Nora (12 page)

“Not if you're from Iowa it isn't,” I said.

“Is it black-tie?” Roberta asked.

Just to freak her out, I said, “Yes.”

“You've got to be kidding me!” Roberta hollered.

“I might have to buy a gown,” I said. The word
gown
always strikes me as being pretentious and silly.

“A gown.” That really shook Roberta up. “How do you figure what's a gown and what's a dress?”

“I think a dress is plain and a gown has all kinds of stuff stuck on it. Like feathers and sequins and ruffles,” I said.

“You're going to look pretty funny in a gown is all I can say,” Roberta said.

“Maybe I'll just wear a black tie and call it quits,” I said.

Roberta hung up in a huff. She has no sense of humor sometimes.

Baba went with me to pick out a dress to wear. Her wrist was better, but Dee drove us downtown.

“Midwesterners often think of easterners as rather flamboyant,” Baba said. “Nothing wrong with a little flamboyance, I always say. But for a young girl going to New York with a young man and his parents, I think we should aim for moderation. Nothing in orange silk with holes cut out back and front. No silver leather shorts. Something pretty would be nice.”

“Black is in,” I said.

“Black is for sex symbols and widows,” Baba said.

“One out of two ain't bad,” I reminded her.

We settled on a blue-and-white silk print with a wide white linen collar.

“Little House on the Prairie,
baby,” Patsy said. “All you need now is a sun-bonnet.”

I thought it looked like something Elizabeth Taylor would wear to a wedding. (Not one of her own—someone else's.) It was a demure dress with a certain amount of sex appeal.

Baba calls sex appeal
Oomph.
Which sounds to me like what you say when someone sticks their elbow into your stomach by mistake.

OOMPH!

Patsy offered to cut my hair.

“No thanks,” I said. I wasn't taking any chances.

Now if only I didn't get diarrhea.

“How about if you get diarrhea?” Roberta asked me. “You know how you are.”

I didn't even want to think about it.

Twenty-four

“You look lovely, darling,” Baba said. “Doesn't she, Sam?”

“What's all this commotion about?” Daddy looked over the top of his paper.

“This is the day Nora's going to Radio City with Chuck Whipple and his parents,” Baba reminded Daddy. “They called and invited her, Sam, and we said it was fine. And Sam, it's none of my business, but don't you think you should shave? They'll be here any minute.”

“I never shave on Saturday if I can help it,” Daddy said. “Besides, I'm not going to Radio City, Nora is.”

“What time is it?” I said.

“Nine-thirty-two,” Patsy said. “Time for one more pit stop.”

I shot into the bathroom. “If you ask me,” I said, “this isn't worth it.”

The doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Daddy said.

I heard him say, “You must be Chuck. Come in, come in, young man. She's all set.” He made it sound as if I'd been suited up and ready to go for hours. Chuck had on a jacket and tie. I almost didn't recognize him.

Daddy introduced Chuck to Baba. She liked him right away, I could tell.

Patsy had disappeared. Probably she was hiding in the broom closet, spying on us.

“You can't go without any money, darling,” Daddy told me. “You never know when you might need some, have to make a phone call or something.”

“My father's paying for everything,” Chuck said. Then he blushed a vivid red.

“Just in case.” My father tucked a twenty-dollar bill into my hand. Luckily, my dress had pockets. I wasn't bothering with a purse. It might get ripped off.

“We'll be home about six, if that's okay,” Chuck said. “If we're delayed, we'll call so you won't worry.” I bet his stepmother told him to say that.

“Fine,” Daddy said.

I gave him and Baba a quick kiss. I thought I heard Patsy rustling around in the broom closet. By now she was probably running out of oxygen in there.

“Nice to meet you,” Chuck said, shaking my father's hand.

“Take good care of her,” Baba said. I could've died.

Chuck ducked his head. “I sure will,” he said.

Daddy walked out to the car with us. Chuck's father got out and shook my father's hand. Chuck's stepmother leaned out and shook hands with Daddy, too. It was like a bunch of heads of state meeting at the White House, all smiling and shaking hands.

Chuck and I got into the backseat and the door closed on us.

I had a mad urge to escape—holler “Help!” and run for my life. But I could barely move my lips. I might not be able to talk the whole day. The Whipples would think I was a moron. So would Chuck.

“We're so excited, Nora.” Mrs. Whip-pie turned to look at me. “I haven't been to New York since I was about ten. We went to the automat and put in our nickels and got a slice of pie and hot chocolate. Oh, it was such fun. The food just popped out at us. I'd never seen such a thing.”

“I don't think there are any automats left,” I said.

“What a shame,” Mrs. Whipple said.

“Fasten your seat belts, kids, and just remember, we all stick together,” Chuck's father said. “I don't want anyone to get lost, myself included.” I guess he was nervous, too.

It was going to be all right. The Whipples were easy to talk to. I began to relax a little.

We turned down Roberta's street. She was standing on the sidewalk, waiting. I pretended I didn't see her.

“Hey, Nora!” Roberta shrieked. “Bon voyage! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

We sailed on by, and I'm happy to say I didn't so much as wave.

Twenty-five

We walked up Fifth Avenue. Nobody tried to rip us off until we went into a store with a big EVERYTHING MUST GO! sign on the window. Then we went into a bookstore, Saks Fifth Avenue, and St. Patrick's Cathedral. Chuck's father checked his watch and said we'd better hurry if we wanted lunch. He'd made a reservation at a restaurant that looked over the Rockefeller Center skating rink. When I saw the menu, I was glad I'd brought the twenty dollars Daddy had given me. Mr. Whipple might need it to pay the bill, I thought.

I had the chicken salad. The others had hamburgers. Mrs. Whipple asked the waitress where the ladies' room was. I went with her.

“I always like to go to the ladies' room in a strange place,” she told me. Right away that made me like her more.

“So do I,” I said.

“Chuck's dad and I are so glad you are friends,” his stepmother said. “It's tough being a stranger in a strange place.”

“Well, I like him,” I said.

She smiled. “So do I,” she said. “He's a lovely boy. If he were my own, I couldn't love him more. He has a kind heart. A kind heart is a great gift. I think he must've inherited it from his mother.”

When we got to the theater, Mr. Whipple gave Chuck two tickets. “I wasn't about to get four seats together,” he said, “so we'll have to split up and sit two and two.” Chuck and I sat four rows behind his parents. I was glad. That made it seem more like a real date on our own, just the two of us.

“Are you all right?” Chuck asked me.

“Sure,” I said. “I'm fine. Once our mother brought us here and Patsy and I saw a very scary movie, so we watched through the holes in our straw hats. It wasn't nearly as scary that way.”

“You're funny.” He took my hand. “Just so you don't get lost,” he said. We both laughed.

“So are you,” I said.

“I made the basketball team,” he said. “Not first string. The coach says I'll have to practice a lot, but I might get good enough.”

“That's excellent, really excellent,” I said. “Good for you.”

We looked at each other in the half darkness. His face was very close to mine. He smelled of soap and water. I'm glad his ears are big. If they weren't, he'd be too handsome. I wanted to touch his smooth cheek, but I figured I didn't know him well enough. Probably he didn't have to shave yet.

The lights dimmed and the show began. Some singer imitated Frank Sinatra and Bob Dylan. The Rockettes were better. They were truly astonishing with those legs all kicking in unison. I planned to try that with Patsy when I got home.

We split a Mounds Bar. I felt very happy as I bit into the coconut. I thought I might be in love, although I wasn't sure what being in love felt like. My insides felt exhilarated and my heart thumped so noisily I wondered if he could hear it.

After, we stopped for a Coke. I wanted to say this was my treat and whip out my twenty-dollar bill, but I didn't have the nerve. Besides, I didn't know how much tip to leave.

We walked slowly through the dusk to the station. The buildings looked like black paper cutouts against the peach-colored sky.

“I can't imagine anyone saying New York is a horrible place,” Mrs. Whipple said. “It seems to me quite wonderful.”

Her foot hit what looked like a bundle of rags lying in a doorway. The bundle sat up and eyes looked out of it, straight at us. A guttural voice said something, a hand crept out from the rags, palm up. “I'm hungry,” the voice rasped. “Please help me.”

My hand went into my pocket and closed around the twenty-dollar bill. I handed it to the bundle of rags.

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” the voice said.

We walked on. No one said a word. Just as we rounded the corner to Grand Central, a man came running toward us. We crossed to the opposite side of the street. It was just a running man. He meant no harm. But we shrank against what he might have planned for us.

On the train Chuck said to me, “That was a good deed, handing over your money.” I shrugged, giddy with pleasure at his compliment. I hoped he thought I did good deeds like that every day of my life.

We drove home slowly through the dark streets. I wanted the day to never end, to just go on and on. The Whipples let us out at my street corner. Chuck said he'd walk me home.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” I said. “I will always remember what a lovely time it was.”

“We loved having you, Nora,” Mrs. Whipple said.

“Be sure you see Nora to the door,” Mr. Whipple told Chuck.

We walked as slowly as it was possible to walk without coming to a standstill. Chuck took my hand and we swung along together.

I had made up my mind. I would kiss him. It was to be a friendly kiss, straightforward. Not a big spitty kiss, with my mouth open and smushing saliva all around, the way they do on TV and in the movies. It wouldn't be that kind of kiss.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” I said. We were almost at my door. I think the curtains in the living room moved. Patsy.

The heck with Patsy.

I love you,
I thought but did not say. I let the words run through my mind.
I love you.

I thought of my mother playing Spin the Bottle and grabbing the boys and kissing them until she felt like letting go. Good for her.

I turned to him and put my mouth on his and kept my eyes open. I wanted to look at Chuck when I kissed him. In those big spitty kisses they always close their eyes. I never could figure that out. Why did they close their eyes?

He jumped a little, then kissed me back. His eyes were open, too. Our eyeballs were practically touching. I couldn't help laughing. It was so funny. Chuck laughed, too.

It was a marvelous feeling, laughing with someone you'd just kissed. It was my first kiss. I loved him. Well, make that
liked. Love
is a powerful word you have to think a lot about before you say it.

I stood there after Chuck had gone, thinking about my father, hoping he liked Chuck. I would feel terrible if he didn't like him.

“How was it?” Patsy pounced.

“Good,” I said. “We had a good time.”

“Did he put the moves on you?”

“No,” I said.

“I guess those guys from Iowa are pretty slow,” Patsy said.

I smiled to myself. I had put the moves on
him.
I grabbed him and kissed him, and he didn't even struggle.

On Sunday morning I woke up early, before anyone else. The sun was up and shining, and spring was just around the corner, I figured. It was a lovely day and I stood at the open door—looking out and taking deep breaths—and thought about kissing Chuck yesterday. Maybe I should've waited. Maybe I should've let him make the first move. Maybe he wouldn't have made any move.

I wondered if Chuck would tell the other kids what I'd done. Then they'd blow it up and make a really weird story about what had happened. Spread it all around school.

Heck with it. I wasn't going to brood.

I decided to go over to Dee's studio, see if she was there. She works early in the morning, seven days a week. If she was involved in painting something, she might be there.

If Dee looked spaced out when I knocked, I'd know her juices were flowing and she didn't want to be disturbed.

Today I hit it right. She had just put the finishing touches on a portrait of a mother with her arms encircling two little children. All three had dark hair and widely spaced dark eyes. They were very beautiful.

“Oh, Dee,” I said. She grinned.

“Yeah, it's good, right? This captures them. This lives and breathes. It's good. I'm thrilled with it. What's up, Nora? You hungry? Thirsty? Both? Sit and I'll fetch some goodies. If I have any. Yeah, I think I do.”

She brought forth a turquoise teapot decorated with yellow dragons. We had Oreos and tea with a plastic container of milk and Cheerios. It was a feast.

“Talk to me,” Dee commanded. “I haven't talked to a living soul for days. How's everything going?”

“Remember a long time ago when Patsy stubbed her toe and we laughed and I said I thought I heard Mother laughing with us?” I said.