In The Unlikely Event Part 10

9.

Kathy At Syracuse, Kathy Stein told her roommate, Jane Krasner, that she'd met someone over the holidays. "And I think...well, I really liked him."

They were on their beds with the pink and red plaid spreads they'd bought during orientation week on sale at Dey Brothers. They'd become friends right away, decorating their tiny dorm room, figuring out how to share the only closet and the personal items they'd brought from home-Kathy's clock radio, Jane's foldable clothes dryer. Every night Jane diligently hand-washed her heavy wool socks in Woolite along with her bra and underpants and hung them on her wooden clothes dryer. Kathy collected her laundry for a week before using the was.h.i.+ng machine in the bas.e.m.e.nt of their dorm. Now, with finals coming up, they were studying, Kathy wrapped in the hand-knitted afghan her mother had made for her, Jane in her flannel robe.

"That was fast," Jane said. "Where does he go to school?"

"Okay, promise not to laugh?"

"Promise."

"He's a senior in high school but he's coming to Syracuse next year, a.s.suming he gets in."

Jane just looked at her.

"He's mature for his age. Actually, we're just a few months apart because he has a winter birthday and mine is November. So I want to get home for break after finals to see him again."

"You better make your reservations now."

"Come with me. I'll introduce you to my cousin Phil. He's Steve's best friend. We'll have fun."

"Where am I supposed to get the money to fly?"

"I'll bet my dad would spring for your ticket," Kathy said. Her father was an orthopedic surgeon.

"Don't do that. Don't ask your dad to pay for me. I can take the bus."

"But that would take all day, and another day getting back."

"That's why I might not come."

"That'd be a disappointment."

"You're going to see a boy. You don't need me around."

"But it's more fun when you're around."

"Thanks."

"Wish me luck," Kathy said. "I'm going to call home now."

"Good luck."

Kathy went out to the pay phone in the hall to dial her parents.

Elizabeth Daily Post

PELHAM GIRL HAS BEST POSTURE.

Cites Muscular Control JAN. 10-The annual Posture Queen award at Barnard College was given yesterday to Miss Marjory Schulhoff of Pelham, N.Y. Freshmen were judged on the basis of carriage, poise and ease of movement, both walking and sitting. Miss Schulhoff, a prospective art major, was also queen of the Columbia College rush last fall.

She attributed her success to sleep, good food and muscular control. "Exercise alone won't do it," she said. "I know plenty of football players who walk like apes."

"You know," the newly crowned Posture Queen added, "I'd feel better if it was an academic award."

10.

Miri Usually, January was the longest month, dragging on and on, the weather cold and dreary, school routine and boring, everybody's noses runny, their throats sore. But this January everything was different. Mason called Miri every night, sometime between nine and ten o'clock, whenever he got a break at the bowling alley. If she'd finished her homework she might be watching TV at Irene's with Rusty and Ben Sapphire, who sometimes slept over on Irene's couch. Miri would leave the door between her house and Irene's open so she could hear the phone. When it rang she'd run up the stairs, pick up the phone and drag it by its long knotted cord under the bathroom door, locking it behind her. Then she'd sit on the edge of the tub in the dark, smelling Rusty's bath salts-lavender, citrus, musk-listening to Mason's breaths and her own, until she could feel him breathing into her ear right through the phone.

After they'd said goodnight, she'd turn on the bathroom light and look at herself in the mirror on the medicine chest. Her face was always pink and warm. She'd splash it with water to take away the blush. Then she'd flush the toilet for no reason except to announce she'd finished in case anyone was interested, return the phone to the hall table and run down the stairs to catch the rest of whatever TV show they'd been watching. Irene wouldn't say anything. Neither would Rusty. But Miri was sure they'd had plenty to say while she was gone, unless it was Wednesday and they'd been watching Kraft Television Theatre. Then they wouldn't have talked at all except during commercials.

- EVERY OTHER SUNDAY NIGHT Miri and Suzanne babysat for the Fosters, seven-year-old Penny and four-year-old Betsy. Mr. Foster managed an appliance shop on Route 22 and Sat.u.r.days left him too tired to go out. It was okay with Rusty and Suzanne's mother as long as they had their homework finished and were home by ten-thirty. The girls liked it because it left them free on Sat.u.r.day nights.

Mrs. Foster had an impressive collection of hand-knit cardigan sweaters to wear over crisp white s.h.i.+rts, and this night her cardigan was in a cobalt blue and had bra.s.s b.u.t.tons. She wore the same shoes every time they babysat, black pumps with medium heels. She was usually easygoing but tonight she went over everything with Miri and Suzanne two or three times before leaving, while Mr. Foster, annoyed, checked his watch. She handed them lists with numbers of who to call in an emergency, including the Branford Theatre in Newark, where Bright Victory was playing, and the Weequahic Diner, where they always stopped for supper after the movie. Mrs. Foster felt more secure knowing Suzanne's mother was a nurse. And she liked having two of them babysit, not just because she got two for the price of one. She said it was a comfort to her.

"Let's go, Jo!" Mr. Foster called.

Penny and Betsy loved that. "Let's go, Jo!" they squealed.

Mrs. Foster didn't find that funny. "I'll be right there, Monty."

"I'll be right there, Monty," the little girls sang, mimicking their mother.

"Stop that right now," Mrs. Foster told them. And this time they did.

"Suzanne and Miri have heard the spiel before," Mr. Foster called, tapping his watch.

"All right, Monty!" Mrs. Foster said. Then, quietly, to Suzanne and Miri, "Betsy has sniffles. It could be the beginning of something, or nothing. But check on her every half hour after she goes to sleep, okay?"

"Okay, sure," Miri said and Suzanne nodded.

Mrs. Foster kissed Penny and Betsy. "You girls be good."

"Joanne!" Mr. Foster called, and this time Mrs. Foster hurried to the door.

Once they heard the door close behind them Suzanne let out a sigh.

As soon as their mother was out of sight, the girls started racing through the house. Miri chased them, a game they loved. "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe, catch a tiger by the toe. Which little tiger will I catch first?" The girls shrieked until Miri caught one, then the other, carrying them back to the living room. When they calmed down Suzanne painted their toenails and Miri brought them milk and gingersnaps from the kitchen. Later, when they were in their twin beds, tucked in just so, Miri and Suzanne took turns reading to them from a stack of library books. Mrs. Foster had been a firstgrade teacher before the girls were born and stressed the importance of reading aloud to children.

After that, Suzanne turned on the radio, both girls took out the homework their mothers thought they'd finished earlier and settled down on the living room floor.

Mr. and Mrs. Foster returned happy, holding hands. It must have been a good movie. Usually Mrs. Foster asked for details of how the evening had gone. But not tonight. Mr. Foster drove them home, each with $1.50 in her pocket, a bonanza! Now that the holidays were over, Miri was saving her babysitting money for her ninth-grade prom dress. She figured $15 would do it, including shoes. When Mr. Foster started humming a tune, Suzanne leaned close to Miri and whispered, "I'll bet they went to a motel instead of a movie."

This thought had never occurred to Miri. Why would a married couple go to a motel when they said they'd be at the movies? No, Miri didn't believe it. She was sure Rusty would never do such a thing. Not that she was married. She didn't even have a boyfriend. And Miri liked it that way.

Capricorn Born on January 15, you are a natural leader and problem solver. You have the intelligence to understand any situation and the discipline to follow through in pursuing a solution. Coupled with the trait of great loyalty, it makes you respected by all who know you. There is no better friend to have than a Capricorn.

- BY THE MIDDLE of the month Fred knew Miri so well he'd jump up and down, barking, the minute he saw her. She'd scoop him up, letting him lick her face. Unless she had an after-school activity, she'd meet Mason at Jefferson High and walk him down to Edison Lanes. Then she'd deliver Fred to Phil Stein's house, either walking all the way to Westminster or taking the bus if the weather was bad, hiding Fred inside her winter jacket, the way Mason had taught her. She loved having his little body next to hers.

Phil's mother enjoyed Fred, so even if Phil wasn't home it wasn't a problem. Mrs. Stein was glad to see Miri, and always invited her in, offering a Tastykake, or a piece of fruit, or even a sandwich. If Miri accepted, Mrs. Stein would have something to eat, too, just to keep her company, laughing about whatever new diet she was going to start the following Monday. She liked flipping through her family photo alb.u.ms, pointing out pictures of her dog, Goldie, who had died over the summer. "This is Goldie as a puppy. And here she is as a sweet old girl. A whole lifetime in twelve years."

In one photo Miri thought she recognized the girl in the green velvet dress from the Osners' New Year's Eve party. "That's my niece Kathy," Mrs. Stein said. "A wonderful girl. She's a freshman at Syracuse." So it was Kathy Stein from New Year's Eve.

Mrs. Stein seemed lonely to Miri, especially when she talked about her children. "I miss my daughter. She's away at college. University of Michigan. And next year, when Phil leaves, I don't know what I'll do."

"Maybe you should get another dog," Miri suggested.

"I've thought about that," Mrs. Stein said, "but what would we do when we travel? My husband is hoping to spend more time traveling once both children are at college."

"Where does he want to go?" Miri asked.

"Oh, he has some meshuggeneh idea about adventure, about exotic lands," Mrs. Stein said, helping herself to a second Tastykake. "Maybe India. Maybe Israel. Frankly, I'd rather see California. I'm not sure my stomach could handle India. I have a sensitive gut. You know what that's like."

As far as guts were concerned, Miri knew only that certain foods, like raw tomatoes, triggered Irene's heartburn, and when they did, she'd drink a gla.s.s of Alka-Seltzer.

"Anyway, my husband doesn't want another dog. He's afraid I won't want to leave a puppy at the kennel when we travel. It's true I never liked leaving Goldie, even when she was grown." She sighed and looked out the window. "It feels like snow, doesn't it?"

"I hope it does. I'd like to have fresh snow for my birthday."

"Your birthday?"

"Yes, tomorrow. I'll be fifteen on the fifteenth."

Mrs. Stein brightened. "Fifteen on the fifteenth! That's sure to be a lucky sign. You have to take every bit of luck that comes your way and turn it into something bigger, something lasting."

Miri was mulling that over when Mrs. Stein touched her arm. "Come with me. I have something for you."

"Oh, no, really..." Miri said.

"Oh, yes...really." Miri had never seen Mrs. Stein so animated. Fred trotted up the stairs behind them to Mrs. Stein's bedroom. Until then, Miri hadn't seen much of the Steins' house, which was on the fanciest street in town, where all the houses were big and old and set back from the street, surrounded by stately trees. She was familiar only with the back porch and the kitchen. But this-Mrs. Stein's bedroom-was bigger than Miri's living room and bedroom combined, with a chaise longue and two chairs grouped around a coffee table stacked with books and magazines spilling onto the floor, waiting to be read. At the other end of the room were two beds pushed together, attached to a single carved wooden headboard. Mrs. Stein disappeared into a walkin closet behind the bed and came out with a small white box tied with a slender pink satin ribbon. She handed it to Miri. "Happy birthday."

Miri was embarra.s.sed.

"Open it," Mrs. Stein sang. Miri half expected her to clap her hands and jump up and down, she seemed so pleased.

Miri opened the box. Inside was a bracelet. Gold with-were they garnets, her birthstone? "But you can't give this to me. You should save it for your daughter."

"Her birthstone is opal," Mrs. Stein said. "Mine is garnet, like yours. And I've got more garnet bracelets than I can count. I want you to have this one. It's delicate, like you."

Miri had never thought of herself as delicate and wasn't sure she wanted anyone else to, either. She supposed that next to Mrs. Stein, with her ample bosom, wide hips and plump arms, she could seem delicate, but she wasn't.

"Thank you," Miri said. "It's beautiful."

"So are you," Mrs. Stein said.

No one outside the family had ever told her that.

"Have a wonderful birthday." Mrs. Stein leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Fred barked until Mrs. Stein turned her attention to him.

- MIRI WAS ALMOST SURE Rusty wouldn't approve of Mrs. Stein giving her a gold bracelet with garnets, so at first she didn't show it to her. But what was the point of having it if she could never wear it? That night she waited until after Rusty's bath, when Rusty seemed relaxed and happy, humming to herself. "Mrs. Stein gave me a bracelet for my birthday. She said it doesn't fit her anymore and she has more birthstone bracelets than she can possibly use."

"Let me see that." Miri pa.s.sed her the bracelet. Rusty turned it over in her hand, studying it the way an appraiser might. "Which Mrs. Stein?"

"Phil's mother. They live on Westminster."

"Who is Phil?"

"Phil Stein. He's Steve Osner's best friend. He was at the New Year's Eve party."

"And what's the connection between you and Mrs. Stein?"

"I drop Fred off at the Steins' house a couple of days a week."

"Fred?"

"Fred. Mason's dog."

Rusty breathed deeply through her nose. "So this is about the dog?"

"Yes. Mrs. Stein likes having Fred around. They had a dog, Goldie, but she died."

"Does that make Mrs. Stein a better mother than me?"

"What? No." This wasn't going well.

"Mrs. Stein probably doesn't go to business," Rusty said.