Chapter 11 #2
Gus moved into the right lane. “My dad doesn’t get involved.
He’s a minor celebrity in our town…the local sportscaster.
Always ready with a smile and a hokey one-liner.
He doesn’t want to fight about law school.
He just wants to do his own thing and keep the peace with Mom and—ha!
Why the fuck am I unloading my dysfunctional family bullshit on you? ”
“I don’t know. I think you were explaining your unlimited spending situation, and it sort of snowballed from there. Oh…turn left at the light. It’s that little reddish house by Mama Gina’s.”
He slowed his truck behind a white Suburban. “You’re easy to talk to. Maybe you should consider being a therapist if this skating thing doesn’t pan out. Which it will…obviously. I mean, you’re going to win in the Olympics at least three times, right?”
“At least.” I shoved his biceps and gestured at the green light with a laugh. “I’d make a terrible therapist, anyway. I’m far too neurotic.”
“Hmm. What’s your family like?”
“My parents got divorced my junior year of high school. I guess five or six years ago. I was devastated. They try to be friendly for us, but it’s weird.
My sister, Vivi, lives in LA. She works at Disneyland and takes classes at a junior college.
Mom’s a waitress, and Dad manages a couple of gas stations in the Pittsburgh area.
I don’t see much of them. Pennsylvania and Upstate New York might as well be on opposite ends of the country.
I’ll go home this summer, after graduation and—oh, just park in the driveway. Rita won’t mind.”
Gus turned off the engine and unfastened his seat belt. “Lead the way.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You don’t have to come inside with me.”
“Yeah, right. You really think I’m gonna sit in the truck after being on my ass for an hour?”
“Forty minutes.” I closed the passenger side door and met him on the hedge-trimmed pathway, adding, “This won’t take long. There’s a coffee shop at the end of the block if you want—”
“Quit trying to get rid of me. I’ll behave myself. Pinky promise.” He held up his pinky finger, chuckling when I smacked his hand away.
Rita was a lovely plump Polish woman in her forties with short blond hair who could almost always be found at her sewing machine with a measuring tape draped around her neck and her reading glasses perched low on her pointed nose. She glanced up, smiling in acknowledgment, her mouth full of pins.
“Ah, you’re here. And who is this?” Rita gestured to the giant hockey hunk lurking behind me.
“I’m Gus, Rafe’s roommate. Nice to meet you.” Gus waved. “He wanted me to see his uniform in person.”
“Costume,” I corrected with an eye roll.
Rita smiled. “Very well. Let me find it for you. Along with the tin of kolachki I made for you.”
“You didn’t!” I exclaimed.
“Of course, I did.” Rita toddled into the adjoining room and returned with a small tin. “Apricot and raspberry. Have one and share with your friend. He will like, yes? I will get your costume.”
Gus tapped the tin meaningfully. “You heard her. Share your cookies.”
“How do you know kolachki are cookies?” I asked, already prying the lid off.
“Ty is Polish on his dad’s side. His grandma always sends cookie care packages. She knows I love chru?ciki…you know, the ones shaped like angel wings and covered with powdered sugar? I could eat that stuff by the pound,” he gushed, rubbing his palms together like a greedy kid.
“I bet. Help yourself. The raspberry are my fave.”
Gus chose one and stuffed it into his mouth, humming as if in an orgasmic state. “That’s so freaking good.”
Rita beamed, plucking the tin from my hands and replacing it with a plastic garment bag. “You, go change. Your friend will eat the cookies.”
“Yeah, I know he will. Just don’t eat all of them,” I grumbled halfheartedly.
I headed for the makeshift changing space in Rita’s sewing room and drew the curtain for privacy. I could still hear every word of their conversation. I might have guessed that Gus would make a new friend within minutes of meeting my seamstress.
He asked a million questions about her cookies, tips for making chru?ciki, how long she’d lived in the States, how often she visited home. He had a knack with people. No detail was too small for Gus. He wanted to know everything. Favorite color, favorite movie, favorite song…
I changed out of my jeans and sweater, leaving my clothes in a neat pile before unveiling the sequined dream. The midnight-blue sequined top and black trouser combo was a showstopping thing of beauty. I stared in awe for a long moment. Fabric could inspire movement, and this was proof.
The indigo background was the night sky, the pale-silver thread was a wisp of clouds, and the colorful sequins were a thousand stars.
And the second I put this on, I could be someone else, someplace else.
A fierce knight, a messenger, a wizard from another world.
My feet itched to strap on skates, to feel the stir of a breeze at my nape, the glide of sharp blades on ice, and just go, go, go.
My gaze flitted to my reflection in the mirror, and I had to laugh. My boxer briefs weren’t very fierce…at all. I stripped out of them and quickly slipped into the costume. Gah, it fit like a glove. And was it my imagination or did I look sort of amazing?
“Are you dressed? Come show me,” Rita called. “I want to check the seams.”
I pushed the curtain aside and held my arms wide as I stepped into her workroom. “What do you think?”
Gus paused midbite, his mouth open, powdered sugar dusting his scruffy chin. “Holy fuck.”