she hid it. And I bet she hid it for exactly the same reason she didn’t put it in the book.
I just don’t know what that reason is.
I’m suddenly creeped out. There’s something sort of horrorstory about this whole hidden picture, fake name, weird little ghosttown thing. I get a shiver.
I’m just being stupid. There must be some explanation. Keep looking.
None of the other photos jump out at me as anything special. There’s a picture of Mom all bandaged up after her nose job. A picture of the house in Brooklyn. A bunch of photos of me as a baby, but only one of Dad. It’s not even a family picture. It’s that lame one off the cover of his first album, Rock Hound. (Did he actually wear his hair like that? Even Debbie would think twice before putting that picture in her window.)
Mimi devotes a whole chapter to her “Fashion Faux Pas,” including the Jessica Simpson get-ups she wore after her divorce and tummy tuck. Nothing seems to embarrass her. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear she really would tell you anything.
Another chapter’s called “My Brilliant Career.” There’s that famous photo of her in the ugly flowered dress with the puff sleeves and the tiny bow at the collar. That’s when she was working at her first on-air job as a book reviewer for the public access station. They still called her Miriam then. A few years later, she moved into news for a while. You can tell she’s in the news department because her suits are dark and her hair is plain brown.
After that, it’s all Mimi. Her hair and clothes are changing faster than traffic lights now. There are a couple of pictures of me on set but most are of her and some famous person. Usually, they’re bothlaughing. A few times, though, she’s got this big sympathetic face on and there’s a caption about some new charitable foundation she started. I stare at a photo of her, taken in a Pakistani orphanage. The kids are reaching up to touch her face. They all seem to know who she is—but I sure don’t.
I close the book. I get up and go to the bathroom. I feel better once I’ve peed and splashed some water on my face, but “better,” like they say, is relative. It’s not necessarily good. This whole Rosie/Mimi mess is really getting to me.
If I’m right, Mom must have spent time here when she was young. Someone must have known her. Kay’s quite a bit older than Mom, but maybe she could tell me something about her.
I look out the window. It’s going to be a nice day.
No harm asking, I guess.
I’ll bring the church bulletin down to the kitchen and “casually” flip through it while I’m eating breakfast. When I get to that picture, I’ll say something like, “Hey, don’t those kids look like they’re having fun?” Then I’ll sort of segue into whether Kay knows any of them or their families or whatever. I’ll make it sound like it’s all part of my research. It’s not that crazy. I can get away with it.
22
Monday, 9:30 a.m.
The Shopping Channel
The worldwide debut of “Radiant,” Mimi Schwartz’s line of morning moisturizers, glow crème and eye dazzlers. Let your true beauty shine through. Be Radiant.
I should have gotten dressed. I should have brushed my teeth. I should have at least picked the crusty stuff out of my eyes.
Instead I just jiggle into the kitchen in my skimpy pyjamas like I’m some Jell-o fertility goddess. It’s too late by the time I notice Levi the Stalker, sitting at the kitchen table, looking right at me, smiling that stupid black-eyed smile of his.
I completely forget about Rosie Ingram.
To my credit, I don’t actually scream this time. I just suck in my breath and hold the church bulletin across my chest, hoping it’s big enough to cover my boobs, and my armpits which I haven’t shaved in, like—I’m serious—eons.
Kay goes, “Morning, Opal! Guess what?” She’s practically singing. “Levi’s got today off so he’s going to take you to Port Minton!”
I do what
I just don’t know what that reason is.
I’m suddenly creeped out. There’s something sort of horrorstory about this whole hidden picture, fake name, weird little ghosttown thing. I get a shiver.
I’m just being stupid. There must be some explanation. Keep looking.
None of the other photos jump out at me as anything special. There’s a picture of Mom all bandaged up after her nose job. A picture of the house in Brooklyn. A bunch of photos of me as a baby, but only one of Dad. It’s not even a family picture. It’s that lame one off the cover of his first album, Rock Hound. (Did he actually wear his hair like that? Even Debbie would think twice before putting that picture in her window.)
Mimi devotes a whole chapter to her “Fashion Faux Pas,” including the Jessica Simpson get-ups she wore after her divorce and tummy tuck. Nothing seems to embarrass her. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear she really would tell you anything.
Another chapter’s called “My Brilliant Career.” There’s that famous photo of her in the ugly flowered dress with the puff sleeves and the tiny bow at the collar. That’s when she was working at her first on-air job as a book reviewer for the public access station. They still called her Miriam then. A few years later, she moved into news for a while. You can tell she’s in the news department because her suits are dark and her hair is plain brown.
After that, it’s all Mimi. Her hair and clothes are changing faster than traffic lights now. There are a couple of pictures of me on set but most are of her and some famous person. Usually, they’re bothlaughing. A few times, though, she’s got this big sympathetic face on and there’s a caption about some new charitable foundation she started. I stare at a photo of her, taken in a Pakistani orphanage. The kids are reaching up to touch her face. They all seem to know who she is—but I sure don’t.
I close the book. I get up and go to the bathroom. I feel better once I’ve peed and splashed some water on my face, but “better,” like they say, is relative. It’s not necessarily good. This whole Rosie/Mimi mess is really getting to me.
If I’m right, Mom must have spent time here when she was young. Someone must have known her. Kay’s quite a bit older than Mom, but maybe she could tell me something about her.
I look out the window. It’s going to be a nice day.
No harm asking, I guess.
I’ll bring the church bulletin down to the kitchen and “casually” flip through it while I’m eating breakfast. When I get to that picture, I’ll say something like, “Hey, don’t those kids look like they’re having fun?” Then I’ll sort of segue into whether Kay knows any of them or their families or whatever. I’ll make it sound like it’s all part of my research. It’s not that crazy. I can get away with it.
22
Monday, 9:30 a.m.
The Shopping Channel
The worldwide debut of “Radiant,” Mimi Schwartz’s line of morning moisturizers, glow crème and eye dazzlers. Let your true beauty shine through. Be Radiant.
I should have gotten dressed. I should have brushed my teeth. I should have at least picked the crusty stuff out of my eyes.
Instead I just jiggle into the kitchen in my skimpy pyjamas like I’m some Jell-o fertility goddess. It’s too late by the time I notice Levi the Stalker, sitting at the kitchen table, looking right at me, smiling that stupid black-eyed smile of his.
I completely forget about Rosie Ingram.
To my credit, I don’t actually scream this time. I just suck in my breath and hold the church bulletin across my chest, hoping it’s big enough to cover my boobs, and my armpits which I haven’t shaved in, like—I’m serious—eons.
Kay goes, “Morning, Opal! Guess what?” She’s practically singing. “Levi’s got today off so he’s going to take you to Port Minton!”
I do what
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