Broken for You (13 page)

"I call it 'Musical Beds,'" Wanda said as she wiped a dish. Most of the Schultz family dishes bore chips and cracks. Wanda assumed these were acquired on the day her father left her. She believed that, before her arrival, Aunt Maureen's dishes had been perfect. And even though Wanda knew that Jacqueline had been the instrument of destruction, she believed that her presence had been the catalyst, and she never got over the feeling that the damage to Aunt Maureen's dishes was her fault. So, Wanda was very careful. In all the years she lived at the Schultz home, she never, ever, dropped anything.

As Wanda detailed her plan, Aunt Maureen listened intently. She was impressed. In essence, Wanda proposed to broker a sleeping arrangement on a nightly basis that would accommodate the alliances and feuds of the moment. "That way," Wanda said, "if you're not getting along with someone, you don't have to sleep close to them."

"What about compromise?" Aunt Maureen said. "Shouldn't they learn to compromise?" Even though at this point Wanda herself was only in second grade, Aunt Maureen was used to consulting with her on the challenges of child-rearing.

"Not at bedtime," Wanda answered. "At bedtime, it's too hard for boys to compromise."

"Good point." Aunt Maureen always treated Wanda with respect;
their relationship was an excellent model of joint mid-level management at its most effective. "But what about the boys that
aren't
fighting? They shouldn't be punished by having to move."

"I don't think it will feel like punishment," Wanda replied. "The way I've got it figured out, I think it'll feel like an adventure."

"Maybe," Aunt Maureen said, dubiously. She began drying her hands on a dishcloth. She looked out toward the dining room, where Jeremiah was sitting on the floor, ferociously chewing his toenails, and Jordan and Jesse were playing Oreo see-food. She leaned close to Wanda and whispered, "What about cooties?"

Wanda whispered back, "They can sleep in their sleeping bags."

After hearing a few more particulars, and agreeing to Wanda's last proviso—that there be no other family members present when Wanda talked to the boys—Aunt Maureen agreed to let Wanda attempt to implement Operation Musical Beds, then apprised Uncle Artie of the situation.

"Sounds terrific!" said Uncle Artie. "Just great!" Uncle Artie always sounded exclamatory.

Aunt Maureen assembled the boys
in the living room, and then an
nounced that Wanda had something of importance to talk about. "Your father and sister and I are going for a little drive."

"I know!" yelled Uncle Artie. "Let's go to Baskin-Robbins!!"

Uncle Artie weighed two hundred pounds. He spent his days beating on ancient rusted pipes with large steel wrenches. He was not a man naturally inclined to appreciate the subtle maneuverings of interpersonal diplomacy.

The boys rioted.

"Sorry," Aunt Maureen whispered to Wanda.

"It's okay," Wanda replied. "I can handle it."

"Settle down now, guys!" Uncle Artie bellowed happily. He had a habit of jingling his car keys in a way that made Wanda expect to see Dasher, Dancer, Comet, and Blitzen standing outside the front door. "We'll bring back ice cream for everyone! Come on, princess!"

"I WANT BUBBLE GUN! I WANT BUBBLE GUN! I WANT BUBBLE GUN! I WANT BUBBLE GUN!" screamed Jacqueline.

And they were gone.

Initially, there was some resistance to Wanda's plan.

"What a DUMB idea! Leave it to a girl to be so DUMB!"

"You mean we'll sleep in a different bed every NIGHT?"

"You won't
have
to," Wanda answered.

"That's CRAZY!"

"That's STUPID!"

"I want ice cream!"

"Hey! Who CUT ONE?!!"

"So how will we know where to go?" This question came from James, the oldest.

Wanda brought out a large chart. "You'll have a 'home bed,' kind of like a
homeroom,"
Wanda said. She looked pointedly at James; he was in junior high and understood the concept. "That's the bed you sleep in most of the time. But if you're having a fight with someone who sleeps close to you, you get to move somewhere else."

"You mean anywhere we want?"

"No. Not exactly anywhere. I'll help you decide where to sleep."

"Yeah," said James. "But what's the catch? What do YOU get out of it?"

"I get to sleep in the leftover bed."

"In OUR room?!"

"NO WAY!"

"NO WAY!"

"Girls have COOTIES! Girls are GROSS!"

"Not every night," Wanda said reasonably. "Just once in a while."

"Why?" asked James. "Why would you wanna sleep in our room?"

"Yeah. Jerkie Jackie's room is WAY bigger."

"Can you guys keep a secret?"

This got their attention.

"I hate pink. Pink stinks."

The boys snickered; Wanda was making progress.

Wanda brought out art supplies, poster board, and string. She asked the boys to give nonproprietary names to their home beds and design portable signs for them; they came up with "Starship of Doom," "Count Vlad's Sarcoffagus," "Sorcerer's Lair," "Bull Pen," "Booger Palace," "Cowboy Donut Store," and "Fort Farts-o-Plenty."

By the time Aunt Maureen, Uncle Artie, and Jacqueline returned—with three gallons of ice cream—they were astonished to find the seven Schultz boys seated at the kitchen table, happily engaged in, of all things,
an
art
project. "Well! I'll be darned!" said Uncle Artie.

Naturally, Jacqueline wanted to make a sign for her own bed, and insisted that her parents do the same.

So, Wanda dished up and served ten enormous bowls of ice cream, and then stood at the sink, looking on as the Schultzes laughed and ate and finished making their signs. Jackie's sign was "Queen Barbie's Beauty Palace." Aunt Maureen and Uncle Artie's sign was "National Headquarters: Zero Population Growth." It was hung not on their bed, but on their bedroom door. It hung there for the next thirteen years; as far as Wanda knew, it was hanging there still.

When everyone was done and had presented their artwork to the family, Wanda announced the sleeping assignments. The boys stampeded up the stairs to hang their signs and get ready for bed.

From that point on, bedtime was rarely accompanied by arguments, pummeling, or pouting; instead, there was a certain level of excitement as Wanda read off the sleeping assignments. There were hardly ever any disputes; when there were, Wanda managed them.

Peace reigned in the Schultz household—at least from seven o'clock until eight-thirty each evening—and Wanda got the one small thing she wanted: She'd become an indispensable member of the Schultz home. Furthermore, there was always that single empty bed, and Wanda always knew which one it was.

On many nights, when she couldn't sleep, and when the frilly excesses of Jacqueline's room reminded her of her outcast state, Wanda would take a pillow and a quilt, tiptoe into the boys' room, and crawl into that last empty bed.

Comforted by the tangy smells of her cousins' stale socks and male sweat, their even breathing, and their tamed tribal presence, Wanda was finally able to fall asleep. On those nights, she dreamed that her cousins would never leave her. She dreamed that they were adoring, protective, and loyal. She dreamed that they were the seven dwarfs, and she was Snow White.

And so, Wanda made a place for herself in Schultz society. To the boys, she became a kind of club mascot: not too bad, for a girl. To Jacqueline, she became a tolerated annoyance. And to Aunt Maureen
and Uncle Artie, who would often remark in private about Wanda's amazing maturity, self-sufficiency, easygoing manner, and skills at negotiation, she became a blessing.

Wanda O'Casey was as happy as she could be, given the fact that her heart was broken.

Wanda went upstairs. Margaret had left a hall light on for her. She passed through her bedroom and went into the bathroom. She washed her face. She thought about how little had really changed, how much she still felt like a guest in someone else's life.

The bathroom was huge. And although it was situated between two bedrooms, there was no one with whom Wanda had to share it. Still, it was tiled—floor to ceiling—in an aggressively feminine Queen Barbie's Beauty Palace shade of pink.

Te
n

The Hotel Orleans

When Margaret got up the next morning, she found a sheet of yellow legal paper under her bedroom door:

"Dear Margaret," it read, " Thank you for the offer to use your car. I am still thinking about it. My hesitation is not just about inconveniencing you. It also has to do with some personal stuff that I'm dealing with. I'm trying to learn to do without a lot of things right now. In a weird way, it has to do with that guy I told you about. Peter. Anyway—sorry to ramble on like this!—you can understand why I'm reluctant to borrow your car, even though it's an extremely kind and generous gesture. I'll give it some more thought and let you know what I decide. Thanks again, Wanda. P.S. About tomorrow morning: If you're really sure it's no trouble, I'd love to get a lift."

Margaret was flattered that Wanda had decided to open up a little bit, and she felt suddenly energized—even cheerful. She checked her nightstand clock; it was a quarter of seven, and Wanda would be asleep for exactly forty-five more minutes. Margaret bathed quickly and dressed, lingering over her choice of clothes and taking special care with her hair. She brushed and flossed her teeth meticulously. Anointing her right index finger with a single drop of Chanel No. 5, she pressed it firmly behind each earlobe and into the hollow at her throat. She even applied some lipstick and—taking off her bifocals to do so—a bit of mascara; it
came from a bright pink and lime-green tube she found roiling around in the back of one of the bathroom cabinet drawers. It occurred to her that anyone watching these personal preparations might conclude that she was getting ready for some kind of social event.

Well,
she reasoned,
to me, giving someone a ride to wor
k
and going to the doctor's office is a social event.

And the party's almost over, Chick
i
e!
said Margaret's mother, calling up from the kitchen with the enthusiasm of a high school cheerleader.
0
!
V! E! R!
Margaret was surprised—and slightly disturbed—to find that her mother was expanding her vocal range.

After taking some extra-strength ibuprofen, she went into the walk-in closet to regard herself in the full-length mirror. She wore a trimly cut, beige wool flannel skirt; a cream-colored silk blouse; a beige, cream, and pale yellow mohair cardigan; tan support hose
(without
tummy top control, she noted, with a quiet measure of pride); and tan suede Hush Puppies.

Pursing her lips, Margaret considered her reflection.
No one would think I was going to a very special social event,
she had to admit.
Nothing like dinner. Or the opera. Or tango dancing.

You loo
k
li
k
e you're going to play bingo!
called out Margaret's mother, alarmingly close now. The sound of her voice made Margaret literally jump. Margaret wasn't sure where her mother was calling from, but she sounded as if she'd reached the upstairs landing.

For chrissakes, Margaret, put on a little
color.

Margaret glanced sideways, toward her bedroom door, which was still closed; she had the feeling that her mother had moved even closer, and was now positioned just on the other side of the door. Margaret pictured her lounging against the wall and buffing her fingernails.

Margaret rummaged around obediently in one of her dresser drawers.
There's nothing wrong with looking like a bingo player, Mother,
she countered.
It's what people my age do.

Yes, but you don't, do you? You don't play bingo, or pinochle, or mah-jongg, or poker, or
—

Get to the point, Mother.

You don't do anything except rumble around this old house.

Margaret stopped rifling through the dresser drawer; she turned and addressed the bedroom door directly.
Well, I might.

Ticktoc
k
, Margaret. Ticktock

I
might
do something, Mother. You never know.

HA!

I might do anything!
Margaret found a small navy-blue and yellow polka-dot scarf, which she knotted neatly at her neck. She returned to the mirror to gauge its effect. It was not overly impressive. "Now I look like a Camp Fire Girl on my way to play bingo," she said aloud.

Margaret's mother heaved a sigh.
Life is wasted on the living!
she barked bitterly. Margaret pictured her flouncing off to another part of the house in search of someone with a more exciting wardrobe.

It was already a quarter past seven. Soon, Wanda would be getting up; she was an extremely punctual person. Margaret gave her reflection a parting glance. Sighing, she patted her hair, straightened her cardigan, opened her bedroom door, and proceeded cautiously down the stairs. She hoped the kitchen would be empty.