Kress Department Store
Memphis, Tennessee
A front parking spot was waiting on me as soon as I drove up.
Even though Dad told me to park as far away from other cars as I could, I didn’t.
Have no doubt, I adored my Mustang, but Dad was out there about cars.
He demanded that mine be kept pristine, just like everything else in our military household.
Ron’s Martin guitar showed up two days after our father shamed him into believing—Dad’s words, not mine—“your late arrival to puberty, and lack of facial hair, is in truth a lack of masculinity. You need to man up, boy.”
My bright-red Schwinn bicycle with the white banana seat showed up the day after he called me plump in the seventh grade and questioned who would want to marry me if I didn’t get a hold of my weight problem.
I was thirteen. A little chubby. A husband was the last thing on my mind. But his comment stuck.
Just once I would have loved to hear Dad come out and say “I’m sorry for hurting you” and forgo the present.
Once inside the store, I headed straight to the cosmetics aisle.
Donovan’s voice rang inside my head, “Wear Your Love Like Heaven.” When Love had come out with that ad, every teen in America who loved Donovan’s music bought a Lovestick.
Love had the prettiest lipsticks I’d ever seen.
Sunlit was my shade. Their fragrance was just as luscious.
The second I smelled it on a girl in the Goldsmith’s break room, I knew I had to own it.
Scanning the shelves up and down, side to side, I found everything but Love cologne. Where the heck is it? It must be right in front of my face. Sensing a salesclerk behind me, I whipped around for help. “Excuse me. Where can I find . . . Oh, sorry. I thought you worked here.”
Hardly an old-lady Kress clerk, the girl was young and pretty. So pretty. She wore cool aqua-tinted round sunglasses, even inside the store. Her waist-length, straight blond hair and bangs were parted in the middle. Freckles sprinkled her nose. A pale shade of frosty lipstick colored her lips.
“Suzannah!” the girl exclaimed, pushing her sunglasses atop her head. “It’s me.”
My mouth dropped open.
“It’s been so long,” said my ex–best friend.
I’ll say. Three years without a single word.
When Dad banned me from going with Livy to the Beatles concert, she turned around and invited that liar Marianne Gentry to use my concert ticket, even after learning Marianne was the one who had passed around the nasty rumor about her and blamed it on me.
Mad and hurt by her betrayal, I could hardly function. I kept waiting for an apology, but the phone never rang. It didn’t help that Livy’s parents transferred her from Central High to an all-girls college prep school way out on Ridgeway. I’d heard she had all-new high-society friends.
She stepped forward to hug me, but I kept my arms by my side. I was still hurt. And mad. “How are you?” I forced myself to ask, resisting the urge to yell, You’re damn straight it’s been so long. Three years!
Livy seemed fine, unfazed by the past. “Groovy,” she said. “Working at Dinstuhl’s for the summer. Can’t believe I’m running into you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
Is that so? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I wanted to say. Instead, I said nothing.
“What are you doing these days?” she asked.
It felt strange and awkward, but somehow, I pushed through the uneasiness.
And my anger. “Working at Goldsmith’s for the summer.
” I stopped short of telling her which department I worked in.
“I get a great discount,” I said, pinching the fold on my favorite skirt.
“But I end up spending too much of my paycheck.”
Livy’s gaze traveled the length of my body, but she never said anything about liking my outfit. She was dressed differently. Hip-hugger bell-bottom jeans and a wide leather belt with a peace sign buckle. A sleeveless yellow peasant top grazed her belly button. She’d gone hippie.
“Can you wear that to work?” I asked.
“No way, man. Mrs. Dinstuhl would never allow us to wear jeans. I’m off today.” Dinstuhl’s was Memphis’s fine candy store, around the corner from Kress. I couldn’t help wondering why she had a job in the first place. Her parents gave her all the money she needed.
“Goldsmith’s has a lot of neato things right now,” I told her, for lack of something better. And to ease the tension. The old Livy would have loved everything Goldsmith’s had.
“Cool. I’ll have to check it out.” Not a single note of sincerity threaded her voice. I was just about to walk away when she asked, “Where are you going to college?”
After an awkward pause, I answered. “Union University.” Just hearing my own words made my muscles stiffen. Livy wouldn’t even know Union U existed.
Just like I thought, she tilted her head to the side. “Huh. Where’s that?”
“Jackson. It’s a small church school. You know my parents. I didn’t have a choice. Where’d you go?”
“I’m at Radcliffe.”
“Radcliffe? Wow.” Livy had always been smart. I couldn’t remember her ever making less than a B-plus on anything, and that was rare. Even so, Boston sure was a long way to go for college. Vanderbilt was much closer. “How did you end up way up there?”
“Don’t you remember? Daddy went to Harvard. Just following in his footsteps,” she answered with a confident glow. “Regardless, it was time for a change. With all the racial injustice here, I didn’t wanna go to college in the South.”
I knew what she meant, but leaving would not have been an option in my family. I cleared my throat, feeling even more humiliated.
“After Dr. King’s assassination last year, I’m glad I’m in Boston. It was awful seeing all the tanks on Poplar Avenue, and our city under martial law. Damn.”
“Yeah. It was bad.”
“Daddy talked about moving our family to Boston, but he didn’t want to relocate his law practice. He’s doing too well here.” After a loud gasp, she changed the subject. “This cool movie’s filming on our campus called Love Story. The lead is so dreamy. Remember Ryan O’Neal? From Peyton Place?”
“Of course I do.” I was forbidden to watch Peyton Place. I had watched it at Livy’s.
“I got to meet him!” Her voice lifted the way it once did when she was talking about a new crush.
“Cool,” I said, tingling with envy.
She threw her head back. “It was so cool. Hey, wanna grab a bite? I’m starving.”
I glanced at my watch, then over at the lunch counter. A few stools were open and two booths. “I . . . guess I could,” I stammered. “I don’t have much ti—”
“You’ve got to eat. They’re quick here.” Livy peered at me with that same old bossy stare, which, of course, made me relent right away.
We strolled over and sat down at the back of the Whirly-Q Luncheonette. As we scooted into the booth, I mused back to the last time we lunched at the Whirly together. All was well. Still best friends.
Livy grabbed the menu out of the holder, then put it back as quickly as she had picked it up. “I don’t know why I look at this. I get the same thing every time.”
“Grilled cheese?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“That’s it.”
“With a cup of tomato soup,” we said in unison. Then laughed. It chipped at the ice block inside my heart. I had to admit it was kind of nice hanging out with Livy again. She was a fun person. Everybody wanted to be her friend.
After the waitress took our order, Livy removed a Yardley frosted lipstick from her purse and spread it over her full, naturally pink lips. She pointed it toward me. “Wanna try it? It’s Pink a Pale.”
“Sure.” I took the lipstick, spread it across my not-so-full lips.
“Looks good on you,” she said.
“Thanks.” Mashing my lips together, I handed it back.
A stretch of awkwardness followed before she leaned forward. “How’s Ron?” The tentative way in which she asked seemed as though she wondered if he was dead.
Imagining that scenario made my stomach clench. I zipped my cross to and fro on the chain. “Still in ’Nam. Halfway through his final tour.”
“How many did he do?”
“Three.”
“Three tours? Why so many?” Livy asked, with genuine concern.
“Dad made him. He said it was the only way he’d ever grow up.”
“Okaaay.” She drew out the word, showing her disapproval. “But that’s cruel.”
“At least he gets the GI Bill. And a pension.”
Livy rolled her eyes. “Screw the GI Bill. And the pension. That’s way too long to be in ’Nam. Don’t you agree?”
Of course I agreed. But somehow knowing he would receive added money for his service eased my guilt. “I’m counting down the minutes till he gets home.”
Like all my girlfriends, Livy thought Ron was cool. He may have been shy, but he was known as one of the cutest boys at Central High. After school he’d give me and Livy rides home, and they’d smoke cigarettes together. She’d said he was the brother she never had.
Remembering the better days gave me comfort. My muscles started to relax. “The only good thing that’s happened is he got to take his last R & R in Hawaii. The army usually reserves Honolulu for married guys, but Mama insisted Dad pull strings so she could go see him.”
“When was that?”
“Over New Year’s.” I lowered my eyes. “I wish they’d have let me go.”
“Is your dad still a psycho?” Livy’s hands shot up to her cheeks. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
I threw my palms up in a show of solidarity. “I don’t care. The answer is yes. And he’s gotten worse since Mama got back from Hawaii. I think he’s finally wrestling with the truth that his own son hates him.”
“Your dad was so mean.”
“Tell me about it. What father makes his only son enlist before college?” Leaning back in the booth, I squeezed my eyes shut. The very thought of it made me nauseous. I was the one to blame.
“Your dad really believes in this war, huh?”
“Of course he does. He’s a colonel!”