How High the Moon Page 29

  “Brenda. That medicine. You said you weren’t sick.”

  “I’m not,” she said, her voice going happy-high. “Those are my mother’s pills. For pain.”

  “Why do you got them, then?”

  “I brought them along for her. I knew she’d be on her feet all day. Okay… eighteen tickets, right?”

  “I only need seventeen now,” I said.

  Brenda’s hand came over to rest on my arm. “Teaspoon… your mother… she’s not gone, is she?”

  “It’s not my ma’s ticket I don’t need anymore,” I said. “It’s Johnny’s.”

  “So he’s decided he’s not coming to the gala? Oh Teaspoon. I’ll talk to him. I’ll let him know how important this is to you.”

  “He was supposed to change our stage moons, too,” I said.

  “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

  “No you won’t. Because he’s not here. He went down south to work.”

  When Brenda didn’t say anything by the time it seemed she should have, I looked over at her. She was staring out the window, her eyes so glittery they must have had tears in them. “Are you sure?” she asked slowly.

  “Yes. He told me good-bye.”

  “When?”

  “Right before rehearsal.”

  She propped her elbow on the window and rested her cheek against her hand. Her cheeks were skinnier now. Flat enough so that her dimple didn’t hardly make a dent anymore when she wasn’t smiling. And I couldn’t tell if it was shadows from the streetlight or what, but her eyes were dark as wet pavement underneath.

  “Brenda?” I asked, trying hard not to cry. “You don’t have some bad disease, do you? One of those that could make you the late Brenda Bloom?”

  “Late?” Brenda said. She turned to me. “Of course I don’t. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Because you look sick. And you act sick, too. And you have medicine in your purse.”

  “It’s just nerves, Teaspoon. That’s all. I get like this. And, well, the gala is four days away and there’s still so much to do.”

  “Whatever happened to our to-do list, anyway?”

  “Don’t you worry about that. Just concentrate on how this is your dream come true. And about how wonderful it is that your mother is here to watch your debut.”

  I changed my roll of tickets to my left hand so my right would be free to work the door handle, because all I wanted to do was crawl in my bed and pull the covers up over my head.

  “Teaspoon?” Brenda said right after the door clicked open, but before I pushed it wide enough to get out.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re very special to me. I want you to know that.”

  “I do know that,” I said.

  “And I want you to always remember that your Big Sister loved you, just the way you were. Remember, too, that you don’t ever need to change for anybody. Promise me you’ll remember those things, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I love you just the way you are, too, Brenda.”

  Teddy was sitting on his chair working a crossword puzzle when I got inside. He looked up and asked me if I was okay. I said no.

  Teddy leaned over and set his puzzle down by his coffee cup. “You want to talk about it, Teaspoon?”

  I shook my head, and I didn’t tell him why not. And he didn’t ask. But if I had told him, I would have told him that I didn’t want to talk about nothing, because for tonight anyway, everything I was hearing sounded like a good-bye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  In the morning, Charlie was at the piano sitting on his hands like he’d once sat on his legs on the catwalk. I suppose he’d been told not to play until Ma and I woke up. Poor Charlie had missed a lot of daytime piano playing time since Ma pulled into town, because she slept late and took naps in the afternoons.

  “What are you doing here so early?” I asked Charlie as I shuffled through on my way to the bathroom, an old shirt and high-water pants slung over my arm.

  “Teddy took the day off, and Miss Tuckle took him and Grandma G someplace. That’s why,” he said.

  “Where’d they go?”

  “I dunno. They just waited for the mail, then they left. What time does your ma wake up?”

  “Not anytime soon, Charlie,” I said.

  When I got out of the bathroom, I checked to make sure Ma was still sleeping, then I poured me and Charlie some orange juice. “Come on, Charlie,” I said. We sat on his steps, which were bigger and better for sitting than mine. Two Humpty Dumpties with nothing better to do than drink juice.

  “Charlie,” I said. “Do you think I’d be good in commercials?”

  The corner of Charlie’s mouth bunched his cheek even more than usual. “What kind of commercials?” he asked.

  “What difference does it make? Here, watch. I’ll do the Crest commercial for you.”

  I set down my juice glass, then hurried around the corner of the house. “Are you watching, Charlie?” I called.

  Charlie didn’t answer, so I yelled the question again. Then there he was, standing at the corner of the house looking at me. “Okay. Now I am,” he said.

  I shoved Charlie back and told him to go wait on the steps, while I got into character. “Ready?” I called.

  “Wait,” he said, even though how long could it take him to walk a few steps and sit his butt back down?

  When Charlie was ready, I made myself get happy inside, thinking that if I did, I’d look happy on the outside—since that’s how I believed it worked. Then I ran into the yard shouting, “Daddy! Daddy! I only had one cavity!”

  I didn’t know quite what to do next. Pretend the old lady who was supposed to ask me how many cavities again asked again (probably because she was Mrs. Fry deaf), or make myself into the old lady?

  I decided that if I did her part, too—since playing an old lady would be harder than playing a girl in a headband—it would show Charlie my acting skills at their finest. So I squatted down and looked over where the girl-me should be and asked the question. Then I got up fast, put on my wide-as-the-sky smile, lifted my pointy finger, and said to her, “One! Just one!”

  I stopped because I didn’t know the dad’s lines, and waited for Charlie to give his review. He didn’t, though. He just took the last gulp of his juice, then looked at the little shreds of ripped-up oranges clinging to the walls of his glass, like he was deciding if it was worth it to rub them out with his finger or not. “Charlie!” I said. “What do you think? Did I look just like the girl in the commercial?” I asked hopefully, because I knew that if I pulled it off, then that would mean I really was ready for Hollywood, in case I went with Ma.

  “Well,” Charlie said, poking his finger into his glass. “Not really. She has longer hair than you…”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re a hopeless case, Charlie Fry,” I said. “A hopeless case.”

  I sat back down, my baby-bottom-smooth elbows resting on my knees, looking down at my patent leathers, which were a far cry from baby-butt-smooth.

  “You sad because school’s starting soon, too, Teaspoon?”

  “I haven’t had time to give school a thought, Charlie. I got too much on my mind. But when I do, yeah, I’ll be sad about that, too.”

  We were still sitting when Miss Tuckle’s car pulled up to the curb, right behind Ma’s Hudson. Teddy, being the gentleman he was, was driving, and he got out of the car and opened the door for Miss Tuckle and Mrs. Fry. Teddy had a store bag, but nobody else had anything. Well, except Mrs. Fry, who was carrying her big purse over her arm, and a thick white envelope in her hand. The kind of envelope that has something inside that needs to be kept in a safe place.

  I watched the three of them coming up the walk. Acting all proud of themselves, and staring at Charlie—which was all right by me.

  “Where were you guys?” I asked when we stood up so they could get up the steps.

  “Just helping Mrs. Fry take care of some business,” Miss Tuckle said.

  “I didn’t ask you,” I
said.

  As soon as those words got out of my mouth, I knew what was coming. I owed Miss Tuckle one apology already—or so Teddy would think—for calling her a sinner and giving the red-haired lady at the drugstore some gossip. And although Teddy hadn’t said a word about it since—probably because he was afraid that if he played the bad guy, I’d decide to ride off into the sunset with Ma—I knew that being a smart-mouth two days in a row was pushing it.

  But Teddy didn’t say a word. Not after Miss Tuckle gave him a forgive-her-for-she-knows-not-what-she-does half smile, which only riled up my afflictions more. All three of them just walked into the house, and Charlie and I moved back closer together.

  After some time, I said, “If Teddy, Miss Tuckle, and your great-grandma hadn’t come home, at least we could have watched a little TV.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “Or if your ma wasn’t sleeping, we could go play Live at the Starlight.”

  “You know how to play Scrabble, Charlie?”

  “No,” he said. “But if you really want to play, maybe you could teach me.”

  “Never mind, Charlie.” I didn’t bother to explain that I wasn’t asking because I wanted to play Scrabble with him. I was asking because I wanted to know if Teddy would have someone to play with if I left with Ma.

  I sighed. “Stinks, don’t it, Charlie, when you can’t figure out where you want to be?” Charlie nodded.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I don’t know how long it was before Teddy came outside all chipper, like nothing happened in the last two days. “I have an idea,” he said. “Teaspoon, you have some gala tickets to hand out, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, Miss Tuckle just offered us the use of her car. How about if the three of us go deliver those now?”

  “Most of them are going to the Jacksons,” I said. “And we don’t have to drive there.”

  “Yes, but weren’t you going to give one to Mr. Morgan and Miss Simon and Mrs. Carlton?”

  “I can give Mr. Morgan his ticket at dress rehearsal tonight—not that he needs one. He’s the usher so he’ll be there anyway. But I asked Brenda if he could sit in a seat and watch during our ‘Sisters’ performance if he had a ticket, and she said yes. As for Mrs. Carlton and Miss Simon, I don’t even know where they live.”

  “Well, with school starting next week, the teachers are likely to be at the school. I think they always go in a week or two early for meetings and to set up the classrooms.”

  “Charlie and me could walk there,” I said, still feeling grouchy.

  “But it would be nice for us to drive there, wouldn’t it? Sort of like a pre-celebration.”

  “A pre-celebration?”

  “Yes,” Teddy said. “Important events call for preparation. That’s what makes them feel special when they finally arrive. Like when you put up your tree before Christmas, and bake cookies. This is a big event for you, Teaspoon. One that should feel as big as Christmas, with nothing to think about but the happy day that’s coming. So I think it calls for a little getting-ready-for-the-big-event care, don’t you?” When I didn’t answer right away, Teddy said softly, “I want to make this time extra-special for you, okay? I’m so very proud of you.”

  My throat got tight so I went inside to put my sweater away, and to put my hair back in barrettes. It seemed to me Ma should be a part of my pre-celebration, too, but she was sound asleep, her arm flung over her eyes.

  Charlie got all nervous walking into the school, even if it was as empty as a church on weekdays. Teddy put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile.

  We found Miss Simon and Mrs. Carlton in the same classroom and they both looked up, surprised to see us there. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” Mrs. Carlton asked.

  I held out the two tickets. “Mrs. Carlton. Miss Simon. I’d be honored if you’d attend my debut performance at the Starlight Theater. Saturday, September third, at… well, the time and everything is right there on the ticket. Come early if you want refreshments, because they’re serving punch and pinwheel sandwiches and a big sheet cake.”

  I knew I sounded real respectable, even if I had to improvise a little toward the end because I forgot some of the speech I’d rehearsed in the car—which is what Jay said you call it when you rehearse well, but then something goes haywire and you have to make things work anyway—and my old teachers must have thought I sounded respectable, too, because they told me how proud they were of me and that they were honored and “touched” that I thought to personally invite them. Miss Simon even brought up my interview in the Mill Town Monitor. She was so proud of me that I didn’t want to tell her what I’d really said, in case that wasn’t as respectable. “And did you notice, Mrs. Carlton, that I didn’t say even one ain’t or gonna in the interview, or here? I think that affliction is cured for the most part.”

  She had noticed, and so had Miss Simon. They told me that they’d see me on the third. “And,” Miss Simon added, “Charlie, I’ll see you in my classroom next week.”

  “Oh wow, he’s going to be in your room this year?” I asked. She nodded. “Wow, Charlie. You’re one lucky duck. Miss Simon is real nice. Nothing like that Mr. Garrison, who thumps the top of your head with his ruler if you’re not listening.”

  We said our good-byes and were halfway home before it dawned on me that I’d forgotten to tell Mrs. Carlton that I had feminine influence again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I don’t know exactly what happened, but after we handed out those tickets, it was like everything turned as upside down as a pineapple cake. With the sad, mixed-up feelings I was having over knowing I had to pick who I wanted to live with getting flipped to the bottom, and the fun, good-as-candy gala stuff sitting on top.

  That night at our dress rehearsal, Brenda was happier than I’d seen her in weeks. Laughing at this and that, chitchatting with Tina and the rest of her friends. And popping my cheek with a kiss every time she passed by.

  We were in our dressing room (really the big warehouse room, because the real dressing rooms were going to be used by the big acts), changing into our fancy White Christmas dresses, when Mrs. Bloom came in to ask Brenda, “Who’s doing the stage makeup? Where are they?”

  We were going to wear makeup on stage? Hot dog!

  Brenda blinked at her ma, like she didn’t know, either, so I piped up, “Two ladies who do the best makeup in town, that’s who! But they couldn’t be here tonight. Which is just as well, Mrs. Bloom, because I happen to know firsthand that when you put makeup on a kid, they get it all over their clothes.” She thought about it a second, then said, “I suppose,” and hurried off to harp at somebody else about something else.

  “Don’t worry about the makeup ladies,” I told Brenda. “I wasn’t being a fibber-face when I told your Ma that. I didn’t ask them yet, because I didn’t know I should. But they’ll do it. You can bet on it.”

  Brenda helped me dress like a Big Sister was supposed to. We stood in front of the big mirror that covered most of one wall, me in my undershirt and big mesh slip, socks bunched around my ankles, and arms up and ready. Brenda was already dressed, and looking prettier than Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen put together. She tossed my blue dress above my head and it floated down over me like a parachute, then tied my bow in the back and fixed my barrette that had been knocked cockamamie.

  Boy, that tulle and lace was scratchy as dry elbows, but still, our dresses sure were pretty. “Where’s my fan?” I asked Brenda, and she pointed to where Mrs. Gaylor was digging in a big box while Big and Little Sisters waited in a line every bit as crooked as a Mrs. Fry hem.

  The second I had my fan, I ran back to the mirror. Wow, I sure did look professional when I waved my fan, little as it was. I held it up in front of my face, then lowered it. Stage-smiling as I broke into the first verse of “Sisters,” my head and feet moving just how they were supposed to on each note, which was a good thing since I was going to be dead-center.

  “You’r
e so dumb, Teaspoon,” Rebecca said, giving me a shove. “And your shoes are scuffed. You’d better clean them up before the program.”

  “It’s a gala, stupid. Not a program.”

  But just like Mrs. Bloom’s harping didn’t knock Brenda’s good mood out of her, I didn’t let Rebecca shove me out of mine, either. This was another of my pre-celebrations and I was having the time of my life, like Teddy said I should—scuffed patent leathers and a decision that made my whole body hurt just to think about it or not.

  For the next two hours, we sat in the front row and watched the show until it was our time to perform. Boy, that Beulah and Morris Farthing really did look like Fred and Ginger as they twirled and fancy-stepped to “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White,” played by the Mill Town City Orchestra. Even Mrs. Derby wasn’t all that bad, though I still thought she should sing “There’s No Business Like Show Business” with that Ethelly voice of hers.

  I could hardly believe my eyes when it was our turn and almost every Little Sister got their right and left straight. Even Jay was happy with us, calling out “Brilliant!” and “Bravo!”

  I was so excited that I chattered all the way through taking off my gala dress, and I didn’t stop once all the way home. Brenda didn’t say much—not that I gave her a chance—she just drove, wearing the kind of smile you usually wear when you’re doing nothing but sitting in the sun, listening to some good tunes.

  “You’re feeling better, aren’t you, Brenda?” I asked. “Is that because it’s almost over?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice slow and dreamy as she glanced out the front window and up, like I’d just asked her if she could see Jesus in the clouds.

  When I got inside, Teddy and Charlie were sitting at the table, a chocolate cake in the middle and four glasses bubbling with just-poured Orange Crush beside four plates. Then Ma came out of the bathroom, and man, if that wasn’t a shocker! “Ma,” I said. “I thought you’d be at The Dusty Rose by now, so I didn’t even look for your car when I got home. I thought that was the reason you didn’t want to go to dress rehearsal with me tonight.”