Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself (25 page)

Peter was wearing the same kind of blue suit that Douglas had worn to
The Swells’
house for dinner,
but he had already loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt colar.

“So, Petey …” a fat, older woman said, “you’re next?”

“Like fish!” Peter told her.

Sally and Barbara went over to him. “Hi, Peter …”

Barbara said, “Sally has something for you.”

Peter said, “Oh, yeah … what?”

Barbara said, “Something she can only give you in private.”

Peter said, “Okay … let’s have it.”

Barbara said, “Over there …” And she nudged Sally toward the side yard of the temple. “Come on, Peter … or you’ll never find out what it is.”

It was too late to back out now. She never should have come to the wedding. She never should have let Barbara get things going.

When the three of them reached the side yard Peter said, “Okay … we’re in private now.”

“Well …” Sally said, taking a deep breath, “in honor of your brother’s wedding, congratulations!” She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

He turned bright red. “What’d you do that for?”

Sally blushed too. “I told you … it was in honor of your brother’s wedding …” She chewed on her bottom lip and pulled at her midriff.

Peter leaned over and kissed Sally back.

“What’s
that
for?” she asked.

“For letting me copy off you on our last spelling test.”

“Petey … hurry …” the fat woman called.

“See you,” Peter said, running off.

“See you …” Sally called, waving.

“Well …” Barbara said. “You really did it!”

“Uh huh …”

“Tell me all about it.”

“You were standing right here,” Sally said. “You saw the whole thing.”

“But what did it
feel
like?” Barbara asked.

“Nice.”

“I always knew he liked you.”

“I wish Jackie knew it.”

“She will …”

When Sally got back to her house there was an ambulance and a police car outside and a crowd of people standing around. Oh no … Sally thought, please God … don’t let it be Doey … She pushed her way into the crowd. He’s going to be all right … he promised …

“Let me in … let me in …” Sally said, using her elbows. The hibiscus fell from behind her ear and she tramped over it. “Everybody has to die …” she could hear her father saying. “We live
and we die …” “But you won’t die until I’m old, will you?” she had asked. And he had answered, “I hope not …” She forced her way through until she reached the front of the crowd.

Andrea was there. “Did you hear the news?”

“No … what?” Please God … please …

“It’s Mr. Zavodsky …”

Sally felt dazed, as if she might pass out.

“You know …” Andrea added, “that old guy who gives us candy …”

“What about him?” Sally asked. So, the police had found out on their own …

“He’s dead!” Andrea said.

“He can’t be.”

“Well, he is. He had a heart attack on the stairs. He just keeled right over … my grandmother’s friend found him and called the ambulance. They’re bringing him out any second … I’m not going to look … are you?”

“Yes!” Sally said. Thank you, God … Thank you for not letting it be Doey …

“There …” Andrea pointed and started sniffling, as two attendants carried out a stretcher.

“How can you cry?” Sally asked. “You should be glad it’s him and not … not …”

“He was a little touched,” Andrea said, “but he was nice …”

“That’s how much you know!”

“Poor Mr. Zavodsky …” Andrea cried, “all covered up with a blanket …”

“I have to go now …” Sally said. “I’ll see you later.” She walked away slowly, through the lobby, up the stairs, to her apartment. She pulled her keepsake box out from under the day bed, opened it, rummaged through the shells, marbles, withered flowers, notes from Peter, and letters from Daddy, and fished out her Hitler letters, including the one she had written, but never mailed, to the Chief of Police.

She carried her letters back downstairs. The street was empty now, and quiet, except for a small group of old men and women, talking softly, where the crowd had stood a few moments before. She went to the trash bins, next to the storage room, and tore each letter into tiny pieces. So, it was over! She dropped them into the bin one by one. There was no more Mr. Zavodsky. He was dead.

She sat down on the step. But maybe he’s dead
not
from a heart attack! Maybe Simon and Rita murdered him. Yes, they’d found out someone was hot on his trail and the only thing to do was kill him to protect themselves! They’d injected poison, the kind that works fast and leaves no trace. And now Adolf would rot in hell. He’d shovel coal down there for a million years. He’d find out how it felt to get shoved into an oven, like Lila. God would see to that!

Douglas rode up on his bicycle, finished exploring for the day.

“Mr. Zavodsky’s dead!” Sally told him.

“Who’s he?”

“Oh Douglas … don’t you have any imagination!” Sally stood up and walked away.

June 10, 1948

Dear Chrissy
,

I’m coming home soon. My father is driving down next week and then we are going to take the scenic route back to New Jersey. We will visit St. Augustine, Bok Tower, Silver Springs and other exciting places in Florida that I have studied about this year. You probably never heard of any of them. We will wind up in Washington, D.C. where I will inspect the FBI, as I am thinking seriously of joining it
.

As soon as I get home I’m planning on having a party. I may or may not invite boys. I may or may not invite Alice Ingram, since I haven’t heard from her once. Have you grown any this year? I’ve hardly grown at all. Not up and not out, either. But I have learned a lot. Do you know the difference between helium and hydrogen? Do you know how babies get made? Have you kissed any boys? I have. I will tell you about that too. It’s more interesting than the
difference between helium and hydrogen. Have you heard about television? My father says we are going to get a set when we get home. You can come over to watch. My father says it’s going to be a big thing. My mother says nothing will ever replace the radio. I am in-between my mother and my father, not just about television, but about a lot of things. That is something else I’ve found out this year
.

Well, see you soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do
.

Love and other indoor sports
,

Sally F
.

Sally was packing a carton with Crayolas, books, her keepsake box and her toe slippers.

“And when we get home …” Douglas was saying, tying up his carton, “I want you to stay away from Union Woods.”

“I’m not the one who plays in Union Woods,” Sally said, trying to decide on whether or not to pack her Margaret O’Brien paper dolls.

“I mean it … you stay out of there,” Douglas said.

“I will … I will …”

“Because some really bad things could happen to you in Union Woods …”

“I know … I could trip jumping across the
brook and dislocate my elbow and wind up with a kidney infection and then …”

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” Douglas said, interrupting.

“It’s not?”

“No …”

“How did it happen then?”

“If you could keep a secret I’d tell you.”

“I can … I can … I’ve finally learned …”

“How can I be sure?” Douglas asked. “How do I know I can really trust you this time?”

“You can, Douglas … I swear it … I’ve changed a lot.”

“Since when?”

“Since that time about
The Outlaw
 …”

“Well …”

“Oh, come on, Douglas … I’ll tell you a secret too.”

“Okay,” Douglas said. “You go first.”

“I kissed Peter Hornstein on the lips … and that’s a real secret because if Mom ever found out she’d kill me … a person could get trench mouth that way, or worse …”

Douglas laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“Trench mouth …” He rolled around on the floor, laughing and holding his stomach. “You’re so dumb … you believe everything Mom tells you.”

“I do not!”

“Name one thing she’s told you that you don’t believe …”

“I don’t believe my fungus came from the livingroom rug.”

This made Douglas laugh harder.

“Stop it!” Sally said. “You promised to tell me your secret …”

Douglas lay flat on his back, panting. “Okay … the real reason I was running in Union Woods …” He paused.

“Go on … go on …”

“It was the crazy guy.”

“What crazy guy?”

“You know … the one who hangs out in the woods …”

“You mean the one they warned us about in school … the
crazy
one?”

Douglas nodded. “That’s what I just said … he was chasing us …”

“Oh, Douglas … that’s so exciting! Could you identify him for the police?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did he, by any chance, have a small black moustache?”

“Why … do you think he was Hitler?” Douglas doubled up with laughter. Sally had never seen him this way.

“It’s not funny!”

“It is … it is … Hitler in Union Woods …”

“Stop it, Douglas!”

“I can’t … I can’t … it’s just too much …”

Sally started laughing too. She couldn’t help it either. It
was
funny … 
Hitler in Union Woods …
why would he bother to go there? “You know something, Douglas … when we get home I’m going to give you a special name, like I did for Doey-bird and Ma Fanny …”

“That’s really big of you, Sally … but if you don’t mind I think I’ll just stick with plain old Douglas … that’s good enough for me.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d take that as an insult.”

“Insult … schminsult,” Douglas said, and he stood up, still laughing, and headed for the bathroom.

Sally leaned back against the day bed, holding her Margaret O’Brien paper dolls. Just one more story before I finish packing, she thought. Yes, this will be a good one. I’ll call it
Margaret O’Brien Meets the Crazy One
.

I was just seven years old when World War II ended, but the war had so colored my early life, it was hard to think of anything else. No one I knew had experienced the war firsthand. No bombs dropped on America; my family and friends didn’t go hungry—we had cozy homes and enough to eat. And yet, as I listened to my parents whispering in the darkness, I couldn’t help worrying that it could happen again. War. And this time the bombs could drop on our houses. Never mind that Adolf Hitler was supposedly dead. I knew that he’d wanted to kill all the Jews in the world. And I was a Jew.

Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself
is my most autobiographical novel. When I was ten I was a lot like Sally—curious, imaginative, a worrier. I was always making up stories inside my head. In my stories, which I never wrote down or shared, I was brave and strong. I led a life of drama, adventure, and fame. I think the character of Sally explains how and why I became a writer.

Some of the Yiddish expressions used by Sally’s grandmother in this book are ones I learned from my own grandmother. And Sally’s family is based on my own. The setting, Miami Beach in 1947–48, is real too. I spent two school years in Miami Beach after the war. Sally’s world is
the world as I perceived it at age ten. A world of secrets kept from children, a world of questions without answers.

Although
Starring Sally J.
Freedman as Herself
takes place a long time ago, the story of Sally’s family and friends could happen anytime. Some things never change. Sally is one of my favorite characters. I hope she’ll become one of yours, too.

Iggie’s House
Print ISBN: 978-0-440-44062-8
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-307-81768-6

Iggie is gone. She’s moved to Tokyo. And now Winnie, her best friend, is alone on Grove Street, cracking her gum and wondering how she’s going to make it through the rest of summer vacation.

Then the Garbers move into Iggie’s house and Winnie is thrilled. They have three kids. Winnie can’t wait to show them what a good neighbor she is. But the Garbers are black and Grove Street is white and always has been. And not everyone is as welcoming as Winnie.