by Ann Herrick
"Well, uh, see you tomorrow?" Joel's usually lively eyes looked tired.
"Bright and early," I said. "Mr. Parton's junipers are due for a trim, and he has lots of junipers."
A half smile crossed Joel's face. "See ya in the morning."
After supper I decided to call Caprice and see if we could get together and talk. I showered and changed into shorts and a sleeveless blouse. I just placed my hand on the receiver to call Caprice, when the phone rang. I hoped it wasn't Mrs. Kukk wanting me to babysit at the last minute. "Hello?"
"Hey, babe!"
"Nolan!" My breath caught in my throat. I heard music and loud voices in the background.
"I just wanted to say I miss you."
"Oh! I miss you, too!"
"Tell me about your day."
"My day? Um. I worked all day at the Redfern estate in Westfield. Then I, uh, went for a swim. To cool off."
"Lucky you, going for a swim," Nolan said. "It's hot here in Providence."
I heard laughter in the background. "Tell me about your—"
"I gotta go. Things are starting to happen," Nolan said.
"When will I see you?"
"I don't know. I'll see you when I see you."
"Oh."
"Love ya, babe."
"Oh, Nolan, I love you too—"
The line went dead.
Nolan probably had to get ready for his performance. After all, he was the opening act.
Just as I was about to dial Caprice's number, the phone rang again. I picked up, hoping it was Nolan. "Hello!" I said eagerly.
"Hi, it's me. Caprice. I need to get away from here. Can you pick me up?"
"Sure. I was just about to call you. I'd like to, uh, talk."
"How about Van Horn's? We can grab a quiet booth in the back."
"Great. I'll be there in five minutes."
When I got to Caprice's house, cars lined the street and filled her driveway. The sound of bongo drums and jarring laughter pounded across the otherwise calm night air. Through the front window I saw people packed into the small living room, talking, eating, drinking, dancing. I was wondering where to park, when I spotted Caprice sitting on the front step. I pressed the car horn.
Caprice jumped straight up and hotfooted it to the car. The instant she landed in the front seat she said, "Get me out of here!"
As I pulled away, I nodded toward the house. "Special occasion?"
"Pfft. Yeah. Right. Oh, I'm sure my mother has some reason. 'It's Thursday. Let's celebrate!' Or, 'The sun sets two minutes earlier tonight than last night. Let's party!' Or maybe she met some guy who looked at her twice. My mother can find any excuse for a bash." Caprice fished around in her purse and pulled out a linty roll of Necco Wafers. "Want one?"
"Uh, no thanks."
"I've gotta have something in my mouth," Caprice said. "Before he left for Vietnam, Karl asked me to please give up cigarettes. But my mother and her parties are enough to drive me back to smoking."
I uttered some sympathetic murmurings. Caprice had a lot of freedom. I wondered if it was because her mother was so busy with her parties and her men friends that she just didn't notice whether Caprice was home or not.
Van Horn's was tucked into a narrow building on Post Office Square. The few parking spots on the street were full, so I pulled into the lot in back of the cluster of stores. There were a lot of kids in Van Horn's, bunched around the jukebox and pinball machine, sipping sodas at the small round tables up front, filling the stools at the soda fountain. I could see there was no one we knew, just summer people. So even if Caprice and I couldn't find a booth in the back, no one here would know or care about anything we said.
The first couple of booths were filled, but we found a small one in the corner that was empty and immediately grabbed it. As soon as we plopped ourselves down, the waitress, Millie, appeared. She was a short doughy woman in her forties. She smiled, handed us a couple of menus and set two glasses of water on the table. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order."
Caprice picked up her menu. "I am so starved. My mother may think pretzels, popcorn, chips and dips, and wine and beer are a meal, but I do not."
I loved Van Horn's milkshakes, so all I had to do was choose which kind I wanted. I decided on chocolate. While Caprice was oohing and aahing over every possible burger combo on the menu, I traced my finger around the squiggly black boomerang pattern on the pink tabletop
Millie returned, pulled an order pad from her apron pocket and a stubby pencil from behind her ear. I ordered my shake. Caprice ordered "a cheeseburger with ketchup, brown mustard, lettuce, onion, and tomato, a small salad with oil and vinegar, and a cherry Coke." After Millie left, she said, "I just wanted to escape the fun and games at home. You said you wanted to talk. So ... what do you want to talk about?"
"Oh ... nothing much." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Just ... love, life, guys."
"Is that all?" Caprice rested her chin on her hand. "Did you want a general discussion, or is there something specific?"
"Well ...." I thought about plunging into my entire history with Nolan, but that suddenly seemed too complicated, and, besides, it would take half the night. But before I could even gather my thoughts, Caprice went into gear.
"Well, if you're my mother, if you and the guy are breathing hard, you think it must be love."
"Oh...?" I twisted my hands in my lap.
"Yeah, my mother romanticizes everything. She thinks that if she gets hot with some guy, it means he feels about her the way she feels about him. It's amazing how she can fantasize about someone without bothering to question whether they're really on the same wavelength." Caprice fished a piece of ice out of her glass of water and popped it in her mouth. She crunched it a few times, then went on. "My mother 'loves' just about every guy she meets. If he has blue eyes, she's 'in love.' If he writes poetry, she's 'in love.' If he drives a cool car, she's 'in love.' What a role model."
"Well, um, er ... what about you? You and Karl? How did you know ...?"
Millie arrived at our table. "Here ya go, girls."
She had barely placed the food in front of us, when Caprice picked up her burger and took a huge bite. She closed her eyes and practically purred. "Mmm ...."
"Can I getcha anything else?" Millie asked.
Caprice seemed to be off in hamburger heaven, so I answered, "We're fine, thanks."
"Okay. Just let me know if ya want anything else," Millie said, and then she was gone.
It looked as if Caprice was going to be distracted by her food for a while, so I slid the wrapper off my straw and sank it into my milkshake. The silky, creamy chocolate slipped down my throat so easily it was as if I didn't even have to swallow. If only life would go so smoothly.
After Caprice chomped down half her burger, and some of her salad, she took a long pull on her cherry Coke. "Ah! Now that I am no longer starving, where were we?"
"Well—"
"Oh, yeah. Me and Karl." Caprice drummed her fingers on the table. "Okay, so the first time I saw him, I was crazy about his looks. And his cute accent. When I saw him shooting baskets in your driveway, I was wowed."
"So ...," I said, remembering how I felt the first time I saw Nolan, "that's when you knew?"
"That's when I knew I wanted to know him better." Caprice took a bite of her hamburger. "I guess I haven't really analyzed this before. Okay ... my heart skipped a beat whenever I was around him. But it was the way he treated me that ... that made him special."
"But he used to always tease the two of us!"
"Sure he did. But he was never mean. Think about it. He was sweet ... affectionate."
"Tugging on our hair and calling us 'The Bobbsey Twins' was sweet?"
"I thought so. I don't know. Maybe I just appreciated the attention." Caprice picked up her napkin and wiped a speck of mustard off her chin. "To me, the way a guy treats you is key."
"The way a guy treats you ...?"
"Yes. Karl treats me like gold.
"
"Gold?"
"Is there an echo in here?" Caprice twisted in her seat. "Look, I'm no expert. All I can say is, I've learned from my mother to avoid falling for a guy for all the wrong reasons. Think about what you want in a guy, then find that kind of a guy. You get what you ask for."
"You make it sound so simple."
Caprice laughed. "I never said it was simple. I dated some frogs the last couple of years. But that's okay. It just made me realize what I should avoid and what I should be looking for." She slurped up the rest of her cherry Coke. "Really, when it comes to finding the right guy, I can't tell you exactly what to look for. You're your own expert."
Expert? In my case, amateur was more like it.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning as I was loading the truck, Joel arrived. He parked in his usual shady spot, but sat for a moment. I heard him singing "Lonely Boy" along with Paul Anka on the car radio. When the song ended, he hopped out and helped me load mowers onto the truck, all the while whistling in smooth, sweet, silvery tones.
"Joel, I didn't know you could whistle so beautifully," I said as I closed the tailgate.
Joel wriggled his eyebrows, twirled an imaginary mustache, and cackled. "There's a lot you don't know about this mysterious man of many talents, my pretty."
I laughed. "I'll bet!"
Joel must have had a good night's sleep because he was back to his old lively self. On the way over to Monroe he sang along with every song on the radio. Before I knew it, we were at Mr. Parton's house. First thing, we unloaded the big mower.
"The junipers Mr. Parton wants trimmed are around back," I said, handing Joel the clippers. "I'll show you where." When we got to the rows of junipers lining the back property line, and part of the side, I said, "He likes them trimmed, but not sculpted. He doesn't want it to be obvious that they've just been trimmed."
Joel rubbed the back of his neck. "Kind of like when you get haircut and it doesn't look as if you just got a haircut?"
"Exactly!"
"Don't worry. The junipers are in good hands."
On my way to get a mower I peeked back over my shoulder a couple times and saw that Joel was trimming the junipers just the way Mr. Parton wanted. It was good to know I could go about the mowing without having to worry about that.
I'd been cutting the grass for about a half hour, enjoying the breeze of salty air gently brushing my face, when Mr. Parton came out of the house. He gestured for me to stop.
I turned off the mower so I could hear him. I hoped he didn't have a big project in mind, because we already had a lot scheduled to do that day. I took off my baseball cap and sunglasses. "Hi, Mr. Parton. What can I do for you?"
Mr. Parton smiled generously as he gazed around his yard. "I just wanted to tell you what fine job I think you and Joel are doing. You make a good team."
"Why, thank you." It was always nice to know a customer was pleased.
"I've been wondering why such a popular caddy would quit to do yard work. But I'm glad he did. He does an excellent job, and he's a great help to you while your father recuperates. How is you father doing?"
"Much better," I said. "He should be back to work before too long. Which is good," I suddenly realized, "because the first day of school is not that far off."
"He must be proud to know his business is in such capable hands," Mr. Parton said.
"Thank you!"
"Well, I shouldn't keep you," Mr. Parton said. "You two must have a lot of work ahead of you today."
"We sure do!" Funny what a compliment from a customer can do. I felt so energized that before I knew it I finished the mowing. I decided to see if Joel needed any help trimming the junipers, but he was just finishing up. "Nice work," I said.
"Thanks." Joel scratched the back of his neck. "Mr. Parton said the same thing."
"Yes, he told me he liked your work—" I remembered something else. "Mr. Parton also said he wondered why such 'a popular caddy' like you would quit to do yard work. Didn't you tell me you that you were a lousy caddy, that you didn't get much work, and that's why—"
Joel turned pink through his freckles. "Oh, Mr. Parton liked me as a caddy because I could always find his ball after he hit it into the trees. He was always hitting it into the trees."
"But he said you were popular. That would mean—"
"Say, aren't we supposed to edge Mrs. Parton's flower garden today too? We'd better get on it."
I slapped my forehead. "That's right! We should get started."
When we were done edging the flower garden, Joel and I took a break in the truck. The breeze blew through the open windows. We had a great view of Long Island Sound as we gulped lemonade and nibbled the oatmeal-raisin cookies Mama had packed for a snack.
I started thinking about what Caprice had said last night, about deciding about what I wanted in a guy. What did I want in a guy? Nolan had great looks and talent. There were times when I couldn't believe I was with this incredible folksinger. But did that mean he was the right guy for me? He seemed to get irritated with me so easily. I was always surprised, because I certainly didn't mean to upset him. If I felt hurt and tried to discuss my feelings with him, he told me it was all in my mind. But, then, maybe it was.
After all, Nolan loved me. He told me so. And he was exciting to be with. I shouldn't feel bad. What was wrong with me?
"Hey, is it okay if we listen to the radio?"
I almost choked on my oatmeal-raisin cookie. I'd been so busy thinking about Nolan that I almost forgot Joel was there. "S-sure." I turned the key so Joel could listen to the radio. He twisted the knob until he landed on a station playing a song. Of course, he joined right in, imitating Frankie Avalon.
Using a half-eaten cookie for a microphone, he looked right at me as he sang. He started off with the real lyrics about sending a girl "for me to thrill ...." Only in the part about wanting this girl to have all of Venus's charms that he could hold in his arms, he sang, "… who has your charms, and, unlike you, she'll have two arms ...."
I almost snorted my lemonade out my nose trying not to laugh.
"... 'cause if like you she had no hands, how would she ever wear a wedding band?"
I covered my mouth to stifle my giggles. By the time the song was over I was wiping away tears of laughter. I clapped and cheered. "Frankie Avalon would be proud!"
"Appalled is more like it, but thank you, thank you." Joel bowed and blew kisses.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, as if speaking to a crowd. "You've been a great audience."
"That was so funny," I said. I glanced at my watch. "Oops! Break time is over."
We moved onto the next yard. It was a beautiful day, not too hot with the breeze coming in off the water. The work didn't seem so hard when I wasn't drenched with sweat. And with Joel keeping me entertained during every drive between houses and all through lunch with his versions of the lyrics to all the latest songs, the day just flew by.
"Joel, I don't remember you being this funny in Advanced Algebra," I said as we loaded the truck after finishing our work for the day.
"Well, you're a much more inspirational audience than Mr. Robitaille and his quadratic equations."
"Oh, that's saying a lot!"
"Hey, it is. What's more flattering than the state of being equal?"
"Such praise," I joked, "even if it doesn't make sense." I hopped into the driver's seat. It was then that I remembered we had a standing plan to go for a swim after work. I wanted to say something about it, but I was embarrassed. I wondered if Joel had even brought his swimsuit after the way I'd rushed us off the beach yesterday.
Joel didn't say anything about it. But then, he was too busy tuning in the radio, searching for a song. He landed on "Lonely Boy." He started singing, but again made up his own lyrics. "Oh, I'm so lonely, 'cause I'm colored blue. The day that I painted myself, is a day that I'll rue."
I couldn't help laughing. "J-joel, c-cut it out," I sputtered, "or you're going to make me drive off the r
oad."
Joel let out an exaggerated gasp. "My singing is that bad?"
"No, it's that funny."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Joel pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. "Whew!" he said. "Funny is good. Isn't it?"
"Funny is great. Just not when I'm driving."
"Is it okay if I serenade you as long as I stick to the real lyrics?"
"Sure. I might even sing along, if you promise not to critique my singing."
"I promise," Joel said, making a giant X across his chest. "Would the pot call the kettle bla— I mean, I'm sure you have a lovely voice."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Joel spun the dial, and we sang our way around the Top Forty. Then I saw that we were approaching Hammonasett Beach. I wondered if I should say anything about a swim. I could wait until we got to Chatfield to decide. Just as I was thinking that's what I'd do, a raindrop hit the windshield. Then another, then several. All of a sudden, it was pouring. I saw a streak of lightning. A couple seconds later there was a loud crash of thunder.
"Whoa!" Joel exclaimed. "I guess that cancels our after-work swim."
So ... he had planned on us going to the beach. "Yes, getting hit by lightning is not on my list of things to do today."
As soon as we got home, we scurried around unloading the equipment and storing it in the garage. But we couldn't scurry quickly enough to avoid getting drenched. We were standing under the overhang of the garage saying goodbye, when Papa opened the back door and waved at us to come in. He didn't have to do it twice. We dashed inside, dripping on the floor mat next to the door.
"Ach, you two always find a way to get yourselves soaking wet," Papa teased, as he handed each of us a big, fluffy towel.
Mama shook a wooden spoon at us. "Both of you get into something dry, and then we'll have supper."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you!" Joel said.
I dashed upstairs, changed into dry clothes, unbraided my hair and towel dried it as best I could. Just as picked up my comb, the phone rang. I answered it.
"Hi, it's me," Nolan said lightly.
