Five
Where did you get this?” Clara asked Bridie, practically tearing the book out of Bridie’s hands.
“In Mom’s closet.” Even amid her confusion about how to hold Clara’s interest and dodge her scorn these days, Bridie knew she’d struck gold. “Why do you think she has it?”
Clara sat down on the edge of her bed and started paging through the book.
Bridie gingerly sat down next to her, braced for banishment but Clara laughed and pointed to the page in front of her.
“What is this?” The drawing was of a woman wearing what looked like an unbuttoned, sleeveless dress, arms above her head, breasts covered but pubis and underarm hair on grand display.
“Why is she wearing jewelry?” Clara said.
Bridie leaned over to look. “It looks like she just got home from the hairdresser.”
“Totally.” Clara turned the page and showed a different illustration to Bridie. The same woman, now wearing white go-go boots, a push-up bra, and a G-string, being clutched from behind by a fully dressed man with long hair and a beard. “This guy is—”
“Super weird looking,” Bridie said. She didn’t even care about the book, she wanted this moment of sisterly enjoyment to last a little longer. “Do you think Mom bought this?”
“Uh. No. I do not think Mom bought this.”
“Dad?”
“Dad! Are you mental? I mean, can you imagine?” Clara stood and squared her shoulders, squinted into the distance, looking so much like their father.
She theatrically cleared her throat. “Excuse me, miss. I’m looking for a good biography of Winston Churchill.
No, no, I’ve read all those. Many times.
” Clara, still in character, tapped her chin to indicate deep thought.
“Well, that’s a shame,” she said to the invisible salesgirl.
She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.
Bridie could tell she was trying not to laugh.
“Okay, then. How about an illustrated guide to fucking?”
“Clara!” Bridie covered her hands with her mouth and they both sat back down on the bed, laughing so hard they couldn’t talk. “But seriously,” Bridie finally said, “it has to be for them.”
“I don’t know.” Clara picked up the book again and kept turning the pages, shaking her head in disbelief and amusement.
“Why else would it be in their closet unless—”
“Unless they were engaging in mouth music?” Clara said, pointing to one of the subtitles on the page.
“Gross.”
“Okay.” Clara slammed the book closed. “I have to practice my audition song for the musical.” She pointed to the door.
Bridie reached for the book. “No way,” Clara said, clutching it to her chest. “This stays here. I don’t want to pollute your brain.
” Bridie, only fifteen months younger than Clara, thought to object but wasn’t sure she wanted to look at the book anymore.
“If you want it back, you just have to ask,” Clara said.
“Girls?” their mother called from downstairs. “Can you come help with lunch, please?”
Clara’s eyes widened. She waved Bridie over and pointed to the page she’d been reading. “‘Dinner is a traditional preface to sex,’” she read in a whisper.
“Stop!” Bridie said, meaning the opposite.
“Girls! Some help, please.”
“We’re coming,” Clara yelled with a suggestive spin on the word that Bridie only sort of understood. Still, she echoed Clara’s intonation: “Coming, Mom.”
“Here we come!” Clara shouted again, opening the door and motioning for Bridie to follow her. As they ran down the stairs laughing, Bridie was so happy. This was the nicest Clara had been to her in months.