All right, everyone. Now you've seen the reconciliation between Deena and Phil, and the reconciliation between Martha and Rob. Here's the Main Event: the reconciliation between me and Lou. Now sit back with a box of tissues because this will wrench your hearts. Okay? Are you ready? The Reconciliation Between Kimber and Lou! Here it is:
Well? Are you limp with emotion?
What do you mean, "Where was it?" Didn't you see it go by? You didn't? Don't be surprised. Because there was no reconciliation!
That's right. There was no heart-to-heart talk, no long walk on the beach, no wine in a restaurant. And it makes sense. Lou had cheated on me. Any trust between us was shattered. To rebuild that trust would take months, and we didn't have months. If we tried to talk things out, we'd have a rip-roaring fight, and there'd be no chance of us going to the Prom together.
But if we just let it alone, and stayed away from each other, we could be civil, dance, eat, and go out with our friends. Then we could break up formally. So the entire script between me and Lou was played out in front of my classroom door and it went like this:
KIMBER: What time are you coming for me?
LOU: Limo's due at six, so I'll be around at about six-fifteen.
KIMBER: Okay. Then we'll pick up Deena because she's closer, and then Martha.
LOU: All right.
KIMBER: Did we decide on going into the city after?
LOU: Fine with me.
KIMBER: Uh oh. That's the bell. Talk to you later.
LOU: Right.
We said other things to each other before the Prom, but nothing important. And we didn't go out with each other. Why should we?
Okay. All together now:
HOW COULD YOU GO TO THE SENIOR PROM TOGETHER IF YOU DON'T LOVE EACH OTHER?
What? Nobody's astonished? Come on! Aren't your illusions shattered? What about our beloved author? You were going to make this a fairy tale of true love. Aren't you disenchanted?
"Well, I'm too old to be disenchanted. But I think you're disenchanted."
Nab. I'd seen this kind of junk go on every year. I'd seen my friends betray each other, abuse each other, hurt each other, and get trapped in lousy relationships.
I guess I was a little surprised that it was happening to me. Or maybe I was embarrassed that I hadn't seen it coming. But I was realizing a lot of stuff. I hurt like crazy, but I wasn't numb the way I'd been. I was on Corey's butt every day, making him do his homework and grilling him about where he'd been. He hated my guts, but he was humbler, man.
I felt a forward motion I hadn't felt all year. I still wasn't talking to Martha, but I was weakening. I couldn't forget all the years we'd shared, or that car ride when she'd begged me to save her life. Maybe that's why she cheated with Lou. Martha was always good at getting attention.
No, I wasn't disenchanted. Half the kids at the Prom weren't in love. But the Prom was THERE. You were supposed to go. You were supposed to spend a thousand bucks. You were supposed to tum into a princess for one night. And if you had to go with your cousin, or a mercy date, or a guy you hated, you went. Hey, it's a fitting finale to all the years of idiotic romance .
" Kimber, I really feel sad for you. I'm sorry that there were no happy endings."
Whoa! I never said there were no happy endings!
" But you told me . . . "
We told you that there was no fairy tale romance! But we can learn. I was learning like mad. So was Martha. And Deena. And Jason. And the Prom was our final exam .
" All right, Kimber. Let's go to the Prom."
You got it.
Now the Westfield tradition was heavy rain on Prom night. For the last three years, there were major T-storms. For us, the forecast was just as gloomy: a typical Long Island weather system of overcast and afternoon rain. It rained on Tuesday afternoon, it rained on Wednesday afternoon, it rained on Thursday afternoon, and it rained on Friday morning.
On the Friday of the Prom, there is another tradition: the Exodus. School policy says seniors have to be in school on that day or they can't go to the Prom. So all the seniors show up in the morning and report to homeroom, and then they get sick. Boy, do they get sick. There's a line of seniors out the door of the Attendance office, and a line of cars in the parking lot. That's all the parents picking up their sick seniors.
By fifth period, the senior girls are at the hair salons. I don't know what the guys do. I hit the salon at about twelve-thirty. Back at the beginning of this epic, you said I had cascades of glossy hair, which is a romantic way of saying my hair hangs all over the place. It's not naturally curly either, so I had to sit for two hours while they made me look like a model.
I got home at about three, and the house was empty. The rain had slacked off and the streets smelled good. I thought I saw cracks in the clouds. I started to feel butterflies, in spite of everything. I watched some soaps and made some phone calls. And I cried. I wanted Mom to be home, to be excited, to reminisce about her Prom. It wasn't fun spending this afternoon by myself.
Corey blew in from school and gave me a "Yo! Got your hair done?"
"Yes," I said.
"Looks good."
He pounded up the stairs and slammed his door. I looked up after him and almost wanted to hug him. I was getting dangerously sentimental. I made a tuna fish sandwich and coffee but I only ate half the sandwich. My stomach was churning and I felt light-headed. I got out my photo albums and my class books from seventh grade on, and I cried my eyes out. I looked out at the backyard where the old swing set still stood, rusted and bent. I saw the sun slowly spread over the grass and the chain-link fence.
If ever I needed Jason to snap me out of it, this was the time. But Jason was getting ready in his own house. He'd asked Stacey Coleman (remember the valedictorian who was at the wild party in Lou's room?) at the last minute and she'd said yes. Don't get too excited. Love wasn't blooming; it was just that they both wanted to go.
Anyway, I showered at five, and got dressed in my room. Again, I missed not having Mom to sit on the bed and make comments. I tried to make a production of it, putting on makeup, daubing on perfume, s-l-o-w-l-y putting on my pantyhose and my slip and my dress. I played my stereo while I did it, and outside the sky turned blue and sunshine poured through my window. Of course, I cried hysterically again and had to redo my makeup.
Finally, I looked at myself in the mirror on my closet door. The lemony color of the dress looked pretty decent next to my skin, which is naturally dark. The way the gown was cut in front even suggested cleavage, which was a bonus. I pretended that the love of my life was picking me up, that I'd dance in the arms of my prince charming.
But not even Jason could go "Bibbity-bobbity-boo" and make that happen.
Dad came home and I came downstairs to show him how I looked. He looked terrible. His face was bluish and he looked old. He sat down in the family room and said, "Okay, princess, model for me."
I smiled. I know Dad never liked these mushy moments. I stood in the middle of the faded blue carpet and twirled. Shafts of sun made spotlights through the window, and the dust that danced in those beams was kind of like fairy dust. He applauded and held out his arms to me.
I knelt at the side of the chair and he gathered me in for a hug. I hung onto him and cried again (a princess with inflamed tear ducts). We broke the hug and I looked at him with the most love I'd ever felt. He wiped at my checks with his fingertip and his own eyes were moist, which is the same as wild hysteria in someone else.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Thanks."
He held both of my hands. "Have a great time, Kimber. I know this is not the best possible Prom night, but make it terrific."
"Dad, you know I'll be out all night, okay?"
He smiled. "When you were a kid, I'd talk to your Mom about how strict we'd be when you were a teenager. But things change. I have to trust you. Whatever you are, you've done for yourself."
I rubbed his wrist. "You helped a little."
"I helped by staying out of your way."
"More than that." I felt so bad for him. I wished he knew about Corey or that he had a steady girlfriend or a little shred of luck in his work. But I knew he'd always be poor and alone. So did Mom, which was why she cheated on him and left him. She wasn't being cruel, just desperate.
I ruffled his hair—what was left of it. "I have to get ready," I said. "Lou's going to be here any minute."
He nodded, his eyes filled with the pain that all Daddies feel when their daughters go to the Prom. I was happy to see it.
Dad didn't know about Lou's escapades, so we could hold hands and keep up his illusions. Boy, if parents knew a fourth of what was going on with their kids, they'd all need intensive care.
The limo honked, and I took a deep breath and went out. Dad and Corey followed. Corey lounged on the portico, hands jammed in his dungaree pockets. He could not publicly show interest in his older sister's Prom. But the neighbors were all clustered at the curb. This was a BIG Prom tradition, everyone turning out to watch the couples and take pictures. Even Dad got out the camera and snapped a few. It's kind of like hope springing eternal. All these middle-aged people pretending that true love and happiness were possible.
The limo was gorgeous. It was black, Simonized like mad, with tinted windows. Lou looked gorgeous, too. He'd worn a yellow shirt and cummerbund to match my dress, and his tux was black. His hair glistened in the sunlight and his eyes gleamed. I almost fell in love with him again. It's a powerful potion, man. You can be rational and determined, but one laser beam from a guy's blue eyes, and you're a ninny again.
Lou said, "You look fantastic," and I said, "So do you." He pinned on my corsage. Dad posed us by the limo and took some snaps. I caught Corey's eye. He was looking hard at me, and his face was almost sad, almost caring. Then he looked away.
The limo driver was a mint-looking guy with a moustache. He obviously pumped iron. He held the door for me and I slid in. I giggled at the plushness of the seats. There was a little TV set and a CD player. No bar, though.
Lou shook hands with my Dad and got in. Dad bent down by the open door and said, "Have a great time, princess."
"I will, Daddy."
I touched my fingers to my lips and blew him a kiss and he caught it. Then the driver closed the door and I felt like I was in a space shuttle. Through the windows, everything looked purple and far away. The air conditioning blew cold against my face. I clutched my little beaded bag and leaned back as the limo backed off the driveway. Neighbors were waving. Dad was at the front door. Lou was next to me. None of it made sense.
"It got sunny," I said.
"Yep."
"Thank God. It's no fun running through the rain in these shoes."
"I'll bet."
"You smell good," I said.
"You, too."
He'd been drinking. I wished I had.
The Big Prom Production was in full swing in Deena's neighborhood. Deena's mom and dad were going bananas with pictures. Deena's mom looks like an older Deena, but her dad is bald. He was taking videos as we pulled up.
"Oh God," I said.
"Hurray for Hollywood," Lou added.
When we got out, we saw Deena and Phil standing by these tall shrubs in front of the living room window. Deena's mom took pictures of them, making them hold hands and tum sideways, and then stand with Phil behind Deena, and then kiss, and everything else she could think of. Deena kept saying "Mom! That's enough!" but Phil was being nice about it.
Once Deena was freed, she ran to me and we hugged and kissed. She looked phenomenal in her dress, which was peach, with as much gauze and flounce as you'd imagine Deena wearing. She honestly looked like a fairy princess. Her hair was piled up, adorned with baby's breath and combs. Phil wore a white tux with peach shirt and cummerbund, and it was like they were in some old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie.
Deena held my hands at arm's length and gushed. "Oh my God! Let me see you! Oh my God! You look so fantastic! Oh my God!" And on and on.
Finally, I said, "Shut up, Deena." But I was really glad she was being flowery, because I needed it.
We had to sit for about a roll of film in the limo. First we had to bend down by the open door and Deena's mother took us from the opposite open door. Then we had to sit in the limo. Then we had to stand next to the limo, and then in front of the limo. We were laughing hysterically by the thirteenth or fourteenth picture.
At last, Deena's mom and dad were done. We had to wait until they hugged Deena, separately and together. You'd never know from this emotional scene that Deena felt neglected.
We finally piled back into the limo, the four of us, and went to get Martha. She lived in an older neighborhood, which was a little run-down, with grass growing up in driveways and chunks of tar paper showing through where siding fell off houses. But Martha was out there on her driveway, and she looked great. She wore a mint green gown, strapless, with no flounces, so it made her look sophisticated. Her hair was beautifully done-I'd never seen it look that posh. Her mom was a worn out, old-looking lady, in a house dress. Rob was there, in a dove-gray tux with a top hat and white gloves.
"He looks like a waiter," I giggled.
"Shhh." Deena said.
Phil said, "She's taller than he is by a hairdo."
That broke us all up (except for Lou, who only smiled), and I gave Phil a surprised look.
This time I did the running when we got out of the limo. I grabbed Martha and bear-hugged her and she bear-hugged me back. I knew I was going to do it about a half mile before we got to Martha's house.
So did Martha. It felt excellent to hold her and start crying again. I could hear the guys making sarcastic remarks (except Lou, who only smiled), and Martha and I started laughing at each other's streaming mascara.
"We've destroyed ourselves," I said.
"Back to the bathroom!"
We went into Martha's house to freshen up. The guys didn't like that, and neither did Deena, but too bad. In the bathroom, we whispered and giggled some more.
"Did you catch Lou's expression?" I asked. "He looks like he's got constipation."
"He's scared," Martha intoned, as she bent over to re-apply her lip gloss. "If we're hugging each other, he's in big trouble."
I checked my eyes again and shut my bag. I turned to Martha and said, "No word from Sachs?"
She shrugged, and for the first time I can remember, she looked vulnerable and afraid. "Nobody stopped Rob from buying the tickets."
"Did he put down your name as his date?"
She hesitated.
"Martha!"
"Well," she said. "We didn't want to blow it right there at the sign-up table."
"But now you don't know!" I said. "What if they don't let you in?"
She kind of drew herself up and looked resolute. "They'll have to make a scene. Rob knows it's a risk. He's ready." She smiled. "He bought me a corsage and everything. He said yes right away when I asked if we could still go to the Prom."
"You asked him?"
"Time was running out. It just sort of came up naturally." She took a deep breath and let it out. Then she grabbed my wrist. "Kimber, I'm scared out of my wits. I don't even know why I'm doing this. I'm using Rob just to prove some point that makes no sense. What happens after tonight? What do I tell him?"
I seized both her hands, which were clammy. "Martha, nothing makes sense tonight. I thought I'd be miserable by now, but I'm actually excited. It's the Senior Prom! We waited for this for seven years."
Martha made a rueful noise and shook her head. "Yeah. What a tum-off."
"Come on," I urged. "Our chariot awaits."
"We who are about to die salute you," she said.
We went back outside and the sky had lit up in pink and gold. It was like one of those glowing Renaissance paintings. A fragrant wind riffled the trees. I looked around and saw the little kids. There are always little kids on Prom Night. They cluster by the driveways, and they stare. The skanky little brats are totally awed by their big brothers and sisters looking like fairy-tale royalty, getting into those big incredible cars and going off for adventure and romance.
I wanted to cry again, looking at those kids. They believed. I looked at Martha and squeezed her hand. She looked back at me. The looks said, "Remember?" We'd been there, anointed with jelly and mud, dreaming of the triumph of Prom Night. Now these imps were envying us, not knowing about the lies and the games and the broken dreams.
To hell with Lou Ross. I was going to my Prom for those kids, because they had to believe in us and in the magical beauty of this night. A lot of little girls were going to dream of limos and gowns because of me.
Martha kissed her mom goodnight and we got back into the limo. I paused, half in and half out, to take a last look at the fiery sunset. I wanted to remember it. Then I sat back and the door shut. The six of us scrunched together, perfumes and colognes mingling, dresses rustling, shoes blistering. The limo glided forward.
"We're on our way," I said.
We certainly were.