“Do you know what a masseuse is?” Why in the world would Sunny know what that was? And how would Dahlia describe it to her? People take off all their clothes, and I rub their bodies? Well, maybe Sunny knew what a masseuse did. Mental patients watched a lot of TV. Somebody on one of those glamorous daytime soaps must get massages. Somebody in one of those tacky stories they stared at probably fell in love with the hot little masseuse and left his wife for her.
“So I need a roomy vehicle to carry a table and sometimes oils and sometimes sheets and blankets and heating pads.” Sunny had no interest in the story Dahlia was telling. All she cared about was the magic silver box Dahlia was clicking away at while she spoke.
“Okay,” Dahlia said, “here’s how you play solitaire on the computer. I’ll show you.” She sat on the bednext to Sunny and pulled up the solitaire game on the screen. Then she slid the computer onto Sunny’s lap. Sunny looked at the screen and studied the little cards for a long time, then shook her head as if to say she couldn’t understand what Dahlia was trying to teach her.
“Now what?” she asked, clearly flummoxed by the whole idea that a machine could play cards.
“Here’s what you do.” Dahlia took Sunny’s finger and placed it on the mouse, the way Sunny used to take hers and place it on middle C. “Click on the six of hearts, but hold the button down, then move it this way and put it there!”
Sunny did what Dahlia told her, and when she saw the result, her mouth opened in happy surprise. “Whoa!” she said.
“Now do that with the black eight and the red nine,” Dahlia said.
It took Sunny a minute to find the right cards, and as she did, her right hand accidentally pushed the escape key, and when the screen morphed into the desktop with all the icons, her face crumbled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, on the verge of tears.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dahlia said, pulling the computer onto her own lap, clicking the solitaire icon, and getting the game screen back, then putting an arm around Sunny, who looked relieved. Soon she was moving the cards quickly around the screen and laughing a little spurt of a laugh when the ones she needed came up. By the time she played the third game, she beat the computer and she was elated.
“I love this,” she said, looking deeply into her cousin’s eyes, and for Dahlia, in that instant, it was as if no time, no electroconvulsive shock treatments, no antipsychotic medications powerful enough to knock out an entire nation had ever come between them.
“I knew you would,” Dahlia said happily.
seven
D ahlia remembered the day she and Sunny had just finished playing and singing at another one of Aunt Ruthie’s parties when Esther Greenspan cornered Aunt Ruthie in the kitchen. “Those girls are adorable. Those songs they write are amazing. I could put them to work every weekend on the women’s-lunch circuit. They’d make a fortune.” Esther was Aunt Ruthie’s girlhood friend, and she’d shown up at one of the family parties and couldn’t get over the girls and their songs. Both Aunt Ruthie and Dahlia’s mother, Rose, shrugged. A fortune? They would need plenty of money for college, so why not let them?
Dahlia couldn’t believe they were getting fifty dollars each for appearing at this luncheon and as many more luncheons as they felt like doing, according to Esther, who hovered over them before the show. Her oversprayed bouffant hairdo was so unmoving thatSunny couldn’t take her eyes off of it. The women at the luncheon streamed into the room at the Sportsman’s Lodge, all of them dressed in fancy suits and high heels with purses to match. They were the kind of women Dahlia’s mother wished out loud that she could be.
“The chicken-salad ladies,” Rose called them wistfully. Women who had money to buy seats at charity luncheons and then spend more money to buy brightly colored suits to wear to
“So I need a roomy vehicle to carry a table and sometimes oils and sometimes sheets and blankets and heating pads.” Sunny had no interest in the story Dahlia was telling. All she cared about was the magic silver box Dahlia was clicking away at while she spoke.
“Okay,” Dahlia said, “here’s how you play solitaire on the computer. I’ll show you.” She sat on the bednext to Sunny and pulled up the solitaire game on the screen. Then she slid the computer onto Sunny’s lap. Sunny looked at the screen and studied the little cards for a long time, then shook her head as if to say she couldn’t understand what Dahlia was trying to teach her.
“Now what?” she asked, clearly flummoxed by the whole idea that a machine could play cards.
“Here’s what you do.” Dahlia took Sunny’s finger and placed it on the mouse, the way Sunny used to take hers and place it on middle C. “Click on the six of hearts, but hold the button down, then move it this way and put it there!”
Sunny did what Dahlia told her, and when she saw the result, her mouth opened in happy surprise. “Whoa!” she said.
“Now do that with the black eight and the red nine,” Dahlia said.
It took Sunny a minute to find the right cards, and as she did, her right hand accidentally pushed the escape key, and when the screen morphed into the desktop with all the icons, her face crumbled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, on the verge of tears.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dahlia said, pulling the computer onto her own lap, clicking the solitaire icon, and getting the game screen back, then putting an arm around Sunny, who looked relieved. Soon she was moving the cards quickly around the screen and laughing a little spurt of a laugh when the ones she needed came up. By the time she played the third game, she beat the computer and she was elated.
“I love this,” she said, looking deeply into her cousin’s eyes, and for Dahlia, in that instant, it was as if no time, no electroconvulsive shock treatments, no antipsychotic medications powerful enough to knock out an entire nation had ever come between them.
“I knew you would,” Dahlia said happily.
seven
D ahlia remembered the day she and Sunny had just finished playing and singing at another one of Aunt Ruthie’s parties when Esther Greenspan cornered Aunt Ruthie in the kitchen. “Those girls are adorable. Those songs they write are amazing. I could put them to work every weekend on the women’s-lunch circuit. They’d make a fortune.” Esther was Aunt Ruthie’s girlhood friend, and she’d shown up at one of the family parties and couldn’t get over the girls and their songs. Both Aunt Ruthie and Dahlia’s mother, Rose, shrugged. A fortune? They would need plenty of money for college, so why not let them?
Dahlia couldn’t believe they were getting fifty dollars each for appearing at this luncheon and as many more luncheons as they felt like doing, according to Esther, who hovered over them before the show. Her oversprayed bouffant hairdo was so unmoving thatSunny couldn’t take her eyes off of it. The women at the luncheon streamed into the room at the Sportsman’s Lodge, all of them dressed in fancy suits and high heels with purses to match. They were the kind of women Dahlia’s mother wished out loud that she could be.
“The chicken-salad ladies,” Rose called them wistfully. Women who had money to buy seats at charity luncheons and then spend more money to buy brightly colored suits to wear to
Similar Books
