What I Really Think of You, стр. 25
She glanced over at me, still a little mad because I’d made fun of her ACORN letter.
She said, “You look a whole lot better now, Jesse. But your father has to take you shopping. You need some new clothes. That suit’s so old it’ll walk by itself someday.”
“Mom, I’m seventeen.”
“That old!” Seal said, hitting her forehead with her palm. “Whew!”
“Nobody has to take me shopping,” I went on anyway.
My mother said, “Somebody is going to be eighteen soon, which is the news we have. Tell him, Seal.”
“We’ve got an invitation to a party, Jesse.” She passed a card across to me.
You Are Invited to Dinner Before The Last Dance
on the occasion of Diane-Young Cheek’s
18th birthday
July 26
7 p.m.
Wear a hat representing your astrology sign, in keeping with The Zodiac theme of the dance. Transportation to the dance will be provided. A table is reserved for Diane-Young’s guests. Bring a date.
Bud always said if he was my sign, he’d lie about it. Virgo, according to Bud, was the dullest sign of the zodiac. Virgos are drawer straighteners, Bud always said. Gemini, according to Bud, was the best sign. No need to ask what sign Bud was.
“Is this the big news?” I said. “I do the jails on Saturday nights.”
“Oh, everybody’s going to The Last Dance,” my mother said. “The jails can wait.”
Seal said, “I’m on the hot line Saturday nights, but I won’t be July twenty-sixth. Tell him the rest, Mrs. Pegler.”
“You tell him, honey. If it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t have known Diane-Young Cheek from boo. We’d never have gone there for dinner or any of it.”
“That was the thrill of all time, too,” I said. “Dinner there.”
“You just watch that mouth of yours, Jesse,” my mother snapped.
Coming home from the Cheeks’ that night she’d said Whew! I’m just glad that’s behind us. If I never hear another word about Rudolph Nureyev, or Margot Fonteyn, or Vera Volkova, it’ll be too soon, and she never even inquired anything to do with me, if I had a hobby—anything. My father said Ye have heard of the patience of Job. Job’s Job, my mother said, I was a guest in their home and never once got asked a question about myself.
“The good news,” said Seal, “is there was something enclosed with this invitation. A check made out to ACE.”
“Hallelujah,” I said.
“Hallelujah is right!” my mother said. “The check is for ten thousand dollars.”
I let out a slow whistle.
“It’s to get our Winning Rally on the road,” Seal said.
My mother said, “Thank you, Lord.”
“Jesse?” Seal said. “Arnelle told me once the one thing in the world Opal wished she could do would be go to The Last Dance. Now we owe them that much. We’ll make up a table. You and Opal, me and Dickie, Verna and—”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You and Dickie?”
“We don’t want Reverend Cloward’s nose out of joint,” said my mother. “He’s out ten thousand dollars, after all.”
After I left my mother and Seal, I walked down to my father’s study to get his car keys.
Donald Divine was with him. My father was staring out the window, complaining that he hated to ask Igor Sonnebend for any more favors.
Donald was pouring himself more coffee. “It’s a favor to Igor, too, Guy,” Donald said. “Igor’s going to trade that jet in on a new one. If we can persuade him to donate it to ACE, he’ll have a tax deduction and we’ll have a plane that will carry our whole crew on crusades.”
My father turned around, saw me, and said, “Jesse, that tie isn’t right for you, son.”
“Hi, Jesse,” Donald said. “When you leave, I’d like a ride to the train station.”
“It’s your tie,” I said.
“It’s right for me but not for you, son,” said my father. “I love you, but not in a Countess Mara tie. Can’t you pick out one that’s not so fancy?”
“Why wear one at all?” Donald said. “Aren’t you going to Riverhead jail today?”
“He’s going to Oceanside Hospital,” my father said. “He has to wear a tie. Put on one of my ACE ties, son.”
“Maybe you should lay out my clothes for me the night before,” I said.
My father laughed his nervous laugh and said, “Nobody’s picking on you, Jesse. I remember one time Bud showed up for a service in a pair of Nikes. He was doing a solo, Donald, and I made him put on my shoes, which were a size too small for him. Well”—my father began breaking up over his own story—“well, these shoes were pinching him. And the song he was singing was ‘I Can’t Even Walk.’ You know. It goes ‘I can’t even walk without holding Your hand.’ Well, every time Bud paused between walk and without, I thought I’d double over with laughter, knowing what I knew about those shoes being too small for him.” He took his glasses off and wiped away tears. “Oh my, that was some morning!”
Then he reached in his pants pocket and took out keys and three ten-dollar bills, handing them to me. “The money’s not for you, Jesse. Now that you’re on the payroll, you’ll get your check bimonthly like the rest of us. The money is your Godspeed allowance.”
“I don’t know what you mean by a Godspeed allowance.”
“I mean that if you meet someone in the hospital who’s complaining about the food, step out and buy him a sandwich, and wish him Godspeed. Maybe someone you’ll meet is worried about a friend’s birthday coming up, and you’ll want to wish her Godspeed by buying her a birthday card for her friend, putting a stamp on it, addressing the envelope for her. Do you see