Teen Angel (11 page)

Sonny smiled. A best friend hated your enemies too.

The next morning, Sonny studied D.B.’s face next to her on the pillow. A wisp of hair had fallen across her cheek. Sonny lifted it like an eyelash from a glass of milk and smoothed it behind her ear. And then, just because she was happy that D.B. was her best friend, that she had a best friend who she could visit and sleep over with and loved so much, she bent down to kiss her forehead. D.B. stirred slightly. She snuck out of bed and headed for the bathroom but peeked into the living room first, where she could hear
The Gale Storm Show
. A half-eaten container of potato salad lay at Ruth’s feet and a bottle of Bacardi under the couch. She snored loudly. Sonny turned off the television and closed the French doors behind her. By the time she finished her bust exercises, D.B. was awake.

“I had the weirdest dream,” Sonny said as they sat in the kitchen dipping potato chips into the macaroni salad juice.

“I dreamt Miguel and me were making out.”

“Well, it was really weird,” Sonny continued. “You see, there was this wild animal. I don’t know if it was a lion or a tiger. But anyway, I was petting him and he really liked it.”

“Is this real long?” D.B. asked as she sipped No-Cal from the bottle.

“Can I have a sip? Anyway, even though he seemed real nice, I got a little scared. So when he asked me what I wanted him to do, I told him to go back to his cage. And you know what he said?”

D.B. grabbed a handful of potato chips.

“He said how I was right, that I’d be safer if he went back to his cage. So that’s what he did.”

“That’s all?” D.B. asked.

“Yeah. But he seemed really nice. I think it was a lion.”

D.B. shook her head. “Dreams are so dumb.”

“Do you ever dream of flying?” Sonny asked. “Like you can fly over the Drive and see everybody?” “Nah.” D.B. interrupted. “Hey, what about the party? Let’s walk down and pick everyone up along the way, okay?”

“The Gooch too?” Sonny made a face.

“Come on. It won’t kill you.”

Sonny slipped on the bra.
Pitiful
. Then, like she was stealing something, she rolled the scarves into cushions, placing two into each cup and buttoned her blouse. Frontal view? She studied herself in the mirror. Reasonable.
Oh yeah?
Right side?
Possible. Anything’s possible, right?
Bullshit, the Gooch hissed. Other side. Back to the front. They looked sort of real.
Didn’t they?
But was the change too drastic? From mosquito bites to beehives. An overnight bosom.
Honestly, wasn’t she too buxom–for her?

“What do you think?” she asked D.B.

“You look okay.” D.B. pulled on the same stocking with the run.

“No, I mean these.” Sonny pointed. “How do they look?”

“Like boobs.”

Too much of a good thing
. Sonny removed one scarf per cup, reducing her size, she calculated, to a more modest 34B.
Timber!

“This is no way for your friends to see your room,” Dot’s mother said as they entered. “I told you to clean up the mess in here.”

Dot sat surrounded by hundreds of 45s. “I just don’t know which records to take,” she said miserably.

“If you wouldn’t buy so many records,” her mother said, slamming the door behind her.

Dot shrugged her shoulders.

Sonny picked up a couple of records and began to stack them. “It doesn’t matter. Just some stuff to dance to.”

Dot stared at a colored photograph of Connie Francis. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She slipped the record into the jacket.

“Come on,” D.B. said impatiently.

Dot stacked the 45s with painstaking care. Then she placed them into her white imitation leather case that said
My Record Collection
in gold script.

Sonny, D.B., and Dot sat on the Gooch’s bed as she tucked her V-neck mustard sweater into her brown tight skirt with a slit up the side. She peered into the mirror and shook her head. Spreading the neckline so her rollers wouldn’t get caught, she took the sweater off. She pulled a green top out of the open drawer.

“This is horrible,” she said, staring into the mirror.

“No, it’s nice,” Sonny said.

“Lerner’s on Thirty-fourth Street. They have shit stuff but no guards.”

She took that off too and tried on a purple sweater with lacing up the front. Then she took off the brown skirt and put on a purple skirt.

“Not bad,” she said. “But it needs something else.”

She pulled out a wide purple patent leather belt and, holding her breath, hooked it on the last hole.

“I’m just about ready,” she said.

She squinted in the mirror, staring at her boots with the double buckle, then up her stockings to the hem of her skirt and across her hips and ass. She smiled happily until she caught Sonny’s reflection in the mirror. “What did you stuff in your undershirt? Some rolls of toilet paper?”

Sonny avoided looking directly at her. “Did someone just lay a fart or was that your bad breath?”

The Gooch took her rollers out and, parting her hair in clumps, began teasing it until it stood several inches from her head. Then lightly brushing over the tangled knots, she molded her hair until it looked like a globe of the world. She sprayed, waited several seconds until it dried, and sprayed again. When she thought no one could see, she placed her forefinger under her nose so the hook turned up, so you could hang your coat on it.

“JUST A MINUTE!” Mary Kelly’s mother screamed, running to open the door of the basement apartment. Sonny gasped. She made Jackie Gleason look underfed. “Mary, your friends are here!” she called.

“Tell them I’m in the john,” Mary called back.

“We’ll wait out here,” D.B. said.

“I hope you brought some good records,” the Gooch said.

Dot clutched her case to her chest.

“Hi, gang!” Mary greeted them. “I justh made a real evil number two!”

“Big shit,” the Gooch muttered impatiently. “Let’s get going already.”

“Yeah,” Sonny added.

Their eyes met for a moment. “If you think you’re gonna make any time with Ruben at this party, you got another thing
coming.” She made a fist. “If you wanna live, you bes’ watch your step.”

“Lithen,” Mary interrupted. “She’s a Teen Angel. And no fights allowed.”

“Yeah,” Dot added softly.

“Teen Angel, my ass. That wasn’t real come.”

Sonny coughed. “I just got something caught in my throat.” She couldn’t think of a single joke.

As everyone piled out of the elevator, the Gooch said loudly, “Shake it, don’t break it. Took your momma nine months to make it.”

“At least, I was born,” Sonny said, turning to look the Gooch in the eye. She wasn’t going to be put down in front of everybody, especially the guys. “You were hatched in a mozzarella joint.”

“I’d rather be hatched than come out between your old lady’s legs. Permanent case of BO of the brain.”

“Well, I’ve got a brain. I can’t tell what you’ve got between your ears besides that growth you call a nose.”

The Gooch grabbed Sonny and flung her against the corridor wall. Just as she was about to slap her, Steve pulled her off. “Girls, there really are enough of us to go around. You don’t have to fight over us.”

“Fight over you?” Sonny said, straightening her jacket.

“The only way anyone would want you,” the Gooch said,
pushing him off her, “would be as a mattress. And then you’d be too soft for that too.”

“Yeah,” Sonny agreed.

Mary rattled the key in the lock. “This thing won’t open.”

“Here,” Ruben said, grabbing the key. He opened the door.

“This is cool,” D.B. said as they entered the dark apartment. “We got the whole place to ourselves.” She ran her hand over Miguel’s stomach.

He didn’t say anything but looked as if his heart got caught in his throat like a Luden’s cough drop.

Mary switched on the hallway light. “It’s all ours. Crythal’s brother doesn’t come home from work till five.”

“Boss!” Dot exclaimed as they walked past the kitchen and living room, into Crystal’s bedroom.

“So what,” Sonny said under her breath. There was D.B. and Miguel. One down. Steve was subhuman. Two down. And Ruben was up for grabs and she knew who would be doing the grabbing. Marilyn and Hansy were coming too. How come every party she ever went to were mostly girls and if there were any guys, they just stood around holding up the wall and got so drunk they puked all over the place. And guess who cleaned it up?

“When’s Crystal supposed to come?” Steve asked.

D.B. took off her jacket. “Who knows. Those nuns at St. Francis are crazy. If they catch you sneaking out, they beat the living shit out of you. Meanwhile, everyone’s screwing in the pews.”

“God, and those horrible blue uniforms they have to wear …” The Gooch laid her jacket on Crystal’s bed. Then she pointed her boobs like it was rifle practice. “I wouldn’t wear one of those things for a million dollars.”

“It might be an improvement,” Sonny mumbled.

“Yeah, if you buried yourself, Palovsky.”

“Hey, D.B.,” Sonny reached over but accidentally pushed her.

“Will you watch it?” D.B. said.

“Did you hear about the one-hundred-dollar wallet made out of cockskins?” Sonny asked.

D.B. shook her head.

“Anyway, you rub it and it turns into a suitcase.”

“Hey, anybody bring any hooch?” Ruben asked.

“Lookee here!” Steve said, pulling out a quart bottle of tequila.

“La Cucaracha!” D.B. exclaimed.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Ruben grabbed for the bottle.

“Heel.” Steve pointed to him like he was a dog. “This cost $5.69 and I paid for it.”

“Jesus,” Ruben grumbled. “This guy’s so tight his ass squeaks when he walks.” He made another grab for the bottle.

“Cough up some cash,” Steve said. “You too, Einstein.”

Miguel dug into his pocket and gave Steve a buck.

“What are you kidding? With tax, it comes out to two a piece.”

“Come off it!” Sonny interrupted. “The $5.69 includes tax.”

“Well, there’s a charge for my time. Minimum wage. It took me over a half hour while the guy in the store was looking at my draft card.”

“If you look eighteen,” Mary said, “I’m Mith America.”

“If they had a Miss Ugly America contest, you’d win,” Steve said. Ruben grabbed the bottle. “YOU MOOCH!” he screamed.

Ruben unscrewed the cap and took a swig. “Not bad,” he said, passing it to Miguel.

“Hey, you guys!” Steve yelled. “What the fuck is going on!”

Miguel sipped it down and gave it to D.B. Meanwhile, Steve was turning red.

“Dot, what records did you bring?” D.B. asked.

She opened her case and began to rattle names off like it was an honor roll. “‘He’s Gone’ by the Chantells, ‘You Belong To Me’ by the Duprees, ‘You Really Got a Hold On Me’ by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, ‘Soldier Boy’ by the Shirelles, ‘Daddy’s Home’ by Shep and the–”

“Thome danthing music,” Mary said sadly.

“Oh, there’s some slops,” Dot added hastily. “‘Tossing And Turning’ by Bobby Lewis, ‘Do You Love Me’ by the Contours, ‘Locomotion’–”

“Okay, okay,” Sonny said. “Let’s have some music.”

“Which one?” Dot asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Any record.” When Sonny saw the expression of panic on Dot’s face, she said, “How about ‘Locomotion?’”

Steve walked over to where Sonny stood and said loudly, “If I told you you had a great body, would you hold it against me?” He tried to rub against her.

“Puke!” Sonny said, extricating herself from his slimy presence. Anyway, he came up to her lobes. “You’re so cute …”

D.B. picked up the cue. “Yeah, short, fat and bowlegged.”

“Bowel-legged!” Sonny added.

“Well, none of you are exactly God’s gift either,” he said as he walked over to where Ruben sat on the windowsill. “Sonny’s got one goose bump split two ways for tits.”

“And you’re gonna have a case of crushed nuts if you don’t stop leaning all over me,” Ruben said, pushing Steve.

Sonny gave Steve the finger, shaking it angrily. One thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to take her jacket off.
Eureka! Tits! No, Palovsky put a Kotex in the wrong place
.

Some party. One hour into it, Mary and the Gooch were doing their rehearsed cha-cha routine to “Be My Baby” by the Ronettes. Steve and Ruben were having a smoke in the john. Dot sat cross-legged by the record player with a stack of 45s in front of her, alternating two slops for every slow. Sonny stared up at a Keane reproduction of a large-eyed girl with a single teardrop suspended from the inner corner of her left eye. She still had her jacket on.

Miguel stood up and made a smoke signal with two fingers. He walked out. D.B. lay on Crystal’s bed, her head propped against a blue stuffed poodle with rhinestone eyes.

“What are they doing in there?” Mary asked.

“Probably pulling each other’s dongs,” the Gooch said as she pivoted on her heel and turned in perfect unison with Mary.

Miguel knocked on the door. Ruben opened it, holding the bottle of tequila. Steve sat on the edge of the bathtub. As he studied a
Playboy
centerfold, he absentmindedly played with himself.

“You shouldn’t do that, old man,” Ruben said. “You’re gonna go blind.”

“I’ll do it until I need glasses.” He did not look up.

“Hey, let’s have a look.” Ruben grabbed for the magazine.

Steve quoted,” ‘Gina likes to take long walks on the beach with her pet Labrador, Morgan …’ That fucking dog should be shot. Kiss me, you nymphomaniac. I’ll make you forget about Morgan.”

Ruben tried again to pull the magazine out of Steve’s hand but this time he tore a page. “SEE WHAT YOU DID! My father’ll kill me!” Steve screamed.

Miguel sat down on the sink and looked over Steve’s shoulder. “Say, you’re on a desert,” he began. “It’s real hot and there’s sand, right? So’s you’re dying of thirst and hunger. Supposing there’s water, steak, and a baked potato, you know, beautiful food, on one side. And Jayne Mansfield with her legs spread on the other side. Which would you choose?”

“Both!” Steve said.

“No, you can only choose one.”

“WHEN ARE YOU GUYS COMING OUT?” D.B. knocked on the door.