Yearbook (26 page)

On the last day of the month, Guy measured his height and found he stretched to five five and a half.

Another month, another inch. At this rate, he figured, by June of 1961, his graduation, he’d stand seven feet and nine-and-a-half inches. Maybe he should reconsider learning to play basketball, after all.

That same day a white printed invitation, RSVP and every thing, arrived in the mail. He and a date were invited to help Ro-Anne Sommers celebrate her Sweet Sixteen.

A date? No problem. He’d take Amy.

MARCH
 

THIRTY-FIVE
 

It didn’t look much LIKE EASTER.

An early holiday and still another late winter storm preempted any springtime visions of baby rabbits in lollipop suits rolling colorful eggs down sunny lawns.

Ro-Anne looked out the living room window at the florist’s truck skidding up her driveway and winced. “No one will come, Mother! No one! Look at this weather!”

Marian, in rollers and moisturizer, was checking off a long list of party items. “Relax, darling. “

“It’s the twenty-third of March, Mother. Why is it still snowing? Oh, I hate it here! Why can’t we live in California like everyone else?”

“Take a bath and do your nails.”

The doorbell rang. Marian looked at her list. “That must be the ice.”

“Ice?! Why’d you order ice? Just go outside and shovel it in!”

Marian opened the door and in with old man winter came the florist. “Sorry I’m late. Roads are pretty bad.”

“Don’t say that!” shouted the birthday girl, dashing up the stairs to drown herself in the bathtub. “Why should I believe in God if this is how he treats my Sweet Sixteen?”

“I think she’s a little nervous about the party,” Marian told the shivering, wet florist.

Amy had no trouble convincing her mother she should have a new dress for Ro-Anne’s birthday. Evelyn was delighted to get lost in the project, shopping daily for an appropriate outfit.

Each evening she’d parade an assortment of dresses and accessories picked up during that day’s spree, the relative merits of which, she and Amy would then proceed to haggle over.

Evelyn was forced to keep returning clothes until she came across a blue velvet dress with long sleeves and a hint of decolletage. It won Amy’s instant approval.

Guy felt ridiculous. He hadn’t worn his itchy woolen dress-up clothes in months and was sure everyone at the party would think he was wearing long Bermuda shorts.

Amy couldn’t believe what Barton had done. Her mother’s hairdresser cut her hair, combed it straight back and tied the neat ponytail with a blue velvet ribbon. He plucked her thick eyebrows and applied liner along her lashes. He dotted her cheeks with rouge.

She’d never, she decided, looked better and was for the first time intoxicated with the potential power of her image.

“I guess I’m ready, ‘’ said Guy, walking into the den.

“That how you’re going?” Butch remarked, gobbling his fourth Hostess Twinkie since dinner. “You didn’t say it was a costume party.”

“That’s enough, Butch!” said Nathan sharply, and the reprimand surprised father and sons.

“But, Dad …”

“Your brother looks fine. About time you started treating each other like family, anyway. You’re not kids anymore.”

Neither Butch nor Guy said anything. Nathan turned off the television. “Let’s go, Guy.”

Nathan was driving Guy to Amy’s, and then Evelyn would take them to the party from there.

“What a rotten night.” Nathan wiped the frosted window with his sleeve.

“Some Easter vacation, huh?” Guy assisted, rubbing his side of the windshield.

“I wanted you to have a new suit, Guy. But these doctor bills have really been something… . Besides, the way you’re going you’d outgrow it right away.”

“Sure, that’s what I figured.”

Nathan turned smoothly around an iey corner.

“Hey, Dad. How come you wanted to lose so much weight?”

Nathan looked at the sprouting pole, not knowing what to say. “I want you to know I’m proud of you.”

“Me, Dad? Proud of me? How come?”

“No one reason. I just am.”

“How ‘bout that? Hey, Dad. Thanks a million!”

Nathan stopped in front of Amy’s apartment house. Guy flung his camera bag over his shoulder and started to get out.

“I want you to watch your mother, Guy.”

“Watch her what?”

“She doesn’t know the real world. I think in a lot of ways, you do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Goon. Have a good time.”

“Wow! Do >ou ever look good!”

A grateful Amy kissed Guy on the cheek. “And don’t you look handsome!”

Guy was smug. “I shaved.”

Amy smiled approvingly.

“Here, my hero.” Evelyn handed Guy an umbrella. “Carry this at all times. The fair Amy is not to get wet!”

Evelyn pulled into the Sommers driveway behind two cars depositing young guests at the front door.

“Isn’t it exciting?” Amy clapped her hands.

“Just like a movie premiere, “ Guy offered.

“Get your umbrella ready, Guy,” Evelyn instructed. “Who ordered this blizzard, anyway?”

They were both intimidated when a butler opened the door. After taking their coats and the present they’d brought for Ro-Anne, he pointed the way.

They followed the music of a live five-piece rock and roll band into the crowded ballroom-sized living room. Most of the furniture had been removed.

“Look at these flowers!” Amy elbowed Guy. “It’s either a Jewish wedding or an Italian funeral.”

A long table with a pink lace cloth was crammed with food. Hams and roasts, turkeys and salads. Pink paper plates displayed Ro-Anne’s name and the number 16. Cascading in driblets down a three-tiered electric fountain was a pink champagne-laced punch.

‘It’s a Roman orgy,” said Guy as he and Amy greeted friends from school. It was strange seeing everyone all dressed up, stiff as boards.

Ro-Anne, Marian and Corky stood in front of a giant fireplace with a roaring blaze. The reception line.

“We should say hello,” said Guy.

Amy agreed and squeezed his hand. “Stick close to me.”

The tall girl and not-so-short boy joined other couples greeting the evening’s hosts.

Marian was in a tight-fitting pink floor-length gown ablaze with hundreds of hand-sewn sequins.

Ro-Anne, also in pink, displayed a plunging neckline held together by the thinnest of spaghetti straps. Semicircles of her full-rounded breasts were exposed, very grown-up.

Amy and Ro-Anne were icy. One congratulated, the other acknowledged. Glistening lips grazed opposite cheeks.

Moving down the line, Amy said hello to Corky, very handsome in his dark blue suit. He shook her hand and smiled with his eyes. She batted freshly Maybellined lashes. “How nice to see you, again.”

It was a good thing, Guy thought, that he and Ro-Anne were now the same height. At his former miniature stature her breasts would surely have hit him smack in the face.

Guy leaned in to kiss her cheek. Ro-Anne opened both arms, embracing him. “Dearest Guy. How wonderful you look!”

Guy turned red.

“Bring your camera, sweetheart?”

Guy nodded.

“Goodie!” Ro-Anne kissed him again, a short one on the lips. “Take wonderful pictures, you hear me? It’s my most important night ever!”

“I’ll try. Happy birthday.”

Ro-Anne wrinkled her nose.

The band ended one song, segued into another. Guy and Amy segued out of the receiving line over to the cascading punch.

Marian’s boyfriend Lester stood behind the fountain doling out small portions. It was his job to make sure none of the underage party goers had too much to drink.

He had no idea, nor would he much care, that some of the boys were sneaking swigs from flasks in the upstairs bathroom.

The champagne flowed downstairs, the whiskey upstairs. Eventually everyone began to relax.

Guy and Amy separated. He roved about, snapping pictures; she stood back, observing. Mostly she watched Corky.

The musicians took a break at ten-thirty and everyone was summoned to sit in the middle of the dance floor. The many presents were piled in front of the band.

Ro-Anne sat on a puffy cushion and opened them.

A girl friend to her left took ribbons and bows as they unraveled and Scotch-taped them to a white box top.

Another girl took pen in hand, recording every word Ro-Anne uttered as she opened her gifts. Soon the living room mushroomed into a rainbow of crumpled tissue paper and empty boxes.

Scarves and cuddly stuffed dogs, a fuzzy cotton six-foot cross-eyed snake and stationery; Johnny Mathis record albums, sweaters, a tiny gold-plated charm with “16” embedded in rhinestones for posterity, and more Johnny Mathis.

When finally there were no presents left to open, Ro-Anne was presented with the hat made from the flowing ribbons and wrinkled bows.

She smiled winsomely as Guy snapped a picture.

The girl who had been taking notes then read the list of quips Ro-Anne would say on her wedding night: “What could this be?” “How wonderful!” “Just what I wanted.” “That’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen!” “How does it work?”

The girls snickered and the boys howled at the innuendo.

Amy yawned and went over to the fountain for another pink glassful.

“Oh!” Ro-Anne got everyone’s attention again as she discovered a small white ribboned box next to her. “Look! One last present!”

Ripping open a tiny envelope attached to the gift, she announced mid-blush, “It’s from Corky!”

Everyone oohed and ahed, and Corky sat up straight and surprised. Her gift—a quarter ounce of Chanel—was still tucked inside his jacket
pocket.

Ro-Anne lifted the delicate bloodstone ring from the velvet box and went into a seizure of joy, bouncing up and down, screaming with delight.

As she threw her arms around Corky, kissing him excitedly, her girl friends, as hoped, turned green.

Corky turned white. Livid, he nonetheless returned Ro-Anne’s kisses and went along with the charade.

The band returned. Partners lined up for the stroll. A few did the slop.

Ro-Anne and Marian were now upstairs, connecting cards with gifts, organizing for thank-you notes.

When the band played a slow dance, a stylized rendition of “Tears on My Pillow, “ Amy drained the last of her sixth champagne punch and walked up to a fairly inebriated Corky, who was sitting on the bottom step of the stairwell, leaning back on his elbows.

“Pardon me, “ she asked softly, “is your card filled?”

“You want to dance?”

“Once. If you don’t mind. For auldlang syne.”

Corky stood up. “I don’t mind.”

He led her into the living room and they danced. Neither of them said a word, just held each other close and moved slowly around the floor.

Ro-Anne came back into the living room as the song was ending. She glanced from Corky to Amy, and knew there was no bet to explain this. She watched Amy and Corky back away. She saw Amy nodding her head, thanking him. She bit her full bottom lip when Corky responded in kind, then stood her ground as Amy rushed past her up the stairs.

Amy hurried into the bathroom as three boys with a flask were scurrying out. Turning on the cold tap water, she filled the gold plastic cup above the sink and gulped from it. She filled it again. Looking to the mirror, she saw tears forming in the sides of her eyes. She drained the cup, hoping to hold them at bay.

As she was drinking her third cupful, there was a knock on the door. “What is it?”

“Mind if I come in?” asked Ro-Anne, too sweet.

Amy sniffed, took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hi. Guess I’ve had too much champagne.”

“Who hasn’t?” Ro-Anne smiled, going to the other half of the double sink.

Thereafter they talked at each other diagonally, through the long mirror above the sinks.

Ro-Anne applied a fresh coating of lipstick. “Want some sisterly advice?”

I can hardly wait. “Sure.”

“I’m thinking what’s best for you.”

“How thoughtful.” Amy forced a smile.

“I think you’re making a big mistake.” Ro-Anne rubbed her lips together, puckering for her reflection.

“How’s that?”

“To be perfectly frank, Amy… why don’t you leave him alone?”

“Him?”

“Come off it, Miss … you know damn well who… . Once was harmless nonsense. Now you’re just making a pest of yourself.”

Amy fought to say something. Words were her talent. Where were the words?

“Especially in my house. Tsk-tsk. Bad taste!”

“Who says I’m being a pest?” Amy rose to her own defense.

Ro-Anne shrugged and laughed. “Isn’t it obvious, my dear?”

Amy’s head was scrambled. She hunted for the appropriate thing to say, came out with, “I have just as much right—”

“ ‘Right!’ Where do you get the nerve? Playing Jewish princess is one thing, but let’s not get carried away!”

“That’s not how it is!”

“Ask yourself honestly. Go ahead, take a long, honest look. What would Corky want with you?”

Amy took a look, and turned away.

“Would it interest you to know you were asked out on a bet? Did Corky tell you that?”

“It’s not true!”

“Everybody knows it’s true. The whole school is laughing about it!”

Lies! Amy told herself. Lies of jealousy and deceit. Tell her. Go on. Tell her the truth. She asked for it. Taking a step closer, Amy turned her head from the reflection and addressed the real Ro-Anne. “Do you also happen to know that he made love to me?”

Ro-Anne took a deep breath and altered her strategy. It didn’t take long. “I’d hate to believe that. For your sake. Only makes you more of a fool. The boys have a name for that kind of sport. Shall I tell you?

They call it a mercy fuck, Amy. That s what you got from Corky. A mercy fuck.”

Amy brushed past Ro-Anne and fled from the bathroom, well past the point of being able to stop the flow of mascara.

As she approached the bottom of the stairs a flashbulb went off. Following the light to its source, she found, Guy.

“There you are!” he said, trying to be heard above the music. Amy held his arm.

Guy looked at the dark makeup running down her face. “What’s the matter?”