Ma pipes in. “You’ll learn soon, baby girl. Your daddy would teach you himself if he could.”
I love hearing ’bout my daddy. I glance at his seat, picturing him teasing Billie, the same way he razzed me, for getting more food on her face than in her mouth. Even now, I see Daddy in Buster’s narrow eyes. It’s as if he’s always squinting, always tossing a million thoughts ’round his head. Probably a million ways he can get himself in trouble. And if I don’t do as Blanche says, he’ll be out on the town with my best friend. She could even take him to that juice joint in my place.
The sound of an engine breaks into my thoughts. Blanche is here. We all know it’s her, immediately, even Duke Dog, considering most people in Cement City don’t have a car. That type of prosperity hasn’t reached this side of the tracks. One would think it would’ve, with concrete being so popular, but that’s the problem: competitive plants have been popping up all over the West. And we’re left not being able to afford luxuries like vacuum cleaners or dishwashers.
Duke’s barking rumbles ’round my head, adding to the fear already rumbling through me. Billie rushes from her seat to the front door and Ma hollers how she hasn’t been excused, but it’s too late for that. Ma merely waves her hand, not bothering to discipline my little sister any further.
Seconds later, Blanche appears. My sister always pouts and says Blanche and I, with our blonde hair, look like sisters more so than she and I do. I just remind Billie how she’s got Daddy’s dark hair and it puts the smile back on her face. A smile rivaling the one she wears now, as she’s wrapped ’round Blanche’s waist like one of those life preservers, Duke Dog bouncing at their feet.
“Hello, Mrs. Parker,” Blanche says. “I’m mighty sorry to interrupt your supper.”
“Nonsense. Would you like a bite?”
“Oh no, I’m more than fine.” Blanche turns to my brother. “Hi there, Buster Boy.”
She’s more snooty than seductive. That’s for my ma, so she doesn’t get any ideas that Blanche is crushing on Buster. The arrogant part is for me. If I deny her tonight, she’ll make good on her threat and put her vixen claws all over my brother. And, with how Buster is staring at her like she’s the second coming of our Lord Jesus, she knows she’s got me by the throat.
Billie doesn’t help matters. “Blanche, are you taking Bonnelyn out to celebrate? Roy is stuck at the plant tonight.”
“I sure am!” she says, not missing a beat.
Her enthusiasm for something she knows zero ’bout still creates electricity in the room. Ma beams, Billie squeals, and Buster drools a bit more. Duke Dog even barks once for good measure.
Blanche turns to me, and I reckon I’m the only one who recognizes the hurt in her voice as she says, “I’ve been wanting to take Bonnelyn out ever since she told me the good news.”
Guilt goes and jabs me in the gut. Yesterday I should’ve told her ’bout Roy and me, but ever since Blanche’s ma left her daddy high and dry … well, I didn’t want her stomping all over Roy wanting to make me his wife. She’d lecture me, sayin’ how we should be luring boys, not settling down with ’em. I figured I’d tell her, eventually, but Billie let the cat half out of the bag.
“Sounds wonderful, dear.” Ma hides a yawn behind her hand. “Where are you two headed?”
“Most likely Victor’s,” Blanche says.
Ma smiles approvingly; ain’t much trouble Blanche could get me in at a soda shop.
And there it is. My fate is sealed. I rub the base of my neck; it ain’t helping to soothe me one bit. Round one goes to Blanche, in record time, and in this case her winnings include my wary company, not at a soda shop but at a speakeasy. A speakeasy … with its scantily clad women doing scandalous things with wicked men.
“Let me get cleaned up.” I push back from the table with shaky arms.
Blanche grabs me, releasing a squeal that rivals Billie’s. But once I close the door to my bedroom, Blanche’s deep voice is in my ear. “You got some explainin’ to do.”
“In the car,” I whisper back.
That mollifies her, for now. Too much, I’d say, from how she doesn’t nitpick my choice of attire or the modest way I repin my hair. Blanche is simply quiet, sort of. She hurries me along, insisting we can’t be late. Some of her anger fades when I begrudgingly comply.
Ma is waiting for us in the living room. “Here,” she says. “Put your lips together like this.” She puckers and I copy her. Then she slides her best lipstick onto my lips for the first time. “A woman who’s spoken for should look her best. Touch it up after you’ve finished your soda.”
I rub my lips together and force a smile for my ma, wanting a do-over of this moment.
“Perfect,” Ma says. “You girls have fun, but don’t be home too late.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Blanche and I say in unison.
We ain’t in the car for more than a second when Blanche says, “Spill the beans.”
I pause, letting my head fall back, and stare through Big Bertha’s open roof. “Do you believe in soul mates?” I rock my head toward my friend, expecting her to scoff at the term. But her expression ain’t mocking; it’s cocky.
“Honey,” she says, and slides on her sunglasses, “Blanche don’t believe in anything or anyone, ’cept maybe herself.”
It’s a typical Blanche response—one where she speaks ’bout herself as herself. Most would find it weird, but I find it sad—for me. I may sing at church and school, but I wish I had the Blanche-like confidence to put myself on display in normal life. Or the gumption to say exactly what’s on my mind.
Blanche puts Big Bertha in gear, lets out an exaggerated sigh, and starts driving. “Please don’t tell me you believe in soul mates, that you think Roy is yours. I heard what your ma said, how you’re spoken for.”
I raise my chin. “What if I do and what if I am? Roy is plenty sweet.”
“So are candied yams.” Behind her sunglasses, she takes her eyes off the empty road, looks me up and down, and I shrink deeper into my seat. “You’re just chasing that silly ‘American dream.’ Though I don’t see no handcuff on that ring finger of yours. Did he give you anything? A necklace even?”
For once, smugness clings to my voice, as I sit up straighter and say, “A house. Roy gave me a house for us to live in one day.”
Golly, that shuts Blanche’s fat mouth right up. She just sits there tapping her lip, ’til that finger is pointing at me. “What ya got to understand, Bonn, is that it’s all in the eyes. Lust. Passion. You and Roy don’t ogle each other.”
I cross my arms, focusing on the stretch of farmland between my town and Dallas. “I love Roy. You’re just sayin’ all this ’cause you don’t like Roy, never have.”
Blanche shrugs. “Let me ask you this. Have ya made him your Roy Toy yet between the sheets?”