After school
It started raining while we were in school today and all the pretty snow has turned icky. I hate it when it does this right before Christmas. It’s too warm but not sunny. Everything is just drab and gray. Everything except Lady’s hair.
Later
Yikes! Lady’s chopped off her hair. She looks like Little Orphan Annie gone berserk. She said she had to because Mama was going to take her to the hairdresser and it would have cost almost two dollars to dye it back. So she just decided to cut it. Lady really does feel bad. This is a first. I don’t think Lady has ever felt guilty or bad about anything she’s done. She says she’ll wear a scarf until it grows out.
We’re rushing to get our homework done so we can listen to The Shadow. Actually there isn’t much work to do because we spend an awful lot of time rehearsing for this stupid Christmas pageant. Being a shepherd isn’t bad because we just pretend to sleep in this heap off to stage left. We don’t have to do anything until they get to that part in Luke about the shepherds. “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night and the shepherds said to one another, ‘Lo! Let us go now to Bethlehem, and see this thing which the Lord hath made known to us,’” etc., etc. “Lo” is our cue. So we relax until we get to “Lo.”
Well, Betty brought this magazine that has all of these movie star pictures in it. I have found someone more handsome than Clark Gable: Gary Cooper. I swoon for Gary Cooper. Luckily I was lying down already. I wonder what Gary Cooper would think of me. Golly, all done up in this stupid shepherd outfit and carrying a crook at that. I wish I had bosoms. I’m as flat as a pancake. Guess it doesn’t matter if I’m wearing this shepherd stuff. Yards and yards of stinky old cheesecloth in the ugliest colors — maroon and orange. I really doubt if the shepherds in Bethlehem in those days wore these colors.
After dinner
Another stupid aspic for dinner. It’s a Christmas one — red and green. A ten on the vomitron. But I ate it and did not complain because Mama and Papa were so quiet. Between Lady’s hair, the Hoosier Bank and Trust closing, and the rumors of the Hocklemeyer Auto Company closing, things aren’t exactly joyous. No one can believe it about Hocklemeyer’s. That will be terrible for Greenhandle’s. Papa barely said a word tonight. Hocklemeyer’s is the oldest auto manufacturing company in Indianapolis. They used to make carriages. A Hocklemeyer auto has been in every single one of the famous Indianapolis 500-mile races since the races started.
Papa didn’t even come down to listen to The Shadow tonight. But Willie Faye, Ozzie, Lady, and I were all sitting there as soon as John Barclay, the most boring man in the world, came on to talk about Blue Coal. That’s the sponsor and John Barclay is the president of the Blue Coal Fuel Company. It’s the most boring advertisement about how to reduce heating costs. And he has a very annoying voice. But then the real announcer comes on for the show and there is this weird laugh and this really spooky voice says, “The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.” Then creepy music and the voice speaks once more. “Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of man. . . . The Shadow knows!”
The Shadow is Lamont Cranston and he’s invisible. Ozzie and I are nuts for Lamont Cranston. Actually he’s not exactly invisible. He went to the Orient where he learned “the power to cloud men’s minds.” He sort of hypnotizes people so they can’t see him. Then he goes about solving crimes. Tonight’s episode was called “The Unburied Dead.” Really, really creepy! Usually when we listen Lady is bad-mouthing Margo Lane, The Shadow’s sidekick. Lady thinks he is very “patronizing,” as she puts it, to Margo. She says it’s like he is always looking down at her and she never gets to really be in on the action. She’s just there to say, “Oh, Lamont, be careful.” Or “Lamont, you shouldn’t go in there by yourself.” But tonight Lady was very quiet.
After we went to bed, Mama came in and said that tomorrow she is going over to the Otises to deliver a hot dish and that she expects me to go with her, but Willie Faye doesn’t have to come. The last thing I want to do: deliver a hot dish to a family in mourning.
December 8, 1932
Betty and Lucy and I got kicked out of the Christmas pageant rehearsal today and sent to the principal’s office. I pray that Miss Gordon won’t call Mama. Mama might just have a heart attack. First Lady, now me. And Hocklemeyer’s is shutting down. This could push Mama over the brink. Here’s what happened in rehearsal. We were doing our usual thing “sleeping” but talking. Now, our cue, as I have said, is the word “Lo!” Unfortunately when the narrator got to the “Lo” part in the Gospel According to Luke we were giggling madly, not thinking about “Lo” at all. I had started to think about my bosoms again. Not just mine and having them or not. I started to think what a funny-sounding word “bosoms” is. So I started to snicker and snort just a little. Then Lucy asked what I was laughing about so I told her. Then before you know it she and Betty and I were just having convulsions. I mean, “bosoms” is really a funny word if you think about it. It was just awful in Miss Gordon’s office when she asked what we had been laughing about. Well, we practically fell down on the floor laughing again. We all had to stay after school, and when I got home Mama was furious because we would be late going over to the Otises and delivering the hot dish. I didn’t tell Mama why I was late. I just said I had forgotten about the Otises.
Later
It was torturous! Even walking there was torturous because the hot dish was tuna and I hate tuna hot dish. It stinks. I had the geography assignment from Miss Cuddy — some mimeographed maps and lists of natural resources — to give to Bernadette. So we had to walk three blocks down Meridian and then three over to Central with me smelling tuna hot dish. Definitely number ten on the vomitron. By the time we got there I was almost ready to throw up, and if I needed a little nudge Martine Vontill was there to provide it. She actually opened the door. “I already brought Bernadette the geography maps for the anthracite coal deposits in western Pennsylvania.” Those were her first words! Can you believe it? Well, what was left for me to say but, “I brought tuna hot dish.” Then she said, “Oh, I’ll take that.” And rushed off to the kitchen. Even Mama looked a little startled. It was as if Martine and her mother had taken over the whole household.
We were shown into the living room. Mrs. Otis was sitting on a couch. She held a hanky, or rather, had it twisted around her hand. Grief has done Mrs. Otis no favors. I always thought that Mrs. Otis’s face looked, well, kind of furnished. That is the only word I can think of — “furnished” with overstuffed sofas. Yes, her nose actually reminds me of a love seat. It swoops down in the middle and plumps out at each nostril into two cushiony nubs that are now very red. For that matter, her whole body seems upholstered, puffy and overstuffed. But her eyes were dim behind a mist of grief.
Bernadette sat beside her on the couch. Bernadette’s face is just the opposite of her mother’s. Her features seem stranded on her face, too small for the space they occupy. They are like little teensy islands in the middle of a vast ocean. Her nose was like a little pink dot and she sniffled some. I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered something about anthracite deposits and the coal map of western Pennsylvania. I know — stupid! I couldn’t figure out anything else to say.
Luckily another lady came in with a chafing dish full of something. Somehow she had slipped by Martine. So Bernadette got up to take the dish into the kitchen. I just sat there and said nothing. Mama talked in a very quiet voice to Mrs. Otis. She seemed to know the right things to say. I just sort of looked around. The Otis’s house is pretty dismal and it’s not just because of Mr. Otis blasting his head off. Frankly it’s just downright ugly. They have these little crocheted doilies over everything — the arms of chairs, tables. Once upon a time I suppose they were white, but now they are yellow. On a sideboard they have one of the ugliest decorations I have ever seen. It is a glass dome that stands more than a foot high with waxed fruit all piled up under it. I was so glad when Mama said it was time to g
o, I nearly smiled. I remembered not to in the nick of time. But then something else happened. I don’t know why I thought of it right at that moment. Darned if I didn’t think of bosoms! I felt a huge burble of laughter start to well up in me and just then Martine came back in with Bernadette. This might have been the most physically painful moment of my entire life. If I burst out laughing now . . . Well, I just couldn’t even think about it. I had to think of something else and not bosoms. I bit the insides of my mouth to keep from laughing. I was trying to think of the most dreadful, sad thoughts. Finally we got out of there! As I said, the whole visit was torture — start to finish. But at least when I got home there was Charlie Chan to look forward to. The O’s, Olive and Opal, came over to listen with Clem. But Papa didn’t come down this evening.
December 9, 1932
Did much better on the spelling test today. But this time Willie Faye missed two words. I’m so happy it’s Friday. One more week of school, then Christmas break. The O’s — Olive and Opal — came over again. We all listened to Buck Rogers. But Papa didn’t come down at all! This is just getting creepy. Sometimes I feel that Papa is just kind of fading away from us, getting dimmer and dimmer. He hardly ever talks. I can’t imagine what he is doing up there in that room all the time. What if one morning he gets up and just never comes downstairs? I keep thinking, What is he not telling us? Maybe we don’t have enough money for food for the rest of the week. I try not to eat too much at supper. It was rumor of pork again. It’s hard, though. We all like doing the dishes now because we stand behind the icebox door and lick the casserole pots before we put them in the sink to wash. Mama would kill us if she saw us doing that.
Anyhow, Papa didn’t come down and he missed Jack Benny. He shouldn’t have. Jack Benny is REALLY funny. I think it would have made Papa feel a teensy bit better to hear his jokes. The O’s say that Groucho Marx now has a radio show and that he’s even funnier. After we listened to Jack Benny we all went upstairs to Clem and Gwen’s room. Gwen is out with The Frink and Lady is out with her gang. Wouldn’t you know that Lady has sewn up a mess of gorgeous scarves to cover her hair — ones with fringes and beads and little crystals. She has even made herself a turban. It is a satin turban and she plans to wear it to the Christmas Tinsel Time Dance at the Athletic Club. Meanwhile I was thinking how positively frumpy we all look — about as fashionable as a dog’s breakfast. Just as I’m thinking how unfashionable we are, who comes whooping up the stairs but Lady. “I’m here for a costume change!” she announces gaily. Then she stops and looks at Clem and the O’s. She shakes her head and says, “Girls, it’s Friday night. You’re coming with me.”
“Where?” I sit up on the bed. This sounds so exciting. “Not you, Minnie. You’re too young.” Too young! I am furious. “Come on, Clem, come on, O’s, we’re going out!” she yells. And this is truly unbelievable: Lady works magic on those three girls who thirty minutes before looked like dogs’ breakfasts. She shows them how to put on makeup, and she fixes their hair and ties what she calls a bandeau around Olive’s head, then teases out some little curls from underneath it. Then she goes into Papa and Mama’s room. Papa’s upstairs k-chirping, of course, and she says he won’t miss these for one night. Well, I can’t believe it but she has a pair of his tuxedo pants. She puts Clem in those and hikes them up with the satin cummerbund so she won’t stumble over them. She finds a close-fitting black sweater for her to wear on top and then throws a satin shawl she made for a prom over the whole thing. Clem looks sensational. Clem can’t even believe it herself. She blinks at her reflection in the mirror. “It’s very Greta Garbo,” Lady says.
“How did you ever think this up, Lady?” Clem asks.
Lady has a good answer. “It’s amazing what wearing a uniform five days a week and going to an all-girls’ school does for one’s imagination.”
For Opal she got one of Gwen’s old tea dresses and then — this is the most outrageous — she ran downstairs and got a summer-weight tablecloth from the camphor chest. She draped it over the dress and around Opal’s hips and somehow knotted it into a rosette right below her waist. It looked exactly like a dress that the new Hollywood movie star Wynne Gibson was wearing in a picture in the newspaper the other day. It wasn’t a tea dress anymore, it was “bewitching” — that’s what the newspaper said about Wynne Gibson’s dress.
Willie Faye just sat there on the bed the whole time with her mouth hanging open. She had never seen anything like it. This was probably the most entertainment she had ever experienced in her life. But it wasn’t enough for me. I felt completely left out. I knew where those girls were going. They were going to sneak down to the Tick Tock Club or the Cotton Club or the Paradise, down to Indiana Avenue where the jazz clubs are and all the great colored people play. I had heard Lady talk about it. Mama and Papa would up and die if they knew that Lady did this. But I’m no tattletale. Still I felt rotten. And of course they would just tell Mama a fib. They would say they were going to the Indiana Theater, which is a very proper place to go hear music. Or that there was a band playing at the Circle Theater. Most of the musicians who come there are white — big bands. It isn’t really jazz. Lady likes jazz. Her favorite musician is one named Scrapper. He plays both the piano and the guitar. Lady says you hadn’t heard anything until you’ve heard Scrapper Blackwell play Funky Boogie.
December 10, 1932
Dawn! It is dawn and Lady and Clem and the O’s just got back in! And you know, I don’t think Mama even noticed. Sometimes I think Mama is just too tired and too worried about Papa and Greenhandle’s to worry about us. I woke up when I heard them creeping into the room. They all looked giddy and their eyes were shining. I couldn’t believe it — Clem and the O’s out on the town, looking not just snappy but glamorous. Those three were the biggest Goody Two-Shoes ever — well, Goody Six-Shoes.
But I’m going back to sleep. It’s Saturday.
Later
Willie Faye woke me up — earlier than I wanted. Lady is still asleep and I bet she will be until noon. The O’s and Clem are still asleep as well in Clem and Gwen’s room. What a night they all had. Willie Faye says we have to get cracking with Christmas presents. We have to think up something, she said. I had no idea of what we should do. This is a Christmas that needs magic. If I had my druthers I would magically reopen Hocklemeyer’s auto manufacturing plant and that would make Papa happy. And Mama, too, for that matter. I’d get Lady’s hair to grow back magically. For Clem I would find her a genuinely handsome beau. For Gwen I would get a magic carpet and fly her to Paris, France, where she could write about more interesting things than aspic, eat better food than aspic, and fall in love with a Frenchman instead of Delbert Frink, who to my mind is the boyfriend version of aspic — with salad oil on top. I guess when you don’t have any money for Christmas presents the only way to think is magically. Willie Faye says that’s just silly. We don’t need magic. She said look what she’s done with chicken feathers. And it is true. She has made these pretty earrings for Lady with the chicken feathers.
Well, then something magical did happen. It was the strangest coincidence. We just got downstairs for breakfast and I looked out the window and saw Jackie coming up the drive with two big fat fluffy things under her arms. “What in the world?” Mama said.
Then Jackie poked her head in the kitchen door and we heard cluckings. “I done got you a Rhode Island Red and a guinea hen. They’se the best-laying chickens in the world.”
But Willie Faye and I just looked at each other, our eyes nearly popping out. These chickens also had the most beautiful feathers we’d ever seen. The guinea hen had these glossy black feathers with little white speckles and the Rhode Island Red wasn’t just red. She was russet and orange and scarlet. Why, she was brighter than a maple tree in October. Willie Faye dragged me out of the breakfast room. “But what will we make?” I asked.
“Hats!”
“But I don’t know how to make a hat.”
“Lady will,” Willie Faye said.
“Leave that to me,” Willie Faye said.
I remembered how she told me she could kill a chicken. So I blurted out, “You can’t kill them, Willie Faye!”
“’Course not. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the feathers. You and Lady figure out the hat-making part.”
Then Gwen, who had been reading the paper, gave a little yelp. “Mama!” she shrieked. Willie Faye and I raced into the kitchen. “Mama,” she said, “you and Papa shouldn’t have.”
“What shouldn’t they have done?” I asked.
Gwen looked at me. “Mama and Papa gave twelve dollars to the Santa Fund.”
Twelve dollars! That was the exact amount of the pretty dress that we saw downtown with Papa. And Papa had said that Mama wouldn’t stand for it. That she’d say, “Sam, there are better ways to spend that money than hanging a pretty dress on me.”
Willie Faye, Clem, the O’s, and I are going to the movies tonight when Mama and Papa go to the Dramatic Club Christmas party. Not Freaks. Freaks was banned in Indianapolis. It’s been banned in Detroit and St. Louis and someplace else. Ozzie is furious. He’s going to stay home and work on his homemade telephone. He’s crushing up charcoal because that’s what you need, he says — compressible carbon for varying the conductivity in the electrical signal that can be amplified at the other end to make the sound. When Ozzie started explaining this, Willie Faye’s eyes just got real wide. I could see that she was having a hard time deciding whether to go with us to the movies — a double bill of Strange Interlude with Norma Shearer and Clark Gable and Grand Hotel with Greta Garbo and John Barrymore — or stay home and crush charcoal with Ozzie.
Christmas After All Page 5
