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FIFTEEN
On Saturday, I was reading in the backyard, when Mrs. Vernon called me to the phone.
“Martha?” said an excited voice. It was Mary Sue Zimmerman.
“Hello,” I said wearily.
“How are you? I mean, how are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Well, Jimmy and I decided to take a little vacation from each other, I mean, just a little vacation. We aren’t going to see each other today or tomorrow.” Mary Sue had been mad for Jimmy Phillips since seventh grade. Last spring he finally returned her interest and asked her to go steady. “I mean, we still love each other and all,” she went on, “but absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”
“I’m sure it’ll work out,” I said.
“Oh, it is working out. I mean it is working out. Even married people need a vacation sometimes.” She paused. “But, gee, I haven’t seen you in a long time. It seems ages. So much has happened.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it like at Sissy’s house? That must be weird.”
“It’s okay.”
“What does Bunny say? She must be really upset.”
“She’s all right.”
“Mmmm. I was thinking, I might come over to visit, you know, just pop over.”
“I don’t know.” The thought of spending time with Mary Sue depressed me. Usually when we got together, we’d sit around and I’d listen as she filled me in on the latest news about people in our class. She was a sharp observer, full of opinions, and I didn’t hesitate to pump her, since it was really only through Mary Sue and her endless gossip that I had any relationship to anyone else in school. Still, I didn’t feel much like listening to gossip about the class now. “I’m not sure this is a great time for it,” I said.
“Gee, they don’t let you have any visitors?” Mary Sue was always eager to assume the most shocking details.
“Of course they do. Oh, all right, come on over.”
Ten minutes later, Mary Sue and I were in the parlor, drinking Cokes. Mary Sue bounced from the sofa to the window to a chair. She leaned over and whispered, “It’s so creepy here—I can’t stop thinking of Sissy. How do you stand it?”
“You should see her room. Nothing’s been changed.”
“Yuck. She was creepy even when she was alive.”
“Shhh.” I pointed silently toward the kitchen.
“I remember,” said Mary Sue, putting her mouth close to my ear. “The holy mother.”
“Don’t!” I stifled a laugh and pushed her away. She bounced up and went to the window, looking out across the backyard as if she half expected a party to materialize at any second. She was wearing yellow pedal pushers, and her hair was teased up, a style she’d adopted last spring, just before winning over Jimmy. There was something comforting about her, I realized.
She turned and sat against the windowsill, creating a wide, yellow lap. She had, as Bunny used to say, a “permanent fat bottom.” She’d had it since she was little. “You’ve missed all the excitement this summer,” Mary Sue said. “It’s not your fault, I know, but so much has gone on.” She twiddled with a thin silver chain around her neck. “Let’s see. El
lie had a party last week, and her father came home and found Betty and Wayne down in the basement. Nothing was going on—it’s filthy down there—but, still.” She paused to let the word “still” echo suggestively. “And Mary Figaro moved away. Her father’s store went bankrupt or something. And, let’s see. Linda Matthews has got real fat. She’s working at the fountain at the drugstore, and she must be sneaking ice cream, though she says she’s not, because she’s turned into a blimp, I mean, a real blimp.” She took a breath. “And, oh, there’s this great new song, only it’s not that new really, it came out last winter but only made it to number twenty or something. Jimmy has it. ‘Tutti-Frutti.’ Did you ever hear it?”
“No.”
“I gotta play it for you. You should hear the words. They’re crazy. I mean, sexy but just crazy.”
“Who’s it by?”
“Little Richard.”
