by Cat Bauer
I rush the phone back up to my ear. I try to make my voice sound calm. “Hello,” I say. “Hello. I'm looking for Sean Shanahan.”
“Speaking,” says the voice.
Speaking. I am stunned. Speaking! There is a real person named Sean Shanahan on the other end of the line. I don't know what to do, so I hang up. I take a deep breath. Then I do something crazy: I start laughing. I laugh and laugh, which is really strange because inside I feel like crying. Maybe this is enough, I think. Just to know he's out there.
Tonight is the night of the Spring Ball. Peppy is curling my hair. She has gotten Spring Ball madness. I feel like a real live Barbie doll she is dressing up. She is letting me wear lipstick, eye shadow— the works. Lily's eyes are wide as she watches every detail.
“I wanna go, Mommy.”
“When you're older.” Peppy rolls a lock of my hair into the curling iron. “Hold still, Harley. This curl won't curl.” Steam hisses. She holds the wand against my head until I think my scalp will fall off.
“Ouch! Mom, you're burning me!”
“Just a second more. There.” Peppy unrolls my hair, and the curl bounces. “You're going to be the most beautiful girl at the ball. Much better than Carla and her silly Frangelica dress.”
I am living the worst lie of my life. If I could, I'd start all over again and tell Peppy the truth. But I am in too deep and Peppy is too excited. I want to be excited, too. I want to be getting ready for the ball instead of some drive-in-movie sham.
Peppy brushes me out. My long brown hair bounces and shines. I spin around. I think I really might look good.
“A little more lipstick. Sit.” Peppy pushes me onto the bed and applies a lovely red to my lips. I watch her face as she concentrates. She has tiny wrinkles around her dark brown eyes and her mouth droops. I imagine she is the same age as me, going to her first ball, and Granny is painting her lips bright red with one of those old gold lipstick holders.
“What did you wear to your first Spring Ball, Mom?”
Peppy hesitates. Something flickers across her face. “Actually, I didn't go to my first ball until I was a senior.”
“Really? Who did you go with? Dad?”
Peppy stops painting my lips. She spins the lipstick closed with a click. “Come on now. Let's put on your dress.”
I stand up, and she scoops the dress over my head. It tumbles around my shoulders. “Did you go with Dad?”
Peppy turns me around and zips up the back. “Your father and I had broken up at the time.” Peppy straightens my hem. She backs me up and examines me. “You look fantastic, Harley.”
I move over to the mirror and gaze at my reflection. My blue eyes are two brilliant opals. My cheeks are rosy. My lips are red. “Who, Mom? Who took you to the ball?”
For a moment, Peppy looks dreamy, like she is remembering a time long ago. Then she says, “I went to the Spring Ball with Sean Shanahan.”
* * *
At exactly seven o'clock, the doorbell rings. Somehow Peppy scraped Roger out of his Barcalounger and planted him on the living room sofa so he could play his part in the daughter-goes-to-the-ball ceremony. I hear Peppy open the front door. Riley barks.
“Hello, Mrs. Columba.” Evan's voice floats up the stairs and into my ears. How I love that boy.
I take one last glance in the mirror and race down the stairs. I cannot leave Evan alone in the monster's lair for too long.
“Hey, Evan!” My feet barely touch the floor as I swoop into the living room. Evan turns to look at me. He whistles. “Wow.” He hands me a corsage of daisies and roses. He has his hair pulled back in a ponytail and is wearing a suit and tie like a model in a Calvin Klein ad.
“Wow yourself.” I smile at him. I am so nervous, my head is throbbing. I don't know if we're going to pull this off, but we sure get an A-plus for effort. Peppy takes the corsage from me. “Come here, Harley. Let me pin this on you.” She sticks the pins in her mouth.
Roger stands up and extends his hand to Evan. “Roger Columba.” This is his introduction. He teeters a little, and I am embarrassed. Evan is taller than Roger. He shakes Roger's hand and smiles as if he is running for president.
“Very nice to meet you, sir.” Boy, can Evan play the part. I see that even Roger the Dragon-Hearted is impressed.
Bean bounces through the room all dressed in black. “See ya.” He opens the front door.
“Where are you going?” Roger asks like he really doesn't want to know.
“Manhunt tonight. I'm late.”
Peppy mumbles through the pins. “Say hello to Evan, Bean.”
Bean rolls his eyes like it's this huge effort for him to be polite. “Hello, Evan.”
Evan grins. “Hey.”
“Bye, Evan.” Bean slams the door on the way out.
“That kid.” Peppy sticks me with a pin.
“Ow! Mom!”
Lily carries her headless Barbie doll into the room. She has dressed her in a fancy evening gown. “Barbie is going to the ball tonight, too,” she informs Evan.
“What happened to her head?”
“Riley ate it. He chewed it, then he buried it, and I can't find it.”
“She looks pretty good, even without a head.” Evan winks.
“There!” Peppy finally gets the corsage fastened over my heart. “They match the roses on your earrings.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I pick up my big black pocketbook and swing it over my shoulder. “We probably should get going.”
Peppy frowns. “Wait a second. You can't bring that ugly purse. Go in my top drawer and get Granny Harley's little white pearl bag.”
“Really?” I am surprised. Granny's bag is a real treasure, with tiny hand-sewn beads and sequins.
“Yes, Harley. I can't bear to think of you at the ball with that giant suitcase.” Peppy smiles at Evan. Tonight she is going so far above the call of duty, it's almost embarrassing.
I scoot off down the hall and into my parents' room. I tug open the top drawer of my mother's dresser. It's stuck. I pull and yank. It opens a crack. I stick my hand inside and feel around to see what is blocking the drawer. A crumpled piece of paper is wedged way in the back. I grab an edge and gently tug. The drawer opens, but all I can see is the crinkled document I hold in my hand. It is black with white letters. It is a birth certificate.
It says:
Name: Baby Girl Harley
Mother's Maiden Name: Patricia Harley
Father's Name: Unknown
Mother's Occupation: Secretary
Father's Occupation: N/A
The wave is sudden; it knocks me off my feet. I am trembling and almost drop the paper. This must be my real birth certificate. It almost seems too easy, finding it this way. Peppy must have stuck it in the drawer when she saw me snooping around, then forgotten about it. Baby Girl Harley. The words hit me like a slap. It is the name of a doll, not a child. Hi, I'm Baby Girl, who are you? Yes, Baby Girl Harley. Do you know my father, Mr. Unknown? I have no name. I have no father. I am the Baby Girl Harley doll. I cry real tears.
“Harley?” My mother calls from the other room. “Did you find it?”
I jump like a jewel thief caught with my hand in a safe. “Got it!” I take a deep breath. The Baby Girl Harley doll can do anything. Just wind her up and watch her go. I shove the paper back inside the drawer. I grab Granny's little white purse and dump some stuff from my pocketbook into it. I run back down the hall, clutching the beaded bag, and try to hold on to my sanity.
“That's better, Harley,” Peppy says. “You look like a real lady.”
I try to act normal. I smile and do a pirouette. My black dress flares. “Thanks, Mom,” I tell her. “You sure are being nice.”
“That dress is awfully short, Harley,” Roger says.
I spin the other way. My dress collapses, then swirls in the opposite direction. I force a laugh. “It's the style, Dad.”
“Did anyone ask me if you could wear that dress?”
Oh, no. Roger is going to
be a jerk. “Dad …”
“I pay for the roof over your head and the clothes on your back. I say that dress is too short.” I bite the inside of my cheek. My stomach knots up.
Peppy throws him a warning. “It's what they're wearing, honey.”
“Well, you should know, Patricia,” says Roger, slurring his words a little. “You're the prom expert. You're the Queen o' the Ball.” Peppy opens her mouth to say something, then decides against it. I realize Roger has been knocking back the vodka. I have to get Evan out of here before we all wind up dead on the floor.
Roger doesn't stop. “I've never been to the ball, not like my wife here. Or the prom. Or even the eighth-grade dance. I don't dance. My wife loves to dance. She'll dance with anyone who asks her.” Warning. Warning. Roger on the warpath.
“Roger …” Peppy takes Roger by the arm. He yanks it away and turns to Evan.
“Do you dance, Ethan?”
“His name is Evan, Dad. And we'd better run before we're late.” I grab Evan's hand and pull him toward the door. Escape. Escape.
Evan's chin rises slightly, and he looks straight at Roger, his gray eyes gazing into Roger's brown ones. Like a snake charmer he hypnotizes the cobra. I remember his father, Q.C., on the phone and think, Ah, well, he knows what this is about, he knows how to handle this. Maybe Evan is a doll, too. Maybe we are both toys for grown-ups to play with. Hey, folks, you've got the Baby Girl Harley doll, now get her boyfriend, Evan.
Evan says, “I like to dance to the slow stuff, as long as the girl isn't wearing spikes. Dangerous weapons, spikes.”
Roger considers this for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing, as though Evan has just cracked the funniest joke. “Spikes! Spikes! I know what you mean. Spikes!” Roger moves away and collapses back onto the sofa.
Peppy snatches the opening and practically shoves us out the door. “Run along, you two. Have a good time. Don't be late.”
Baby Girl Harley and her boyfriend, Evan, fly out of the house and into their shiny blue Camaro accessory. Peppy, Roger, and Lily watch through the front window. Evan makes a big show of holding my door open as I scoot inside. He slams it shut and tosses a wave back at the House of Columba.
Father, UNKNOWN. Father, UNKNOWN. Father, UNKNOWN. The loop plays inside my head as we rumble into Sunrise Estates. I really am adopted. I wasn't imagining the whole thing. I'm not crazy. Breathe, Baby Girl, breathe. I am getting dizzy.
Evan reaches across the stick shift and touches my hand as we pull up in front of Oliver's gate. “You okay?” I nod. I am afraid to speak. If I say one word, I will dissolve into a puddle. I am spinning, spinning, spinning out of control. I wonder if I should tell Evan the whole sordid story. It's too much for me to deal with. It's just too much. I close my eyes. I can feel pieces of myself shutting down. Clank, clank. Shut down the heart, shut down the brain—this kid's going into overload. Maybe this is what happens when the pain is too great, I think. You become plastic and feel nothing at all.
I hear Evan shut off the ignition. I can feel him watching me. I swallow. I am far away; I can almost feel his touch. I blink. He cups my chin in his hands. His gray eyes look deep into mine. Lights on, nobody home. “You'd really like to go to the ball, wouldn't you, babe?”
My eyelids flutter as the first wave of salt water hits. Yeah, I want to go to the ball, but as the real thing, not an imitation. I want my real father and my real mother to send their darling daughter off to the real ball. I turn my face away from Evan so he can't see my tears. I nod. “It's okay, though.” I think I say these words out loud.
Evan runs his fingers down the back of my neck. “Is there anything else bothering you, babe? You seem … I don't know.”
Earth to Harley. Earth to Harley. Come in, Harley. I try to answer, but it's hard to speak when your lips don't move. “Harley?” Evan's voice is far away. “Harley, are you okay?”
Call me Baby Girl Harley, I want to say. My name is Baby Girl Harley, and you are my boyfriend, Evan, with arms and legs that bend. He strokes my hair. I start to cry. “What?” he whispers. “What, babe, what?” I feel Evan scoop me into his arms. He is so strong. Stronger than G.I. Joe. I could tell him, I think. I could tell him and he would understand. I start to answer….
“Hey! You guys! Stop making out in there!” I look up. Jessie and Oliver stand on the stoop, waving. They're dressed like some freaky bride and groom.
Oliver wears a black top hat and tails. Jessie has on a black crushed-velvet gown that makes her look even more like Morticia. They are ready to party. I blink and remember why we're here.
“Will you get a look at those two,” says Evan. I wipe my eyes. My cheeks are made out of flesh, not plastic. Flesh, streaked with tears.
“Come on!” yells Jessie. “Get your butts in here!”
Evan fishes a tissue out of the glove compartment and hands it to me. “Blow,” he instructs.
I obey. “I'm sorry, Evan,” I sniffle. My voice is hoarse. “I just—”
Evan hushes me with a kiss. “It's okay, Harley. It's my fault. If I hadn't gotten busted—”
“No.” I don't want Evan to get all guilty on me. “It's not that—”
“COME ON, YOU GUYS!” Jessie is jumping up and down on the porch.
“Jessie, shut up!” Evan shouts out the window. He turns back to me. “Come on, babe.” He kisses me again. “Smile.” He tickles the edges of my mouth.
God, I am such a wimp. I don't want to ruin the night for everybody. I give Evan a little smile. “I'm okay.” I try to convince myself. “I'm fine.” I wrap my arms around his neck. I slip the elastic off his pony-tail. He shakes his head and his blond hair tumbles around his shoulders. He kisses my nose. “We better go inside.”
I take a compact out of Granny's purse and repair my face. It actually doesn't look too bad. I dab some powder over my red nose. Evan pulls me out of the car and tugs me up to the porch. Oliver and Jessie applaud our entrance.
“Greetings, friends.” Oliver tips his top hat. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Geez, it's about time, you lovebirds.” Jessie twirls and shows off her Morticia gown and makes me smile. “We wanted to get fancy, too!” she giggles. “Come in, come in. Oliver's folks went to Maui.” I swear, Oliver has the best life, with parents who are never home.
Jessie grabs my hand and pulls me inside the house. She is awfully excited for a trip to the movies, I think. Then I see why. I step into the hallway and gasp.
“Voilà!” Jessie curtseys with a sweep of her hand.
The house looks completely different than it did on the night of the party. The living room has been transformed into a crazy version of a medieval castle. A red carpet runs down the center. Candles flicker. Logs burn in the fireplace. Vases spill over with daisies and baby's breath. A waltz plays on the stereo. Whoa, I think. Oliver's parents must be really rich.
Jessie places a rhinestone tiara on top of my head. “Princess Harley, welcome to the Ball of the Misbe-gotten!”
“It's beautiful.” I am amazed. I step into the room and sink into the carpet. For a second, I do not think my knees will hold me up.
Evan grabs my shoulders. “Surprise!” he laughs. “Your own private ball.”
Oh, wow. The three of them went through all this trouble so I wouldn't be disappointed. Against the far wall is a long banquet table covered with a white linen cloth. On the table are plates of food and hors d'oeuvres. Stacked at the end are china dishes and real silver, every teaspoon a princess. “It's too much,” I say.
Oliver shrugs. “Just some crap my parents keep stashed in a closet. Jessie went nuts. She's been at it all day.”
Evan pulls me into the center of the room. He bows. “May I have this dance, Your Highness?” Clarinets and flutes tug at my feet. One-two-three, onetwo-three. The waltz is so happy, it's hard to stay sad. Oh, I don't want to think tonight, I just want to have fun. I want to play Medieval Ball with Evan and Oliver and Jessie and dance and dance and dance. I adjust the tiara
on top of my head. Yes. Tonight I will be wild. Tonight I will be free. Tonight Baby Girl Harley goes to the ball.
I nod at Evan. “I'd love to dance with you, Sir Lennon.” He sweeps me into his arms and spins me around the floor.
Oliver tips his hat to Jessie and she tumbles into his arms. Together they move to the music. The crystal chandelier above our heads throws tiny stars across the walls. One-two-three, one-two-three. My hair flies out as Evan twirls me around the room. French horns and violins lift us off our feet. Round and round we spin until the room is just a blur.
The music builds to a crescendo, then fades to a finish. We all collapse onto the sofa, breathless and giggly. A bouncy little minuet starts playing, and Oliver reaches for a bottle that is chilling in a silver ice bucket. “Tonight we drink champagne,” he declares as he twists off the cork. The bottle explodes with a pop, and golden suds spill over the rim. He fills four tall, delicate glasses and hands one to each of us. He raises his glass. “To the Princess of the Ball of the Mis-begotten, Harley Columba!”
We click our glasses together and drink. I've never had champagne before. The bubbles burst inside my mouth and down my throat. It tastes bittersweet. I take another sip. The bubbles tickle my nose. “Thank you, thank you, my Royal Misbegotten Court,” I declare.
Oliver reaches for a crystal bowl that is on the coffee table. I see it is filled with rolled joints. Hmmm. He takes one and passes the bowl to Jessie. She takes one and passes it to Evan. Evan offers the bowl to me. I hesitate. Go ahead, I think. Go ahead, orphan child. I take one out of the bowl.
Oliver strikes a long fireplace match and holds it over his head like he's the Statue of Liberty. “And now, in honor of our daring Misbegotten Prince, Evan Lennon, who has just this fortnight escaped from the evil dungeons of Lenape, we do hereby smoke this ceremonious weed.” Oliver lights each of our joints with the match and winks. “This stuff is potent, kids.”
