New Year's Eve (7 page)

Kip said, “Well, of course, ten dinosaurs is enough that you can arrange them around your body for camouflage, Beth Rose. Nobody will know it's you in there with your pterodactyls.”

“If she has any sense,” Mike said, in a tone that implied he would drop dead if Beth Rose were to show any sense, “she'll let go of the damn things when we reach The Hadley. They're helium. They'll go up to that great balloon park in the sky and stop bothering us.”

Kip faced forward again, re-attaching her seatbelt with such force that she would have executed anything between the belt and the hook. “I apologize for this, Beth Rose,” she said formally. “If I had known I would not have suggested this.”

“She knew what she was getting into,” Mike said. “She didn't have to say yes. A sensible person would just have stayed home. And if she didn't know
before
she got the dinosaurs, she certainly knew
after
the gorilla arrived what her night was going to be like.”

As they drove beneath a street light, George's face was momentarily illuminated. Between the light and the shadow Beth Rose saw George hunched against the glass on his side of the car. She had played that scene: resting a hot cheek against the cold to stop the telltale flush. Poor George. It must have sounded so clever to him—sending a gorilla with a dinosaur bouquet. And it must have seemed so minor to put on his comfy old dock shoes instead of the dress shoes.

Mike laughed cruelly at George. George managed a laugh of his own. Was there any skill that elementary school taught more viciously? How to laugh back when they're laughing at you. It counted more than arithmetic.

Not that long ago, had she not gone all alone to The Autumn Leaves Dance? The only girl who did. Those first humiliating minutes she stood by herself while the chaperones pitied her. And then Gary rescued her.

This is why, she thought.

He saw my humiliation and could not bear it

He never loved me. He's a rescuer at heart, and there stood a girl to rescue.

I am not a rescuer at heart. But it's my turn.

“Kip, don't be such a killjoy,” Beth said. “I love these dinosaurs. You watch, everybody'll want one. George and I will spend the evening selling off tyrannosaurus rexes to jealous dancers. And who cares if he's wearing boat shoes? I dance barefoot, myself.”

Mike snorted.

Kip gagged.

But George beamed at Beth, revealing two rows of sparkling braces complete with rubber bands. “Actually, I can't dance,” he confided. “Kip's been teaching me, but she says my legs are out of proportion to my arms and I'm like a reverse ape.”

Mike laughed his head off. “A reverse ape?” he said.

“Apes have little short bowed legs and long, long arms,” Kip said. “My brother, however, has long, long legs and little short bowed arms.”

“My arms are not little and short,” George protested. He stuck forth his right arm to prove this, and sure enough, his arm was long enough to smack Mike in back of the head. Mike yelped, jerking the wheel in his surprise. They skidded slightly in the snow.

“Sorry about that,” George muttered.

“This is a side show,” Mike said to Kip. “They should charge admission.”

Kip was shaking her head and moaning softly. “The only thing I can console myself with,” she said, “is that Gwynnie will be a bigger side show.”

“I think we should arrange for a pre-midnight switch,” Mike said. “We'll give Dumbo here to Gwynnie, and get Gary back for Beth Rose.”

K
EVIN PUT ON HIS
Sunday jacket. He couldn't find his white oxford shirt or his pre-knotted tie, so he settled for a green and gold striped pullover sweater he'd worn the day before to clay class. A small cloud of grey dust flaked off each time he moved, but Kevin figured it would all fall off before they reached The Hadley.

He brushed his hair and his teeth and was very proud of his grooming.

Pete felt he should have a decent jacket, but he had outgrown his and not yet grown into the next size hand-me-down. Several times he had spoken to his parents about this, but they did not feel it was important. Pete went into George's closet. George did not have what you might call a large selection of formal wear, but Pete took this golden opportunity to wear George's safari jacket. He stood in front of his sister's full-length mirror and admired how the jacket hung, how the pockets—it had as many pockets as a jet has dials—were lined up waiting to be filled with good stuff like maps and compasses and survival food.

Food. Now that was a good idea.

Pete raided the kitchen, filling his pockets; you never knew when you might need to eat.

The Oreo cookies crumbled at the bottom of a deep white pocket when he shoved two apples down on them, but he didn't notice.

Jamie, fresh from a tantrum over tuxedos, happily chose his new sweatsuit. Jamie rarely possessed anything new, what with three older brothers to give him their stuff, and he was in love with his sweatsuit. It was the brightest blue in the whole world, and it had the yellowest streak in the universe going down the side seams. With vast pride that he had been honored to keep watch over his big brother's cummerbund, he fastened the wide satin around his waist. It covered him from his nonexistent hips to his armpits. He tightened it up with a couple of safety pins laboriously fastened. Over that he put Pete's winter jacket (red and black hunter check) and their father's best baseball cap.

“Boy, we're ready now,” Kevin said happily. “Somebody call a taxi.”

Christopher started the car.

It was not his wonderful classic red Corvette, which had been sold. His father had refused to pay the insurance when the roommate explained just why Christopher had been asked to leave college. No, this was an old Subaru: dented on the outside, faded and torn on the inside. It was not a car that rejoiced in cold weather, and it took Christopher several tries before the engine caught. He breathed a sigh of relief when it did. Driving to Molly's, he hoped she would be ready at the door: if it idled more than a minute it stalled, and he'd have a terrible time starting it up again. He planned to park underground in the garage at The Hadley, where the temperature should be fairly moderate and the car might even begin the New Year by starting!

When he stopped at Molly's, Christopher's mind was full of cars. Molly was pretty relaxed: she liked to laugh and would be amused by a car that had to be nursed.

Molly's stepfather opened the front door. “Hello there, Christopher,” he said cheerfully. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year to you, too,” Christopher said, unable to remember the stepfather's last name. “Molly ready yet?”

“Is she ever,” the stepfather said dryly. “I just hope you are.”

Christopher, worrying about his car, said, “Well, as long as it doesn't have to idle too long.”

“There is nothing idle about Molly tonight.”

This sounded like a joke, so Christopher chuckled, and the two stood in the hall waiting. “Molly!” her stepfather yelled. “Christopher's here!”

“Coming!”

Christopher had forgotten the flowers. Slipping in the snow he ran back to the car, stuck his foot in to give the accelerator a quick jab, grabbed the corsage, and raced back to the house. Inside, he looked at the flowers again to be sure he hadn't crushed them. They were what flowers should be: pretty and sweetly scented.

He began to feel romantic.

“Here she is,” the stepfather said in that same dry voice.

A nightmare in green. Not even a dress, but a thing. Molly was an afterthought: just a face sticking up out of the nightmare.

The whole front of her dress—where he had childishly visualized a bit of lace, or a ribbon—was exaggerated faces and lips.

“Isn't this dress
astonishing
?” Molly cried.

How naive he had been, expecting a little girl in a little girl's dress, bringing a little girl's bouquet.

Molly repeated the word with a flourish. “
Astonishing
!” She pirouetted. The black silhouettes kept on kissing no matter how she postured.

“Yes,” Christopher said, because it certainly was.

Molly took the corsage and swirled over to the hall mirror to look at herself while she put it on. The sweet flowers looked peculiar on the violent green and black shoulder.

“I myself would not leave the house with a date dressed like that,” the stepfather said to Christopher.

Maybe it'll be crowded and dark in the ballroom, Christopher thought, and nobody will see. Or cold enough for her to keep her coat on. “Let's hurry before my car stalls.”

“Your wonderful Corvette?” Molly teased. “Oh, go on. I bet you keep that in perfect shape.”

“Somebody else is keeping it in perfect shape now. These days, I'm trying to keep me in perfect shape.” He tried to share a laugh with her. “Not the easiest thing I've ever done, Molly.”

“But probably the most boring. I am against perfection. A person should do whatever he feels like doing whenever he feels like doing it, don't you agree, Christopher?”

He wanted to give her a little sermon on all the lessons he had learned the hard way. But Molly was pressed against him, and he remembered how much fun she was, with that mischievous little grin, and curvy little shape, and those eyes that winked until you followed. She linked arms with him and they went out to the car, which was—surprise, surprise—still running.

Molly had a very large purse. Usually for dances, girls exchanged their huge purses for little teeny evening bags. “What have you got in that suitcase?” he asked teasingly.

Instantly Molly switched the huge purse to her other side, as if she suspected him of wanting to steal from her. She'd heard the rumors about him at college. She knew he was a thief.

I'm going to a New Year's Eve dance with a girl who has to be sure I don't lift her purse, Christopher thought.

The snow came down lightly, but it was deceptive. The road was very slick. The steering wheel was icy beneath his bare hands. For a brief instant he thought of losing control, of dying young. He shook himself and drove more carefully. Just because he had wrecked his
life
didn't mean he could go wreck Molly's.

“Hey, why so down?” Molly said. She hugged the side of him that she could reach and kissed him. “We've got to have fun, you know.”

He forgot the strange silhouetted kisses of her horrible dress. He thought how they'd had fun at college. Booze. A New Year's Eve party … even though most of the kids would be underage, there would be booze somewhere.

Then he could get out from under his memories.

The snow fell white and pure.

My resolutions, he thought.

Oh, well.

It is New Year's Eve.

I have to celebrate somehow, don't I?

Mrs. Elliott snuggled against her husband. They were going to the house of old and dear friends whose parties were always warm, funny affairs. “Isn't it nice to have the children growing up so quickly?” she said dreamily. “Kip looked like such a beautiful woman in that gown, and George was so handsome in his tuxedo! I wish I could go see them at the ball.”

The last time that Mr. Elliott saw George's cummerbund, it had been around Jamie's waist, so he thought it was probably just as well his wife could not go to the ball to see her son. George was the family peacemaker, which apparently was the way of middle children, but George's techniques sometimes left a little to be desired from the female point of view.

“Did we leave the children our phone number?” Mrs. Elliott said anxiously.

“What, do you think I'm a complete fool?” her husband said, grinning. “I gave them your mother's phone number. Anything goes wrong, it's not going to be on our New Year's Eve!”

When I think how we rehearsed for this evening! Kip thought. I made George practice his manners and polish his shoes and learn how to help me with a coat. And look at him! He's a total shambles! I can't believe it!

Had her other three brothers bribed George to be a Dumbo? Anything was possible in the Elliott household. Four boys in two bedrooms was a bad equation.

Poor Beth Rose was going to have to stand next to George all night while suave perfect Gary would raise his eyebrows and pity her. Pity Beth Rose because she was in public with Kip's own brother. A dismal fate if there ever was one. Kip was so torn by conflicting emotions she did not see how she would last through the evening. A decent sister stood by her brother, no matter how worthless and embarrassing he was. She couldn't kill him, or pretend they weren't related, or tell them to spend the night at the Dairy Queen.

And I have so much to go through tonight! she thought. I need to have it all together!

Complete with dinosaurs, they arrived in the foyer of The Hadley. “Tuck in your shirt, George,” Kip hissed. Kip had hardly shrugged out of her coat when she saw the very two she had dreaded seeing. There, waiting for the elevator, stood Lee Hamilton. She knew him by the breadth of his shoulders. She had never seen him in formal dress. His hand was on Anne's waist, lightly resting. Anne was dressed in black, and her long, long yellow hair was twisted down the middle of her back, gleaming like gold: as if Anne were a more precious metal than other girls.

How handsome Lee was! Kip hadn't seen him since October. He was even bigger: perhaps he was wrestling at college, too. His hair was slightly longer.

Lee turned, keeping his hand on Anne's waist, so that Anne turned with him: Anne who was graceful as a ballerina. What a pair they made: Anne in her dazzling elegance, Lee in his college man maturity. Oh, that black dress! The way the lace of the top promised secrets beneath! The way those narrow black ribbons were spun through the golden hair! Anne looked twenty-five at least. Now Kip's peach-colored dress felt like something a sixth-grader would wear to Sunday School.