by M. E. Kerr
For Christmas, my mother had ordered an electric blanket from Sears for my Aunt Faith. It was supposed to arrive by bus late that afternoon. Around five o’clock, my mother and I piled into her old Oldsmobile and headed for the depot.
“I always feel sorry for poor Faith at Christmas,” my mother said en route. “I think of all the Christmases when you were a little tyke and poor Faith had no child.”
“I know a lot of kids who plan never to get married,” I said. Actually, I didn’t, but I’d read about it in magazines.
“Every woman wants to get married, Brenda Belle.”
“What about woman’s liberation?”
“That’s just television talk-show fantasy, Brenda Belle. That’s just a lot of talk from New York City. Women are very hard there, and they’re not typical. Actresses and slutty types.”
“Maybe I’ll move to New York after I get out of school,” I said, thinking maybe I’d move to New York before I got out of school.
“You wouldn’t be happy in a big city, dear. People aren’t friendly, and all the men are married.”
“Nobody’d nag me about getting married, though.”
“Nobody will nag you here, either. Do you think I’m nagging you? Would you rather I just ignored you, and let you grow up to be some lonely woman who’s missed out on life? Do you want to become someone like Ella Early?”
She didn’t wait for my answer. She said, “If I didn’t have you, Brenda Belle, I’d consider myself a failure.”
“But what if I turn out bad?”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” she said, giving my knee a little squeeze.
“There is such a thing as a dud avocado,” I said. “You can lavish all the care in the world on it, but it just won’t come up like the rest.”
“You’re not an avocado,” my mother said, which was about the only reassuring word I’d heard all day.
After my mother parked the car, we walked down to the hotel on Central Avenue. The bus depot was next to the hotel. The bus was just pulling up when I saw Adam Blessing waiting near the benches out in front.
“That’s Adam Blessing in the navy pea jacket,” I said to my mother.
“This is your chance to introduce me,” she said.
The bus was letting off passengers. I tried to get Adam’s attention by waving both my hands over my head.
My mother pulled down my left one. “Wave with one hand, not both,” she said. “Don’t appear too eager.”
A woman in furs got off the bus, and Adam made a dive for her. They hugged each other and the woman kissed him several times on the cheek.
My mother said, “That woman looks very familiar.”
She was a tall woman with golden hair, the sort of woman who looks like she’s wallowing in money. The fur was mink. Her coat was open, and there was a huge gold necklace against a white cashmere sweater. She wore a black-and-white scarf with tiny red hearts on it, and her fingers were loaded with gold rings, one with an enormous diamond the size of a radish.
My mother and I stood right next to them.
“Oh, A.J.! A.J.! How good to see you!” the woman was shouting.
Then Adam looked up and saw me.
He looked flustered.
My mother was saying to herself, “I know her. I know I know her.”
I knew I knew her, too.
“Hi, Adam!” I said.
“Hello, Brenda Belle.”
“This is my mother,” I said.
“How do you do, Mrs. Blossom,” he said.
“I’m glad to meet you, Adam,” she said. She looked at the woman then and said, “Aren’t you—”
Adam interrupted. “This is Mrs. Waite. Mrs. Waite, this is Brenda Belle Blossom and Mrs. Blossom.”
“How do you do,” she said.
My mother said, “I could have sworn you were Billie Kay Case, the famous old-time movie actress.”
Adam winced at the word “old-time.”
Billie Kay Case smiled at my mother and said, “People are always telling me that. Thank you very much, but I’m afraid I have to disappoint you.”
“It’s a remarkable resemblance,” my mother said. “Even your voice.”
“Do you hear that, A.J.?” Billie Kay Case said to Adam. “I should be very flattered.”
“I have a taxi waiting,” Adam said. “Grandpa Blessing’s expecting us, Mrs. Waite.”
“Oh, no, honey, no!” Billie Kay Case said. “I’m not ready to meet your grandfather until tomorrow. I’m dead, honey. All I want is a hot bath in a quiet hotel room, and a whole evening with nothing to do.”
“But he’s made a punch and stuff to eat!” Adam protested.
“No way, honey,” she said. “You just point me toward the hotel and we’ll call it a day for now. I need my beauty sleep.”
“We trimmed a tree and everything,” Adam kept protesting.
“You just get Janice down from the coat rack inside the bus, honey,” she told Adam, “and that will be that for now. I can’t meet the public when I’ve just popped off a Greyhound, love. You understand, love.”
In an aside, my mother said, “Someone’s probably told her too often that she resembles Billie Kay Case. She’s beginning to believe it. She’s picked up all her mannerisms. Pathetic.”
I didn’t say anything. I remembered that Adam had asked me not to tell anyone she was in Storm.
While Adam went inside the bus for whatever Janice was, I said, “Are you staying in Storm long, Mrs. Waite?”
“No. Only through tomorrow,” she said.
My mother said, “I guess I’d better ask the driver about our package,” and she went around to the back of the bus.
Billie Kay Case asked me, “Are you a friend of Adam’s, dear?”
“I guess I’m his best friend in Storm,” I said, wanting her to like me. I was really excited, knowing who she was and having it a secret.
“Then you should take my place tonight,” Billie Kay Case said. She looked over her shoulder at Adam, who was coming out of the bus carrying a small animal case. “Adam!” she called out. “I have a divine idea!”
“What is it?” he said, setting the case down on the snowy sidewalk.
“Not on the sidewalk, honey,” Billie Kay Case said. “I don’t want Janice to freeze. Pick her up, love. . . . Listen, sweetheart, why don’t you invite Betty Belle here to take my place tonight?”
“Brenda Belle,” I said.
“She’s going to a party,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I was uninvited.”
“You were invited,” he said. “You told me so.”
“Then I was uninvited,” I said.
“You see, love?” Billie Kay Case said. “It works out perfectly! Betty Belle will go back in the taxi with you.”
“She can’t,” Adam said. “She’s with her mother.”
My mother suddenly materialized. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said (she never could), “and I think that’s a lovely idea. You have my permission, dear.”
“Perfect!” Billie Kay Case said. “Then it’s all settled.”
“I don’t think he wants—” I tried to say.
“Fine!” my mother interrupted. “Don’t stay too late, dear.”
From the Journal of A.
I was disappointed that Billie Kay wouldn’t come back with me, because I had an idea Grandpa Blessing was really looking forward to meeting her.
“Does she go under the name ‘Mrs. Waite’ a lot?” Brenda Belle asked me in the taxi.
“Well, she used to be married to this man who was never around,” I said. “She was always waiting for him, and we got the idea to call her ‘Mrs. Waite’ then.”
“I know who she married,” Brenda Belle said. Then she named my father.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s who she married. I was their neighbor.”
“Did you ever meet him, Adam?”
“Sure,” I said. “I told you. We were neighbors.”
&nbs
p; “Oh wow! What’s he like?”
“He’s like anyone,” I said.
“He’s not like anyone,” Brenda Belle said. “How could he be like anyone? He’s practically more important than the President of the United States of America!”
“Okay,” I said. “He is a big man. I won’t deny that. His jokes are always funny, even when they’re not.”
“What does that remark mean?” Brenda Belle asked me.
“It’s something he used to say about rich people,” I told her. “It’s a verse he liked to recite. ‘Money is honey, my little sonny, and a rich man’s joke is always funny.’ ”
Brenda Belle sighed. She said, “You’ve had kind of an interesting life, haven’t you, Adam? I mean, being expelled from a private school, and living next door to famous people. Nothing much has happened in my life. That’s why I’m such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess,” I said. “Anyway, maybe things will start to happen.”
“That’s unlikely,” she said. “Do you feel like you’ve been forced into this evening by my mother and Billie Kay?”
“No, I don’t feel that way,” I said. “It is Christmas Eve, after all. And my grandfather is expecting company.”
“I’m glad that I refused to go to Christine Cutler’s,” she said.
“You said you were uninvited.”
“I just said that because my mother and Billie Kay were standing there,” she said. “The truth is I refused to go. I said that I wouldn’t go anywhere where you weren’t wanted.”
“Really?” I looked at her with an uncontrollable smile tipping my lips.
“Certainly,” she said. “One thing I am is loyal.”
I reached over and took her hand. I’m a real sucker for loyalty. I’m a loyalty freak. I’ve seen too many examples of people not sticking up for their own, or people walking out on their own, or people just forgetting their own. I believe you ought to stand by, stick with and stay near the people you picked out to be your friends or your lovers. With relatives, it’s different, maybe; you can’t always put your heart in it because you never chose them, but you shouldn’t let anyone trash your own blood either, unless you’re related to men who run wars or women who’re mean to little children, people like that.
“Brenda Belle,” I said, “stay around.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
When we arrived at my grandfather’s, he wasn’t there. There was this note on the kitchen table:
I am off paying my Christmas respects to old friends. Please enjoy my home, punch bowl and repast. Season’s Greetings. C.B.
The words didn’t even sound like Grandpa Blessing; they sounded stilted and phony, and I realized he probably imagined I’d read the note to Billie Kay. I wondered who he meant by “old friends,” since as far as I knew, my grandfather had no friends in Storm.
“What repast is he referring to?” Brenda Belle asked me. “I’m starving.”
“It’s just some salami and some cheese and hard bread,” I said.
“I’d love to,” Brenda Belle said.
“I guess Grandpa decided to give me time to be with Billie Kay alone.”
“I’ll bet this is the dullest Christmas she’s ever spent,” said Brenda Belle. “No offense, Adam, but you know what I mean.”
Then she saw the tree. “Oh my Glory! Adam! Beer cans!”
“We made it,” I said defensively. “We like it.” Brenda Belle began this little conversation with herself and her imitation of her mother. “Did you have a good time, dear? . . . Oh my yes, Mother, we sat before the tree of beer cans! . . . I beg your pardon, dear, I thought you said something that sounded like— . . . Beer cans, Mother? . . . Yes, I thought you said beer cans.”
I said, “I suppose your tree has the usual five-and-ten crap hanging off it, hmmm?”
‘‘Of course not,” she said, “we decided to trim ours, this year, with old banana peels.” She threw her parka across for me to catch and hang in the closet.
“Banana peels are such old hat,” I said, “I heard the Cutlers did their tree in carrot tops.”
“Not true,” she trilled back at me, “simply not true. I have it on the best authority that the Cutler tree is trimmed with turtle turds.”
“Ah, turtle turds,” I said. “Tinseled, too, I trust.”
“Indubitably!” said Brenda Belle. “Did your grandfather mention a punch bowl as well as a repast?”
“Indeed he did,” I said.
“Fantastico!” she said. “Joy-ex Noel, Adam Blessing.”
“Hark the Herald” I said.
It was a very strong punch, but I was fighting back because I was a little concerned about my grandfather. I wanted to be sober if he came home with a load on.
Brenda Belle was tossing them back at a fairly fast clip.
“Adam,” she asked me, “I want your honest opinion on something.”
“All right. On what?”
“On me. Did it ever cross your mind for one minute, one half a teeny tiny second even, that there might be a certain mix-up in my genes?”
“I’ve never even seen you in your jeans,” I said.
“G-e-n-e-s, Adam. Not blue jeans. Human genes.”
“What do you mean a mix-up?”
“A confusion,” she said, “as though my body wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Do you think of me as a feminine being?”
“Yes.”
“Totally?”
“Yes,” I said, “totally.”
“You don’t think there are masculine undertones?”
I had to laugh at that idea.
She shoved her elbow into my chest. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious!”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at that idea. Whose idea is that?”
“My mother suspects I’m slightly unnatural,” she said.
“Did she say that?”
Then she just started bawling. “No, she didn’t say that, she didn’t have to say that. I’m a social flop. It’s obvious. I don’t have dates, telephone calls. I don’t get valentines. I’m a zero.”
“Isn’t it a little early to decide that, Brenda Belle?”
“A little too Ella Early?” she said. “Not where mater is concerned. Old mater is afeared I am a trick of nature.”
“Don’t cry,” I said.
“That’s why I have this scabby mustache. I was trying to correct nature’s nasty.”
“Brenda Belle,” I said, “I’m nothing too.”
“At least you know what sex you are.”
“I know what sex you are, too,” I said. “Brenda Belle, please don’t cry. I have an idea. We could make a pact.”
“What kind of a pact?” she whined.
“We could stick by each other. We could stick by each other and be friends to all the nothings. We could establish Nothing Power.”
“We could go steady.”
“What?”
“I said, could we go steady?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “We could say we were going steady.”
“We could?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Then we’re really going steady?”
“Sure.”
“Nothing Power!” Brenda Belle said. “What a neat idea!”
“We’ll start a campaign,” I said. “We’ll give Nothing Power to everyone who’s miserable.”
“We’ll write a mash note to Ella Early from anonymous,” she said.
“We’ll tell that crabby bus driver he’s great!” I said.
“You mean Rufus Kerin?” she said.
“Sure. Is that his name, the one who always shouts, ‘Have your money ready, dumbbells!’?”
“That’s Rufus! Oh my Glory, no one’s ever had a kind word for Rufus Kerin!”
“We’ll shower him with affection,” I said. “We’ll fawn over him!”
“And Marilyn Pepper, because she has acne so bad!”
“We’re going steady,” she said. “This is the happiest Christmas of my entire life!”
“You have Nothing Power!” I said.
“You have to give me something,” she said. “A ring or something. What do you have?”
The telephone rang.
“Just a minute,” I said as I went out to the kitchen to answer the phone. I lifted the receiver and a man’s voice said, “Is your grandfather Charlie Blessing?”
“Yes,” I said. “Is he all right?”
“He’s got a load on, but he’s all right. We threw him in a cab. He’s broke. He owes a bar bill of a little over eight bucks.”
“Who is this?” I said.
“This is Sampson’s Bar on Swift Avenue. The old man’s been sopping it up for hours. We threw him in a cab.”
“I hope you didn’t throw him in a cab,” I said. “I hope you walked him gently to a cab, since he was your customer!”
“Some customer!” the man said. “He owes a bar bill here!”
“So what?” I said. “You sold him the booze on credit, didn’t you?”
“Look, buddy, we didn’t have to take care of Charlie. We could have left him to freeze in a snowdrift, wouldn’t be the first time he’s slept outdoors, but it’s Christmas Eve, so we thought we’d help the old—”
“Thanks and go to hell!” I hollered. I was still shaking after I slammed down the receiver.
Behind me, Brenda Belle said, “Who did you say that to?”
“A good Samaritan,” I said snidely. “My grandfather’s coming home in a taxi. I have to get some money ready.”
“Is he drunk again?”
“Why the hell do you have to say that?” I said. “He could have been run over, or had a heart attack—any number of reasons!”
“It’s just that he’s often drunk,” Brenda Belle said.
“You’re like everyone else in this stinking town!” I said. “The damn bartender gives him drinks on credit, lets him get soused, then looks down on him because he gets drunk! And you say right off the bat that he’s loaded!”
