Pigs in Heaven - Barbara Kingsolver [90]
“That’s going to fall apart the first time you wash it,” Taylor observes.
Turtle stops cutting out stars. She lays the scissors carefully on the cracked concrete patio and comes over to sit on Taylor’s lap.
“Oh, I know that.” Barbie is lying facedown and her voice is muffled. “I just won’t ever wash it. See, Taylor, this is costuming, it’s not like regular clothes.”
As far as Taylor can see, everything Barbie wears is a costume. “What happens if it gets dirty?”
Barbie turns over on her side, looking a little peeved. “I’m careful, okay?”
“Okay. It’s your skirt.”
“This is going to be the All American ensemble,” Barbie says patiently. “It goes with a red-and-white-striped halter top and a lace petticoat. It’s just come out, we saw it today when we were scouting out what’s new in the Barbie section. I’m like, this is so perfect, but it’s not going to be easy to get lace like that. That’s going to be a challenge.”
Taylor is tuning out; she’s learned when to stop listening to Barbie. She knows she won’t get a quiz later on the All American ensemble. Kevin, the computer whiz, would say that Barbie is all output and no interface. Taylor strokes Turtle’s hair. She’s wearing the same green overalls she wore on the Oprah Winfrey show, though they are a good deal the worse for a summer of wear, and, Taylor notices, they’re short in the leg and tight around the middle. Her toes have grown an inch or two past the ends of her sneakers; Taylor was horrified to realize Turtle was doubling up her toes in there, without complaint. Now she’s wearing Barbie’s size-six yellow flip-flops. She’ll have to have new clothes before she starts school in a week and a half. More costs. Taylor feels defeated. If only Barbie’s wardrobe talents could be put to civilian use.
“What did you do today?” she asks Turtle. “Besides scouting out the toy store and cutting out stars?”
“Nothing.”
Taylor doesn’t consider Barbie the ideal baby-sitter, but she’s obviously short on choices. She hopes school will begin before Turtle gets warped by the world of fashion design. “You want to go to the beach or something on Saturday?” she asks.
“Yes.” Turtle leans back against Taylor’s chest. She takes both Taylor’s hands in hers and crosses them in front of her.
“I’ve decided to go out with Kevin,” she tells Barbie.
“Who?” Barbie asks, with genuine interest.
“That rabbity guy from work. Just mainly so he’ll quit asking.”
“Oh, right, Taylor. Like going out with somebody is a real wonderful way to give him the message you’re not interested.”
“I see your point.”
“Did you bring a newspaper?” Barbie asks.
“I forgot.”
“Taylor! This is, like, the fiftieth time I’ve asked you. I wanted to look at the want ads.”
“For a waitress job? But think about it, it’s not worth it. You won’t make as much as I’d have to pay for baby-sitting.”
Turtle glances up at Taylor, her dark eyes showing a rim of white below the pupils and her mouth tucked like a made bed.
“Oh, I can make money all right,” Barbie says. “And I don’t mean waitressing, either. All I need is some job in an office with a color Xerox machine.”
Taylor is afraid to ask for more details on this scheme, so she doesn’t. But after a minute Barbie rolls over on her back and half sits up, so that the muscles form ridges in her narrow abdomen. She shades her eyes and looks at Taylor peculiarly.
“You want to know why I left Bakersfield?”
“You said there weren’t enough career opportunities for Barbie lookalikes.”
“Well, I lied,” Barbie says flatly, her voice stripped of its usual friendly effort. “I was wanted for counterfeiting.”
“Counterfeiting money?”
“What else can you counterfeit? Duh.”
“How?”
“A color Xerox machine. It’s so easy. Just come into the office a little early, lay out some twenties on the glass, copy them front and back, and blammo, you’re ready to go shopping.”
Taylor stares. “Are you kidding me?”
“Listen, I don’t know why everybody in the world isn