followed her into Suncoast Video. We overheard her ask for When Harry Met Sally. They didn't have it. She passed Sonoma, then came back and went in. She wandered about, touching pottery with one fingertip, feeling surfaces. She stopped before the dinner plates. She lifted one with a French café painted on it. "Van Gogh," Stargirl whispered. The lady seemed to think about the plate, even closed her eyes, holding it to her chest with both hands, as if feeling vibrations. But then she put it back and walked out. On to Sears. Lingerie. Bedclothes. I was uneasy, spying from behind a rack of frilly somethings. She was flipping through nightshirts when time ran out.
Stargirl and I conferred in the corridor. "Okay," she said, "what do you think?"
"I think I feel like a stalker," I said.
"A good stalker," she said.
"You first," I said.
"Well, she's divorced and lonely. No wedding ring. Wants somebody in her life. A home life. She wishes she were Sally and her Harry would come along. She would make him dinner and snuggle with him at night. She tries to eat low-fat foods. She works for a travel agency. She took a free cruise last year, but all she met on the boat were creeps. Her name is Clarissa, she played the clarinet in high school, and her favorite soap is Irish Spring."
I boggled. "How do you know all that?"
She laughed. "I don't. I'm guessing. That's what makes it fun."
"So what card would you send her?"
She put her finger to her lips. "Hmm...to Clarissa I would send a While-you're-waiting-for-Harry-be-good-to-yourself card. How about you?"
"I would send a"-I mulled over the phrasing-"a Don't-let-Harry-catch- you-flicking card."
Now it was her turn to boggle. "Huh?"
"Didn't you see her pick her nose?" I said. "In Suncoast?"
"Not really. I saw her hand go to her nose, like she was scratching it or something."
"Yeah, or something. She was picking, that's what. She was quick and sneaky. A real pro."
She gave me a playful shove. "You're kidding."
I held up my hands. "I'm serious. She was standing in front of the comedies. Her finger went in and when it came out there was something on it. She carried it around for about a minute. And then, just as she was leaving Suncoast, when she thought nobody was looking, she flicked. I didn't see where it landed." She stared at me. I raised my right hand and put my left over my heart. "No lie."
She broke out laughing, so loudly I was embarrassed. She grabbed my arm with both hands to keep from collapsing. Mallwalkers stared.
We carded two others that day: a woman who spent her whole fifteen minutes feeling leather jackets-we called her Betty-and a man we called Adam because of his huge Adam's apple, which we renamed Adam's pumpkin. No more pick-'n'-flickers.
And I did have fun. Whether it came from the game or simply from being with her, I don't know. I do know I was surprised at how close I felt to Clarissa and Betty and Adam after watching them for only fifteen minutes.
Throughout the day, Stargirl had been dropping money. She was the Johnny Appleseed of loose change: a penny here, a nickel there. Tossed to the sidewalk, laid on a shelf or bench. Even quarters.
"I hate change," she said. "It's so...jangly."
"Do you realize how much you must throw away in a year?" I said.
"Did you ever see a little kid's face when he spots a penny on a sidewalk?" she said.
When her change purse was empty, we drove back to Mica. Along the way she invited me to dinner at her house.
22
Archie had claimed the Caraways were normal folks, but I still couldn't imagine Stargirl coming from an ordinary home. I think I expected a leftover hippie scene from the 1960s. Make love, not war. Her mother in a long skirt with a flower in her hair. Her father's face framed in muttonchop sideburns, saying "Groovy!" and "Right on!" a lot. Grateful Dead posters. Psychedelic lampshades.
So I was surprised. Her mother wore shorts and a tank top as she worked the pedal of a sewing machine with her bare
Stargirl and I conferred in the corridor. "Okay," she said, "what do you think?"
"I think I feel like a stalker," I said.
"A good stalker," she said.
"You first," I said.
"Well, she's divorced and lonely. No wedding ring. Wants somebody in her life. A home life. She wishes she were Sally and her Harry would come along. She would make him dinner and snuggle with him at night. She tries to eat low-fat foods. She works for a travel agency. She took a free cruise last year, but all she met on the boat were creeps. Her name is Clarissa, she played the clarinet in high school, and her favorite soap is Irish Spring."
I boggled. "How do you know all that?"
She laughed. "I don't. I'm guessing. That's what makes it fun."
"So what card would you send her?"
She put her finger to her lips. "Hmm...to Clarissa I would send a While-you're-waiting-for-Harry-be-good-to-yourself card. How about you?"
"I would send a"-I mulled over the phrasing-"a Don't-let-Harry-catch- you-flicking card."
Now it was her turn to boggle. "Huh?"
"Didn't you see her pick her nose?" I said. "In Suncoast?"
"Not really. I saw her hand go to her nose, like she was scratching it or something."
"Yeah, or something. She was picking, that's what. She was quick and sneaky. A real pro."
She gave me a playful shove. "You're kidding."
I held up my hands. "I'm serious. She was standing in front of the comedies. Her finger went in and when it came out there was something on it. She carried it around for about a minute. And then, just as she was leaving Suncoast, when she thought nobody was looking, she flicked. I didn't see where it landed." She stared at me. I raised my right hand and put my left over my heart. "No lie."
She broke out laughing, so loudly I was embarrassed. She grabbed my arm with both hands to keep from collapsing. Mallwalkers stared.
We carded two others that day: a woman who spent her whole fifteen minutes feeling leather jackets-we called her Betty-and a man we called Adam because of his huge Adam's apple, which we renamed Adam's pumpkin. No more pick-'n'-flickers.
And I did have fun. Whether it came from the game or simply from being with her, I don't know. I do know I was surprised at how close I felt to Clarissa and Betty and Adam after watching them for only fifteen minutes.
Throughout the day, Stargirl had been dropping money. She was the Johnny Appleseed of loose change: a penny here, a nickel there. Tossed to the sidewalk, laid on a shelf or bench. Even quarters.
"I hate change," she said. "It's so...jangly."
"Do you realize how much you must throw away in a year?" I said.
"Did you ever see a little kid's face when he spots a penny on a sidewalk?" she said.
When her change purse was empty, we drove back to Mica. Along the way she invited me to dinner at her house.
22
Archie had claimed the Caraways were normal folks, but I still couldn't imagine Stargirl coming from an ordinary home. I think I expected a leftover hippie scene from the 1960s. Make love, not war. Her mother in a long skirt with a flower in her hair. Her father's face framed in muttonchop sideburns, saying "Groovy!" and "Right on!" a lot. Grateful Dead posters. Psychedelic lampshades.
So I was surprised. Her mother wore shorts and a tank top as she worked the pedal of a sewing machine with her bare
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