Summer Girls, Love Boys

by Norma Fox Mazer

  Hi. You ready for me?

  The last session? After this you don’t think I have to come back unless I feel like talking? I always feel like talking. But not to you, ha ha.

  Oh. You’re still being serious. Right. Question. Shoot.

  How did I feel after I cried? Do you have to be so personal?

  All right, I’ll answer your question one more time! I didn’t like it. No, I didn’t like crying!

  You’re smart. Can’t you guess why? Don’t you know? If you cry, you could cry everything away. Everything, everything.

  What do I mean?

  I mean what I say. Everything I remember. Everything I feel. If I cry it all away, won’t I forget? Yes, and then—and then Jayne will really be gone, won’t she? That’s my question for you.

  Yes. Yes, yes, I know. You’ve said it to me. It’s a fact. She’s dead, I know—See, I can say it if I want to. She-is-dead. My-sister-is-dead. And I cried. You should be very happy. That’s what you wanted.

  No, there’s no more I want to say.

  Uh-huh, I guess it’s good that I talked about her. If you say so. And cried. Yes. I can see your point. Yes, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll feel better now, yes.

  Only …

  What? I was going to say something else? Oh.

  Oh, just one thing.

  I can’t stop thinking one thing. Do you think it’s fair? That Jayne is dead? Do you really think it’s fair?

  De Angel and De Bow Wow

  At night, as a small girl lying in her narrow bed, rain or snow streaking the window, Bibi heard her mother and her mother’s best friend, Zenetta of the big red arms, talking in the kitchen. She heard the clink of their cups, her mother’s deep voice, and Zenetta’s loud laugh. Outside she heard dogs barking and the ambulance screaming up to the hospital; and in the apartment next door the neighbors singing; and in the little dark front room her grandfather, a thin old man who wore high-top shoes all year round, talking back to the TV. “Basta! Don’t know what your face is saying!”

  Zenetta worked in the Christopher Bakery and always brought a bag of day-old rolls and bread. She had a husband and twin girls and knew everything going on everywhere on Greene Street. It was Zenetta who told them that Ed Wixner, the shoe repairman, went into the hospital for appendix and found out he had cancer. Zenetta who told them every time Mrs. Lillian’s smart lawyer daughter came to visit. And Zenetta who knew first who was getting married, who was dying, and who was going crazy behind the walls of their house.

  Even before Bibi knew Celia or Jimmy, Zenetta brought their names into her mother’s kitchen. Celia was “that gorgeous little Vronsky girl, never says a word. You ever see such big blue eyes?” As for Jimmy DeAngelo and his mother, it seemed to Bibi that Zenetta knew everything there was to know about them. Not only because (according to Zenetta) Mrs. DeAngelo talked constantly about her beautiful Jimmy, but also because they lived in a little run-down place right next door to the Christopher Bakery. Mrs. DeAngelo, Zenetta reported, liked this house because it had a driveway where she could park her white Caddy. Almost everyone else with cars on Greene Street had to park in the road. Mrs. DeAngelo also liked this house because it was cheap rent.

  Mrs. DeAngelo worked in Autolite and made good money, but, Zenetta said, preferred putting it on Jimmy’s back instead of into the pocket of a fat landlord. “That boy is the best-dressed kid around. Nothing but fifty-dollar sweaters for him. You know she’s got another one, older boy, out in San Diego? She don’t care two piffles about him. Not one red cent does that one get out of her.”

  “Doesn’t seem right, a mother not loving her kids the same,” Bibi’s mother said.

  “Doesn’t,” Zenetta agreed. “Now, me, I can’t choose between the twins. Sometimes can’t even tell the difference between them. He”—this was the way she referred to her husband at all times—“can’t ever tell the difference.” But talking about her own family was never as agreeable to Zenetta as talking about others. She went back to the DeAngelos. “That older boy, he cleared out so soon as he was sixteen. Whoosh! He was gone.”

  In her bedroom Bibi heard her mother sigh. “Life ain’t easy.”

  “Yeah,” Zenetta answered, “but it’s all we got.” And then the two of them laughed together in such a jolly manner that Bibi knew that what she wished for more than anything in the world, more even than a doctor kit or a Barbie doll, was also to have a best friend.

  In kindergarten she met Celia Vronsky when they were put next to each other in the Listening Circle because of their names. First came Andrew, then Bibi. Next Celia, then David, and so on. That was the way Bibi learned her alphabet—Andrew Bibi Celia David, but then the Listening Circle jumped to Frankie, and she always did have to stop a moment and put the E in there between the D and the F.

  Every day for the first week they were in kindergarten, Celia cried her heart out. Just sat in her chair in the Listening Circle or stood next to the big red blocks or near the door, crying. One day Miss Loden said, “Celia Vronsky, if you don’t stop crying, I’m going to put you in the cloakroom and close the door.” Celia cried harder. Bibi, who didn’t like the dark cloakroom, said, “Miss Loden, don’t you do that!”

  Miss Loden had black hair in a big puff on top of her head. “Bibi Paladino, you’ll be next if you talk to me like that.”

  Miss Loden didn’t scare Bibi, but she thought if Celia had to go in the cloakroom she’d never, ever stop crying. She whispered, “If Miss Loden puts you in the cloakroom, I’ll go in, too.” And she squeezed Celia’s damp hand. After that she was the only one who could get Celia to stop crying.

  Everything about the two girls was different. Sometimes, as they got older, Bibi said, “You and me make just one perfect person.” Because she had all the nerve and Celia had all the looks: a delicate blond girl with eyes like blue fish. She was so beautiful that Bibi often wanted to put her arm around her friend out of sheer admiration and joy, but Celia would stiffen and look frightened. “I don’t like to be touched,” she explained once.

  “We’re sure vice and versa,” Bibi said. She loved hugging and jumping around and kissing. Her grandfather was always calling to her mother, “Marie, stop this skinny little devil.” In the morning Bibi would grab the old man and kiss him and nuzzle his neck. “Oooh, Grandpa, I like the way you smell.” And evenings, if her mother wasn’t too tired, she’d sit down in the front room with the TV on and Bibi would sit in her lap. Even when she got to be a pretty big girl, Bibi would still sit in her mother’s lap to watch TV.

  Bibi and Celia played all the usual games—jacks, potsy, king-of-the-hill, red rover, and their own private games, too. They’d play What-do-you-wish-for-most-in-the-world? Celia would say, “I want to live someplace quiet and nice, have my own house, and people have to knock on the door to get in.”

  Bibi would say, “I want to go places, and see everything, and have all the money, and buy clothes and furniture and all the stuff I want.”

  When they were nine years old, they made a pact. “Let’s never get married, Bibi,” Celia said.

  “It’s okay with me.”

  “You gotta swear.”

  “I swear,” Bibi said.

  “You swear on your life?”

  “I swear on my life.”

  “You won’t ever forget?” Celia said.

  Bibi shook her head.

  “Say it,” Celia said.

  “I won’t ever forget.” Later, when she was a little older and dreamed about getting married in a long white gown, she didn’t want to tell Celia.

  “Were you a beautiful bride?” Bibi asked her mother.

  “Sure,” Marie said, “and your father was as handsome as a movie star.” Their wedding picture was right on top of the TV in a gold-leaf frame. “I wish you knew your father, honey,” Marie said. “He was a sweet, sweet boy.”

  Bibi’s mother almost got married once more. She met Red when he came to fix the drying machines in the WE-R-FAST CLEANERS where Marie worked. Re
d told her jokes and funny stories, took her to the movies and once to dinner at The Clamshell. The next week he came to dinner at their house. He called Bibi “Bibi Biscuits” and gave her fifty cents. Pretty soon he was coming to eat with them almost every night.

  “Geez,” Bibi told Celia, “he’s got red hair and freckles all over. I bet he’s even got red hair on his butt.”

  “You’re crazy, Bibi,” Celia said, and she laughed so hard she got the hiccups.

  Bibi liked Red’s jokes and how much he made her mother laugh. But after a while some of his jokes didn’t seem that funny. He’d come in, wipe his feet on the kitchen mat, look at Bibi, shake his head a long time, and say, “Now, who’s this ugly kid? What’s she doing here?” Once, in a low voice, he said, “You’re creepy-looking.” Bibi couldn’t be sure if she really heard him say that, because the next moment, in a honey voice, he said, “Supper ready, Marie?”

  “Not yet, Red.”

  “Okay, I’ll go clean up.” Every night Red went into the bathroom, stayed there for maybe an hour. Grandpa’s bladder wasn’t so good, he had to pee a lot, and he’d hang around the bathroom door, knocking now and then. “You going to stay in there all night?” A while later, another knock. “Somebody else here needs to use the place.”

  “Hang on to your pants, old man!”

  Right then Bibi’s mother would bang down a pot lid or slam a cupboard door. She’d be in the kitchen fixing something good to eat, wearing her old yellow sneakers with the toes poking through. As soon as Red came out, she’d say, “You think that’s a nice way to talk to an old man?”

  “He bugs me,” Red whined.

  “That’s my father, and you’re gonna respect him. Don’t forget, this is my house.”

  “You tell the bum, Marie,” Bibi’s grandfather yelled from the bathroom.

  One night at the table Red started talking about what a funny-looking kid Bibi was, just kept talking like that, not noticing how Bibi’s mother and grandfather were giving him evil looks. “Marie, you’re a big, good-looking woman. How’d you ever get a skinny, ugly kid like this Bibi?” The grandfather slapped him on the side of the head. Red yelled. Bibi’s mother yelled louder. After that Red didn’t come back.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Bibi’s mother said to Zenetta.

  And Celia told Bibi, “You’re lucky he’s gone. You don’t want to have a stepfather. Like me.”

  “Why not?” Bibi said. But that was all Celia would say about it. But Red had been right about one thing. Bibi was skinny, and there was nothing pretty or pleasing about her pinched-up little penny of a face, the eyes set too close, the nose too big. Sometimes, in school, the boys made elephant noises when they passed her. And once, in the cafeteria, a whole tableful of boys had gagged at sight of her.

  “How come I’m not pretty?” she asked her mother.

  “Who cares about pretty?” Marie said. “You got spirit. You got something better than pretty.” And she spit out of the side of her mouth to show Bibi what she thought about pretty.

  “Celia’s pretty,” Bibi said. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Celia’s always crying,” her mother said.

  “Not so much, anymore,” Bibi said loyally. The older Celia got, the prettier she’d become. In the streets people were always looking at her and smiling. Teachers made her their favorite, and boys didn’t leave her alone. But Celia would bite her fingers and say, “They don’t know me, Bibi. You’re the only one I love. The only one I can talk to.”

  Bibi and Celia agreed they didn’t care about that pretty/homely stuff. They just liked being together.

  The fall they were both eleven, the Parks Department put on a Halloween Fair in Greene Street playground. There were booths, prizes, games, and races. The first thing they saw was a banner: SIGN HERE FOR BEAUTY CONTEST. “Celia, you gotta enter,” Bibi said.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” And Celia started biting her fingers.

  “You gotta, ’cause you would win.”

  “Oh, no, no, don’t say it, Bibi.”

  “Maybe you’d win five dollars,” Bibi argued. But when she saw how upset Celia was, she relented. “Never mind, we’ll do something else.” And to make Celia laugh, she said, “I’ll go skin up the greased pole.”

  Just then a boy ran into Bibi and thumped her hard on the back. “Clumsy turkey, David Kowalski,” Bibi yelled after him. “I’ll knock your block off.” Then another boy ran by her, looked at her, and barked. More boys ran by, laughing and barking at her. “Bow wow! Bow wow!”

  Celia found the piece of paper stuck on Bibi’s back. I’M A DOG. BARK IF YOU AGREE. Celia’s face got red and she started to rip the paper.

  “Hey, gimme that,” Bibi said. Her belly felt as if she’d just eaten a piece of her grandfather’s stinky cheese. She stuck the sign square on her chest.

  “What’re you doing?” Celia said.

  “It’s my sign,” Bibi said, and she spit out of the corner of her mouth.

  Celia’s lips wobbled. “You’re crazy.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am, just crazy old Bibi,” Bibi agreed, and she wore the sign the whole time they were at the fair. I’M A DOG. BARK IF YOU AGREE.

  One of the boys that had barked at her was Jimmy DeAngelo, who lived down the street with his mother, next to the Christopher Bakery. Half the girls in school were in love with Jimmy, a boy with long-lashed dark eyes and good manners. Girls clustered around him in school and hung around outside his house, looking around and laughing a lot. Celia and Bibi talked about Jimmy, too. “Do you think he’s conceited?” “Do you think he’s stuck-up?”

  They had a secret name for Jimmy—De Angel. Bibi said to Celia, “You and De Angel have to get together.”

  “Oh, no, not me,” Celia cried.

  Then they’d play a game, man and woman, and take turns being De Angel. When it was Celia’s turn to be De Angel, she’d touch her fingers to Bibi’s and say, “Oh, Bibi, I adore you, do you want to marry me?”

  Bibi, on cue, would answer, “Jimmy De Angel, I promised my best friend I would never get married.” Celia would then be caught between a frown in her role as De Angel and a smile, as herself, at Bibi’s answer. And Bibi couldn’t resist adding, “But, my lovely De Angel, we can still have fun together.” When it was her turn to be De Angel, she’d put her arms around Celia, but very lightly, very carefully, so as not to make her nervous, and say, “Oh, Celia, you are so beautiful and I am so handsome, we are like two movie stars, ain’t it true we make the perfect couple?”

  Celia’s answer never varied. “Jimmy De Angel, I don’t care to get married to any man!”

  By now Bibi knew that Celia’s stepfather, whom her mother finally kicked out, used to bother Celia. Bibi was the only person who knew this. Celia had sworn her to silence. They had taken a blood oath: jabbed needles into their fingers and mixed their blood.

  All through junior high and into high school they remained best friends. Sometimes, after they’d talked on the phone for an hour or two, Marie would say, “I don’t know what you’d do without Celia, Bibi.”

  The summer they were sixteen, Celia and Bibi worked at K mart and saved their money, going to the bank to deposit together every Friday. They agreed that as soon as they had enough money they’d take a trip to either Mexico or Alaska, whichever one Bibi decided on. Then they’d save some more money and buy a house and live in it together. Celia’s mother had married again, and although her new stepfather was okay, Celia still thought about having her own place. “Promise you’ll come live with me, Bibi.”

  “I don’t hafta promise. Who else would have me?” Bibi laughed. She always laughed when she said things like that. At sixteen Celia was more beautiful than she’d ever been, while Bibi was just as skinny and just as plain. Ugly was her secret word for herself, but she couldn’t say that around her mother or Celia without their yelling at her.

  Every day that summer they took the bus downtown to work, and every night they took it home. Bibi studied maps
and Celia, biting a pencil, checked out the real-estate ads and furniture sales. Neither one spent money on anything, aside from a few movies. They planned to continue working when school started, and agreed that if anyone wanted to give them birthday presents, from now on it should be money to add to their trip and house fund.

  Then, right after the summer, the week before school started, Celia’s family moved to Alaska, where Ted, her stepfather, had a new job on the pipeline. Nobody had even told Celia they were going to move. “They’re leaving right away and I have to go with them.” Celia was crying so hard, nothing Bibi said could stop her. Three days later she was gone.

  It was as if someone had suddenly stuck Bibi in a box. Cut off her air. Locked her in. There was a pain in her chest. She wanted to drop out of school, but Marie asked her to stick it out for a while. “You’ll make another friend,” Marie said.

  It rained all through September. Rained all through October. The newspaper said it was the wettest September and October in history. In November it turned cold. Bibi didn’t care about the weather. She had stopped crying, went back and forth to school, and worked weekends at K mart. But the pain in her chest was still there.

  One morning, when she got out of bed, she looked out the window and saw the telephone lines sagging with ice. Up and down Greene Street, cars were coated with ice, tree limbs had snapped, and the sidewalk was as sleek and smooth as a skating rink. Bibi wondered if this was what Alaska was like. Everything was closed down—schools, shops, and stores. Her mother didn’t go in to work; they all stayed in the kitchen, listening to the radio and eating fried tomatoes and eggs.

  Zenetta came over later, sat down at the table, folded her big red arms, and said, “Did you hear? Did you hear about poor Mrs. DeAngelo? I found her.” Despite the storm, Zenetta had been on her way to work. Inching along the slick sidewalk, she had almost passed the DeAngelos’ little house when she saw something lying in the driveway next to the white Caddy. “At first, I thought it was a dog, something like that. Wasn’t even gonna stop, it was so slippery.” When she investigated, she found Mrs. DeAngelo, half under the car, still wearing her robe and slippers, her head cracked open. The ambulance came, but even though the hospital was just down the street, it was too late. “I bet she went outside to check on her car,” Zenetta said. “Make sure the storm hadn’t damaged it. Slipped on the ice, and that was it.” Zenetta snapped her fingers.