Penelope

by Marilyn Kaye

  I was intrigued by the beauty salons I passed, too, and considered the prospect of cutting my long hair. I could also have a manicure—the possibilities were endless!

  What else could I do with my money? I could buy a TV for my little room, but I decided against that. My days of watching life on a screen were over. I was living life now.

  I did invest in a little combination radio/alarm clock, though. I was hoping my bright new future would bring things I would need to get up on time for; plus I wanted music, a soundtrack for my new life.

  When I felt myself getting hungry, I discovered fast-food restaurants. The concept was incredible—you could walk into one of these places, get hamburgers, chicken, French fries, and then take it all away to eat anywhere you wanted! I didn’t particularly feel like going back to my room, so I went to the park, sat on a bench, and figured out a way to eat. I extended the scarf outward from my mouth with one hand and used the other to poke French fries under it. A couple of passersby glanced at me oddly, but no one could see anything really disgusting.

  After lunch, I went back to exploring and wandering. At one point, I realized I was on Orchard Street. The name rang a bell, and I didn’t have to think long and hard to remember where I’d heard of it. Max’s favorite pub, the Cloverdilly, was on Orchard. And after walking along for a few minutes, I saw the sign just ahead.

  I hesitated. I wanted to check it out, but what if Max was in there? I didn’t think I was ready for an encounter, not yet. Maybe not ever. I edged over to the door and peered inside. He wasn’t at the bar. Was I relieved or disappointed? I really couldn’t say.

  But I went on in and sat down on a bar stool. The guy behind the bar gave me a friendly smile. “Hi, what can I get you?”

  I remembered what Max had recommended. “A Cloverdilly special draft, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I watched him put a huge mug under a pump and pull down a lever. Golden foamy beer filled the mug. Then he set it down and pushed it. It slid down the bar, picking up speed on the slick surface until it passed me, fell off the edge, and crashed on the floor.

  “You were supposed to catch it,” the bartender said.

  I felt like a moron. “Sorry. I guess it’s been a while since I had a beer on tap.”

  He grinned. “No problem. It all comes back to you.”

  “Like riding a bike?”

  “Exactly.” He poured me another beer and sent it down the bar. This time I grabbed it. But now I was faced with another obstacle. Drinking with my mouth covered presented a graver problem than eating. I made a futile attempt to get the lip of the mug under the scarf.

  The bartender watched me curiously. “Would this help?” he asked. He handed over a straw.

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully. I stuck the straw into the beer, poked the other end under my scarf, and sucked up the best beer I’ve ever tasted. As I drank, my eyes went to an open newspaper lying on the bar, and I almost choked. There I was, in all my radiant glory. But no one at the bar was making the connection between me and the freak in the photo—so what did I care? I took another long, delicious sip.

  The door to the Cloverdilly swung open, and a pretty blond-haired woman carrying a helmet in one hand and a box in the other sauntered in.

  “Yo, Annie baby.” The bartender leaned over the bar to kiss her cheek. “Ya got something for me?”

  “My last delivery of the day,” she said, dropping the package on the bar. “And I would kill for a beer.”

  “But you don’t have to,” the bartender said. He opened a bottle and handed it to her. “On the house.”

  “Love ya, man.” She took the stool next to me, glanced in my direction, and lifted her bottle. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I murmured.

  She took a long, thirsty gulp, put the bottle down, and looked at me again. “Nose job?”

  “What?”

  “I’m guessing you just had a nose job. What’s the medical word for it—rhinoplasty? I always thought that was funny. I mean, it’s like all the patients had noses like a rhino before getting it fixed.”

  Close, I thought. But I just nodded.

  Annie continued. “A girlfriend of mine, she had a nose job, and she wore a scarf like that for three weeks. At first, she went out with her bandages showing, but everyone kept asking her if she’d been in an accident and being sorry for her. She felt guilty getting so much sympathy from people when it was all just for vanity’s sake.”

  I nodded again.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with vanity,” Annie went on. She tugged at a lock of hair. “When I see the tiniest trace of roots coming in, I’m at Ronaldo’s.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “You don’t know Ronaldo? Best hairdresser in town, he costs a fortune but he’s worth it.” She cocked her head and studied my hair. “You’ve got a blunt cut, so I guess you don’t have to go to that kind of salon. Just about anyone can cut straight across, right? Must save you money, having a style like that.”

  I gathered up the nerve to speak. “It does. My mother’s always cut it for me.” Geez, I sounded like a baby. I didn’t want to put this girl off me.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “When my mother cuts my hair?”

  She laughed. “No, I’m talking about the nose job again. Sorry about that, I’m all over the place.”

  “That’s okay,” I said quickly. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Really?” She looked incredulous. “Not at all?”

  Was a nose job supposed to hurt? “I mean, not very much.”

  “Because I’m thinking about getting one myself.”

  “Why? Your nose is fine.”

  She glanced at the open newspaper. “Well, I’m no Penelope, that’s for sure. Mine’s just a little crooked. But I’m really talking about my ears.”

  “You want to have a nose job on your ears?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized how stupid they sounded, and I wanted to kick myself. But Annie laughed in delight, as if I’d just said something incredibly funny.

  “I always thought my ears stuck out,” Annie told me. “It’s kind of silly, though, cosmetic surgery. Who’s to say what makes beautiful ears or a beautiful nose? I mean, who made the rules?”

  “Not me,” I said.

  “Me neither.” She raised her bottle and clinked it against my mug. “Hey, Sam!” she called to the bartender. “How about a couple more for me and my new friend here?”

  Maybe I’d been drinking the beer too fast, but a little thrill went through me. Nobody had ever called me a friend before. Well, except Edward Vanderman. But I couldn’t take anything he’d ever said to me seriously.

  We clinked our new beers together, and then Annie said, “You’re not from around here, are you, Scarfie?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m from … France. Bonjour.”

  “I want to travel,” Annie said. “You know what my fantasy is? I want to get on my Vespa and go all over the country.”

  “Your Vespa?” I asked.

  “You don’t know what a Vespa is?”

  Embarrassed, I shook my head again. But Annie seemed to accept my ignorance as just another aspect of being a foreigner. She finished her beer and gazed mournfully at the empty bottle. “I could drink another, but then I shouldn’t drive. And it’s so gorgeous out.”

  “The sun’s shining,” I noted.

  “Yeah. It’s still pretty cold, but spring’s on its way. I saw a few tulips in the park this morning.”

  “Really? Tulips are my favorite flowers.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Annie said. She slapped her bottle down on the bar. “I’m through with my deliveries for the day. Want to cruise around town with me? We could check out those tulips. And it would be a lot healthier than sitting here boozing all day. You up for it?”

  I wished Annie could see my huge smile. “Yes.”

  Outside, I found out what a Vespa was. Having never been on any kind of a motorcycle,
I was a little apprehensive, but I tried to act cool as Annie helped me put on her spare helmet. I got on the back, and we took off.

  What a feeling! Another brand-new experience. I felt like I was flying. It was a thrilling and exhilarating sensation. I wanted it to go on forever, and when Annie began to slow down, I cried out, “Don’t stop!”

  Annie threw back her head and laughed. “I have to, it’s a red light! Don’t worry, we’ll move again.” As we took off, she began giving me a tour of the city.

  “See that church? It’s the oldest building in town. That’s City Hall on the right. I’ve been there quite a few times.”

  “You know the mayor?” I asked.

  “No, but I’m very chummy with the folks in the Department of Motor Vehicles.” She laughed, and I didn’t understand the joke, but I laughed, too. There was just something about Annie that made me feel like laughing.

  “That’s my favorite sculpture,” she said, pointing out a strange lumpy mound of marble.

  “It’s weird,” I said.

  “Yeah, but weird can be beautiful, y’know?”

  I wasn’t sure about that. “What’s that big building over there?” I asked.

  “The Museum of Natural History. Cool dinosaur skeletons. Kids love it. You have kids?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Me neither. I want to have them someday. But I’d like to find a husband first. I’m old-fashioned that way. It’s not easy meeting the right kind of guys, though, you know what I mean?”

  “Oh, I do,” I said fervently.

  We were heading out of Midtown into the residential area now, and I was alarmed when Annie turned down my old street. I had on the scarf and the helmet, but even so, I turned my head just in case my mother happened to be looking out the window.

  “This is the ritziest part of town,” Annie explained. “Nice shacks, huh?”

  “Mm.”

  She stopped, right in front of the Wilhern mansion. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a house like that. I guess you’d feel like a princess. These people must be incredibly rich.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But do you think they’re happy?” Annie asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. All I knew was, right at that very minute I was happier than I’d ever been living in that house.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Gooooood morning, all you lovely people!” bellowed the deejay. “Get those butts out of bed and take to the streets, because there’s something special waiting out there for you today, and it’s going to be a big surprise! Overnight, out of the blue, without any warning, spring has sprung!”

  I rolled over and turned to look at the clock radio. Then I leaped out of bed. I was supposed to meet Annie in ten minutes. We were going to hit the botanical gardens today, and I didn’t want to be late. It was amazing—here I was, a lover of plants, and I hadn’t even known there was such a place in the city. Annie was opening my eyes to a great big beautiful world I never knew existed.

  I hurried to shower and dress. Maybe I’d never had a real friend before, but one thing I knew—you didn’t keep a friend waiting. Wrapping my scarf carefully and securely around my face, I was ready to go.

  I was walking quickly and thinking about the day ahead, so maybe that was why it took a few minutes before I sensed that something was different today. As I hurried along, I noticed that several passersby glanced at me curiously. I touched my scarf to make sure it hadn’t shifted and I was exposing myself. But it wasn’t my snout they were noticing—it was the scarf itself. Because there was no reason to wear a scarf today. Or a big, heavy coat. There was no chill in the air, no biting wind.

  The words of the radio deejay came back to me—something about “spring has sprung.” As beads of sweat formed on my brow, I finally understood what he meant. There’d been a change in the weather. Even if I hadn’t already started to feel uncomfortably warm, I could see evidence of the climate change in the people I passed on the streets. The fur coats, the woolen hats, and the puffy ski jackets had disappeared. I saw raincoats and sweaters, and some people didn’t have on any outerwear at all. And no one was wearing a scarf.

  I wasn’t stupid. And even though I’d been an indoor person, I knew about the seasons. I must have known that eventually a woolen scarf wrapped around my face wouldn’t work as a year-round accessory. But I’d blocked it out, or refused to think about it, or something. And now I was faced with the fact.

  Then, just as I was struggling with the magnitude of this brand-new dilemma, another problem appeared. Actually, the problem was audible before it was visible. The voice pierced my entire being and stuck me right in the gut.

  “Franklin, Franklin! Look! It’s her! It’s Penelope! Penelope!”

  Needless to say, I didn’t have to turn around to identify the source of the shrieking voice. I responded automatically—I just took off running.

  Amazing how the adrenaline kicked in. I never knew I could even run this fast. My legs felt motorized. They couldn’t catch up with me, but even so I knew they were trailing me. My mother’s cries became fainter, but I could still hear them, which wasn’t a good sign.

  My heart was pounding furiously, and the sweat was pouring off me. The scarf around my face was wet and clammy, sticking to me like a damp sponge. Waves of nausea passed through me.

  I made out the sign of the Cloverdilly, just a block ahead. By now I was feeling truly sick. I was shaking as I ran and my legs had turned to jelly. Somehow, someway, dizzy and weak and stumbling, I staggered into the pub.

  “There you are, Scarfie!” Annie called out. And then, in a different tone: “What’s the matter?”

  I’d stopped running but the room was spinning faster and faster, and I felt myself become weightless. Dim cries surrounded me.

  “She’s passing out!”

  “Call an ambulance!”

  “Dial nine-one-one!”

  The next minute, I wasn’t sure if I’d fallen or if the floor had risen to meet me. Was the room going dark or had I closed my eyes?

  “Stand back, give her air!” I recognized Annie’s voice. Then I felt a hand on my face, and I knew it was unwrapping my scarf.

  I wanted to cry “No, no,” but I couldn’t speak. But then I heard that familiar shriek, and it was screaming what I was thinking.

  “No, no! Stop, don’t do it!”

  I was fading away. My last sensation was a blast of air on my bare face. And the last voice I heard was Annie’s surprised exclamation.

  “Penelope!”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I opened my eyes.

  “Where am I?”

  A pleasant but unfamiliar voice responded, “You’re in the hospital, Miss Wilhern. Now, don’t worry, there doesn’t seem to be anything seriously wrong with you. But you fainted, and the doctors just want to check you out before they discharge you.”

  I was still lying flat on my back and staring up at the white ceiling. It was all coming back to me, too clearly. The heat, running from my parents, the Cloverdilly, feeling sick. The scarf… there was no need for me to touch my face to know that it was gone. The ramifications, implications, and repercussions of what had happened rushed over me. It was too much. I closed my eyes.

  “Miss Wilhern? Are you feeling all right? I’ll get the doctor.”

  I forced my eyes open again. “No, I’m okay.” Then I struggled to an upright position and turned to the wall so the poor nurse wouldn’t have to see my face. Unfortunately, the wall turned out to be a window. Reporters’ mouths were moving, bright lights flashed as waiting photographers took pictures, and one reporter was able to yell loud enough for me to hear him through the glass.

  “Penelope! Is it true you were kept prisoner in a basement for twenty-five years?”

  “Penelope, do you have a curly tail?”

  Briskly, the nurse went to the window and drew the curtains. “I’m sorry about that. It’s crazy around here. The hospital’s been surrounded by reporter
s and photographers since you arrived.”

  I sank back onto the pillow. So this was it. It was all over for me. The worst had gotten even worse. They not only knew I existed—now they knew where I was.

  I was barely aware of the nurse taking my temperature and checking my pulse and my blood pressure. My mind was a blank. I had no idea what could possibly happen next. I was so confused and bewildered that it was almost—almost—a relief when my mother came into the room, followed by my father.

  At least the hospital environment had caused Jessica to lower her voice. “Oh my poor darling,” she murmured, hurrying to my bedside. “My poor child.”

  What could I say? It’s not the end of the world? I thought I was pretty safe in assuming I wouldn’t be able to convince her of that.

  “How do you feel, sweetheart?” my father asked anxiously.

  “I feel all right,” I said. “Can we leave? I want to get out of here.”

  My mother glanced fearfully at the window. Reporters were yelling, “Penelope, Penelope!”

  “Well, you can’t leave here right now, dear. I’ve asked the hospital administrators to escort us through a back service door.”

  I sighed. “Oh, Mother, why bother? It’s too late for all that.”

  “Now, now, don’t worry, Penelope, don’t despair, everything’s going to be fine,” she assured me. “Daddy is going to buy us a deserted island somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Franklin, lock it!” she screamed. But the door opened before my father could reach it, and a man in a white coat entered. “Get out of here!” she yelled.

  The man glared at her. “I’m the doctor. You’re the one who’s not supposed to be in this room. Out!”

  At least my mother realized this was one place where she couldn’t be in charge. She and my father left.