During recess, Lisa and I would link arms and walk round the edge of the playground in endless circles (Lisa never ran or played tag or did anything involving sweat), and I would ply her for more and more details about her day. I dreamt regularly of my own parents dying in a horrible car accident and, at the height of my inconsolable grief, being adopted by the Finegolds and becoming Lisa’s sister.
The first time Lisa asked me home to play, I felt like I’d fallen into a dream world. The housekeeper answered the door and was wearing an apron, just like Alice on the Brady Bunch. She made us lunch and not only was it hot, but it consisted of spaghetti and home-made sauce she’d actually cooked herself – not out of a jar. If that wasn’t enough, we even had tapioca pudding for dessert, which was sweet and bumply and, Lisa claimed, made with frog’s eggs, which is why she wouldn’t touch it and why I got two helpings.
Finally we went up to Lisa’s room and sat on the bed. It was quite a concoction when fully made; you couldn’t really touch it without ruining the effect, so we sat along the edge, not in the middle. Lisa smoothed down the folds of her skirt and looked bored. (This was her most attractive quality, her incredible capacity for boredom.)
‘Why don’t we play dolls?’ I suggested, eagerly eyeing her marvellous collection. I’d already chosen which ones would be ballerinas and which ones would be possessed by the devil. The Exorcist had come out that year and although we were too young to see it, my brother and sister and I were fascinated by the idea of being possessed, vomiting green stuff, and speaking in scary voices. Also, it contrasted nicely with the ballet theme.
‘Why don’t we make the ones with dark hair be possessed and all the blonde ones ballerinas?’
There was a moment’s silence and Lisa looked at me like I was an idiot.
‘Or the other way around?’ I was flexible.
‘You don’t play with them,’ she said. ‘You just look at them.’
I wanted to ask why but my desire to impress her prevented me from calling attention to the fact that I wasn’t completely au fait with the etiquette of owning china dolls.
‘Oh yeah. Right. OK, well, why don’t we make a miniature world underneath the bed? We can take all the miniatures out of the cabinet and if we get some green tissues, we can make a pond and then we can use the bedside table and it’s like they go into the World of the Giants …’
I could tell by the pained expression on her face that I was losing her.
‘Louise,’ she began, and then stopped.
Lisa couldn’t explain her world to me any better than I could understand it. And she had never had to before. Finally, like a child reciting a catechism, she said, ‘Some things are to look at, not to touch.’
‘Oh.’ I didn’t get it at all.
She smiled at me. So I smiled back. We sat there smiling at each other, both thinking the other insane.
‘I know,’ she said at last. ‘Let’s go up to the attic and dress the dog in baby clothes.’
Luckily, there are some human experiences that transcend cultural divides.
Then one day, the Finegolds invited me out to dinner. In honour of the occasion, I wore my best dress, which was made to my exact specifications by Grandma Irene. We chose the pattern and the material together, a crisp white cotton covered in bright blue and red flowers, and she made little cap sleeves trimmed with lace and smocked the front of it by hand.
I brought the dress to school with me on a hanger and hung it in my locker. Occasionally, I’d show it to one of the other girls but I wanted it to be a surprise for Lisa, certain that once she saw me in it, she’d come up with the idea of us being sisters all on her own.
After school we went to her house and played, which, that day, consisted of taking all the miniature figures out of the glass cabinet, looking at them and then putting them back in exactly the same way. After a while, we heard someone come in and Lisa said, ‘It’s time to get ready.’ We put on our dresses, brushed each other’s hair and went downstairs. Lisa didn’t say anything about my dress and I didn’t say anything about hers, which was in black velvet with a creamy satin sash. It was understood that we both looked fabulous.
In the kitchen we found Dr Finegold eating tapioca pudding from a serving bowl in the refrigerator. Tall and slim, with black, wavy hair, a romantic moustache and soft, dark eyes, he was easily the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He owned an enormous collection of tortoises that he kept in various tanks and plastic pools in the basement, which I thought were cool but Lisa thought were gross. And best of all, he loved to play the piano.
‘Daddy, don’t do that,’ Lisa admonished half-heartedly. (Even her parents were just minor irritations.)
‘Our little secret,’ he said, tossing the spoon into the sink. ‘I know; why don’t I play you girls a little tune?’
We went into the living room and he began to play. I danced around the piano and we laughed, egging each other on. I’d turn a pirouette and he’d shout, ‘Go on, do another one!’ He’d do a massive run and I’d clap and make him do it again. Lisa wasn’t very good at dancing; it was part of her whole horror of physical activity, so she stood by the side of the piano, sulking and being bored. Dr Finegold sang ‘Mona Lisa’, which I thought was hysterical and Lisa ignored him. All in all, we had a great time.
We didn’t even hear Nancy come in but suddenly she was there and Dr Finegold stopped playing. I stood beaming and panting to catch my breath. This was it, I’d just turned four pirouettes and was wearing the most beautiful dress in the world. If ever they were going to want to adopt me, it was now.
Nancy Finegold stood in silence in the doorway. ‘I think you girls ought to get ready,’ she said at last.
‘We are ready, Mama.’ Lisa’s voice was unusually quiet.
She turned to me. ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’
I nodded. Was this a trick question?
She turned her back to me and spoke to Lisa. ‘Don’t you have something she could borrow?’
I felt myself go cold; the way you do when someone talks about you as if you were a chair.
‘Nan!’ Dr Finegold interrupted.
She registered him with distaste. ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Mel.’ Bending down to examine my dress more closely, she smiled sweetly. ‘That dress is fine, Louise, but Lisa has one that will be better.’
‘Mom!’ The horror on Lisa’s face was unmistakable; she’d obviously never been asked to share anything before.
Nancy Finegold was a genius trapped in a world of idiots. She sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes in the grown-up version of Lisa’s favourite expression. ‘All right, fine! What about a cardigan then?’
Dr Finegold walked away and Lisa stared dejectedly at the floor.
In her full-length mink coat and slender high heels, Nancy seemed too thin to stand upright for long. Her huge brown eyes scanned the room for any sign of affirmation or weakness and, finding nothing, she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She closed it again in such a way that she reminded me of a ventriloquist’s dummy and for one terrible moment I thought I would laugh. Her exquisite hands clenched in frustration and then fell limply by her side, the gold bangles rattling against one another, as if someone had suddenly let go of the strings.
I couldn’t bear it. ‘I’ll wear a cardigan,’ I offered.
She stared at me for a moment and then smiled, triumphant. She gave Lisa a shove. ‘Go on. Run upstairs and grab one of your blue cardigans.’