“I don’t know. So much going on, I guess. Has my mama called?”
It had been four days and not a word from her mother. Ibby thought the least Vidrine could do was call to wish her a happy birthday. But Vidrine was Vidrine. Sometimes she wondered if her mother cared about anyone other than herself. But it didn’t stop Ibby from hoping.
“No, baby. Day still young, though.” Queenie stirred the batter. “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t go mentioning to Miss Fannie that Lieutenant Kennedy brought you home yesterday. Okay? That’s something she just don’t need to know.”
Through the open door, a crack of thunder snapped in the distance as a gust of wind swept through the backyard, stirring up the dust and rustling the leaves on the pecan tree.
Queenie glanced out into the yard. “I hope the skies don’t go spitting down on us today, or it’ll spoil our church picnic. Be a shame, all that good food going to waste.”
Doll darted into the kitchen, grabbed some scissors from a drawer, then swooped out without saying a word.
Queenie nodded toward Fannie’s bedroom. “Doll’s in there trying to get Miss Fannie ready for your birthday lunch, but your grandma, she ain’t cooperating. All she wants to do is watch some of the baseball game on the television this morning. She bettin’ on the Twins over the Yankees. Lawd, hope her team wins, ’cause she hates them Yankees.”
After breakfast, Ibby went back up to her room. After a while, Doll came up to find her.
“What you doing sitting up here all alone?” Doll laid the dress she’d made for her on the bed.
Ibby picked it up and ran her fingers over the material—a sleeveless cobalt blue sheath with a contrasting white band at the hem and neck.
“It’s very nice,” Ibby said.
“So what’s the matter?” Doll asked. “Why the long face?”
Ibby shrugged.
“What you normally do for your birthday?”
“Daddy gives me a card scribbled with some silly rhyme he made up, then takes me to do something special. Just me and him. No Vidrine.”
“And now your daddy ain’t here no more. I understand.” Doll put her finger to her cheek. “Listen, baby. I know you gone have a good time today at Antoine’s. Supposed to be one of the finest restaurants in town.”
“Have you ever been?”
Doll gave Ibby a sideways glance. “No, baby. Never been myself. Now come over here so I can slip this on, see how it fits.” She put the dress over Ibby’s head and zipped it up, then handed her a pair of white lace socks and patent-leather shoes. “Go and take a look in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door.”
Ibby turned from side to side, admiring herself in the mirror.
“Well?” Doll flicked one of her long fingernails.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“I still don’t see no smile on your face. What’s wrong?”
“No, I like it. Really, it’s lovely. It’s just that I’m not used to wearing dresses, that’s all.”
“You look fine. Now come on over here so I can comb your hair,” Doll said.
Doll combed Ibby’s short hair over to the side and stuck a bobby pin with a striped bow in it. Ibby looked in the mirror again.
“I look like a baby,” Ibby protested.
“You got to quit being a tomboy one of these days, Miss Ibby.” Doll yanked the bow, pulled a headband from her pocket, and slid it on her head. “How about that?”
Ibby looked in the mirror. “Better I guess.”
“Now put these on.” Doll handed her a pair of white cotton gloves.
Ibby made a face. “Gloves? I thought only old ladies wore gloves.”
“Down here all proper ladies, young or old, wear gloves to go out,” Doll said.
Ibby wiggled her fingers to get them on. “Out where?”
“Everywhere, baby. To a restaurant, to church, even shopping on Canal Street. Oh. One more thing.” She took a small jar of makeup from her pocket. “Let me see if I can do something about that eye.”
Doll dabbed her finger in the jar and rubbed the creamy beige cover-up on the bruises, which had turned from a bluish purple to a sickly yellow green.
“Good. Now let’s go on downstairs and see if we can get a smile on Miss Fannie’s face, too.”
“Wait a minute.” Ibby ran over to the bedside table and dabbed a bit of perfume on her neck.
“Well,” Doll said, “maybe you not such a tomboy after all.”
When they got to the kitchen, they found Crow leaning against the doorjamb to the back porch, wearing black pants, a black dress shirt, and polished leather shoes. He was holding a chauffeur’s cap in his hand.
“Happy birthday, Miss Ibby,” he said.
Queenie turned from the stove. “My, what we got here? Future beauty queen, for sure. You remind me of Miss Fannie when she was young—such a perfect long neck, that pointy little nose, those beautiful blue eyes.”
“And a stupid pageboy haircut,” Ibby added.