Chocolates for Breakfast by Pamela Moore Page B

sweetie.”
    â€œNick gave somebody else the part.”
    â€œThe bastard. I knew he would. He’s that kind of a guy. I kind of think that’s one of the reasons your mother fell in love with him. She never did know how to handle kindness.”
    â€œNo,” Courtney said, looking at Al. “She’s always been a little afraid of people who were kind to her, like Daddy. Al—what’s this place like that we’re moving to?”
    â€œNot bad, baby. Not bad at all for the money. A room with a couple of studio couches, and a legitimate kitchen. Of course, it’s no Garden of Allah, but you ought to be just as glad that you’re getting out of there. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you follow Cabot around. And when you go to confession you go down Havenhurst, so that you’ll pass his apartment house. Don’t think I miss that, sweetie, when I see you pass here. And you never eat breakfast in the second shift at Schwab’s any more, because you know he always eats at two. Everything here is in about a three-block area, so nobody misses a thing.”
    â€œNobody who’s looking for it.”
    â€œWell, you’re knocking your brains out, kid, and making a fool of yourself. He doesn’t want to get involved with a young girl. And if he did go out with you, it would be for only one thing. That’s no good. I admit I looked at you that way, too—once. But then I realized that you were just a kid. That’s what Cabot realizes, and you ought to be glad.”
    â€œWell, I’m not glad, Al. Honestly, I get so lonely sometimes. And now we’re going to move out by Beverly Hills, and I’ll never see anybody but Mummy.”
    â€œYou’ll be starting school pretty soon, and you’ll have dates and friends your own age.”
    â€œNo, I won’t, Al,” she said soberly. “You don’t know what it was like at school. I don’t have anything in common with people my own age. I had one real friend at school, my roommate. For all the years I was at Scaisbrooke, only one friendship grew out of it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Al, why I don’t fit in. But it’s no use telling myself that when I move to a new school I’ll suddenly have a group of friends, because all I have to do is look at the record.”
    Al shook his head.
    â€œCrazy mixed-up kid. In a few years you’ll find some guy, and you won’t be lonely any more. There’s a helluva potential there, and some guy is gonna see it.”
    â€œYes, in a few years. The rest of the time I just go on like this. And, Al, I’m frightened. I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but this morning I couldn’t get up, even though I’d had a lot of sleep. And last night I just wanted to get to bed, even though I wasn’t really sleepy. It was an effort for me to walk over here, as though I’d had about three hours’ sleep. That hasn’t happened since I left Scaisbrooke, and it means something is wrong. Something is happening to me, and I don’t understand it, and it frightens me because I can’t control it.”
    Al didn’t understand what Courtney meant, but he understood when she suddenly rushed to him like a small child and buried her head in his chest.
    â€œI’m afraid of it, Al,” she said, her words muffled. “And I’m afraid of being so alone with it.”
    He ran his hand gently through her hair, mussing it as he would a child’s.
    â€œWhat you need, kid, is a couple of parents. Even one would do.”
    â€œI have one, Al. But I won’t let her be a parent. She wants to be. But I won’t tell her the things that are bothering me, the way I’ll tell you. I feel kind of—well, protected—with you, because you’re a man and I just feel resentful with her, because she’s Mummy and she’s a woman. Does that make any