“Oh, Uncle Malvern, you’re not old and stupid!” I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “Look at your invention. No one stupid could invent a Perpetual Motion Machine.”
“It doesn’t work,” he said sadly.
“Tom says it has the potential to work.”
“Does he?” said Uncle Malvern hopefully.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Tom says that in theory you are perfectly correct.”
This cheered Uncle Malvern so much that he talked on and on about his machine that had grown bigger every time I’d seen it until it took up almost his whole room, reaching to the ceiling and crowding his bed into a corner.
I had stopped listening and was wondering how I could tactfully get up and go home when a tall man dressed in uniform walked out of the kitchen. Even if I hadn’t known it was Tom’s father, I’d have recognized Louis from the man in the snapshot with my mother. He didn’t look any different or old at all. He was still very handsome and had the bluest eyes I have ever seen. I went all embarrassed and stupid, the way I always do, and, having no poise whatsoever, jumped up, which a lady is not supposed to do for any man according to Sandra Lee’s etiquette book, and said, of course, the wrong thing:
“Hello, Colonel,” is what I said.
He smiled and held out his hand.
“You look too much like your beautiful mother not to be Addie,” he answered. “I’m not a Colonel; I’m a Sergeant in the Salvation Army and I’m home at last.” He smiled again. “I hope I’m not too late to miss completely being Tom’s father, and a friend of Pasie’s lovely daughter.”
I had never heard a more beautiful speech. I understood what Aunt Mabel meant when she said that Louis had “a silver tongue.” I knew that Louis was not supposed to be completely sincere, and I knew too that Tom hated him, but I was bowled over just the same. I tried to remember what Dearest says you should say on meeting a potential boyfriend but my mind went blank.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I don’t know the difference between uniforms but yours is very becoming.”
This time I got a big smile, which had to be sincere because his eyes smiled too. “Thank you, Addie. That’s very kind of you. Say! I know Tom would like it if you were at the train when he gets in tomorrow night. Would you like to meet him with me? He gets in at nine.”
“Oh, yes!” I said. “I’d love to go with you. To meet Tom!”
I concentrated on my facial expression which I hoped would show how sincerely interested I was in seeing my old friend, Tom, and not reveal how anxious I was to be with Louis.
It wasn’t until later at home I wondered if Louis was afraid to meet Tom alone.
“Of course he is,” said Aunt Eveline clear as a bell. “Stay home and mind your business.”
“It is my business,” I answered under my breath. “Tom is my friend. And—and Louis is interested in me. I can tell.”
“Interested in you? A child?!”
“I’m fourteen!”
“And he’s well over forty!”
“So what?” I had never dared to use that expression to Aunt Eveline.
“You are playing with fire, Adelaide! It’s time you tamed that overactive imagination of yours and faced reality!” she said. “You have the potential of being a fine artist someday, but it requires dedication, hard work, and training.”
“I know.” I said under my breath. Aunt Eveline’s angry words stayed in my mind as she swept out of it.
“Where are you going?” Sandra Lee asked suspiciously. She had come down the hall so quietly I hadn’t heard her. She was staring at my curly hair.
“Out,” I said, putting the final touches on my face.
“It’s a school night,” said Sandra Lee.
“So what?” I asked.
“And your lipstick is purple.”
“My lipstick is Ripe Plum and Louis says I look like my mother too. So there!”
“Louis?! Since when do you call Tom’s father by his first name?”
“Since yesterday when he invited me to go out with him.”
“Out with him?! He’s a married man!”
“He is not! He may not be exactly divorced, but he’s been gone too long to be married. I heard Uncle Henry say so.”
“Emily Post says…”
“I don’t care what Emily Post says! I’m going to meet Tom.” I picked up my purse, did the trick with my lids and eyebrows and flounced out. At least, I tried to flounce, but Sandra Lee is an expert on the last word, and just before I slammed the front door, I heard her scream, “If you think you look like your mother, you’re wrong! You look like Medusa with those dumb curls snaking around your face!”
That is what I mean about Sandra Lee. She hits the nail right on the head when it comes to what to say for every occasion. I already knew the results of an hour’s work with the curling iron were disappointing. In the first place, my hair is almost black instead of pale, pale yellow, and in the second place, no matter how my hair looks, my nose is straight instead of turned up. Still, I hadn’t felt so bad about my looks until Sandra Lee compared me to the goddess with snakes for hair.
It was already eight-thirty and I didn’t have time to work on myself any more. Besides, I couldn’t go back inside and let Sandra Lee know I cared what she said. I went to the water faucet at the side of the house, turned it on full, and stuck my head under. The cool water felt delicious after the tortures of the curling iron. I let it run and rubbed my head hard. I suppose I got carried away by the sound of the running water; anyway, I was singing “Roll, Jordan” when I heard a man laughing.
I gasped, choked, and banged my head on the faucet straightening up. There was Louis.
“Oh, Addie,” he said between fits of laughter, “you’re marvelous! I haven’t enjoyed anyone so much in a long time. I …” more laughter. His laugh was contagious and I forgot to be embarrassed and laughed with him.
“I was washing out the curls because I look like Medusa,” I said.
“You’re absolutely right. Curls are wrong for your kind of beauty.” He touched my wet head and said, “They should have named you something very Spanish, like Dolores—yes, that’s it—you look like Dolores Del Rio.”
Right then and there, I fell in love. I’m not talking about puppy love. Nothing like Leonard. And absolutely as far as possible away from my platonic relationship with Tom. I mean really head over heels into real love, for the very first time in my whole life. Standing in the warm, honeysuckle night, a full moon shining down on me, with a mature man, I knew this was different.
How old was he? Could he really be forty already? If he was about twenty-four when Tom was born, he was about forty now. Maybe he was still only thirty-nine and a half. Thirty-nine and a half, and fifteen next year. That wasn’t too bad. It must have happened before, and he’d only be forty-four when I was twenty.
“Come on, Addie, don’t just stand there dripping. We’re late,” he said, handing me his handkerchief. “Dry your hair a little.” I hadn’t even noticed my hair was sopping wet. “Not that it makes any difference how your hair looks, because I’m sure Tom will think you’re lovely just as you are now.”
I