Seventeen

“How’d it go?” my father asked. “Meet any cute boys?”

“Well, not exactly cute,” I said. “Kind of weird, actually.”

“Oh? Where from?” he said.

“Cincinnati,” I said.

“Oh, Cincinnati,” my father said.

“Let’s put it this way, Dad,” I told him. “It wasn’t exactly love at first sight.”

“It almost never is,” he said.

When I brought my mother breakfast in bed on Sunday morning, I told her Al and I planned to go to the health club that afternoon.

“Health club?” she said. “I don’t think a health club’s exactly the kind of place a girl of your age should go. Isn’t it full of seedy, sweaty people?”

“Mom, we’re not talking pool hall here,” I said. “We’re talking fitness. It’s where people go to work out and firm up their bodies. Mostly the people are yuppie types. Power brokers, that kind of stuff. They lift weights and all that.”

“Yeah, and they all look like Cher, I bet,” she said. “In my day, weight lifters were not considered suitable companions for thirteen-year-old girls,” and she shot me a piercer over the rim of her orange-juice glass.

“Mom, things are different now,” I said.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she said.

“These guys just opened the business,” I said, “and they’re looking for customers. Our teacher, Ms. Bolton, went there and it turned out she’s really into working out. She’s got a figure that won’t quit, although you’d never know it on account of she wears clothes that are very big for her.”

“What’s that mean, a figure that won’t quit?” my mother asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “This guy we met at the party yesterday said his girlfriend had a figure that won’t quit, so I told him Al had a boyfriend named Brian with muscles that won’t quit. I figured that ought to fix him.”

“And did it?” my mother said, trying not to laugh.

“Who knows. They were nerdy types from Cincinnati.”

“Oh, Cincinnati,” my mother said. “I used to go out with a boy from Cincinnati. I was crazy about him. Then I noticed he kept track of every penny he spent, wrote the dollars and cents down in a little book he carried with him. I decided maybe he wasn’t good husband material. It’s the little things that count, don’t forget.”

“I’ll clean up the kitchen,” I said. She hadn’t said I couldn’t go.

“Be home by five,” my mother told me. “You know I worry if you’re out after dark.”

I almost said, “It doesn’t get dark until six” but decided against it. No sense in pushing my luck.

“I’m glad you’re better, Mom,” I said. “Al said when her mother went to the hospital she planned on who she’d live with if her mother died. She said I didn’t have to worry if anything happened to you because I have more family than she does.”

“It seems to me you and Al are awfully ready to wipe us off the face of the map if we spend a couple of days in bed,” my mother said, fluffing up her back hair the way Thelma does, but quietly, on account of she doesn’t wear bangle bracelets.

I kissed her. “You’re a good woman, Mom,” I told her.

“Go on and go,” she said. “And comb your hair. It’s a mess.”

Al and I ate standing up so we wouldn’t dirty the clean counters. “I like your hair that way,” I told her. Her mother had fixed Al’s hair in a French braid.

“Yeah. She said it makes my face look thinner. Between you and me, I think she’s full of it,” Al said glumly. “I’m up for cheek surgery. How about it?” She blew out her cheeks at me.

“You look like a blowfish,” I said.

“I am making a fashion statement,” Al said. “One minute I’m in pigtails, the next in a French braid. Am I a kid or am I a hotshot?”

My father wandered into the kitchen looking bemused. He said hello and wandered out as he had come.

“Did you ask your mother about whether your father was romantic or not?” Al asked me.

“I forgot,” I said. “I will.”

“I brought my sweats just in case we land another freebie,” Al said. “I bet he gives us one.”

“Bet you he won’t.”

“Five bucks,” Al said. We shook on it. She owes me about a hundred bucks, but she says I owe her about two hundred, on bets alone. We never pay, we just bet.

When we finally started out, the sun had gone under a bunch of dark clouds and a cold wind had sprung up.

“Do you think this is real life?” Al asked me as we hurried to beat the rain. “This, I mean,” and she made a lavish gesture that took in our surroundings: the street, the buildings, the city. “Is this the real world or is it a fake?”

It’s a good thing I was used to her mood swings, otherwise I couldn’t handle them.

“It’s as real as you make it, I guess,” I said.

“Suppose it’s not real, suppose it’s phony,” Al said. Her mood had darkened, along with the sky. “Suppose we never find out what the real world is like. Suppose we keep on fooling ourselves that we’re kids, but we grow up, get out of school, make lots of money in jobs we love, get married, have kids, and that’s it.”

“Whaddaya mean, that’s it?” I said. “That sounds like quite a lot.”

“Maybe I want more out of life,” she said.

“That’s why we’re going to Al’s Health Club,” I said. “So you can have more. More abs, more pecs, more gluts, and a much, much tighter behind,” and I sped along the pavement as fast as I could so she couldn’t catch up with me.

“Help ya?” asked a burly lady behind the desk, wearing a peaked hat with NAPA written across the front and a set of earphones attached.

“Is Al here?” we asked her.

“Al?” For a second her roving glance lit on us and she even smiled. Then she looked over our heads as if she was searching for Al in the corners. “I think he’s in back. Things are kinda rocky, what with deliveries and all. Stuff doesn’t show up, he goes ape. Better not bother him today. He’s like a gorilla today, a gorilla what just sat on an ant heap.” The lady gave out a short, sharp laugh that sounded like a dog barking.

“How’s business?” Al said.

“Good,” the lady said, nodding vigorously. “Not bad, good. You shoulda been here yesterday. The joint was jumping. Saturdays are best. You get your money people in on Saturdays. They want to shape up, look sleek for a big night on the town. You get your bank presidents, your Madison Ave. types.

“Sundays, like today,” the lady continued, “you get your basic weirdos. You wouldn’t believe the weirdos Sundays bring in. Our clientele goes to church, we got a big church-going crowd, believe it or not. Sundays,” the burly lady leaned over the counter, tapping one long, perfect, red nail against the glass, “are for weirdos. This morning I have a gentleman, he comes in and wants the machine he’s using to face north so he faces north too when he’s working out, so he can be aligned with the planets. That what he says, ‘aligned with the planets.’ You ever heard that before? No, me neither,” she said, as if Al and I had spoken.

“They tell you all the nuts are in California these days,” the burly lady went on, obviously wound up, “but don’t you believe them. There are plenty of nuts in these parts, a lot of ’em around. They eat Sunday dinner, come down here to work it off. There’s all these starving people we got, living in doorways and boxes and all. They could use some of the dough these people spend on getting their bodies in shape. Think of the little kids who don’t eat their supper on acount of there’s no supper to eat. Think of it if you want to drive yourself nuts. Yes, darling. Help ya?” the burly lady said, calming down.

A lady in red stood in front of the desk, biting her lips.

“My fiancé lives in Seattle,” she said, “and he only gets east once a month and I wondered if we could both use the same membership.”

“Listen, darling,” the burly lady said, “if it was up to me, you could bring your boyfriend any old time. But I’m not the boss lady. Check with Al. He’s the boss. And like I’m telling these girls here, Al’s a regular gorilla which sat on an ant heap today. Try him next week, why dontcha.”

Al and I moved off and sat on a bench and watched people work out on the Nautilus machine.

“How about if I slip into the dressing room and into my sweats?” Al said.

“Try it. If it doesn’t work, so you tried,” I said.

We looked for Ms. Bolton, but she wasn’t around. She’d said she might come on Sunday.

“Probably she’s out on a blind date,” Al said.

We’d decided to split and were halfway to the door when we saw Big Al come storming out of the back, his arms waving, eyes wild.

“Everybody outa here!” he shouted. He rushed toward us, swerving, flapping his arms like some kind of wounded bird.

“Out! Ya hear me? I said Out and I mean Out! All youse! Out!” As we watched, astounded and astonished, Al seemed to swell, as if he’d been filled with air. His face was practically purple.

Some people moved toward the door sideways, like crabs, keeping an eye on Al to make sure he kept his distance. Some stayed where they were, riding bicycles, running in place, working out with their eyes closed, paying him no mind. Lots of New Yorkers are used to bizarre behavior and don’t let it get to them.

Still, several women scuttled into the dressing room and came out with their clothes clutched under their arms, not wanting to stop to change.

The burly lady with the headphones on her hat moved toward Al, not in any hurry. We saw her say something to him, then we saw him push her toward the door with a series of short, sharp jabs.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“He’s loco,” Al said. “Either that or he’s drunk.”

“I don’t think he’s drunk,” I said. “He sure looks funny, though.”

“Maybe he’s having a heart attack,” Al said. All the time we were talking we were moving toward the door.

It seemed to me Al’s face was turning purpler by the minute. I tried to think what that was a symptom of and couldn’t. I didn’t think it was anything the Heimlich maneuver could help. I practice the Heimlich maneuver on Teddy quite a lot, when he lets me, because if ever I’m in a restaurant and somebody chokes on a piece of steak, I plan to save his life. Or hers, of course.

The rush of cold air felt good on our faces. We stood on the sidewalk, undecided, looking back at the health club. Several angry stragglers joined us, talking to anyone who would listen.

“We pay good money, you think he’d treat us right, right?” a man said. “What’s with the guy? He’s loony, if you ask me. They oughta come and haul him to Bellevue. I wouldn’t come back here if he got on his knees and begged me. There are plenty of fitness places you can go, have a relaxing workout, tone yourself up. Who needs it.”

“Maybe we should stick around,” I said.

“Nah.” Al started walking toward Third Avenue. “No sense hanging around. I bet all it is is he had a fight with his wife and she called him up and said ‘Get your buns home, else I toss the pot roast out the window.’”

“You think?” I wasn’t convinced.

“Sure. It’s something simple like that,” Al said. “Marital discord is rife. You’re lucky your mother and father don’t fight.”

“They do,” I said. “Only they fight quietly.”

“That’s the neatest trick of the week,” Al told me.

A long, shiny limo cruised down the street toward us, as black and sleek as a snake.

“Whaddya want to bet that’s some celeb who heard about Al’s freebie and he’s going there now to check it out,” Al said. “Boy, is he in for a shock.”

Al and I turned to watch as the limo slowed in front of the health club. Maybe Al was right, maybe it was Elizabeth Taylor or Woody, up for a free workout. Woody sure could use one. So could Liz, if you ask me.

The window on the passenger side rolled down slowly and an arm came out. There was something in the arm’s hand. With one quick, expert toss, the something sailed out the window of the car and shattered the window of Al’s Health Club with a tremendous roar. Flames shot up and the building shook.

“Down!” Al shouted and pulled me into the shelter of a nearby doorway.

We hit the deck, the way they do on TV. My nose scraped the pavement and began to bleed.

The street was filled with noise. People ran back and forth, mouths wide, eyes wild. Some ran as fast as their feet would carry them, crouching low, making themselves small.

“What is it! It’s a bomb! It’s the Russians!” Those were some of the things we heard.

“Look! Up there!” One man paused in his flight and pointed to the sky. “It’s one of them bombers, long-range bombers. See?” and he shook the little boy in his arms. “See, up there. Sooner or later, it had to happen.”

Al and I cowered in the doorway. Blood dripped out of my nose. Someone tapped on the glass. We looked up. A face was pushed against the pane, distorting the features.

“Get outa here!” the face hollered. “I want no trouble here. Get outa here or I’ll call the cops!”

Al and I clutched one another.

I put a hand on my nose.

“I think it was a fire bomb,” Al whispered. The face was still there and words came out of its mouth, but we huddled there, not knowing what to do, where to go.

We heard a key rattling in the lock. The person was coming to get us. Al took my hand and pulled me out of the doorway and down the block.

“Someone threw a fire bomb at Al’s Heath Club and it just missed us,” Al said, struggling to stay cool.

“My mother said be home before dark,” I said. “We better get home right away. It’s almost dark.”

Al gave me a strange look.

“The sun just came out,” she said.

I felt very cold.

“I don’t care what you say,” I told her. “I’m going home. My mother worries about me if I’m not home in time. I don’t want her to worry about me.”

We heard the sirens. It sounded as if every ambulance and fire engine and police car in the entire city was racing to where we were.

“I’m going,” I said, but I didn’t move. My feet were made of lead.

Al put her hand to her head. “My hair’s burning,” she said. “I can smell it.”

The whole block smelled of fire.

“Come on,” I said, tugging at her sleeve.

To my surprise, she came along.

We wobbled homeward. Halfway there, Al stopped dead.

“I wonder if Al’s O.K.,” she said.

“They’ll take care of him,” I said.

“Pretend nothing happened, when we get home,” Al said.

“She didn’t want to let me go,” I said. “My mother didn’t want to let me go.”

Al didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes were huge as she poked a thumb behind us and said, “You want real life, that’s real.”

“You were the one who wanted real,” I reminded her. I felt as if I might be sick. “Now that you know what real’s like, maybe you better settle for make-believe.”