The Sisters Club (3 page)

Regan:
(Breaking into song.)

My love is warmer than the warmest sunshine, Softer than a sigh. . . .

Me:
Um, last time I checked,
King Lear
was not a musical.
(Or a comedy!)

Joey:
Then when do I get a line? You guys are the greedy sisters, fighting over all Dad’s, I mean, King Lear’s, stuff. Doesn’t the good daughter get to say any words?

Me:
Just be happy you didn’t have to be an eggplant.

Dad:
OK, Cordelia. Your turn. Read your line.

Cordelia:
I can hardly breathe for all this odious hot air that fills thy room.

Joey:
What’s
odious
mean?

Stevie and Me:
(Holding noses.)
Stinky!

King Lear:
My youngest, you have been strangely silent. Have you no tender musings on your love for me?

Cordelia:
My love for you, dear Father, is as a daughter’s should be. No more, no less.

King Lear:
Thou art a boil, a plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood. Away with you! Cast thee from my sight forever!

Joey:
(Being dragged from room.)
Hey! What did I do? You mean I get sent away? I thought I was the only one who really loved King Lear.

Stevie:
You’re still banished!

Joey:
No fair. You guys told me I was the good one.

Goneril and Regan:
(Snickering.)
More for us! More for us!

Cordelia:
What stugly upsisters you have proven to be. Off with their heads!

Me:
You’re supposed to say, “A pox on you.”

Cordelia:
Chicken pox on you!

Me and Stevie:
(In fits of giggles while dragging Joey, a.k.a. Cordelia, from room.)

Lights go down as Cordelia is banished, stage left. Quick curtain.

Joey:
Wait! We’re not done. Nobody got stabbed or poisoned or anything.

Me:
That’s ’cause we lost the plastic dagger.

Joey:
Couldn’t we just use a spoon or something?

Goneril:
How daft! King Lear was lying in his bedchamber, unaware, never guessing he was about to be
spooned
to death!

Regan:
Then, when Goneril saw her own image reflected upside down in the spoon, she keeled over and died.

Goneril:
Thou thinks thee so clever, but thou art not the least bit funny.

King Lear:
(Collapsing on couch.)
Give an old man some peace!

Even though I like
King Lear,
I’m still not
thrilled about being related to crazy Hezzy McNutty. Still, I guess I can see why she stopped her wagon when she got here. Take one look at the mountains, and you’d never want to leave, either.

The best view is from a window right in our shower. No lie. When you get up in the morning and look out, the first thing you see are the Cascades, with three snowcapped peaks. They’re really volcanoes, called the Three Sisters.

Just like Alex, me, and Joey.

South Sister is the youngest one, like Joey. It’s only twenty-five thousand years old. Then there’s Middle Sister (me, of course). And North Sister reminds me of Alex. You never know when she’s going to erupt (the sister, not the volcano!), especially lately. She’s been auditioning for some play at school, and I swear she’s gotten bossier by the minute.

So I’m taking a shower, and there are the mountains looking all picture-postcardy, like you could just stick a stamp on that view and send it to somebody you love. In the morning, when the sun hits just right, the snow looks like it just put on some blush, and in the evening, lots of times the mountains look eerie blue, like how I picture Antarctica.

Blue snow.

It sure gets a person dreaming.

Mom wants to get a “real” house someday. I do, too. A house where I wouldn’t have to have penguin ballerinas on one-half of the wallpaper (Joey’s side) or any wallpaper at all to cover up the hundred-year-old cracks. A house with a room of my own, where I wouldn’t have to share a closet or look at names of dead pioneers on the wall or hear Joey say good night to like about a hundred and fifty stuffed animals every night.

And I could keep the light on as long as I want.

But I sure would miss that view.

That’s pretty much when Alex starts kicking in the bathroom door, telling me I take the longest showers in the history of History, and that I’d better get out and come to an SCM (Sisters Club Meeting) pronto.

Hey, can I help it if there’s a window in the shower?

MYSTERY OF THE MISSING GLITTER NAIL POLISH

Starring Alex

SETTING:
ALEX’S BEDROOM

CHARACTERS:
THREE SISTERS

Alex, onstage, takes a bow. Lights come up.

Me:
(Picking up shampoo bottle.)
This will be the microphone. Whoever wants to talk has to use the shampoo bottle.

Stevie:
Says who?

Me:
Says me. Why? Because I’m the oldest. That makes me the director!
(To audience.)
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Alex’s room, where two sisters who do not live in this room (but think they do) are always hanging about.

Joey:
You called us in here! For an SCM!

Stevie:
Yeah, you got me out of the shower for this? You said it was for the Sisters Club.

Me:
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alex the Actress, star of the Reel Family. That’s
Reel,
as in film or fishing. Not R-E-A-L, as in
un
real. I am, for real, the FOBS: First, Oldest, and Best (Reel) Sister!
(Stevie throws a pillow at me; Joey throws a slipper.)
Please refrain from throwing rotten fruit and other objects such as pillows and slippers at the actors.

Stevie:
(Takes shampoo bottle.)
I have a question. How come you always get to go first when we have the Sisters Club?

Me:
First is best!

Stevie:
You’re conceited.

Me:
Confident.
(Taking shampoo bottle back.)
Tonight’s drama is a mystery. I have called you here to help me solve the Mystery of the Missing Glitter Nail Polish. As the drama unfolds, we will round up the usual suspects and discover WHO is the culprit. Who stole the glitter nail polish from big sister Alex’s room?

Joey:
(Pointing to Stevie.)
She did.

Stevie:
(Pointing to Joey.)
She did.

Me:
I see we have a stalemate. Let’s call in Sherlock Holmes.
(Putting on houndstooth cap with earflaps, holding out crayon for pipe, and propping Sock Monkey up on chair.)

Me:
(To Sock Monkey.)
My dear Watson, we must ask the suspects to hold out their hands.
(Joey holds out her hands; Stevie sits on hers.)
What’s this I see, old chap?

Sock Monkey:
I do believe we have caught BOTH suspects!
(Takes up Joey’s hand.)

Me:
Here I see minute traces of a highly reflective decorative material. Suspect Number Two has proven her guilt by concealing her hands altogether. Yes, Watson, I do believe the mystery is solved — in record time, at that.

Sock Monkey:
What’s the punishment?

Me:
The punishment, you say? The two shall hereby be banned from this room forever unless given permission
in writing
to enter.

Joey:
How can we have the Sisters Club if we can’t even come in your room?

Stevie:
It was for science! I was helping Joey with constellations.

Me:
And is it not written in the stars that you shall never enter this room when I am not here? I’m serious, you guys — stay out!
(Stevie rolls her eyes. Joey jumps up and grabs the shampoo bottle.)

Joey:
How come you’re like this now? You hardly ever play with us anymore. We never get to have fun.

Me:
Hello! I’m twelve and three-quarters. I’m almost a teenager, not a baby.

Joey:
Well, how come you won’t let us touch your stuff now? Not just nail polish. Even your old Barbies you don’t play with anymore.

Me:
Reality check! They’re M-I-N-E. Just like this nail polish.
(Holding up Joey’s hand.)
The evidence, Watson. The evidence. I rest my case.

One Thursday, Mom put on The Hat at dinner.

“Da-da-da-da!” my dad crowed, like he was a human trumpet.

I guess I better tell you about The Hat. We’re talking really embarrassing. See, there’s this jester hat my dad wore when he played King Lear for real. It looks kind of like a droopy crown with bells on the ends. When somebody has something important to say in our family, they have to put on The Hat and announce it like they’re the town crier or something.

Me, I’m more of a sticky-note-on-the-fridge kind of person.

“I have some news,” Mom began.

“Good news or bad news?” asked Alex. Joey sat up straighter.

“Good news! I’m going back to work. A real acting job. No more bit parts at the Raven. This is my big break. Are you ready for this?”

Mom whipped out a dopey-looking striped apron that said
FONDUE SUE
in big fat letters with rolling pins flying around in the background.

“Your name’s not Sue,” said Joey.

“I’m going to be on
TV
!” said Mom. “I just got my own cooking show. This is my character, Fondue Sue.”

“How is this possible?” asked Alex. “You can’t even cook!”

“What do you mean? I cook for this family almost every night, in case you haven’t noticed,” said Mom.

“Yeah, potatoes from a box and spaghetti from a can,” Alex said. “They’ll have to call your show
The Art of Opening a Can
!”

Root beer went up my nose. I had to duck to avoid Joey’s mashed-potato-from-a-box spray across the table.

“Girls, c’mon now,” Dad said. “Let’s try to be supportive. This is a big opportunity for Mom.”

“Mom, you know what fondue is, right?” Know-It-All Alex asked Mom. “Cheese glop! Fondue is French for cheese glop.”

“Mom. Name the five food groups,” said Little Miss Homework (Joey).

“Meats, Vegetables, Fruits. Let’s see . . . pretzels and things like that go at the top, right? Junk food?”

“Mo-om. Pretzels are not a food group! They call it Oils, not Junk Food. They teach us that in third grade. At the
beginning
of the year.”

“Look, they’re going to give me all the ingredients,” said Mom. “I won’t even have to chop a single toe of garlic or sift my own flour. All I have to do is smile and point and read the prompts. Maybe a little stirring and mixing. How hard could it be?”

“Mom. News flash. Garlic doesn’t have toes,” I said.

“Witches stir and mix things,” said Joey. “Why don’t you just be a witch?”

“Hey, I know! You could be a TV anchorwoman!” said Alex. “Or a meteorologist on the eleven o’clock news. They smile and point. And you get to wear a matching two-piece suit, not a dopey apron with a funny fondue name.”

“But I’ll be acting,” Mom said. “I don’t have to know how to cook. That’s why it’s called
acting.
”

Mom took off the
King Lear
hat and set it on the table, all crumply-like.

“This is my chance to make some real money. We could save for a house. A real house of our own. Not this crickety old monster with the falling-down roof.”