“It’s too short. You should have had it cut two weeks before the dance and not this afternoon.”
“Yesterday,” Beth said.
“I knew it was a matter of minutes. But it’s going to be better short than it was long. You had so much hair there was no face left and that is truly vampire, Beth, a person isn’t a person if there’s no face. So it’s an improvement, but not tonight.” Gwynnie fluffed Beth’s hair with her fingers, teasing it up a little more.
“Will you go back into your act when we get back out into the ballroom?” Beth Rose asked.
“It isn’t an act. You’ve crushed our friendship. It’s all over.”
“I know, but will you? What if I laugh at you?”
“That’s what real friends do. They laugh. It’s like cement.” Gwynnie struck a dramatic pose. “Laughter, the cement of friendship! Tell you what,” Gwynnie offered, “You laugh at my act, I’ll laugh at your hair, we’ll be even.”
“No, no, no, no! I hate being laughed at. Don’t laugh at me. I have no poise. You laugh and I’ll die at your feet and you’ll be guilty of murder.”
“You?” Gwynnie said. “No poise? Beth, give me a break. You waltz in here with a kid of fifteen whose shirt isn’t even tucked in, carrying ten dinosaur balloons, smile sweetly at the boy who dumped you, manage to make elegant Anne look boring, and haul me around by my own feather boa—and you think you don’t have poise?”
Beth thought: so that’s what poise is—pulling it off when you’re dying inside. That was going to be my New Year’s resolution: develop poise.
I’ll have to think of a new one.
That’ll be easy.
Don’t judge people by their wigs.
“Matt.”
Her throat was tight, full of marbles, choking her. The cranberry velvet gown was oppressively hot.
He kissed her. “Let’s go show everybody the ring.”
“Matt.”
“My whole family knows, taffy,” he said. “Dad kept saying we’re too young, and Granddad said we were a decade too young and Mom said Exactly where are you two going to live? and Dad said You sure you want to buy a ring before you know she’s going to say yes? and I said Of course she’ll say yes, she’s my M&M, we’re us. I like the ring. I’ve had it six whole days and I haven’t said a word, and that’s a record for me. I’ve always wanted to keep my own book of records, you know? The O’Connor book of records, and I keep forgetting, so I’ve forgotten all the other records I’ve set, but this one I remember: six days without spilling a secret. Huh? What do I get for that, Em?”
Oh, she loved him!
The chatter that overflowed, bubbling like rushing water in the brook. The grin, the kisses, and the hugs. The way he cherished her, and flung himself on her, and telephoned her.
He put his big work-worn hands around her waist and shifted her to his kneecaps. “What’s the matter, Emily? You having too much fun to move?”
The piano had become a terrible din. The perfume she was wearing overpowered her. “Matt.”
He hugged her fiercely.
Deep breath. The deepest breath she had ever taken. It’s true, it’s true. The person who loves you the most can hurt you the most.
She was crying the most physically painful tears she had ever wept. It was as though her body knew the terrible distress and filled her with acids that gnawed through flesh.
She took off the ring.
Through tearful eyes, she tried to see him.
He was caught half-sitting up, half prepared to stand, half-grinning.
The grin faded.
The sweet puppy eyes became shocked dark pools.
She took his hand, set the ring back in it, and wrapped his fingers around the diamond. Her tears fell hot on his hand.
He stared at his hand as if it held a grenade.
He looked at her. “Emily?”
“We can’t, Matt. I love you … but no.”
Chapter 12
SLOWLY THE TOP FLOOR turned.
How excited they had been when it was arranged to celebrate New Year’s Eve in a skyscraper’s revolving ballroom. But you couldn’t really tell in the snow. You remembered only when you wanted to find the bathrooms and the entrance was no longer where you had left it. Your eyes went instead to an enormous school-type clock, which had been hung over one of the vast windows for the New Year’s Eve countdown. Time moved toward midnight at the same tempo the floor moved: slowly.
The band played.
The dancers danced.
Gary tired before Gwynnie and flung himself down on a sofa. Gwynnie danced alone for a bit and then sank, exhausted, next to Gary. Immediately everybody else wanted to rest, too.
“You guys are hogging all the sitting-down space,” George complained.
“That’s no reason to shove your moccasin between us,” Gwynnie said.
“It is a dock shoe,” George corrected her, “and it won’t be there long.” He hopped between them, arranged himself on the back of the couch and said, “Come on, Beth. Up here.”
“I can’t hop like that,” Beth said. “My dress is too tight.”
“You sit here then,” Gwynnie said, who would never be stopped from hopping just because her dress was tight. “I’ll sit with George.”
One group of teenagers had brought the sort of paper party favors they used to enjoy in second grade: where you blew into a tiny mouthpiece and the paper tube unrolled two feet in front of you. They played war now with their tubes, attacking each other. If Gwynnie had had more energy she would certainly have joined the battle, but she contented herself with choosing sides and cheering loudly.
Just as the party was in danger of fading away (like Gwynnie) or getting violent (like the paper tube crowd), one of the party organizers appeared, with a large brown burlap Santa Claus pack slung over his shoulder. He jumped on a chair, silenced the band, and trumpeted, “All right! Resolution time!”
They were puzzled, and unsure. Was this something that might lead to public humiliation? In which case, perhaps it was an excellent time to retreat to the hall, or get another soda.
Each resolution was on a scroll: wound up from both ends like an ancient Roman court decree. “Get your resolutions here!” he called, as if he were selling newspapers. “One resolution per person, no returns! Step right up, don’t be shy! Get your resolutions here!”
Beth Rose thought, I would rather be sitting with George. Isn’t that amazing? I’m leaning against Gary again—George’s dock shoe and Gwynnie’s toes between our shoulders, but nevertheless, it’s me and Gary down here on the cushions.
And I would rather be sitting with George.
Anne was the first to take a resolution. This was not a choice on her part. Anne did not like to be the first to do anything. She had the misfortune to be standing close to the Santa bag, and the man stuck a scroll in her hand, and she was too polite to drop it or shove it back in.
“Read it out loud, Anne!” the rest yelled.
Anne froze. She hated being laughed at She could wrap her elegance around her—she was doing it now—and nobody could see her shock. But elegance took you only so far. What kind of resolutions were these?
Would people tease her?
Would she be a jerk?
If the resolution was something horrid—or about something real in her life, like say, not having a baby again this year—would she be able to think quickly enough to make up a different resolution on the spot and then hide the scroll so they wouldn’t know about her lie?
She unrolled her resolution. Her hand quivered.
In the back of the room, Molly touched three little packets in her dress pocket. That had been the final decision in getting the wild green and black dress: it was the only one with a pocket at the side seam. Christopher was having a great time. Even with the music silenced, he was still dancing happily away, his body nodding, his shoulders swaying. Molly slid him forward, up against the sofa. She perched on the arm of the sofa, half leaning on top of B
eth Rose. Then she yanked Christopher down, too. When the two of them crashed sideways, Beth’s little purse caught under Molly’s dress. “Sorry,” Beth Rose whispered, extricating it.
“It’s okay,” Molly said, helping.
Anne struck a stern pose. Tall and slim in her black satin and velvet, she looked queenly. Not like a princess, which would have been young, but like a queen: dignified and maturely beautiful. “Silence, please,” Anne called. “This is a moment of great importance. People who have never associated with me before will ask me to parties after all.” She smiled gravely.
They laughed, unable to imagine what her resolution could be.
Molly slid an envelope into Beth Rose’s tiny evening bag. Every eye was upon Anne.
“This year …” Anne read, as if making a government proclamation.
Molly moved Christopher off her and sat back up on the sofa arm. Beth Rose wound her purse strap back over her shoulder. George and Gwynnie, on top, were watching Anne. Gary tugged at the crease in his pants.
“I promise”—Anne went on, clearing her throat for dramatic effect—“that as of midnight tonight, I will stop—”
Beth Rose sneaked a look at Con. His eyes were fastened on Anne like in the old days; Jade was going to be pretty lonely in the hospital if Con was her only visitor.
Anne lifted her chin bravely—“spitting tobacco in the halls.”
Everyone screamed with laughter. The image of elegant Anne spitting tobacco was priceless.
“Oh, no!” Gary yelled. “Not even once?”
Mike shouted, “Anne, you have so much character! You’re right. We’ll invite you to our parties now.”
Gwynnie’s toes landed on the pillow between Gary and Beth Rose as she vaulted off the couch and leaped across the room to be the next to grab a resolution. She was quicker than Sue or Peggy or Frankie, who also wanted to be the second person to shout out a resolution. A lot of people didn’t recognize Gwynnie without the wig. Unlike Anne, who was content to read from where she stood, Gwynnie leaped right up on the chair with the Santa. The poor man tottered, trying to balance. Gwynnie ignored him completely.
The kids crowded closer to the action. Molly moved among them like a snake.
“I promise,” Gwynnie shouted, “never even once”—
Molly’s hand slid under the flap of Kip’s bag.
Velcro.
She would have to wrench it open.
—“to attend my math class”—
Molly struggled with it. Kip didn’t notice. All Mike’s attention was on Gwynnie.
—“in the nude!” Gwynnie screamed. Howls of laughter. Under the cover of all that racket, Molly ripped the Velcro apart, slid a packet into Kip’s purse, and slithered back to Christopher.
People almost attacked Santa to get their resolutions.
Mike left Kip’s side as willingly as he had all evening and grabbed a resolution for himself. George managed to reach one, which he handed to Beth Rose. Anne returned to Lee, who teased her about her notorious tobacco spitting habits.
Mike yelled, “Listen up! Here’s my resolution! I promise to stop throwing hand grenades at the lunch ladies!” He was the last person to have the attention of the entire crowd. There was so much noise now the rest had to read their resolutions only to their dates.
Beth Rose informed George, “This year again, I resolve not to visit Tahiti, Bali, or Hawaii.”
George grinned. “You older women are so strong.”
“I know. When I resolve not to do something, it’s as good as done.” Beth Rose and George flirted over the scrolls. Beth thought: we could actually date. I never thought of it before. George was just a tall enough male person that Kip forced to come with me. But we could go out.
George said, “Too many people grabbing resolutions. By the time I get back into the crowd, probably the only resolution left will be something like I promise to speak English.”
“I promise to eat supper,” Beth Rose agreed. She wondered if it had occurred to George that they could date. George had never had a date. She did not know if he considered this a date. It was more of a contract with his sister, really. Go or I’ll kill you, George. That was Kip’s approach.
Lee had his arm around Anne. Con had drifted in closer. They were almost a threesome. Lee twirled his resolution like a baton. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to give this up,” he said. Beth Rose wondered whether he meant the resolution—or Anne.
“What is it, Lee?” Anne said, who unquestionably meant the resolution. “We’ll stand by you.”
Molly drifted closer to Anne. It was an odd little line-up. Beth Rose, George, Lee, Anne, Molly, and Con.
Molly eyed Anne’s bag. Very small. Fastened with a snap. Con’s eyes were glued on Anne with such relentless attention it was not possible to make a move. Con knew enough to be suspicious of what Molly might do to Anne. So Molly stopped looking at Anne’s purse and imitated Beth Rose’s dumb eagerness, and stared up into Lee’s eyes as if she actually cared what his resolution was.
“I have to stop commuting to school by camel,” Lee said sadly.
They might have hugged all around, except that they all disliked Molly so much, and that Con wanted only to hug Anne. So they just laughed, and made camel jokes.
The crowd shifted and swirled, like icing on cakes, sharing resolutions and screaming with laughter.
Christopher said, “Molly? What’re you doing?”
“Listening to resolutions.”
“Yeah, they’re great, aren’t they? What was your resolution, Molly?”
“I didn’t get one yet.”
“Oh, here, I’ll reach one for you.”
You do that, Molly thought. She ignored him and focused on Anne’s purse. Impossible for now. Con was too present. Two out of three though, accomplished in a mere five minutes. That was good. And people would be over this silly mood shortly, and they’d dance again. Lee wouldn’t let Anne dance with Con, would he? No. Lee would do the dancing himself. Anne would be taken out from under Con’s eyes, off into the dark, and Molly could follow.
“I’m taking a second resolution,” Beth Rose said.
“I resolve not to steal chocolate dipped cherries from my neighbors.”
What a dumb one, Molly thought. Suits Beth fine.
“So you’re the criminal,” George teased. His long elbows poked out for a nudge, but he got Molly as well as Beth.
Does he know? Molly thought, fear hitting her spine.
Beth Rose giggled.
Christopher handed Molly a scroll. She unrolled her resolution and shouted out, “I resolve not to date any more of those boring old billionaires!”
She waited for the shouts of laughter.
Nobody looked at her.
Even Christopher wasn’t looking. He was reaching into the Santa bag to get his own resolution. Lee and Anne were making camel jokes. Con was pretending to laugh with them. Beth Rose and her stupid fifteen-year-old were bouncing dinosaurs in each other’s faces. The room was full of laughing people.
And nobody was laughing with Molly Nelmes.
Molly was trembling with hatred. It coated her with slime. She stared at Anne: elegant worthless snobby Anne, in her sophisticated black gown, Lee holding her elbow like a king with his queen. Over her shoulder, dangling by a tiny black cord, hung a tiny black velvet purse. Probably held a mirror, a lipstick, a comb, and an aspirin.
Well, very soon, it would hold something else, too.
Con stuck close to Anne and Lee. He didn’t mention Jade again and they didn’t ask.
Con was not as tall as Lee, so he had to look up when they talked. His fine gold-coin profile became even more haughty because he was nervous. He ran his fingers through his hair and tilted his chin back.
The camel jokes stopped. The band played again. The bright lights were turned off: even the sparkling mini-lights on the walls were dimmed down. The silly crazy atmosphere swiftly returned to darkly romantic.
Lee chose a saf
e masculine topic. Cars. The subject petered out. Silence became awkward.
“May I have this dance?” Con asked stiffly. He looked at Anne.
Beneath Lee’s arm, Anne trembled. It annoyed Lee. There was no need to quiver like some sort of rabbit. Con’s asking you, Anne, you dummy, Lee thought. Answer the question. You wanna dance, dance. You don’t wanna dance, don’t dance.
Anne continued trembling.
Lee removed his arm from her shoulder. “Sure,” he said, giving them the old-fashioned permission they seemed to require. “Have fun.”
Anne and Con touched each other hesitantly. Then more firmly. Then with both hands. Then both dropped their faces, so that their foreheads touched. After a moment of silent communion, they drew slowly back. And then they kissed.
Beth Rose, watching, thought it was incredibly romantic.
Lee thought it was incredibly stupid. He watched as they blended together. Good thing it was dark on this side of the room.
They might at least say good-bye to me, he thought. Or Happy New Year. But no, those two, they like their emotions up to the eyeballs.
Lee wondered for a moment if there was something seriously wrong with him. The one girl he loved—Kip—had stayed with that jerk Mike. The next girl he dated—Anne—never loved him for a moment but kept right on loving that jerk Con.
Perhaps there was something in the water in Westerly.
Infecting all lovers with the wrong perspective.
Or perhaps he, Lee, was unlovable.
The elevator doors opened one more time.
Molly had an eye on everything. Christopher thought she was dancing, but she was not: she was jerking from side to side, watching, waiting, rejoicing. But it was not what she expected, rounding the hall and coming into the ballroom.
Three little boys.
One was slightly cloudy, dusting where he walked.
One wore a safari jacket that reached his knees.
The third had on his entire wardrobe, including baseball cap and splotchy glasses.
For a moment Molly couldn’t figure it out at all.
What were these little animals?
Whose were they?
Why were they?