The Thanksgiving Treasure

by Gail Rock

  Carla Mae had a lot of brothers and sisters—three of each in fact—so we all took our own blankets and pillows along and planned to sleep on the floor in her room. Actually, we didn’t plan to sleep at all, as that was the whole point of slumber parties. Another point was eating, and we always cooked our favorite stuff. Our usual combination was fudge and french fried potatoes. It made my dad sick just to hear the two things mentioned in the same sentence, but we loved it.

  There was always an argument over whether to put walnuts in the fudge. I hated them because I thought fudge should be enjoyed in its pure state. Tanya and Carla Mae liked the crunch of walnuts between their teeth, and Gloria, who never liked to argue about anything, just didn’t care. So we always made one fourth of the pan pure fudge, and that was for me. We were eating it with our french fried potatoes while we talked about the style show.

  Tanya’s mother was about the only woman in town la-de-da enough to read Vogue and Bazaar, and Tanya had brought along some old copies for us to use as inspiration. Tanya was studying them carefully and writing something down.

  “What are you writing?” asked Gloria.

  “I’m copying some of my style show narration out of Vogue,” said Tanya.

  We all groaned.

  “How come?” asked Carla Mae.

  “I want to make sure it fits in with our theme, High Society Steps Out,” Tanya said.

  We had worked for weeks to find just the right, sophisticated theme idea.

  “Ugh!” said Gloria. “I hate the whole thing. It’s so embarrassing to walk up and down in front of all those people!”

  I felt about the same way, but I didn’t let on. I always hated to admit I was afraid of anything.

  I leaned back on the bed with my sketch pad and put a few more touches on my design. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m ever going to get the details right on this dress!” I said, trying to build up the suspense for the others.

  “Let’s see it,” Carla Mae said, and reached for my pad.

  “No!” I said. “I told you it’s a secret design until the show!”

  “OK,” she said, annoyed. “Who cares?”

  The three of them studiously ignored me, pretending to be interested in Tanya’s copy of Vogue.

  “Oh, this is so complicated!” I sighed, trying to tantalize them. “It really is the most elaborate thing I’ve ever designed!”

  Tanya turned and gave me a dirty look. “For somebody who hates to sew, you’re sure making a big deal out of this,” she said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t even be in the dumb style show if I didn’t have to,” I said. “But if I have to do it, I’m going to be creative, and believe me, this is creee-ative!”

  “Oh, come on, let’s see what you’re doing,” said Gloria. “You’ve seen all of ours.” She reached toward me.

  “No!” I said, pulling the sketch pad away.

  Suddenly Carla Mae lunged across the bed at me. “Lemme see it, Mills!” she shouted, and dived for the sketch pad.

  “No! You rat!” I screamed, and scrambled to get away.

  Then Tanya and Gloria jumped across the bed too, and we were in a wild free-for-all. I rolled into a ball, clutching the pad to my stomach, and they pinched, tickled and clobbered me with pillows, trying to get it away. I screamed as loud as I could, which was ear-splitting.

  “Shhhh!” said Carla Mae quickly, and pulled off the other two. “You’ll wake up my folks, and they’ll kill me!”

  “OK,” I said. “Get away from me then. Truce!”

  They backed off, giving up. I had kept my secret design from them.

  “Immature!” I snarled at them, as I readjusted my glasses and settled myself on the bed again.

  “It better be some fancy dress when we see it,” said Gloria.

  I retrieved my gum from the bedpost, where I had put it when I was eating my fudge and french fries, and Tanya glared at me and turned up her nose. Tanya imagined herself to have the most refined manners of the four of us. I put my sketch pad safely away and started leafing idly through Vogue.

  We wanted to have someone special in town present the awards for the best designs at the style show, and we discussed all the possible town celebrities. There was Miss Thompson, our favorite teacher, but she had presented the awards the year before. There was Mrs. Clauson, the banker’s wife, who was the richest woman in town, but we counted her out because she was fat and not very stylish herself. Of course, Tanya wanted her mother to be the presenter, but we all ruled that out in a hurry, with much cracking of gum.

  “Think of someone!” Carla Mae said, and we were silent for a few moments.

  “These fashion magazines are so stupid!” I said, as I continued looking through them. “I wouldn’t be caught dead at a dogfight in these clothes!”

  Just then, Tanya pulled out a bottle of dark red nail polish and a big wad of cotton from her overnight bag.

  “Gad!” said Carla Mae. “Where did you get that.”

  “I borrowed it from my mother,” Tanya said haughtily.

  None of us were allowed to use nail polish or any other make up until we were in high school, and we stared at it enviously.

  “Does your mother let you wear nail polish now?” Gloria asked.

  “Only at night,” said Tanya. “I have to take it off before I go out in the morning.”

  We all groaned.

  “That’s ridiculous!” I said.

  “Well,” said Tanya smugly. “When we’re old enough to wear nail polish, I’m going to know how to do it, and you’re not.”

  She proceeded to put big wads of cotton between her toes to hold them apart and then started painting her toenails as we all watched in fascination. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of looking too interested, so I went back to my magazine.

  “‘What to Wear to a Broadway Opening Night’” I read from one of the articles.

  “We’ve got to think of somebody to present the awards!” Carla Mae said impatiently.

  Suddenly I got one of my brilliant brainstorms.

  “Constance Payne!” I shouted at them.

  “Addie!” said Carla Mae. “We were going to keep that a secret!”

  “Oh, I know!” I said. “But I just got this brainstorm! She’s the perfect person to present the awards!”

  “What secret?” demanded Tanya. “Constance who?”

  Carla Mae and I excitedly told Tanya and Gloria the story of Constance Gunderson Payne, interrupting each other with all the glamorous details and embroidering a bit on what we already knew. I announced that we had planned to visit her anyway to ask for an autograph. Tanya glared at me. It was just the kind of dramatic announcement she would have loved to make herself.

  “And you weren’t going to tell us?” Tanya said, furious.

  “We would’ve told you later,” I said.

  “Thanks a lot!” she said huffily.

  “What does she look like?” asked Gloria.

  “I don’t know exactly,” I said. “But she has to be fabulous!”

  “How do you know?” Gloria asked.

  “Leading ladies have to be glamorous,” Carla Mae said.

  “OK, it’s settled,” I said. “When I get her autograph, I’ll ask her to be our celebrity guest.”

  “Who elected you?” Tanya asked. “We’ll all go.”

  “Well,” I said, in my best snob-lady accent, “I’m sure she doesn’t want a lot of strange people descending on her house unannounced. Perhaps I should go alone.”

  “Listen, kiddo,” said Carla Mae, annoyed. “It was my idea, too, to get her autograph!”

  “Yeah,” said Tanya. “It’s a free country. Anybody can go up to her house if they want.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said. “But I’ll do the asking when it comes to the moment of truth.”

  Tanya was about to give me a smart answer when she looked down at her feet. “Oh, no!” she shrieked. “All my toes are stuck to the cotton!” We all hooted and cracked our gum right in her ears.


  Chapter Two

  The next day, contrary to my father’s instructions to stay away, the four of us set off to see Constance Payne. Clear River was so small, we only had to walk about five blocks to get to the Gunderson house. We went around 3 P.M., because, as I had pointed out to everyone, “Actresses always sleep late.”

  I had picked some of the daffodils that were just beginning to bloom around the back corner of our little house, and took them along for Miss Payne. We dressed in our best clothes, and all carried our autograph books. On the way over, there was a lot of serious discussion about who had the best autograph collection. My best autograph was Roy Rogers, who had signed my book at a parade in Omaha. Tanya was bragging about her autograph from Margaret Truman, but I told her it didn’t count because she got it through the mail, and autographs weren’t for real unless you got them from the actual person in the flesh. Tanya said snippily that she would rather have Margaret Truman in the mail than Roy Rogers in the flesh, and I told her that was a sign of her rotten taste.

  There was also a lot of discussion about what Constance Payne might look like. Nobody in Clear River had seen her for years, and other than my father saying that she was pretty and dark-haired, we didn’t know what to expect. Gloria speculated that she might have bleached her hair and look like our favorite movie star, Betty Grable, but I pooh-poohed that idea because I knew stage acting was supposed to be high-class and not pin-up stuff like the movies.

  Tanya was still a bit miffed because Carla Mae and I had come up with this adventure, and she walked ahead a few steps with me to tell me something confidentially.

  “My father said that when they were in school Constance Payne was always flirting with him, but he never went out with her because she wasn’t his type.” She looked at me smugly.

  I knew she had made it up, and I wasn’t about to let her get away with it.

  “Well,” I said. “My father knew her very well. I think she was mad for him. They dated a lot.” I plunged on recklessly, “I bet she can’t wait to see him again. She’ll want to come over for dinner, I suppose.”

  “For dinner?” she asked, scornfully. “At your house?”

  “Yes,” I said, putting on my la-de-da accent, “I suppose I really should invite her for some Saturday evening.”

  Tanya was about to make a rude reply when the others walked up beside us. We were there.

  I was feeling a bit nervous as we approached the big old house. No one had lived in it since we could remember, and we had always jokingly referred to it as the haunted mansion. Of course, we didn’t take that seriously, but I wondered just what kind of welcome we would get from Constance Payne. She might not want a bunch of kids hanging around.

  We trooped up on the porch, and I knocked on the door a few times. There was no answer, and after a few moments, I knocked again, louder. The house was so big, we wondered if she would ever hear it.

  “Oh, come on, let’s go!” said Tanya. “She’s not even here.”

  “Relax!” I answered.

  “Well, she’s not going to say yes to the style show anyway,” Tanya said. “It’s stupid to ask her.”

  I had a feeling Tanya would be secretly pleased if Constance said no. We waited nervously. Finally we heard footsteps approaching the door, and we all self-consciously tugged at our socks and dresses and tried to make ourselves presentable.

  The door opened, and there stood Constance Payne. We were all so overwhelmed by her appearance that for a moment we said nothing. We just stood and stared at her.

  I thought she was the most dramatic, exotic person I had ever seen. She looked a bit sleepy and disheveled, with her dark hair tousled about her face, but she was very beautiful. She was wearing an elegant black kimono splashed with big red flowers, and she wore dark red nail polish and strange, embroidered slippers.

  She was staring back at us with a slightly irritated expression. I thought I had better say something before she closed the door in our faces.

  “Constance Payne?” I asked stupidly. As though it could be anyone else!

  “Yes?” she said in a low, rich voice, sounding impatient.

  “I’m Addie Mills … I mean Adelaide.” I quickly thrust the daffodils at her. “These are for you. To welcome you to Clear River. I mean, to welcome you back.”

  She took the flowers. “Well, thank you, Adelaide,” she said, and moved back as though she were going to close the door.

  “You can call me Addie,” I said quickly, trying desperately to make conversation. Carla Mae gave out a big “ah-hem” behind me, and I suddenly remembered to introduce the other three girls.

  Then Tanya blurted out, “Could we have your autograph?” I elbowed her, furious at her bad manners for asking so soon.

  Constance tried to make some excuse about not having time or doing it some other day, but the three of them persisted, and she finally agreed. Then we discovered that none of us had a pen, and Tanya had the nerve to ask if we could borrow one.

  “I must have a pen inside somewhere,” Constance said. “Excuse me.” She turned to go, leaving the door ajar. That was all the invitation we needed, and we rushed in behind her and followed her through the big dark hall and into the parlor on the right. When she realized we were behind her, she stopped suddenly and spun around. I thought she was going to throw us out, and we all froze in our tracks. She looked at us for a moment and then gave a sigh and went on into the room and walked over to a big trunk. We followed, taking in the surroundings as we went. It was a dark old room, full of red plush furniture and ornate lamps. Some of the furniture was covered with sheets, and a big carpet was rolled up against one wall. The old trunk was obviously one that had belonged to Constance. It was plastered with travel stickers from cities in Europe and full of little drawers and compartments.

  There was a pair of sunglasses on top of the trunk, and she picked them up and put them on. I wondered why. I had never seen anyone wear sunglasses indoors, and I imagined from that moment on that all actresses did.

  Tanya, Gloria and Carla Mae gathered around the trunk as Constance searched for a pen, but I didn’t want to appear overanxious, so I became interested in some old posters leaning against a table. They announced her appearances in several plays in cities back East. I had never heard of some of the towns, but the plays sounded glamorous. She must have sent the posters home to her family earlier in her career.

  “I’m afraid the house is in a bit of a mess,” she was saying. “I’m sorting through things, trying to get it all settled before I go back to New York.”

  “I bet you travel a lot,” I said, still looking at the posters. “Like on tours and all that.”

  “Well, yes, sometimes I work outside of New York,” she said, sounding distracted. “Here’s a pen.”

  Tanya, Gloria and Carla Mae all shoved their autograph books at her, but I hung back, trying to be polite. When she finished with the others, Constance turned to me and held out her hand for my book.

  “And you’re Adelaide?” she said, starting to write.

  “Make it to ‘Addie.’ I hate ‘Adelaide,’” I said, making a face about my awful name.

  “I always hated my last name,” she said, looking at me for a moment. “‘Gunderson’ didn’t seem right for the theater, so I changed it.”

  “That’s what I’m going to do!” I said. “I don’t want to sign my paintings ‘Adelaide.’ It’ll look stupid.”

  She looked up from my book. “Are you an artist?”

  “Well, I’m gonna be one … as soon as I can go to Paris and New York and study and stuff.”

  “New York?” she asked, seeming surprised.

  “Oh, yeah! I’m going the day I get out of college. I can’t wait! I’ve got a scrapbook about New York, and a map and everything.”

  Tanya made a face. “Oh, she’s always talking about having her paintings in the Museum of Metropolitan Art!”

  “It’s the Metropolitan Museum of Art, dodo!” I snapped back at her. I knew s
he couldn’t stand it that Constance and I were having this whole sophisticated conversation. I turned to Constance. “I hope I’ll be a success like you. Then there’ll be two famous people from Clear River.”

  She looked away from me when I said that, and put the pen back in a drawer of the trunk. Then she started for the door as though to usher us out. We followed on her heels, all talking at once, asking questions about her life in New York. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I had never been that close to anyone so glamorous. She tried to be polite, but I could tell she didn’t really want to answer our questions and was anxious to get rid of us.

  Tanya had the nerve to ask her if actresses make a lot of money, and Constance answered politely that leading ladies get paid very well. I informed Tanya that real actors don’t act for the money, they do it for the love of the theater. It’s a way of life! Constance seemed amused at that and made another move toward the door.

  I thought I had better bring up the style show before it was too late.

  “Are you going to be in town for a while?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “I suppose you have to start on a new play … rehearsals and all that?” said Carla Mae.

  “What’s your new play about?” asked Gloria.

  Constance seemed to hesitate for a moment, and I interrupted. “Actresses don’t discuss their roles before they rehearse. It’s supposed to be a secret! Right?” I said to Constance.

  She smiled at me. “Something like that, yes.”

  I thought I had made an impression on her by that knowledgeable remark about actresses, and it seemed a good time to launch into the invitation to the style show. We all bombarded her with requests, and I even assured her she wouldn’t have to sit through the luncheon but could just come at the end of the show and hand out the awards. She listened patiently and then said, “I’m very flattered, but I really can’t.”

  She moved to the door and opened it.

  “I told you so,” Tanya hissed. “You and your stupid ideas!”

  I knew Constance had heard her. “Oh, clam up, will you?” I whispered angrily to Tanya.