Star Shine (11 page)

“Sure. How about an orange drink? Harpo.” Jenny tacked on the Harpo deliberately, getting even.

“My name's not Harpo,” Scott Borkowski said stiffly.

“It's on account of your hair,” Jenny said. “It's just like Harpo Marx's hair.”

“Who's Harpo Marx?”

“In the old Marx Brothers movie on TV, he's the one who plays the harp. Do you know how to play the harp?”

“I thought only angels played the harp,” he said. “I don't play anything. Orange drink it is,” and he went off toward the snack bar.

If only they could see me now, Jenny wished. If only the door would open and they looked inside and saw me drinking an orange drink with Scott Borkowski. Harpo, the barf king. The star shine kid.

“There you go.” He handed her an orange drink with a skinny straw sticking out. “Tell your sister I'm sorry if she got into trouble. On account of me, I mean.” Gingerly he balanced on the edge of the bench and stared down at his feet.

“You know what?” Jenny took a long drink. “My father almost called up your father to tell him you drank all our beer. But me and Mary talked him out of it. He was so mad. You wouldn't believe how mad he was. He said your parents should know what you did.”

“It wouldn't have made any difference if he had called,” Harpo said in an even tone. “It wouldn't have done him any good. My father's not there. He took off about four months ago. Him and his girl friend. My mother works two jobs, and my brother's in the army. It's only me at home mostly. So even if your father called, I would've pretended to be my father, and your father never would've known the difference. I can imitate my father's voice really well.” He raised his head and looked straight at her, his eyes bleak.

“Oh,” Jenny said, at a loss for words. “I'm sorry.” She'd thought Scott Borkowski owed her and Mary an apology, and here she was apologizing to him instead.

Norm Dubie, another man in tow, approached the bench where they were sitting. “That's the one I mean.” Norm Dubie pointed at them. “The one with the hair. You want to zero in on the one with the hair.”

Jenny and Scott Borkowski, a.k.a. Harpo, looked at each other, puzzled. “We both have hair,” Jenny said.

“The girl. At least, I think she's a girl. She must be—her name's Jenny,” and Norm Dubie smiled at her in a friendly way, letting her know he was only teasing.

“I gotta shove off,” Harpo said. “You want me to tighten those laces before I go? Better stand, see how they feel.”

Jenny stood. “Thanks,” she said. “They're good. Maybe I'll skate better this time around.”

“I want you to go on skating just the way you were, Jenny. It's perfect. This is Joe, my number-one cameraman. Jenny, Joe. Joe, Jenny.” Joe nodded and Jenny nodded back. “I've had my eye on you, and you're just right,” Norm Dubie said. “Keep on doing what you were doing, skating on your ankles, looking fairly miserable. That's a winner, right, Joe? The all-American gamine we've been looking for. Just what this scene needs. Who doesn't relate to ankle skating? Terrific!” Norm Dubie pumped Jenny's hand enthusiastically.

“All right, people! Time's up. Back at it, please. Let's have some nice waltz music. Everybody at 'em.” Norm Dubie clapped his hands, and the skaters began to straggle back onto the ice.

It seemed to Jenny that she was gliding much more smoothly than she had been. She felt positively graceful. The flat-haired lady spun faster and faster, gaining momentum. Jenny imagined her taking off, leaving the ice and hitting the ceiling, as if she were filled with laughing gas, like in
Mary Poppins
.

Jenny skated in fits and starts: slow, fast, fast, slow. Harpo had laced her skates so tight that her circulation seemed to have stopped. Her feet felt numb, as if they weren't there. Maybe they weren't; maybe she really was skating on her ankles on account of her feet had disappeared. She checked. No, her feet were hanging in.

“Let's go swimming after!” she heard someone shout. How could they go swimming when it was snowing outside? Jenny thought, before she remembered it was probably about ninety in the shade. So she'd looked fairly miserable. Deliberately, she tipped up the corners of her mouth in an imitation smile. The music and the noise in the rink were beginning to give her a headache. The orange drink sloshed around inside, making waves. The socks felt like sandpaper. She was certain her feet were bleeding.

Outside, Mary and Sue and Tina checked the clock on the church steeple one more time. “I think it's stopped!” Tina wailed. “When are they coming out? I'm sick and tired of waiting.”

“So go home,” Mary suggested.

“If you think that kid was impossible before,” Susan snarled, “just you wait for after. That kid will be so impossible no one will be able to be in the same room with her. You watch!”

“Jenny's not impossible.” Mary defended her. “She's a very good kid, very loyal. And she never tells lies. I've never known Jenny to tell a lie.” Mary stretched the truth a trifle.

Tina mashed her lips together so they seemed to disappear completely. “Big deal,” she muttered. “Very big deal.”

Every time the door opened a crack, the three of them jockeyed for position to see inside, almost losing their noses in the process.

“Oh my Gawd!” Sue squealed suddenly, sending the other two flying with a couple of expert hip checks. “You are not going to believe this.” Sue, her face white, came away from the door's crack. “You are simply not going to believe this. Guess who's sitting on a bench talking to Scott Borkowski. Just guess.” Sue folded her hands on her front and cast her eyes toward heaven.

Mary and Tina looked at each other.

“Jenny?” Mary said, not believing it for a moment.

“Right!” Sue's eyes almost popped from her head. “Li'lole Miss Jenny, sitting there like she was Marilyn Monroe or somebody, I can't stand it! I simply cannot stand it!”

Sue let her head drop into her hands despairingly. “Forget impossible. Impossible is not the right word. This is the worst thing that could've happened. You know that?” Mary wasn't positive, but she thought Sue might be crying. “Positively the absolute worst thing that ever happened.”

In silence, Mary and Tina nodded. Sue might just be right.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lunch was franks and burgers, all the potato chips you could eat, and more orange soda. No goat cheese. Jenny ate by herself, surrounded by a bunch of good-natured folks she'd not seen before. In the distance she could see Scott Borkowski, surrounded by lots of kids—some boys, mostly girls. After she went to the bathroom, she went out into the searing heat, to look for Mary and Tina and Sue.

They were eating egg salad sandwiches from home. “Hey,” they said, twisting their hair in their thin fingers. “What's new?” they asked, their faces flushed from the sun, their eyes avid.

“Mary, I wish you'd come inside with me,” Jenny said. I miss you.

“Oh, yeah?” Mary was pleased but didn't want to admit it. “What's going on in there? You meet any cute kids? See any movie stars?”

“The day seems never to end,” said Jenny. “It's sort of fun, but it's hard work, too. Norm Dubie told Joe to zero in on me with his camera. Scott Borkowski tightened my laces so I can skate better.”

She had made up her mind; she would not tell Mary or the others that Scott Borkowski's father had run off with his girl friend. Not right away, anyway. She would keep the knowledge to herself, hidden in a place where only she could get at it. She felt sorry for him, and it was a feeling she had never really known before. Maybe no one else had ever been sorry for Scott Borkowski, and that made it special.

Tina slapped a hand to her chest dramatically and, tongue lolling like a dog's, she gasped, “I have to cool off. How's about we go swimming? Want to?” Her eyes skimmed over Jenny as if she weren't there.

“Super idea!” Sue said. “Absolutely super! Come on, Mary, let's go swimming.” Then, “Poor you,” she said to Jenny. “You have to go back into that creepy place and skate your little tuckis off. How are the ankles doing, Jen? I expect they're soft as grapes by now, right? I'm amazed you're still standing, with those ankles and everything. Poor little Jenny,” Sue crooned, smiling gently.

“I'll be home as soon as we're done here,” Jenny told Mary. “Maybe Mother will be home by the time I get there. You never can tell.”

“Come on, Mare,” Tina urged. “Let's get going.”

“No,” Mary said. “I'm waiting for Jenny. It isn't fair to leave her alone.”

“She's not alone. There are gobs of people with her. All kinds of strange people with her, including boys.” Tina's eyebrows slid up under her hair.

“I'm staying.” When Mary dug in her heels, there was no moving her.

“Oh, well, if you're going to stay, we might as well too.” Tina and Sue yawned widely, showing off their fillings, showing they didn't care, one way or another.

Jenny left them shimmering in the afternoon heat and went back into the frigid air, to skate the afternoon away. She saw Norm Dubie once or twice from a distance. A couple, the movie's stars, it was whispered, posed at the railing, looking bored as their clothes were checked, their makeup, their hair. The couple were not beautiful people, Jenny thought. They reminded her of TV anchorpeople, especially when they smiled.

It seemed to her there were twice as many bearded men inside as there'd been outside. They were mostly production assistants, scurrying around like so many ants. They wore vests with lots of pockets into which they were continually stuffing things or from which they were extracting combs or keys or pieces of paper.

“Crazy,” said Jenny, shaking her head. “Crazy.”

“You gotta ask yourself one thing,” said the man sitting next to her. “What would you be doing if you weren't doing this?” His bushy eyebrows bristled at her. “I mean, what else? Pulling up weeds? Here it's like we're part of the big picture.”

“Yeah, but all this waiting around gets boring,” Jenny said. “They shoot the same thing over and over. I didn't know it would be so boring.”

“That's what they're paying you for, sis,” the man said. “These guys are pros. Pros are perfectionists. That's why they do it over and over, to get it just right.”

“I bet they could manage without half the people they've got,” Jenny said.

“You didn't want to come here, nobody forced you,” the man said, turning away.

Jenny sighed and wished she had something to read to fill in the time.

“O.K., people!” Norm Dubie sang out at last. “That's it for today. Thanks for being so patient. Report back here tomorrow, same time, and we'll wrap it up. Cross your fingers.”

As Jenny eased her aching feet out of the skates, the flat-haired lady came up to her. “You'd no business saying you could skate, young woman,” she snapped. “I saw you. You can't skate worth a tinker's damn, pardon the expression. Some people!” And she turned and swished angrily away, her little velvet skirt rippling around her skinny thighs.

Jenny's feet weren't bleeding, after all. Only red. She tossed the socks back into the Lost and Found with no regrets, put on her sneakers, and headed for the door.

Mary was waiting, wilting in the sun. Sue and Tina had gone home, sick of hanging around.

“How was it? Was it fun?” Mary asked.

“Partly fun, not all. I talked to Scott Borkowski. He helped tighten my laces. He got me an orange drink, only he didn't have to pay for it. It was on the house.”

“We saw you, through the door. What'd he say?”

Jenny shrugged. “Not much. I told him Daddy almost called his parents, only we talked him out of it.”

“Is that all you said?” Mary said, disappointed.

“Let's hitch,” Jenny said as they started out.

“You know Daddy said we should never hitch,” Mary reminded her. “It's dangerous.”

“I know, but he didn't know how hot it was going to be.” Jenny stuck out her thumb, and Mary grabbed at her hand and said, “Don't be such an ass.”

Jenny widened her eyes and said, “Watch your language.”

A car pulled alongside. “Hello, you two!” Susan's mother cried. “Hop in!” Behind her, a car slammed on its brakes, the driver leaned on the horn and hollered, “Next time let me in on your plans, lady!” Susan's mother waved and shouted, “Sorry!” in a cheery voice. You had to give her credit; she always apologized.

“Boy,” Jenny said, sinking gratefully into the back seat, “it sure feels good to sit down. And it's so cool.”

“We had a very nice time at your house, Mrs. Clay,” Mary said primly. “Dinner was delicious.”

“How goes it, kidlets?” Susan's mother accelerated and turned completely around to look at them. “George needs a little practice on the coq au vin, but we loved having you.”

“Watch it, Mrs. Clay!” Mary cried in a trembly voice. “There's a huge truck pulling out in front of you!”

“Ooops, sorry, so there is.” Susan's mother settled for leaning close to the rear-view mirror to look at them. “Mother home yet? I feel for you all. I bet you miss her. Daddy, too.” Her bright eyes surveyed them in the glass.

“We expect her home today,” Mary said. “Or tomorrow at the latest.”

“Wonderful! Just think, she'll have to get used to reality, face up to the husband, the kids, the dog, after hearing all that applause, all those bravos! That's going to be tough.”

“We don't have a dog,” said Jenny, remembering what their mother had said about “Bravo!” being the sweetest-sounding word in the English language.

“You know what I mean. Anyway, I'm glad she's coming home. For your sakes. I know you kids will be much happier now.” The car swooped around the corner and stopped with a flourish in front of their house.