A Girl Called Al: The Al Series, Book One (3 page)

I ran down the hall to tell Al she could come. I had already told her I thought it would be all right and she'd said, “My mother left me a turkey potpie in the freezer and a whole quart of ice cream. Butter pecan. Maybe you can come and eat with me.”

The door opened before I even had a chance to ring.

“Come on over,” I said, out of breath. “We're eating the minute my father gets home because it's his bowling night. We're having spaghetti. And garlic bread.”

“Wait,” she said. “I've got to comb my hair. It's a mess.”

“You look fine,” I said.

Al changed her skirt and put on a blue sweater that I had not seen before.

“Is that a present from your father?” I said.

“Are you kidding? My father never gives me clothes. It's from my mother. She picked it up on sale at the store. My mother buys all my clothes on sale. She gets the employee discount.” Al braided her hair while she held her rubber bands between her teeth.

“Come on, we'll be late.”

“And who is this young lady?” my father said when we came to our apartment. He has only met Al about fifty times, but every time he gets up and shakes her hand and says the same thing.

She thinks he's a riot.

“All right,” my mother said and my brother Teddy practically knocked us over to get to the table first. He is nine. He is very good in science. He plans to go to M.I.T. and be a bachelor when he grows up. My father says that is all right with him, but Teddy better plan on getting a scholarship.

“Lord, bless this food and give us humble hearts,” my father said and, just in time, I saw Al's hand come away from her fork and fold itself with the other one in front of her.

“Pass the garlic bread,” Teddy said and my father gave him a dirty look.

“Ladies first,” he said and passed it to my mother, who took a piece and passed it to Al.

“Everything was delicious,” Al said to my mother when we were clearing the table. “Absolutely delicious.”

“It's a pleasure having you here, Al,” my mother said. I have trained her not to say Alexandra. “A real pleasure. Come again soon.”

I walked Al back to her apartment but my mother had said to get back fast and buckle down to my homework.

“You want me to come in for a sec while you turn the lights on?” I asked when we got to the door. Once in a while when I get home before anybody else I don't like to walk into the dark rooms with no one in them.

“Oh, that's all right,” she said, fumbling for her key. She wears it on a chain around her neck, which causes her front to be sort of lumpy. “I always leave all the lights on when I go out.”

“What time does your mother get home from her dinner engagement?” I asked.

“Usually late,” she said, putting the key in the lock. “It's neat. I can do whatever I want. Sometimes I watch TV until real late and slip into bed when I hear her coming.”

Her door opened and, sure enough, the hall light was on, and the one in the living room.

“It was great,” she said. “It was very delicious. Tell your mother for me.”

I said, “Sure. See you.”

“You know something?” she said. “I can remember when I was a little tiny kid and my father used to say grace. I can remember it clear as anything. It used to make me feel like I was a pilgrim or something. You know?”

I said, “Sure,” and then she clicked the lock and I went home.

Chapter Seven

“Mom,” I said, “don't you think it's about time you had Al's mother over? You know, for a drink or a cup of tea?”

My mother said, “I suppose so.”

“Well,” I said, “you're always telling me to be friendly and nice to new kids who come to school. Some day I may be a new kid myself and in bad need of a friend. Isn't that what you say?”

“Yes,” she said, “you're right. It's just that with her work and my family there isn't much opportunity.”

“You're making excuses,” I said. It was what she always says to me when I try to get out of something, like a D in a French test.

“Yes,” she said, “I'm making excuses.”

“How come you don't like Al's mother? She is really very nice.”

“How can I like or not like her when I don't know her?”

“That's just it,” I said. “You are judging on first impressions and appearances.”

“You certainly have total recall when it suits you,” my mother said, shaking her head. “I hear my words coming back at me as if there were a tape recorder in the house.”

“Mom, I think it would be nice. I know Al would like it if you would ask her mother over. It would be a nice gesture.”

My mother went to the chest in the dining ell where she keeps her linen napkins and tablecloths and her box of good stationery.

“For Pete's sakes,” I said, “just give her a call. You don't have to bother to write a note. She only lives in 14-C.”

“If you don't mind, I'll do it my way.” My mother has had this box of stationery as long as I can remember. She uses it to answer engraved wedding invitations and things like that. The paper has a thin line of blue around the edges and her initials all curlicued at the top in the same blue. My father calls it her putting-on-the-dog stationery.

Finally she licked the envelope and said, “Would you mind just putting this in their box? I don't think a stamp is necessary.”

“When did you ask her for?” I said.

“Next Sunday. I asked her and Al to come for tea.”

“Do you think you could get rid of Teddy for the afternoon?”

“Outside of tying him to his bed, I don't see how,” she said.

“And Daddy. Is he going to be here?” I'm not sure Al's mother would appreciate my father. I think he's funny and Al thinks he's a riot, but you never know.

“Now just stop it,” my mother said. “We can't exterminate all male members of the family just to keep Al's mother happy. Don't make me sorry that I asked her.”

She was right. I ran out and put the invitation in their box fast.

“My mother is inviting your mother to our house,” I said to Al the next day.

“What for?”

“For tea, dope. On Sunday. You're invited too.”

“I don't know,” Al said. “I hope she doesn't have a previous engagement.”

Al's mother sent back a note on stationery that was even more putting-on-the-dog than my mother's. It was cream-colored and about a half inch thick and had her initials in black.

“One-upmanship,” my father said.

She would be delighted to come on Sunday at four. She and Alexandra would be delighted. It was so kind of my mother to ask them.

My mother started polishing silver and ironing napkins. “I wonder if I'll have time to take the curtains down and wash them,” she said.

“This thing is geting out of hand,” my father said when she started waxing the floors and made him sit all scrunched up in one corner of the room.

“Don't you think you should get a haircut?” my mother said, squinting at him.

“That does it.” He put on his old Army jacket my mother has been trying to get rid of for years. “When the coast is clear, put a candle in the window,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” my mother said. “I wish I'd never got into this.”

Chapter Eight

“My mother says maybe you can sleep over Friday night,” Al said on our way to school. She had on her navy-blue coat that her mother bought on sale. It was a very good buy, Al said. It is only a little too big. She is still growing.

“Is it for supper?” I asked.

“I'll check.”

We got to school before anyone else. Even Mr. Keogh. He is usually sitting at his desk, marking papers or something, by the time we get there.

Al went behind the desk. “All right, class,” she said, tugging at her ear. She really did sound like Mr. Keogh. “Let's just cut out the horsing around and get down to business. We have a lot to cover today. Yes, Herman? No, you may not go to the boy's room. It is much too early to go to the boy's room.”

I was in stitches. Herman is always waving his hand to go to the boy's room. I know it isn't nice to make fun of people, but sometimes I can't help it. I think it is all right if the people you make fun of don't find out.

“And Isabel, stop making goo-goo eyes at Thomas. We do not allow our students to make goo-goo eyes at each other. It is strictly out of order. Out of order, indeed.”

I was laughing so hard I was practically on the floor.

“Very good, Alexandra, very good indeed. If you were as good a student as you are a thespian, you would get straight A's.”

Mr. Keogh was standing at the door. He looks very young with his hat on. It is only when he takes it off that he looks old.

It was very embarrassing to be caught in the middle of something like that. I was sorry that we had got to school early. I will not do it again.

Al was very quiet the rest of the day. Even at lunch time, when we met in our usual place, she wasn't hungry.

“He called me ‘Alexandra,'” she said, breaking up little pieces of her sandwich and making balls out of them. “I must have hurt his feelings and now he doesn't like me. He's mad.” She was talking about Mr. Keogh.

“He'll get over it,” I said. I wondered if Al would remember about asking me to sleep over on Friday. I wanted to go and I did not want to go. Al's mother makes me nervous. She is always friendly, but she makes me nervous anyway. The last time I was there she had on pajamas with feathers on them. They were hostess pajamas, Al said. My mother doesn't wear hostess pajamas. With or without feathers.

Everything turned out all right. Al came to our apartment just before supper. She rang her special ring—two, then one, then two.

“You can come for supper Friday,” she said, smiling. She does not smile often and I keep telling her she should because she has nice teeth. They are very white and even. Mine are a little on the yellow side.

“Should I bring my sleeping bag?” I asked. Practically all the times I go to friends' houses I bring my sleeping bag, on account of most of the kids I know don't have extra beds.

“We have a cot,” she said, “that we use when we have guests.”

In all the time I had known Al, I had never slept over. This was what my mother called An Occasion.

I brought my new nightgown and even a bathrobe and slippers, which is silly, but my mother insisted. I knew I wouldn't use the bathrobe and slippers, but my mother was firm, very firm.

Al's mother was taking a tub when I arrived. I could smell the oil and bath salts and gunk she puts in her tub. It must clog up the drains something awful.

Al's mother had a dinner engagement. She came out wearing a black dress and said, “How are you, dear?” I have a theory that when mothers call you ‘dear' it is because they can't remember your name. “I'm so glad Alexandra has such a nice little friend to keep her company.”

She started to kiss Al good night but Al stuck out her hand and said, “Shake, Mom. See you.” Then Al's mother left.

We had a blast. We stayed up until midnight watching television. Then we had a snack, cocoa and potato chips. Finally, when we turned the lights out, Al said, “Mr. Keogh called me ‘Al' again this morning.” Her voice sounded happy. “And I got a post card from my father. It was from Miami, Florida, and it said ‘Swimming every day. Hope to see you soon.'”

“Good,” I said. I was very sleepy. “That's great. Go to sleep.”

Chapter Nine

First thing when we woke up, we checked to see if it had snowed during the night. Fortunately, it hadn't, so we decided to go down to Mr. Richards's place early. Not too early, on account of it was Saturday and he likes his shut-eye. That's what he calls it, not me.

“Well, ladies,” he said, “you look a little the worse for wear.”

“I slept over at Al's,” I said. “We didn't get to sleep until late.”

Mr. Richards winked. “When you girls get together there's no stopping you. I hope you're all set for our shop lesson this morning. I found a nail or two, a hammer, and I got me some boards out. So how about a piece of bread and butter before we start?”

He fixed us each a thick slice and poured a pile of sugar on top. We hadn't had much breakfast at Al's, on account of there was nothing in the refrigerator but yoghurt. Strawberry yoghurt.

“No, thank you,” I had said when Al offered me some. “I'm not up to it today.”

“It's not bad,” she had said, putting it back. I noticed she didn't eat any either.

Anyway, we had two or three more pieces of bread and then a couple of cups of tea. Al put three lumps in hers and I put four. Mr. Richards didn't say boo. He put five in his.

He is a very satisfactory host. I would rather have breakfast at his house than anywhere else. Except maybe at home on Sunday. My father always makes waffles on Sunday and they are very good. He calls them superb, but I think that's stretching it a little.

Finally, we got down to business. Mr. Richards had set up a piece of plywood as a table for us to work on. He showed us how to nail the shelves in place and hammer in the nails without banging our fingers.

“It's a cinch,” Al said. “I think when I get it finished I will send it to my father.”

We worked along for a while and pretty soon my stomach was making noises you could hear practically a mile away. It was very embarrassing.

“Must be lunch time,” Mr. Richards said. “Time for a break. Got some soup on the stove. Care to stay and take potluck?”

Al and I had two bowlfuls each. Some time I will tell her about how he makes the soup.

“Do you like to cook?” Al asked him.

Mr. Richards shrugged his shoulders. “Now and then,” he said. “You ladies know how to make a white sauce?”