The Princess of Las Pulgas (19 page)

I slam the dishes into the
sink full of soapy water.

“Are you bent on trashing
his china?” he asks me.

“Who cares about his
china?” I hiss. “So what are we going to do? I mean, this is
screwed up, isn’t it?”

Keith picks up a plate,
dries and stacks it in the cupboard. “What are you on about
now?”

“We don’t know
anything
about him.
Neither does
she
.
What’s she
thinking
?”

“She likes
apples?”

“You are so
dim.”

“It’s genetic; something we
share.” Keith tosses the towel across my shoulder. “You finish. I’m
joining the happy people.”

“Right, jerk.” I snatch the
towel off and dry the last of the silverware, leaving the sink
filled with dessert dishes in sudsy water and the cupboard doors
open. Mr. Christopher can do the rest himself.

In the living room Mom and
Jeb sit on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and Quicken lies
curled up next to Jeb. Keith’s in one of the leather chairs on
either side of the sofa, his long legs stretched out toward the
fire. I lift Quicken and take the chair opposite Keith, putting the
cat in my lap. She rubs against my arm and butts her head against
me, like she always does when she needs petting. I stoke her fur
and expect she'll make a circle on my lap and purr. But no, she
jumps down and returns to her spot next to Jeb.

I know hearts can’t break,
but I know they shrivel from too much pain. Right now, mine’s down
to the size of a raisin. It's all I can do to sit across from that
man, Mom on his one side and Quicken on the other. I shove my back
against the warm leather of the chair and wish Jeb would go up in a
poof of smoke.

“Carlie, Jeb has offered to
give Keith a job helping around the orchard while he’s suspended.”
Mom smiles at me as if she's modeling the expression she’d like to
see on my face.

“And when he returns to
school, I could use some help on the weekends,” Jeb says. “There’s
even a job in summer.”

“What do you say?” Mom asks
Keith.

I’m screaming inside my
head.
I think the idea sucks!
I don’t want more of Jeb Christopher in my life,
and if Keith works for him that’s exactly what I’ll have. I give
Keith the stare that used to send him scurrying behind Mom when he
was four.
Say no, Keith!

Keith shrugs.
“Sure.”

Aaarg!
I need to work on a new stare.

Jeb insists on following us
in his truck back to the apartment, and he waits by the pool until
Mom waves from the stairs before he drives off. He knows this place
isn’t safe; No wonder he keeps his gun with him when he’s in the
orchard.

I ignore Mom and Keith’s
conversation about the job and keep my eyes on the dark windows to
Anthony Mancuso’s apartment, wondering if he’s safely asleep or
somewhere in the shadows, watching.

“Carlie,” Mom calls, “come
inside and close the door. I can’t afford to heat the entire city
of Las Pulgas.”

Mom and Keith are in the
hall.

“Consider this a
mini-family meeting.” Mom beckons, then reaches her arm around me.
“I wasn’t too happy with some of the attitude at Jeb’s tonight.
He’s been generous with his offer for Keith, and I expect you both
to be polite in his company. Am I clear?”

“Keith sprays graffiti in
the gym and gets a job. How fair is that? I do nothing and have one
month to scrape up two hundred dollars.”

Mom takes me by both
shoulders and spins me around so we’re face to face. “Why two
hundred dollars?”

This is a family
meeting—the first one in a long time—Mom is almost through with the
real estate class, and whether I like it or not, Jeb’s making Mom’s
life more . . . interesting. My dress problem shouldn’t sink the
boat. “I want a dress for the Spring Fling.”

“That is so lame—” my
brother says.

“Stop right there, Keith.
There’s nothing lame about Carlie wanting a new dress for a special
night,” Mom says. “Why didn’t you say something?”

I shrug. “What good would
it do?”

“At least I’d know what’s
making you such a grouch.” Mom shakes her head. “I picked up
another shift at the market, so by the end of this month I’ll have
a little extra to help you. You have no idea how good being able to
say that feels. Come here. I need a group hug.”

I let Mom draw me close and
Keith stays in the circle a second before pulling away and
slouching into his room.

Mom holds me close a moment
longer. “Dump the grumpy-girl attitude, okay? It doesn’t suit you.”
She waits, but when I don’t say anything, she sighs and lets go.
“I’m turning in early for a change. Goodnight.”

When I go into the kitchen
for a glass of water, I check the phone for messages, and it’s
Sean’s voice that I hear.

“Hey. Give me a call at my
aunt’s. Dad and I are here for dinner.”

I play the message again to
hear his voice and give my heart time to rein itself in. Still my
hand shakes as I dial the familiar babysitting connection. I didn’t
know how much I missed him until now.

Mrs. Franklin answers. “I’m
so glad you called. I desperately need a sitter for next Sunday
afternoon. Any chance you’re available?”

You’ll never guess how
available I am, Aunt Corky.
“Sure.”

“Excellent. I’ll let you
know the time when our plans are firm with the other couples.
Here’s Sean.”

“So how’s my favorite
ex-Channing girl? Are you still coming over tomorrow? Or I can head
your way—”

“No, I’m coming, but I, uh,
can’t until after five-thirty. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be at
Aunt Corky’s. Dad’s going out of town on business. Oh, and I’ll
wait dinner until you come.”

The words are ordinary, but
how he says them makes me feel very special, even on the phone. And
he’s . . . fun. Why is that the first word that comes to mind when
I think about him? But he
is
fun. Kind of like when Lena and I used to hang
out.

Lena must pick up my vibes
because I’m on my way out of the kitchen when she calls. It’s so
good to talk about things that have nothing to do with my trouble
in Las Pulgas. There are no burning issues with Lena. Actually,
there are no issues at all. All we talk about is Channing’s Spring
Fling, where Eric and Nicolas are taking us to dinner, again her
dress, and when am I coming to see it?

I can’t put this off any
longer. “The only time I have is Saturday morning. I’ve got lots to
do later ,and Sunday I’m babysitting.” Seeing Lena that day means I
have two trips to Channing, with play rehearsal in between. But
that’s just the way it’ll have to be.

“At last!” she screeches.
“This is so going to be fun, like old times.” I imagine her jumping
up and down like she did in third grade.

“I’m excited,
too.”

“So what are you wearing
for the dance? Have you bought it yet?”

“No. I’m still busy
unpacking and stuff. Maybe next week.”

“Are you going with your
mom?” The way she asks I know she wants me to invite her along, but
I can’t. I might be shopping at the Happy Hollow Discount
Shoppe.

I sprawl across my bed.
“I’m not sure when I can go.” Again I’ve dodged asking her, but I
haven’t really lied. “I’ll call you, okay? Oh, I almost forgot. Can
you ask your mom if I can sleep over the night of the
dance?”

She does a loud squeal and
we end our conversation with Lena being really happy. Me,
too.

After I hang up I go to my
desk and check my savings account online. Fifty-five dollars and
ten cents. In just five weeks I have to come up with at least two
hundred dollars or it’s definitely the discount shop.

Talking to Sean then Lena,
reminds me I’m running out of excuses to keep Channing away from
Las Pulgas. I pick up Quicken’s empty cushion and crush it to my
chest, missing how she purred comfort into my room.

“I hate Jeb
Christopher!”

Chapter 32

Saturday morning, I drop
mom at work, then drive Keith to the Cal Works office. The car’s
mine for the day.

“What time do I have to
pick you up?” I say to my brother, trying not to sound put out. But
today my schedule is tight, and picking up Keith adds to my time
crunch.

“They said after two.” He
makes a sour face.

“Be thankful it’s only a
couple of Saturdays, bro.”

“‘
Bro.’ Very funny.” He
slams the door and joins a group of people standing around a man
who’s handing out high visibility yellow vests.

I don’t envy him a day
picking up garbage along roadsides, just like I don’t relish having
to spend the day
oohing
and
ahhhing
over Lena’s new dress. At least now I have more
hope of buying something decent since I’ll earn some babysitting
cash on Sunday. For the first time I pray the Franklins will stay
out late. Mom might be able to help me with some of the dress
money, and if I’m lucky, there’ll be a sale somewhere on an awesome
red strapless dress.

I park a few blocks away
and walk toward Lena’s. No sooner do I step onto her porch than
she’s out the door to meet me. “You’re here! Finally!” She looks
past me. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s—”

She drags me inside, as if
I might change my mind and leave. “Do you have any idea how long
it’s been since you’ve come over?” I don’t have time to answer this
question either. “Since Christmas! Over four months” she tells
me.

In Lena’s room, I sit on
the small blue and white-checkered couch nested in the bay window.
Sheer curtains hang over the panes and the midmorning light filters
through, creating a soft, hazy glow. A crisp duvet and matching
shams give off a scent of laundry softener. The room hasn’t
changed, but it feels twice the size I remember.

How can I go back to my black-sheeted
window?

“Here it is!” Lena twirls
out of the closet pressing a shimmery blue dress against her body.
“Is this the most beautiful dress you have ever laid eyes on or
what?”

Two waves surge inside me.
The first is relief. The second is regret for feeling that way. The
dress is not beautiful. It isn’t a close second to beautiful, but I
try to look as I love it. Lena peels off her sweater and slips the
dress over her head. She lets it slide down her hips and twirls,
with arms outstretched.

Say something,
Carlie.
“You’re right. I’ve never seen a
dress quite like that. It’s—”

“Mom and I found it in the
city. It’s a designer original—one of a kind.”

Thank heavens. One’s
plenty.
“Are those tassels at the hem?” I
ask, trying to hide my disbelief.

“Different, right?” Lena
holds up the skirt in front of my nose as if I couldn’t spot a
tassel from a foot away.

“Very.”

“And it’s my favorite
color.”

I’ve often wondered if pale
blue is really Lena’s favorite color or if her mom has told her it
is so often that Lena believes it now. Blonde, blue-eyed, Mrs.
Knudson looks great in blue. On Lena, it’s only so-so.

After Lena changes back
into clothes, we go to the kitchen and Lena pours two glasses of
orange juice, then dumps taco chips into a bowl. The Knudson’s
housekeeper sweeps around our high stools at the marble
island.

“Eric says he’s buying me
the biggest orchid at the florist’s. Isn’t that cool?”

“Sweet.” I sip orange
juice.

“So, tell me about your
dress. You didn’t buy it yet, right? Do you know what you’re
looking for?”

The door leading from the
garage opens and Mrs. Knudson steps into the kitchen with bags
dangling from both arms. “Lupe! Come take these bags.”

The housekeeper stands her
broom in the utility closet and hurries to take the bags from Mrs.
Knudson.

“Carlie!” Mrs. Knudson
wraps her arms around me. “It has been too long. How is your
mother?”

“Good.”

“And you’re going to the
dance with Nicolas. Wonderful.”

“Carlie doesn’t have her
dress yet, Mom. We’re talking about what she’s going to
buy.”

Mrs. Knudson pours herself
a tall orange juice and sits on the stool across from us. “Lovely.
I’m just in time.”

“I was thinking strapless,
maybe red.”

“You can’t go red.” Mrs.
Knudson’s voice is suddenly sharp.

I sip more juice and swish
it around in my mouth, tapping the glass with one
finger.

“Mom’s, right. We’ll
clash.”

“Red goes with blue,” I
say.

“No, dear. Besides you need
a pastel. It’s a spring dance. And not strapless.” Mrs. Knudson
shakes her head side to side.