Signed, Skye Harper (14 page)

“You are not going to believe it.” She pointed at me and Nanny and Thelma and Steve and Denny, all at once, even though we were spread all over the motor home. “Elvis. Presley.”

“No way,” Steve said. He grinned in my face. “The geezer can croon.”

“Yes, he can,” Momma said, then she gestured the way Nanny should go until we came to rest in a parking lot where palm trees waved in concrete planter boxes.
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122

So Here’s What Happened

We walked all over Las Vegas. It had to be one million degrees, and I felt myself cooking up crispy as bacon, my skin growing tight over my bones.

“Dry heat,” Momma said, reaching for my hand the umpteenth time. “More tolerable than in the South.”

Ha!

“You think?” Nanny said. “Because I feel like I am going to have a stroke it’s so hot.”

Momma laughed. Her high heels clicked on the sidewalk. Cars passed, going fast, kicking up dirt and pamphlets that littered the ground. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll see him too. The King works right here.”

A car full of men passed and hollered something out the window at Momma. She didn’t even slow her step. Didn’t even look in their direction.

Her fingers touched mine. Her nails were long and polished and her cheeks glowed, like the sun had settled there beneath her bones.

Steve gave my other hand a nudge, letting his own fingers trace where a bracelet might go.

Momma took a tight hold on me . . . and
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and

to make my momma

my nanny

and Steve

happy,

I let her.
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123

More Memories

There had been good times, too.

Nanny told me them, reminding me as I grew, and I believed my grandmother’s recollections and my own soft tugging at the remembrances of sitting on Momma’s lap while she read
Where the Wild Things Are.

Maurice Sendak, Flannery O’Connor, and William Faulkner. My favorites because they had been Momma’s favorites. That’s what Nanny said. Yup, that good reading had sent me right into the books I’d packed up and brought with me on this trip.

“Winston,” Momma said now. She beamed in my face. “You look to be about my size. You wanna try on my feathers?”

Traffic was thick. I felt starved. Feathers reminded me of chicken, which reminded that I hadn’t eaten. Which reminded me why I hadn’t eaten.

Was Mark Spitz okay?

“What do you mean, your feathers?” I said, when Momma didn’t stop staring at me. I made a quick look at Denny but he seemed unconcerned.

She grabbed both my hands in hers and walked
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backward, tiptoeing in her stilettos. She looked so young. I had to squint to see her clear. How did she keep the Las Vegas sun from cooking her? “My costume. Let’s us all go right now to my dressing room. Marty won’t mind.”

“I got to get the animals water,” Nanny said.

“Mommy, I got water over there,” Momma said. She let out a laugh. She sure was happy.

Thelma butted up against my leg, leaving black hair in the sweat there. She looked thirsty with her tongue hanging out like that. If she hadn’t been so huge, I would have carried her tucked under my arm the way Nanny held Denny—her little rooster handbag.

Steve still stared at Momma, and now she let loose of me and chucked him under the chin, tying her arm through his.

“What are you thinking, Mr. Simmons?” Momma said. “Don’t you look a lot like your old man? What I remember of him. Only better looking.”

Steve ducked his head some then said, “You’re the knockout.”

Momma got all happy around her eyes. She said, “You shouldn’t say anything like that to your girlfriend’s mother.”

“You mean his girlfriend’s
Skye
,” I said, “and he’s not my boyfriend.”

No matter what I hoped.

Steve stared at Momma.

I’m pretty sure neither one of them heard me.
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124

Show Business

There was more color in this dressing room than in every rainbow the world had ever seen.

“Don’t look at the feathers, Denny,” I said. I would have covered his eyes, but he was way over there in Nanny’s arms. My grandmother walked slowlike in the narrow room that seemed too full.

“Lots of mirrors,” she said. “Why do you have so many, Judith Lee?”

Momma grinned from ear to ear. “Skye, Mommy.” She waved her hand around, all flappity. “Because this is where
all
the dancers dress. Even us part-timers. When the car broke down, Marty gave me a job. And I’ve stayed near to six months. I got my own mirror that I share with Amber Dawn, my roommate, and everything. I’ll show it to you. But look it here.”

Momma flipped on a switch, and a row of lightbulbs bathed the area where we stood. The color in the room escalated. Sherwin-Williams couldn’t compete in here.

Behind us were costumes of all sorts. Multiples of the same thing. Feathery. Shiny. Sparkly.

Oh, and skimpy.
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“You wear those things?” I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Would I ever get away from embarrassing moments? Me, the girl who sometimes went swimming half nekkid? Okay, 99 percent nekkid.

“The girls and me, we get ready for every show right here. When someone can’t come in, I take her place. Cool, huh? Winston?” Momma clutched my arm. “Here’s where I sit. Try it out.”

“No thank you,” I said, but Momma manhandled me into her chair. She flipped another switch, and the mirror I sat in front of exploded with light.

“Wow,” Steve said. Somewhere in the room I heard Thelma yawn. I agreed with her. “Check this out.”

I glanced at Steve. He held a string with glitter and feathers up by two fingers like he had held my bra less than a week ago.

“You’re my coloring,” Momma said as Nanny said, “That’s too big for you, Steve.”
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125

What I Missed

Momma wanted to paint my face but I would have none of it. “At least try on my shoes,” she said after showing me mascara, blush, and then dresses.

“Momma,” I said, “I have flippers for hands and feet.” Why was I saying this? Why? “I don’t want to be a dancer. I want to swim—” My stomach sunk a little. “And your shoes . . .”

Steve stared into the rafters of the room. I noticed there was glitter on his face. Maybe later I would point that out.

Nanny stroked Denny, who slept in her lap. She watched her daughter everywhere she went, like her eyes couldn’t get enough of Momma.

“Let’s get out of here.” I whispered my plea so that Momma had to bend over my shoulder. Her bosoms seemed to grow in the mirror. “Even the dog is bored.”

Momma’s face—well, she looked hurt.

“What?” I said. I didn’t feel even a bit guilty. And then.

And then I thought of all the

lost birthdays

lost nightmares

lost swim practices.
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I thought of Nanny walking me in to my first day of school, calling Wiley Anderson’s mother after he blacked my eye (for laughing at his name), her late hours at work then helping me with school projects, and hospital runs and staying up late with me.

No! Momma might look all mushy in the face, but she had chosen her path.

One that didn’t include me.

Or my grandmother.

“Let’s go,” I said.
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126

She Deserves It, Right?

One good thing about Momma, she was chipper.

My rejection didn’t deflate her happiness at all, though I hoped it would. Maybe all the rejection she had gotten in Los Angeles had given her a tough hide, though she looked supple enough. Momma pinched my face into fish lips and tapped her mouth to mine in an awkward kiss.

“Let’s get lunch then,” she said. “My treat. I know the perfect buffet. All you can eat.” She said this last bit to Steve. Like I couldn’t eat a lot.

Steve paused then said, “I’m glad about that?” like it was a question and glanced at me.

I nodded in the mirror.

“Yes you are,” Momma said.

And so was I. I wanted out of this room. There were too many of me everywhere I looked. Bosomy, lanky, eyes too big. And that pouty mouth? Anyone could see I was not happy. At all.

Plus I wanted to see the news. I needed to know what had happened to Mark Spitz and all those other men.

Was he okay? Were the others?

I swallowed at the fear and looked back at the room of
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feathers. How could I have forgotten about him and the Olympics? Did magicians share this dressing room too? Had they stolen my memory? Made me forget what was most important?

“Come on, Thelma,” I said. “We’re leaving.” She trotted over to Steve. I stomped across the floor, looking for the door. It took me three tries to find it. How did the show girls—substitutes, too—get out of here?

“We’ll leave the animals in my apartment,” Momma said, then she brushed past me like she was on a mission, and we all had to jog to catch up with her.
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127

A Little Bitchy

Steve ran up next to me.

Took my hand.

“Ease up on her some, Churchill,” he said.

His words stopped me in my tracks. My feet refused to work and I had nothing to do with it. I felt my face change too. If I coulda shot lasers like Superman, like Nanny, I would have. Two perfect shots right into Steve’s forehead.

“What. Do. You. Mean?” I shook free of him. “What do you mean? What are you saying? What do you mean? Are you meaning what I think you mean? Are you?”

Steve stared at me.

“Ummm.”

“Um? That’s no answer.” My eyes had gone so squinty a laser beam might stay contained in my head and burn my own brains out.

Steve raised his hands, like shields. “She’s so . . .”

Momma and Nanny walked on. They had linked arms. Nanny looked back once and made a face at me. Momma kept up her fast-paced, high-heeled, I-left-my-daughter-when-she-was-four walk.

“So what? She’s so
what
?”
{ 219 }

Steve shrugged, tucked his hands deep in his pockets, and turned from me. For a guy who usually sauntered, he sure had picked up the pace when he followed Momma and Nanny.

“Say it!” I said. “Tell me why I should ease up.”

Steve turned. He looked nervous—the first time I had ever seen this expression on his face. “You’re someone I don’t recognize right now. I know I don’t know you that well, but just so you know, you’re being a little bitchy.”
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128

Bitchy?

I stood there on the sidewalk in this strange hot city of Las Vegas. Traffic had picked up, and we were on that main strip of road and the air smelled of exhaust and if we had been any other place in the world maybe the twilight would have shown up, but the evening sky looked like the day sky and I needed to cry, just cry.

Steve wasn’t the same as me. Not at all. He had no idea, yet, what it was like for your mother to leave you for your whole life.

And the truth was, I hadn’t even known I felt like this. So . . . so . . . so . . . pained.

I let myself feel sorrow, deep sorrow—painful, ouch-that-hurts-a-lot sorrow—then I hurried to catch up to my family.

My real family.

My nanny.

Bitchy? Hrmph.
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129

Not Having Any of It

I zoomed past Steve.

“No you don’t,” he said. He grabbed my arm, jerking me to a halt and pulling my arm out of the socket. Well, almost.

“Hey!” I said. “Let loose.”

“I don’t think so. You are always trying to get away when you don’t like something I do. That’s not how relationships work.” Steve put his face in mine. “Now, listen to me.”

“Why should I?” Why should he talk to me like this?

Heat came up from the sidewalk. Hot as it was outside, I was hotter than fire in the anger area of things. And nice as Steve looked, pretty as he smelled, I would stay mad. Even if his little speech made sense. Which it wouldn’t.

“I said, why should I listen?”

“Because.” Steve hesitated.

“You’re saying this ’cause she has big breasts and is pretty and wears feathers. We got chickens that are nicer than my momma’s been.”

Steve cocked his head to the side, not unlike Thelma. “I know it,” he said. “I know she’s hurt you. It’s—”

“Winston?” Nanny called. “Steve?” They had stopped off down the road. “You two coming?”
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“One sec,” Steve called back, and someone driving down the street hollered out, “One sex?” Three girls on the opposite sidewalk, all wearing dresses as short as nighties, screamed, “Say yes!”

Palms trees waved in the evening breeze.

Steve touched my face, his fingers cool, like he painted my cheek with water. “Listen to me, Churchill, for one minute.” He swallowed air. “I feel sorry for her. She gave you up. And she missed out on something amazing. You. Time she’ll never get back. She’s trying to get you to like her.” He stopped talking then said, “I want that so much from my own mother I don’t want to see you make a mistake.”

Did his fingers etch prints into my bones?

Why did he have to make such sense?

I looked off over his shoulder.

“I’ll do better,” I said, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

And what did he mean, relationships?
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130

“They Are All Gone”

TVs all over the smoke-filled lobby played the news.

Everyone watched, standing around in half circles. Too much smoke in the room. No one speaking.

What was caught in my throat? A life preserver? I couldn’t breathe.

If he was dead . . .

If he was dead . . .

I couldn’t think of it. Wouldn’t let it be true in my mind.

“They now said there were eleven hostages,” Jim McKay said.

What? No. My arms were water.

“Mark?” I whispered the name.