Back in my bedroom, I stood in front of the door mirror and examined my work. The cut had left a toothed, uneven edge, and one leg was longer than the other. I rolled up the bottoms until they were even.
For my top, I picked out a red-and-white-striped tank top that covered my bra straps. I’d wear the rainbow flip-flops my mother had agreed to buy me after she’d seen the other girls at Elkridge pool wearing them. She didn’t like me to be out of sync almost as much as she didn’t like me to appear dirty or unladylike.
On Monday morning I put on the outfit, rolling up the shorts as little as possible. When I came downstairs my mother looked me over. “Where did you get those shorts?”
“I made them from my bell-bottoms that were too short.”
“You can’t wear them to Elkridge.”
“I know.”
“What if the Cones want to take you to their Jewish country club?”
“I’ll run home and change.”
“And they would be okay with that? It’s not very professional of you.”
“I don’t think they go to a country club, Mom. Izzy and I stayed home all last week. And when she wanted to swim, we walked to the Roland Park Pool.”
“I see.” My mother stared at the cutoffs as if she were looking at a bloody body.
“Please?” I asked.
“It’s your choice. I’m simply trying to lead you down the correct path.” My mother turned her head toward the brewing coffeepot as if she couldn’t bear the sight of me dressed this way.
“I really don’t think they’ll mind if I wear cutoffs.” There was no way I was going to tell her that Izzy spent half her day naked and that Mrs. Cone never wore a bra. And of course I’d never let on that the rock star and the movie star （the addict and his wife） were moving into the Cones’ house. There was the issue of confidentiality; the promise I’d made to Dr. Cone. And the issue of my parents, who would never allow me to set foot into a home where an addict was staying.
“Hmm.” My mother continued to stare at the coffeepot, and then she sighed and almost whispered, “Maybe it’s a Jewish thing.”
I slipped out of the house before she could say anything else. The pretty blond woman was gardening again; she waved as I passed, and I waved back.
I’d been instructed last week to just walk into the Cones’ house without knocking. Still, I stood for a moment on the porch and smoothed my hair back. I looked down at my shorts and felt panicky about the length. Surely a movie star and a rock star would think they were too long. I rolled them up a few more times, until they were binding my thighs like rubber bands.
I put my hand on the doorknob and walked in. The house was silent. Things were slightly tidier than they had been last week. Nothing had been removed, but the stuff that was around had been amassed, stacked. So instead of scattered magazines, there was now a small tower of magazines sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. I headed straight toward the kitchen, which was where I usually found Izzy. When I got there, I almost screamed.
Sitting in the banquette, alone, was Sheba, the one-named movie star who’d once had a variety show, Family First!, on TV with her two singing brothers. I’d watched the show the very first night it aired and never missed an episode. Each week in the opening, Sheba and her two brothers sang three-part harmonies about love, rock and roll, and family. There were always great guest stars like Lee Majors or Farrah Fawcett Majors or Liberace or Yul Brynner. Sheba went through about eight costume changes each show—she played Indian maidens, mermaids, cheerleaders, and even an old lady in one recurring skit.
Family First! was canceled shortly after Sheba had a falling-out with her brothers. The twins and I had read about it in People magazine. Sheba said her brothers thought they were the boss and she was sick of it. It turned out no one wanted to watch the show without Sheba; only two episodes aired without her before All Hat, No Cattle replaced it in the time slot. And Sheba didn’t need the show anyway—she was busy making movies with sexy costars or with horses, and on ranches in Africa. I’d only seen some of her movies, as my mother thought most of them were too racy.
On TV, Sheba had long black hair that hung like a curtain almost to her waist. Her eyes were giant circles with lashes that hit her eyebrows. And her smile flashed like a cube on a camera. As she sat in the Cones’ banquette, I could see that Sheba’s hair was just as long and beautiful. Her eyes were just as big. But her lashes were missing. She was wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top, no bra. Her feet were bare and tucked under her bottom. Her golden skin was as shiny and smooth as a piece of wet suede.