"I think its blooming days are over," Beth said, eyeing the dead poppy that Ivy had placed in the water glass on the table between them.
When Lillian and Betty opened the shop Thursday morning, they had found the purple flower in King Kong's mouth, poking out like a rose between a dancer's teeth. Later that day Ivy had repeatedly denied being the joker who had placed it there.
"Why are we trying to revive it?" Beth asked. She swirled her tongue around her ice cream cone. "Can't we buy King Kong another one?"
"They were selling poppies at the festival Saturday," Ivy replied. "I bought some purple ones for Tristan.
Philip and I took them to the cemetery."
"I'm glad Philip went with you," Beth said. "He misses Tristan, too."
"He made а T with them on the grave," Ivy told her, smiling a little.
Beth nodded, as if it were perfectly clear now why Ivy would bother with a wilted poppy left in the shop.
"I'm going crazy, aren't I?" Ivy said suddenly. "I'm supposed to be getting better! I'm supposed to be getting over Tristan! And here I am, saving this stupid flower like a souvenir because it looks like one that I—" She plucked the poppy out of the glass and tossed it on a tray of dirty dishes that a waitress was carrying by.
Beth slipped out of the booth, chased down the waitress, and returned with the poppy.
"Maybe it will seed," she said, sticking it back in the water glass.
Ivy shook her head and sipped her tea in silence. Beth munched her cone for a few minutes.
"You know," Beth said at last, "I'm always prepared to listen."
Ivy nodded. "I'm sorry, Beth. I call you in a panic at nine o'clock at night, drag you away from your writing to get a snack with the over-fifty-but-still-swinging bowling league at Howard Johnson's'" — she glanced around the crowded green and orange room—"and now I can't seem to calk."
"That's okay," Beth said, waving her cone at Ivy. "I'm having a triple dip of double fudge — for that, you could have called me at three in the morning. But how'd you know I was writing?"
Ivy smiled. Beth had met her in the parking lot wearing cutoff sweatpants, no makeup, and an old pair of glasses, which she wore only when she was glued to a computer screen. A scribbled note on a yellow Post-it was still stuck to her T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a binder clip.
"Just a hunch," Ivy said. "What's Suzanne up to tonight?"
Ivy and Suzanne had not spoken since the festival.
"She's out with somebody." "Gregory?" Ivy asked, frowning. He had promised to stay with Philip till she got home that night.
"No, some guy who's supposed to make Gregory unbelievably jealous."
"Oh."
"She didn't tell you?" Beth asked with surprise. "That's all Suzanne could talk about." Seeing the look on Ivy's face, she added quickly, "I'm sure Suzanne thought she did. You know how it is— you say something to one person, and you think you've said it to the other."
Ivy nodded, but both of them knew that wasn't the case.
"Gregory hasn't spent much time with Suzanne lately," Beth said, pausing to chase drips of chocolate around her cone, "but you know that."
Ivy shrugged. "He goes out, but I don't ask him where."
"Well, Suzanne is sure he's seeing someone else."
Ivy began to trace the pictures on her place mat.
"At first Suzanne thought he was just playing around. She wasn't worried because it wasn't anyone special. But now she thinks he's seeing just one person. She thinks he's really hooked on somebody."
Ivy glanced up and saw Beth studying her. Can Beth actually read minds, she wondered, or is it my face that always gives me away?
"Suzanne keeps asking me what 1 think is going on," Beth continued, her brow slightly puckered.
"And what did you tell her?" Ivy asked. Beth blinked several times, then looked away. She watched a silver-haired waitress flirt with two bald men in burgundy satin bowling shirts.
"I'm not a good person to ask," she said at last.
"You know me. Ivy, I'm always watching people and adding stuff to what I see to make stories out of them. Sometimes I forget what part I've made up and what part is really true."
"What do you think is really true about Gregory?" Ivy persisted.
Beth waved her cone around. "I think he gets around. I think that, uh, lots of different girls like him. But I can't guess who he's really interested in and what he's actually thinking. I just can't read him very well."
Beth took a crunching bite out of her cone and chewed thoughtfully. "Gregory's like a mirror," she said.
"He reflects whoever he's with. When he's with Eric, he seems to act like Eric. When he's with you, he's thoughtful and funny like you. The problem for me is that I can't ever really see who Gregory is, any more than I can see what a mirror by itself looks like, because he reflects whoever's around him. Know what I mean?"
"I think I do."
"What should I say, Ivy?" Beth asked, the tone other voice changing. She was pleading for an answer.
"You're both my friends. When Suzanne asks me what's going on, what should I say?"
"I don't know." Ivy started examining her place mat again, reading all the descriptions of HoJo's desserts.
"I'll tell you when I do know, okay? So, how's your writing going?"
"My writing?" Beth repeated, struggling to shift gears with Ivy. "Well, I've got good news."
"Yeah? Tell me."
"I'm going to be published. I mean, in a real magazine." Beth's blue eyes sparkled. "True-Heart Confessions."
"Beth, that's great! Which story?"
"The one I did for drama club. You know, it was in the lit mag at school last spring."
Ivy tried to recall it. "I've read so many now."
"'She clutched the gun to her breast,'" Beth began. "'Hard and blue, cold and unyielding. Photos of him.
Frail and faded photos of him — of him with her — torn up, tear-soaked, salt-crusted photos,' et cetera, et cetera."
Two waitresses, carrying full trays, had stopped to listen.
"What is it?" Beth asked Ivy. "You've got a really funny look on your face."
"Nothing… nothing, I was just thinking," Ivy replied.
"You've been doing a lot of that lately."
Ivy laughed. "Maybe I can keep it up next month when school starts."
Their check was dropped on the table. Ivy reached for her purse.
"Listen," Beth said, "why don't you sleep over at my house tonight? We don't have to talk. We'll watch videos, polish our nails, bake cookies. ." She popped the tip of her sugar cone into her mouth. "Low-cal cookies," she added.
Ivy smiled, then began digging in her purse for money. "I should get home, Beth."
"No, you shouldn't."
Ivy stopped digging. Beth had spoken with such certainty.
"I don't know why," Beth said, twisting a piece of her hair self-consciously. "You just shouldn't."
"I have to be home," Ivy told her. "If Philip wakes up in the middle of the night and finds I'm not there, he'll think something's wrong."
"Call him," her friend replied. "If he's asleep, Gregory can leave a note by his bed. You shouldn't go home tonight. It's… a feeling, a really strong feeling I have."
"Beth, I know you get these feelings, and one time before you were right, but this time it's different. The doors will be locked. Gregory is home. Nothing is going to happen to me."
Beth was looking past Ivy's shoulder, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to focus on something.
Ivy turned around quickly and saw a curly-haired man in a shiny yellow bowling shirt. He winked at her, and Ivy turned back.
"Can I stay over with you?" Beth asked.