Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon (6 page)

Grandmother had concentrated her efforts on Daddy's office this day. I didn't know how she had done it, but all by herself she had moved his heavy dark oak desk across the room so it faced the window on the east side, and once she had done that, she had to change everything: lamps, chairs, the small sofa, tables and even rearrange books,

"Why didn't you come home for dinner?" she demanded as soon as I entered the house. She had been watching one of her movies and keeping one ear turned to hear me or Daddy come home. The second I closed the door, she was in the hallway.

Mammy," I told her. "You were there all this time?" "It's not down the street," I replied without
much emotion. "Don't you want to know how she is?" "I've already spoken to your father about her,"
she told me.
"Really? Well considering he wasn't there, I'm
sure he was very informative."
"He's been in contact with her doctor, which is
more important," she insisted.
"Is it? You think that's more important than
having your husband come see you, be with you,
comfort you?"
"Don't start with your dramatics," she warned.
"All of you children are so theatrical these days. It
comes from spending so much time in front of the
television set," she analyzed. "It's either that or staring
into a mirror all day."
"I don't do either. Grandmother, and you know
that. Matter of fact, you watch more television than I
do, and you wear more makeup," I added.
"Don't be insolent."
"I'm not being insolent. I'm just stating facts." "Never mind, never mind," she insisted. "There
are far more important things to talk about and do. I'm
getting this house intelligently organized. Come see
your father's study," she told me.
It was really more of a command. but I was too
curious not to follow her, and when I saw it, I smiled
to myself.
If he doesn't like it, too bad. I thought. "He works mainly in the afternoon when he
works here on the weekends. He shouldn't be facing
the sunlight. Don't you agree?"
"Fine with me," I said. Then I looked at her, my eyes small, determined. "Don't come into my room. Grandmother. If you move so much as a picture frame
on the dresser..."
"I have no intention of entering your cave," she
said. "You'll have to repair your room yourself." "It doesn't need repairing. It needs to be left
alone,"
I
told her.
"Have you done your homework?" she cried
after me when I turned away and started for the stairs. I paused and looked at her, a half-smile on my
face.
"Have I done my homework? Since when have
you ever asked about that?"
"Well, with your mother gone. I thought I had
better--
^.
"My mother isn't gone!" I screamed at her.
"She's just recuperating. At least she's able to
recuperate from her madness, which is more than
some people can do."
I charged up the stairs, anxious to get away
from her. She simply returned to her old movie,
wallowing in it like she would soak in a warm bath. It took me hours to calm myself down and do
my homework. It was nearly midnight when I went to
bed and still. Daddy had not come home. I fell asleep. but I woke to the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. Those stairs always creaked loudly, which was part of the charm of the house for me and for Mommy. Daddy didn't like it and Grandmother Beverly thought they should be ripped out and redone. She said the house was too old to be inhabited and complained vehemently about the creaks in the walls, the moans in the pipes, and the leaks in the roof. I would smile to myself, imagining her awake at night listening to the sounds, terrified that the house itself was coming alive and closing in on her. Footsteps on the stairway echoed with electric speed over the hallway floor and into her room as well as my own, but she didn't get up
to greet Daddy.
I rose quickly and went to my door just as
Daddy was passing my room.
"Daddy," I called in a loud whisper. He had his
shoulders slumped like someone trying to tiptoe
guiltily away.
"What are you doing awake?" he asked. "I heard you coming up. Did you get to see
Mommy?" He shook his head.
"It was a horrendous trip. There were accidents
and delays and I just managed to get home now. I'll
get there tomorrow," he said. "but
I
did call and the
nurse told me she was resting comfortably."
"She's drugged. How would they know if she
was comfortable. Daddy?"
"All right," he said. "It's late. Cinnamon. Let's
talk about it all tomorrow."
"When?"
"When I see you," he said. ''Go to sleep. You're
just going to make things more difficult for everyone
by being contentious," he added and walked on to his
bedroom.
I stood there and watched him go in, closing the
door softly behind him.
He's not the same. I thought. He's just not the
same. There's something more than Mommy's
condition affecting him. I knew he would never tell
me what it was. Could it be he was in trouble
financially? Were we on the brink of economic
disaster? Did he depend on Grandmother's money
these days? Was that why he wouldn't contest
anything she did?
Falling asleep with these questions in the air
was like trying to walk over an icy road. Every time I
drew close to drifting off, another troubling thought
jerked me back awake, keeping me slipping and
sliding until
I
finally passed out just before dawn. I hadn't set the alarm and my grandmother actually had
to come pounding on my door.
"Are you getting up or not?" she cried from the
hallway. I heard her try the knob, but I had locked it.
"Who locks their bedroom?" she muttered. She
knocked again. "Cinnamon, are you getting up?" I groaned and looked at the clock astounded at
the time myself. For a moment I considered not going
to school at all and then, all my questions from the
night before began to flood over me again and I
made
a quick decision.
I
was
up and
dressed in minutes. "Why do you lock your bedroom door?"
Grandmother Beverly asked as soon as
I
stepped into
the kitchen.
I
went right to the coffee without
responding. She made it too weak for my taste and
even for Daddy's, but he didn't complain.
I
deliberately poured a cup
and
then poured it back
through the coffee maker,
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to turn this tea into coffee."
I
muttered. "A girl your age shouldn't be drinking so much
coffee. It's not good for you." she insisted.
I
started to look for one of my breakfast bars.
She had moved everything around in the cabinets and
literally nothing, not even a salt shaker, was where it had been.
I
started to shove things to the side more
frantically.
"You're messing it all up. What are you looking
for? Just ask," she said.
I
turned.
"My breakfast bars! Where are they?" "Oh, that garbage. It's candy. How can that be
breakfast?
I
threw it all out." she admitted. proudly.
"Threw it all out? I had just bought them. They
were mine. You had no right to do that. Grandmother,
and for your information, they have a great deal more
nutritional value than what you and Daddy eat for
breakfast."
"Nonsense. Don't believe what they write on
those wrappers." she said. "Now I'll make you some
hard-boiled eggs." She put the pot under the faucet. I gulped some coffee and marched past her. "Cinnamon." she called after me. "Where are
you going?"
"I'm too late to eat breakfast." I shouted back.
"You eat it for me."
I rushed out of the house and to my car. My
wheels screamed and stained the driveway with
rubber as I accelerated. I was sure she had heard it.
When I got to the road. I didn't head directly for school. Instead.
I
swung around toward Clarence's house and sure enough. I caught him sauntering along. He lived only about a half-mile from the school in the most elegant and expensive area. His house was actually as big as mine. He was surprised when I
pulled up and honked the horn.
"What's up?" he asked after he opened the
passenger door. "I'm not going to school today." I
said.
"Oh?"
"I have something else to do. Want to come
along?"
"Where?"
"Into the city,"
I
said. "Manhattan."
He thought a moment and then looked back as
if someone was watching us. He shrugged and got
into the car.
"I guess," he said.
I shot away from the curb and headed for the
thruway.
"So what do you have to do?" he asked. "And
don't say shopping. I hate shopping. If it's shopping,
let me out. My mother used to drag me like a sled
through the department stores."
"Hardly shopping. I'm going into the city to spy
on my father," I replied.
"What? Why?"
"I have a feeling he might be losing his job or
something," I said. "He might even have lost it by
now. He's been acting strange and it's not because of
what's happened to my mother. He's a bundle of
secrets, wound up tight, and he won't let me inside.
Sometimes. I feel like I don't care anymore, but then I
think I should."
"Of course, you should," Clarence agreed.
"Who else is going to care if you don't?"
From what he had told me about his own family
life, he didn't have a much better relationship with his
father who was a very busy attorney specializing in
estate planning. His mother managed the new mall
north of Yonkers and, according to Clarence, was
busier than his father. He had a younger sister Lindsey
in ninth grade, but they weren't close. Most of the
time, they walked right by each other in school, barely
exchanging a glance. He said she was very spoiled. Funny, I thought, how you could be, so alone in
your own home, in your our family. Just because you
had parents, it didn't guarantee you wouldn't be an
orphan or a stranger if your parents were so wrapped
up in themselves. Sometimes. I thought Clarence hung around with me and listened to my moans and groans just so he could feel like he was in a real
family, even though it was mine and not his own, "How are you going to spy on him?"
"I know where he works. We'll hang out there."
I explained. "Doesn't sound like you have much of a
plan."
"I've got to do it. If you don't want to come..." "No, it's all right. I'm fine."
It wasn't until we reached the Wall Street area
that I felt I might have made a very silly decision. The
traffic, the crowds and just the size of the buildings
made what I had planned to do look as foolish as
Clarence had made it sound.
"What do we do first?" Clarence asked, even
more impressed with the task himself now.
"Find a parking garage as close to Daddy's
building as possible," I said.
I
tried to look and sound
like I knew what I was doing, like I was in the city
often, but of course
I
wasn't. Mommy didn't like going
to the city. except to shows.
I
saw my first Broadway
show with her and Daddy when I was only seven. It
was a musical. The
Phantom of the Opera
, and I
remember being so mesmerized and excited.
I
could
hardly speak.
"That's where you'll belong someday.
Cinnamon," Mommy whispered in my ear and nodded
at the stage.
I wondered. Did I? Could 17
I saw a few shows a year after that, but most of
the time recently, it was just Mommy and me. Daddy
was either working or meeting clients.
Parking was the easiest part of my skimpy plan
today.
It
just meant spending money, which we did,
and then we walked to Daddy's building.
"Have you ever been here before?" Clarence
asked.
"Once, a long time ago. We had a day off but
the market was open and Daddy decided to take me to
see his offices and all the activity. I was in the fifth
grade. Mommy came along and afterward, she and I
went to a show off-Broadway, The
Fantastics
.
It
was
a very excitingday.
"I thought Daddy had a mad, crazy job. All that
shouting and excitement. I couldn't understand how
anyone kept track of anything or knew what he or she
was doing. Daddy looked like the calmest person
there."
Clarence listened, intrigued. He wasn't in the
city that often, so his eyes were wandering
everywhere, drinking in the activity, the endless flow of people, cars, the billboards and the variety of stores and restaurants. I wondered if your brain could shut down like some overloaded computer, all these sights
and sounds coming at you at once.
"Now what?" he asked.
"There's a coffee shop in his building, in the
lobby. Let's go there."
We went in and were able to get a table close to
the window that looked out at the lobby. Having had
nothing for breakfast. I was hungry and ordered
scrambled eggs and a bagel. Clarence just had some
coffee and watched me eat. I watched the elevators.
There were four, with a constant stream of traffic, but
soon it started to taper off. Most people had already
arrived for work.
"What exactly do you think your father's
doing?" Clarence asked as I ate.
"I think he's looking for a new job. That's why
he doesn't tell his secretary exactly where he's going
or where he can be reached or why he didn't answer a
page the other day," Clarence nodded.
"Yeah, that makes sense," he said. "He's
probably got a lot of pride and doesn't want to feel
like some kind of failure. My father has never made a
mistake in twenty years of practicing law."
"Really?"
"That's what he makes it sound like, and
everyone who works for my mother is a half-wit." He
smiled. "I come from a pair of regular geniuses." He made me laugh. Clarence is handsome. I
thought. He has a twinkle in his eye that gets pretty
sexy sometimes, whether he knows it or not. He acts
like he doesn't. but I was always suspicious of people,
especially boys. Their smiles and words were like
little balls in the hands of a magician: now you see
them, now you don't.
When I finished eating. I paid the check and
lingered for a few moments.
"Now what do we do?" he asked.
"I want to be sure he's upstairs at his desk. I'll
call and pretend I'm a client and ask for him," I said.
"Afterward, we can go to the magazine and
newspaper shop and then we'll hang out and wait until
the market closes to see what he does. We've just got
to keep inconspicuous."
He went to the bank of pay phones in the lobby
and I dialed Daddy's number. His secretary answered
and I asked for him.
"Oh," she said. "he's just this moment left. Can I switch you to Mr. Posner who's handling his