The Manny Files book1 (3 page)

On the car ride home Lulu told the manny that she would prefer it if he didn’t get out of the car when he dropped her off or picked her up from activities like piano lessons or origami. (She once made a life-size horse out of folded paper.) The manny turned to Lulu and hissed like a cat. Lulu pretended not to hear him. She was writing in “The Manny Files.”

Lulu looked up from “The Manny Files” and caught me watching her writing in it. Without saying a word, she pointed up at the manny and then took her hand and made a throat-slicing sign, like she wanted to cut off his head. The manny didn’t see her. He was watching the road and waving to pedestrians he didn’t know to see who would wave back. I stuck my tongue out at Lulu, but I think she could still tell that I was worried.

At dinner that night Lulu told Mom and Dad that a boy from her class named Theodosius
used to play the trumpet in the school band with a boy the manny knew. Theodosius said that the manny went to see the boy’s band concert last year and showed up with a conductor’s wand that he pretended to lead the band with. During the “Go, fight, win!” finale, whenever the band would pause, the manny would jump up and yell, “Go, Fight, Win!” Theodosius told Lulu that the boy now lives in Mexico, is called Mario, and plays the clarinet.

I wish my name were Theodosius.

Today was recital day. Mom curled Lulu’s hair, while India tried to put together an ensemble of clothes for Lulu to wear to her debut. India likes to say that she wears ensembles, not outfits. She says that ensembles are more sophisticated. I think that means R-rated. India chose a purple knee-length dress. The manny said that purple was a good choice because you wouldn’t be able to see sweat marks in the armpits. Lulu screamed. She hates the word
armpit.
She really didn’t think it was funny when the manny showed up in a shirt that was the same shade of purple as her dress. He said that he wanted his outfit to match hers so that everyone would know whom he was there to watch.

“It’s called an ensemble,” said India.

The manny said that if their “ensembles” matched, it would be more convenient if Lulu decided to pull him onstage for a tap-dancing, piano-playing encore. Dad said that the manny had a brilliant sense of humor. Lulu said he was “de-minted,” but I thought his breath smelled fine.

At the recital I sat next to the manny. I wore khaki pants and my blue sweater vest with a white collared shirt underneath it. The manny wore the same color of khaki pants as mine. I pointed this out to him and he smiled. He pointed out Lulu’s name in the program before he shoved it into his jacket pocket. He said he was keeping it for his scrapbook. I shoved my program in my pants pocket for my scrapbook.

During the performance Lulu went to the bathroom six times while the other kids were playing their songs. Whenever she left the auditorium, she had to walk past the manny. He gave her the thumbs-up sign every time. They called Lulu’s name to perform, but she was in the bathroom. They called her name two more times, but she didn’t come onstage. She finally ran quickly from the side of the stage to the piano. I thought she looked beautiful under the stage lights, like a picture from Mom’s
Vogue
magazines. The audience clapped politely, and
she looked around the room and found us. The manny gave her the thumbs-up sign.

She pulled out the piano bench, which made a screeching noise across the floor. Some people in the audience flinched and covered their ears. She nodded to the crowd, sat down on the bench, and began to play her first song, “Mr. Bojangles.” She had to start over three times. The manny turned and whispered in my ear, “She’s repeating for effect, just like the Rolling Stones.”

The manny always sings the Rolling Stones song “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” whenever Lulu wants something that she can’t have. She hates it when he sings to her. She gets red and looks like there’s a scream in her that can’t find its way out of her mouth.

Lulu’s second song was “Imagine,” by John Lennon. Dad explained the song to me. He said that it’s about dreaming for a world of peace where people’s differences are celebrated. At our school’s last Christmas pageant my class dressed up in costumes and sang “It’s a Small World After All.” My best friend, Sarah, wore a Japanese kimono. I dressed up like an Eskimo, but nobody could see me. The poofy-red-haired girl dressed up like a Native American and stood in front of me. She wore a tall, feathered
headdress. I picked a red feather out of the back of it and put it in my pocket. She never even knew.

Lulu played “Imagine” perfectly, with not one mistake. I saw the lady in front of me wipe a tear off her cheek. When Lulu finished, she leaped to her feet to take a dramatic bow, just like she had practiced in front of her bedroom mirror. The audience roared with applause. Then she turned sideways to bow to her teacher.

And that’s when we all saw it.

The audience clapped louder and laughed a little.

Mom blushed.

Dad gasped.

India giggled.

Belly was looking for her shirt under the seats.

Lulu’s dress was tucked into the back of her underwear, the ones that said TUESDAY across the tush.

India said really loudly, “Isn’t this Friday?”

The manny leaned over to me and whispered, “I see London, I see France.”

Then he jumped up and cheered, and so did the person next to him, and then the next, until the whole crowd was on its feet clapping wildly.
It was a standing ovation, just like the manny had promised. I thought about what color I would paint Lulu’s room if I got to have it after she moved to Kentucky and changed her name to Spatula. The clapping lasted for two whole minutes, which was how long it took Lulu to figure out that her panties were showing. She quickly untucked her dress and continued to bow.

Later the piano teacher told the manny that she had never seen an ovation like it and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He turned his favorite color. Red.

We went out for ice cream after the recital. Lulu got a chocolate malt. India got a huge banana split with strawberry, chocolate, and caramel sauces. Belly got a red grape slush. Mom and Dad split a chocolate soda. The manny got chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. I got a plain vanilla cone.

Mom and Dad were very proud and kept shaking hands with other parents who were saying nice things about Lulu’s piano skills. The manny told Lulu that she was a genius to make herself so memorable to the audience like that. He said that she was just like Madonna.

The manny turned to India and said, “I can’t wait until your gymnastics meet next week. Can I borrow a leotard?”

Every year in April, Mom and Dad go on a vacation alone together to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Kids aren’t allowed. Dad says that the first time he kissed Mom, he saw fireworks. Mom says that she had a spiky, colorful hairdo when she met Dad and that he was actually looking at her bangs and not fireworks. Dad had a mohawk and a leather jacket with safety pins all over it when he met Mom. That sounds dangerous.

India says that the eighties were a fashion tragedy.

This year Mom and Dad are going away to Mexico for a whole week. Lulu wants to go because she says she needs to “feed her soul,” but Dad says that this trip is for romance. Lulu hates the word
romance.
Once, in a fancy restaurant, she insisted on sitting at her own table because Mom and Dad were cuddling in the booth. They had been fighting about finances the night before. Finances are the plastic cards that Mom uses to pay for groceries and clothes. I could hear them arguing through my bedroom wall. I hated it, but they made up before they went to bed. The next morning they were in their terrycloth robes hugging each other while they waited for their coffee to brew.

Our waiter at the fancy restaurant wore a black bow tie and a white short apron around his waist. He showed me how to use the decrumber to clean off the tablecloth. I accidentally put it in my pocket and took it home. Every night after dinner I decrumb the table before Mom serves us our dessert. We don’t get many crumbs because Mom only makes spaghetti. She’s really good at it, but I’m not sure if she knows how to make anything else.

This morning Mom kissed us good-bye, and Dad gave each of us airplane rides on his feet before they walked us to meet the school bus. Lulu said that she wanted twenty dollars in cash instead of an airplane ride. Mom told us that when we returned from school, the manny would be here to meet us. She had made India and Lulu change the sheets in the guest room. Lulu had wanted to short-sheet the bed, but India wouldn’t let her.

Mom left important telephone numbers by the telephone.

Dr. Little at the Tiny Tyke Health Office. Grandma. Pizza delivery.

The manny was going to stay with us! I had been dancing around the house since I found out, jumping off the couch and squawking like a chicken. Dad said that I was acting the same way that Belly does after she eats chocolate cake. He calls it OC. It stands for “out of control.”

We waved good-bye to Mom and Dad from the bus window. Our bus driver wears a pink scarf around her neck and has curly red hair. She reminds me of the waitress at the diner that Grandma and the canasta ladies took me to once for breakfast. She talks like her too. She calls me “darlin’.”

I put down the bus window and yelled, “Bring me a surprise!”

India blew kisses.

Lulu screeched, “No hugging or kissing in public.”

Just then Mom and Dad kissed.

All the kids on the bus went, “Ewwwww!”

Lulu sank low into her seat as the bus drove away.

Mom and Dad were still kissing on the sidewalk.

·  ·  ·

I couldn’t concentrate on anything at school that day. During choir I fell off the back of the risers while we were singing “Bye, Bye Blackbird.” Mr. Strickland, our music teacher, made me sit aside and draw one hundred treble clefs on a piece of paper. He thought this was punishment, but I like drawing treble clefs. I think they’re fancy.

During recess, while the other boys played kickball, I sat on top of the monkey bars with my friend Sarah. I used to play kickball, but I fell once and tore a hole in the elbow of the sweater that Grandma had knit for me from the pattern I had picked out. Now I play kickball only when I’m wearing India’s hand-me-downs.

Sarah and I like to sit on top of the monkey bars and talk. Sarah says that our conversations reach a higher level up there. She also thinks that there are things more important than kickball. Like Hello Kitty and books. Sarah’s room is full of books. She’s the one who told me that I was named after a tragic poet who died from tuberculosis when he was twenty-five. I thought that was an awful story but Sarah said that it was “fantastical.” Sarah uses the word
fantastical
a lot. When she says it, she always lifts her hands and head with a quick snap like she just dismounted from a trapeze. I told her that the manny was
going to spend the next few nights with us.

Sarah said, “I bet he lets you have cake for breakfast.”

“I bet he sleeps in cashmere,” I said. I had heard on National Public Radio that they fight over cashmere in Pakistan. I thought to myself that this might be the week that actually pushed Lulu over the edge and into a nervous breakdown.

Fantastical.

On the bus ride home India sat next to me. Lulu sat in front of us and let India put braids in her hair. Lulu thinks braids make her look artsy. I think they make her look like Pippi Longstocking without the fun socks.

When we pulled up to our stop, I heard Lulu whimper. I scrambled over her and peered out the window to see the manny standing at the curb wearing a big sombrero on his head and carrying a portable stereo that was playing “Mexican Hat Dance.” Belly was standing next to him in a little Chihuahua costume. India and I jumped off of the bus and started dancing around the manny. Lulu sat on the bus and pretended that it wasn’t her stop.

The manny yelled into the bus, “
Hola,
Lulu!
Qué pasa?
”

She glared at him but grabbed her backpack and trudged off the bus, blowing air kisses to
friends and holding her hand up to her ear like a telephone.

“Call me,” she mouthed without a sound to her best friend, Margo.

“Bye, darlin’,” said the bus driver. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to Lulu or to the manny.

The bus drove away with all of our classmates’ hands and faces pressed against the windows, staring at us. Lulu walked ten feet in front of the rest of us all the way home.

The manny sang, “‘There she was just a-walkin’ down the street, singin’ “Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do.”’” She turned around and looked like she was going to scream, but instead she ran the rest of the way home. India and I laughed and made the manny teach us the whole song.

When we got home, Lulu was already scribbling in “The Manny Files.” The manny made us a snack. Homemade tortilla chips and fresh guacamole. It was really good. He told me that he’d give me free meals next year when he was a chef in New York City at a restaurant called Lay Burning Down. India told me later that it was called Le Bernardin.

Lulu closed her notebook and helped me with my cursive letters, while the manny and India had a multiplying contest. India won, but
I think the manny let her win on purpose.

We had tacos for dinner that night. The manny said that if we couldn’t go to Mexico, Mexico would have to come to us. After dinner we all brushed our teeth. I have an electric toothbrush that sends ultrasounds into your teeth and fights decay. I circled it in a catalog and Grandma got it for me for my birthday.

When I unwrapped it, Grandma said, “Keats, I’m glad that you take pride in your smile. You know that beauty is only skin deep, but ugly is all the way through,” and then she laughed like a witch.

Mom grumbled.

When the flossing and brushing were complete, we went into our bedrooms and then ran right back out into the hall screaming with joy.

“There’s a piñata hanging from my ceiling,” I shouted.

“Mine too!” squealed India as she hugged herself and spun around in a circle.