Soap Bubbles Read online

  Suddenly aware of background music, she raised her face, sniffing as though the melody had a gaseous odor too.

  From hidden speakers she heard the lovely ballad “Daddy’s Coming Home.” The music grew louder.

  “Turn it off!” she screamed. There were three toilets and she flushed each to drown out the sound, before she fled and returned to the table.

  “You have to look like a star every minute, every second,” Judith continued, as if Delly had never left. “I’m over fifty and it’s taken me almost thirty years to reach the top. But I’ve learned one thing. Success breeds success. I don’t even take a dump in the morning until I’ve applied my makeup. I figure somebody important might parachute through my bathroom window. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate to harp on your appearance, Delly, but you look so defeated, so frightened. A vicious animal can detect fear in humans and attack. A casting director who senses desperation will react the same way. Those are the vibes you’re sending out. Desperation. Are you going to cry?”

  “No. Jon says the same thing.” Except Jon doesn’t use the word desperation. He tells me to relax and pats me on the head. Sit Delly, stay Delly, roll over and play dead, Pandora.

  Judith said, “How’s Jon?”

  “Fine. Paramount just bought his new screenplay.”

  “Really!” Her carefully-tweezed eyebrows arched. “It’s none of my business, of course, but you look so destitute. Did my favorite lovebirds finally split?”

  “What do you mean, destitute?”

  “Your dress. It’s what? A garage sale special, right? In any case, it’s much too long and needs a belt. Let’s be honest, sweetie pie, it’s not you.”

  “If it’s not me, who is it?”

  “Oh, dear. I hurt your feelings.”

  “Come on, Judith. Who? Anissa? Maryl?” Delly stood. “Thanks for lunch. Have a nice day.”

  “Sit down! That’s better. Now answer me. Did you and Griffin sever the sacred bonds of palimony?”

  “Sort of. We argued.”

  “About what?”

  “You.”

  “Of course.”

  “I called Anissa. She had your unlisted number so I called you.”

  “Collect.”

  “Yes. Collect. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Sorry. That was thorny.”

  “You wear sackcloth and ashes like a mink cape.”

  “Some people wear mink like sackcloth. Please go on.”

  “My credit cards were maxed out, but I managed to scrape together enough cash for a bus ticket. Then I grabbed my tote and ran because . . .”

  “Because?”

  “Jon would have changed my mind.”

  Reaching inside her purse, Judith retrieved a small pad and a slim pen. “I’ve decided to help you, Delly. First, get that shaggy mop shaped and conditioned. Then a facial, a manicure—”

  “I’ve got twelve bucks and three subway tokens!”

  “Shut up and listen. I’ll call my hair salon, tell them to charge the makeover to me. Next, an outfit at my consignment shop. No labels but it’ll be in mint condition, culled from a celeb’s wardrobe. I’ll call the shop, too.” The pen bobbed as she scribbled madly. “Did you pack a recent photo?”

  “Yes.” Delly handed Judith an eight-by-ten glossy, retrieved from the tote beneath her wicker chair.

  “Shit, you look like an over the hill Pandora. Did you happen to bring the negative?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’m putting you in a cab as soon as we leave here. There’s a studio at Broadway and West Forty-sixth. Seedy looking building, but they do the best work in the city. Remind them to air-brush those shadows under your eyes.” She tossed Delly three hundred dollar bills.

  “Thanks, Judith, but I can’t accept—”

  “Sure you can. It’s a loan. You need money for photos, transportation, shoes. You’ve got to look successful when you meet Vance Booker, and that means no sneakers.”

  “Vance is here? In his Manhattan office?”

  “He’s here, casting a new show, very hush-hush, hasn’t even made the trades yet. I’ll set up an interview for Friday, eleven sharp, don’t be late. If you give a half-way decent reading, the part will be yours.”

  “What’s the part?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  They exited the restaurant. Judith flagged a taxi, handed the driver money, and cited the photo studio’s address. Before closing the cab’s door, she leaned forward. “I’ll expect a return on my investment. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  She ran her palm lightly over Delly’s arm, then cupped her chin. “Sunday night, my apartment, seven o’clock. By the way, that perfume you’re wearing stinks to high heaven. It’s much too strong for Pandora.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Until Sunday then.”

  “Yes. Bye, Judith.” As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Delly covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  She finished her crying on the sidewalk at West Forty-sixth, then followed the smell of chemicals up a staircase. Leaving her negative, she returned to the street, walked inside a corner souvenir shop, and bought postcards. She would send one to Jon, but this time she’d write a message. Dear Jonny, she mentally composed, exiting the shop. Everything is great, even better than I expected. Wish—

  “Dell-eeee! Delly Diamond!”

  She glanced across the street. Clothed in white slacks and a sequin-studded Daisy Duck T-shirt, Anissa Cartier carried a rope-handled shopping bag. Beside her, Maryl Bradley waved. She wore black slacks and a red silk blouse. They both looked so cosmopolitan. You’d never guess that they had once been ugly ducklings.

  Three ugly ducklings—Delly, Anissa, Maryl. During their childhoods they’d been connected by a cord no thicker than a spider’s single thread.

  “Don’t move,” Delly shouted. “I’ll cross over.”

  “No, we’ll come to you,” Anissa shouted back, her voice so confident, so distinct, so Anissa.

  Delly’s gloom evaporated. This was her city, there stood her two best friends, and the theatre district was nearby. To hell with thorny Judith Pendergraft. Once upon a long time ago, Delly had found success on Broadway, just like Streisand. Barbra Streisand. B. S. Great initials. Delly laughed and felt pretty again. Pretty wasn’t beautiful, but it could be different, and different was pretty damn good. She yelled, “Ready or not, here I come!”

  Ready, action, three-two-one.

  She met Anissa and Maryl in the middle of the street. The three women formed a football huddle as they giggled, hugged, and kissed the air. Then, as though choreographed, they parted, arms stretched, children playing ring-a-rosy.

  A yellow cab braked for the stoplight. A rusty orange Volkswagen swung around the cab.

  There was the sound of a loud thunk.

  “Oh, my God!” A woman elbowed her way through curbside voyeurs. “Look at all that blood! Is she dead?”

  Three-two-one . . .

  Act I

  Chapter One

  Bayside, New York

  Delly Gold looked down at her clown-shaped birthday cake, where DELILAH & SAMANTHA were printed across the icing. Delly had been named for her grandmother, Sami for a man. Their middle names were Olivia and Vivian. Mommy said Olivia and Vivian were the stars of a movie called Gone With The Wind.

  “Your ’nitials spell dog,” Samantha said. She pulled out the sixteen melted candles, eight for each twin. She had wished out loud to grow up fast.

  Delly had wished for cherry-vanilla ice cream. “When I’m older,” she said, “I’ll change my middle name to Judy, for Judy Garland. Then everyone can call me DJ like the man on the radio.” She plowed her index finger through the clown’s smile. “Happy birthday, Sami.”

  “Happy birthday, Dog.”

  * * * * *

  Third grade had started three weeks ago, but today was Saturday, the best day. Earlier, Delly had watc
hed a man on a ladder and imagined he was Jack and the Beanstalk, only older. “Jack” had changed the tall black letters from last night’s movie to this afternoon’s movie and the marquee shouted:

  HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

  STARRING DANNY KAYE

  Bouncing her ball, Delly hopped on her left foot and swung her right leg in a semi-circle. “A, my name is Alice, and my husband’s name is Adam, we live in Alabama, and in our baskets we carry apples.”

  On the last word, apples, Delly missed. Her right leg was suspended and the pink rubber ball hit smack in the middle of her undies. Ouch! The ball veered away, rolled down the sidewalk, then stopped, subdued by the theater’s red bricks.

  She retrieved the ball and stuffed it inside the pocket of her blue jumper. The theater’s display glass reflected her round face and straight hair, cut like Buster Brown who lived in her shoe.

  Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her freckled nose against the glass. It misted from her whiff-puff, but she could still see the black and white photos advertising the Bayside Theater’s double bill, a retro-something starring Robert Mitchum. Delly had learned to read before she began kindergarten so the words weren’t hard. Tonight Robert Mitchum was appearing in THE SUNDOWNERS, followed by a movie called RACHEL AND THE STRANGER, starring Loretta Young.

  “Lor-et-ta.” Delly tasted the name. She captured it with the tip of her tongue, ran it over her teeth, and tapped the last syllable against the roof of her mouth. “Lor-et-ta.”

  Someday she’d be an actress. De-li-lah. Loretta Young. Delilah Gold. Delilah Old. She giggled, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. Delilah Old. She wanted to tell her sister the name-joke.

  Where was Sami? Mommy had given them money for snacks, but Sami said she didn’t like the stuff at the theater’s candy counter so she’d gone to the corner drugstore to buy Sugar Daddies. Yum. If you sucked carefully, making dents with your front teeth and wiggling the caramel back and forth, a Sugar Daddy might last the whole movie.

  Delly strolled through the theater’s double doors. Brightly colored posters decorated the lobby. Hans Christian singing to a bunch of children. Delly had a sudden thought. Hadn’t Daddy once mentioned Jewish actors? Wasn’t Danny Kaye Jewish? Outside again, she squinted up at the marquee. Hans Jewish Andersen starring Danny Kaye and Delilah Old.

  She wanted to share her second joke with Sami, or anybody else, but the sidewalk was empty. Other kids were already seated inside. Gee whiz, where was Sami? Delly didn’t want to miss the cartoons. On Saturday they always showed Tom and Jerry, Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd, Mr. Magoo and—.

  Fumbling through her pocket, Delly reached around the ball until she fingered her ticket stub. Should she go in and find a seat, or run to the drugstore and see if Sami waited in line?

  Just inside the drugstore, above the door, were bells that could have been attached to a horse-drawn sleigh. The store smelled of Johnson’s baby powder and sick people. Rows of shelves led to Mr. Hailey, who looked like Santa Claus on diet pills. Most of him was skinny but his tummy was fat. He wore a white shirt rolled up to his elbows and black pants with suspenders and he had a witch’s-wart to the left of his nose. The big kids said Mr. Hailey drank cough medicine and stole glue from shelves filled with school supplies. Sami said Mr. Hailey sniffed the glue, which was a big fat lie. Why would anyone sniff glue? Alongside Mr. Hailey’s hairy elbows were bins of candy. Delly walked toward him. “Have you seen my sister, sir?”

  “Seen lots of kids today,” he said. “She look like you, little girl?”

  “No, sir. We’re twins but Samantha’s got yellow hair while mine’s brown. And she’s taller.”

  “What’s your name? How old are you?”

  Delly hesitated. Mommy always said don’t-talk-to-strangers. Mr. Hailey wasn’t a stranger but it couldn’t hurt to pretend. “My name’s Lor-et-ta. I’m eight and a half.”

  “Have some candy, Miss Loretta.”

  “I’ve only got a nickel.”

  “Who said anything about money? Help yourself.”

  Delly glanced around the vacant store, studied the selection, and wolfed down a Three Musketeers.

  “Here, have some kisses.” Mr. Hailey laughed, scooped up a handful of Hershey’s Kisses, and stuffed them down the front of Delly’s belted jumper. “You want some Bazooka bubble gum, Loretta?”

  “No, sir. I have crooked teeth and Mommy says gum’s bad for me. But my sister Samantha can blow the biggest bubbles in the whole world.”

  “I remember when you bought gum for the baseball pictures. I collected ’em all, ’specially Joe DiMaggio. He married Marilyn Monroe. Talk ’bout bazookas. I get a hard-on when I picture them in bed.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Delly, even though she had no idea what he meant.

  She walked a few paces backwards, picturing the house in Hansel and Gretel and the witch with the wart on her nose. Mr. Hailey’s eyes looked a little crazy, but boy-oh-boy, free candy. Wait till she told Samantha. Sami would say you-lucky-stiff.

  “Eat,” Mr. Hailey said, unwrapping another Musketeers.

  Delly finished the bar in six bites. “My sister’s waiting for me outside the movies,” she said. “Thanks for the candy.”

  “Your sister got yella’ hair?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Her name’s Samantha, right?”

  “Uh-huh. How’d you know?”

  “She’s in the back of the store.”

  “Why?”

  “She had to go to the toilet, said she couldn’t hold it in no more.”

  “Oh.”

  “You wanna wait near the toilet, Loretta?”

  “I guess.”

  Mr. Hailey clasped Delly’s hand and led her into a dimly lit storeroom filled with boxes. Lifting her onto a huge carton, he patted the top of her jumper. He said, “Got enough kisses, little girl?” and laughed again.

  Delly didn’t get it, but before she could say yes-thank-you, he thrust his hand into his pants pocket, pulled out an Almond Joy, and stripped the wrapper. “Here, Loretta, eat. There’s plenty more where this comes from and soon I’ll let you suck a great big lollipop.”

  Oh boy, thought Delly, a Sugar Daddy. Yum.

  It took her ten bites to finish the Almond Joy because it was getting harder to swallow. “Where’s Samantha?” she asked, licking chocolate from her fingers.

  “She’ll be here soon. Can’t you hear the toilet flush?”

  Delly didn’t hear anything. Mr. Hailey handed her a bag of peanuts.

  Sleigh bells sounded and Mr. Hailey winced. “Damn,” he said. “Wait here, Loretta. I’ll be back before you can finish them peanuts.”

  Delly chewed, cracking nuts between her front teeth. The salt made her thirsty and her tummy felt funny and beneath her bangs her forehead began to perspire. Climbing down from the carton, she walked toward where she thought the bathroom might be. “Samantha? Sami?”

  No answer.

  Delly’s tears merged with the sweat on her face. She didn’t know what to do. An adult had told her to eat. He had said Sami was in the bathroom and she wasn’t. Maybe Mr. Hailey fed children candy, then put them inside a cage until they grew big and he could cook them.

  Hearing footsteps, she ducked behind a carton.

  “Where are you, Loretta? Playing hard to get? Hide and seek? I’ll count to ten. One, two, three, ten. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Delly heard squeaks.

  A mouse?

  A rat?

  Something furry brushed against her legs.

  A cat?

  A giant rat?

  Daddy said Manhattan had giant rats but not Bayside.

  Glancing down, she saw a big, hairy spider. With a scream, she stood and shook her foot, then her body, as if she played put your whole self in, put your whole self out, put your whole self in and shake it all about.

  “Here you are,” Mr. Hailey said. “I found you. Ollie, ollie, income tax.”

  It’s ollie, ollie, income
free.

  Mr. Hailey placed one hand between Delly’s legs and lifted her up until she reached his whiskered chin. She felt his hand squeeze, like she sometimes did to herself when she had to go to the bathroom real bad. She smelled cherry cough medicine on Mr. Hailey’s breath and felt her tummy lurch. “Let me go,” she said. “I don’t feel good.”

  “We can play Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio.”

  Delly felt him press his mouth against hers. His tummy jiggled like a bowl full of jelly. Her tummy jiggled, too. “Put me down! I’m gonna throw up!”

  As soon as she said the words, candy and nuts spewed onto Mr. Hailey’s beard like chocolate-covered BBs shot from a gun. With a muffled oath, he dropped her to the floor.

  Delly finished throwing up on Mr. Hailey’s socks and shoes. Then she ran through the drugstore, skidded along the sidewalk, entered the theater, and washed her mouth at the drinking fountain. The warm water tasted like toothpaste.

  Thank goodness the movie hadn’t started yet. After her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she found her sister.

  “Too bad you missed the cartoons,” said Samantha. “They had your favorite, Elmer Fuddy-Duddy. I bought popcorn. What’s in your jumper?”

  “Kisses,” said Delly, wriggling onto the empty seat next to Sami.

  “Huh?”

  “Chocolate kisses. Someone gave ’em to me.” She waited for Sami to say you-lucky-stiff.

  Sami scrunched up her nose. “Throw them away. They might be poisoned.”

  Delly fished the kisses from her jumper and dropped them behind her seat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going inside, Sami?”

  “Gosh, Dell, you were having so much fun playing with your ball. A, my name is Aretha and—”

  “Alice. I said Alice.”

  “Well, I like Aretha better, so there.”

  Even in the dark, Delly could see Samantha’s tongue slip between her lips like a fat pink garden snake. Samantha wore dungarees and a yellow T-shirt. Her hair was clustered in two long bunches, secured by Scottie Dog barrettes. She ignored the movie, chatting with her friends and hurling popcorn at the screen.