BY DINNERTIME THAT EVENING, Mel felt much better. Which was a good thing, because Timmy had gotten hold of People at school and had shown the article about Justin Hart to Mr. and Mrs. Braderman. The whole family then knew Mel’s secret, and they were full of questions and speculation.
“What a surprise!” Mrs. Braderman exclaimed. “Did you know about this, Mel?”
Mel tried to be honest without appearing stupid. “Not exactly,” she replied.
Dee looked at her sharply.
“I mean,” Mel went on, “I knew his father was a big-time producer, and I knew Justin was working this summer, but I didn’t exactly know…how famous “It’s No Joke” would make him…”
“To think we knew him, had him over for dinner,” said Mr. Braderman.
“He seemed very unassuming,” added Mel’s mother, “even shy.”
“Lots of actors and actresses are shy people,” Dee commented.
“He was so nice to me!” Timmy said excitedly. “I told everyone in my class how we played volleyball together.”
“Are you going to keep seeing him?” asked Dee.
That was the question Mel had been dreading most of all. “I don’t know. It’s not going to be easy to get together with him. Even if he were a regular person, it wouldn’t be easy. His mom’s moving to L.A., so he’ll be back and forth between California and New York, and I don’t get into the city very often. I just don’t know what will happen. Besides, tomorrow night I’m going out with a boy from school.”
Timmy dropped his fork with a clatter. “You are? You mean like on a date?”
“Yeah,” said Mel. “Like on a date.”
“Ohhh,” moaned Timmy.
“What’s your problem, squirt?”
“You’re dating.”
“So?”
“That means two crazy sisters hogging the bathroom and getting hysterical over their makeup and losing important things right as the doorbell rings.”
Mel laughed.
“Who’s the lucky boy, sweetheart?” Mr. Braderman asked.
“Yeah, who is he?” echoed Dee with interest.
“P.J. Perkins,” replied Mel.
Timmy started laughing and fell sideways out of his chair. “P.J.?” he shrieked as he straightened up. “Like pyjamas?”
“No,” Mel answered with great dignity. “P.J. like Paul Jeremy.” She turned to her parents. “We’re going to the movies. Since P.J. can’t drive yet, we’re just going to meet at the theater. If one of you drives me there, you can meet him.”
“That’s fine,” said Mrs. Braderman. “How are you getting home? I could pick you up after the show and give P.J. a lift.”
“Thanks,” replied Mel. “I’ll have to ask P.J.”
Dee looked as if she had a few more questions for Mel, but she saved them until dinner was over. When the kitchen had been cleaned up and Mel was in her room, seated at her desk ready to start her homework, the door slightly ajar, Dee knocked softly.
“Can I come in?” she called.
“I guess.” Mel was getting tired of talking about Justin.
But Dee’s questions were about P.J.—and dating. “Aren’t you excited, Mel? A real date, with a high school boy!”
“I had several real dates with Justin,” Mel pointed out. “It’s not like this is my first one.”
“But this is different. I mean, it’s normal. Fire Island is fantasy land. This is the real world.”
Mel just nodded. She didn’t want to say anything about how much she liked Justin because she didn’t want any more questions about him.
“So,” Dee went on, “what are you going to wear tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do with your hair?”
“My hair? Nothing.”
“Makeup?”
Mel shrugged.
“Mel!” Dee exclaimed in exasperation. “How much thought have you given to this date?”
“Well,” Mel replied slowly, “not, for instance, as much thought as I’ve given to the global problems of terrorism and population control. Probably not even as much thought as I’ve given to my homework tonight.”
Dee made a face. “Mel,” she said, “dating is serious business. Don’t you want to look nice tomorrow?”
“Don’t I look nice now?”
“All right, don’t you want to look special tomorrow?”
Mel frowned. She was being difficult, and she knew it. Less than two months earlier, she’d been complaining that she’d never been whistled at, never been asked on a date, wasn’t as pretty as Dee. She should have been ecstatic over her date with P.J. and pleased that Dee was giving her such attention. But there was a problem, and Mel was well aware of it. She loved Justin, and she didn’t feel the same way about P.J. P.J. was nice (and tall), but as far as Mel was concerned, that was all there was to it.
On the other hand, Dee was hanging around, practically begging to help Mel with her hair and makeup and clothes, and Justin might very well be—what was her father’s term?—a pie in the sky, something she could never hope for.
Mel softened. “Dee,” she said, “could you help me? Maybe give me a few more tips on blusher and stuff, and look through my closet with me? I do want to look nice tomorrow.”
“Special,” Dee corrected her.
“Right, special,” Mel repeated, grinning.
Mel and P.J. were going to the seven-thirty movie and had agreed to meet at the theater at seven-fifteen. At seven, Dee gathered Timmy and Mr. and Mrs. Braderman in the living room.
“Get ready!” she cried. Then she called up the stairs, “Okay, Mel, make your entrance!”
Mel walked slowly down the staircase.
“Here she is, folks,” Dee continued, “wearing designer jeans, a baggy pink, very chic sweat shirt borrowed from her sister, and new shoes, purchased just this afternoon. Her hair is by Dee (that’s me), and so is her makeup. May I present to you, Melanie Braderman!”
Timmy and Mrs. Braderman clapped enthusiastically, and Mel’s father let out a low whistle.
“Honey, you look absolutely lovely,” said her mother.
“Thanks,” replied Mel. “I hope P.J. thinks so.”
“If he doesn’t, then he’s a jerk,” said Timmy.
“Shall we go?” asked Mrs. Braderman. “You don’t want to be late.”
“Okay,” agreed Mel. “And Dee—thanks for all your help.”
Dee smiled. “Any time.”
“I promise to bring your sweat shirt back in mint condition.”
When Mrs. Braderman pulled up in front of the theater,
Mel whispered urgently, “There he is Oh, he sees us.
He’s coming over. Just stay in the car, Mom. I’ll introduce you to him and then you drive off, okay? Don’t get out or anything.”
“All right.” Mrs. Braderman smiled.
“Promise?”
“Promise. Just remember to find out if he needs a ride home.”
In a moment, P.J.’s round face was looking uncertainly into the Braderman’s car. Mel rolled the window down. “Hi,” she said. “P.J., this is my mom. Mom, this is P.J. Perkins.”
“Hi, P.J.,” Mrs. Braderman said warmly.
“P.J., do you want a ride home after the show? My mom can drop you off.”
“Oh, sure. That would be great.”
“What time should I pick you up?” asked Mel’s mother.
“How about ten o’clock?”
“Ten o’clock!” cried Mel.
“Yeah. I thought we’d get something to eat after the movie. We could go to Fitzwillie’s.”
Mel looked at her mother.
“That’s fine,” said Mrs. Braderman. “I’ll see you there. Have fun!”
Slowly, Mel got out of the car. She had almost hoped her mother would say no to Fitzwillie’s.
She and P.J. walked to the ticket window, and Mel pulled out a five-dollar bill.
“Oh, no. I’ll buy your ticket,” said P.J., pushing a ten-dollar bill toward the ticket-taker.
“No, thanks,” said Mel quickly. “I’ll buy my own.” Somehow, it had seemed all right for Justin to treat Mel every now and then, but she didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of P. J. treating her.
“What’ll it be?” the woman in the ticket booth asked P.J. “One or two?”
“Two,” said P.J.
“One,” said Mel. “Really…You know, women’s lib and all that.”
“Okay,” said P.J. “One.” He turned to Mel. “But I’ll buy the popcorn.”
Mel smiled and gave in. “All right.”
She and P.J. found seats in the theater, and P.J. draped his jacket over the seat next to Mel while he went to the lobby for popcorn. The previews were just starting when he returned. He sat down and balanced the popcorn on the armrest between himself and Mel.
Mel ate a handful, then concentrated on the screen. It went black for a moment, then tiny white letters appeared in the middle and loomed larger and larger. When Mel could read them, she realized they were the title of an upcoming movie: Holding On. More tiny letters appeared under the title and slowly blew up.
Mel caught her breath.
The new words read simply: “Starring Justin Hart.” And under them: “Coming Soon.”
Mel’s heart began to pound. She stiffened, staring rigidly at the screen. The black background faded to a scene in a classroom. The camera was behind the students, and only the backs of their heads were visible. Slowly it circled to the front of the room. It zoomed in on one student—Justin Hart.
His face filled the screen, looking gorgeous and serious, just as Mel remembered it.
She wanted to die. She wondered if P. J. could tell that she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But P.J. stared placidly ahead.
Later, Mel remembered little of the movie they saw. P.J. had apparently enjoyed it. At any rate, he had laughed all the way through. And when he and Mel went to Fitzwillie’s later, he reenacted most of it for her. Mel was grateful. It meant that she didn’t have to talk much.
When they left Fitzwillie’s at ten o’clock, Mrs. Braderman was waiting. She followed P.J.’s directions to his house. “Mel?” said P.J. as he got out of the car.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to go out again next Friday?”
Mel paused. P.J. was nice. He was considerate. But he wasn’t Justin. On the other hand, Justin might as well not exist.
“Sure,” Mel replied. “Thanks. See you Monday?”
“See you Monday.”
The date was over.
Mel decided that she felt like an old shoe.