Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself (19 page)

Zavodsky … who’s Zavodsky?

That’s what Hitler calls himself now … hut you see, the police would want evidence … they always do … and until Shelby’s murder we didn’t have any … now, of course, they’ll arrest him and stick him in the electric chair where he belongs and he won’t kill any more children, ever
.

Mrs. Bierman would nod.

Maybe you could adopt a poor orphan from Europe and then you’d have someone to live for again …

“Here we are,” Mom said. “Which apartment?”

“2 C,” Sally said, feeling her legs shake.

Mom rang the bell.

Shelby’s grandmother answered. “Hello, Sally,” she said. “Come in … come in … have some Challah, fresh from the oven …”

Sally shook her head. “I really can’t stay …” she began, but then, as Mrs. Bierman opened the apartment door all the way, Sally saw Shelby, sitting on the floor, shooting marbles. “Hi …” she said. “I got tired of waiting in the park so I rode home. Granny cleaned up my knees … there were pebbles stuck to them.”

“I had
some
job,” Mrs. Bierman said.

Sally started to cry again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shelby asked.

“Nothing …”

“Listen,” Shelby said, “I’m really sorry … Granny told me it wasn’t right that I left the park after you went to get help for me … she explained how I should have waited right there until you came back … and we’ve been calling your house … but your grandmother didn’t know where you were …”

“That’s not it,” Sally said, fighting to control herself.

“Then what?”

“I thought you were dead, that’s what!”

“God forbid!” Mrs. Bierman said.

“God forbid!” Mom repeated, and then, sounding embarrassed, she added, “Sally has an active imagination.”

“Such an imagination!” Mrs. Beirman shook her head.

Shelby laughed and laughed. “Why would I be dead? I just fell off my bicycle … you don’t die from that … that’s the silliest thing I ever heard.” She shot her black marble across the room. It hit Sally in the foot.

Dear Mr. Zavodsky
,

I know what you were thinking of doing to Shelby today. I
always
know what you are thinking! Any day now I will have the evidence I need and then you will get what you deserve!

Before Miss Beverly dismissed the Saturday morning ballet class she announced a contest, sponsored by Raymond’s Shoe Store. Raymond’s had the very pair of pink satin toe slippers that Margaret O’Brien had worn while filming
The Unfinished Dance
. Sally had now seen the movie three times and it was still her favorite. Everyone who took ballet lessons in Miami Beach was invited to try them on. And the person who fit best into Margaret O’Brien’s shoes would win the contest and get a free trip to Hollywood—
and
a screen test—
and
lunch with Margaret herself!

Sally just
had
to win. Then she would be discovered and get to be a famous movie star too. And when she caught Virus X again, it would say so in all the papers, including
The Forward
. And Miss Swetnick would say,
Isn’t it wonderful … two girls from my class becoming famous in the same year … Barbara Ash for spelling and Sally Freedman for the movies!

“Let’s go over to Raymond’s right after lunch,” Andrea said, as she and Sally walked home from ballet class. They each carried a package. Andrea hugged hers and said, “Don’t you just love our new ballet dresses?”

“They’re okay,” Sally said, shifting her package from one arm to the other. She tried to hide her disappointment, because instead of the pink net tutu she’d been hoping for, her ballet dress turned out to be white cotton, with red smocking.

“In Brooklyn I had this ugly exercise outfit for acrobatics,” Andrea said. “A blue skirt and a beige jersey top. This one is beautiful. We’re so lucky!”

“In New Jersey I had a pink dotted Swiss ballet dress.”

“Dotted Swiss!” Andrea said. “That’s so fancy.”

“I went to a fancy dancing school.” Sally couldn’t tell if Andrea was impressed or if she thought
fancy
meant bad. “My teacher had ballet slippers in every color.”

“Even red?”

“Yes … and green and blue and yellow, too.”

“I never saw ballet slippers in those colors …” Andrea said, giving Sally a skeptical look.

“Well, Miss Elsie had them … you can ask my mother … and a different ballet costume every week, to match her slippers …”

“Hmmm … I’ll bet you anything my feet will
fit into Margaret O’Brien’s toe slippers,” Andrea said.

“What makes you so sure?”

“We have the same build … haven’t you noticed?”

“No,” Sally said.

“Take a good look.” Andrea stood still.

Sally looked her up and down. “I can’t remember Margaret O’Brien’s build.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed how much alike we look,” Andrea said.

“Who … you and me?”

Andrea made a sound with her tongue. “No … me and Margaret O’Brien.”

Sally hid a smile.

“You don’t think so?” Andrea asked.

“Nope.”

“We both have dark hair …”

“So does Hitler.”

Andrea spit. “How many times have I told you
never
to say that name in front of me!” She spit again.

“I’m sorry … I forgot …”

“You better spit, Sally … you better spit right now or I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Okay … okay …” Sally went to the curb and worked up some saliva. Then she took a big breath. “Hoc-tooey,” she said, spitting into the
street. At the same moment, a bird, flying overhead, plopped on Sally’s arm. “Look at this!” she said to Andrea.

“Eeuuwww …” Andrea held her nose. “How disgusting!”

“That’s how much you know …”

Sally ran the rest of the way home. When she got there she raced up the stairs, kicked open the door, tossed her package on the floor and shouted, “Look at this … a bird made on me … look …” She held out her arm for Douglas and Mom and Ma Fanny to see.

Ma Fanny clapped her hands together. “Good luck for a year!” she said, hugging Sally. “And it couldn’t happen to a better person.”

“It’s not just superstition … is it?” Sally asked.

“No more than
knock on wood
or
bad things always happen in threes
,” Douglas said, sarcastically.

“Good luck for a year,” Ma Fanny repeated. “You can take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it!” Sally thought of what this could mean. That her father would be all right. That the police would arrest Mr. Zavodsky. That she’d win the contest at the shoe store. That Miss Swetnick would start asking her easier words during spelling bees. That Georgia Blue Eyes would kiss her, voluntarily. That Peter Hornstein would grow up into
a Latin Lover and want
her
for his partner. That Big Ted would give Daddy such good tips in the stock market they’d get rich. That Harriet Goodman would get transferred to another class. That …

“So … I’m going to the Roney,” Douglas said, stretching.

“Not so fast,” Mom told him “… I haven’t decided yet.”

“When we were interrupted by Miss Bird Crap …”

“Douglas!”

“When my dear, sweet little sister came home we were in the midst of a …”

“We were
discussing
the situation,” Mom said.

“Some discussion!” Douglas said. “It was more like the Spanish Inquisition …”

“What’s that?” Sally asked.

“Mind your own business, for once!” Douglas told her.

“You know,” Mom said, “I’m on your side, Douglas.”

“Good … then it’s all settled …”

“Such a
swell
my son picks for his friend,” Mom said, sounding half-annoyed and half-pleased.

“I don’t get you,” Douglas said to Mom. “First, it’s
Douglas, make friends … try harder … don’t sit around by yourself so much
 … so I find a friend … so now all I hear is
The Swells
 … so
they’re rich … so what’s wrong with that … aren’t you the one who’s always saying it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich person as a poor one?”

“That’s enough, Douglas!” Mom said and Sally could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t just angry but that her feelings were hurt too.

“When you can’t think of anything better to say it’s always,
That’s enough, Douglas!
” He mimicked Mom and sounded surprisingly like her.

“Dougie …” Ma Fanny said, “don’t talk like that to your mother … she loves you …”

“Love-schmov …” Douglas retreated to the bathroom.

“What am I going to do with that boy?” Mom asked.

“Sha …” Ma Fanny said, “everything will turn out fine … he’s a good boy … he’s got growing pains, that’s all.”

“Does it hurt when your bones begin to grow fast?” Sally asked.

“It hurts inside,” Ma Fanny said.

“How about breasts … does it hurt when they start to grow?”

“You shouldn’t be thinking about breasts at your age,” Mom said.

“Why not? Some girls in my class have them already … and take a look at Andrea … she
wears a bra … did you know that … and she’s just one year older than me.”

“They don’t hurt, mumeshana …” Ma Fanny said. “They grow quietly, when they’re ready.”

Mom cleared her throat. “Sally … go and wash off your arm before it starts to smell.”

“But I can’t … then I won’t have good luck for a year.”

Ma Fanny laughed. “All that counts is the bird picked
you
 … nothing can stop your good luck now …”

“Oh … I didn’t know that,” Sally said. She went to the kitchen to wash because Douglas was still locked in the bathroom and she didn’t want to mess with him.

Sally and Andrea stood on line at Raymond’s Shoe Store. There were just nine more girls ahead of them. They’d been waiting for thirty-five minutes. Sally could feel the sweat trickling down her back. She thought of Douglas, swimming at the Roney Plaza, and of Shelby, holding her nose and sitting on the bottom of the Seagull Pool, and of the ocean, with the tide rushing in.

“Boy, am I thirsty,” Andrea said.

“Same here.”

“I could really go for a tall glass of orange juice, couldn’t you?”

“Make mine grape,” Sally said, licking her lips.

“Oh … I always forget about you and the pulp.”

Ten minutes later it was Andrea’s turn to try on Margaret O’Brien’s ballet shoes. She sat down and kicked off her sandals. Sally stood at her side. Would Andrea’s foot fit? Would she win the contest? Sally hoped not. She knew it was wrong to wish Andrea bad luck but she wanted to win so much. If
she
couldn’t win the contest then she certainly didn’t want Andrea to win.

The shoe man held out the slipper. Andrea slid her foot in as far as it would go but the heel was still sticking out. “Oops …” the shoe man said. “It’s a little too small for you … sorry, sweetheart … next,” he called.

“Right here,” Sally said.

“Listen,” Andrea said. “It’s not really too small for me. Miss Beverly told us toe shoes should hug the foot … and if I just bend my toes a little …”

“Really, sweetheart … take it from your Uncle Joe … it’s just not your size …”

“You’re
not
my uncle,” Andrea said, standing up and pouting.

She and Sally changed places. Sally knew exactly how Cinderella must have felt when it was her turn to try on the glass slipper. She closed her eyes for a
minute. Thank you, bird . . thank you for choosing me to plop on. She took off her sandal and held out her foot, digging her fingernails into the upholstered arms of the chair. The shoe man held out Margaret’s pink slipper. It didn’t have a boxed toe, like Sally’s toe shoe. This toe was covered with satin, like a professional ballerina’s. She eased her foot into the shoe. It fit! She didn’t have to bend her toes or anything. Her whole foot went in easily. She smiled. But, wait … there was too much space
around
her foot. Maybe the shoe man wouldn’t notice. “It’s very comfortable,” Sally said, glancing at Andrea. Andrea looked concerned. Her lips were scrunched up and her brow was wrinkled. She doesn’t want me to win, Sally thought. She doesn’t want me to win any more than I wanted her to win.

“Sorry, sweetheart …” the shoe man said to Sally. “It’s too wide for your narrow little foot.”

“I could stuff the sides with lamb’s wool,” Sally said. “I usually do that anyway.”

“Lamb’s wool is okay for the toe, sweetheart … but not for the rest of the foot … don’t look so glum … maybe you’ll win some other time … next,” he called and Sally knew it was over, that she had to put on her sandal and stand up and let someone else try on Margaret O’Brien’s toe slipper.

She felt like crying. Some good luck that bird was
bringing her! She couldn’t speak. If she did her voice would break and then nothing would stop the tears. And she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself like that blonde girl in the corner, bawling her eyes out.

She and Andrea went outside. “Who wants a trip to Hollywood anyway?” Andrea asked. “All they let you eat there is parsley sandwiches.”

“Says who?”

“I read it in a movie magazine … they feed all the movie stars parsley sandwiches so they’ll stay skinny. Imagine no bologna or cupcakes or spaghetti …”