Addie and the King of Hearts (6 page)

After dinner, I started my final preparations. I put on my best white slip, a new pair of nylon stockings, and my hated garter belt.

As far as I could tell, garter belts had been invented by the same people who had thought up medieval torture instruments. My garter belt was a disgusting, flesh-colored satin, and fastened about the waist with hooks and eyes in the back. Since you could never hope to fasten hooks and eyes without seeing them, you had to put the garter belt on backwards, hook it over your stomach, and then wrestle it around so that the hooks were in the back.

That left three long strips of elastic dangling down each leg, to fasten your stockings to. Each strip of elastic had a pink rubber knob and metal clamp on the end. The trick was to capture the top of your nylon stocking over the pink knob and then press the knob into the metal clamp before the stocking slipped off the knob or the elastic slipped out of your hand and snapped up and hit you in the face.

To add to the confusion, the strips of elastic were adjustable up and down, and there were three different lengths of stockings you could buy. So you had to work out the right combination of stocking length and elastic adjustment for your particular legs or else your stocking would droop down around your ankles like elephant skin, or they would be held so taut by a too-short elastic that you would have to walk all bent over like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

If that wasn't enough, you also had to worry about the seams in the back of your stockings being straight up and down. In order to do that, you had to see the back of your entire leg from ankle to thigh all at the same time while holding your leg straight and simultaneously keeping a firm grasp on the rear elastic strip of your garter belt with one hand and a firm grasp on your stocking top with the other hand. There was, obviously, no way in the world anyone could do all of that at the same time. I hated garter belts.

After a lot of wrestling with the stockings, the seams appeared fairly straight, and I pulled on my old chenille bathrobe and started putting on make-up. It would be the first time I had ever worn any in public, though we practiced using it at slumber parties.

I stood in front of the bedroom mirror, squinting a bit to see without my glasses. Grandma watched closely at my elbow, and Dad stood in the doorway looking apprehensive.

“Thought they didn't wear war paint until high school,” he said.

“Well, this is a special occasion,” Grandma answered.

I was concentrating hard, trying to pat some of Grandma's loose powder on my face and raising a cloud of powder dust that nearly choked me. When the air cleared, Grandma handed me a hanky and suggested I wipe off a bit of it.

Then I used some of her cream rouge to color my cheeks a bit, and she watched closely to see that I didn't use too much and look like a “painted woman.”

The next step was lipstick—a brand new tube of “Ruby Red” I had bought at the Clear River Pharmacy that morning.

I started coloring in my lips very carefully, rolling them around over my teeth as I had seen women do, trying to draw a straight line.

“Looks a little heavy on the left side to me,” Dad said.

“Not through yet,” I said, mumbling through my facial contortions.

I was twisting this way and that, trying to see, almost holding my head upside down. “The light in here is awful!” I said irritably.

“Try not to get any on your teeth,” Grandma said helpfully.

“Can't do it if you talk to me!” I said, annoyed.

I finished and mushed my lips around together to even out the color, then made a big puckery mouth at myself in the mirror.

“Oh, boy!” said Dad. “I can't take any more.” He turned and left the room.

I stood there silently, surveying myself in the mirror. It was hard to tell what the final result would be; I was still in bathrobe and curlers. Grandma was watching me in the mirror.

“Am I pretty?” I asked, turning to her suddenly.

She looked at me quietly for a moment, as though she were thinking of an answer.

“Well, am I?” I said, almost angry. “I just want to know!”

“Why I think you're as good lookin' as any girl could hope to be,” Grandma said.

“That's not what I mean!”

“Well, everybody's got their own ideas of what's pretty and what ain't. You're sure pretty-lookin' to me.”

“Oh, that's just because you know me!” I said, angry.

Grandma put her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face her.

“Addie,” she said seriously. “You are pretty. You're as pretty as any girl ever needs to be.”

I looked back at her for a long moment, not convinced that I was going to be pretty enough to impress Mr. Davenport.

“Come on now,” said Grandma. “Put your shoes on and come out in the kitchen so I can comb out your hair.”

I listlessly poked my feet into my new high heels. They were stiff leather pumps, and on my way to the kitchen I discovered that they required more than a casual practice run. I couldn't resist clowning and walking on the sides of my ankles in them. Then I tried walking in a Groucho Marx slouch.

“Stand up straight!” said Grandma.

“Can't!” I said, giggling. “My garter belt's too tight!”

“Well, glory,” Grandma said, laughing. “Loosen it then!”

Dad was trying to look disapproving, but he couldn't help smiling.

“You'd better get serious,” he said, “if you're going to dance in those things tonight without falling over.”

I realized he was right. It would be horrible if I stumbled all over and stepped on Mr. Davenport's toes while we were dancing. I thought again about staying home.

Grandma sensed my nervousness. “May I have this dance?” she said, and she grabbed me and whirled me around the kitchen in a waltz step, and I lurched along with her and we both laughed. Dad was watching, and I could tell they were both enjoying the sight of me in my first high heels, even if I was in rag curlers and my old chenille bathrobe.

Grandma and I both sat down breathlessly in kitchen chairs.

“Your dad used to be a fine dancer,” she said.

Dad looked embarrassed. I wondered if she was hinting something about Irene and the dance.

“He used to go out dancing with your momma all the time,” she said. “Go on, James, you help Addie practice in her shoes.”

She pushed me forward, and Dad looked a bit sheepish. Then Grandma started humming a song, and he held out his hand to me, and I took it, and we danced around the kitchen.

My dad was tall—as tall as Mr. Davenport. But with my high heels on, I didn't have to stretch much to dance with him. We both laughed when I stumbled a bit, but I was determined to get the hang of the darn shoes. Dad seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Whew!” he said when we stopped. “I guess I haven't got what it takes any more.”

Grandma smiled.

“You look as good as you ever did on the dance floor,” she said.

Now I was sure she was hinting.

Dad ignored the remark. I tried to think of some way to pursue the subject of Irene.

“Sit down here,” said Grandma, “and I'll take your curlers out.”

She untied all the rag curlers, letting my hair fall down in ringlets around my face.

“Looks like Irene did a real nice job on your permanent,” Grandma said. “Curls up real good.”

I saw Dad glance at her.

“Yeah,” I said, sounding unimpressed. “I guess it's OK.” I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being enthusiastic about Irene. He had to know that she was all wrong for him.

“What did you think of Irene?” asked Grandma, not realizing she was playing right into my hands.

“I think she's very common,” I said coolly, trying to catch a glance of Dad's face without his seeing me. I saw him move uncomfortably in the doorway.

“That's not a very nice thing to say, Addie,” said Grandma.

“Well, she is!” I said hotly. My feet were jiggling up and down nervously. “She wears that la-de-da hair-do, and I bet it's bleached blond too, and those wedgies, and all that red nail polish! I think she's absolutely trashy!” I wanted him to know just how I felt.

“Addie!” said Grandma. “I don't want to hear you talk like that about anybody!”

“I'm going to be late!” I said, and jumped up from the chair, pulling out the last of the curlers and dumping them on the table. I headed for the bedroom. As I left the room, I heard Grandma speaking to Dad.

“You're not going to the dance?” she asked him.

“You heard that,” he said. “Addie would have a fit.”

I stood in front of the mirror and gave myself a triumphant look. Irene had invited him to the dance, and I had successfully kept him from going. I was very pleased with myself. The whole idea of the two of them seeing each other was absolutely ridiculous.

I pulled on my dress and clasped Grandma's rhinestone bracelet around my wrist. Then I slowly brushed out my hair. I hated to admit it, but Irene had done a good job on it. She had styled it into a long page boy, slightly fluffed out at the ends, and I did look older and more attractive.

“Come out and let's see,” Grandma called from the kitchen.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror. Would it be enough for Mr. Davenport?

I walked slowly out to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. Neither Dad nor Grandma said a thing. They just looked at me as though they had never seen me before. I felt like a freak.

“I'm not going to the stupid dance!” I shouted, and wheeled around and ran back into the bedroom.

I threw myself on the bed. I wasn't going to the dance and let everybody laugh at me for trying to look glamorous. It just wasn't me, and I wasn't going to be the only one there without a date.

Dad and Grandma came into the bedroom.

“Why, Addie!” Grandma said. “Of course you're going to the dance. You look so pretty—you can't stay home and let all this go to waste.”

“I'm not going,” I said.

“I already paid for your ticket,” said Dad.

“Now, James,” said Grandma.

“Well, she's got a new dress and shoes and a permanent—Lord knows what all that costs,” he said.

“Money ain't the thing that's important here,” said Grandma firmly.

“Well, you know what I mean,” said Dad.

“You look fine, Addie,” said Grandma. “There's no reason why you shouldn't go.”

“I'm not going,” I repeated. “I'm not going to be the only one there without a date.”

“Well, I'll take you myself,” Dad said suddenly.

Grandma gave him a look.

“What?” I said.

“I'll go put on a suit,” he said.

“You don't have to dress up just to walk her over there,” Grandma said slyly, watching him.

“Well, I might stay a few minutes,” he mumbled, and turned and left the room.

“I can't go with you!” I called after him, but he'd already headed for his room. “I can't go with my own father! My gosh, that would be awful,” I mumbled to Grandma.

“Addie,” said Grandma. “It's nice he wants to take you. You mustn't hurt his feelings.”

I sat there quietly for a moment, wondering if Dad really wanted to take me to the dance or if he had changed his mind about seeing Irene. He must be putting on the suit for her. The whole evening was going to be a total disaster. Me with no date, looking like a silly thirteen-year-old trying to be grown-up in front of Mr. Davenport; Billy with Tanya; and my father with Irene Davis in front of everyone! I wanted to hide under the bed.

Just then Dad came back into the room with a little white box. He handed it to me.

“Here,” he said, “I thought you ought to wear this with your fancy dress.”

I opened it, and inside was a corsage of white daisies. It was the first time my father had ever bought me anything like that. I couldn't think of what to say. I was almost sorry I had been so nasty about Irene.

I took the flowers out and Grandma pinned them on my dress.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said.

“OK,” he said, looking embarrassed, and he went to his room to put on his good blue suit.

I looked at myself in the mirror and admired the flowers. I decided I didn't look half bad. Maybe I could carry it off after all.

Chapter Seven

I was really embarrassed to walk into the gym with my father. It was worse than going to the dance with no date, and I wanted to run ahead so no one would see I was with him, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Luckily the gym was rather dark. So much crepe paper hung from the rafters that it cut out most of the big ceiling lights.

As we walked in the door, several of the kids looked over at us, but nobody said anything. I saw Mr. Davenport in a group of adults at the other end of the gym. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his back was turned. It would have been humiliating to have him see my father bringing me to the dance as though I were a child.

I saw Billy, Tanya, Carla Mae, and some of the other kids across the floor by the record player, and I said goodbye to Dad and started over to join them. Suddenly I saw Irene coming toward me.

“Hello, Addie,” she said, smiling. “Your hair looks real nice.”

“Thanks,” I said, wanting to avoid her.

“Pretty flowers,” she said, looking at my corsage. “Daisies are my favorite.”

I looked at her and wondered just for a second if Dad had bought the corsage for her before he changed his mind about going to the dance.

Then Irene saw Dad behind me and stopped smiling. She gave him a very annoyed look, and as I turned to see what was happening, I saw him looking at her with a pained expression. She brushed past me and stood close to him, but I could hear every word they said to each other.

“I thought you didn't want to come to the dance!” she said angrily.

“I had to walk Addie over,” he said, looking sheepish.