stuff. Okay? Let’s get out of here before we both look as shriveled as the Gooch’s asshole.”
Sonny smiled. A best friend hated your enemies too.
9
The next morning, Sonny studied D.B.’s face next to her on the pillow. A wisp of hair had fallen across her cheek. Sonny lifted it like an eyelash from a glass of milk and smoothed it behind her ear. And then, just because she was happy that D.B. was her best friend, that she had a best friend who she could visit and sleep over with and loved so much, she bent down to kiss her forehead. D.B. stirred slightly. She snuck out of bed and headed for the bathroom but peeked into the living room first, where she could hear
The Gale Storm Show
. A half-eaten container of potato salad lay at Ruth’s feet and a bottle of Bacardi under the couch. She snored loudly. Sonny turned off the television and closed the French doors behind her. By the time she finished her bust exercises, D.B. was awake.
“I had the weirdest dream,” Sonny said as they sat in the kitchen dipping potato chips into the macaroni salad juice.
“I dreamt Miguel and me were making out.”
“Well, it was really weird,” Sonny continued. “You see, there was this wild animal. I don’t know if it was a lion or a tiger. But anyway, I was petting him and he really liked it.”
“Is this real long?” D.B. asked as she sipped No-Cal from the bottle.
“Can I have a sip? Anyway, even though he seemed real nice, I got a little scared. So when he asked me what I wanted him to do, I told him to go back to his cage. And you know what he said?”
D.B. grabbed a handful of potato chips.
“He said how I was right, that I’d be safer if he went back to his cage. So that’s what he did.”
“That’s all?” D.B. asked.
“Yeah. But he seemed really nice. I think it was a lion.”
D.B. shook her head. “Dreams are so dumb.”
“Do you ever dream of flying?” Sonny asked. “Like you can fly over the Drive and see everybody?” “Nah.” D.B. interrupted. “Hey, what about the party? Let’s walk down and pick everyone up along the way, okay?”
“The Gooch too?” Sonny made a face.
“Come on. It won’t kill you.”
Sonny slipped on the bra.
Pitiful
. Then, like she was stealing something, she rolled the scarves into cushions, placing two into each cup and buttoned her blouse. Frontal view? She studied herself in the mirror. Reasonable.
Oh yeah?
Right side?
Possible. Anything’s possible, right?
Bullshit, the Gooch hissed. Other side. Back to the front. They looked sort of real.
Didn’t they?
But was the change too drastic? From mosquito bites to beehives. An overnight bosom.
Honestly, wasn’t she too buxom–for her?
“What do you think?” she asked D.B.
“You look okay.” D.B. pulled on the same stocking with the run.
“No, I mean these.” Sonny pointed. “How do they look?”
“Like boobs.”
Too much of a good thing
. Sonny removed one scarf per cup, reducing her size, she calculated, to a more modest 34B.
Timber!
“This is no way for your friends to see your room,” Dot’s mother said as they entered. “I told you to clean up the mess in here.”
Dot sat surrounded by hundreds of 45s. “I just don’t know which records to take,” she said miserably.
“If you wouldn’t buy so many records,” her mother said, slamming the door behind her.
Dot shrugged her shoulders.
Sonny picked up a couple of records and began to stack them. “It doesn’t matter. Just some stuff to dance to.”
Dot stared at a colored photograph of Connie Francis. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She slipped the record into the jacket.
“Come on,” D.B. said impatiently.
Dot stacked the 45s with painstaking care. Then she placed them into her white imitation leather case that said
My Record Collection
in gold script.
Sonny, D.B., and Dot sat on the Gooch’s bed as she tucked her V-neck mustard sweater into her brown tight skirt with a slit up the side. She peered into the mirror and shook
Sonny smiled. A best friend hated your enemies too.
9
The next morning, Sonny studied D.B.’s face next to her on the pillow. A wisp of hair had fallen across her cheek. Sonny lifted it like an eyelash from a glass of milk and smoothed it behind her ear. And then, just because she was happy that D.B. was her best friend, that she had a best friend who she could visit and sleep over with and loved so much, she bent down to kiss her forehead. D.B. stirred slightly. She snuck out of bed and headed for the bathroom but peeked into the living room first, where she could hear
The Gale Storm Show
. A half-eaten container of potato salad lay at Ruth’s feet and a bottle of Bacardi under the couch. She snored loudly. Sonny turned off the television and closed the French doors behind her. By the time she finished her bust exercises, D.B. was awake.
“I had the weirdest dream,” Sonny said as they sat in the kitchen dipping potato chips into the macaroni salad juice.
“I dreamt Miguel and me were making out.”
“Well, it was really weird,” Sonny continued. “You see, there was this wild animal. I don’t know if it was a lion or a tiger. But anyway, I was petting him and he really liked it.”
“Is this real long?” D.B. asked as she sipped No-Cal from the bottle.
“Can I have a sip? Anyway, even though he seemed real nice, I got a little scared. So when he asked me what I wanted him to do, I told him to go back to his cage. And you know what he said?”
D.B. grabbed a handful of potato chips.
“He said how I was right, that I’d be safer if he went back to his cage. So that’s what he did.”
“That’s all?” D.B. asked.
“Yeah. But he seemed really nice. I think it was a lion.”
D.B. shook her head. “Dreams are so dumb.”
“Do you ever dream of flying?” Sonny asked. “Like you can fly over the Drive and see everybody?” “Nah.” D.B. interrupted. “Hey, what about the party? Let’s walk down and pick everyone up along the way, okay?”
“The Gooch too?” Sonny made a face.
“Come on. It won’t kill you.”
Sonny slipped on the bra.
Pitiful
. Then, like she was stealing something, she rolled the scarves into cushions, placing two into each cup and buttoned her blouse. Frontal view? She studied herself in the mirror. Reasonable.
Oh yeah?
Right side?
Possible. Anything’s possible, right?
Bullshit, the Gooch hissed. Other side. Back to the front. They looked sort of real.
Didn’t they?
But was the change too drastic? From mosquito bites to beehives. An overnight bosom.
Honestly, wasn’t she too buxom–for her?
“What do you think?” she asked D.B.
“You look okay.” D.B. pulled on the same stocking with the run.
“No, I mean these.” Sonny pointed. “How do they look?”
“Like boobs.”
Too much of a good thing
. Sonny removed one scarf per cup, reducing her size, she calculated, to a more modest 34B.
Timber!
“This is no way for your friends to see your room,” Dot’s mother said as they entered. “I told you to clean up the mess in here.”
Dot sat surrounded by hundreds of 45s. “I just don’t know which records to take,” she said miserably.
“If you wouldn’t buy so many records,” her mother said, slamming the door behind her.
Dot shrugged her shoulders.
Sonny picked up a couple of records and began to stack them. “It doesn’t matter. Just some stuff to dance to.”
Dot stared at a colored photograph of Connie Francis. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She slipped the record into the jacket.
“Come on,” D.B. said impatiently.
Dot stacked the 45s with painstaking care. Then she placed them into her white imitation leather case that said
My Record Collection
in gold script.
Sonny, D.B., and Dot sat on the Gooch’s bed as she tucked her V-neck mustard sweater into her brown tight skirt with a slit up the side. She peered into the mirror and shook
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