How High the Moon (15 page)

Miss Tuckle, a whole head taller than Teddy or Mrs. Fry, leaned over their shoulders. “Maybe the middle isn’t so bad?” she said as she choked on the smoke. They were practically the first words Miss Tuckle said the whole time (though she giggled a lot), which had me thinking that fancy ladies aren’t the only ones who acted different in public than they did at other times, because Miss Tuckle sure didn’t have any trouble flapping her gums at Sunday school.

Teddy hurried to open the kitchen windows, then turned to me and asked if there was any pineapple upside-down cake left (which was a polite way of asking if Charlie had polished it off when we came back from Sunday school). “I think there’s a piece or two left. Not much,” I said, even though there was at least half of a pan last time I looked.

“We could cut the pieces small,” Miss Tuckle said with a giggle. Teddy laughed like that was Jack-Benny-funny and invited everyone to our house for cake, even though I offered to go get it.

So there she was, Miss Tuckle, sitting at my kitchen table, the three grown-ups laughing about how none of us noticed that bread pudding burning because we were all having such a good time, while Teddy put the cake in the oven to get the syrup warm and gooey again. Charlie, who was supposed to be on my side, didn’t even give me a glance when I knocked my knee against his every time the grown-ups said something dumb. All because he was too busy dabbing his fat finger at the drips of sugary syrup and few cake crumbs left on his plate.

Teddy noticed what Charlie was doing and said, “There’s one more piece left, Charlie. I think it has your name on it.”

Charlie stood up and leaned over the table to take a look. “Geez, Charlie,” I said. “It doesn’t
really
have your name on it. It’s not like
it’s your birthday or something.” Charlie turned to look back at me
while
reaching for the pan, and knocked over the milk pitcher. Down to the table it clunked, glugging milk right onto my lap.

Teddy jumped up to get me a dishtowel, and although I dabbed until I stopped dripping, my dress was sticking to my legs like wet Band-Aids. So I had to go to my room to change.

I shut my door and decided I was going to take my own sweet time getting back out there. I stripped off my wet dress and dropped it on the floor, then sat on my bed in my undershirt and undies, humming a little of “How High the Moon” to kill time.

Humming or not, I could still hear them in the kitchen, Miss Tuckle giggling like she wasn’t even a Sunday school teacher, and Mrs. Fry yapping about how pretty she was when she smiled, even if her face was still the same plain-Jane homely then, only with more pink gums showing. Teddy was doing his share of laughing, too, even though he hadn’t laughed since he got that bad bill. Not even when I gave him my good news.

I tuned them out and sang some more “How High the Moon,” instead of just humming it. I guess they heard, because the next thing I knew, Teddy was telling them about me singing at the Starlight for the big gala. I went back to humming then, so I could hear Mrs. Fry ooooo and ahhhh since it was the first time she’d heard the news.

They didn’t do that long, though, before Mrs. Fry was talking about how good her daughter said Charlie could play the piano. Then Miss Tuckle was gushing about Charlie instead. “I play, but not well”—
no kidding!
—“so I admire anyone with a natural musical talent,” she said. “I see you have a piano, Teddy. Do you play?” My ears perked up like Poochie’s when that nosy mentioned my ma’s piano.

I wanted that piano saved pristine for Ma. And Teddy knew it.

I was still in my undershirt and underwear, my legs damp from their milk bath, when I went to the door and leaned up against it. Deciding right then and there that if Miss Tuckle thought she was touching Ma’s piano, she had another thing coming!

But Miss Tuckle wasn’t thinking about playing Ma’s piano. She was thinking about having Charlie play it.

Charlie was talking so mumble-mouthed that I couldn’t hear what he said, but I heard Mrs. Fry say, “Go on. Play us something, Charlie.”

Having your old neighbor lady and your Sunday school teacher and your fat, scabby-headed neighbor who wasn’t even your friend turn on you was one thing, but having the guy raising you say, “Go ahead, Charlie,” well, that was the last straw! I grabbed the first dress I could reach in my closet and yanked it down so hard that the hanger banged me on the forehead. Charlie was hitting the middle-C key. I recognized the sound as soon as he struck it. And suddenly I could see her. Ma. Sitting right next to me, her limp nightgown outlining her lap as she showed me that very key, and then the chord that went with it.

I punched my arms through the armholes of my dress, and didn’t even bother pulling the skirt part down over my damp legs before I shot out of my room and screamed, “What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Fry? Get your hands off that piano!”

Teddy leapt to his feet. “Teaspoon!”

Charlie backed up, his brows cringing away from eyes that looked ready to jump out of his head.

I didn’t care that Charlie started crying, any more than I cared if my shout startled Mrs. Fry. I didn’t even care that my Sunday school teacher was staring at me like I picked up a case of rabies while in my room. I stomped across the floor, my fists bunched, and was about to haul off and slug Charlie when Teddy grabbed my arm. “Enough,” he said.

I was so hot under the collar that I wanted to cuss really bad. “That’s Ma’s piano! We’re saving it pristine for her. You know that, Teddy. Why’d you let him touch it?”

Charlie ran out the door, leaving it hanging open, and Mrs. Fry struggled to her feet so she could go after him. “Teaspoon,” Teddy said. “Calm down.”

“You calm down!” I screamed, even though Teddy was always calm as dead.

“I said enough, Teaspoon, and I meant it.” He glanced over at Miss Tuckle, his face red with anger, or embarrassment, or who cared what.

“Teaspoon. Since when did you become so insensitive to other people’s feelings?” Teddy let go of my arm and hurried to the window to gawk over at the Frys. “He didn’t mean any harm.”

“Well, he caused some,” I said.

Teddy was so upset that he was moving in place, his hands on his hips. “Teaspoon… Miss Tuckle, Charlie, Mrs. Fry… they don’t know how you feel about your ma’s piano, but what Mrs. Fry
does
know—”

“But
you
know, Teddy!”

“As I was saying… what Mrs. Fry
does
know is how Charlie feels about music. That boy’s known how to play the piano since he was four years old. His dad taught him. And he has a gift for playing. But he’s not had a piano to play since he left his father’s home eighteen months ago. Did you know those things about Charlie? Do you
really
want to keep his music from him, when we have a perfectly good piano sitting idle here?”

And then Teddy did what I guessed he’d do—what he always did when things got serious and he thought I was looking at things wrong. He tapped his hand over his heart and said, “Give it some thought,” like a person’s brains were there.

My face was stinging like Teddy’d smacked it when I ran out of the house, grabbed my scooter, and headed down the street. I didn’t know where I was going. Just anywhere but home!

The wheels bumped in rhythm and my cheeks jiggled as I rode my scooter down the sidewalk, making it go faster than I knew it could.

Sure, I saw Walking Doll on the corner. Heard her call my name,
too. But I wasn’t planning on stopping because I didn’t want to talk to anybody.

Walking Doll wanted to talk to me, though. So when I got up close to where she was standing, she called out, “Whoa, stop!” and jumped out like a wise guy, sticking herself right in my path.

“Ow! Damn it to hell, that hurt, Teaspoon!” she hollered when I slammed into her.

“It’s your fault!” I said, while Walking Doll lifted The Kenosha Kid’s black dress with the too-big neckline and rubbed her thigh and knee. “Why’d you jump out in front of me like that? Couldn’t you see how fast I was going?”

Even though she was still ouching, she started laughing at the same time. “Wow, somebody’s sure spitting nails tonight. Some boy go whaling on you again?”

“No. But my mad
is
about a boy.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be having man troubles?”

“Stop teasing me!” I shrieked.

I suppose Walking Doll saw that my eyes wanted to cry, because she stopped grinning. “Sorry, kiddo. What happened?” she asked, still rubbing her leg.

“That fat little kid, Charlie? He tried banging on my ma’s piano. And Teddy got huffy with me when I got ticked about it. I got out of there before he could finish lecturing me about poor Charlie this, and poor Charlie that, because his ma’s in heaven and his dad’s in the clink—like
that’s
the issue! That piano is my ma’s and I don’t want anybody touching it but her.”

Walking Doll sat down on the curb, patting a spot beside her like it was her couch. “Come on,” she said.

I didn’t have enough energy to keep scootering, so I propped my scooter up against the mailbox and sat down. I almost wished Mrs. Fry would come walking by just then, pushing that little cart of hers that she took to the grocery store, so she could see me and Walking Doll sitting with our knees apart. It would serve her right!

“That piano is my ma’s. My
ma’s
! Charlie didn’t have no business banging on it, and Teddy knows it.”

“Can Charlie play the piano, or was he really banging on it?” she asked.

I looked at her like she’d lost her marbles. “I don’t know. What’s
that
got to do with it? The point is, it’s my ma’s and I want it saved pristine for her.” I wrapped my arms around my knees and ground my eyes against them so no tears could leak out.

“Do you remember your ma playing it?” Walking Doll asked.

“Course I remember. When she was practicing her pianoing skills to get a job at The Dusty Rose. Most times she’d just keep playing the same song, starting over every time she hit a sour note. But sometimes she played just for fun, mistakes and all, and we’d sing together.

“Teddy lets me keep the radio in my bedroom and play it when I want, except for when it’s bedtime. I play it loud when he’s not home, but even with the dial on number ten, that radio can’t fill up the house with music the way Ma and me could.”

Walking Doll smiled. “Your whole face lit up when you remembered that,” she said.

“She was going to teach me to play. She started to, but she left before I got past ‘Every Good’… that’s E and G in case you don’t have any pianoing skills.”

Walking Doll picked up a rock and rolled it in her hand. “My ma used to bake bread,” she said. “To this day, whenever I smell homemade bread or taste it, I think of her. It’s like a slice of memory.”

“I didn’t even know you had a ma,” I said.

Walking Doll started scraping the rock against the sidewalk, cutting short, white lines into the cement. “Course I had a ma,” she said. “What do you think, a stork dropped me here on this street corner?”

“Well, how would I know? You never told me you had a ma. But I suppose it’s my fault that I didn’t know that, even if you never said it.”

“Now, why would that be your fault?”

“I don’t know. Ask Teddy. He’s the know-it-all,” I said.

Walking Doll stopped scraping the sidewalk and looked at me. “Don’t slug me for saying this, okay? But I’m thinking of you now… not Charlie… not your ma. Maybe if that kid really can play, you two could fill the house with music again. Just like you and your ma used to. It might work on you just like a slice of homemade bread works on me, and remind you of those times when your ma was with you, so you don’t forget them.”

“But I want the piano saved pristine. Ma ain’t gonna wanna come back for some old beat-up piano.”

“So that’s what you think? That the only reason your ma would have to come back is to get a shiny, like-new piano? You’re enough for her to come back to, kid. You’re like the sun, even when you’re grumpy, and if that’s not enough for her, well then…”

She didn’t finish that sentence, but added, “It at least might help you keep your memories of her pristine, you know?”

Walking Doll didn’t give me time to hit her—not that I would have—she got up and brushed off the butt of her dress. “Damn, but it’s quiet tonight,” she said. She put her hand on the rubber handle of my scooter, leaning against it like she was suddenly too tired to hold herself up. “Where’d you get this thing, anyway?” she asked.

“At a yard sale.”

“Nice,” she said. Then she stared down the quiet street and sighed. I thought of telling her about the Sunshine Sisters and the gala, but I wanted to save that good news for a happier time. So instead, I asked her if she wanted to take a ride on my scooter.

She laughed like I was kidding, as she rocked it back and forth a bit. “Why not?” I said. “It’s a whole lot funner than riding in Ralph’s taxicab.”

“What the hell,” Walking Doll said. She kicked off her high heels and put her left foot on the scooter. “Now what do I do?”

“Nothing. Just push with your other foot and steer.” She asked me to keep an eye on her purse, which was stuffed under the
mailbox like it always was when she didn’t feel like holding it, and off she went, past the shops, laughing and shouting “Wheeeeeeeee” like she was on a carnival ride.

“Oh my God,” she yelled from down the street, her long hair waving in the breeze like clean laundry. “This is so fun!”

When she got back to the corner, she didn’t stop. She circled around me, the front wheels coming close to falling off the curb, then she headed back down the street, whooping it up all over again. She was having so much fun that I ended up laughing, too, even if I didn’t want to.

Walking Doll still had half of a block to go to get back to the corner when Ralph’s taxi pulled up and The Kenosha Kid slipped out of the backseat, tugging down Walking Doll’s red dress so her undies wouldn’t show. There was a guy I didn’t know sitting in the front seat beside Ralph, but The Kenosha Kid didn’t say good-bye to either of them.

“Your lipstick’s smeared,” I told her as she slammed the door, but she didn’t answer because she was staring down the street after Walking Doll. “What in the hell is she doing?” she said, a grin spreading across her face. “Jesus, like a little kid.”