“You seen her?” She knows who I mean.
“Attention please!” Dave says. “I’ve got a couple of contest winners to announce! Drumroll, Maestro.” Even though I can’t see them either, I know he’s talking to the drummer of the Do Wops, Johnny Fazio’s band. They’ll play later on when we eat, and after it gets dark, they’ll serenade us while we wait for the fireworks to start. “The winner of the baby carriage contest is Mrs. Walker. Top-notch decorating, Donna.”
I already knew that Nell’s name was not gonna be announced. I took some supplies yesterday over to the apartment. I was gonna help her decorate the baby’s buggy. After I cleared the stack of old TV dinners off her kitchen table and set down what I brought, Nell asked, “What’s this for?”
“The Fourth!” I said.
She blew her nose into one of the Kleenex flowers it took me most of the morning to make. “The fourth what?”
Dave announces, “The winner of the three-to-eight-year-old category is… Jimmy Latour. Nice job on those spokes, Jimmy.”
I spot Artie clapping for his brother. I’m so surprised to see him out and about and he’s even got on a costume. Artie’ll compete in the over-twelve category. After kids turn thirteen around here, something weird happens to them and they think dressing up for the Fourth party is not cool, so hardly none of them enter. Artie is the exception. Since he was the only one that entered last year, he had to go against the younger kids, but this year it looks like he’s got a little competition from a couple of other boys whose costumes aren’t nearly as nice as his. He’s got on the same getup he had on last year and looks thrilled to pieces. And a lot like Daniel Boone from the television show because both of them are lanky and have those enormous Adam’s apples and… is that a coonskin cap he’s got on his head?
“Artie!” I holler. “Over here!”
He doesn’t see or hear me, he’s too wrapped up in looking at the same thing everybody else is. I can’t see who all the kids have made a circle around until Mary Lane says, “Move,” and jabs someone with her elbow that’s like a stiletto and a hole opens up.
All I can say is, “Sweet Jesus,” and I can tell that’s what everybody else is thinking, too.
My Troo is in the center of the cirle wearing the most fantastic costume I have ever seen! It’s made of hundreds of Popsicle sticks all glued together. Like a sandwich board, they’re hanging down the front and back of her and there’s twinkling white lights running up the edges, and right around her middle, she’s written out on the sticks in red and blue poster paint:
AN AMERICAN IN PARIS
That’s the name of the movie we saw during old-timey week at the Uptown Theatre that Troo loved so much. My sister has turned herself into a living, breathing Eiffel Tower!
Dave, who has to do double duty as a judge, steps into the admiring circle. He takes his time, but when he’s done judging Troo, he says real loud-maybe even my sister can hear the pride in his voice-“I think all of us can agree hands down that we’ve never seen anything quite like…” He sweeps his hand toward her. “The blue ribbon for the under-twelves this year goes to… Miss Margaret… sometimes known as Troo… also called Leeze… O’Malley! Let’s hear it for her, gang!”
Troo starts hunh… hunh… hunhing and everyone’s clapping and Wendy Latour’s throwing Dinah Shore kisses and Artie shoots off his cap gun and Mary Lane is chimp-grinning and man, oh, man, excuse my French, but what a fucking genius my sister is!
Chapter Twenty-one
The heat usually dies down around this time of night, but I guess it’s making a day of it same as me and Troo and everybody else who’s spread out at the lagoon waiting for the sky to go a smidgeon darker so the fireworks can get shot off from the island in the middle.
My breathing is coming a little faster than it normally does, but I’m not feeling as jumpy as I usually do being this close to the murky water. It was right over there where Bobby set me down. My loved ones being close by helps. Troo is lying next to me and Ethel and Ray Buck are two blankets over. I’ve already said a prayer for Junie, my little cousin, who would also be cuddled up with us along with her mother and father if she wasn’t rotting away in the cemetery in her little white coffin. I bet Dave is thinking about his dead niece, too. All the blue today had to remind him of Junie since that was her favorite color. Can you see fireworks from heaven?
Mother and Dave are perched in folding chairs behind us, getting along better than the lovebirds in the pet aisle at the Five and Dime.
The ladies in the neighborhood were swarming all over Mother for most of the day. They wanted to get a close-up look at her engagement ring. Most of them told her congratulations, but I heard one lady grumble, “And not a moment too soon, if you ask me. I was afraid to let my husband leave the house without me. The woman’s a Jezebel.”
I don’t know where Uncle Paulie disappeared to but wherever he is, he’s busy. The Fourth party is the biggest day of the year for him. All the Popsicle sticks lying around on the grass are like manna raining down from heaven for my uncle. Granny isn’t here. Even though she likes fireworks, she never comes to the celebration anymore because she got sick of people telling her how she should win a prize for looking so much like George Washington. Nell, she’s not here either because she doesn’t even know what month it is. But her nincompoop of a husband showed up. I saw Eddie earlier over where they were selling beer. He was hanging out with Tommy “The Mangling Meatball” Molinari, who musta challenged him to a chugging contest because the both of them were blotto. I stuck around for a while to see if Greasy Al might show, but all that ended up happening was Eddie and Tommy weaved down to the Honey Creek and tinkled into it.
Father Mickey is visiting with his parishioners around the shadowy lagoon, stopping to ask about how things are going up at the Feelin’ Good factory or with their kids. When he comes by Dave and Mother they treat him like a king, can’t thank him enough for getting them the annulment. They also talk about the cat burglar. Everybody has been. The Montgomerys got hit yesterday and lost a boatload of money that Mr. Montgomery, who doesn’t believe in banks, kept in a coffee can under the sink. Nothing else was taken. Dave told me that houses are usually ripped apart when a thief searches for hidden treasures, but our cat just zeroes in on the good stuff like he’s got a treasure map or something. X marks the spot.
Father Mickey stops to say hello to the O’Malley sisters, too. I say, “Hi,” back, but Troo doesn’t. She doesn’t even say thank-you when he compliments her on her winning costume.
I know why. She’s holding him responsible for getting Dave and Mother permission to get married. I bet Troo has already added Father Mickey’s name on the top of what she calls her “Shit List,” which is already over a foot long.
This is another one of those times when I think God really does have a plan because Father Mickey getting the annulment letter worked out really good for Troo in the long run. I’m almost positive she’s moved her crushing feelings off the priest and back to her old flame, Artie Latour, because he was definitely wearing the coonskin cap. It was flat as Troo’s beret from being under our mattress for so long, but it still looked good. Artie was also Troo’s partner in the egg-on-a-spoon and three-legged races and they dangled their feet in the Honey Creek during the afternoon, talking, talking, talking. When I took three Dreamsicles down and tried to join in with them, they told me, “Thanks,” but they clammed up about whatever it was they were chatting about.
My sister and me are lying on our stomachs, which we barely can do because of all the apple pie we ate. She’s tuckered out after her big winning day. I adore her all the time, but a little bit more when she gets sleepy like this. That’s when she’s more like olden-days Troo. Still whistling in the dark, but not as as loud. Her blue decorating ribbon and two more for winning the games are hanging off her neck, swinging like the pendulum on Mrs. Goldman’s grandfather clock. That reminds me. I’ve gotta get over there soon to check on her house. I’ve been slacking.