CHAPTER 8

Thelma threw open the door.

“Oohhhhh!” she squealed. “It’s great to see you!”

We were off to a bad start. If there’s one thing Al hates, it’s girls who squeal. That and people with wiggly behinds. Those are Al’s two big hates.

Thelma came at us. It looked as though she was planning on pressing cheeks. The way women do. If she pressed Al’s cheek, she might be sorry. Al might flatten her. I wouldn’t put it past her.

We sidestepped and landed up in the hall. I could see myself in the floor, it was so shiny. Also, Thelma’s hall was loaded with mirrors. They probably called it a foyer. I’ve noticed if the hall is super-fancy, people tend to call it a foyer. There were mirrors on all sides. You could see yourself coming and going. You could never get out of that joint with your slip showing, that’s for sure. There was a tall vase filled with those stalky flowers I hate sitting on a table. Glads, those flowers were called, although I’m sure I don’t know why. There’s nothing glad about them.

“I hope we’re not too early,” I said. I sounded like my mother. When you catch yourself sounding like your own mother, beware. You have to watch stuff like that.

Al didn’t say anything.

“Come on in the kitchen,” Thelma said in a loud voice. “I’m making spaghetti. Polly taught me how.” We followed. Al and I fought for last position as Thelma led the way. Al won. She always wins things like that. She hid behind me. She’s taller and wider than I am so it’s not easy. But she has a way of crouching down and making herself small when she wants to. Thelma had on designer jeans. The name of the designer bobbed on Thelma’s rear end.

“I just wore any old thing,” Al said in a voice as loud as Thelma’s. “I’m packing to go to my father’s farm next week. All my good stuff is already packed.” Thelma didn’t answer. She was too busy introducing us.

One thing I really hate is coming into a roomful of strangers. I really do hate it.

There was a girl named Daisy and three boys named Ned and Tommy and Art. They were all sort of lolling around on the counter tops, eating M & M’s and talking with their mouths open, talking around the chocolate. They barely acknowledged our presence. Thelma stirred the spaghetti and Al stayed behind me, using me as a shield. Daisy and Thelma looked like twins. In addition to wearing matching designer jeans, they had pierced ears that were plugged with tiny gold earrings. They wore identical perky little bows to hold back their perky hair. They were all talking about going to law school, getting their master’s degrees. And going to Harvard for their M.B.A.s. It was like being in a foreign country.

Daisy said she was planning on being the president of a large corporation, which is why it was essential she have an M.B.A. Tommy had his heart set on being a successful corporation lawyer.

“Like my father,” Tommy said, cramming in the M & M’s. “My father makes big bucks. That’s what I’m out for, the big bucks.”

“Who do you think makes more money,” Ned asked suddenly, his eyes glittering, “the president of General Motors or the president of Chase Manhattan?” General Motors got two votes, Chase Manhattan three. Al and I didn’t open our mouths. I was afraid to look at her. I ate so many M&M’s I didn’t know how I could handle spaghetti too. Sometimes nervousness makes you eat too much.

At long last Al cleared her throat. I thought, Oh-oh. “How old are you guys, anyway?” she said.

They were all thirteen. I happen to know for a fact that Thelma’s birthday is five days after mine. Which makes Thelma twelve, any way you slice it. I could’ve been rotten and brought that up, but I didn’t.

“How come you’re already planning on how much dough you’re going to make?” Al said. “You’re not even in high school yet.”

They looked flabbergasted. They looked at each other.

Ned said in a cracked voice, “You wanna be a big fish in a little pond or a little fish in a big pond?”

“What’s that got to do with the price of onions?” Al asked him.

That shut him up. He didn’t know what to say, so he threw another handful of candy into his mouth.

“Supper’s ready!” Thelma cried. We all sat down.

“Perry can’t come,” Thelma said, tossing the Parmesan cheese around as if it were confetti. “His mother said he might be coming down with chicken pox.”

Al looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. Scratch one twerp.

Al twirled her spaghetti around her fork like a pro. “What about you?” She pointed her fork at the boy named Art. Food seemed to have made her bold. Art was the only one who hadn’t said what he was going to do to make big bucks.

“What corporation are you going to be president of?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ve got a trust fund,” Art explained. “I’m going to direct movies. I might also write the script and produce the flick, too.” He had little pudgy cheeks and little pudgy hands, and he wore a shirt with an alligator on it. The alligator shirt is the tip-off. If you see a kid wearing a shirt with an alligator on it, you can be pretty sure of his personality.

“My IQ hangs in there around one forty, one forty-one,” Art said nonchalantly. “Also, I test real good.”

“What’re you going to major in—English?” Al asked him, her face blank.

He looked surprised. “How’d you know?” he said.

“Your grammar. I figured you for an English major.” She smiled at him so ferociously that he blinked.

“Where are your parents, Thelma?” I asked nervously. I wanted to change the subject. My mother would flip if she knew I was at a party where there were no chaperons. My mother has a chaperon fetish.

“They’re in the study,” Thelma said. “They’re playing bridge. They don’t like to be disturbed when they’re playing bridge.”

Al kept sneaking looks at her watch. I pretended I didn’t notice.

After the ice cream we played records. Thelma and Daisy danced. With each other. Al and I sat there, busily avoiding each other’s eyes. I was sorry I’d talked her into coming. If we’d ever looked straight at each other, it would’ve been disaster. Al excused herself and went to the bathroom. Art and Tommy and Ned sat in a tight little circle, discussing their careers. With their heads together, their hands making swooping gestures, all they needed, I thought, was three big black cigars to complete the picture.

Al came back, and then I went to the bathroom. I locked the door and sat there for a while, wondering how soon we could go home. My stomach felt peculiar. Someone tapped on the door and said, “You all right?” so I knew it was time for me to rejoin the group.

The music stopped, and Daisy and Thelma sat down. I could feel Al glaring at me. She wanted to go. So did I. But sometimes it’s hard to make the first move. Then Tommy said his family was taking him to the Riviera in late July. Ned said he’d already been to the Riviera. He clued the group in on a couple of three-star restaurants that he thought worth going to. Daisy said the month to go to the Riviera was August.

“Not August!” Thelma said, shocked. “It’s too crowded in August. My parents always go in October.”

My head started to hurt. Where was the Riviera? I’d never heard of it. I thought maybe it was in New Jersey, but I wasn’t sure.

“Did you know,” Al said. Everyone looked at her. I could tell from her face she didn’t know what she was going to say next. Either that or she’d forgotten.

Al got her second wind.

“Did you know that in some Mediterranean countries,” she said in a rush, “men stick their handkerchiefs under their arms, in their armpits, to get them nice and smelly. They don’t use too much deodorant there, you know.” She smiled around at us all. “Then they dance around and wave the handkerchiefs at the girl they want to put the moves on.” She stopped, exhausted, I think. I know I was. The rest of them looked at each other. They looked as if they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I excused myself and practically ran to the powder room.

When I got back, no one was talking. Al jumped up as if she’d been shot out of her chair.

“My father will kill me,” I said. “It’s getting late.” Thelma ran with us to the front door. “Thanks,” we said, “it was a blast.” Thelma swung the door back and forth, waiting for us to go.

“If you want a taxi,” she said, “the doorman will get you one.”

“Ciao,” Al said. “That’s Italian for ‘good-bye,’” she said to Thelma, baring her teeth in a terrible smile. The door closed, the elevator arrived. We got in.

“Where’s the Riviera?” I said.

Al shrugged so her shoulders almost touched her ears. “France, Italy. Mostly France.”

“Oh,” I said, “I thought it was in New Jersey.”

Al just looked at me.

My father had given us money to take a taxi home. He didn’t want us out on the street late at night. It was almost nine. It felt like midnight. Just as we got to the corner, a crosstown bus pulled up. We hopped on. Luckily, we had the exact change.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as we walked to the back of the bus. “The handkerchief bit, I mean.”

“Listen,” Al said in a fierce voice, “if I’d had a handkerchief handy, I would’ve stuffed it in the alligator kid’s mouth. Do you realize”—she fixed me with her most steely glance—“do you realize that Brian could’ve taken on all three of those wimps and tossed them over his left shoulder? He’s got these gigantic muscles, from pitching hay and all. And Brian wouldn’t wear an alligator shirt if you paid him,” she said proudly.

“If he did, they’d probably throw him out of the 4-H club,” I said, joking. I laughed at my own joke. It was the only time all night that I’d laughed. Al didn’t smile.

“Farming is very strenuous, you know,” she went on. “Those nerds would be wiped out after a half hour of doing farm work. That kind of work Brian does every day.” For the rest of the way home she talked about Brian and his muscles. I began to think he must be a combination of the Incredible Hulk and Superman.

As we rode up in the elevator in our building, I said, “I think Thelma is trying to find herself.”

“Yeah?” Al said. She fumbled for her key, which she keeps on a chain around her neck. “Well, when she does, tell her to get lost for me, O.K.?” She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. “Have a weird day,” she said, doing a couple of pretty good bumps and grinds.

“I already did,” I told her. Then I went into our apartment and went to bed.