Beyond Blonde (14 page)

The ammonia bit into my nostrils and brought tears to my eyes. All was right with the world. Glasses full, we clinked to a heartier than usual
“Živili!”
Since Mama was the only one who stuck to one colour, Miss Clairol’s Raven, just to touch up the grey, not that anyone would ever use that word,
grey
I mean, she was free to proceed with the face-steaming
portion of the glamour treatment. Mama was shockingly low-maintenance in this crowd.

Auntie Eva rounded up all my old notebooks and a brand-new apron, which proclaimed that I was “King of the BBQ!” I mixed, stirred, and recorded like an old pro, navigating piles of peroxides, containers, bowls, and brushes, plus four separate kitchen timers.

“So, little Sophie,” said Auntie Radmila, “vat iz za problem?”

She caught me off guard. “No problem.” They examined me closer, concern tattooed across their faces. Mama looked guilty. Was there something she had missed? Did she drop the ball on her baby? “Really,” I insisted.

“You are not sad?” Auntie Radmila persisted.

“Sad? No, I’m not sad.” Trust the Croatian to sniff out sadness. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m just moody.” I shrugged. “What do you want, Auntie Radmila?” I picked up my pen. Auntie Radmila thrived on complexity. “I vill do one-quarter of za dregs of vat is left from Eva’s soup, mixed in vit half of Honey Blonde.” She held up a Miss Clairol box marked down sixty percent and made a face. “Only one-third of za 419 and two-thirds of the Platinum Bombshell.” The math alone was breathtaking.

I squirted and stirred.

Auntie Luba gave me her order in between complaining that I looked too skinny. Auntie Eva agreed while snuffing out her cigarette.

“What? We’ve all agreed my chest is better.”

“Da,”
nodded Auntie Luba. “Za breasts are good, but you got to find bigger hips. Zey like to have something to
hang on to.” Mama shoved her head deeper into the steaming bowl.

“Da!”
Vigorous nodding all around.

Hmm. Alison Hoover was very curvy and so were those two barely functioning girls that were hanging off David at the party. “Hips?” I said.

“Da!”
agreed Auntie Eva. She put her hands in front of her and looked at me. “Like zis.”

“Phooey, Eva, too big!” Auntie Luba measured out her hands. “Your mama vas like zis.”

“Leave da child alone,” Mama muttered from her bowl.

“Come on, guys, that’s worse than trying to grow boobs. How do I get hips, for God’s sake?” I dabbed Auntie Radmila’s centre part.

Auntie Eva lit up yet another cigarette. “You must for sure to stop za jogging. First it is bad for za boobies. Zey fall down ven zey get tired and zen zey stay down. You can’t blame zem. And jogging jogs avay za hips!”

I dabbed poor Auntie Radmila with increasing vigour. “But I have to be in shape for basketball, or David will not respect me as captain!” They all looked at one another. Mama sighed under her towel.

“What?”

“Sophie, darrrling …” Auntie Luba patted my hand. “If you had some hips, I guarantee he vould really respect you.” She winked.

Auntie Radmila nodded.

“Don’t nod while I’m dabbing,” I warned her. “I don’t want his respect! He makes me sick, he’s so stuck up and smug and …”

“Such a very unbelievable good-looking boy,” nodded Auntie Eva, who was having another conversation entirely.

I finished Auntie Radmila’s section, put the timer on for twenty minutes, and toddled off to Auntie Luba’s centre part. “I vas stirring already,” she said, all proud of herself.

“So, Sophie, ve must make you to be happy,” said Auntie Eva. Auntie Luba nodded. Auntie Luba was even a more vigorous nodder than Auntie Radmila. “Don’t do that,” I whispered.

“Za child needs to be vorshipped by a good-looking boy.” Auntie Eva winked at Auntie Radmila, Mama groaned, and Auntie Luba nodded.

I pretended I didn’t hear. “Auntie Luba, quit nodding already, I’m going to end up dying your forehead!”

“Okay,” she nodded. “You need za correct situation. Za basketball practice is too difficult. Ver did Madison meet her boyfriend, za lousy kisser von she got rid of?”

What can I say? They had tortured me for details.

“Uh, at her Sweet Sixteen.” I finished dabbing Auntie Luba and set her timer for fifteen minutes. “Remember? I told you guys, one of her cousins brought him over from Lawrence Heights.”

Mama’s head popped up. “Vat Sveet Sixteen? Vat iz a Sveet Sixteen? You said she met him at her birtday party.”

I reached for Auntie Eva’s concoction. “Yeah, but because it was her sixteenth birthday party, it’s a bigger, flashier bash, you know?”

Auntie Eva poured out more shots. They looked grim all of a sudden, well, as grim as you can look with your hair spiky with goop and your face covered in a mud mask.

“What?”

“Did Kit and Sarah also too have zis Sveet Sixteen?” asked Auntie Luba.

“Well, yeah.” I shrugged. “It’s the done thing, but it’s just a bigger-deal birthday party, more people, more food, you know?”

They looked at one another. Mama and Auntie Luba teared up.

“What, what?”

“Ve did not make you dis Sveet Sixteen!” Mama hit her chest with her fist.

Auntie Eva got up and smothered me. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” she wailed. I now had hair dye and clay mask on my BBQ King.

“It’s okay, guys, honest. My sixteenth was last February, remember? I mean holy hell, Papa left, Luke got married, the last thing in the world I wanted was a Sweet Sixteen!”

That did it. They started blubbering and making a mess of their masks. Auntie Radmila’s timer went off. “Stop crying!” I demanded. “I have to comb you through. Look guys, it’s not important. It’s like a class thing.” They looked perplexed. “You know, for rich people, Blondes, people like that?” When will I learn?

Auntie Eva stood up again and slapped the table. “Nobody has more classes zen our Sophie!”

“Pa da!”
nodded Auntie Radmila and Auntie Luba in unison.

“Stop nodding!” I yelled.

“We vill make for you a big, big party for zis year,” said Mama, slowly coming to. “It vill be very completely flashy splashy vit flowers and dancing and vatever you vant!”

“Da!”
Auntie Luba clapped her hands. “A Sveet Seventeen party!” This was greeted with clapping and monumental table thumping.

Oh, dear Buddha, why oh why did I open my mouth? They launched themselves headfirst into command and control party mode. It was going to be like Auntie Luba’s wedding all over again. Within seconds, they decided to clear out the restaurant and have it at Mike’s. It was like being carried away by a tidal wave. I gave up without a fight.

I didn’t have the guts.

I looked at them, my people, my family, all hair-gooped, mud-masked, smoking, clinking shot glasses, covered in plastic shower curtains, and plotting a party for me that would be the best Northern had ever seen. Or they’d die trying.

Or I would just die.

With the Aunties, it could go either way.

I waited for Papa
in the park. We used to come to this park even when we didn’t live in the neighbourhood. We’d take the streetcar and subway to get here. It was
our
place. He was bringing coffee. Even though Papa was chronically late, I still came half an hour early. Mama was all over me, and I wasn’t up for it. Guilty conscience. Mama felt like she’d dropped the ball on the whole Sweet Sixteen thing, and now in some strange punitive universe, I was being made to pay. So now Mama was all over me, examining my work, listening in on my calls, trying to unearth what else she’d missed. And then Papa called. My saviour.

The afternoon was aggressively perfect, bright and crisp around the edges. It was like a few Indian summer days got lost and then decided to stay to kiss the end of November. I shivered.

“Sophie?”

Jesus God. I turned around. I didn’t dare hope to see him again, ever. Not really. I mean, what were the odds?

“Fancy meeting you here, pretty girl.” He carried two cups of coffee. “Double-double, right?” One eyebrow raised, big smile.

Breathe, Sophie, breathe. Luke looked at me like no one else existed. And I believed him. He stood over me blocking the sun and radiating heat at the same time. “Double-double?” he asked again.

“Huh?” I said sweetly.

“I brought coffee.”

Damn. Luke Pearson had watched me pour and drink coffee for two years at Mike’s restaurant. And for two years I drank my Canadian coffee the way I drank my Turkish coffee, black with a pound of sugar.

“Double-double’s great,” I said. “Thanks.”

Coffee moved from his hand to mine, innocently. He smiled again, one dimple showing this time. We walked over to a bench in the middle of the park. Then we sat down. Neither of us said anything. I couldn’t; it was taking all I had just to inhale and exhale.

“I’ve been coming every Sunday since the last time,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve downed two double-doubles and cursed you for not showing.”

Exhale.

“I made some new friends though.” Luke raised his cup to three old guys sitting on a picnic bench while they watched their dogs run around in the leaves. They raised their cups back.

“I’m glad that your world is expanding,” I said.

“Exploding.” He tried to smile, couldn’t. “But it’s great to see you, Sophie, so great.” He took a swig of coffee like it was whisky.

We were just sitting. Why did I feel the way I felt? So guilty, I mean. It was like I was on this big Ferris wheel of guilt and we were rounding our way back to the top. Just two people sitting on a bench … “Luke, I …” I what? I wondered. I would like to breathe? I would like my body to stop thumping? “You were at the game, our first game against Oakwood.” He nodded and looked hard at the dirt.

“Hey, we made it to finals. They’re this Thursday!”

He nodded.

“Oakwood.” I nodded.

“Who else.” He nodded.

I didn’t ask him to come. He didn’t volunteer. I stopped nodding.

Luke leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, holding his cup with both hands. “It was always you, Sophie.”

His back muscles twitched in and around his shoulder blades. I could touch, no, I could lay my head on his back, rest myself for a minute on Luke. And then I would be stronger and clearer … and then, oh my God, I did!

I felt him contract and then freeze in that way you do when you spy a butterfly and you don’t want to scare it off. I just lay my head on the flat part of his back like it was something we did all the time. So harmless.

But not.

Was this adultery? I’d have to look up adultery in the
Encyclopaedia
index. The phrase “carnal knowledge” came to mind, but I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. My hunch was that unlike lesbianism, adultery might actually turn up in the index. I knew for sure the Catholics had stuff about it, and come to think about it, it was Moses—a Jew—who wrote that stuff down.

Luke sighed and reached over to touch my thigh. I could give up the Catholic and Jewish bits.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Luke examined his coffee cup again. “My life, well my life …”

I stopped breathing. Jesus, God,
don’t
talk about Alison and the baby!

“I made a mess of my life, and it’s right that I should pay. Aargh!” He ran his hands through his hair. “So I come every Sunday, just ’cause maybe I could see you and pretend.” I lifted my head, suddenly afraid. Luke turned and touched my cheek.

I wouldn’t be the adulterer, right? Wouldn’t it just be him? I’m not the married one after all. It would all be on his head. Right?

Luke leaned into me. His lips close to my face, scanning it. I could almost taste him. “If we could only, if I could only see you again, somewhere.”

He smelled like a bowl of cream and I wanted to … “Papa!”

“Where?” He jerked around, panicked.

“No, I mean, I’m meeting him. He’ll be here in a minute. You better go.” My heart was banging around my chest. Was that excitement or panic?

Or shame?

Luke grabbed my thighs. “Tell me you’ll see me again, or I won’t go.”

I scanned the park for Papa.

“Tell me or I won’t be able to go back.”

I put my coffee cup into his hand. “Yes, now go!”

“When?”

“Now!”

“No, I mean when will you meet me?”

I couldn’t hear myself think with all that thrashing going on in me. “Next week. No. That’s the Christmas cookie exchange thingy. The second Sunday in December, I’ll come back here.” Was that Papa coming up the rise? “Go, go!”

“I’ll be here, next week too, just in case,” he called as he jogged off. I watched him descend down the slope and then Papa ascend up the opposite slope. It was like God orchestrated it. Funny, they walked alike, long, strong strides. They were about the same height and build too. Of course, Luke was dark and Papa was fair, or else it would be seriously creepy. I felt sick and spinny. Maybe I’m not cut out to be an adulterer.

“Princessa!” Papa smiled. “How’s my girl?” He folded me into him while holding onto a bag containing two more coffees. I calmed down in his hug.

“Okay. How are you, Papa?”