Bombshells (15 page)

“What do you have there?” He nods at the platter which I quickly level. It had been tilting dangerously toward the driveway. “Cupcakes. I made cupcakes.”

He walks over to the car. “They look good. You made these yourself?”

“Yes.” I didn’t realize I was trembling, but now I feel it all the way through me. The waxed paper rattles in my shaking hands. I struggle to think of something to say. “Sounds like a good party. Are lots of your friends here?”

Robert looks up at the sky, now turning a soft shade of violet, the color just before blue, just before dark. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Yeah. All of my friends are here.” He takes the cupcake platter, and we weave through the cars together.

“There’s the man of the hour,” Stephanie’s dad shouts when we come around the corner of the house. The back yard is filled with smoke from the burgers and hot dogs sizzling on the grill. The spicy scent of boiling shrimp roils up from the steaming kettle.

Kids chase each other across the lawn. Grown-ups sit in folding chairs or stand on the brick patio beneath the Japanese lanterns strung from the awning. Mrs. Winston is perched on the edge of a lawn chair with a tall glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, her gaze locked onto Robert.

Marvin Gordon sits alone by the record player and thumbs through a stack of forty-fives. A guitar lies across his legs. He slips a record on the spindle and Joey Dee’s “Peppermint Twist” fills the air.

Stephanie’s dad takes Cherie’s elbow and pushes her toward Robert, who is putting my platter of cupcakes on a table already loaded with food. “Here ya’ go, son. Dance with the most beautiful girl at the party.”

“Oh, Dad, stop.” Cherie shrugs out of her dad’s grasp but continues to move in Robert’s direction with a sly smile on her face.

“Thanks Mr. Starr, but I’m going to dance with Melanie.”

Cherie’s smile freezes and she smoothly changes directions so she’s facing Robert’s friend, Doug, instead. Doug holds out his hand. They start to twist while all the grown-ups look on.

“You should have danced with Cherie. I’m not very good at the twist.”

“I don’t want to dance with Cherie. Come on.” Robert walks to where a few couples are dancing. “The twist isn’t hard.”

I put my foot out and pretend I’m crushing a cigarette. Then I move my arms back and forth like I’m drying my back with a towel. I’m doing the motions that make up the Twist, but I look nothing like Robert or Cherie or even Doug. “I just don’t have any rhythm.”

“You’re doing fine. Just loosen up a little. Relax and have some fun.” Robert moves a little nearer, closing the distance between us, and bends his left knee so that his face is level with mine. “How long were you standing by the Chevy?”

I manage to shrug while yanking my imaginary towel back and forth across my back.

“That was nothing with Mrs. Winston. You know that, right?”

I glance over my shoulder. Rachel Winston is glaring at us like she can hear what Robert’s saying, but that’s impossible with the volume of the music. Maybe she can read lips. When she notices that Robert’s looking her way, she takes a sip of her drink and leans in closer to Mr. Schultz and the young man with him.

What could I say? Maybe Robert wanted to be kissed tonight, too. Maybe Mrs. Winston was his prize, just like I want him to be my prize. Except, I don’t want to think about that. Instead, I shrug. “Sure, Robert. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, you can keep another secret, can’t you?”

I look into his big blue eyes and see something I can’t put my finger on. What is the secret he wants me to keep? Is he scared of Mrs. Winston like he said he was scared about joining the Navy? No, I don’t think that’s it, exactly. “Yeah, I can keep a secret for you.”

I wait a second and realize he’s not going to say anything else. I guess the secret is not to tell anyone about Mrs. Winston kissing him. Yeah. I can understand why he wants to keep that a secret.

Robert seems relieved. He smiles and relaxes into the dance. His body moves like it is all one piece instead of jerking around like sticks glued together the way mine does.

Soon, Mrs. Winston and the young man she was talking to join us on the makeshift dance floor. Rachel Winston does the twist like no one I’ve ever seen. Where I put all the effort into crushing my foot into the floor, all of Rachel Winston’s movements come from her hips. The young man moves closer to her until they’re almost touching.

I don’t understand why she’s dancing like that. Everyone knows the partners don’t touch during the Twist. But somehow, Mrs. Winston makes it look like everybody else is missing out on something.

Finally, Mrs. Schultz steps forward and taps Mrs. Winston on the shoulder. “Let me,” she pauses to clear her throat, “cut in, dear. Davy promised a dance to me, too.”

Mrs. Winston sways over to the drink table. She pours herself a tall glass of Coke and splashes some rum into it. She stands alone by the table while the music plays and conversations resume.

Mrs. Schultz is even worse at the twist than I am. She grimaces and moves like she’s afraid she’ll strain her back. Davy keeps glancing at Mrs. Winston, who’s staring at him over the rim of her glass.

It dawns on me this is Stephanie’s advice about getting a boy to kiss you acted out in real life. During a three-minute song, Rachel Winston made sure Davy knows she likes him. She convinced him that he wants to kiss her. Even I can see that hungry look written all over his face. Over the rim of her glass, her eyes promise that she’ll make the opportunity happen.

It looks so simple. Somehow I know what I just witnessed is more than just getting a boy to kiss you, though. It scares me a little and thrills me a little more.

The music ends and Steph runs up beside me. “Hey, Robert. Will you dance with me, too?”

“Sure, kid, but I need to get something to eat first. Later, okay?” Robert walks backward to the table. “Thanks for the dance, Mel. And everything.”

“Sure.” Now Robert and I share two secrets. The first one I understand, the second is a mystery I don’t really want to solve. But we share them, and that’s all that matters.

“Wow, did you see that?” Steph whispers. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Winston. You know her husband’s on duty.”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Dad says he’s flying over Cuba. The Navy’s keeping an eye on things since the Russians said they were going to help Castro more.”

I’m having trouble following Steph. What does Cuba have to do with Mrs. Winston? “So everyone’s talking about Castro?”

Steph rolls her eyes and groans. “How can you miss what’s right under your nose? I’m talking about Mrs. Winston and that boy, Davy.”

“Oh. I saw that.” But I don’t feel like talking about it. Confusion and tension flare like little explosions in my queasy stomach. I want to be like Mrs. Winston in some ways. I want to be looked at the way Robert and Davy look at Mrs. Winston in her tight white dress and high-heeled sandals. But I know I don’t want to be talked about the way people talk about Mrs. Winston.

And I never want someone nice like Robert to push me away.

NORAH

Melanie stands beside me, leaving Stephanie looking at records with Marvin. I reach up and tuck a stray hair into the pretty comb she’s put in her hair. “Did I tell you that you look real pretty tonight?”

“Thanks, Mama.” Melanie leans over and kisses my cheek.

In her new dress with her hair swept to one side, she looks very grown up. Especially when she was dancing with Robert. I’m a little uncomfortable, since they seem to be becoming close friends. No, it’s nothing to worry about. Robert’s leaving in a few weeks and when he returns he’ll be a worldly sailor and Mellie will still be my little girl.

“Daddy, come dance with me,” Birdie shouts, as she runs through the groups of people clustered on the lawn. “Marvin said he’d play the ‘Hokey Pokey’ on his guitar if all of us kids get a grown-up to dance.”

Clay hands me his beer bottle. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to drag me across the yard, Birdie.”

The kids and their grown-up partners form a sloppy circle around where Marvin sits beside Stephanie. She’s grinning like she’s the special guest on the “Queen for a Day” television show. Soon everyone in the circle is sticking out a foot and shaking it all about.

For a few seconds I think about joining the circle, but then a pain shoots through my hips. I’m just fine where I am. In fact, I’ll be a lot better when I can get home and put my feet up and rest my aching back.

Sara Matthews comes over to stand beside me. “It’s just disgraceful, isn’t it Norah?”

I take a sip from Clay’s beer and put it down on the table behind me. “I never thought the ‘Hokey Pokey’ was disgraceful.”

Sara nods her head toward a group of boys standing around Rachel Winston. Her head is thrown back and she’s laughing that deep smoky, laugh of hers. The low V-neck of her dress shows a good bit of shimmying cleavage. The boys didn’t seem to get the joke.

“I feel sorry for poor Bob. He’s such a good man. He deserves someone better than that hussy.” Sara leans closer and lowers her voice. “You know Bob had to take her to the doctor last month, don’t you? My Mitch said he heard it was nerve pills, but I think it was liquor. I mean, look at her, she’s drinking like a fish tonight.”

Even though I have my own opinion about the woman’s behavior, I just don’t like gossip. I never have. Besides, Melanie is still standing beside me, and I don’t want her to hear anything more about our neighbor. “Sara, we don’t know what really happened, do we? You know I had to go to the doctor last month myself. Did you hear what was wrong with me?”

Sara glances at my bulging belly then looks up at me with a smile. “Why, Norah, the rumors are true? You
are
expecting?”

We both laugh and Melanie looks at us like we’re crazy women. The “Hokey Pokey” circle breaks up and Clay comes over with Birdie riding on his shoulders. “Well, girls, are we ready to call it a night?”

“I just need to get my dish, honey.”

“I’ll get it, Mama,” Melanie says.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“You’ve got three lovely ladies, Clay.” Sara pats me on the back. “You call if you need anything, you hear? How much longer ’til the baby comes?”

“Just a couple of weeks, I hope.”

Melanie walks up, holding my casserole dish, with Robert right behind her.

Clay claps Robert on the shoulder and shakes his hand. “Rob, my boy, congratulations. I hope you’ll be happy with your decision.”

Two jets roar over, drowning out all the sounds of the party. Robert and Clay look skyward, even though they can’t see anything in the black night. I notice some of the children stop their games and glance to see what their parents are doing.

Robert says, “Thanks, Mr. Adams. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I’m ready, Clay. My back’s killing me. Did you get the tray for the cupcakes, too, Mellie?”

She shakes her head. “There are still some left.”

“Okay, we can get the tray tomorrow. Let’s go home.”

“Does Melanie have to leave now?” Robert asks, looking from me to Clay.

I reach over and tuck that same strand of hair back into Mellie’s comb. Why does Robert want my girl to stay? Of course, she’s the prettiest girl here. Still, my gut reaction is to say no, but she has such a hopeful look on her face. And Stephanie and her parents are still here. I’m so tired I’ve got squirrels in my head. Clay should make the rest of the decisions for tonight. “What do you think, Clay?”

“I’ll walk her home, Mr. Adams,” Robert says.
How sweet
, I think, even though we only live five houses away.

Birdie bounces on Clay’s shoulders. “Let’s go, let’s go. I have to potty.”

Clay reaches up to bring Birdie down, but she giggles. “Not really, not really.”

“Sure, Rob,” Clay says. “Have her home in an hour or so.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Adams. Thanks again for coming.”

“G’night, Robert.” Clay wraps his warm hand around mine, and I feel more relaxed. Mellie will be fine. I have to let her grow up. I know that.

I lean over, kiss Mellie’s cheek and take the dish from her. “Mind your manners. Make sure to thank Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at home.” She turns and follows Robert over to the record player, where Stephanie and Marvin are still sitting together.

With Birdie riding on Clay’s shoulders and her fingers clutching his wavy hair, we wind through our groups of friends while saying goodnight. It’s dark on the street. Only the neighbors’ porch lamps and a pale moon light our way. Already the noise of the party is fading. Clay and Birdie are singing. It’s been a good day, but I’m glad it’s over. I’m tired and want to sleep.

We arrive at our yard and Birdie begins chanting, “Do the trick, Daddy. Let’s do the trick.”

“Birdie,” I say. “It’s late and it’s dark. We should get you to bed.”

“Please? Please, please, please? Daddy, you’re not sleepy, are you?”

Clay gazes at me a grins. “She’s growing up fast, Norah.”