It’s Dee Dee who answers the door. Aleah had hoped to find Gypsy waiting on the front walk, ready to go.
“Come in, come in,” Dee Dee says. “Her highness is still getting ready.”
“Thank you,” Aleah says, stepping inside.
The air conditioner is pumping full blast, and the abrupt change in temperature gives Aleah goose bumps up and down her arms. The Blancharde home is looking more and more lived in. There are supermarket flyers piled high on the table, clothes and linens draped all over Aleah’s spare wheelchairs, dirty dishes stacked on the floor in front of the couch.
“Gypsy,” Dee Dee calls. “Your ride is here.”
The dig isn’t lost on Aleah: she isn’t Gypsy’s friend, she’s a means of transportation.
“Be right there,” Gypsy yells back.
Dee Dee turns to Aleah.
“So what movie are you two seeing again?” she asks.
The question sounds like pure suspicion.
“It’s a French sci-fi flick,” Aleah says. “Gypsy picked it.”
“Of course she did. That girl and her fantasies. Not that I’m much better. That’s one thing she gets from me. I’m sure there are other things, but this is one of those days when I just can’t see them. Girl’s been working my last nerve since breakfast.”
Aleah nods. Dee Dee, she notices, isn’t in much better shape than her home. Her hair looks slept on, there are bits of crusted food clinging to her gray shift, and her bare feet are marked with bony, reddish lumps.
“Remind me what theater it is you’re going to?” Dee Dee asks.
Somehow, Aleah is certain that Dee Dee doesn’t really need reminding.
“The Canterbury,” Aleah says. “Over on Pearl.”
This is the story she and Gypsy have rehearsed.
“Right, the Canterbury. I’ve driven by it. Looks fancy as hell from the outside, what with all those columns and that ivy. Even if the ivy is fake.”
“It’s just a normal theater on the inside,” Aleah says.
“Well, maybe someday I’ll see for myself,” Dee Dee says.
Is she asking to be invited? Aleah wonders.
There’s a brief lull before Dee Dee asks her next question: “You’ve had your license for how long now?”
“Going on six months,” Aleah says.
“I told you, Mama, she’s a real good driver.”
It’s Gypsy, wheeling herself into the living room, flashing Aleah a big, nervous smile.
“My gosh, look at you,” Dee Dee says.
Gypsy is decked out in a pale blue ruched dress with a cloud print—the one she wears to church on holidays and special occasions. She’s accessorized with an imitation pearl necklace, a black handbag, and gold-colored shoes. For a bit of flair, she’s put on two different shades of lipstick: dark violet on her upper lip, scarlet on the lower.
“You know it’s gonna be dark in that theater, right?” Dee Dee says. “Ain’t no one gonna see you.”
“Out of the house is out of the house, Mama,” Gypsy reasons.
“Well, I wish you’d told me you were gonna doll yourself up. I could’ve helped some. You look like a French Quarter whore.”
Aleah blushes. Gypsy pretends not to hear.
“And what are you wearing them heels for?” Dee Dee continues. “You know you can’t walk as it is.”
“We better be going,” Aleah says. “I hate missing the previews.”
She wheels Gypsy out to the car, helps her into the passenger’s seat, and folds the wheelchair into the trunk. As they’re pulling away from the curb, Aleah says: “Your mother’s wrong. I think you look very pretty.”
“I just hope he thinks so,” Gypsy says. “I never been so jittery in all my life.”
“Aren’t you going to at least tell me his real name?” Aleah asks.
“I promised I wouldn’t.”
“So I’m just supposed to call him Secret Sam? Like Secret is his first name? Hey Secret, how’s it going? That’s a nice jacket you’re wearing, Secret.”
Gypsy giggles.
“If he wants to tell you, that’s different,” she says. “But a promise is a promise.”
Aleah thinks:
Dee Dee was right about one thing…I’m just the transportation.
* * *
They sit in a booth by the window, Gypsy facing the door. There’s an empty ice cream sundae bowl and two empty cups of hot chocolate on the table in front of them. Gypsy, unused to the sugar and syrup and cream, is feeling a little queasy. They’ve been here over an hour, but it feels like longer since either of them spoke. Gypsy breaks the silence.
“He’ll be here,” she says. “I must’ve got the time wrong.”
“You want to text him?” Aleah asks.
“I told you, he ain’t got a phone.”
Gypsy taps her fingers tunelessly on the table. Aleah wants to comfort her—or rather, she wants to want to comfort her. Really, Aleah is having doubts about the existence of this man with no phone and no name. The doubts are making her irritable, even angry. Her time has been wasted on a schoolgirl fantasy. Like there’s nothing else she could be doing. Like she doesn’t have her own problems. Not that Gypsy would ever think to ask. Aleah feels herself on the cusp of saying something she might regret. Time for a pause, she thinks.
“I have to use the bathroom,” she tells Gypsy. “When I get back, we should probably go.”
She hurries away before Gypsy can object. In the parlor’s private bathroom, she runs water over her wrists while she talks to herself in the mirror.
You’re here for Gypsy, she tells herself. Gypsy believes this is real. She needs to believe this is real.
But then, she thinks, so what? What has any of it got to do with me?
For the first time, Aleah wonders if she might have mistaken pity for friendship.
Stop it, she tells herself. You’re just tired and cranky. Tomorrow, you won’t think like this anymore.
But for now, the best she can do is put on a brave face. She leaves the bathroom feeling no better or worse than before.
On her way back to the booth, she sees someone sitting with Gypsy. She feels her mood change: the world is once again a kind place. She’s never been so happy to be wrong. Gypsy has someone. She actually has someone. But then Aleah sees who it is sitting there—not Gypsy’s Secret Sam, but her mother. Aleah considers running out the door but makes herself walk forward. Dee Dee looks up at her, smiles.
“I’ll take Gypsy home,” she says.
Aleah is flustered.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I mean, I was…”
Dee Dee stands, looms over her. Aleah is keenly aware of heads turning across the parlor.
“Listen to me, Aleah Martin,” Dee Dee says. “You stay the hell away from my daughter. That girl don’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s made up in her head. You think you’re helping, but you’re hurting. So you just find some other way to earn your Girl Scout badge. Gypsy’s off-limits. You hear what I’m saying?”
Aleah nods. She catches a glimpse of Gypsy huddled behind her mother’s plus-size frame, her head hanging low. She doesn’t bother to say goodbye.
Outside, her fists clenched and her face burning red, Aleah thinks, Good riddance. Almost instantly, she hates herself for having the thought.