That Summer(33)

The whole town turned out for the Fall Fashion Preview that Saturday; but since most people were not interested in buying children’s shoes, Marlene and I took turns walking down to the main stage and reporting back on the activity. In the early part of the morning, there was a great racket of chairs being set up and people shouting to each other. Around noon, the models arrived and began to get ready in the store that had been Holland Farms Cheeses and Gifts until it had just recently gone out of business. Now it had a sign in the front window that read Model Prep Area, with the words Authorized Persons Only, Please written in firm little letters beneath it. They were in there, cooing and giggling. You could hear them from outside, where all the younger girls and those who hadn’t made it were grouped, trying to catch a glimpse of Gwendolyn or the models or anyone even slightly related to the whole process. And of course Sumner was there in his uniform, carrying a clipboard and looking official.

I was off for the day at one-thirty because I had the early shift, so I got to see the entire production. Casey and I met by the stage and took seats in the back, behind the mothers of the models and the screaming children that fill the mall every day and all the people with cameras out to get a good shot of Gwendolyn Rogers, Supermodel.

“I can’t tell you how I’ve been dying to get out of the house,” Casey said as we sat down. She was in another big shirt, this time an old rugby with worn elbows. “My mother is driving me nuts. She won’t let me near the phone or out the door without giving me the third degree, and I know she’s been in my room.” I was watching the stage as she spoke, which now had two white partitions covering the big leaves I’d seen a few weeks ago.

“You can’t tell,” I said.

“Yes I can, because I set traps for her.” She crossed her arms against her chest, triumphant. “I left a hair shut in my dresser drawer and in the latch of the box I keep all my important stuff in, and when I checked after coming home the other day they were both gone.”

I looked at her. “Hairs?”

“I saw it in a movie.” She flipped her hair and rolled her eyes, a combination of moves she’d picked up at camp along with all her other bad habits. “It’s drastic, I know, but something had to be done.”

“But she still went through your stuff,” I told her. “It’s not stopping her, it’s just proving the fact.”

“Right. And I have ammunition when I accuse her of invading my privacy. I’ll tell her I can prove it and then watch her squirm.” She sighed. “It’ll be ugly, but like I said, there’s no love in war.”

“It’s not really a war, Casey.”

“It’s close to it. You know Rick’s parents won’t even let him talk to me anymore? Every time I call they say he’s busy or at practice or something. I haven’t talked to him in a week.”

“He hasn’t called you?”

“He probably has and my parents don’t tell me. I swear to it, Haven, they want me miserable. They hate Rick and they haven’t even met him.” Behind us some baby started howling.

It was amazing what a summer could do. Before camp my best friend, Casey Melvin, was a short, pudgy redhead who hung back at introductions, couldn’t look a boy in the eye, and spent every Sunday afternoon taking tap-dancing lessons with her mother. Now she was at war with her parents, angry at the world in general, and more than a little bit paranoid. I wondered if the summer had changed me, if with one look the world could see a difference.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Lakeview Mall I would like to welcome you to the annual Fall Fashion Preview!” Everyone looked around for the source, since in years before, the show had relied on a woman with a loud voice to yell the commentary from side stage. The voice came from a speaker mounted on a plant right behind us: the Lakeview Mall had gone high tech. “And to begin our festivities, we have a very special guest. Please give a big welcome to our very own former Lakeview Mall Model and hometown girl, Gwendolyn Rogers!”

Now everyone looked at the stage, apparently thinking Gwendolyn would suddenly pop out of nowhere like the voice had, and there she was, tall and haunting, walking slowly up the center aisle as heads turned, row by row.

She looked terrible, her face gaunt, the famous Gwendolyn lips that pursed out from all those magazine pages now slack and thin, her hair lying flat on her head, even a bit stringy. She was wearing a short skirt and a silk tank top that was wrinkled, with sandals that scraped against the floor with each step she took. But it was the walk that was the strangest, after seeing her striding down runway after runway in music videos and on television, her head held high and hips swaying to the music, eye on the camera, as if she knew how you envied her. Now she was tentative, taking light steps and holding herself tight even though she had the whole enormous aisle to spread out in. We were all applauding because we had to, but she seemed lost and uncomfortable, and when she reached the bottom stair that led to the stage I felt myself let loose a breath, relieved she had made it. The applause died out as Gwendolyn climbed the steps. The official Lakeview Mall greeter was waiting with her clipboard. She had been beaming, but suddenly her smile died and she squinted at Gwendolyn uncertainly, as if expecting her to collapse on the spot.

The emcee shook her hand and led her to the podium. Gwendolyn, towering above her, stood behind the microphone and looked out at us with the same dim, lost look that I’d seen the other day. She cleared her throat once and then jumped a bit as the sound echoed from one speaker to another to another. I wondered if she was sedated.