The Saturdays (10 page)

“Yes, indeed, little lady,” Mr. Edward was saying. “You are definitely the subdeb type. Definitely. Just remember I told you so, Myra.”

Mona wasn't exactly sure of what he meant by “subdeb type,” but she supposed it was a compliment, so she said “thank you” and shook hands with both him and Miss Pearl.

Even the Tang goddess at the desk cracked her mask with a smile.

“You look real cute, dear,” she said. “That'll be a dollar fifty.”

Well, that took the last penny in Mona's purse, and it was a long way home, but never mind.

All over the city lights were coming on in the purple-blue dusk. The street lights looked delicate and frail, as though they might suddenly float away from their lampposts like balloons. Long twirling ribbons of light, red, green, violet, were festooned about the doorways of drugstores and restaurants—and the famous electric signs of Broadway had come to life with glittering fish, dancing figures, and leaping fountains, all flashing like fire. Everything was beautiful. Up in the deepening sky above the city the first stars appeared white and rare as diamonds.

The curls bounced on Mona's shoulders. They blew softly, silkily against her cheek; and inside her gloves she could feel the ten red fingernails sparkling lightheartedly. It was a long walk home but Mona was carried swiftly on a tide of joy. It's something to discover that you're going to grow up beautiful instead of ugly.

The first person she saw when she got home was Willy Sloper shambling through the front hall on his way to Father's study. Something was probably wrong with the furnace again.

“Hello, miss,” he said. “You lookin' for someone? Why—why,
Mona!
What you been and done to yourself?”

“Don't you like it, Willy?”

“I dunno, Mona. Maybe I do. I ain't sure. I kinda liked them plats of yours.”

Oh, well, Willy doesn't know anything, Mona told herself. All the same she tiptoed up the stairs to the top floor. It was Randy's week to take care of the Office and Mona was fairly sure of finding her alone.

She was right. Music was pouring out of the radio and Randy was performing the role of Cinderella in an imaginary ballet. She went leaping and pirouetting around the room flapping the dustcloth along the shelves. Pleasure combined with work whenever possible, was Randy's idea. Mona pulled off her hat. “Look at me!” she ordered.

Randy paused in the middle of an arabesque.

“Good night! Why, Jiminy Crickets! Why, gee whiz! Why, Mona! You look wonderful but how did you ever
dare?
What will Father say? What will
Cuffy
say?”

“Well, it's too late for anybody to say anything,” Mona retorted. She was feeling a little scared but it wouldn't do to let Randy know it.

“Look,” she said, pulling something out of her pocket. It was the heavy shining bundle of shorn hair. “Marilyn and all the other dolls can have new wigs, and we'll save what's left over to make mustaches for plays!”

Randy's delight was the last pleasant thing about Mona's afternoon: after that everything was horrible. Absolutely horrible. Father could hardly believe that she had done such a thing without consulting him. Cuffy was frankly disgusted, and Rush said, “Jeepers! You look just like everybody. Any of those dumb high school girls that walk along the street screaming and laughing and bumping into people. Why couldn't you have waited a while?”

Oliver was the only one who reacted favorably. He said that she looked exactly like the Blue Fairy in
Pinocchio,
and Mona gave him a grateful hug.

And then the nail polish wouldn't come off. No matter how she scrubbed with soap and water the ten red nails continued to glitter unscathed. She tried cold cream, and cleaning fluid, even peroxide. By the time Cuffy blew the two blasts on the police whistle which meant dinner Mona was in a panic. She couldn't eat dinner with her gloves on, and she was too hungry to go without it. She went reluctantly down the stairs with red cheeks and her hands in her pockets.

It was a very difficult meal. Everyone kept looking at her as if she were a stranger; but the red fingernails were what bothered her the most. The left hand could be kept hidden under the napkin in her lap, but the right hand was another matter. She tried holding her fork with all the fingers curved under, which is almost impossible to do, and prayed that nobody would notice. But naturally the prayer was not worthy of an answer.

“Mona!” said Father suddenly. “What on earth is the matter with your hand, have you hurt it? Open it out and let me see.”

Mona opened her hand. The five red nails were bright as stop lights and she wished that she knew how to faint at will.

“Good Lord!” said Father, and choked on his coffee.

Rush gave a long, rude whistle. “Vanity,” he said pompously, “thy name sure is woman!”

Randy just looked shocked and kept on eating, and Cuffy made a snapping noise with her tongue against her teeth and shook her head as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

“What in heaven's name has got into you, Mona?” inquired Father, red-faced from choking. “I never thought you were silly or vain. When you're eighteen years old if you want to go in for that sort of thing it will be all right, I suppose. But not now. There's no way we can bring your braids back, but at least we don't have to put up with those talons. I want you to take that red business off your nails immediately after dinner.”

“It won't come off,” said Mona miserably. “I tried. It has to wear off.”

“I'll get it off all right,” said Cuffy grimly. “There's plenty of things I can try: gasoline, or sandpaper, or shellac. But I'll get it off!”

Mona bent over her plate. There was such a lump in her throat that she could hardly swallow, and the knives and forks and glasses swam to and fro like fish.

“When are you going to start putting stuff on your face, Mona?” inquired Rush virtuously. “When are you going to start wearing a ring in your nose?”

“Oh, Rush, I hate you!” cried Mona. And she sprang up from the table and fled from the room with a loud undignified sob that came out of her like a hiccup.

Up the stairs she ran blindly. Up to the Office with the door banged behind her, and then face down in the dark on the humpy old couch which received her tenderly. She felt hurt and angry and silly and ashamed all at the same time. There was no comfort anywhere; nothing but the harsh fabric under her cheek that smelled of age and dust.

Out of doors people were walking in the street; Mona could hear their footsteps ringing on the pavement far below. Automobiles containing people whose families loved them hooted by in the winter night. I wish I could run away like Miss Pearl, Mona thought to herself. She would simply disappear, and then, years later, when she came back to New York as a famous actress, they would all (Cuffy and everyone) come to her begging forgiveness. And she would be very sweet to them.

Cuffy came into the Office and creaked down on the sofa beside her.

“Go away!” said Mona.

“No, I won't,” retorted Cuffy. “You sit up like you had some spine to you.”

Mona sat up.

“There's nothing to be breaking your heart about, neither. Everybody does fool things once in a while; I shouldn't be surprised if it was good for 'em.” Cuffy was stroking Mona's forehead. Her hand was rough from hard work, and yet it was soft at the same time. Mona sniffled and gulped.

Above the distant noises of the city another sound, high up, purred across the night.

“Listen!” said Cuffy. “Get up, child, and come to the window. Look out.”

Every house in the street was bright with windows. A vast luminous glow rose upward from the city, and high overhead against the stars there was a green star that traveled steadily.

“Look up at that,” commanded Cuffy. “Nobody, hardly, looks up anymore. We hear airplanes without listening to 'em. We aren't scared of them because they're as much a part of the way we get to places as buses or trolleys or railway trains. They won't harm us; we don't have to be afraid they'll drop bombs on us. And now look at all them buildings lit up like birthday cakes. There'll be lights all over this city until morning. We don't have to crawl through the black, like moles. Not yet anyway. Think of Oliver fast asleep in his little bedroom downstairs, and the good comfortable bed you're going to go to sleep in soon. There's not going to be no loud noise to wake you up at midnight and send you down cellar like a scared animal. There's lots can't say the same. Right now, right this minute, hundreds of children are fast asleep in subway stations, or down in boiler rooms. Think of the good supper you didn't eat because you was too concerned about yourself. Right now there's hundreds of children—”

“Oh, Cuffy, don't!” sobbed Mona. “I feel so cheap, I feel so cheap!” The red nails burned her fingertips like coals of fire.

“Well now, well now,” said Cuffy, patting her on the shoulder blades. “It's all right, my lamb. Just quit thinking you're the hub of the universe, that's all. As for the bobbed hair, I'm not sure but what I think it's a good idea; we won't go through such perdition shampooing it from now on, and the snarls will be scarcer. But them nails—! Seems to me like I read some place perfumery would take it off.”

“I have some perfume, Cuffy!” cried Mona, happy to make a sacrifice. “You wait here.”

In a moment she was back with “Night on the Nile,” the precious bottle which had never been opened!

“My,” gasped Cuffy as the top came off, “sort of blinds you, don't it?”

“I like perfume to be really strong,” Mona said, sniffing rapturously. “I like it so strong that people can come into a room twenty-four hours after you've left, and know that you've been there.”

“Well, this is strong all right,” said Cuffy, scrubbing away. “I bet it would take the veneer right off a piana, let alone them little nails of yours.”

Soon the nails were in their natural state once more, and both Cuffy and Mona were extremely highly scented.

“I feel like Lillian Russell,” remarked Cuffy. “All I need is a picture hat and diamond bracelets right up to my elbow.”

Mona went down to the study to say good night to Father. The desk was littered with papers and books, and above the confusion stood the little Tang goddess looking serenely into space.

Mona held out her hands with their plain unvarnished nails.

“That's better,” said Father, and took one of the hands in his. He sniffed inquiringly.

“We had to use perfume to get it off,” Mona explained hastily. “It wasn't because of vanity this time.”

Father laughed. “You know, Mona,” he said, “maybe I'll get used to that hair of yours when it quiets down a little. Maybe I'll even like it. I suppose parents are always startled when they see their children showing signs of growing up for the first time.”

Upstairs Randy was already in bed. She watched Mona getting undressed.

“You look like a movie star, Mona,” she said. “I feel as if I had Deanna Durbin, or somebody, for a roommate.”

“Never mind, Randy,” Mona reassured her as she went to open the window. “In a day or two all the curls will be gone and I won't look that way anymore. Anyway not for years and years and years.”

The black night against the window made a mirror. Mona saw herself in it: long white nightgown and floating fluffy hair. It reminded her of something. She lifted an arm in front of her and let it drop hopelessly. Then she began to speak in a low, dramatic voice.

“Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.

Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny…”

“Oh, Mona, honestly!” groaned Randy. “You can be Juliet tomorrow morning. You always start being Juliet the minute you put on your nightgown. You ought to wear pajamas like me. Come on to bed. I'm
sleepy.
”

“Okay, okay,” Mona said. She opened the window wide and in rushed the wild winter night and knocked over a signed photograph of Jane Cowl.

Mona switched off the light, leaped into bed, and burrowed under the covers. In a few minutes she was warm and cozy. The shade flapped against the window as it always did, and far overhead tracing its lonely path across the dark she heard the hum of the airplane. She was safe in her bed, the house enclosed her in a shell of warm security and all about, on every side, were the members of her own family who loved and understood her so well. She felt calm and happy.

“Good night, Mona,” said Randy's drowsy voice across the room.

“Good night, Ran darling,” Mona said. And five minutes later she was deep asleep.

CHAPTER V

Saturday Five

After a while, very slowly, it began to be spring. There were rust-colored buds on the ailanthus trees, and one day Mona heard a blue jay in the backyard sounding countryfied and out of place. Pretty soon it would be time to go to the valley; back to the rambling old wooden house that the Melendys rented every summer. Mona was homesick thinking about it, and got all her summer clothes out of their boxes to see if she had outgrown them (which she had, and Randy was glad because now they would descend to her) and forgot to put them away again until Cuffy got after her. Rush took his baseball bat to school, and Randy wrote a poem. Oliver spent hours in the backyard digging fortifications in the mud. The seats and knees of his overalls were a constant source of despair for Cuffy.

The Independent Saturday Afternoon Adventure Club had so far been entirely successful. Randy had spent her second Saturday at the Ballet Theatre and was now able to walk on her toes quite easily, and had made a ballet skirt out of five pairs of muslin curtains that couldn't be darned anymore. Rush had gone to hear Rudolf Serkin play the piano, and had been practicing furiously ever since in the hours that were not occupied by school or baseball. Mona had seen Katharine Cornell in a play and was very hard to live with as a result. She now moved queenlike and distant through a world of her own.