Beyond Blonde (21 page)

Mike’s was unrecognizable.
Hell, Mike was unrecognizable. He wore a white sport coat and powder-blue ruffled shirt that Auntie Luba rented from Mr. Big ’N Tall. He looked almost as handsome as he did on his wedding day. The restaurant was transformed. The whole place was smothered in pink and white carnations, either the actual flowers or the handcrafted tissue paper variety that you see festooned on bridal limousines, thousands and thousands of them. They made the restaurant look silly and pretty and sweet all at once.

“You like?” asked Auntie Eva.

“Like? I love!” I hugged her. “Love, love, love! But how did they talk you into this? I know you hate carnations.”

Auntie Radmila waved her hand. “Pshaw! It vas her idea.”

“Oooh Lordy, it’s magic!” gushed Sarah.

Auntie Luba pointed out that even the Hamilton blender
was covered in carnations. “Ve made one hundred and fifty-two tousand million.”

Auntie Radmila pulled Madison and me into her. “I haven’t seen Eva so happy since before za funeral, I tell you true, Sophie.” She patted her chest lovingly. “You are for sure having a Sveet Seventeen for all of us
.
” Her eyes threatened to well up and my eyes threatened to join them.

“Oh no you don’t!” Madison fanned her hand in front of my face furiously. “No crying! You have mascara on, Sophie. And no eating either, you’re wearing scarlet-red lipstick that will bleed all over the place. You can’t risk it!”

Auntie Radmila looked at Madison like she’d never seen her before. She reached up and cupped Madison’s chin in her hand. “Zer must be some Slavic in you, my child!”

“Attago, Madison,” I said. “There is no greater Auntie compliment.”

“Oh go on.” She rolled her eyes but still gave Auntie Radmila an extra peck on the cheek before linking her arm through mine. “Let’s check out the dance floor.”

The back of Mike’s, the dancing area per se, was washed in a cool darkness. The rear of the restaurant had been cleared of tables. While the front was fun and pretty and covered in carnations, back here it was inky and waiting for whispers. A few chairs were placed against the walls in little groupings and the only lighting came off the glow of the jukebox, which flashed different colours and intensity depending on the song. Mike had it restocked with fifties tunes and it would continue to play just with buttons—no quarters necessary. The ceiling was covered with miles of twirling pink and white paper
streamers captured by a big pink heart in the centre, making it feel like we were in a private tent.

“Oh my!” I said to no one.

“Buboola!” I heard Auntie Eva’s unmistakable bellow. “Come up to za front to greeting your guests.”

It was 9:05. The invitation said 9 P.M. Platters of munchies covered every surface. Mike and a Macedonian woman who worked as a caterer would be staying the whole time, getting drinks for people who more or less looked the legal age of eighteen and soft drinks for everyone else.

9:09.

No one would come. Mama asked whether I was having fun. I looked at her anxious face and swallowed my percolating anxiety. “Are you kidding, Mama? It’s all beyond brilliant. I’m out of my head with happiness.” She took a picture.

9:14.

“Okay, well, that’s it, might as well call it a day,” I said. Everybody pretended not to hear me.

9:19

“Seriously.

” And then they came. They came in groups of six or so. Not only did they come, but they came dressed to perfection, bearing balloons and flowers and gifts.

For me.

I was so relieved and stunned that I almost started crying again. Madison pinched the back of my arm and rescued me from mascara destruction. The girls wore various versions of poodle skirts, or jeans rolled up to mid-calf with tucked-in checked shirts, or in form-fitting pencil skirts and skin-tight
sweaters with little silk kerchiefs tied around their necks that made them look adult and knowing. I couldn’t help but notice that most of the girls that David had romanced were in the skin-tight category. I felt eleven whenever I looked at them.

“Who invited them?” I whined to Kit, who looked over and shrugged.

“Shit happens,” she said helpfully.

The boys, not to be outdone, were also dressed to kill. No ratty bell-bottoms here. Straight-leg jeans and varsity jackets over snowy-white shirts were the norm. But some of the boys wore beautiful narrow suits and skinny ties. Other boys wore cuffed jeans and skin-tight white T’s. They were Brylcreemed within an inch of their lives. Paul Wexler came in one of those beautiful suits and presented me with a wrist corsage. “A beautiful orchid for a beautiful birthday girl.” He slid it on my wrist. Auntie Eva stepped closer to observe this and examine him.

“Thank you so much, Paul.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s beautiful!” If I put some real effort into it, I bet I could totally warm up to him.

“You owe me a dance, Sophie, and I intend to claim it this time.”

“Sure thing,” I said at the same time that Auntie Eva “harrumphed.”

The jukebox started up. The Blondes were in high flirt mode, with Mike Jr. and George hot on the heels of Madison and Sarah. I know Mike was counting on the cousins to act as bouncers, if need be. Good luck with that. Those boys were not in bouncer mode. I caught Mike Jr. dragging Madison to
the back of the restaurant. He actually got her onto the dance floor and kept her there, even though they were the only couple dancing. Unbelievable.

The place was filling up fast. I was dizzy from being kissed, hugged, passed around, and propelled from person to person. Between the music and the din of people, it was hard to hear, still, I couldn’t help but catch Auntie Eva and Auntie Luba’s simultaneous cry of
“Yoy!”
when David stepped through the door.

All by himself.

Straight black jeans, snug, very snug, faded black T-shirt, and a well-worn, soft, black leather jacket. Jesus. Auntie Eva looked like she was going to faint. “Behave!” I warned through clenched teeth. I don’t know who I was warning. I mean, sweet Moses, it was an extremely flattering, um, look. Every muscle was defined and highlighted on all six-foot-four of him. Like the other boys, David had Brylcreemed his hair; unlike the other boys he knew to use just “a little dab.” David’s thick dark hair still fell into his eyes. He had to keep pushing it back with his hand.

Danger, Sophie Kandinsky, danger.

And all this with just one foot into the restaurant!

When he got to us, David reached for Auntie Luba’s then Auntie Eva’s hands and told them what a pleasure it was to see them again. I felt a powerful breeze from the massive eyelash fluttering beside me. He must have thought he was standing in a wind tunnel.

If you tilted your head, just so, you could actually see the outline of his stomach muscles underneath the shirt. Just
when he moved in a certain way mind you, like reaching for an Auntie’s hand, and then only if you strained. The Aunties were straining. Hell, I was straining. That was the trouble; he must be so aware of the effect he has on … much older women. I made a concerted attempt at a normal welcoming smile. I was furious with all of them.

“Happy birthday, Sophie. You look like a dream.” David reached for my hand and brought it near his mouth, held it there for a heartbeat and then gently, tenderly, brushed the front of my fingers with his lips. Then he eyed my wrist corsage and frowned. “Oh no, not tonight. No more.” He slid the corsage off my wrist with one hand before I even knew what was happening. It felt like he was undressing me.

I came out of my fog long enough to protest. “Now wait a gosh-darned minute, David. Paul Wexler just …” Really, was that the best I could do?!
Gosh-darned?
I was appalled with myself. Meanwhile, David asked permission to put the orchid on Auntie Eva who had to steady herself on Auntie Radmila. Won’t that just make Paul’s day. When Auntie Radmila stopped giggling, David reached behind Mike’s cash register and opened a little cellophane box. It was another wrist corsage. I had to think hard about my mascara. The corsage was a very sweet, very old-fashioned arrangement of pink and white carnations set in baby’s breath. David slid his corsage on my wrist like he’d been born and raised to do nothing but that. Auntie Eva grabbed my other hand. “There,” he said, smiling at my hand, “much better,” and then at me. “You may be an orchid, Sophie, but I know you
love
carnations. I remember your Aunt teasing you about it.”

“Ow!” Auntie Eva dug her nails into my hand like she was searching for an artery. I didn’t think she could take much more of this. “Thank you, David.” I looked around and behind him for his date, his entourage. He never roamed loose. Sure enough, a few girls were waving at him from one of the back booths. “It’s, they’re perfect.”

He leaned in closer to me. “I won’t claim the first dance since you’ve probably got that reserved for your father, but will you promise me the one after that?”

“Absolutely,
pa da,
for sure, she does!”

“Auntie Radmila!”

David smiled, both dimples fully engaged. His black eyes lit me up. “Good, I’ll come for you then.” We watched him walk away, melt into the crowd, into his friends. We, Auntie Eva, Auntie Luba, Auntie Radmila, and Sarah, who had just joined us, sighed.

“Wow, James Dean and Elvis rolled into one.” Sarah thrust a lipstick at me. “Madison said freshen up your lips and not to worry. The entire second string is going to double-team him while you do your hostess-like thing. Those girls won’t get anywhere near him tonight!”

“Really,” I said. “What for? Why would I care? Who cares? Why does no one care that I don’t care?” I stroked my carnations. It felt like someone had injected a syringe of caffeine straight into my heart. What was the matter with me?

Auntie Luba and Sarah rolled their eyes at the same time.

“Lipstick!” ordered Auntie Eva. She looked around and then grabbed both of my arms. “Zat von.” She indicated with
her head to the back of the room where David was horsing around with Stewart Morgan and Kyle Levy. My heart galloped as soon as I caught sight of him. “Your Mama vould not saying zis to you because it vould be in a property.”

It took me a second. “Do you mean inappropriate?”

“
Zat
is vat I said,” she said. “Za point is, you are afraid.”

I opened my mouth to deny it but was greeted by three new people coming in before being hijacked by Auntie Eva again. She was like a dog with a bone. “You are seventeen, Sophie. Don’t be afraid. And don’t be afraid of zat von.” Again with the head pointing. “Za boy is a shotgun, but he is yours, eh.” I made a face. “Iz true. I love you and your pieces, but don’t be an idiot, Sophie!”

I watched as Jennifer Giacometti tried to pull David onto the dance floor. He wasn’t having it. David?
Mine?
I saw two of our second string make their way over to him to run interference.

I nodded. “Auntie Eva?”

“Yes, buboola?”

“I, well, I know we, you all, had agreed that you, the adults, I mean, except for Mike of course, anyway, you said that you would leave by midnight and …”

“Vat midnight?” She looked at her watch. It was 10:10. “I could barely not make it to eleven o’clock even, eh, Luba?”

Luba frowned and then nodded and threw in a yawn for good effect. “I am so tired, I cannot be standing anozer minute even. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Da!”
Auntie Eva had to shout above the din. “Sorry, sorry, but ve, za old people, have to going home in a few
minutes, not a minute more. I vill go right now and remind your Papa and Mama how tired zey are.”

I threw my arms around her. “I love you, Auntie Eva!”

“Of course you do, buboola.” She pinched my cheek. “You love me because you are zat fantastik
and
I am zat fantastik.”

And right then and there, at 10:12 P.M., Saturday, February 17, 1977, I believed her on both counts.

Mama asked whether
I was having fun. As soon as I assured her that I was, she took my picture, again. It was like she needed every happy breath recorded for future proof. Finally, Papa came to the rescue. He took my hand and led me onto the dance floor in one long and fluid movement. I blew thank-you kisses to Mama and the Aunties the whole way. “So, we old folks are all exhausted, eh?” Papa winked. “So tired in fact that we must leave immediately?”

“Yes, Papa, it really is a pity. But don’t feel bad. I understand and I’m sure you can still find enough energy for one quick dance with Mama.”

Papa shook his head. “No, Princess, tonight is
your
night and yours alone.” He kissed my forehead and then looked around the crowded room and crowded dance floor as we waited for the next song to come on. “Which one is he, Sophie?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The jukebox delivered “My Special Angel” by Bobbie Helms.

Papa rolled his eyes, or the grown-up version of it. “Let’s not go through that again, Sophie. Every time we dance, you’re trying to hide a boy from me.”

I winced. He was right. The last time we danced was at Mike and Auntie Luba’s wedding, just before Luke and I snuck out on the landing together, before Luke knew about Alison, before so much and so long ago.