“Uncle Al Harry signed me up for their frequent flyer program,” Connie said.
Sure, I thought. Just in case. “How was the flight?” I asked.
“Fine.” She was holding a stuffed animal I didn’t recognize. Al Harry must have given it to her.
“Did you eat on the plane?” Shelley asked.
“I ordered a kosher snack.”
I wondered if it was an apology.
“How was Chicago?” Shelley asked.
“Chicago was fine.”
“Did you go to the museums?” I said.
“I went to the Natural History Museum with Beverly and Diane.”
“Who are they?”
“Uncle Al Harry’s their grandfather.”
“Al Harry has grandchildren?”
“He has three grandchildren. Seth lives in Ohio.”
“Was it boring for you,” I said, “having to be around babies?”
“Diane’s almost thirteen. Beverly’s eleven and a half and tall for her age. Both kids are taller than I am.”
Shelley looked as if she’d been slapped. Long red wales appeared on her cheeks, without depth or texture, a blushed stigmata.
“Where else did you go?”
“We went to the Art Institute.”
“Did you get a chance to go to the Museum of Science and Industry?”
“Yes,” said Connie.
“Yes,” I said, “that’s a good one. That was always one of my favorites.”
“Do you have any bags?” my wife asked, and suddenly we couldn’t look at each other, a kind of mortification glancing off our eyes and wildly strafing the carpet, the passengers still coming out the jetway, the entire lounge area. It was the first allusion we’d made to Connie’s having run away. Until now it was as if she’d come back to us from a vacation.
“Yes,” she said, “there’s the duffel I took to camp that time,” and burst into tears.
Shelley had hurriedly removed her things from the spare bedroom, overlooking a tortoiseshell comb, a set of matching brushes. Connie brought them to her.
“Oh,” Shelley said, “I’ve been looking all over for those.”
She brought a porcelain lion Shelley kept on top of the dresser.
“Oh,” Shelley said, “thank you, sweetheart.”
She brought a small case in which Shelley kept her jewelry.
“Well,” Shelley said, “imagine that.”
“Guess what?” Connie said.
“What?” Shelley said.
“Cousin Diane has a boyfriend.”
“You told us she’s not even thirteen years old,” said Shelley.
“A boy in her Hebrew school class. Guess what else?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Mom?”
“What else?”
“Beverly’s on the swim team at her middle school.”
“That’s not all peaches and cream,” I said. “Every morning you have to get up early for practice. Her hair could dry out. Her ends could all split. She probably smells of chlorine.”
“Guess what?” she asked at the dinner table.
“What?” Shelley said.
“They belong to a health club. The East Bank Club. It’s very exclusive. They have a family membership and go whenever they want. I was their guest. There was this cosmetologist, there was this hair stylist. I had a makeover. They gave me a facial with collagen, the skin’s natural moistening conditioner, and taught me to use eyeliner, to start in the middle and go to the outer corners instead of starting from the inner corners. That opens your eyes and makes them look bigger. Guess what?” she demanded.
“What?”
“You have to pat it with a Q-tip to make it less harsh.”
“Connie?”
“Because my face is so round she showed me how to use blusher to bring out my cheekbones. She put apricot scrub on my skin to clean out the pores. I had a cellophane wrap. I lost three pounds.”
“Connie?”
“Guess what?”
“Connie?”
“Guess what?!”
“What?” Shelley said.
“They gave me a shampoo and washed it out with herbal rinse. They conditioned my hair, they styled it. They gave me the layered look. Guess what else?”
“Connie.”
“Go ahead, Dad. You can guess too. Guess what else?!”
“What else?”
“Marvin? Diane’s boyfriend from Hebrew school? Marvin likes me. That’s what they told me at the slumber party. They said he got this crush on me when he saw my new makeover. They said he means to write me. And guess what else?”
“What else?” Shelley and I said together.
“They get clothing allowances. All the girls get clothing allowances. My colors are autumn. Forest green, deep orange, the browns. Guess what?”
“No, you guess what, Connie! You guess what,” I shouted at her.
“‘What?”
“More St. Myra Weiss? More with your St. Myra Weiss?”
“You don’t believe Marvin likes me? He likes me all right! You think I made that up? You think I’d lie about something like that? You just wait until he starts writing me letters.”
“Connie,” Shelley said.
“Connie,” I said, “Connie, sweetheart.”
“Or that they don’t get a clothing allowance? Well, they do too.”
“Connie,” said Shelley.
“Connie,” I said.
“And they belong to the East Bank Club! It has Nautilus. It has free weights. It has aerobics and jazzercise. It has Jacuzzi and whirlpool and sauna and racquetball. It has an Olympic pool and a natural juice bar where they’ll mix you a cauliflower or spinach cocktail or anything else you want, or squeeze out the juice not just from organically grown fruit, melons and oranges or bananas or whatever, but from right out of the peel too. And they bring it right to your table. I had this cauliflower cocktail on a dare? And you know something? If you chug-a-lug it, it’s not half bad.”
“Connie, calm down.”
“No,” she said, “you calm down. You calm down!”
“How can I calm down,” I asked reasonably, “if I’m not the one who’s excited?”
“Well, you should be,” she said. “You should be. I’d be excited if I were you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means.”
“You hear this?” I asked Shelley. “ ‘It means what it means.’ What’s that supposed to mean? Now she talks in riddles.”
“She’s telling us about Chicago-le.”
“Oh, stop that!” Connie said.
“Don’t talk that way to Mama.”
“Oh, please,” Connie said.
“You’re a little cranky,” Shelley said. “It’s probably jet-e-le lag-e-le.”
“That’s old, Mother. That’s so old.”
“Don’t you criticize your mother,” I warned. “Who do you think you are? Don’t you dare criticize her!”
“You think I don’t know what’s going on? You think I don’t know you don’t even sleep together anymore? You think I don’t know that?”
“We sleep together, dear,” Shelley said. “Really,” Shelley said. “Honest. We do.”
“Why do you answer her? Why do you give her the satisfaction?”
“Really,” Connie said. “I suppose your comb and brushes just happened to walk into the spare bedroom! I suppose your lucky porcelain lion did! And your jewelry case that you never leave lying around anywhere and always keep in the bottom drawer of your bureau under your sweaters! Oh, sure! Tell me another, why don’t you?”