Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl (28 page)

“She’s acting the fool,” I hear her say. “Not coming home when she’s supposed to, not having answers for where she’s been.” Long pause.

“What I’m saying is, your daughter needs a father figure around.…” Suddenly, I notice Jerry inching over to the doorway of the kitchen. Only, he doesn’t go in. He just stands off to the side listening, like I’m doing from my own doorway.

“You didn’t think of that when you decided to go chase your latest piece of tail, did you? Well, you need to start thinking of what your not being around is doing to her.” There’s a long pause. When Mama speaks again, she lowers her voice so much I have to wedge my ear right into the crack of my door to hear anything at all.

“Damn it, Charlie, it’s time to stop playing around. I got me somebody in my life now … and pretty soon … Well, by the time you come to your senses, it might be too late. I’m not gonna be available forever. In fact, I might not be
available for very much longer, so this could be your last chance to step up to the plate.”

I see Jerry’s face as he turns to go back into the bedroom. It’s so sad and defeated. And his eyes are red-rimmed and shiny. I feel really bad for the guy. He’s most definitely loud and annoying, but he’s been good to Mama … and to me.

I close my door, get back into bed, and pick up Daddy’s letter. It’s thicker than an envelope usually is when it just has a sheet of paper in it. When I open it, the first thing I see is the Kodak stamp that’s always on the back of photographs. There are three pictures in there. The first one is of Daddy standing on the beach. The next is of this tiny little otherworldly baby with a big old cranium and not a tooth in its head. It’s really light, almost pee-yellow in color. And its weird little arms are all spastic-looking, even in the picture. And I notice that it’s so fat it doesn’t really have wrists—just hands that are jammed into arms. The last picture is of this short lady holding on to the alien baby and Daddy holding on to her. And then I open the letter up and start reading.

I have to lean on my forearms and lie on my stomach, on account of my back being so sore. I refold the letter, put it back into the envelope along with the pictures, and tuck it under the pillow next to me.

Daddy is really starting a new life. Now that there’s a baby, there’s no turning back. I’m not sure how to feel about this little brother. I mean, I never wanted to be an only child, but when I thought about having a sibling before, I figured he or she would be living in the same house as me. And I wanted to have one when I was still little so we could grow up together and be close. I wanted to have somebody to giggle and roll my eyes with whenever Mama went on one of her crazy binges. But this is a baby. And I’ve made it quite clear how I feel about babies. The only solution would
be if we could maybe stick that kid into a time machine or body-altering contraption and just push a switch and—poof!—have him instantly grow up. Besides, this kid’ll be living in Florida and I’ll be in New York.

And then something occurs to me. The last time Daddy was away and sent me a letter, I came to find the envelope all torn open and jagged. Mama didn’t even try to play it off by taping it up or pasting it back together.

“It’s my letter,” I said to her. “It’s addressed to me.”

“Yeah, but this is my house. The lease is in my name, so the way I see it, whatever goes on under this roof is in my jurisdiction, and I can do whatever I want with it.”

“Well, what about my privacy?”

“Go get a job and get your own place. That’s what about your privacy.”

I’m figuring Mama doesn’t know a thing about this baby, and I don’t want to be the one she finds out from, so I remove the letter and pictures from under the pillow and stuff them into my geography textbook. This letter is going to be living in my locker for the two and a half weeks left until the end of school. After that, I’ll have to figure out somewhere else to hide it. The way I see it, Jerry is right. If Daddy wants Mama to know about this baby, it’s up to him. I’m not going to be the one to light a match to this powder keg.

After all I’ve
been through, there’s no way I’m about to go the whole day without finding out if Ms. Downer’s daughter has gotten in touch with her. So first thing in the morning, I’m standing in front of the old lady’s apartment ringing her bell. I’m so excited I can hardly stand still. I can see her opening her door, eyes filled with tears. I can almost feel her grabbing on to me and hugging me and thanking me for changing her life. And as I hear her footsteps shuffling against the wood floor, followed by the click of the locks, I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. I take a deep breath and brace myself.

She opens the door and I stare at her expectantly. And I stare at her some more. But I can’t really tell by the look on her face whether something life-changing has happened over the last fourteen hours of her life.

“Back to truancy?” she finally says.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to school?”

“Oh, that. There’s some teachers’ conference or something this morning, so we don’t have to be there until later.”

Thieving isn’t coming as easily for me these days, but the lying might have actually improved. I’m not so sure whether that’s good or bad.

“Why don’t you come in, then,” she says, heading back down the hallway.

“Okay …” Well, she was an actress, I’m thinking. She’s probably just a wiz at controlling her emotions.

Twenty minutes into my visit, I’m sipping tea with her and eating shortbread cookies. I’m about to have another tardy on my report card for nothing.

“So, how was your evening?” I ask.

“Fine,” she says as she squeezes lemon into her tea.

“What did you do?”

“Same as usual.”

“Which is?”

“Which is read, listen to some music, make a little food. Why are you so curious?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I shrug. “You didn’t get any phone calls or visitors or anything?”

She doesn’t answer. She just keeps staring at me.

“Maybe it’s just too early,” I mumble.

“Faye, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. Guess I’ll just see you after school,” I say as I stuff what’s left of my cookie into my mouth and get up from the table.

What a letdown. I don’t even wait for her to respond before I make my exit.

But after school, the results are not much different. No phone calls, no visitors. And what’s worse, she doesn’t want to stay inside. Now that the weather has gotten so nice, she feels the need to get as much fresh air as possible. Thing is, I’m afraid if we leave the apartment, Delaine Lawson might stop by or call. And if they miss each other, maybe the daughter will get cold feet and never show up again. But there’s no talking her out of it. So outside of tying her to the radiator, I have no choice.

We walk across the street to the park and down near the edge of the lake. The good thing is, I can see her building from where we sit on a bench just past the walking and jogging path. I look into the sky as the sun plays hide-and-seek with some puffy white clouds. The moment it peeks out, Ms. Downer closes her eyes and angles her head a little upward.

“So how long do you plan on staying out here?” I ask.

“Are you on some kind of schedule?”

Actually, I am. I have to get back to Ms. Viola’s by five-thirty. Even a minute later, and she’s supposed to get the hotline going to Mama.

“I was just looking forward to sitting around your cozy apartment having tea and cookies,” I say instead.

“You’re the most peculiar child,” Ms. Downer says without shifting her head away from the sun.

“Well, you’re probably out here all the time, being that you live so close.”

“Not as much as you might think. When it’s too cold, my bones start to ache, so I just stay inside. And when the heat really comes on in July, I get a little overwhelmed.
Then there are other times when I simply don’t have the incentive.”

“You know, you can hire people. Like a maid or a companion or someone like that.”

“Hiring people costs money.”

“So what? You’re rich.”

“I’m not rich. I’m good at maintaining.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that the apartment I live in and what I have in it is about all I possess in this world, but I make it work for me.”

“But you were a movie star. And weren’t you the one who told me about all those people you had doing stuff for you … dressing you, doing your hair, and fetching your food?”

“That was fifty years ago.”

“What about that book that archivist is writing? Didn’t they break you off more than a few Ben Franklins for that?”

But the old lady just shakes her head. “It’s a biography. He was going to write it with or without my help. When most people thought I was long dead, somehow he found me, so I figured, might as well make sure his facts are also my facts so that if certain people read it, they’ll have my truth. I’ve not asked to be compensated in any way.…” Her voice trails off a little.

“By ‘certain people,’ do you mean your daughter?”

She nods and lets out a quiet sigh. And I’m realizing just how important it is that I get the old lady and her daughter together now, since it will be too late by the time the book comes out.

“Have you thought recently of trying to see her again?” I ask.

“Think about it all the time.”

“And?”

“You sure have a lot of questions today.”

“I guess. So … why not try one more time?”

“Because the last time there was any contact, she made it very clear to me that she’d rather I didn’t. That she had completely cut me out of her life and her thoughts.”

“And when was this?”

“Before you were born.”

“Maybe how she feels about you has changed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Then she’s a pretty heartless person, if you ask me.”

“No. No,” Ms. Downer says quietly. “I was the one without a heart.”

“Because you gave her up? Sometimes it’s better to let something go if you can’t take care of it properly. You could have been like my mother. She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even really want me.”

Ms. Downer turns her head slowly and looks at me for a while.

“How do you know that?” she asks.

“This last Christmas, I heard her talking to my uncle Paul. She said that without me, she would have had a better life. And if you could see the way she looks at me sometimes …”

“What people say isn’t always how things really are. Maybe your mother sees your father in you. Maybe that
hurts too much. Your mother’s behavior probably has nothing to do with you. Faye, when people have personal demons, they take it out on the ones closest to them. Believe me, I know all too much about this. Unfortunately, you can’t fix other people’s problems. That’s up to them. You can just keep being you.”

“But most of the time I wish I wasn’t me. You know, I thought that when she got her new boyfriend she wouldn’t be as mean to me. But she still is. Or she completely ignores me. I just wish I had another mother. Somebody who’d make me toast. Somebody I could go to the park with.”

The old lady’s really quiet for a while. I turn my head a little to peek up at her face. She’s looking out at the ripples in the lake.

“I’m a lot more than what you see before you,” she says. “I’m old. That’s true. But I’ve had quite an eventful life. I’ve had my moments where I wasn’t the easiest to get along with either. If you had met me all those years ago instead of now, you would understand.”

She sighs a little and continues looking out at the lake. I can tell her mind is a thousand miles away. I kind of want to hug her, but I don’t know how, so I just start looking out at the lake too, at the ducks that continue to float back and forth.

“Either way, I’m really glad I met you,” I say quietly.

“Me too.” But then she quickly adds, “Maybe not quite under the particular circumstances …”

I laugh a little.