chapter 12

A party is always more work than you think it’ll be. My mother whirled around like a dervish, my father worked on his horseradish sauce, aiming for perfection. Teddy twisted his hair into corkscrews, the way he does when he’s coming down with something, and made listless passes at the freezer compartment, threatening to start in on the ice cream. Just before six, the bell rang. It was the same delivery boy who’d delivered the roses to Al’s mother.

“Hey,” he said when he saw me, “long time no see. More posies from Viv.” It was a centerpiece for the table from Al’s mother. My mother stood back to admire it and said she’d never seen anything so exquisite.

“I think I oughta be videotaped,” Teddy whined, conscious of losing center stage.

“What for?” I asked.

“On account of if anybody ever kidnaps me they’ll know how to find me if I’m videotaped. I saw it on TV. Hubie says he’s already been videotaped.”

“Anybody ever kidnaps you, kid,” I reassured him, “they’ll have you back within the hour. Don’t worry about a thing.”

My mother rested her cheek against the back of Teddy’s neck. “He hasn’t got a fever,” she said, “but he looks flushed.”

“It’s all the excitement,” my father said.

The doorbell rang again, and I said, “more posies from Viv, probably.” But it was Al. Cheeks flaming, she wore her party dress, brand-new for the big event. “She just gave it to me,” Al said.

“We’ll almost be twins,” I told her. Her dress was a lot like mine except that it had blue stripes instead of black, and different sleeves.

“I love the way it whispers when I walk,” I said. “It makes me feel like Scarlett O’Hara.”

“Yeah, well, mine makes me feel like Rhett Butler,” Al told me. But I could tell from the way her eyes sparkled she felt good in her new dress. “And frankly, my dear,” Al went on, “I don’t give a you-know-what.”

“What’s you-know-what mean?” Teddy asked.

“Next time Gone with the Wind’s on the tube, Ted, catch it and you’ll find out. I’m not allowed to swear around the junior jet set.”

“In October,” Teddy bragged, “I’m hitting the double digits. I’m gonna be ten. When you go from nine to ten, you hit the double digits.”

“Right you are,” Al said. “Going from nine to ten is almost as earth-shaking as going from thirteen to fourteen.”

“And going from forty to fifty is even more earthshaking,” my father said. “How’s the birthday girl, Al? Do we call you Alexandra now? No more Al, I bet. You’re getting too sophisticated for Al, so Alexandra it is.”

Al gave me a piercer and mouthed, “You told!” at me.

“I did not,” I protested. “He thought that up all by himself.”

“Thought what up?” my father asked. The bell rang again, and this time it was Hubie. Backpack, hiking boots, and all.

“Come on in, Spiderman,” I told Hubie.

Hubie’s blond hair flopped into his blue eyes. His sweet, rosy little mouth smiled, and his dimples danced. Hubie was a terror.

“Don’t anybody sit down,” my mother warned. “I just plumped up all the down cushions and everything’s perfect. Leave it that way.”

“What’s for supper, Mom?” Teddy asked.

“Hamburgers for you two.”

“I had hamburgers for lunch,” came from Hubie.

“I thought your mother doesn’t believe in meat,” Teddy said.

“She changed her mind,” said Hubie.

Al headed for the door. “I better go home and get doozied up,” she said.

“I thought you were doozied up,” my father told her.

“I am, but I’m not finished yet.”

“You wearing those shoes?” Teddy asked, showing off for Hubie. Al had on her clunky red shoes. “I thought they made your behind wiggle,” Teddy said. He and Hubie broke into gales of laughter. Al blushed furiously. Teddy must’ve overheard Al and me talking about her red shoes, which did sometimes make her behind wiggle, but it was certainly none of Teddy’s business.

“Get lost, troglodyte,” I said, and he and Hubie disappeared, probably to lay plans to blow up the Statue of Liberty.

The bell rang again. When I answered, the same old delivery boy said, “Hey, fate throws us together once more,” and thrust yet another bouquet of posies from Vivian into my hands.

“They’re for you, Al,” I said. The delivery boy, feeling, by now, like an old friend of the family, stepped inside, leaned over my shoulder to read the card, and said, “Yeah, from somebody named Stan.”

“Holy Toledo,” Al said softly, looking slightly fuzzy around the edges, “and the party hasn’t even begun.”

“This guy Stan really knows how to overdo it, doesn’t he?” I said.

“Yeah, he sure does,” Al said, smiling. “But he overdoes in such a tasteful way, n’est-ce-pas?”