“Right, you do always say that. So now I’m thinking I might like to cut it. What do you think about a bubble cut?”
“And what then? You’re gonna stick a little velvet bow in the front of your head like a birthday present? Spare me.”
“No, I’m not gonna stick a little bow in the front of my head and look like a birthday present. I just think I need a hairstyle, you know?”
Maggie looked at me and narrowed her eyes. It was the first time in my life that I ever said anything about trying to improve my looks. She was the mad Dr. Frankenstein and I was her experiment.
“A little makeup wouldn’t kill you either,” she said. “Clean up your pores, you know? It would make a big difference.”
“Probably, but I don’t know how to use it, you know?”
“I’ll help you when we get home. I’ve got a drawer full of free samples. Let’s get this tree and get out of here. I’m freezing. It must be forty degrees!”
“Done! You know what, Maggie?”
“What?”
“I’m getting sorta excited about Christmas, even though we’re practically broke.”
“Yeah, me too. Who cares?”
She put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. I thanked God the old Maggie was back.
I sat on the kitchen stool in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my face. She cut my hair straight off across the bottom at my shoulders with the same scissors we used to cut wrapping paper, coupons and everything else.
When she finally stopped yanking and measuring my hair, she combed globs of gel through it and rolled it on orange juice cans, sticking the clips almost through my scalp.
“Ouch! Maggie! Stop! You’re killing me!”
“Pride knoweth no pain!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Grandma Sophie used to say it all the time when she saw me pulling my eyebrows with tears running down my face.”
“Yeah, so?”
I was getting cranky and fidgety. Now that she had my whole head wrapped around her version of rollers, she taped my bangs to my forehead to give them a final trim.
“Hold still or you’ll look like Moe! It means that vanity has a price. If you want to look good, don’t complain about the process.”
“Are you sure these cans are clean? I don’t want bugs in my hair.”
“You know what, Susan? You’re skating on thin ice. I’m doing this for you for nothing except an unselfish desire on my part to help you out and you are being a little pain in the butt. Plain and simple.”
“Sorry.”
She pulled the hair dryer out of the closet and spread the big hood over my head, tightening the strings. When she flipped it on, my head got as big as a basketball.
“Forty-five minutes! You’ll be dry in forty-five minutes!”
I pulled my ears out of the hood.
“I’m not deaf! Do you have tweezers?”
“Do I have tweezers? Of course.” She shook her head, completely exasperated with her nincompoop of a sorry-ass sister, as she fumbled around in her makeup case. “Here. Use this too. Brush your eyebrows toward your scalp and just pluck the hairs that aren’t in the line.”
I peered into the mirror and did as I was told. It hurt like all hell too.
“Jesus, Maggie! This is awful! I’m bleeding!”
“Give them to me! Who told you to pull out fifty hairs at the same time? You won’t die from this.”
The end result was rather stunning. I didn’t look like my old self hardly at all, except that I was the same size. Of course, the wonders of elastic had rearranged some of that. Maggie had produced another invention of torture—a Maidenform bra.
“Put this on,” she said.
“I’d rather eat glass,” I said. A bra? No way.
“Put it on,” she said. “I’ll buy you some more next week.”
The major change was my head, inside and out. On the outside, my hair looked shiny and it swung when I turned my head. And it wasn’t all kinky and fuzzy, thanks to the orange juice cans. The makeup that Maggie had finally decided was the right color for my skin covered my freckles and made my skin look smooth. A little mascara, a squirt of Estée Lauder Youth Dew and I felt like a big deal. I felt like Maggie’s peer. She made me confess why I was doing this and she insisted that he’d fall right in love with me.
“He’s about a zillion years old,” I said.
“So what?” she said. “You look really beautiful.”
Anyway, all this led me to believe that I had changed and I was ready for Simon to appear on the doorstep. At least that’s what I told myself.
Nobody said much about my transformation. Livvie just smiled and nodded her head, Momma said, “Oh, you cut your hair,” and Henry wouldn’t have noticed anything different about me if his life depended on it. However, Timmy’s eyes got big when I brought in a box of ornaments from the hall closet.
“So what’s this supposed to mean?” he said.
“What’s what supposed to mean?” I said, embarrassed to hell and back.
“I mean, you look, you know, grown up or something weird like that.”
“Thanks a lot, Timmy.”
“No, I mean, you look good, just different.”
I wanted to slap him.
The day passed slowly. Bing Crosby crooned from the stereo. Momma was taking a nap. Livvie was making rum balls—and sandies for us. We decorated the tree, unwrapping each ornament and remembering Daddy, Tipa and Grandma Sophie. Bad things happen in threes, we told ourselves, and we’d seen the three.
Christmas was a few days away, Simon was merely hours away and my ears thumped from waiting to hear him pull up in the backyard. I wanted to ride in that car of his in the worst way, but I’d sworn to Maggie that I’d be cool about it. Finally, I heard the motor turn in to our yard and stop. Maggie looked at me.
“He’s here,” I whispered to her.
“Yep,” she whispered back, “he’s here. Now what?”
“I don’t know! Should I go out and offer to help him carry his stuff inside?”
“Don’t you dare! He’ll think you’re a tomboy if you do that!”
“Right. Stupid idea! I’ll just stay here and ask him if he wants to help decorate the tree!”
“Are you nuts? He’s Jewish! Jews don’t decorate Christmas trees!”
“Right! I’ll just stay here and do nothing!”
“Right! Get a grip on yourself! Just play it cool and relax!”
“Right.”
“What are y’all whispering about?” Timmy asked.
“Nothing,” Maggie and I answered at the same time.
Simon Rifkin, arms filled with clothes on hangers, stuck his head in the living room to say hello. “Hi! Oh, wow! What a great tree!”
Timmy immediately stuck out his hand to him. “Hey! Welcome to the Island Gamble! I’m Timmy, remember? And this is Maggie, my sister, and that’s Henry over there making a mess. You probably don’t recognize Susan. She had major work done on her head yesterday but, yep, that’s her.”
“Hi, Susan! Great haircut!”
“Thanks,” I sputtered.
He turned to face Maggie and inhaled. I knew it. One look at her blond perfection and he was gone.
“I’m Margaret Hamilton, the eldest,” she said coolly and offered her hand to him as though it were a rare orchid.
The family’s ugly duckling seriously considered a double murder. There was no hope.
IT WOULD BE our first Christmas without Daddy, Sophie and Tipa. It was very strange not to have them there, almost as strange as it had been having them. The silence was loud. The sweet smell of fresh air, offensive. The peace, painful. We had tried so hard to get past all our crying jags and our feelings of emptiness and guilt that we were almost used to the idea that they were gone to their great reward. With the preparations for Christmas Eve dinner and Midnight Mass came reminders of them everywhere. But no one spoke of them. Not one word.
&nbs
p; For Momma the worst moments had come when she had to clean out their closets, or when bills came due. More and more often, she’d pour herself something in a dark red, double old-fashioned glass, pop a pill and set about the task. Me, I studied harder than ever so I just wouldn’t think about it.
Maggie and I had set the table for our Christmas Eve feast of fried fish and hushpuppies. It looked festive with red candles in the polished brass candlesticks. Then we just cut some branches of pyracantha with red berries from the yard, flicked off the bugs and put them on the table around the candlesticks. The house smelled good. We got a big can of Johnson’s Paste Wax from Uncle Louis last week and had waxed everything that resembled wood.
The gifts we had bought for each other were modest, but nobody cared about presents too much.
What to buy for Livvie had been a problem and we argued a lot about it, but finally we settled on a cardigan sweater. I wanted to buy her a white one so it would match everything, but no, Maggie said, it would get dirty. After a whole lot of bickering, we bought a red one, knowing she’d love a red sweater because it was exciting like she was.
The twins were all washed and dressed in red velvet dresses, courtesy of Aunt Carol’s charge account at Condon’s department store. Timmy and Henry had their hair plastered down with water and had on new sport coats, khakis and Top-Siders, thanks to Uncle Louis’s charge account at Max’s men’s store. Maggie and I wore new pastel Villager sleeveless princess dresses with our initials monogrammed in the center of our chests. The matching cardigans waited on the hall chair. These were our gifts from Aunt Carol and Uncle Louis. Momma had on her standard black dress because she had refused to shop with Aunt Carol.
In any case, we appeared to be ready for Christmas.
We were all about to sit down to Christmas Eve dinner when Simon came down the steps. As always, Momma took on this instant new personality in his presence—the charming, effusive innkeeper. She fluffed her hair, sort of licked her lips and ran for the door. I quickly sucked in my stomach. Simon just had this effect on practically everyone.
“Simon!” Momma said. “We were just about to have dinner! Fried fish and hushpuppies with grits and salad! Won’t you join us?”
“Is that what it is? I could smell it upstairs! Smells wonderful, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“Son, you couldn’t intrude if you wanted to. Come join us!”
My face got hot, and I turned away to get another place setting from the silver chest, as Simon greeted everyone.
“Hey, Susan! Merry Christmas!”
“Thanks, you too!” I replied automatically. “Oh, Jesus! I mean, oh, God, Simon, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I mean, you know, saying Merry Christmas and, Jesus, I mean, oh, just forget it.”
He was smirking at me and his brown eyes twinkled. I hated it when people smirked at me. God, he smelled good. One of his front teeth was a little crooked and I found myself concentrating on how close I’d be to his mouth if we were dancing.
“Susan, Susan, Susan. Don’t worry so much.”
“I’m not a worrier, really, I just…”
“Trip over your tongue occasionally?”
“No! I mean, it just came out, that’s all.”
“Gosh, you sure do have yourself a little spitfire temper, don’cha? Are you always this sensitive?”
“I am not sensitive! God! Men! Are you always this exasperating?”
“Exasperating? That’s a pretty big word for you. How old are you?”
“I’ll be fifteen in the fall, for your information.”
“Pretty smart for a fourteen-year-old. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Kiss off, doctor!”
He ruffled my hair. I punched him in the arm. He faked pain elaborately, staggering and wincing. I was in love. And, worst of all, he knew it.
After dinner Simon left to go over to the city to see some friends of his. I regained consciousness as his car pulled out of the driveway. Livvie and I were standing at the sink, washing dishes.
“You got it bad, ’eah, chile?”
“What?”
“Been bit by the love bug, that’s all. Ain’t fatal.”
I groaned. How was it that I, who had been immune to boys all my life, suddenly found myself in this slippery quagmire? And how did Livvie always know what was going on with me? At least Timmy and Henry seemed not to have noticed. So far.
“What am I gonna do, Livvie?”
“Remember this feeling all your life, gal, ’cause it’s true magic. Can’t buy him, can’t fake him. If the spark ain’t there, the spark ain’t there! Oh, chile, I was just about your age when I meet my Nelson.” She stopped wiping the sink, her face softened, her eyes stared out into space and she shook her head, back and forth, exhaling.
“Oh, it was sweet, so sweet. Tall and skinny I was, all lanky like a filly. We done gone down to the church for a social, me and my momma. I don’t know where my daddy was that night, but I remember being with my momma. There was a breeze, and the air smell like honeysuckle and pine all around. We could ’eah the music before we get in the churchyard. I remember being all excited because I was wearing stockings, might’ve been my first pair! Anyway, we get in the door and my momma go over to see some of she friends to say hello. I look across the room and there’s my Nelson! He so fine looking! I finally get introduced to him somehow, I don’t remember. Turns out he visiting some family, he from Charlotte, North Carolina. I think to myself that he’s a city boy and he ain’t gone find nothing about me to write home about. Well, we dance and dance and I can feel the heat! I ain’t never feel like that before or since! Yeah, when love finds you, you can’t hide, no sir. Gone getcha! Ha! He was ten years older than me.”
“No kidding.”
“Mizz Susan, you listen to ol’Livvie. Don’t you worry none, when the time comes you can have him, iffin you want him. ’Cause, honey? The woman pick the man. The man don’t pick the woman. Remember that! Time ain’t right quite yet.”
“Time ain’t right? How do I know when the time’s right?”
“You’ll know. That’s all. Gone now, now gone get yourself ready for church, and ask Jesus to help you!”
WE WALKED TO Stella Maris Church for the main Christmas event for all the Catholic families on the Island. It was only five blocks, and it was nice going down the street with Momma pushing the double carriage. Maggie, my brothers and I followed in her trail, under the stars. The brilliant stars! Millions of them! There were no lights to speak of on the Island and the night was velvet. It was a perfect lesson in humility to walk to Mass on Christmas Eve under that sky. The night was cool enough to see your breath, but not cold enough for a coat. If it ever got that cold we would ride with Uncle Louis.
I enjoyed the walk, even though the lineup was short three people. Under the stars I could believe that they were up in heaven watching us, praying for us, asking God to help us. I hoped they were. I really didn’t like to think about Daddy being in purgatory or hell.
We walked by Fort Moultrie and just beyond it, across the street, was Stella Maris. I’d always thought it was perfect, the old stucco over brick, painted white weathered beige. The top had a dome of blue light. Stella Maris—star of the sea.
Uncle Louis and Aunt Carol had saved seats for us. Momma left the carriage by the door and we tiptoed up the aisle, genuflected, blessed ourselves, whispered Merry Christmas to them and finally settled ourselves on the hard wood of the pew. It was only ten-thirty; we had come early to hear the choir, but us kids made a sport out of giggling at the snoring and of silently imitating the sopranos, poking each other and snickering. Last year there would have been hell to pay if Daddy had caught us in our predictable sacrilegious antics, but this year we had the sympathy of the entire congregation. We had gone from being the “notorious Hamilton brood” to those “poor Hamilton children.” Timmy and Henry figured that was license to get away with murder. And they did. When the soprano hit the high note
in “O Holy Night,” she sang dee-vine off key enough to break the stained glass. We all came undone; even Momma and Uncle Louis finally snickered in agreement. We got our money’s worth of entertainment.
After church we stood outside, shivering then, while Momma tucked blankets around Sophie and Allie. People kissed our cheeks and wished us well, we said good night to Aunt Carol and Uncle Louis and finally began making our way back to the Island Gamble.
At the Island Gamble, Livvie was waiting on the back porch, the Christmas lights blinking all around her. She was waiting for Uncle Louis to drive her home. I hated to see her go at night, and tonight especially, but I knew she had to go be with her family. Then I remembered that we hadn’t given her our present.
“Merry Christmas!” she called out to us as we crossed the yard.
“Merry Christmas to you too!” we sang out. “Merry Christmas, Livvie!”
Uncle Louis pulled up in the yard to take her home.
“Don’t go yet, Livvie! We have something for you!” I said.
I ran in the house and back to the living room to get her present from under the tree. Running out, I saw that the kitchen was clean. I looked up at the clock above the refrigerator. One o’clock in the morning. Christmas morning.
“Merry Christmas, Livvie. This is from me, Maggie, Timmy and Henry.”
“Thank you! I got something for y’all too but can’t bring him till tomorrow! Y’all get some sleep now! It’s late! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” we said, all together.
We watched her get in the backseat of Uncle Louis’s car. Maybe Uncle Louis didn’t want her to sit next to him. Was that it? I’d have to ask tomorrow. I’d ask Momma in the morning.
I HEARD A bicycle bell ringing and a horn tooting. I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock. Seven-thirty. The ringing and tooting continued. I put my pillow over my head.
I got up on my knees and looked out the window. Timmy and Henry were riding on new bicycles around the yard in their pajamas, cutting doughnuts and figure eights through the morning mist. Aunt Carol and Uncle Louis had their arms around each other and were obviously very pleased with themselves. They had made Christmas happen for the boys and for all of us, really.