Anastasia's Chosen Career (12 page)

Henry put two fingers into her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Robert blushed, grinned, and attempted once again to do a cheetah-like walk.

Anastasia found herself hoping, for Robert's sake, that even with the 10 percent discount he couldn't afford to
buy
that outfit. It did look somewhat sensational here in the privacy of Studio Charmante. But if Robert Giannini showed up in his seventh-grade classroom wearing designer sportswear with giant shoulder pads—well, Anastasia shuddered to think what might happen.

Robert clumped about, preening, and then he said to Sarah Silverman, "What's your opinion of a
Miami Vice
look, for someone who doesn't yet have chest hair?"

Bambie was admiring her own fingernails. Helen Margaret was looking at the floor. Henry hooted loudly and grinned. But Anastasia wanted to die. It would be bad enough to hear a zoo keeper, talking about gorillas, mention chest hair, which was certainly one of the grossest things in the whole world. To hear Robert Giannini talk about chest hair was absolutely unbearable. Anastasia looked at the ceiling and tried to think about some subject that wouldn't have anything to do with chest hair.
Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.
She thought about Mr.
Rogers' Neighborhood
as hard as she could so that she couldn't hear Sarah Silverman talking to Robert.

Finally Robert was back in his seat, wearing his own Giannini-style clothes again. In an odd way, it was reassuring to see him looking normal—even if normal meant dressed like a wimp.

"Now," Sarah Silverman said, looking around, "Helen Margaret."

Helen Margaret had been sitting silently as Bambie and Robert modeled their clothes. But now she ducked her head, wrapped her arms around herself as if for protection, and whispered, "I don't want to."

"It's fun," Bambie said. "Come on. She has a gorgeous dress hanging in there, just your size."

Helen Margaret shook her head back and forth. "No," she whimpered.

Robert turned to her. "I know how you feel," he said, "because I really felt like a jerk standing there with everyone looking at me. But you just have to laugh at yourself. It really is fun. Come on."

Everyone in the room said encouraging things until finally, reluctantly, Helen Margaret stood up. She looked terrified. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes were on the floor.

"You're a
very
pretty girl," Sarah Silverman said in a kind voice. "And Bambie was right, that I have a gorgeous dress intended for you. Aunt Vera described each of you to me, and now that I see you, I know I've chosen just the right clothes."

Helen Margaret looked up at last. She stood woodenly, with a frightened expression, while Sarah Silverman analyzed her appearance.

"Helen Margaret is so tiny, so fragile," she said, "that one of those big shirts or sweaters would overwhelm her. So I've chosen pastel colors and fine, delicate fabrics for her. Aunt Vera, could you take her in and help her with that pale blue dress?"

Aunt Vera took Helen Margaret by the hand and led her to the dressing room.

"When she comes out," Sarah Silverman said to the others, "she will take your breath away. It's too bad she's so shy because she has an
exquisite
look."

But suddenly they all heard noise from the dressing room. "No! Don't!" they heard Helen Margaret scream. Then they heard sobbing. "Don't! I don't want you to—Please! Stop! Don't! I can't—" The words were hard to understand because the voice was panic-stricken and hysterical, choking with sobs.

Then Helen Margaret, still dressed in the skirt and sweater she'd been wearing, ran from the dressing room. Her hands were covering her face. "You don't understand! I can't—" she gasped. She ran through the room, out the door, and disappeared.

Aunt Vera followed from the dressing room, holding the pale blue dress over her arm. "Where is she?" she asked. "I don't know what happened. She was standing there stiff as a board, and wouldn't undress, so I started to unbutton her sweater, just to help, and she seemed to go crazy. Look—she even scratched me." Aunt Vera held out her arm and showed them a long scratch with a few drops of blood oozing from it.

"She must have gone to the ladies' room," Uncle Charley said.

Aunt Vera and Sarah Silverman went to look. But in a moment they were back, with puzzled expressions. "She's gone," Aunt Vera said. "Her coat is gone."

"Well," Uncle Charley said after a moment's silence, "she'll probably be back. Her pocketbook's still right there by her chair. Is your arm all right, Vera?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just a scratch. Listen, kids, I think we'll just continue as if nothing happened. When she gets back, let's all be real supportive and friendly. I guess we shouldn't have insisted that she try on the clothes, but I thought it would cheer her up to see how pretty she could be."

"Anastasia," Sarah Silverman said, "we'll do you next. Vera told me that you're thinking about becoming a bookstore owner someday, and I have a terrific outfit in your size: businesslike and intellectual. Just what a successful bookstore owner should wear."

Anastasia stood up. She couldn't think of anything else to do. But the cheerful excitement was gone. Sarah Silverman talked about Anastasia's coloring and style, but there was a worried hush in the room.

Suddenly Robert Giannini stood up. "Listen, you guys," he said in a loud voice, "we can't just sit here doing
nothing.
Where does she live?"

"Somerville," Uncle Charley told him. "The address is on the list on the front desk."

"Well, I'm going to try to find her," Robert said. "The rest of you stay here in case she comes back or calls. I'll look out on the street, and if she's not there I'll go to her house."

Then Robert, too, was gone.

Anastasia Krupnik

My Chosen Career

One of the best things about being a bookstore owner is that nothing embarrassing would ever happen to you.

No one would scream and cry and run outside and make you all worried.

You don't have to change your clothes in front of other people.

No one would ever come into a bookstore and talk about stuff like chest hair.

The day seemed endless. Anastasia dutifully tried on the clothes that Sarah Silverman had selected for her; and she could see that they looked terrific, and that
she
looked terrific, and that everyone else thought so, too. But the atmosphere had changed.

After Anastasia, Henry's turn came. Anastasia sensed that Sarah Silverman had purposely saved Henry till last because she knew how sensational the transformation would be. And it was. Even with Robert and Helen Margaret gone, and with the disconcerting worry that their absence caused, it was exciting to watch Henry model the bright-colored high-fashion clothes that Sarah Silverman had provided for her.

Tall, thin, glowing, Henry moved with her panther's stealthy, sinuous walk across the shabby, linoleum-floored room, wearing a floor-length apricot silk gown. Her dark chin high, she posed for a moment with absolute self-confidence. Then she smiled. The audience fell silent. A moment before Sarah Silverman had been describing, explaining, and instructing; now her voice fell still. Anastasia had been cracking jokes; now she couldn't speak, and she felt a shiver along her spine. Bambie stared and said nothing. Uncle Charley had been coming and going, making phone calls to Helen Margaret's number, receiving no answer; now he stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his enormous belly, and watched without a word.

Aunt Vera dabbed her eyes. "Charley," she whispered finally, "I've waited twenty years for this."

It was Henry herself who broke the spell, finally. "Shoot," she said, grinning, "you ain't seen
nuthin
' yet. Wait'll I do my monologue."

Even Bambie laughed.

But the rest of the day was dulled by concern for Helen Margaret. They all ate a take-out lunch of cold egg rolls and fried rice that Uncle Charley picked up from the Chinese restaurant across the street, and they listened as he tried again without success to reach the phone number written on the list.

"I think," Bambie suggested, "that she just felt inferior and it made her nervous. I know I felt that way once, when I was waiting to do my performance at a pageant, and the girl before me did a real good accordion solo. Maybe you should have had her go first, so she wouldn't have had to feel inferior to some of us who have more experience."

No one said anything. Bambie, who was supposed to be watching her calories, reached for another egg roll.

"I don't think I should have let Robert go off like that," Uncle Charley said in a worried voice. "I don't like the thought of a kid wandering around all alone in the city."

Despite her feeling of unease, Anastasia started to laugh. "Uncle Charley," she said, "you don't need to worry about Robert Giannini. I've known him for years. Robert Giannini is prepared for absolutely any emergency."

"What if he gets lost? Do you think he'd ask directions? I know kids your age don't like to ask for help."

"Uncle Charley," Anastasia reassured him, "Robert Giannini is not like other kids. Robert Giannini has no inhibitions.
None.
"

Sarah Silverman had scheduled a tour through Filene's Junior Department for the class after lunch.

"Why don't you all go ahead?" Aunt Vera said. "Charley and I will be here in case Robert and Helen Margaret get back."

So Henry, Anastasia, and Bambie followed Sarah Silverman around Filene's, looking at clothes, talking to salespeople, and watching the workmen in the back rooms building displays.

They didn't go to the Basement, where everything was marked down in price. "Is it true, Sarah," Anastasia asked, "that in the Basement people try on clothes right out in public?"

Sarah chuckled and nodded. "You want to go down there?"

"No," Anastasia said. "I'm not into underwear, especially."

"Do models work here?" Henry asked.

"We hire them for fashion shows," Sarah told her.

Henry hesitated. Then she said, "Do you think maybe sometime—I mean after I have more practice and stuff—maybe someday..."

Sarah Silverman grinned. "Henry Peabody," she said, "I have your phone number right here in my hot little hand. It's the most valuable thing I own at the moment. You will definitely be hearing from me."

Aunt Vera and Uncle Charley were sipping coffee and looking more relaxed when the group returned from Filene's.

"Robert called," Uncle Charley announced. "He found her."

"Where? What was wrong? Did he say?" Bambie, Henry, and Anastasia were all talking at once.

"Hey, slow down. I'll tell you what I know. He said he found her—he didn't say where—and that she's okay. And they'll both be back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's our last day, kids," Aunt Vera reminded them.

"It
is?
Rats!" said Anastasia. She had lost track of time.

"And tomorrow we have the video camera again. We'll take the 'Afters' and compare them with the 'Befores.'"

"Mine will really show an improvement," Bambie announced. "I've been practicing that Juliet monologue at home. And it really works better if I sort of
drape
myself over a chair. Then, see, I can hold up the vial of poison like this." She raised one arm dramatically.

Henry groaned.

Anastasia wasn't at all certain that her "After" tape would be any better than her "Before." Her new haircut did help, she realized. She looked less scruffy than she had. If she tried real hard, she could look right into the camera and speak distinctly. But her posture and walk were still like a giraffe's.

She was quite sure that she would never be a model. And she didn't care. She was beginning to think that she actually could be a successful bookstore owner.

"Henry," she said, when they were walking to the place where Anastasia would catch her bus and Henry her train, "even though I hate Robert Giannini—no, I mean I really don't care very much for Robert Giannini—I have to admit that I was pretty impressed when he went off to find Helen Margaret. The rest of us were just sitting there doing nothing, but old Robert, well, he was decisive. I was impressed by that."

"Me, too. I like Robert. He's okay."

Anastasia sighed. "Maybe I actually like him a little, too. I just wish he wouldn't say stuff like 'chest hair.'"

Henry laughed. "I know people who say stuff a lot worse than that. 'Chest hair,' that's
nuthin.'
"

"What was it he said he was considering for a career—metallurgy? What's metallurgy?"

Henry shrugged. "Dunno."

"Do you think someone who does metallurgy gets rich?"

Henry glared at Anastasia. "You quit planning on a rich husband, Anastasia. You're gonna get rich on your own. You and me, if we
want
husbands, fine. But we won't
need
them. Like our mothers. My mom could do just fine being a waitress, and your mom could do just fine being an artist. They got husbands cuz they
want
them. That Bambie, now maybe
she'll
need a husband. But not you and me. Got it?"

Anastasia laughed. "Okay. Got it." Then she added, "I really had fun at your house last night. I hope you'll invite me again. You won't forget me after the course ends, will you?"