I shouted at people
on sidewalks and streets.
It was a smorgasbord
of humanity,
and profanity
slipped from my lips.
“Holy shit!
I never saw so
many different
races in the
same place!”
It was a
rat race, a
street pace
of faces
from light
to dark
and in between:
more skin
colors
than exist
in the
white-bread world
of Banesville.
“If we look
real close,
we might
see the host
of a game show,
or a sports hero,
or a size-zero
supermodel,”
Twig said.
“We might
see the
grooviest movie
stars,
or TV stars,
or famous players
of guitars!
Who knows
who goes
in all the limos?”
Horns blared,
and nobody cared
or stared
or dared to bare
their teeth
in the hint of
a grin.
I didn’t know
where to begin
to look.
“I could
write a book
of poems
about this city,”
I said.
I felt New York
in my bones
and in my flesh:
a mishmash mesh
of a place
that starts
the race
for the rest
of America.
“This is just
like you see on TV!”
I said. Jake just
smiled and shook his head.
I was in a state
of hysteria, laughing and staring,
not even caring
what Jake thought,
or thinking that I ought
to be cool.
Jake played
tour guide, driving
fearlessly in bumper-to—
bumper craziness, unfazed.
“Here we are!”
Jake announced,
proud. “The Waldorf-Astoria, to your left.”
Jake coasted
to the sidewalk.
“Is this where you park?”
I asked, in the dark
about how a car gets
parked in a place like this.
Jake shook his head.
“Parking garage,” he said.
It was like a ballet:
a valet and a mellow
yellow-tasseled bellboy
and a top-hatted, tailcoated
doorman, all in a dance
of service just for us.
They made such a fuss,
tipping their caps
and zapping us with happy
smiles and all that.
I felt so fat,
and not quite
dressed right,
and tried
with all my might
to be polite.
Jake knew
just how to act,
not lacking in manners
or cosmopolitan coolness.
He opened
the trunk, looking like
such a hunk, and lifted
a guitar case from inside,
along with a cool blue suitcase.
“I’ll get your bags,
miss,” said the
whistling bell guy,
and it was then
that I realized
that … Duh!
Twig and I
were so totally dumb,
and our suitcases
(and wallets)
were on their way
to the place
where wrecked cars go.
Lesson 15
Never Wash Your Face in the Bidet
“You can borrow my clothes,”
said Jake as we waited
for the elevator.
“Thanks, but what size?
Don’t lie. Your pants
don’t have a chance
of fitting my ass,” I said.
“And Twig’s too skinny.”
“My mom’s a stick,” Jake said.
“Her stuff will fit Twig.
And my dad’s big.
I mean, slightly large.
Or you could just
charge your credit card
and buy a whole bunch
of new clothes,
like at Saks or Macy’s
or somewhere.”
I sighed. I could
have died. My wide
load was so fat
that it’d compare
to someone’s dad.
This was bad. Way sad.
So I just tried to laugh.
“Can you believe
how brainless
we were, to leave our
bags in the car!”
I didn’t want
to confess that I didn’t possess
a MasterCard or Visa
or any other plastic money.
Pops was funny about stuff
like that, and never allowed
me to apply for credit cards.
“The interest will get the best
of you,” he always said.
But now my head was exploding.
I had no clothes to wear.
I’d have to be a nudist
in New York.
What a doofus of a dork.
The Waldorf was the fanciest
hotel I’d ever been in.
I couldn’t believe
we were going to sleep here.
The lobby alone put my home
to shame. I felt lame,
such a mess in my polyester vest
over a 1970s dress, bopping across
the lobby in scuffed-up
combat boots. Everybody else
was cute or rich: bitchy rich.
A lady in the lobby,
wearing a mink,
with a pink hat,
wouldn’t even bat
her snobby eyes at us.
“What’s up with that?
A mink coat
in the month
of June?”
Twig said
way too loud.
We didn’t
know how to act
in a place like this.
I was pissed
that I hadn’t dressed up
in something nice,
since I’d have to wear
it for the rest of my life.
The elevator came,
and I was so lame,
I just let Jake
push the button
for Forty-Four
and then sank to
the floor as we soared
to the sky.
“Are you
all right?”
asked Jake.
“Stomachache.
I’m afraid
of heights.”
“What a
bite,” Jake said.
“Wait until
you see the view
from our room.”
Impending doom
in my womb,
I just clutched
my stomach
and moaned.
“Laura,” said Twig,
“get a grip.”
When the elevator
finally came
to a stop,
I mopped
the sweat from my head
and caught
a glimpse
of myself
in the
golden mirror.
I was
a freaking mess.
I hated
this outdated dress,
and the vest
didn’t do much
to hide my breasts.
“To the left,”
Jake said. He led
us down the hall.
The walls were so
elegant. I was
an elephant. Even the
paintings were shaking
from my steps.
Jake kept walking
and walking,
and the hall felt like
forever, and Twig’s
step was light
as a feather,
and I thought
we’d never
get there.
I needed Nair
for my hairy
legs. The stubble
rubbed together
when I walked.
This made me sulk,
and I didn’t talk much.
I was such
a grump, a lump
of rump and legs
and breasts.
The underarms
of my dress
were wet
with sweat.
Jake came
to a stop by door
Four-Hundred
Forty-Four.
Jake opened
the door
with a plastic
key card,
and I caught
my breath.
The room wasn’t just
a room. It was
a freaking suite.
We were
in the towers, and
there were flowers
and furniture everywhere.
A lady with shiny
Barbie-blonde
hair was there,
and a man
with a tropical tan.
“These are
the ’rents,” Jake said.
“Vince and Misty …
Twig and Sister Slam.”
I stuck out my hand.
“Sir and ma’am,
pleased to meet you.”
Jake looked impressed.
I was on my best
behavior, because
Jake was our savior.
“Mom and Dad,” he said,
“you won’t believe this.
I just missed being killed
in an accident
because I wasn’t
paying attention. Anyway,
the Mustang is okay,
just a few dents and
dings. The cops came,
and they took away
Twig and Sister’s car,
and they’re far from home
without any money
or clothes. They’re poets.
So, anyway, could they
stay? Like,
on the floor?
They sure do need
a place to stay.”
“Well … okay,” said
Jake’s mom.
She was the bomb.
“Have you
called your
parents?” asked
Jake’s dad.
“We don’t
have cell phones,”
Twig said.
“And anyway,
Laura’s mother
is dead.”
Twig was hit
by what she’d said.
She turned red
and put her hands on
her head.
“That didn’t
come out right,”
she said.
“I mean,
she passed away,
so Laura only
has a father.
And I don’t
bother much
with my parents,
because they’re,
like, way into
themselves.”
Misty raised
her perfectly
tweezed eyebrows,
and Vince frowned,
crinkling his brown skin.
Twig couldn’t win.
Everything she said
came out wrong.
“If you call
your parents,”
Vince said,
“I’ll speak
to them.”
I dreaded
letting Pops know
about the wreck,
but what
the heck …
he had to find out
sooner or later.
A waiter-dude came
into the room,
wearing a bow tie
and holding
a silver tray
full of food.
I felt rude,
eating their food,
but Misty insisted.
“Bon appetit,” she said.
“Have some
hors d’oeuvres.”
The nerve
of Twig:
she just
dove right in,
helping herself
to a wealth of grub
that cost big bucks.
I was reluctant
and said, No,
thank you
very much,
that I’d already
had lunch,
but Misty made such
a big deal
out of needing
to eat
a mini-meal
in between
each big
meal that
I finally
gave in.
“It’s a sin
to waste,” Misty said.
I tasted
a paste
of something
expensive
spread on a
Ritz cracker,
and felt like such
a slacker,
not offering
to pay.
“So, can
they stay?”
Jake asked.
I couldn’t believe
my ears,
but he really seemed
to be into Twig and me
sleeping here.
I wasn’t clear as to why,
but the guy had made
up his mind to be
way kind to Twig and me.
“They may stay,”
said Vince, “if their parents
give permission.
It’s their parents’ decision.”
“But they’re eighteen,”
Jake said,
and his green
eyes gleamed.
“I have an idea.
They’ll write
poems about you.
They’re poets,
you know.
They’ll make
you famous,
names at poetry
slams all over
this city.”
“Don’t be silly,”
said Misty as she
wiped her lips
on a linen napkin.
“All we ask
is their
parents’ permission.”
As I wished to
sink deep into a hole
in the floor, Twig heaped
more hors d’oeuvres
onto a plate, and I began
to hate her once more.
“Twig! Don’t be
such a pig!”
I hissed.
“I’m starving
to death,”
Twig mumbled,
her mouth
stuffed full
of crumbled cracker.
“Look,” said Jake.
“They’re hungry.
They’re alone
in a strange
city, with no clothes
to wear.
They don’t even
have clean underwear!
Don’t you care?”
“Dude,” s
aid Twig,
“you rock.”
A clock
chimed five times.
“That reminds me!”
said Misty.
“Tavern on the Green!
We have reservations
for six o’clock dinner!”
“Please join us,”
said Vince. “Our treat.”
I stammered,
then blabbered
and jibber-jabbered
something lame
about wishing
we could pay.
“No problem,” said Vince.
“If you’d like to freshen up,
there’s an extra
restroom in the next
room, through that door.”
Twig finished her
pig-out feast,
and I was glad
that at least
she’d stopped eating.
We clomped
into the next
room, which
was spooky,
dark as a
tomb, with
the drapes drawn.
I yawned.
It had been
a long day.
“Hey!” said Twig.
“I bet that this
is Jake’s bed.”
I turned red.
Twig jumped up,
her boots on the covers.
I shuddered.
“You need
better manners,” I said.
Twig jumped
up and down,
and I found
the light switch
to a rich-people
bathroom.
“Cool!” said Twig,
running in. “Look at this:
they have a little
pink sink,
to wash your face,
I think.”
“Twig,” I said.
“That’s not a sink,
and it’s not to wash
your face.
It’s a bidet.”
“What the hey
is a bidet?”
asked Twig.
“It’s to wash places,
not faces, that are,
you know … down below.”
Twig groaned.
“Gross,” she said.
“You mean like butts
and stuff?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I saw one on TV.”
I could have died,
because Twig tried it
that minute.
“This is way strange,”
she said. “Rich people
have some weird
ways: bidets and bon appetits
and hors d’oeuvres and caviar.
What’s up with all the
French stuff?”
The bathroom door
wasn’t closed,
and all of a sudden
Jake poked his nose
into the room.
“Whoa!” he said.
“You’re supposed to knock,”
Twig said, pulling up her stockings.
Jake did a dance of embarrassment,
the harassment from Twig
not helping matters.
“I’m really sorry,”
he said, blushing
as the bidet went on flushing.
“It’s just that we’re
rushing to get to
dinner on time.”
We hadn’t realized how many
minutes had raced by.
I could have died
a million times
of mortification.
I shoved a handful
of candy hearts
into my mouth.
Twig had been
so totally uncouth.
And it was then
that I lost a tooth.
Lesson 16
Be Very Careful When Chewing Hard Cinnamon Hearts