“You make it awfully hard to get off the ground,” Al told me in a cross tone. “After all, your grandfather’s a man of the world. I can just see him, dressed in an opera cape and top hat, drinking champagne out of some showgirl’s slipper.” A small smile creased Al’s face. “I can see him cruising through Central Park at midnight in a horse-drawn carriage. His companion has skin like milk and wears diamonds around her throat, her wrist and her ankles. She has on so many diamonds she clanks when she moves.” Al got up and imitated the showgirl decorated with diamonds.
“And following your grandfather’s horse-drawn carriage, in hot pursuit,” Al stomped her feet loudly, “is another horse-drawn carriage bearing a jealous suitor of your grandfather’s companion. He is tailing them to their tryst and plans on challenging your grandfather to a duel.”
“I don’t think my grandfather was even alive when they challenged people to duels,” I said.
But, oblivious to my protests, Al crossed her hands on her chest, and with a soulful expression on her face she broke into “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” which she’d picked up from some late late movie starring Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald.
When she’d finished and, exhausted, slumped onto my bed, I said, “There’s always Monopoly,” but Al only sighed deeply and said, “Oh, to have been young when men were men and women weren’t liberated.”
Then she sat up suddenly.
“But, when you come right down to it,” Al’s eyes flashed angrily, “who wants some nerd drinking champagne out of their shoe? Brian would never do such a dumb thing.”
How come we always wound up back at the same old place, Brian city?
“Yeah,” I said, giving her a wide yawn, “they’d probably throw him out of the 4-H Club if he did.”
chapter 11
At dusk my mother and I watched the outbound traffic clog the streets. It was the start of Labor Day weekend and, like lemmings fleeing to the sea, the cars were fleeing to the country. The horizon wore a stripe of pale orange, which might mean rain. From where we stood at the window on the fourteenth floor we could barely hear the horns blaring, and the cars looked harmless, even quaint.
“Thank God we’re not among them,” my father said fervently, on his way to the kitchen to make his special horseradish sauce. When he’d gone, I said to my mother, “What about Teddy?”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” she said in a vague way. My mother is hardly ever vague, and when she is, watch out. It means trouble.
“Whayda mean, he’ll be fine? Where’s he staying while the party’s on?”
“Here,” my mother said. “And Hubie will be here to keep him company.” With that, she skimmed across the room, away from me. I skimmed after her.
“What gives?” I asked. “I thought you were farming Teddy out. Now we get Hubie thrown in for bad measure. Quel bummer.” I clutched my head, expecting no sympathy, which was good, as none was forthcoming.
“They’ll be fine,” my mother said. “I’ll feed them early, and we’ll move the television into our room so they can watch it there. Hubie’s mother asked if he could stay here since she has out-of-town visitors and needs all the beds. She’s done so many favors for me I couldn’t refuse. Don’t worry.” She patted my shoulder. “It will be a grand party. One to make you proud. One Al will always remember.”
“How could you let this happen, God?” I asked.
“Beats me,” Teddy piped up.
I swung at him and missed. My hand grazed the wall. I yelped, and Teddy grinned and fled. I escaped down the hall.
I rang Al’s bell three times. They must be out. Just when I had about given up, the door opened slowly. A disembodied hand bearing a small square of white crept toward me. It said, “Mother Zandi, Swami. By appt. only.”
“I have an appointment,” I said in a loud voice. The door creaked open farther. Al had painted a huge, gleaming red mouth over her own pale lips. Her eyes, ringed with mascara, peered blearily out at me. A black satin turban hid all her hair, except for a couple of wisps of bangs. When she smiled I saw her mouth had leaked onto her teeth and made them pink. She looked about fifty years old.
“Enter,” she said in a swami voice. “Mother Zandi says watch for false friends today. Mother Zandi also says do not spend money you don’t have, as this leads to bankruptcy.”
“Hey, I know all that,” I said. “I was just coming up for air. It’s getting pretty hairy at home. You look great. Not a day over thirteen and a half.”
“Come in, my child, and we will sit in the hot tub for a spell.” I followed Al inside. The living room was dim, curtains drawn. Candles sputtered on a table.
“You are some nut,” I said.
“Disrespect of Mother Zandi will lead to mayhem,” she whispered. “Mother Zandi’s bunions are buzzing, and she must sit down. Sit with me, and I will tell you your future.”
The doorbell rang. We both jumped.
“Sign here,” the delivery boy said, looking at his pad. When Al signed, he handed over the long thin bundle.
“What is it?” Al said.
“Flowers. By Vivian. ‘Every posy a poem,’ Viv says. But these days who knows? Maybe it’s a cobra lying inside waiting for you weirdos to unwrap him so’s he can take a chomp on you. Have a good day,” and he tipped his hat and whistled his way to the elevator.
We zapped inside and laid the package on the table.
“I think I saw it move,” I said.
“Smell it,” Al suggested.
“What does a cobra smell like?”
“Like any old snake. Here.” Al slit the wrapping open with a scissors. A dozen long-stemmed roses lay inside.
Al picked out the card and read, “Sorry to miss the party. All love, Stan.”
“Oh, boy,” Al said. “What does ‘All love’ mean? Is that the same as ‘All my love,’ or does it go deeper than that?”
“I have to split,” I said. “My mother will be combing the bullrushes for me. Have a good day, like the man said.”
“Have a weird day, comrade,” Al told me, and filled a vase with water for the roses.
chapter 12
A party is always more work than you think it’ll be. My mother whirled around like a dervish, my father worked on his horseradish sauce, aiming for perfection. Teddy twisted his hair into corkscrews, the way he does when he’s coming down with something, and made listless passes at the freezer compartment, threatening to start in on the ice cream. Just before six, the bell rang. It was the same delivery boy who’d delivered the roses to Al’s mother.
“Hey,” he said when he saw me, “long time no see. More posies from Viv.” It was a centerpiece for the table from Al’s mother. My mother stood back to admire it and said she’d never seen anything so exquisite.
“I think I oughta be videotaped,” Teddy whined, conscious of losing center stage.
“What for?” I asked.
“On account of if anybody ever kidnaps me they’ll know how to find me if I’m videotaped. I saw it on TV. Hubie says he’s already been videotaped.”
“Anybody ever kidnaps you, kid,” I reassured him, “they’ll have you back within the hour. Don’t worry about a thing.”
My mother rested her cheek against the back of Teddy’s neck. “He hasn’t got a fever,” she said, “but he looks flushed.”
“It’s all the excitement,” my father said.
The doorbell rang again, and I said, “more posies from Viv, probably.” But it was Al. Cheeks flaming, she wore her party dress, brand-new for the big event. “She just gave it to me,” Al said.
“We’ll almost be twins,” I told her. Her dress was a lot like mine except that it had blue stripes instead of black, and different sleeves.
“I love the way it whispers when I walk,” I said. “It makes me feel like Scarlett O’Hara.”
“Yeah, well, mine makes me feel like Rhett Butler,” Al told me. But I could tell from the way her eyes sparkled she felt good in her new dress. “And frankly, my dear,” Al went on, “
I don’t give a you-know-what.”
“What’s you-know-what mean?” Teddy asked.
“Next time Gone with the Wind’s on the tube, Ted, catch it and you’ll find out. I’m not allowed to swear around the junior jet set.”
“In October,” Teddy bragged, “I’m hitting the double digits. I’m gonna be ten. When you go from nine to ten, you hit the double digits.”
“Right you are,” Al said. “Going from nine to ten is almost as earth-shaking as going from thirteen to fourteen.”
“And going from forty to fifty is even more earthshaking,” my father said. “How’s the birthday girl, Al? Do we call you Alexandra now? No more Al, I bet. You’re getting too sophisticated for Al, so Alexandra it is.”
Al gave me a piercer and mouthed, “You told!” at me.
“I did not,” I protested. “He thought that up all by himself.”
“Thought what up?” my father asked. The bell rang again, and this time it was Hubie. Backpack, hiking boots, and all.
“Come on in, Spiderman,” I told Hubie.
Hubie’s blond hair flopped into his blue eyes. His sweet, rosy little mouth smiled, and his dimples danced. Hubie was a terror.
“Don’t anybody sit down,” my mother warned. “I just plumped up all the down cushions and everything’s perfect. Leave it that way.”
“What’s for supper, Mom?” Teddy asked.
“Hamburgers for you two.”
“I had hamburgers for lunch,” came from Hubie.
“I thought your mother doesn’t believe in meat,” Teddy said.
“She changed her mind,” said Hubie.
Al headed for the door. “I better go home and get doozied up,” she said.
“I thought you were doozied up,” my father told her.
“I am, but I’m not finished yet.”
“You wearing those shoes?” Teddy asked, showing off for Hubie. Al had on her clunky red shoes. “I thought they made your behind wiggle,” Teddy said. He and Hubie broke into gales of laughter. Al blushed furiously. Teddy must’ve overheard Al and me talking about her red shoes, which did sometimes make her behind wiggle, but it was certainly none of Teddy’s business.
“Get lost, troglodyte,” I said, and he and Hubie disappeared, probably to lay plans to blow up the Statue of Liberty.
The bell rang again. When I answered, the same old delivery boy said, “Hey, fate throws us together once more,” and thrust yet another bouquet of posies from Vivian into my hands.
“They’re for you, Al,” I said. The delivery boy, feeling, by now, like an old friend of the family, stepped inside, leaned over my shoulder to read the card, and said, “Yeah, from somebody named Stan.”
“Holy Toledo,” Al said softly, looking slightly fuzzy around the edges, “and the party hasn’t even begun.”
“This guy Stan really knows how to overdo it, doesn’t he?” I said.
“Yeah, he sure does,” Al said, smiling. “But he overdoes in such a tasteful way, n’est-ce-pas?”
chapter 13
Polly arrived at six-thirty, carrying the cake, which was done up to resemble an Egyptian mummy. “I took a cab,” Polly told us, “’cause I was afraid it might get crushed on the bus.”
Slowly, slowly, she peeled off the layers of tin foil and plastic wrap. We all stood silent, tongue-tied in admiration.
The cake must’ve had three layers, maybe more. Every inch was covered with a magnificent dark-chocolate frosting. Polly had decorated it with hearts and flowers and squiggles. AL IS FOURTEEN was written in pale pink icing.
It was a work of art.
“We won’t eat it,” my father said. “We’ll put it under glass.” We broke up, as if he’d said something hysterically funny. Excitement was high. It wasn’t every day we gave a birthday party for Al, every day we had a rib roast in the oven, every day we had Al’s mother coming to our house for dinner. My grandfather arrived shortly before seven. He had a present for Al, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. We were giving her a little black suede shoulder bag with a tiny rhinestone clasp. I would’ve loved such a bag. I never go anywhere, but still.
At five past seven, the doorbell rang. It wasn’t Al’s special ring, so I thought, Oh, no, more flowers. But there they were: Al and her mother. Al looked beautiful. Her hair was off her forehead and swept to one side. She looked about sixteen. Her cheeks flamed, her eyes shone, her feet wouldn’t stay still. She had on black suede shoes with little heels. They would be perfect with the bag. She had on panty hose, and they didn’t even wrinkle at the ankles. She looked soignée. When we got a minute alone, I’d tell her so.
Al’s mother, dressed in a floaty red dress, also looked soignée, but then she always does. Al stood aside to let her mother enter first. Al’s mother smelled delicious. She must’ve taken a bath.
Why? Is one missing?
That was one of my father’s golden oldie jokes.
Did you take a bath? No, is one missing? The things they laughed at, back in the dark ages!
As Al, guest of honor, followed her mother into our living room, I heard her say, so softly only I could hear, “Ta dah!” That almost broke me up.
Polly was a tremendous guest, small-talking with the oldsters like a real pro. And I was proud of my grandfather. He looked positively ambassadorial in his striped suit that, he told me once, he wore only to weddings and funerals. Well, this was neither. As Al pointed out, he probably didn’t get invited to too many birthday parties. At his age.
Everybody, including me, I thought smugly, looked elegant. Except Teddy, who was chained to the TV set with his buddy, Hubie. At first everybody also seemed to be moving in slow motion, like in a dream. Then they relaxed. The grown-ups had drinks while Polly, Al, and I slurped iced tea. I watched Al watching her mother out of the corner of her eye. She wanted her mother to have a good time and get along with my parents. That’s only natural. When you have a best friend, you always want her mother to get along with yours. It’s very unrealistic, however, to think that your parents and your friend’s parents will socialize. The chances of them having anything in common are about zilch. Still, it would be nice if they did.
I was interested to see that Al’s mother was slightly on edge at first. I didn’t know that grown-ups sometimes become unraveled, just the way kids do, in a new and strange situation. I thought all grown-ups were cool. But I could tell she wasn’t quite comfortable. Not at first, that is. And my own mother and father were also slightly off kilter. It was Polly and my grandfather who pulled things together. Both of them were real pros: Polly because she’d led such a sophisticated life—traveled so much and lived in lots of exotic places. And my grandfather because he was a kind man, a real gentleman, who knew how to make people comfortable. My mother, I knew, was worried about the dinner turning out right, and my father was the host and so preoccupied with his job of filling glasses and passing things that he couldn’t be totally concerned with the guests.
My grandfather liked Al’s mother. I could tell. Every time she said something, he gave her his complete attention, leaning toward her, his eyes on her face. He made her feel like a star, I think. I’d never seen my grandfather with a total stranger before. Only with Mrs. Oakley, whom he’d known a while, as well as with other people he’d known for some time. He’d only just met Al’s mother. What a scene. I loved it. Once I caught Al looking at her mother and my grandfather, and she was smiling. Her mother was having a good time, and that made her happy.
After a certain amount of scurrying back and forth to the kitchen to check on things, my mother announced dinner was served. Not only did we have candles and flowers and linen napkins and tablecloth and roast beef, we also had place cards. That was my idea. I thought place cards were the cat’s meow. It was like being at the palace when you had place cards. I don’t know what palace, exactly, but you know what I mean.
My mother had me do the place cards, since my handwriting is much better than hers. When I go slowly, take my time, mine’s qui
te classy. Hers is like chicken tracks.
Despite the place cards, my mother said, “You’re here, Virginia,” to Al’s mother. I didn’t know she even knew what Al’s mother’s name was. “And Dad, you’re next to Virginia. Polly, dear, will you sit here, please, and Al, you’re here.” My mother indicated the chair next to my father.
Out in the kitchen, I hissed, “Don’t you think Al should open her presents now?”
“No,” my mother hissed back. “After dinner. More festive.”
The rib roast was carried out with ceremony. And reigned like a visiting dignitary. The little roasted new potatoes, which I’d coated with my finely chopped parsley, plus the asparagus, brought forth a chorus of oooohs and ahs. Even Polly looked impressed. My father’s special horseradish sauce, heaped into a little silver bowl, was splendid.
My father said grace, as he always does. Then everyone drank a toast to Al’s health and happiness and continued longevity. “And may you always be as happy as right at this minute, Al,” my father told her. Al blushed. The dinner commenced. My father began to carve. Slice after slice of the beef, paper thin and done to the perfect shade of pink, fell under his knife.
I can’t exactly explain, but it was beautiful. All the vibes were good. It was one of those perfect times you remember. Al talked and laughed, and once or twice I caught her just sitting still, looking around the table at all the faces, all of us gathered here in her honor. Maybe she was thinking of her father, wishing he and his gang were all here. Maybe she wished Brian was here, too. Anyway, it was great.
Polly and I cleared the salad plates. We wouldn’t let Al help. Then we put the presents in front of Al. She looked a little embarrassed to be the cynosure of all eyes.
“This will give you a chance to work up an appetite for the ice cream and cake, Al,” my mother said. My father tapped a spoon against his glass and said, “Hear ye, hear ye,” and Al opened her presents. Ours came first. She nearly went ape. “I’ve never had one like this!” she gasped, and got up and kissed my mother and father, saying, “Thanks, thanks.” For one awful moment, I was afraid she might kiss me, too. But she didn’t.
Just Plain Al: The Al Series, Book Five Page 5
