jumped in. “Rose, let the girl be…”
Another dispute was about to begin, but I didn't care. This was going to be fun. Pull, pull, pull—oh my God!
The beautiful wallpaper next to our table now had a light film of cream descending in large droplets down to the floor, and without looking, my sixth sense told me Rose was already standing up, pocketing all her decorum.
While a red-faced Sadie spasmed with laughter, I was padlocked to my chair, my body pinpricked with fear. God help me filtered through my brain fog, just in time to feel the twisting pinch on my arm of a mad woman out of control.
“Get up and apologize to every waitress and bus boy in the restaurant this instant!” Rose snarled, her lovely blue eyes resembling a wolf, in the midst of an attack frenzy.
“Rose, get a hold of yourself!” Sadie rasped, but Rose was on a roll. She grabbed me by my armpits and would have dragged me over to every employee in the place had it not been for the manager barreling over.
Obviously a gentle man, his face registered absolute horror as he and Sadie both attempted to calm Rose down. They managed to get her outside the main dining room, where she made a beeline for the bathroom before anyone could witness her tears. Meanwhile, Sadie quickly gathered up all our things, paid the bill, and entered the restroom, warning me, “Stay here, honey. Don't go in, okay?”
Ten minutes later—I counted one one hundred, two one hundred over and over again—Rose emerged with Sadie, calm, freshly powdered, to announce Sadie needed to return home, but she and I were going to see Singin’ in the Rain, and wasn't that a nice treat? I would have been far more partial to Sadie staying and Rose going home, but managed a nod, relieved just to see some order restored.
The dinner salad slowly wilted on the dining room table that night. Unrefrigerated for well over an hour, the dressed lettuce didn't stand a chance. Still, we both sat down to dine in silence, my mother, a stone statue, and I, fidgeting with my paper napkin until it took on the consistency of paper maché.
When my father's footsteps finally echoed in the vestibule, Rose continued eating without looking up.
“Hello, ladies. How are we all doing this fine evening?” he boomed. I had never seen my dad so jovial.
Rose flashed him a dirty look. “Nice of you to attend, Peter.”
“Come on, Rose. You know I have to work,” he snapped as Bimmy brought in his martini just the way he liked it.
“Dad, we went to see a movie today.”
“Where were you?” My mother hissed.
“Rose, I told you, I had to meet with some clients today, a big firm who wants to buy our group life insurance plan for all their employees, and there was nothing I could do about it!”
“How about using the telephone?”
“Couldn't get to one. Now drop it!” He turned towards me. “What did you say, Lily?”
“I said…”
My mother's red, puffy face made me pause.
Later, snuggled up under the covers, I could hear in the distance my dad pleading for my mom to come to bed. I think he might have mentioned the expression bygones be bygones, but I'm not sure. In any case, I don't know if she ever came; his pleadings seemed to last a long time before I finally dropped off into a fitful sleep.
Summer had appeared again, and with it, strange happenings. First, when I skipped over to Sadie's house, I could hear soft crying inside her door as I knocked. I was about to tiptoe in reverse when the door cracked open.
A blotchy face, red eyes, and wrinkled slept-in clothes greeted me. “Not now, honey, not now.”
“Sadie, are you okay?”
She nodded, but I wasn't convinced. Nor were my parents, apparently, because a week later, my father stayed home from work on a Tuesday morning, and Rose kept peering out of our living room window. Something was definitely up. Soon, a black Ford Fairlane cornered into Sadie's graveled driveway and stopped, the motor still purring. A navy blue suited man got out of the passenger side, strode up to her front door, rang her bell, and when she stepped out of her house, she looked as conservative as my mom, in a gray mid-calved suit, high heels, and a fox stole. Why wasn't she at work? And why in the world wasn't she wearing her purple outfit and turquoise beads?
Then my dad and mom paraded out to the car, where Rose's abrupt hug was supplemented by Peter's light pats on Sadie's arm. The car sped off, scattering tiny pebbles everywhere and leaving me chilled. Would I ever see Sadie again?
She did return in two days—I ticked off the hours carefully—but the incident was never mentioned again no matter how hard I tried.
By the awkward age of eleven, two people emerged, changing my life forever—Leroy and Sam. Leroy came to me through Bimmy, and besides sharing the same age, we also found comfort in one another. He was like a breath of fresh air. Bitter chocolate brown, he had eyes the size of quarters when he was amazed by something, but I was mostly mesmerized by his large, pudgy hands. They could cover my small fist in a split second, making me feel like I was the most protected person in the world.
I envied him. He got to attend the local public school where, according to Rose, I was not allowed. He would come home every afternoon, regaling Bimmy and me with stories of being fully accepted and having such fun at P.S. 57, while I was still saddled with the clique-tight Cambridge Academy as a fish out of water. Then one day, Sam entered my classroom. I pegged him immediately as the quiet, studious type, and somehow his lonely eyes touched me. By the end of lunch, we were fast friends, and when I introduced him to Leroy, it was as if we three had always been together. The Three Wise Men, Bimmy laughingly called us and the name seemed to stick.
We mostly stayed around my house. Sam's house was off limits and at my house there were things like scavenger hunting outside and Hula-hoopin’ ‘til you dropped. We enjoyed the Scavenger Hunt, but with the Hula-hoop, you couldn't have more fun if you tried. We'd set up in Sadie's living room (our constant gales of laughter seemed to irritate Rose), each of us spread far apart. Then Sadie would put on some music and on the count of one-two-three, we'd begin. Sway, sway, dip…sway, we went, over and over until one of us would start to feel their hoop sliding down towards the ground. I was usually the winner—my prepubescent hips were a definite plus—and whenever I won, I would do a wild victory dance that dropped everyone to the floor, doubled over with laugher. Claiming I was Queen of the Hullahoops, Saddie once presented me with a set of wooden Russian dolls.
We three were inseparable, without a care in the world. Until reality set in. It started with an innocent trip into the city for a birthday party of one of my dad's partners’ son. I had asked Rose if Sam could accompany us. “If you must,” she agreed, and I ran to call him up.
>
He was over in a flash, and knocking on Leroy's door, he, too, quickly emerged, dressed in a perfect White Plains uniform, a Think Pink button-down shirt, khaki pants, white socks and brown loafers, and as the three of us waited in the living room for Rose, I showed them Cat's Cradle, a new string game I had learned at school.
When Rose entered, she took one look at Leroy. “Oh, no…”
We all looked up.
“Ah, Lily. Can I talk to you for a moment?” Was I in trouble? I never knew.
Outside in the vestibule, she laid it on the table. “Look, I don't think it's a good idea for Leroy to come with us today. Sorry.”
My stomach wrenched. “Why not? He's always with me!”
“I know, I know. But I just don't think he would feel comfortable where we're going.”
When I started to cry, Rose patted my hand twice, then returned to the living room to give Leroy the bad news. He charged past Bimmy into his room, choking back sobs and slamming his bedroom door while I got into the car with Sam, too stunned to chat. As we drove away, Bimmy, usually there to wave us off, was nowhere to be seen.
The birthday boy's room on the upper east side of Manhattan could house a small Cessna. The living room, a mid-sized jet. Sam kept oohing and aahing at all the presents, the balloons, the wall-to-wall toys, and the nonstop flow of pizza, but all I could think about was Leroy.
Rose, always quick to palm me off on these gatherings, was conspicuously present this time, flipping her mink stole back over her shoulder each time it slipped down an inch or two and bragging about how great my school was both academically and socially.
I hated her, hated her for what she had done to Leroy. I'll never forgive her, I vowed to myself, ignoring Sam's candy and pizza-stained face and the cloud of wrapping paper spewing high up into the air as kids helped the birthday boy rip open his lavish presents.
Suddenly Rose was hissing in my ear, “We have to go now. Gather up Sam and let's get out of here!”
“What about our party gifts, those Davy Crockett Coonskin caps?”
I thought she was going to slap me, but instead she ran over to the cap-laden table and grabbing two of them, snatched Sam, then shoved us both out the door. No obligatory Thank You's to the hostess.
I knew she was upset about something but as far as I was concerned, I never wanted to talk to her ever again. After we dropped Sam off, I made sure to walk a ways behind her up the front stone path to our home. Home. Home, where Leroy wouldn't answer my knocks and Bimmy ignored my worried looks as she passed by with a short ‘got to make dinner’ instead of a smile. Although the two of them gradually reverted back into their old selves, there were two changes. Leroy's eyes weren't as open as before and Bimmy no longer grinned with all her teeth showing.
Mom forgot the incident almost immediately. She had far more urgent matters to deal with. My dad had invited several new clients and their families over for dinner, and in a flash, Rose's world turned upside down. Besides brand new Bloomingdale's pillows, a house fine-tooth combed, the evening was slated to begin with deviled eggs sprinkled with paprika, black caviar from France (not Russia!), and little pigs-in-a-blanket dolloped with Guilden's mustard. Bimmy was to prepare a rib-eye plus twice-baked potatoes, string bean Almondine, and for dessert, apple cobbler smothered in Sealtest vanilla ice cream.
The evening finally arrived and with it, drinks and hors d'oeuvres laid out on top of a card table temporarily set up in the living room. A “Smørgasbord of Appetizers,” Rose announced to her guests.
People laughed and muttered, “What a novel idea!” but behind her back, I caught a few snickers and raised eyebrows.
Dinner was announced and we all traipsed into the dining room to take our assigned seats. A general clinking of cocktail glasses against wine goblets and chairs scraping over the carpet served as a backdrop while I concentrated on the extensive silverware next to my plate. Until the kitchen door swung open and the bile instantly shot up from my stomach.
There was Bimmy and Leroy in full maid and waiter uniforms, eyes focused straight ahead, heads cocked downwards. In agony, I watched them perform their duties, serving each person from the left side, making sure a “Would you like some sir/ma'am?” was spoken in soft, respectful tones. They moved in the same direction, one offering meat, the other vegetables and potatoes, like well-trained employees but as they neared me, I couldn't stand it any longer. I rose from the table, my napkin falling like a parachute to the floor.
“Lily, Lily!” my mother choked, trying to motion me down. But it didn't work. I turned and ran from everybody, not even slowing down until I had reached my room and locked my door.
By the following week, Leroy had returned to Harlem, Bimmy rarely smiled, and I turned my full attention to Sam, as our friendship readjusted itself in direct proportion to our exploding puberty.
It wasn't as if I really wanted to go to David Water's fifteenth birthday bash. To me, David was a self-impressed rich brat, who always boasted about his parents’ absences during his infamous parties. Usually I would say no, but this time, I sweetly thanked him for the invitation. I had my own plans to play Spin The Bottle and get kissed by Sam.
In David's converted basement, illicit beer was plentiful, his record collection astonishing. I had never seen so many 45's. Kids put on one record after another as they guzzled alcohol like there was no tomorrow. The Beatles’ I Wanna Hold Your Hand and She Loves You were the most popular, but I was drawn to some of the others as well, like Don't Let the Sun Catch You Crying by Gerry and the Pacemakers, Where did Our Love Go? By Diana Ross and the Supremes, the Beach Boy's I Get Around, and my favorite, People, so beautifully sung by Barbra Streisand.
The boys started out on one side of the room, the girls on the other, but as the lights dimmed and the booze kicked in, they filtered towards each other. By the time Barbra was singing, I was safe in Sam's arms, floating slowly around the room. It was Heaven but still no kiss. We didn't partake in the beers, we were too busy focusing on ourselves, but others sure did, and when someone in the middle of the dance floor began to retch loudly, the lights snapped on. The fun was over, our chance to kiss gone.
After Sam's mom brought me home, I entered our dark house and felt my way over to the staircase. The silence felt eerie and I was about to ascend to my bedroom when I caught a hint of light coming from the living room. No sound, just a faint flicker. I carefully crept in, curling around the doorframe to see Rose by herself, holding an empty wine glass and staring at a candle placed on the coffee table, its flame barely moving in the still air.
She must have heard my movements because she suddenly looked over at me with glazed eyes and said, “Oh, it's only you,” before pouring herself another glass.
The next week, “The Beatles are here! The Beatles are here!” rippled through the hallways in urgent whispers, making us late for our next class. I had never seen anything like it before at school. Personally, I bubbled over on the subject, telling anyone within earshot just how much their music got to me. So Sam—bless his heart—using his Christmas money, immediately purchased three tickets, suggesting we call up Leroy and the three of us go see them at Carnegie Hall in Manhattan. Just the Three Wise Men.
I was so excited. The Beatles and Leroy! Recently, every time I had tried calling him at their Harlem apartment, his grandmother claimed he was busy and couldn't talk. But this, this event he seemed opened to and for the time being, I felt hopeful. I had gotten my foot back in his door.
“All right,” Mom said, “but I want you to stay with your cousin Maggie in the city after the concert. The Beatles at Carnegie Hall, for goodness sake! Carnegie Hall is supposed to be only for world-renowned classical musicians, not for English rock groups. Such a waste of beautiful acoustics!”
I by-passed her lecture and blurted out, “I've got to tell Sadie!”
I thought she was going to explode. “You're-never-to-see-her-again!” she pitched over her shoulder as she exited the room, her chin set at a hi
gh angle, her back ramrod straight.
I stood there stunned. What in the world? My stomach had already taken on my childhood churnings when it suddenly hit me. Their on-again, off-again arguments. Yes, that's all it was. Another spat.
As the line inched forward in front of Carnegie Hall, my heart grew heavy. I guess Leroy had decided not to come after all. I turned to Sam but his eyes had locked onto something past me, off towards the street.
“There he is! He's coming!” Sam shouted.
He had the same dark chocolate skin, same soulful ebony eyes, but Leroy had evolved into a handsome, young man. No longer wearing the White Plains outfit, he sported a pair of black Sears Roebuck's slacks, sneakers, and a knock-off black leather jacket, up-collared to fight off the frigid wind, something the kids at my school would laughingly call a Ghetto Coat. Still, there was something else about him that kept cropping up in my mind, even after the hugs, the chatter about the Beatles, and the cold climate. As we worked our way through the arched openings of the foyer into the hall, I realized what it was. His eyes had turned guarded, ready for bad things to happen.
Inside Carnegie Recital Hall, it was magnificent. Three separate white and gold embossed plaster balconies swirled gently over the orchestra level, and with the people streaming in to take their seats, I could just feel the growing excitement pressurizing the atmosphere. By eight fifteen, the lights had flickered on and off twice and someone had come out on stage with his arms up in the air. The crowd hushed for the first (and last) time that evening, to listen to his words: “Are you ready, America?” Unified gasps broke out.
“Ladies and gentlemen…Here, direct from Liverpool, England are…” He waited a good two seconds. “…the…BEATLES!”
The curtain opened to John, Paul, George, and Ringo and I nearly fell out of my second-tiered seat. The crack of noise was so deafening, people leaping to their feet with flailing arms so jarring, the sustained shrieks so intense, it was a total shock to the system. I kept waiting for the man to come out again, to quiet us down like Principal Thomas always did when kids got too out of control in Assembly, but it never happened. They probably figured it was pointless—the frenzy was too ubiquitous, the raked in piles of ticket money too enticing.
Unexpected Gifts Page 9
