17.
PIXIE GUARD #1
Tuesday, August 27, 1935
One laundry cycle has passed since I gave Mae her yellow rose, and I haven’t heard any more about it. I don’t think I’m going to either. I’m square with Al now. He’s going to leave me alone. My hives are practically gone too; no more wild scratching in the middle of the night. And not even Darby seems to have noticed Mae’s yellow rose, burnt up as he was about me giving one to Bea. Thank goodness for Bea and her pineapple upside-down cake, that’s all I can say.
Not that I’ve exactly stopped searching my laundry. I’m like a gold digger the way I check everything: every pocket, every cuff, every sleeve, every pant leg. I pay close attention to the plumbing too because I don’t want Seven Fingers coming to my place again. Finding a note in the pocket of my shirt was bad enough. Messing with my pillow . . . that’s something else again. A guy’s pillow is personal, you know?
Still, all in all I’m feeling pretty good. I don’t even mind that school is starting soon, mostly because that means baseball will be beginning too. Annie is going to join us after school. She’ll be the only girl, of course. Her mom is pretty proud about this. She’s started a new needlepoint pillow to honor the occasion: Home Run Gal, it says. So long as she doesn’t make one that says Needlepoint Guy I guess I’m safe.
Natalie is even doing well. She’ll be home for a visit next week. And Scout is coming to the island this afternoon to play ball. I ran this by Jimmy and he seemed fine about it. He said he was glad Scout was coming, so even that little mess has worked out!
This time I decide to run the paperwork for Scout’s visit by Darby before turning it in. I’m not taking any chances. I knock on the Trixles’ door, but Darby’s not there and only Janet is available. “Hi,” she says. Her hair is in its usual braids and she has scissors in her hand. “Theresa with you?” she asks hopefully.
“No,” I say.
She nods. “Theresa won’t play with me. She’d rather play with your sister. And I’m not allowed to play with Natalie. Did Theresa really touch Mae Capone?”
“Yep.”
Janet’s shoulders sag.
“Nat’s not around very much anymore. Maybe Theresa will play with you now?” I offer.
Janet sighs. “I don’t think so. Theresa stays mad a long time.”
“Theresa never told me you weren’t allowed to play with Nat.”
Janet’s finger beckons me closer. “She’s afraid it will hurt your feelings,” she whispers, glancing down at the paper she’s cutting. “Hey, look what I’m doing.” She perks up. “Making bullhorns. I made a new rule. All my pixie jailers gots to have one.”
“Of course. Bullhorns would be essential equipment for pixie jailers.”
She nods vigorously, like she’s relieved somebody finally appreciates this important concept.
“Would you do me a favor here and look at my paperwork. I’ve got a friend coming over. I want to make sure it’s right.”
“Me? You want me to look at it?” She stands up extra straight, puts her scissors down, brushes her skirt off, and tosses her braids behind her shoulders. Then she takes the card.
Normally I wouldn’t trust this kind of thing to a seven-year-old, but seeing as how rules are Janet Trixle’s specialty . . . Course I don’t actually know if she can read. Her finger moves along the page, her lips moving silently, forming the words.
I guess that’s my answer. She can read, but not very well. Still, she’ll probably tell her dad I consulted her. That can’t hurt either.
She nods. “Looks fine. When Scout comes, is Theresa going to play with you?”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
Janet’s lips are pressed together. She gets her scissors again and resumes cutting. I notice now what’s written on the paper bullhorn: Theresa Pixie Guard #1.
Thanks to Janet, Scout arrives without a hitch, and Jimmy comes down to the dock to meet him. We’re all headed up the switchback to Piper’s house to get Annie, when Jimmy suggests a detour through 64. “I’ve got something to show you, Scout.” Jimmy smiles in an un-Jimmy-like way.
“Don’t tell me . . . a new species of fly, right?” Scout tries to catch my eye. He thinks this is funny and he wants to share a laugh with me, but I ignore him. I want to be very careful not to hurt Jimmy’s feelings.
“No,” Jimmy tells him. He leans in to whisper in Scout’s ear.
“Really?” Scout answers, craning his neck in my direction, a question in his eyes.
Jimmy’s head moves in a bunch of jerky little nods. “I figured you’d want to know.”
“Jimmy, where are you going?” I ask as he leads us back around 64 building headed for Chinatown. I grab Jimmy’s arm, but he shakes me off. He takes off running to outpace Scout, who is the world’s fastest walker. They head down the cement stairway, into the shady cool of Chinatown.
When they get to the secret passageway, Jimmy takes his screwdriver out of his pocket.
“Jimmy!” I groan, but it’s too late. He is already unscrewing the hardware that holds the hinge on the door. Jimmy’s eyes avoid mine. He opens the door and a cloud of dust swirls into the air. Scout crawls inside.
“Wow,” Scout says, his voice dull and distant. “Can you really hear people taking a crap and stuff?”
“Shhh!” Jimmy warns as he climbs in behind Scout.
I don’t go in after them. I stand outside fuming. What is Jimmy’s problem? How could he tell Scout about this? What kind of a friend is he, anyway?
They stay in there for a long time. I wait, watching Mrs. Caconi’s big aprons blow on the clothesline she hung back here. She won’t let her clothes near the convicts. She washes them all herself.
When they finally come out, Jimmy is apologizing for not being able to play ball with Scout today. The way he does this, it sounds convincing, but I know it’s a lie. Jimmy doesn’t want Scout to make fun of him again. That’s why he won’t play.
“S’okay.” Scout brushes the dust from his pants as Jimmy secures the hinges back in place. “Moose was gonna show me this place, right, Moose?” Scout asks.
Jimmy’s screwdriver freezes in his hand. He’s clearly waiting to hear what I have to say.
But I have nothing to say.
“Sure you were,” Jimmy insists, drilling down so hard that his fingers turn white.
Scout’s thick eyebrows rise. He looks from Jimmy to me and back again.
“I told Annie about this place too. Seeing as how she’s another of your best friends,” Jimmy mumbles. “And Piper.”
“Piper knows?” I croak.
“Sure. Isn’t she your best friend?” Jimmy swings the screwdriver as he walks up the stairs out of Chinatown. Scout and I watch him go.
“He’s a good guy,” Scout tells me. “You shouldn’t make him mad like that.”
“I shouldn’t? You’re the one said he throws like a dead girl.”
Scout shrugs as if he doesn’t even remember this.
Typical Scout. He’s the guy who brings the eggs, but he’s never the one with egg on his face. If he wasn’t so much fun, I’d hate him.
“Are we gonna play ball or what? Let’s go find Annie,” Scout suggests, as if playing ball with Annie is the most natural thing in the world.
Annie and Piper are supposed to be singing a song for when J. Edgar Hoover, the head of the FBI, and Eliot Ness, the guy who brought Capone down, come to Alcatraz. Apparently there is going to be a big shindig for them with gold foil invitations and everything.
My mom was supposed to help Annie and Piper practice. She offered to teach Alcatraz kids for half off, but the warden didn’t take her up on it. Buddy Boy is helping Annie and Piper with their performance instead.
Buddy Boy’s lessons are, of course, free.
When we knock on the warden’s door this time, it’s Willy One Arm who answers, with the brown mouse, Molly, riding on his shoulder.
“Where’s Mrs. Williams?” I ask.
“Not feeling so good,” Willy One Arm squeaks. Molly nuzzles his neck, her nose twitching like she’s searching for something to eat. We follow Willy and Molly into the living room, where Annie and Piper are both seated on the piano bench.
“Hi, doll.” Scout beams his peepers at Piper.
I grind my teeth. Does he have to call her doll?
“Hi.” Piper smiles back shyly, her eyes softening for Scout.
Piper looks at my baseball bat and her face clouds up. “Annie’s busy,” she snaps.
Buddy Boy offers me his most inviting smile. “Gonna play a little ball are you, buddy?” he asks, concentrating his magnified gray eyes on me.
“Yeah.” I motion my head toward Annie. “When are you gonna be done?”
“She has no idea,” Piper answers for Annie.
Scout smiles his old bachelor-guy smile at Piper. “You got a glove, doll? You could play too.”
Piper shrugs this off. “You should see this,” she tells Scout. “Buddy, do your Shirley Temple.”
“Oh now, missy,” Buddy says. He can’t keep the smile off his face. It seems permanently attached to his lips.
“Come on,” Piper wheedles.
“Shirley who?” Scout asks.
“You never heard of Shirley Temple?”
Scout shakes his head.
“She’s a kid movie star,” Annie explains. “They show her movies in the cell house and everywhere else too.”
“In the cell house . . .” Scout nods appreciatively.
“Movie night is twice a month,” Piper explains. “Go ahead, Buddy. You gotta hear this,” she tells us.
Buddy clearly lives for this. You can see it in his eyes. He takes off his tortoiseshell glasses and plumps up his curly yellow hair so that it looks more like the six-year-old Shirley’s mop head.
Annie riffles through the music until she finds what she’s looking for and begins playing.
Buddy Boy walks across the room, swinging his arms at his sides and scrunching his shoulders up like he is an adorable roly-poly mop-headed little girl. His arms soar like an airplane while he sings in a high-pitched voice: “On the good ship Lollipop. It’s a sweet trip to a candy shop.” He rubs his belly and puffs his cheeks out.
If you close your eyes, you’d swear you were listening to Shirley on the radio. Open them and Buddy almost looks like her too. It’s a little creepy.
“Look, even Molly likes it.” Annie points to Willy One Arm, who is standing in the back, Molly on his shoulder, her keen pink eyes on Buddy while Willy strokes her ratty fur.
I look back at Piper. Scout is right next to her. They are busy whispering to each other.
Buddy catches me watching them. “Moose, you take your friend Scout and run along.” He smiles. “We just need a few more minutes, then we’ll have your Annie back to you.”
Buddy has such a nice way of making me feel comfortable in my own skin. It’s as if I’m doing something right every time I see him. He winks at Annie, like they share their own secret.
“He’s good, isn’t he? Gonna be in vaudeville when he gets out, right, Buddy?” Annie’s eyes are bright and completely focused on Buddy.
He can’t be a convicted felon. He just can’t.
Buddy nods. “You betcha. Got me an agent all lined up. This time next year, you’re gonna see my name in lights. Now you go on.” He motions to me. “The ladies have more work to do.”
Scout and I discuss Buddy as we walk down to the parade grounds. “They let him out to audition?” Scout asks.
“No,” I say.
“How’d he get an agent then?”
“Beats me. Hey look here, Scout.” He walks so fast I can hardly keep up with him. “Do you have to be so chummy with Piper?”
“Chummy?” He stops on the road, watching a big tanker out in the bay. His eyes are back on me now. “I know a little more about the dolls than you do . . . So, I’m gonna give you some tips.” He puts both his hands up in a stop motion. “Don’t thank me, okay? It’s just what I do for my buddies. But first I need to know . . . you kiss her yet?”
“Shut up, okay?” I tell him. “What makes you think you know so much about girls anyway?”
He rocks his head from side to side like his nose is a pendulum looking for center. “I just do. First thing, don’t be going straight for the lips. It’s like when you’re pitching, you don’t want to go straight over home plate but a little to the side to keep ’em guessing. Start with the cheek and then kind of mosey your lips over till . . . bingo!” He taps his lips. “You hit the target.
“Tip two: Watch your nose. Nothin’ like a nose smashup to ruin the mood, could even lose you the whole ball of wax. Noses stick out, see, more than lips, so an angle shot is the only way to go.” He cocks his head to demonstrate.
Scout holds one finger up. “I’m giving you the best I have here, buddy, I hope you appreciate this.” He points to his neck. “Little-known fact. Weak point of every doll in America, a little smackeroo there, you’ll have ’em eating out of your hand.”
“Look, Scout, let’s put it this way.” I get my face right up close to his. “You kiss Piper and I don’t care if you’re my best friend—”
“Hey now, don’t get yourself all worked up about that. I know Piper’s your puppy. But you gotta get a girl warmed up, you know.” He points to his chest. “I’m the fella for that job. You betcha.”
I sigh, all the resistance drained out of me. “I dunno. She’s pretty mad at me. Did you see her?”
“That’s because she likes you. That’s the way the pretty ones are, Moose. They get mad for all kinds of reasons you can’t figure out, so don’t be wasting your time trying.” He taps his finger to his lips. “That’s how you solve it right there.” Scout nods like he’s seen this all before.
“Really? You think I should kiss her?”
He sighs as if I’m a sorry specimen of mankind. “What do you think I’ve been telling you for the last five minutes? Now come on . . . let’s play.” He bounces forward down the hill to the parade grounds to wait for Annie, who shows up a few minutes later.
“Piper’s sore at you,” Annie reports, slipping on her glove.
“She’s always sore,” I say.
“I mean really sore. She heard about the roses.”
“How’d she find out?” I ask.
Annie shrugs. “How’s she find out anything?”
“There’s no reason for her to be mad about it anyways,” I tell her.
Annie knocks on my skull. “Anybody home in there? You’re supposed to be her boyfriend, and you didn’t even get her a rose.”
“Buddy, buddy, buddy.” Scout shakes his head. “You didn’t get her a rose?”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” I insist.
“Yeah well.” Annie seems to be enjoying this. “Not now you’re not. Jimmy’s mad at you too, you know.”
“He sure is. Anybody could see that,” Scout agrees.
“The trouble is—” Annie’s eyes nail me. “You can’t stand playing baseball with anyone who isn’t as good as you.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “I’ve never said a word about the way Jimmy plays.”
“You don’t have to,” Annie tells me. “One look at your face says it all.”
“It does not.”
“Does too.”
“I play with you and you’re not better than I am.” I get right up close to say this.
“Bets?”
“Yeah, bets. Double bets. Triple bets.”
“If I were a gambling man,” Scout hoots, “I’d put my money on Annie.”
“Will you shut up?” I tell him as the sun dips behind a cloud and the parade grounds get dark. The gulls seem to react to this. They begin squawking as if to complain that someone turned the lights off.
There aren’t enough players for a real game. So Annie pitches and Scout and I take turns at bat. Every time I get up there I hit so hard, I smack the ball to smithereens. I could take on the Babe today.
“What got into Moose?” Scout asks Annie.
“You just tell him he’s lousy,” Annie informs Scout, “and he gets like that.” She laughs.
“Gonna remember that next time we need a homer,” Scout says.
“Yeah,” Annie replies, “he’s kind of fun that way.”
“Shut up, Annie,” I say, but now Scout is laughing too. “And stop ganging up on me,” I tell them both.
“Poor Humpty Dumpty,” Annie says, throwing me one of her best pitches ever, and now I’m so mad I swing the bat so hard I miss.
“Better go easy on him,” Scout tells her. “Or he’ll fall off the wall.”