“Hey, Sydney?” she called over at me. “I went over your entire shell with Endust!”
10: Little Little La Belle
THE DAY AFTER I met Knox Lionel, at one of my mother’s summer parties for the TADpoles, he called me at seven in the morning from the Howard Johnson’s motel.
“Little Little,” he said, “I have to see you right away!”
“It’s dawn,” I said. “It’s too early.”
“In Genesis it’s written that Abraham rose early to stand before the Lord,” he began, “and it is written there that Jacob rose early to worship the Lord. In Exodus it is written that Moses rose early to give God’s message to Pharaoh, and—”
“I’m not awake, Little Lion!” I complained.
But there was no stopping him. “… Judges it is written that Gideon rose early to examine the fleece. Now in First Samuel it is written that Hannah and Elkanah rose early to worship God, and in Mark it is written that the Son of God rose early to …” On and on.
I finally agreed to meet him.
It is also written somewhere that many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks.
I picked him up in front of the motel, seated in my Kiddyride behind the wheel, while Little Lion stood beside me, close enough to get his arm across my shoulders as I drove.
I was dressed in one of my crisp white cotton numbers, made to order for me by our housekeeper, Mrs. Hootman, who washed and ironed them faithfully, clucking over them as though they were alive. “Now you’re a dear little dress all pretty for our Missy.”
Little Lion wore a white cotton jacket, a white shirt, and a red-and-white-striped tie, white pants, and white shoes and socks.
I wanted to drive down to the prison, because it was nearly nine and they let out convicts who had finished serving their sentences in time to catch the 9:10 bus to Syracuse. I sometimes parked across the street to watch them come through the gates, some carrying birdcages, all dressed in cheap navy blue suits and shiny new black shoes the state provided them with.
They fascinated me, and when I was younger they were the faces in my nightmares, descending on our house to kill us all in cold blood.
But Little Lion insisted he wanted to walk by the lake, so I headed for Stardust Park.
As we walked along, he held my hand tightly, and I told him about the summer Gnomeland was in the park. “My father wouldn’t let me see it,” I said. “My father said those places attracted the worst kind of sleazy show-business types.”
“Amen! Amen!” said Little Lion. “Very early in my ministry I came upon a similar place called Leprechaun Village. Most of the employees were dwarfs, sleazy show-biz types, your father is right!”
Later, by the lake, he removed a gold signet ring from his finger. “This ring,” he said, “is a family heirloom, given to me when I was sixteen years old by my sainted mother, God rest her soul.” He took my hand and placed the ring in my palm.
At that very moment, behind us, the roller coaster descended with people screaming, so Little Lion had to shout: “Little Little, there are only two things a man can’t do alone, be a Christian and …” The cars passed around the curve, and he said softly, “… marry, Little Little.”
Then Little Lion kissed me.
Cowboy told me once she’d let Wylie Case kiss her just to see what it was like. He groomed the horses at the stable where she rode. He kissed her with his mouth open and tried to use his tongue, so Cowboy socked him near his fly the way our father’d taught us in case a boy tried anything. Cowboy said all boys tried with their tongues, she’d heard other girls say that, but Little Lion’s lips never opened until two seconds later when he stepped back. “Hallelujah!” he whispered at me. “Praise God, baby! Wow!”
The roller coaster cars came screaming out of the tunnel.
I looked at the ring and saw that it said Amoretta.
“Who was that you were talking to, honey?” my father said.
“That was The Roach.”
“That’s who I thought that was,” my father said.
We walked along the cinder path to the La Belle side of the stadium, past the Bomber cheerleaders, who were warming up with jumps. I was trying to think of some way to tell my father I’d just as soon not walk along holding hands, without hurting his feelings.
“I bet I’m the only seventeen-year-old girl here whose father’s holding her hand,” I said.
“I don’t think I should ever let go of your hand, if you’re going to strike up conversations with characters like that,” he said, but he let go at the same time.
“He’s really nice,” I said.
“Nice? He’s probably anything but nice. Those lower-rung show-business types are usually rather callous.”
“He’s not.”
“He’s not a high school boy, you know. He doesn’t go to Wilton High.”
“I know. He was in Twin Oaks, though.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that,” said my father, “but I thought we both felt the same about those types. They’re the types who join sideshows.”
“I never talked to anyone like that before,” I said. “I didn’t grow warts or anything because I did.”
“You give a poor fellow like that the wrong idea, stepping up and being familiar with him that way,” said my father.
Then I saw the whole family smack in the front row on the La Belle side, and I got myself prepared for Grandfather La Belle.
Cowboy and Mock Hiroyuki were arriving at the same time.
“Kon-nici-wa,” Cowboy said.
Mock said, “Hi!”
I am not a demonstrative person. I do not reach up to hug and kiss, and I draw back when others reach down for me.
Cowboy is the same way. Cowboy never fails to wipe her mouth off with the back of her hand after a member of the family has kissed her. When she is caught in anyone’s embrace, Cowboy’s eyes
