Prom (12 page)

Aunt Linny handed me something black and velvet. “Try this.”

“Black is for funerals,” I said.

“Black is sophisticated; don’t argue.”

I took off the Stacey Wiggans Big Boob Special and shim mied into the black dress.

“Ta-da!”

Aunt Joan snorted smoke out her nose. Ma cracked up. “Okay, sophisticated you’re not. Next.”

Next was a blue polka-dot disaster, then came something that looked like a bedspread, then a gold shimmery thing that wouldn’t go over my hips, and then a dark purple beaded strapless that was pretty except that it fell down every time I raised my arms.

“Again with the boobs,” sighed Aunt Sharon.

A black dress with white stripes around the hem made me look like a lounge singer. The brown and gold thing made me look like a stripper. The pink one that came with matching gloves reminded me too much of a confirmation dress. There were two skintight dresses that looked like mermaid costumes, without the tails. I refused to touch Aunt Joan’s collection from the seventies. You looked at the dresses and you thought “bonfire.”

Ma unzipped a garment bag. “This one,” she said. “The color is right for you.”

She was right. It was a soft shade of dark green, the color of the leaves in the park when the sun is going down. The fabric was lightweight velvet. I stepped into it and held my breath as I worked it up over my thighs (should not have eaten ice cream for the last month) and my butt (too much pizza). It was tight, sexy tight.

“Turn around,” Ma said. “Let me zip you.”

I pushed all the air out of my lungs and pretended I had a twenty-three-inch waist.

Ma zipped. “Suck it in.”

“It is sucked in.”

She pulled the zipper up a little farther.

“Smush your ribs together.”

“What?”

She grunted and zipped me all the way up.

“It’s a little tight,” I squeaked.

“You’ll lose weight,” Ma said. “Turn around.”

“Ooooooooh,” said the aunts.

“This is definitely the one, honey,” Ma said.

I looked down. The dress fit like green velvet skin. I had a waist and hips and boobs, and it didn’t show the fat on the tops of my thighs that I hate more than anything, even my freckles.

“Ooooooooh,” said the aunts again.

Ma checked me out head to toe. “You might need a different date.”

“Why?” I asked.

“TJ Barnes is not good enough for that dress. You need George Clooney.”

“That’s sick. He’s older than Dad.”

“You know what I mean. Twirl around.”

I stepped over the shoe pile and—
rii-iiii-iiip
.

The aunts gasped.

“Oh, well,” Ma said. “Easy come, easy go.”

“Give it here,” Aunt Linny said. “I’ll fix it.”

Ma unzipped me and studied the tear. “It’s hopeless, Lynn. It’s not a seam, the fabric tore across her ass. Take a look.” She handed it to Aunt Linny, who sighed. The perfect green dress was dead.

Ma pointed to a pink bridesmaid’s dress. “That one has a stain, but we can get it out.”

I dragged the pink thing into the dining room and pulled it on. “I’m done after this, Ma.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Show me the dress.”

I inhaled so I could pull the zipper to the top and stepped into the archway.

“You have a very unusual figure, know that?” Aunt Sharon said. “I never noticed that before.”

Aunt Linny squinted at me. “She’s built like her father’s family.”

“How many days till this prom again?” Aunt Joan asked.

“Six,” I said.

Aunt Sharon finished her doughnut. “You’re screwed, honey.”

There was a knock on the front door. It opened and Nat stuck in her head. “Hey. You ready?”

“Natalia, come in!” Ma said. “You remember my sisters.”

Nat stepped in, her grandmother close behind. “Hello, everyone.”

The aunts said their hellos and nodded at Grandma.

“You look busy,” Nat said.

“We’re finding her a prom dress,” Aunt Joan said.

“Don’t laugh,” I warned.

“And shoes,” added Aunt Linny. “You got to have the right shoes.”

“I am not trying on other people’s shoes,” I said. “That is too nasty to think about.”

Nat eyed the shoe pile. “You got any fives in there?”

“Be my guest,” Aunt Joan said.

While Nat pawed through the shoes, Grandma squeezed between Ma and Aunt Linny on the couch. Grandma leaned over and stared at the rip Aunt Linny was trying to fix. She muttered, snagged the sewing out of Aunt Linny’s hands, and tore out the stitches with her teeth.

“Hey,” Aunt Linny said.

“Leave her alone,” said Ma. “It’s easier that way.”

Nat held up a pair of silver stilettos. “I like these. Is that the dress you’re gonna wear, Ash?”

I pulled down the zipper. “Shut up.”

“You should see her in that one.” Aunt Joan pointed to the bedspread dress hanging off the entertainment center. “She looked like a vision.”

I stripped off the pink thing. “A vision you get after a night of Jell-O shots.”

“What do you know about Jell-O shots?” Aunt Joan asked.

“Nothing,” Ma said. “If she knows what’s good for her, she knows nothing. Put on another dress, honey.”

“That was the last one.”

“What?”

“I tried them all on, Ma, I’m done. Show’s over.”

“I’ll call my friend Marnie. She has a huge closet.”

“No, you won’t. I don’t need a dress. I’ll wear my black skirt or khakis.”

“Anything but khakis.” Nat inspected the heel on a pair of red open-toe sandals. “How much does it cost to dye shoes?”

“Who dyes shoes?” I asked. “I’ll wear my black skirt and I’ll help, but you’re wasting your time trying to find me a dress.”

Grandma handed the green velvet dress back to Aunt Linny.

“Will you look at this,” Aunt Linny said, holding the repaired rip up to the light. “She’s good.”

Nat buckled the red sandals on her feet and stood up. “She was a seamstress in Russia.”

“She was famous,” Ma said. “Got sent to jail.”

“They sent her to jail for her sewing?” Aunt Linny asked. “And I thought Republicans were tough. Watch it, honey. You could hurt yourself on those things.”

Nat teetered dangerously on the high heels and grabbed for the back of the recliner. “She was in prison because of politics.”

“That sounds like the Republicans,” Aunt Linny said.

“Don’t start,” Aunt Joan said. “The Democrats are no better.”

I pulled on my shorts. “We gotta go. Nat and me are going to the mall.”

Nat wobbled from the recliner to the couch. “Grandma’s coming, too.”

“What do you need at the mall?” Ma asked.

“Prom donations,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Decorations, lights, tablecloths, favors.” I put on my shirt. “Pretty much anything that will make it feel like it’s not a middle school dance.”

“So where are you going?”

“King of Prussia.”

“
That’s
what
I’m
talking about!” Aunt Joan pulled up the handle of the recliner and her feet dropped to the floor with a thud. “I’m going with you.”

Aunt Linny squealed. “Me, too.”

“Fuggettaboutit,” I said.

“What are you, nuts?” Aunt Sharon asked. “We are the Queens of Free. Between us we got, like, sixty years on PTA committees. You’re a kid, what do you know?”

“We’re going, and that’s that.” Ma tried to reach her feet, but leaned back against the couch. “Would one of youse please tie my sneakers? And take off those damn heels before you hurt yourself, Natalia.”

“This is a bad idea, Nat.”

“This was your idea, Ash.”

“No, going to the mall was my idea. Bringing my family and Grandma—I had nothing to do with that.”

“So what do you want me to do, turn the car around? Look, your aunt is getting ready to pass me, and I’m doing seventy.”

“That’s my mother driving.”

“How can she reach the steering wheel?”

“Dad says her arms get longer with each pregnancy.”

“That’s kind of creepy.”

“Shut up and drive, Nat.”

“Shuttin’ up.”

Ma took charge when we met up at the mall. She split us up into three groups: Aunts Linny and Sharon, Aunt Joan with Nat and Grandma, and Ma and me. Group one was in charge of decorations for the walls and group two was in charge of decorations for the tables.

Ma took my arm as we walked away. “What are we in charge of?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” she said. “This looks good. Let’s start here.”

“No, let’s not. This is a dress store, Ma. We need party favors. Balloons. There’s nothing here for us.”

We went in.

The ladies behind the counter stared as Ma stopped in front of a rack of long dresses.

“We can’t afford this,” I whispered.

“You have a very limited imagination, Ashley.” She rubbed a gray silk sleeve between her fingers. “Creativity, that’s what you need.”

I pointed to the red-hot price tag. “Money, that’s what I need. You don’t make this much in a whole month. We’re wasting our time.”

“Ooooh!” Ma clutched the display rack.

“What?”

She dropped her purse and reached for her belly.

“Is she all right?” asked the saleswoman.

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed.

Ma turned to the woman. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing. Could you get me a chair, please? No, ah, not there. Could you move it closer to the dressing room? Great, thanks. Is there any chance you could get me some water? Or a soda?”

The saleswomen ran around like squirrels, trying to do anything that would keep my mother from giving birth in the middle of the store. They sat her down in a fancy chair that looked like it came from a museum, and poured her a glass of lemonade. The “contractions” stopped and Ma started bullshitting the ladies about being pregnant with twins.

“She’s fine,” I said. “She’s not due for another month.”

A little bell rang as more customers walked in. “Go on, dears, I’ll be fine. I know you have your work to do. I’ll sit for a few more minutes, just to be sure. Since we’re here, Ashley, honey, why don’t you try on a few dresses?”

“Ma.”

“Oh, go on.”

“Maaa.”

“You wouldn’t want me to have any more nasty contractions now, would you?”

She winked at me.

I grabbed the gray silk dress in my size.

It took the whole afternoon, four stores, and three episodes of “early labor” with the “twins,” but Ma finally got what she wanted. When we met up with the others at the food court, we were carrying a bag. Inside the bag was a dress. It was a prom dress. It was pink. It was originally seventy percent off, but Ma got it down to eighty-five percent off by screaming, “My water broke!” while we were checking out.

The aunts and Nat loved my dress. They oohhed and aahed and said all the things you’d think, only they said it so loud the security guard who was keeping the food court safe wandered over to see what the commotion was about.

Grandma Shulmensky hated the dress. When Ma pulled it out of the bag, she spat on the marble floor, a big wet one. The guard said something into his radio and Nat said something that did not sound polite in Russian. Grandma spat a second time.

“Okay, then, time for us to hit the road,” said Aunt Sharon. “She is a feisty one, ain’t she?”

We hustled Grandma out to the parking lot, with two security guards tagging behind us until we were outside.

The aunts showed us their loot when we got to the cars. The kitchen store gave Nat and Aunt Joan a bag full of paper napkins that were too wrinkled to sell and the bookstore gave them gift certificates for door prizes.

Aunt Linny said, “Ha! We did way better.”

Aunt Joan lit a cigarette. “Sure you did.”

“We got Christmas lights.” She shook a huge department store bag.

Aunt Joan put her lighter away. “Aren’t you a little old for shoplifting, Linny?”

“They really gave them to us,” Aunt Sharon said.

Ma looked in the bag. “You’ve got hundreds of dollars of Christmas lights in here!”

“Why did they give them to you?” Aunt Joan asked.

Aunt Sharon unlocked her car. “Because we helped this really sweet gal in luggage who had a pig for a floor manager, and then we got to talking with her because Ashley’s graduating and needs a job and maybe they’re hiring. I got you applications for five stores, Ash, you’ll make a killing with the employee discounts. Anywho, the luggage gal tells us about these Christmas decorations that were never returned to the main warehouse and now they’re taking up a shelf in the back room. Next thing you know we were in the office, a few phone calls were made, and we wound up with the lights.” She opened the door. “When you fill out the application, put down that Patty recommended you, Ash. You could do worse than a steady job in luggage.”

Oh. The other thing that happened at the mall was that Grandma stole a container of chai latte gelato. It’s expensive, beige ice cream.

She kept it in her purse until we got home.

I helped Nat clean the car.

That night, we sat down like a normal family for dinner: pork chops, baked potatoes, salad, applesauce, and something in a covered casserole dish.

Dad passed the dish to me. “Try the beans. It’s your grandmother’s recipe. Has bacon in it.”

I shook my head. “Don’t suck up to me with beans. I’m not talking to you.”

“What? What did I do now?”

“You told the whole world about the prom thing, that’s what you did.”