Lou-Lou didn’t like Andrew Maguire’s bedroom, though Gert made a big deal about Lou-Lou sleeping there, sending Andrew to bunk with his younger brothers, Toby and Nathaniel. Gert wanted to save the guest room for adults. It was an all-lavender room with bed skirts and, in Lou-Lou’s experience, untouched like the Virgin. From Andrew’s stone-hard green plaid bed, Lou-Lou could see her stuff, all tangled up together under Andrew’s desk chair. Lou-Lou liked to keep things concentrated here. Unlike home, where her mother was always on Lou-Lou to rein it in. Like Bo. Bo’s room was a tight ship, her mother said. A place for everything; everything in its place. Here at the Maguires’, Lou-Lou applied a related concept: Everything in the same place. Always in a place she could grab it all and go.
Gert didn’t know this about her oldest son, but he was a pervert, that’s what the Sullivan twins said. The Sullivan twins told Timmy Mooney they caught Andrew Maguire in the un-remodeled ladies’ room at the beach club. The twins saw Andrew in the last stall, the one with the big cracks in the wainscoting, whispering really loud, Can you see anything? They never found out who he was talking to, but whoever it was didn’t see much after that. No one went into the unremodeled bathroom now, except the mothers.
Andrew was the one who kept the fort down by the water. Lou-Lou was invited on a provisional basis, and then only allowed in the quarantine lean-to section with the dirt floor. The true club had a triangle patch of orange indoor-outdoor carpet. The two sides, quarantine and true, were divided by a beach towel. The walls of the fort were made of plywood, warped and buckled by rain. Through the wide cracks, the grass, trees, and water were visible. Inside Lou-Lou’s part the floor was sticky and damp. When she sat, dirt caked onto her stretch pants.
Lou-Lou stamped on her floor to make it harder. Andrew opened the flap and said Lou-Lou had to leave now for good unless she wanted to come into his side and relax. Those were the choices. Lou-Lou saw a flush in his cheeks and around his eyes, like he couldn’t make himself stop laughing, but he was not laughing. He lifted the flap until it was horizontal. Above the elastic of his surfer bathing suit, Andrew had his equipment out for an airing. Lou-Lou looked at the little brown nozzle, then looked up. Are you going to relax or what? Andrew asked.
Lou-Lou wasn’t sure what he meant and patted down the damp dirt in a flower pattern of handprints. Her palms were brown with mud. I might relax, she said.
Well, then you should come in here. Wait. Look at this. He had some art papers stuck under the carpet. Andrew wasn’t much of an artist, but he wanted her to see and held one up in front of his chest as if the nozzle weren’t there. Can you do that? Andrew had drawn a picture of a fat girl naked, bending backward, standing on her feet and her hands. He made her breasts point up like a single rocket. You think you can do that?
Lou-Lou thought she could do that. Sure, she said. She had to start on her back, then put her feet and hands flat first and push her stomach up. She lay down on the dirt.
No, I mean naked. Can you do it naked, because it’s more relaxing that way.
Lou-Lou considered this. She thought about how she would be different from the drawing. There were many people she knew who would have opinions on this idea, but she couldn’t remember them. Something in Andrew’s breathing close by, holding up his paper, the closeness of his naked thing, was sort of relaxing. Fine, she said. She unbuckled the strap on her sandal.
Andrew let the beach-towel flap drop. When he pulled it up again, his bathing suit was gone. His thing stuck sideways and up, the nozzle was dark pink now, and his brown pouch had a coat of white dust on it. Maybe baby powder. Andrew had a smell like a pizza. Lou-Lou held on to her sandal. Hurry up, Andrew said.
Lou-Lou worked the sandal off the other foot. She pulled off her shorts and underpants. Her pink sleeveless mock turtleneck was a little tight and got stuck going up over her head. Ouch, Lou-Lou said, get me out of here. Andrew threw a small dirt-bomb at her. It disintegrated and tickled her bare belly. She laughed, then he threw another that smacked her chest. Lou-Lou held still, she must be making some mistake, then another dirt-bomb hit her on the arm. She could hear Andrew panting for breath, and she kicked out a kind of fan kick, an exploratory kick, wide and slow in the direction of his breathing, and felt his weird powdered pouch with her toes. Gross, she said, and tried to pull her turtleneck back down so she could see. You killed me, screamed Andrew, you’re trying to kill me. And he threw something hard at her, like a rock. Lou-Lou grabbed for her clothes, scrambled out of the fort, and ran up through the yard, bare-bottomed, and blindfolded by her mock turtleneck.
Andrew yelled after her, Get out, get out. He threw another dirt-bomb, which missed, but she heard it land. Lou-Lou hurled back her sandal, which was a mistake, now she’d have to sneak back down later to get it. She ran almost all the way to the house before she stopped, stepped into a forsythia bush, and yanked her mock turtleneck back down off her face. She looked out to see if anyone was around. Only the Ruddys’ handyman, riding a mower in the opposite direction. Lou-Lou put her underpants and her shorts back on. Her belly had a round brown dirt mark, but her chest was cut, a tiny crescent scratch. The blood formed a small blotch now like a red Jujube on her mock turtleneck. When her mother came home, she would kill Lou-Lou for messing up her good clothes again. In the meantime, Lou-Lou would roll it up in her ball of stuff, and Gert would never see anything.
At dinner that night, Red Maguire was silent. Reflective, Gert called it, and the boys were in no mood to talk either. Gert smoked and sipped her Tom Collins, and barely touched the American chop suey or the iceberg lettuce with Russian dressing. As soon as Bonanza started, the boys were excused from the table to go watch with their father in the den. It was a ritual to watch the show about the Wild West father raising three sons, each apparently born from a different mother. All the mothers were dead and gone now. Let ’em fantasize, Gert said. She didn’t get up to scrape the dishes, she lit another Winston instead. Listen, porky pie, I have a bone to pick with you.
Lou-Lou gave Gert her full attention, as Gert so often asked her to do.
Gert stubbed out her new Winston. She reached into the deep pocket of her lime-green capri pants and pulled out some white lollipop cotton panties from her pocket. Look familiar?
Yes, Lou-Lou said, they’re mine. It was the only kind she wore, and pretty much the only color.
I thought we talked about this.
Lou-Lou was confused but at the same time not. From the serious expression in Gert’s eyes, Lou-Lou had an idea of the subject, if not the cause. When she first started staying at Gert’s, Lou-Lou made the mistake of going into the den during Bonanza and curling up on the sofa, right beside Andrew, so her body was touching his, much like she did with Bo when he was home. Gert happened to perch in the doorway for a second, saw Lou-Lou, and lifted her by the arm off the sofa and right out of the room. You’re not pulling any of that kind of stuff here, madame. You can just forget about that.
But Gert didn’t forget. The next time Lou-Lou’s mother was home, she was very serious with Lou-Lou, just as Gert was now, serious about not letting boys touch her, ever.
Maybe you can give me a clue about how these turned up in Andrew’s pajamas.
Lou-Lou felt very sad, because she didn’t know. And that was an answer Gert generally didn’t accept.
I think I deserve better than this from you, Lou-Lou. I think this whole family deserves better than this from you. Maybe you should get an early night. What do you say?
Lou-Lou looked up at the kitchen clock. It was six-twenty-five. Outside, it was still completely daytime.
Extra sleep never hurt anyone. I think this is for your mother to handle. Gert lit another cigarette. Exhaled a wide, flat ray of smoke. She picked up her drink, jiggled the ice. Yes, I’m going to pass on this. It’s better that way. You go to bed now.
Lou-Lou stood up. The Bonanza theme was pounding out. She could hear Andrew giggle and say Shut up. Gert took a long thoughtful drag.
All right. I just want to say one thing. Maybe, just until your mother comes home, until she can talk to you, maybe you should just steer clear of the boys. Don’t even talk to them. Okay, peanut? I think there’s a little mix-up happening, and until it gets straightened out, that just seems the best solution. Do you think you can handle that?
I think so. Steer clear of the boys. You mean Andrew, Toby, and Nathaniel?
Right. Just pretend you don’t even see them, leave them alone. Who needs ’em anyway. Right? It’s better for everyone.
Okay.
Good. Good. Sweet dreams, now. Good night, lamb. Gert stroked Lou-Lou’s cheek with her knuckles. Her hand smelled like smoke and lettuce.
In bed, in Andrew’s room, even with the curtains closed, it was so bright, Lou-Lou could see all of her things perfectly. It didn’t look like anything had been touched. It was a mystery, then, how her lollipops got into Andrew’s pajamas. Maybe he bought a different pair for himself with his allowance. The sun made a milky line cutting through the curtain right down the center of the bed, right over her face, cutting her face in two. Always an asset wherever she goes, Mrs. Westerfield said, a young lady should be an asset, all the time.
Across the creek, that little girl from the house of woe was probably already in bed too. Lou-Lou put her hands over her own heart to determine how she was feeling. Better! it turned out. Much better. And Bo? Lou-Lou put her hands on her head, over her eyes. No headache. Bo was sleeping. Feeling okay. And Rufus? Her feet kicked away the stupid plaid blanket. Rufus was running hard, even in sunlight. Timmy was blowing smoke rings like hula hoops. And her father? He was sleeping, just like Bo. And her mother? Her mother was dancing. Singing and dancing, and twirling around in a beautiful pink dress, more beautiful than even Merrill had ever worn. And when her mother saw Lou-Lou? Even though Lou-Lou was wearing the ugly cowgirl pajamas that her grandmother had given her, even so, Kay stopped dancing, stopped singing. Tears of happiness dropped on both cheeks. Lou-Lou started running to her, running like a speed demon. Kay bent down to catch Lou-Lou, lifted her up, held her deep and strong. Her mother’s neck smelled of warm pancakes. Lou-Lou tucked her face there and she listened hard when her mother whispered, You, my love, only you. Always.