Star Shine (4 page)

“Like what?” Jenny became absolutely still. She stopped eating dry Cheerios as she waited for Sue's answer.

Oh, oh, Mary thought. Here we go.

Susan's eyebrows were eloquent. “You know. Abandoning her family and all.”

Fists clenched, Jenny snarled, “Tell your mother to mind her own beeswax.”

“That's dumb.” Mary left her frying pan and came over to lay a hand on Jenny's shoulder. “It's only for a few weeks. She's not abandoning us. Besides, it's fun. My father's taking us out for dinner practically every night, and we get to stay up as late as we want.”

Sue shrugged, and her shoulders almost touched her ears. “What do I know?” she said. “Well, I have to split. My mother's taking me to the mall to outfit me for the summer. She goes ape when I wear jeans and sneaks every day. She thinks I ought to dress like a lady once in a while.” Sue minced around the kitchen in her imitation of a lady.

Jenny said in her high voice, “I think you'd look sweet in a pinafore, don't you, Mary? Why not outfit you in a pinafore?”

A murderous silence fell. Into it Sue said, “A pinafore? What's with you creeps?” Her face screwed into a tight little knot as she turned from one to the other of them. “You guys are cuckoo.”

“Listen, I have to hurry. Mrs. Hirshman expects me at noon. She's getting a perm, and she wants me there in time to feed the baby his lunch.” Mary slapped the clean frying pan on top of the stove. “I haven't got time to talk now, Sue. Call me later, O.K.?”

Sue took off. Jenny said, “Who's taking care of me while you're taking care of the Hirshman kids?”

“What's the matter with you? You're taking care of yourself. You always take care of yourself. You can go down to the school and play tennis. Or you can go to the library and get out some books. There are plenty of things you can do,” Mary said impatiently. “If you want, Mrs. Hirshman probably wouldn't mind if you came to her house with me.”

“No thanks. I'm not tagging along when you're on a job. I'm not your basic tagalong little sister.” Jenny's lower lip stuck out, and she contemplated her bare feet. “Maybe I'll play dress up,” she said. “I think that's what I'll do. I'll use some of Mother's makeup. I'll put on lots of mascara and paint my cheeks like a clown's, big and round and red. And lay on lots of eye shadow. That'd be a gas,” Jenny said, not smiling.

“You better stay out of Mother's stuff,” Mary warned. “Just because she isn't here doesn't mean we can help ourselves. Stay out of her stuff.”

Their father called, to check if they were all right. “He says he'll make us linguine with clam sauce for supper,” Mary reported. “He'll be home early because it takes a long time to chop the parsley and garlic, not to mention the clams. Do you want your egg sunny side up or once over easy?”

“I don't want any eggs,” said Jenny. “Eggs make me nauseous.”

“Since when? Have it your way. What do I care if you starve to death.”

“The milk's sour.” Jenny sniffed at the container. “How come the milk's always sour these days? As I see it, so far this summer stinks.”

“Take some money from the jug on top of the stove,” Mary said, very patient. “Go to Weddon's and buy some milk. You're acting like a spoiled brat.”

“Mother never goes to Weddon's. She says they're a big rip-off.”

“But she isn't here.” Mary's voice was sweet as pie. “So we have to make do, don't we, creepola?” With a flourish she flipped over her eggs. Fat sizzled up and hit her hand. The outer edges of the egg were frizzled and brown. The center was bright yellow and hard and unappetizing. Mary smacked her lips in anticipation and put a piece of bread in the toaster. The egg was done long before the toast, which came out burned. She scraped it off at the sink, then spread a thick layer of jam over the burned parts.

Jenny watched. “In the olden days, when the mother got killed or died in childbirth,” Jenny said dreamily, “girls your age took over raising the kids. I can see you now. You've got a whole mess of little kids tugging at your apron, plus you're doing the cooking, plus the mending, plus you have to go out to the barn and milk a mess of cows.” Jenny smiled happily. “Then you have to load up the family shotgun on account of you see a bear or an Indian looking in the window at you.” Jenny shook her head sorrowfully, trying to imagine Mary coping with all these things.

To her credit, Mary made no reply. Head high, carrying her plate, she marched outside and sat on the hard iron bench that always made her rear end sore, and ate her breakfast. Each bite was carefully chewed, each bite was obviously delicious.

When she came back inside, Jenny was watching a game show on television. Chin in hand, Jenny looked glumly at the squealing, avaricious audience. Mary put her plate in the sink, ran cold water over the eggy remains, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. It was almost time to go to the Hirshmans'.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jenny hadn't brushed her teeth since their mother's departure. Or changed her underwear. If she wore any at all. She said she was trying to cut down on laundry. Mary refused to sleep in the same room with her until she changed her habits. Or her underwear. Whichever came first.

“You smell,” Mary had told her several times. In reply, Jenny let out a barrage of small farts, which she was able to do at will. No one else they knew was able to match this feat. It was a special talent, Jenny said smugly.

Jenny also hacked away at her hair with a manicure scissors. If Mary could look like Alice in Wonderland, she decided, then she, Jenny, could look like Peter Pan, as the freckled man had said. Or, better still, the Pied Piper. All those rats had always intrigued her.

Then Sue marched up to the front door and knocked, letting them know this was no ordinary visit.

“My mother's inviting you over for dinner,” Sue said, her face long and serious. “All three of you. She says your father probably could use a home-cooked meal after all the junk food you've been eating.”

“We've had plenty of good stuff,” they told her, not exactly lying, not exactly telling the truth.

“Well”—Sue sighed deeply—“my mother's probably having a rib roast. If it isn't too expensive. Or my father might make his coq au vin. He said he might try it out on you. He's only done it once, just for us, but he might make it again.”

Taken aback at the idea of going to Sue's for dinner with their father, they said they'd have to ask him if it was all right.

“Well, my mother's calling him up to invite him,” Sue said. They half hoped he'd accept, half hoped he wouldn't. They had never been to a friend's house for dinner with their father and weren't sure how it would be.

“If only Mother was here, it would be different,” Jenny said.

“If she was here,” Mary reasoned, “Sue's mother wouldn't even ask us. She's only doing it because she feels sorry for us because she thinks we're starving to death.”

“You're right, Mary,” Jenny said. “Sometimes you amaze me with your smartness.” Mary's face flushed with pleasure at the unexpected compliment.

To their surprise, their father said, “Why not?” when informed of the impending invitation. When the telephone rang that night, their father answered. They listened intently to every word and thought he handled himself very well. “Of course,” he said. “That's exceedingly kind of you. We'd like to come. Seven it is. Thanks so much.”

How suave he was, they thought, smiling at each other. How proud they were of him. Not an unnecessary word. He had met Mrs. Clay only once or twice and Mr. Clay never. What on earth would the grown-ups find to talk about? They didn't think their father, the geologist, would have a lot in common with the Clays.

They briefed him. “Susan's father is a radio announcer, Daddy,” they said, “and her mother works at the bank.”

“Well, that's all right, then,” their father reassured them. “I can talk about world events and the weather to him and talk about money, about which I know practically nothing, to Mrs. Clay.” He grinned at them, and they smiled back, nervously.

“Why don't we go without eating a couple of days before we go to dinner?” Jenny suggested. “That way we'll look really skinny and we can eat up a storm and Susan's mother will be really glad she asked us.”

“Dress up,” Susan ordered. “My mother likes guests to look nice as long as she goes to all that trouble.”

“Oh, boy,” said Jenny. “You think she's having courses and candles and napkins?”

“How do I know?” Mary said, already planning to wear her dark green number bought on sale last year at Breslow's, and a new black velvet ribbon to hold back her hair.

Jenny settled on her only dress, a yellow one with a full skirt and a belt in back. She plucked it, unironed, from the bowels of the laundry basket, smoothed it and placed it under her mattress, where it spent the night. In the morning it was perfect, she thought. As perfect as it would ever be. Under it she wore red underpants, plainly visible as she had no slip. Mary was just glad she had on underpants at all and insisted Jenny wear a cast-off slip she'd outgrown. Their father, a most uncritical man, told them they looked like proper ladies. They knew he meant it kindly, but it did not buoy their spirits. In honor of the occasion, Jenny painted her toenails bright red. She considered putting on eye shadow as well, but Mary put her foot down. “Eleven-year-old people do not wear eye shadow,” Mary said.

The night of the dinner party their father came home early, showered and changed his shirt, and they set off. In his arms he cradled a bottle of wine as if it were a newborn baby. A wine, he assured them, of uncertain origin and full of presumption. They loved the way their father talked even when they weren't exactly sure of what he meant. They loved the way he put words together.

As if she'd been hiding behind the door, Susan's mother flung it open at their approach and shouted, “Well, this is a surprise!” They figured she meant to say, “Well, this is a pleasure!” and she had goofed. They loved nothing better than when grown-ups goofed. It was reassuring, if nothing else.

“Sue's upstairs with her cousins,” Mrs. Clay said. “They popped in this afternoon. We're just thrilled. They'll all be down in a few minutes. Just go into the family room, and I'll be with you in a minute.”

Two people, dressed in identical pale blue running suits, were already seated in the family room. They introduced themselves as Harry and Willie. They looked alike, had the same last name. Were they husband and wife? Brother and sister? Hard to tell.

“Cousins?” Mary whispered in Jenny's ear. Were these, then, the famous city cousins of whom Susan often spoke? Sometimes fondly, sometimes not. They were too sophisticated, too spoiled, Sue had said. Their father made big bucks, she boasted. “They live in this super apartment building with a river view,” Sue bragged. “With a super alarm system and a twenty-four-hour doorman.”

“Doesn't he ever sleep?” Jenny had asked, and had gotten no reply.

Susan and the cousins entered the family room. The cousins, attired in sleek white jeans and T-shirts that outlined their voluptuous contours, were nothing to write home about, Mary decided. They had too many teeth and receding chins. And the confidence of movie stars. Pink sweaters were tied artfully around their shoulders, the arms looped loosely, as if some wraith were embracing them from be hind.

“Man oh man,” Mary heard Jenny croon softly. Mary looked down at herself and sideways at Jenny and thought sourly,
Little House on the Prairie
. All they lacked were sunbonnets.

Sue wore a flowered blouse and a skirt that was too long and lumped up around her waist. “You have on blush!” Mary hissed. Susan's cheekbones were vibrant with color, giving her a gypsy look, which the tiny gold hoops in her ears enhanced. “They showed me how to put it on!” Susan hissed back.

The cousins, it turned out, happened to be driving through Millville with a friend, and when they realized where they were, they demanded to be let out. They were impulsive, the cousins indicated, cutting their eyes at one and all, jangling their armloads of gold bracelets. “And Aunt Harriet said come on over so we did!” they cried. “Aunt Harriet said, ‘What's two more people, after all!' so we came. Aunt Harriet is so clever, so hospitable.”

In the background the two pale blue persons rattled their ice cubes, pleading for attention. “George is doing his famous coq au vin,” Susan's mother announced. “Let's just stay in the family room and wait until he calls us, shall we?”

Mary and Jenny stole a look at their father. He was listening intently to something Mrs. Clay was saying. They wanted him to have a good time.

At last Mr. Clay emerged bearing a steaming platter.

“Soup's on!” he shouted.

“À
table
!” Mrs. Clay cried. They filed into the dining room. “You young folks sit here, at the small table—give you a chance to talk among yourselves,” Mrs. Clay said. “And you here, Jim, on this side, and Harry on the other.” Jim was their father. “And Willie, you next to George. I'm so sorry your pretty wife isn't here. Jim's wife,” she explained, “is the mother of these two girls”—she pointed to Mary and Jenny—“and she's off acting in the Little Theater group. Isn't that just fabulous!”

“Sit,” said Mr. Clay. “We don't want this to get cold.”

“I just think it's so wonderful, so positively
now
, if you know what I mean, that she could just up and leave her family that way.” Mrs. Clay's eyes gleamed. “I hope you all don't feel deserted.”

“Not in the least.” Mary and Jenny watched their father's face as he spoke. “The girls are taking very good care of me. And we're delighted to be here tonight.”