Anastasia Again! Page 10

  "Don't let them cut your hair, Sam," said Anastasia, buttering a piece of toast.

  "Do my curls look pretty?" asked Sam anxiously.

  Good grief. There was so much that Sam didn't know yet.

  "Not pretty, Sam," Anastasia told him. "Handsome. Boys aren't supposed to look pretty, only handsome."

  "Oh."

  "You're not taking your flashlight, are you?"

  "No, it's in its hiding place. Tonight we play Flasher."

  Anastasia's mother looked out the window. "It looks as if it might rain again. The sky's pretty gray." She went to the closet, got Sam's little raincoat, and buttoned him into it. "There you are, old buddy. Your stroller's over at Mrs. Stein's. Have a nice time. And behave yourself."

  They watched through the window as Sam trotted across the yard and climbed the steps to Gertrustein's porch.

  "Now. What's next? Kool-Aid." Anastasia's mother got the Kool-Aid out of the cupboard. "Might as well make it now, so Robert and Jenny can have some when they get here. Be sure to tell them to leave plenty for the Mafia."

  "Mom!"

  Her mother chuckled. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sure your new friends are actually very nice, Anastasia. I was just in a rotten mood yesterday. I've been working on a painting for a week now, and it just isn't going very well. You know how grouchy your father gets when he's writing a poem that doesn't seem to work? And he blames us, even though we've never even seen the poem?"

  Anastasia laughed. "Yeah. I've been writing a novel for about three months now, myself. It took me 2½ months just to think of a title. And now the novel doesn't seem to have much connection to the title."

  "Goodness. That would be a problem."

  "Also, I'm having a hard time getting all the ingredients in."

  "Ingredients?"

  "Mmmmm. It's a mystery novel. I finally put in lots of mysterious characters. Then I remembered I needed a dead person. So I got that in, at the end of Chapter 4. But there's no sex yet."

  "Sex? Are you sure you need sex in a mystery novel?"

  Anastasia thought. Nancy Drew books had no sex. Nancy's boyfriend was a little retarded that way, Anastasia thought. He was old enough to drive, for pete's sake, but he went on for book after book after book, without ever developing any interest in sex. But that was one reason that Nancy Drew books were boring.

  Agatha Christie books had hints of love affairs, but nothing explicit. Anastasia wanted her mystery novel to be even more interesting than Agatha Christie's.

  "Yes," she said. "I need some explicit sex. Maybe in Chapter 5."

  "Stir."

  "Stir my novel?"

  "No, dummy. Stir the Kool-Aid."

  They filled several old cider jugs. "There," said her mother. "We can add ice cubes when we serve it."

  "Probably my gangland friends will sneak some vodka in, too."

  "Anastasia. You're not serious, are you?"

  Anastasia groaned. "No, Mom. I was only kidding."

  ***

  Watching from the front window, Anastasia saw them as they came around the corner. She grinned. Actually, it would be fun to see Jenny again. She had missed Jenny. Probably, if the situation had been reversed, she would have gone to see Casablanca herself, she had to admit.

  But she groaned when she saw Robert. Good old jerko Giannini. Right here, right here at her very corner, for pete's sake, he had stopped his bike and was consulting a map. Anastasia could see that Jenny was pointing to the house and yelling at him. But Robert was busily consulting his map, which he then folded very carefully and put back in his pocket. Typical of Robert to be able to fold a map. He was the only person Anastasia had ever met who could fold a map.

  And he had his briefcase, of course. She could make out its rectangular outline, even though it was wrapped in something. Of course. Dark green plastic. Typical, that Robert had wrapped his briefcase in a trash bag so that it wouldn't get wet. Gross.

  And his feet. What was wrong with his feet? Anastasia squinted, so that she could see them more clearly. Oh, no. She couldn't believe it. Sick. SICK.

  Robert Giannini was wearing rubbers.

  "Hi, Jenny!" Anastasia said, and made a special face at her which meant: look at Robert, wearing rubbers.

  "Hi," said Jenny, and made a face back which meant: I know, it's the grossest thing I've ever seen.

  "Well," said Robert Giannini, "we made it, Anastasia."

  "I can see that, Robert. Come on in."

  ***

  Robert and Jenny loved Anastasia's new house. It made her feel good, showing it to them and seeing it in a new way herself, as she did. She felt a little like a real estate dealer, opening doors and saying "This is the study" and "This is the studio where my mother paints" (although she closed that door again quickly, when she realized that her mother had been working on a nude).

  Especially she liked taking them up to her tower room. Even with the wallpaper partly peeled off, the room was exciting, set up high in the tops of the trees, with a view that stretched so far that they could see the tall Hancock Building in Boston in the distance.

  Robert said, "You know, Anastasia, when you pull off these layers of wallpaper, you peel away a whole history of your room. Who lived in the house last?"

  Anastasia shrugged. "Some doctor and his wife. They had five kids."

  "Well, probably one of the kids lived up here, don't you think? So this top layer of paper belongs to that kid."

  He pulled off a section of that paper near the window. "Now, look," he said. "Green, with flowers, under that. Wonder who lived here then."

  "Maybe a young couple," said Jenny. "Maybe the husband beat the wife, so she used to come up here to hide from him."

  "That's really old-fashioned paper," said Anastasia, looking at the pattern more closely. "Probably it was way back in the 1930s or something, when everything was different. Maybe the wife wanted to go out and get a job instead of staying home and cooking. That's why he beat her."

  "The rat," muttered Jenny.

  "What's underneath?"

  Robert picked with his fingernail at the green flowered paper until a piece of it came loose. "Blue. With a sort of striped pattern. This one's really old." He pulled more of the green away. "Wonder who lived here then."

  "A family that had a crazy uncle. They kept him chained up here in the tower," suggested Jenny.

  "Yeah," said Robert. "He used to keep track of the days and weeks by making marks on the wall. Look! Right here is a mark he made!"

  Robert was right. At the edge, still partly covered by the green paper, was a mark made with pen and ink.

  "It probably says 'Help! I'm being held captive in this tower!'"

  "Be careful, Robert. Don't tear it!"

  Anastasia laughed after she said that. Telling someone who wears rubbers, carries a briefcase, and folds maps correctly to be careful. Really dumb.

  He finally lifted up a strip of green paper and exposed all of the faded writing. They leaned over and tried to figure out what it said. It was certainly not the marks of a madman counting the days of captivity.

  Anastasia made it out and opened her mouth in astonishment. "I know what that is! Good grief! Wait till..."

  But she was interrupted. Her mother called from the bottom of the tower stairs.

  "Anastasia! You get down here right away! Two vans just pulled into the driveway. Your guests are here!"

  ***

  An hour later, some of the confusion had subsided. Everyone was on their second cup of Kool-Aid, and Anastasia's mother had opened the box of imported cookies that she'd been saving since last Christmas for a special occasion (although Edna, Morris, and Ernest, being diabetic, couldn't eat them).

  Anastasia's father was in the study, showing off his first editions to Harry, who had once taught European literature at Tufts University, and to Jeanette, who years ago had managed a Boston book store.

  Robert had opened his briefcase and was showing some rocket plans to Morris and Fred, who were retired
engineers, and they were arguing over whether the rocket Robert had designed could possibly make it to the moon.

  Edna and four other ladies were showing Jenny photographs of their grandchildren.

  Someone was playing "Alexander's Ragtime Band" on the piano, and a tiny lady with snow-white hair was dancing around and around the dining room all by herself.

  In the studio, the man with no hair at all was looking wistfully at the half-finished painting of a nude.

  Someone kept asking if the Krupniks had a croquet set. Or a badminton set. Or a volleyball.

  In the kitchen, Fran McCormick was helping Anastasia's mother make some more Kool-Aid, and they were both laughing so hard they were almost crying.

  "...and I thought she meant a motorcycle gang," Anastasia's mother sputtered. Anastasia wandered into the kitchen.

  "Anastasia," laughed Fran, "I think your mother is going to clobber you after we leave."

  Anastasia perched on a kitchen stool, chewed on a cookie, and grinned. "This is a good party," she said. "Even Robert Giannini is a hit. I think Robert is really an eighty-year-old man in a twelve-year-old body."

  "Is everybody okay in there? The new batch of Kool-Aid's almost ready," said her mother, stirring.

  "Everyone's fine. Someone wants to play croquet. Some other people are having a contest over who has the best-looking grandchildren, so there are photographs all over the place. The guy with the bald head wishes you had painted the breasts bigger on the nude."

  "Tell him to go buy a Playboy."

  "I did. And Mom, I just saw Gertrustein and Sam go into her house. The point of this party was to introduce Gertrustein to everyone. How shall we get her to come over?"

  Her mother went to the telephone and dialed.

  "Mrs. Stein? This is Katherine Krupnik. How did it go at the beauty parlor?"

  "Don't tell her there are people here," hissed Anastasia, "or she won't come." Her mother gestured to her to be quiet.

  "Oh, Gertrude, I'm sure it looks lovely. You just aren't used to it."

  Anastasia remembered something. "Tell her," she whispered, "that I have something I absolutely have to show her."

  Her mother gestured: Shut up.

  "Of course you're not going to wear a hat for the rest of your life," her mother was saying into the phone. "He what? That little beast!"

  She put her hand over the receiver and whispered to Fran and Anastasia, "Sam told her she looks like Art Garfunkel."

  "Sam loves Art Garfunkel," said Anastasia.

  "Gertrude, Anastasia tells me that Sam loves Art Garfunkel," her mother said into the telephone. "So he means it as a compliment. Listen, Gertrude, why don't you bring Sam over here now? I want to see your permanent, and Anastasia has something that she says she absolutely has to show you."

  After she hung up, she said apprehensively to Fran and Anastasia, "This may be a terrible mistake. She says she intends to put on a large hat and go to bed in a dark room for the rest of her life."

  "Mom," Anastasia pointed out, "she's saying that for the same reason she says she doesn't like people. She's scared. Is she coming over?"

  "Yes. In fact, there she is now, coming out of her house with Sam. You go and greet her at the door, Anastasia."

  They watched through the window as Gertrustein and Sam came across the yard, and Anastasia ran to open the door.

  Gertrustein was, as she had said, wearing a large green hat which covered her hair.

  "Good afternoon, Anastasia," she said. "I've brought your brother back. And your mother says you have something to show me."

  The piano began again, with "You Are My Sunshine." People began to sing. There was a thump in the dining room, and Anastasia cringed; the white-haired lady had bumped into the table as she danced.

  Sam looked startled at the noise. He dropped Gertrustein's hand, said, "I'm going to hide," and scooted up the stairs.

  "I wasn't aware that you had guests," Gertrustein sniffed. "I'll come back another time."

  "No, no, it's okay," said Anastasia casually. "It's just some friends who stopped by. Come on in." She took Gertrustein by the hand and practically dragged her into the living room.

  "Everybody," announced Anastasia in a loud voice, "I would like you to meet my friend Gertrude Stein."

  The Senior Citizens clustered around Gertrustein, introducing themselves. Someone put a paper cup of Kool-Aid into her hand. The woman with orange hair sat back down at the piano and began to play "As Time Goes By," the song from Casablanca. "A kiss is just a kiss..." Edna and Fred began to sing.

  "Here's lookin' at you, kid," said the bald-headed man in a not-too-bad Humphrey Bogart voice to Gertrustein, and held up his cup of Kool-Aid in a toast.

  Anastasia saw that Gertrustein's mouth was beginning to twitch at the edges into a smile.

  The doorbell rang.

  At the door was Steve Harvey, with the tallest, most beautiful girl Anastasia had ever seen.

  "I didn't realize you were having so much company," Steve said loudly to make himself heard over the noise. "This is Anne. We didn't go to Sturbridge because of the rain this morning, and Anne wanted to meet you before she goes back to New York."

  Anastasia grinned, shook Anne's hand, and brought them inside. She thought for a minute that she would try to explain about the company. Then she looked in the living room, saw seven Senior Citizens, plus Gertrustein still wearing her big green hat, arranging themselves into a circle to do some sort of dance, and decided that it would be impossible to explain.

  "My parents are outside in the car," explained Steve. "Do you think..."

  "Sure," said Anastasia. "Bring them in."

  ***

  Finally, the noise had lessened. Everyone was worn out, and the Kool-Aid was almost gone. Anne Harvey had demonstrated a dance from a Broadway musical, and when she had asked politely if she could wear Gertrustein's green hat for the dance, Gertrustein had finally taken the hat off. Everyone had admired her new mass of silver curls. There had been a long discussion about Art Garfunkel, and they had played an Art Garfunkel record on the stereo.

  Mr. Harvey had done an imitation of Howard Cosell. Anastasia's father had read a poem about baseball. Then Mr. Harvey had read the same poem in his Howard Cosell voice.

  The man with the bald head was now wearing the big green hat.

  Everyone was exhausted from laughing and singing. For the first time in two hours, the house was quiet, as they all gathered their breath in order to say good-by.

  There was the soft padding sound of bare feet coming down the stairs.

  "It's my brother," said Anastasia softly. "I wondered what had happened to him."

  Sam appeared in the doorway, and everyone said, "Oooooh," the way people do when they see a curly-headed baby.

  But Anastasia's heart sank. No, Sam, she said silently. Don't do it, Sam. She cringed. The instant she saw that Sam was wearing his raincoat and that below it his legs and feet were bare, she knew what was coming. I'll kill you, Sam, she thought.

  Sam grinned and stood in the doorway looking at the room full of senior citizens, and Gertrustein, and his parents, and the Harveys, and Jenny, and Robert.

  "FLASH!" he said loudly and opened his raincoat. Then he scampered away, naked.

  Everyone sat politely silent for a moment. Then the Senior Citizens began to giggle. Anne Harvey started to laugh. Gertrustein laughed so hard that her Art Garfunkel curls shook. Mr. Harvey announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, an astonishing thing has happened," in his Howard Cosell voice.

  It was time for everyone to go home.

  ***

  "Gertrustein, I really do like your hair," said Anastasia, "and I'm glad you had fun at the party."

  "Hmmmph," said Gertrustein.

  Sam had been tucked away for his nap, and they were cleaning up the kitchen.

  "Mom, do you know what Robert Giannini said, when he and Jenny were leaving?"

  "What?"

  Anastasia giggled. "He came over to me privately
and said in this very serious voice, 'Anastasia, I thought that your brother had a birth defect. I didn't realize that you meant he was emotionally disturbed. I'm really sorry.'"

  "That jerk," said Anastasia's mother. "Of course, Sam really was obnoxious, I'll admit."

  "It was probably my fault," pointed out Gertrustein, "since it was I who suggested to him that we play Flasher."

  "Gertrustein!" said Anastasia. "I just remembered! I really do have something to show you! Do you think you could climb up all the stairs to my room?"

  Gertrustein groaned. "Can't you bring it down?"

  "No. Come on. We can go slow."

  The two of them climbed the staircase to the second floor; then, puffing, Gertrustein made it up to the tower.

  "Actually," she said, "I think the dancing helped my arthritis. I think maybe I'll enroll in their folk-dancing class."

  "Look!" said Anastasia. "Kneel down here, Gertrustein, so you can see."

  They knelt side by side, and Anastasia pointed to the faded writing on the oldest layer of wallpaper.

  "'Edward loves Gertrude. Always,'" Gertrustein read aloud. "My goodness. I wonder when he wrote that."

  "There's no date."

  "Well, it really doesn't matter when he wrote it, I guess. It's nice to know that he did." Gertrustein blushed a little.

  "I wonder where he is now."

  "Probably being a Senior Citizen somewhere."

  "Maybe you could find him."

  But Gertrustein hooted. "I wouldn't even want to, now. He's probably fat. Better just to remember him. Of course, it would be nice if..."

  "If what?"

  Gertrustein patted her curls. "If he could see my new hairdo," she laughed.

  ***

  "Chapter 5," wrote Anastasia at the top of a new page. She had begun to be a little bored with novel writing, so she decided that Chapter 5 would be the final chapter. That meant, she knew from Agatha Christie, that she had to bring all the characters together, preferably in a locked room, and solve the mystery.

  And she also had to put the sex in.

  She realized that it was not entirely clear just what the mystery was. But it was in the title. "The Mystery of Saying Good-by." Okay. She just had to connect the title with the plot.