“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life!”
“Katie, it’s true. I know it.”
“You don’t know it, Ag. You’re only surmising. Did Ralph say so?”
“No, but...”
“All right, you just call Ralph back and tell him my number is Talmadge 4-0712, and if Paul wants to call me I’ll be here for the next five minutes, dressing, and I’ll be happy to hear whatever he has to say.”
“Ahhh, Kate.”
“Well now, really, put yourself in my position. It’s degrading, Ag. It really is.”
“Why? Ralph called, didn’t he?”
“Well, what’s the matter with Paul? Can’t he pick up a telephone?”
“I told you he’s shy.”
“That’s not what Mims said. Mims didn’t think he was so shy.”
“Why? What did he do?”
“Never mind.”
“He did, huh?”
“He’s not so shy, honey-babe, believe me.”
“Well, I’ll tell Ralph to tell him to call you. But I’ll bet he doesn’t. And I’ll bet I’ll be sitting home alone next Saturday night.”
“Aggie, I have to get dressed. Now excuse me, please.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No, but I’m being picked up in ten minutes, and I don’t like to keep people waiting.”
“Oh?” Agnes said. “Anyone I know?”
“It’s only Mrs. Regan. Really, Agnes, stop being such a creep. I’ll call you later. If Paul wants to reach me, I’ll be here for the next ten minutes. Now goodbye.”
“Hey!”
“What?”
“What did your brother say about me?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, he said he’d love to get into a necking session with you, okay?”
“Bobby said that?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kate said, and she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling again.
“Wow, he’s got problems,” Agnes said.
“Honey-babe, the world has problems. Even I’ve got problems. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.”
“G’bye.”
“G’bye.”
Kate put down the phone, extricated herself from the chair and walked out of the sun porch, a tall, long-legged girl of sixteen with a lithe figure and a coltish walk, not awkward, but not graceful either, a walk that combined womanly polish with girlish directness and succeeded at neither, and yet a walk that was exuberant and alive, a propelling, bursting walk, energy jogging in each long-legged stride, in each compact tight-filled-jeans explosion of youthfulness.
“Mom!” she called.
There was no answer. She paused with her hand on the banister, impatience on her face, waiting.
“Mom!”
“What is it, Kate?” Amanda called from the back porch.
“What are you doing out there?”
“I wanted to see something,” Amanda said. “What is it?”
“Did Parsie iron my skirt?”
“I ironed your skirt,” Parsie shouted from the kitchen. “Whyn’t you ask me, Kate?”
“I didn’t know you were in the house.”
“Where would I be, if not in the house?”
“How do I know where you’d be?”
“Kate, don’t talk that way to Parsie!” Amanda called from outside.
“What way? Where’s the skirt, Parse?”
“Upstairs in your room, hanging in the closet, right where it’s supposed to be. If it had teeth, it’d bite you.”
“I haven’t been up there yet,” Kate said. “Why’s everyone jumping on me? Where’s Dad?”
“In the garage, washing your dog,” Parsie said. She came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel, a big colored woman wearing a black skirt and a white blouse, and looking at Kate with disapproval.
“Beverly is everybody’s dog,” Kate answered. “Thanks for the skirt, Parse.”
“I ironed your blouse, too,” Parsie said.
“Oh, thanks, that’s great,” Kate said, and she started up the steps.
“Those pants’re too tight,” Parsie observed. “Your mother seen those pants?”
“Nope.”
“She ain’t gonna like those pants. They’re too tight.”
“I only wear them around the house,” Kate said, and ran up the steps and down the corridor to her room. She closed the door and pulled the sweater over her head, throwing it onto the bed. She unzipped the side of her jeans, took them off, and then stood before the mirror in bra and panties and suddenly shook herself wildly like a burlesque queen. “Zing-zong!” she said to the mirror, laughed, went to the closet humming, took the tweed skirt from its hanger, went to the dresser and turned on the radio, went back to the closet for her blouse, walked to the dresser again to tune in a Stamford station playing popular music, shook herself at the mirror again, studied a small blemish near the flap of her nose, took a half-slip from the dresser drawer, bent over to look at a movie circular on the dresser top as she stepped into the slip and pulled it up over her hips, thwacking the elastic, put on her blouse, stepped into her skirt, zipped it up, and was buttoning the blouse when Amanda came into the room.
She was wearing plaid slacks and an old sweater, her blond hair caught with a bright-red scarf at the back of her head. The sun had put a fine glow on her cheeks. Her blue eyes were sparkling. “Where are you off to?” she asked Kate, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Mrs. Regan’s coming by for me,” Kate said. “She’s got to see Dr. Anderson about something, and she called to ask if I’d like a lift. So I said yes. Mom, this blouse has a spot.”
“Where?”
“See? Right here near the pocket. Do you think it’s all right?”
“You can wear the green cardigan over it. It’s a little chilly today, anyway.” Amanda paused. “I didn’t hear you practicing, Kate.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“I will, Mom. You were at the piano all morning, so how could I?”
“What are you going to do in town?”
“I have to pick up some things, and I have to look up the partition of Berlin.”
“Are you going out tonight?”
“There’s a party at Suzie’s. Can Dad drive us?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Well, he’s out washing Beverly, and I’ve got to get dressed.”
“You buttoned your blouse crooked.”
“Did I? Yes, I did. I’m all fingers.”
“Thumbs,” Amanda corrected.
“Sure. Mom, can I use your white?”
“You’ve got your own lipstick, Kate.”
“I’m out of white. Besides, it looks creepy on you, Mom. I mean it. It makes you look positively eerie.”
“Your father likes the way I look.”
“Well, he has no gusto,” Kate said, and she grinned.
“It’s on my dresser,” Amanda said, shaking her head. “If you pass the drugstore, buy yourself one. Charge it.”
“Thanks, Mom. Mom, would you get it for me, please? I still have to comb my hair, and she’ll be here any minute. Mom, how old do I look?”
“What? You look sixteen.”
“Oh,” Kate said dejectedly.
“How old do you want to look?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Mom, could you get the lipstick, please? What were you doing outside?”
“I walked down near the brook. I wanted to see what it looked like now that spring is here.”
“Same as always, didn’t it?”
“Not quite, Kate. It’s always a little different.”
“Mom, could you get the lipstick, please?” The telephone rang. Kate looked at it for a moment and then said, “Would you answer it, Mom? If it’s somebody named Paul, tell him I’m in the living room talking to a fellow about something, and that you’ll get me? Would you, Mom?”