Soap Bubbles

by Denise Dietz

  Samantha blew Samuel a kiss, the tips of her fingers traveling through the air like bright scarlet stars. Then she danced up the cobblestones, toward the house. “Thanks, Carolyn Ann,” she called over her shoulder.

  Moments later Delly skimmed the bumpy cobblestones with her bare feet, and Carolyn Ann recalled Samuel’s remark about the visually impaired obstetrician. Delly wore braces to correct an overbite while the dentist had never found one cavity in Samantha’s smile. An inch shorter than her sister, Delly had tiny, budding breasts, and checked each morning for evidence of her first period. With menstruation, Samantha’s chest had bloomed while the rest of her body slenderized. Delly was heavy, and the long felt skirt over a full slip and several petticoats looked unflattering.

  “How does my skirt look, Mom?” Delly twirled. “Sami says it has ambiance, but I feel like a jerk. I look like a jerk, don’t I? Be honest.”

  “A blouse and shoes would help the overall effect,” Carolyn Ann said. “Why are you holding your hands behind your back?”

  “I can’t get the button to close.”

  “Move it over. There’s a needle and thread in my kitchen what-not drawer.”

  “If I hold my breath, you can fasten it.”

  “Darling, it would just pop open with the first dance.”

  “Biff Garfunkle can’t dance.”

  “Delly’s been invited by a very nice boy,” Carolyn Ann told Samuel. “The son of my mah-jongg partner.”

  “I wasn’t invited. I was inveigled.”

  “By whom?”

  “You. Mrs. Garfunkle. Can’t I just forget the party, Mom?”

  “Don’t be silly. Would that be fair to Biff?”

  “He wouldn’t care. Besides, he drools.”

  “Biff wears braces.”

  “I wear braces and I don’t drool. Do I? Oh, gosh. Do I?”

  “No. You don’t drool. Listen, darling, if we can’t do something with your button, I think there’s an old cinch belt hidden away inside my bureau.”

  “I’ll look like the fat lady in the circus. Won’t I, Uncle Sam?”

  Samuel glanced helplessly at Carolyn Ann. Then, turning toward Delly, he said, “Let’s drive to the store. I’ll buy you a bigger skirt, the sky’s the limit. You can even choose the same style dress as your sister. Although,” he added quickly, “you’ll have to get permission.”

  Delly’s bottom lip quivered. “I don’t want a bigger skirt.”

  “At least say thank you, child.”

  “I was going to . . . oh, gosh, Mom, I’m sorry. You have a phone call, person-to-person, long distance. It was a terrible connection and the operator had to call back three times. I hope she didn’t hang up. Rats!”

  Samuel put his arm around Delly’s shoulder as they watched mother and ex-fiancée scamper, like a teenager, up the cobblestones.

  Inside the cozy kitchen, a wall receiver dangled to the floor. “I told Sami to hold on while I got you,” Delly said. “I’m really sorry, Mom.”

  “That’s okay.” Carolyn Ann reeled in the receiver by its cord. “Hello? Yes, this is Mrs. Gold. Hello? William?”

  Samuel had turned to smile at his namesake, still in her black dress, posing at the kitchen archway.

  Delly saw her mother’s face lose every stitch of color. “Mom? Mommy? What’s wrong?”

  Startled by the panic in Delly’s voice, Samuel ran to Carolyn Ann’s side, pried the phone from her fingers, led her to a captain’s chair, then retrieved the receiver. “This is Samuel Curtis, a close friend of the family.” He listened, said “Thank you very much,” and hung up. “Your dad’s been shot, kids. That was a man from the police department. Your dad’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “Shot?” Delly and Samantha said together.

  “There was this crazy guy, Charles Whitman. They think he killed his folks. Then he went up into a tower at the University of Texas and sniped at people with his gun. Your father decided to take pictures for the newspapers.”

  “I have to go to William, Samuel.”

  “Of course. We’ll both go. You sit there while I make the arrange—”

  The phone’s strident ring interrupted his words and all four faces turned toward the wall. Samuel identified himself again, listened, then replaced the receiver.

  “Carolyn Ann,” he said, “you’ve got to be very brave. William’s gone. He died a few minutes ago.”

  “That’s a big fat lie!”

  Samuel knelt by her chair and clasped her hands in his. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It can’t be true. I didn’t kiss him goodbye. I’ll make more grape jelly, I swear. Don’t you see? It’s a mistake, someone else with a camera, someone who stole William’s wallet. He’s on a plane right now, flying home . . . shut up, Mother!”

  Samuel straightened and stared at the twins, who were standing in silent shock. “Girls, I need your help. Delly, can you call the doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Call your grandparents, too. Tell them I’ll have tickets waiting at O’Hare.”

  “Yes, Uncle Sam,” said Delly, a small forlorn figure with a brown felt skirt, unbuttoned, hanging halfway down her hips.

  Samantha hid her face against Samuel’s neck. “This is . . . the worst thing . . . that’s ever happened,” she sobbed.

  “I know, I know. Uncle Sam’s here.” He led Samantha toward a chair near her mother’s, watched the broken-hearted girl bury her face in her arms, then gently tilted Carolyn Ann’s chin with his finger. “I’m going to help you upstairs and put you to bed now, darling.”

  “No. I’ve got to wait for William.” Rising, Carolyn Ann walked through the connecting archway and sat down at a piano. “This was my fifteenth wedding anniversary present,” she said, as if speaking to a stranger. “William loves to hear me play.”

  Delly cradled the phone’s receiver between her chin and shoulder. Her spit tasted like bittersweet chocolate and she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Actors got killed in one movie then starred in another. That wouldn’t happen with her daddy. Actors live forever, even when they die. If I become an actress, I’ll live forever.

  Samantha couldn’t stop crying. What a lousy break. Now she couldn’t go to the party and Mike Bleich would dance all night with Peggy Adler, and Samantha Vivian Gold, oozing with ambiance, wouldn’t get a chance to show off her new dress.

  Yes, I will, she thought. It’s black. I’ll wear it to Daddy’s funeral.

  Chapter Two

  Delly tossed her school books on top of the counter and reached for the clay cookie jar she had kilned last year.

  Samantha’s voice: “Thanks for walking me home. Oops, I tripped on a cobblestone. Wow, you’re so strong. Ummm . . .”

  Sami and some boy were kissing, right outside the kitchen window. Delly heard a meow that sounded like a cross between a Swiss yodel and a scratchy record.

  “Jim, I’d like you to meet Southern Comfort,” Sami said. “My pussy.”

  A male murmur, then Sami said, “I don’t like boys who talk dirty, Mr. Marks.”

  Jim Marks, thought Delly. New kid at school. Skinny. Ugly. Pimples all over his face and body. What was Sami doing with him?

  “My uncle knows Dick Clark personally,” Jim said. “So what do you say, Samantha?”

  “I don’t date just anybody.”

  True, thought Delly. Unless anybody was a jock or very popular, Sami turned him down with vague promises. Gosh, Dick Clark. American Bandstand. Delly would give anything to appear on Bandstand.

  “Let’s try a movie,” said Samantha, “and see how it goes. Rosemary’s Baby is at the Bayside this weekend. If you find my sister a date, we can double.”

  Delly couldn’t hear Jim’s response, but Sami’s voice was loud and clear. “So what? It’s only a movie.”

  School books thudded against the cobblestones; they were kissing again. Ugh! Sami would kiss a shark if she thought it might lead to buried treasure.

  Furtively, Delly peeked
through the window. Good grief, they weren’t just kissing. Jim had maneuvered his hands underneath Sami’s sweater.

  “Dick Clark’ll introduce us to the Fifth Dimension,” he said, breathing hard.

  Sami was up, up, and away, as she wedged one knee between Jim’s thighs. He continued pressing his fingers against Sami’s bra and Delly felt her own breasts tingle. With a sigh, she grabbed a handful of cookies and walked through the kitchen, into the living room. Mom sat at her piano.

  “Bayside . . . um . . . High . . .” Delly cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her breasts. “School’s holding auditions for South Pacific. Can I try out?”

  “May I.”

  “May I?”

  “Me too, Mom.” Sami entered the room.

  “Except for math, Delly’s grades are fine. But you’re barely passing, Samantha.”

  “I really want to be in the show, Mom. Dell and me together. The Gold sisters, da-dum.”

  “You have cheerleading practice and your grades—”

  “Grades, grades, grades! That’s all you ever talk about. If Daddy was alive, he’d let me audition.”

  “Sami!”

  “You know he would, Dell.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Carolyn Ann said.

  “I’ll study real hard, Mom, and Delly can help me with my homework. Please? I’ll never ask for anything again. Well, maybe one thing. You see, this new boy at school invited me to dance with him on American Bandstand. I said okay because he’s just moved here and he doesn’t have any friends yet and I thought you’d want me to be nice to him. He has pimples and he’s not all that cute. But if I go out with him, the other kids—”

  “Will you help your sister study, Delly?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  Sami rained kisses all over her mother’s flushed cheeks. “I’ll tutor Delly for the audition. She has a sweet voice, but it takes more than that to be a star.”

  The twins tried out together, singing a duet. Samantha Gold won the show’s lead, Nellie Forbush. Still chunky and undeveloped, Delly was given a part in the chorus. Eventually she doubled as a sailor since there weren’t enough boys in the show.

  “I feel goofy singing there’s nothing like a dame,” she told Samantha. “After all, I’m a dame.”

  “What should I wear to Bandstand, Del? Maybe Uncle Sam’ll send me money for a new sweater. Why are you looking like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Southern Comfort on a bad-weather day. Sad and gimpy. Gosh, I’m so stupid. You’ve always loved that show. Why don’t I tell Jim to take you, instead?”

  “He wouldn’t want to go with me.”

  “I’ll call at the last minute and say I’m sick. Then he’ll have no choice.”

  “No, Sami, thanks anyway.”

  “Well, all right, if you insist.”

  The play scheduled after South Pacific was Macbeth.

  “Me try out?” Samantha grimaced. Sprawled across her bed, she was underlining passages from the latest Harold Robbins bestseller. “Are you serious, Dell? I hate Shakespeare. Except for West Side Story.”

  “Romeo and Juliet, not West Side Story. Will you come to the audition with me, Sami? I won’t be nervous if you’re there.”

  “When is it?”

  “Monday and Tuesday, three-thirty. I’m reading on Monday.”

  “Monday I’ve got glee club rehearsal. Don’t worry, you’ll be great.”

  The list, posted Wednesday afternoon, cast Samantha Gold as Lady Macbeth. Delly didn’t get a part.

  “You said you weren’t going to try out.” Delly slammed her books on top of her bedroom desk. “You said you hated Shakespeare.”

  “I do. But Mike Bleich said I couldn’t perform a serious role. He called me an airhead and double-dared me.”

  “You don’t even date Mike any more. You’re dating that guy from Great Neck, the one you won’t tell Mom about because he’s so old.”

  “Older, Dell, not old. Drew Florentino has the most gorgeous bod I’ve ever seen.”

  “Did you . . . have you gone all the way with him?”

  “Of course not. I promised I’d wait until you found somebody. I was tempted, though. God, can he kiss.”

  Delly, who’d never kissed a boy, felt her lips tingle. “Did you open your mouth?”

  “Sure. I even touched his tongue with mine.”

  “Did you touch his you know?”

  “His penis? Yes. I’d been drinking and—”

  “Sami!”

  “Just one drink, a Tom Collins, tastes like lemonade. If you tattle—”

  “Did you let him touch your bra?”

  “Nope.” Sami giggled. “I took it off.”

  “Did he touch your undies? Or did you take them off?”

  “Off. It was only fair. Drew took his off.”

  “But you said you didn’t go all the way.”

  “Maybe I wanted to go all the way.” Her eyes blazed. “Maybe Drew stopped because he said there were rules about taking advantage of a girl who’d had too much to drink.”

  “What happened to one Tom Collings?”

  “Tom Collins. Maybe I had more than one. Maybe I got dizzy and couldn’t sit up. Maybe Drew put me on the back seat of his Thunderbird. Maybe he sucked my breasts and licked me between my legs. Maybe he kneeled above my face. Maybe I did more than touch his you-know.”

  “Gosh, you’re such a liar.”

  “I am not.”

  “You lied about Macbeth.”

  “I didn’t lie. Mike Bleich double-dared me, I swear to God. Don’t be mad, Dell. I’ll tell them to give the part to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll phone John Gibbs right now.”

  “Sami, wait. Don’t call Mr. Gibbs.”

  “Well, all right, if you insist. Would you help me learn my lines, Dell? Nellie was easy. Lady Macbeth’s hard. Is there a special trick to learning Shakespeare?”

  “Sing the words first, until you learn them by heart. Pretend they’re rock lyrics.”

  “Rock lyrics. Damn, that’s brilliant. C’mon, we’ll do the Lady like she’s never been done before . . . with ambiance.”

  “Okay, toss me your script,” Delly said, somewhat mollified by Sami’s praise. “I guess we can’t have a school play without a Gold star.”

  “Gold star, that’s a good one. Remember the stupid stars Teacher pasted on your grade school compositions?” Samantha scowled. “I haven’t finished my history homework. I wish we really were identical twins. Then you could take my exams, too. Only kidding, Dell. You wouldn’t want to look like me.”

  Oh, wouldn’t I? Mr. Gibbs cast you because of your big boobs. You could say out damn spot in Pig Latin and Mr. Gibbs would ooldray like an ogday.

  Seated at her desk, Delly pulled a piece of stationary from her middle drawer.

  Dear Anissa, she scribbled. Today I was offered the part of Lady Macbeth, but I said no because I’d have to cut down on cheerleading and glee club and I only auditioned because Mike Bleich double-dared me. I think he’s mad because I don’t date him anymore. I’m dating this older boy, Drew Florentino. He lives in Great Neck, not far from Bayside, and God, can he kiss. I drank something called a Tom Collings and almost went all the way. I took my undies off and Drew kissed me between my legs.

  * * * * *

  “Are you nuts?” Samantha squealed.

  “I merely asked if you two had filled out your college applications yet.”

  Delly grinned. Mom was the only person she knew who could knit a sweater, watch Mission Impossible on TV, and talk seriously, all at the same time.

  “College,” Samantha said with a sneer. “We’re the Gold sisters. We’re going to star in movies, TV.”

  “Delly?”

  “I don’t mind college, Mom, if that’s what you want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I sort of want to be an actress.”

  “Sort of? What does that mean?”

&nbs
p; “I do want to be an actress. Like Sami says, we’re the Gold sisters, da-dum. We’ve starred in every school play. Well, at least Samanth—”

  “High school isn’t the real world,” Carolyn Ann cut in. “The real world is the Poor People’s March on Washington and President Johnson’s Civil Rights Act. The real world is the Democratic convention in Chicago next summer. I’m tempted to spend a week with Gramps and Nana, join the planned protests.”

  “You just want an excuse to visit Uncle Sam,” Delly teased.

  “I know all about the real world, Mom,” Samantha said. “It’s Bobby Gentry winning her Grammy for ‘Ode to Billie Jo.’ It’s Warren Beatty as Clyde and Bonnie’s fabulous clothes.” She shivered. “If I could date Warren Beatty just once, I’d never ask for anything again.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” said Caroline Ann, ignoring Samantha’s prattle. “Attend college, Carnage Tech or Goodman’s in Chicago, where you can learn to be an actress and take other courses at the same time. That’s fair.”

  “It’s not fair. Delly’s good at school. She likes it. I don’t. If Daddy was alive—”

  “He’d agree with me. You need a solid educational background, and I’m not going to discuss this any further.”

  “Hey, no, wait. You can’t force me to go to college, Mom.”

  “I wouldn’t call it force. More like persuasion. If you want to strike out on your own, fine. But you’d better learn how to wait tables or run a switchboard.”

  “If you hadn’t given Daddy’s insurance money away, I could get my own apartment and—”

  “I didn’t give it away, Samantha. I invested it.”

  “In what?

  “The future. Your father believed very strongly in civil rights.”

  “He also photographed movie stars and athletes. Why didn’t you invest in a movie or buy a football team?”

  “Sami! She’s only kidding, Mom.”

  “There’s money in a trust fund for you kids, which you may collect when you turn twenty-one. Meanwhile, Samantha, it’s college or nothing. Not one red cent. Do you understand?”

  “How can you be so mean?” Samantha squeezed her eyes until tears brimmed.

  Carolyn Ann handed her daughter a tissue. “Blow your nose, Princess Pretty. That nonsense won’t work with me.”