Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [129]
And Ethel and Ray Buck, man, oh, man. They are doing this new dance called the boogaloo. I’m going to suggest a dance competition to the counselors for next year’s party. Maybe next summer could be the “someday” Ethel mentioned to me.
Uncle Paulie is having a ball, too. He’s doing a dance with Granny in her muu-muu, which I think is supposed to be the kind of hula the girls do on Hawaiian Eye but to me seems very voodooish because my uncle is too jerky around the hips.
But best of all—I will love Dave forever for doing this—when a slow song starts up, he bows to Wendy Latour and takes her for a royal spin. Watching them, I can’t help but think about how she’ll be able to go on just the same way she always has giving hugs and swinging half-naked and showing up in the oddest places without everybody thinking bad of her for accidentally killing God’s worst employee.
Father Mickey isn’t the only one not having the time of his life tonight. Poor Aunt Betty. Mr. Stanley Talmidge, owner of the Uptown Theatre, gave her the brush-off at the party so she won’t get into the movies free anymore. And Mrs. Latour is also sulking because Mother won the cook-off with the blondies. Eddie, Nell’s butt of a husband, isn’t having the best night either. He was breathing so hot and heavy into Melinda Urbanski’s high-and-mighty bosoms that he didn’t notice right off the fire in the backseat of his’57 Chevy that somebody near and dear to me started. It wasn’t a four alarmer or anything, just big enough that Dave, who might have a lot more Viking in him than I originally thought, walked past me and Mary Lane very slowly with a bucket of water. Between the holes in the leather and the water damage, what a pity that Eddie’s gonna have to pay to get it reupholstered.
The block party doesn’t end until close to eleven o’clock. We all want it to go on longer, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Tomorrow morning Troo and me will have to go to Shuster’s to get our new loafers and Granny will put in shiny new pennies and then over we’ll go to the Five and Dime for our school supplies. The day after that we will walk these blocks with all the other kids in our new uniforms to Mother of Good Hope School beneath trees whose leaves are thinking about turning. Before we know it, Mother and Dave’s wedding bells will be ringing and Ethel will be making Troo and me warm Ovaltine instead of cold.
Not until we get back home after the party and get cozy between our sheets, once Troo has Daddy’s blue shirt on and her baby doll in her arms, do I tell her, “Givin’ away the tiara to Wendy . . . that was really something.” The reason I waited until we were alone was because I didn’t want to say anything good about her in front of everybody. She wouldn’t want her reputation wrecked. “You were gonna win for sure.” That’s a lie. When nobody was looking, I pieced together the paper with the real winner’s name. It wasn’t Troo who was going to be crowned. Believe it or not, it was monkey-bar-swinging Mary Lane. (That’s a pretty crummy talent, but I think Debbie the peppy counselor was too afraid not to make her Queen.)
Then we mention Lou Budette for Daddy the way we do every night, and after I butterfly-kiss my sister on her cheek, I add on, “I’m so proud of you.” I don’t think I’ve ever said that to her before.
My sister says, “Yeah, well. Ya know.”
I do. On the walk home from the party I figured out why Troo did what she did for Wendy tonight. Those two have a lot more in common now than they used to. My sister accidentally killed a father, too.
I move my hand to my favorite furry baby blanket