How High the Moon Read online

  “Is that right,” the officer said, because he must have forgotten.

  “Hey, do you have to use hand signals when you ride a scooter, even if you stay on the sidewalk?” I asked. Then, before he answered, I realized what I’d done. “Uh-oh. I just interrupted grown-ups again. Cripes, and I was doing so good, too.” I looked up at Walking Doll. “Is cripes a cussword, because if it is…”

  “Well, ladies,” the officer said, like I wasn’t talking. “I’d better shove off. So, like I said, you two don’t get in the car with any cops who forgot to put on their uniforms, you should be okay.” Then he winked and drove off.

  “Goddamn people, anyway,” The Kenosha Kid said. “Worrying about the dirt in other people’s backyards so they don’t have to look at the messes in their own.”

  I yelled to Charlie that the coast was clear and waved him toward us. Then I wrinkled my nose. “You guys don’t even have a backyard, do you?”

  Ralph’s taxi crossed the intersection right after Charlie did, and he lifted his pointy finger off the steering wheel and pointed it at The Kenosha Kid. That Ralph, he sure didn’t make any sense, the way most times he’d only let one of them ride even if the whole backseat was empty, yet when the taxi was almost full, he’d motion for both of them to squeeze in.

  The Kenosha Kid groaned, even if she was smiling. “I wish that stupid bastard would discover soap and water,” she said, talking either about Ralph or the guy in the backseat, I didn’t know which.

  “That guy isn’t a Huxley, is he? There’s a Sunshine Sister named Anne Huxley who needs to discover soap and water, too.” The Kenosha Kid laughed and said no, then slipped into the taxi, smiling like it didn’t even stink in there.

  “Hey, how come you guys are out so early? I don’t usually see you until late afternoon.”

  “Well,” Walking Doll said, “there’s a plumbers’ convention going on in town,” which I took to mean that they figured they’d better take their spins in Ralph’s taxi while the getting was good, since as the day wore on those guys would probably be hogging the taxi. “Where were you two?” The Kenosha Kid asked.

  “Over at the Starlight because I was supposed to work this morning,” I said, which always went over better than me telling them I had a Sunshine Sisters meeting. Neither of them were thrilled when I first told them about the program, Walking Doll saying I didn’t need “any snooty little bitch teaching me how to be,” because I was perfect just how I was (even if I wasn’t), and The Kenosha Kid saying that they’d ruin me. But they both lightened up when I told them that Brenda was paying me to help her, and, best of all, that the Blooms were making me a star in their gala. “But turns out, Mrs. Bloom fell and had to go to the emergency room and Brenda went with her, so no work today. We’re just going to go home and play.”

  I was about to tug Charlie so we could take off, too, but Walking Doll stopped me. “Hang on a second, Teaspoon. I want to show you something.” She waited for the taxi to pull away from the curb, then she took her clutch purse from where she had it tucked under her arm—probably because the mailbox was sitting in a pool of water bigger than the one that was on our kitchen floor—and she opened it.

  “What do you got?” I asked as I leaned over to see what she was digging for.

  “A locket,” she said. She pulled it out by its silver chain and petted it for a second, like it was a kitten.

  “Hey, it’s shaped like a heart,” I said.

  Walking Doll worked her long red fingernails over the tiny clasp, and once she had the heart split apart, she handed it to me.

  There was only one picture in the locket, on the right-hand side. “It’s my ma,” Walking Doll said. “She was nineteen, the same age as me. It was taken while she was expecting me. I cut her face out of a bigger picture, but I wish the picture would have been smaller so her hair showed.”

  “Well,” I said. “It’s not like somebody looking at it would think she was bald.” I studied her face a bit. “She’s real pretty. And I’m not just being well mannered, either. She is, even if she looks tired in this picture.”

  I held the locket so Charlie could see.

  “She’s got eyes like you. And her smile is the same.”

  “We had the same hair, too,” Walking Doll said. “Well, before I dyed mine.”

  I squinted up at Walking Doll. “You dye your hair?”

  She laughed. “Come on now. How could someone pale as me have blue-black hair like this?”

  “Snow White did,” I reminded her.

  Walking Doll bent over and pulled her hair away from her part on both sides to show me a strip of pale brown hair.

  “Huh,” I said.

  “We had the same feet, too,” she told me.

  “Where does she live?” I asked as Walking Doll took the locket from me and snapped it shut.

  “Well, let’s just say that she’s keeping Charlie’s ma company,” she said, dropping the locket back into her purse. Walking Doll looked down the street at nothing.

  “Why don’t you wear it instead of keeping it in your purse?” I asked. “You afraid of losing it in Ralph’s taxi?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  It seemed like I should say something else to her, but I didn’t know what. So I just wrapped my arms around her waist and gave her a squeeze instead. Walking Doll spread her arms like a duck getting ready to fly, and she giggled. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a hug.”

  Walking Doll looked like she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. “Well, see you,” I told her, then off me and Charlie went, me wondering if my ma and I had the same feet.

  I walked with Charlie over to his house to tell Mrs. Fry we were back, but when I opened the door, I could hear Teddy talking in the kitchen. “…I don’t know. But what I do know is if that’s the case, money will be the only bargaining tool I’ll have. I had no idea there was a lien on that house, though.” Teddy’s voice sounded a thousand pounds heavier than him. “And a big one, at that,” he said, which made me wonder if Teddy didn’t need his eyes examined, because even a four-eyes could see how bad the front porch was tipping. “Twenty-five hundred dollars,” he said.

  “That mother of yours… I tried to tell her,” Mrs. Fry said.

  I held the door open and shoved Charlie inside.

  “If I don’t get that loan, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Teddy’s voice was low and quiet.

  “I know how you worry, Teddy,” Mrs. Fry answered. “I worry about the same things with Charlie. Did you talk to Mr. Miller? He’s such a nice man. I think he’d try to find a way to help you out.”

  “Hello?” Teddy called when I shut the door, even though I shut it respectable-quiet. Mrs. Fry said she didn’t hear anything—which of course, she wouldn’t. Even if I’d given it a good slam.

  Teddy appeared in the kitchen doorway. “It’s the children,” he called back to Mrs. Fry. He smiled at us, even though his forehead was wearing a worry wrinkle the size of the Grand Canyon. “You’re back early.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t have a Sunshine meeting this morning after all, because Mrs. Bloom fell off the new stage and hurt her ankle and had to go to the hospital.” Teddy said that was too bad (because he was a better person than Dumbo Doug), then he thanked Mrs. Fry for the coffee and told her that he’d better go get something accomplished.

  “You ask Mr. Miller about that loan again, Teddy,” she called back, “and you take care of that wrist. Don’t do too much.”

  “You went to the bank to get a loan, Teddy?” I asked, because if he had, then that would be the granddaddy contradiction of all times, because Teddy didn’t buy anything on credit. After my loan from Jesus, I understood why. “You need a loan to fix that leaning porch and our bad roof, Teddy?”

  Teddy looked away. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Too bad you have to fix the lean, because a few boards to fix the roof probably wouldn’t cost that much. I’ve got a payday coming and I could give you some money
to help buy the boards. As for the cost of fixing that lean, I guess you’re on your own, Teddy.”

  Teddy kissed the top of my head without smiling. “You’re a sweetie,” he said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  That night, while me and Charlie played Live at the Starlight, there was a knock at the door. “Can you get that, Teaspoon?” Teddy shouted. “I’m busy.”

  “Like I’m not!” I shouted back, then added a sorry, because that was the respectable thing to do when one of your afflictions let loose.

  I opened the door and there he was, Johnny Jackson, standing at my door. “Special delivery for Teaspoon Marlene,” he said. He motioned to the sidewalk where Doug and a row of three Starlight seats were waiting. “Where would you like them, miss?” he said.

  “Teddy! Teddy!” I screamed, and he came running into the living room like maybe Lizzie Borden herself was at the door. He was holding a paring knife in his left hand and a little potato, gouged like Charlie’s head, clamped in the swollen fingers of his right. “Look what Johnny brought me, Teddy. Straight from the Starlight Theater!”

  “Mrs. Bloom was sending them to the dump… Teaspoon wanted them. I hope it’s all right,” Johnny said.

  “We can put them right here in the living room, Teddy. There’s room up against that wall opposite the piano. Then you and Mrs. Fry can sit in style for our shows.”

  Teddy nodded, so Johnny and Doug carried them in while Teddy moved the end tables, and me and Charlie went nuts.

  “Enjoy, little star,” Johnny said once the seats were in place.

  Teddy followed Johnny outside like respectable grown-ups do when a visitor is about to leave, and I did, too. Teddy asked Johnny about the hot rod he was working on, and Johnny talked about “dropping the chassis,” even though I couldn’t imagine Johnny dropping anything, him having muscles like Popeye. Dumbo Doug crawled back in the truck and Jolene called from across the street, “Hey, Johnny? What are you doing over there?”

  I looked back up at Johnny, handsome as James Dean. I still couldn’t believe that he brought me those seats. “Well,” Johnny told Teddy. “We have to get the rest of these to the dump before they close, then get the truck back to the shop. Have fun with the seats, Teaspoon,” he said.

  “Johnny!” Jolene yelled again, louder. Like maybe he didn’t hear her the first time.

  “Aren’t you going to thank Johnny?” Teddy asked me. And it was funny—as much as I was in love with Johnny, I never got tongue-tied with him. Well, until that moment. I think because I was over-wowed at the thought of having a part of the Starlight magic in my very own living room. And at the thought that Johnny had brought it to me. That alone made a lump the size of Charlie’s knee clog my throat, and I was afraid if I said a word, I’d start crying—I just shook my head yes and looked up at him.

  I got the lump in my throat swallowed after Johnny had slammed the truck door. After all, I was a Sunshine Sister now, and I was well mannered. So feeling choked up or not, I stepped in front of Teddy and shouted so Johnny would hear me over the rumble of the engine. “Thank you, Johnny! That was about the nicest thing anyone could have done for me.” Johnny leaned over so I could see his hand wave through Dumbo Doug’s window.

  Me and Charlie were sitting in the Starlight seats, me rubbing my hands over the soft red velvet armrests, when there was another knock at the door. There she was, Miss Tuckle, a casserole dish in her hands, her hair pinned up on the sides and lipstick on her plain-Jane lips. She had earrings and a necklace on, too, and her best Sunday school dress.

  “Hello, Teaspoon,” she said. “Mrs. Fry told me that Teddy hurt himself at work, so I thought I’d bring you two supper.”

  I was just about to tell her that Teddy was taking care of our supper when he stuck his head into the room and saw her. “April, come in,” he said, grinning like Dopey dwarf.

  And Miss Tuckle was just as “nice” the next day, too, bringing Teddy some oven mitts she made herself. All because when she’d taken the reheated casserole out of the oven the night before, she had to use two dishtowels that were damp and she’d burned two of her fingers.

  The day after that, when I came home from the Starlight, there they were, Teddy and Miss Tuckle, walking down the sidewalk away from the house, Teddy’s bandaged hand and his good one waving like a m-a-e-s-t-r-o, which is what Brenda said those orchestra directors can be called, while Miss Tuckle walked with her head cocked toward him. “She’s up to something, Charlie,” I said, and he asked me what. “Stealing Teddy from my Ma, the same way Betty Rains stole Mrs. Carlton’s man, that’s what.”

  Miss Tuckle could tell that I was mad at her, too, by the way I didn’t sing, or smile, or even talk all the way through the next Sunday school class. (Okay. I might have hummed a little.) So when I got up after class, she grabbed my shoulder and gently kept me in my chair. When the last kid left the room and it was just Charlie and me, she said, “I’m not trying to take your mother’s place, Teaspoon. Teddy and I are only friends, and he could use a friend right now.”

  I scrinched my eyes at her. “He’s got me. I’m his friend.”

  “I know that, sweetie,” she said. “But grown-ups need grown-up friends, too.”

  “Well, he’s got Mrs. Fry. She’s eighty-two years old. You can’t get much more grown up than that, can you?” I said.

  “Well, Mrs. Fry is a good friend to Teddy, it’s true, but we need different friends for different things. You do and talk about different things with each of your friends, don’t you?” She had me there on that one, because I’d never sing with the tone-deaf Jackson kids, or jump rope with slow-Moe Charlie.

  I tilted my head and studied Miss Tuckle. “You swear that you and Teddy aren’t doing the Juicy Jit…” I glanced up at Jesus, then stopped, just in case saying Juicy Jitterbug was swearing. I cleared my throat and started over. “You swear that you and Teddy are only friends, and not doing boyfriend-and-girlfriend stuff like kissing and whatnot?”

  Miss Tuckle turned sunburn-pink. “I swear we’re not,” she said.

  “Okay… hold that thought.” I ran out of the Sunday school room, and sure enough, I found a stack of Bibles on a little table in the church entrance hall. Bibles, I think, that were for borrowing by the sinners who forgot theirs, so they could follow along as the good pastor read. I grabbed four or five of them and ran back downstairs. “Here, put your hand on these and look at Jesus, and then swear that you and Teddy aren’t doing boyfriend-and-girlfriend stuff together. Then I might believe you.”

  Miss Tuckle looked uncomfortable, but she put her hand on that stack of Bibles and she swore it.

  “I don’t know, Charlie,” I said as we walked home. “She did make a swear to God, yet you saw how giggly she got when Teddy gushed about her stupid casserole and her pie, didn’t you? Her eyes got all googly looking. She’s trying to wear her hair more like a glamour girl now, too. And did you get a whiff of her when she came over last time?” Charlie shook his head. “Well, lucky you, because she was wearing some stinky stuff that was so strong it made my throat burn.”

  I scootered a few more swipes with my foot, then said, “I sure hope Miss Tuckle wasn’t being a fibber-face when she made that swear. If she was, she’s going to have some explaining to do. To me, and to God. She’s lying, and I won’t ever talk to her again. And God, he just might condemn her to damnation forever.”

  “Where’s damnation?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie, but it’s got a cussword in it, so you can bet it’s not anyplace nice.”

  The next week, Teddy invited Miss Tuckle over for dinner as his way of saying thank you for her bringing all of that food over while he was laid up with his wrist. The wrist he claimed was better so he could go back to work, even if he winced when he did little things like turned a doorknob.

  Teddy made fried chicken that night, even if cooking chicken got a tad bloody in the pan, and when I said it smelled good, Teddy hit me with a bomb by telling me I was eating my dinner over
at the Frys. “Why?” I asked.

  “Well, Mrs. Fry is making spaghetti with meatballs for you and Charlie. She knows it’s your favorite. It would be rude if you didn’t have your supper there after she went through all that trouble.”

  “Well why aren’t all four of us having supper there, then? It could have saved you all this trouble.”

  Teddy looked uncomfortable, like people look when their butt itches and they can’t scratch it because they’re in public. He stuttered a bit when he said, “Well, we each didn’t know the other was making a big meal.”

  “Good thing I know you’re too respectable to lie, Teddy,” I said, “or I’d think you were just making all that up.”

  “Something smells fishy,” I told Charlie as we sat on his steps after our spaghetti. And that Charlie, who misses the boat so many times that if he really was in the water he’d have drowned by now, said, “No. Teddy was making fried chicken.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t mean that I really smell fish. I just meant that I think Mrs. Fry and Teddy planned this like sneaks, just to get me out of Teddy’s hair so he could be alone with Miss Tuckle. Maybe even so they could do the Juicy Jitterbug.”

  “What’s that?” Charlie asked.

  “Something grown-ups do in their beds,” I said, and Charlie said, “Oh. You mean that sex stuff.”

  “That sex stuff?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, “How big people make babies.” Then he told a story so ridiculous I had to laugh. I’d seen a wee-er once. Jack Johnson’s. He’d dropped his pants, right behind the shed, and said, “Look what I got.” I wish I hadn’t. It looked like a pinkie finger with no bones, flopped over two lumps of skin that had swallowed a couple of steelies. I took one look at that goofy-looking mess and told Jack that if I had a boy’s wee-er, I’d hide it like cracked elbows.

  “You’re making that up. There’s no way a guy could get that thing in a girl’s pee-er,” I told Charlie. “It wouldn’t fit, for one. As floppy as it is, it would be like trying to stuff a wool sock into a baby shoe.”