Twenty-One

It was late, almost ten. Teddy was pounding his ear and I was just getting into bed, when I heard Al’s ring.

“Pete’s sake,” I said. “What’s she want now?”

I opened the door.

Al stood there.

“Your mother and father home yet?” she whispered.

“No, but they will be,” I said. “Any minute.”

“I just wanted to show you what I’m wearing to the tea dance,” Al said. She had on her Mother Zandi turban and she’d drawn circles of rouge on her cheeks to make herself look glamorous. Her eyebrows were thick and black and made her look like Groucho Marx. She had on some sort of long, billowy shirt. Her arms were crossed on her chest.

“Are you ready?” Al said.

“Hurry up,” I said.

She flung her arms wide. The big shirt parted. Underneath, Al was all flesh. Nude.

“You’re cuckoo,” I gasped, trying not to laugh.

“How do you like it?” Al said.

I reached out and touched her.

“It’s my mother’s flesh-colored bodysuit. Pretty classy, huh?”

“You are totally out to lunch,” I told her.

We heard the elevator coming up.

“I’ve gotta split,” Al said.

She zipped down the hall.

“Have a weird day,” I called softly.

The elevator stopped at our floor.

“I already did,” she said. “Adios.” And she was gone.