Durable Goods_ A Novel - Elizabeth Berg [42]
“Not me,” I say. I shift in my seat. Sometimes I forget how different we are. Diane never liked dolls. She doesn’t like to read. She can watch a sad movie like Imitation of Life, where I saw even GIs crying, and only say, “That was stupid!” at the end.
I excuse myself to go to the rest room. I pass by a phone booth and it is empty, the door open. I go in and close the door, lean my head against the cool glass. A little fan is whirring and an overhead light has come on. We are open for business. I know how to do it. You dial O, say, “Make this collect.”
I close my eyes, think of my old life. And when I see my things in my room, they lean forward to call me back. I think of Cherylanne, how when she sits on the low back porch her knees go together while mine go apart, and I wonder is she lying on her bed reading magazines, with hurt feelings.
I put a dime in, dial O. I tell the operator I want to make a collect call, and I give her Cherylanne’s number. Cherylanne answers and I hear her asking Belle, “Can we accept a collect call?” Then there is Belle on the line saying yes, she will accept, and then, “Katie, for God’s sake, where are you, honey?”
“Oh, I’m with Diane,” I say.
“Where?”
“Well, we’re on our way somewhere.”
Belle’s voice gets low and serious. “Katie, your father is very upset.”
I want to hang up. I have made a big mistake.
“Just one minute!” I hear Belle telling Cherylanne. And then, back to me, “Katie, honey, you need to come home. Can you tell me where you are?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can you just tell me where you are?”
I swallow.
“Katie?”
“Can I talk to Cherylanne?”
She sighs. I hear her muffled voice tell Cherylanne to give her back the phone when we are through.
“Where are you?” Cherylanne asks. “Did you run away?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
“So. What are you doing?”
“Katie, you can’t do this. This is not right. Your father is really mad.”
“What did he do?”
“He came looking for you, of course. And I didn’t know where you went. When did you leave?”
“It was late. I don’t know.”
“You’d better come back. This is not right.”
Well, I am getting annoyed. How does she know what is right? “I told you I was leaving,” I said. “You never did believe me. But here I am.”
“Where are you?”
I look out at Dickie and Diane. Our food has come. They can’t see me in here. “I am pretty far away,” I say.
“Where?”
I wait, then say it. “Bayside. At a restaurant called Jenny’s. It’s on Highway 80. I don’t think you should tell.”
“Should we come and get you?”
And there it is.
“Should we come and get you, Katie?”
I hang up.
I go to the bathroom, wash my face. I am burned a sorry red, all right. My skin will fall off later, like dandruff. I dry off carefully with a paper towel that feels like steel wool. I go back to the table, sit down. I’m not hungry anymore. You would think someone would notice my burn.
“There’s your burger,” Diane says.
I nod, pick up a french fry, put it back down. Diane stops chewing. “What?” she says.
“I think I’ll go home,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Did you call him?”
“No. But I think I’ll go home.”
“Jesus!” She is angry-hurt. “Jesus!”
“Take it easy, Diane,” Dickie says. “Lower your voice.”
“I’ll bet she called him!” Diane says.
“Did you?” Dickie asks.
“No,” I say. And then, “Cherylanne. I called her.”
Diane stands up, grabs her purse. “Well, that’s it. He’s on his way. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Dickie sighs. “Look, Diane. He won’t be here for hours. Eat your food.”
She sits back down, stares at me. “Why’d you do that? I’m trying to help you. What do you want, to go back and live with him?”
Oh, the answer is sorrowful to me, too.
We make the arrangements: they will leave. I will wait on the bench just outside the restaurant. Before they pull away, Diane hugs me. She’s hardly ever done that. I don’t know her smell. “When we get to Mexico, I’ll write you,” she says. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t you leave here, no matter how long it takes, okay? This place is open twenty-four hours; someone will be here all the time.”
“Okay.”
She is desperate looking, suddenly,