Izzy tumbled into the kitchen, holding a heap of jeans. “Cutoffs!” she shouted. “One for me, one for Mommy, one for Dad.”
Sheba began singing a made-up song about cutoff jeans. “Cut them off, little Izzy, cut them off. . . .” She picked up Mrs. Cone’s jeans and held them out to Mrs. Cone. Mrs. Cone slipped them on right there under her flimsy cotton dress. Sheba got on her knees and started cutting. She was still singing the “Cut Them Off” song.
Dr. Cone examined his own jeans. “This is my only pair.”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” Jimmy said, and then he started singing the “Cut Them Off” song too.
Dr. Cone unbuttoned his chinos and I turned around before he dropped his pants. No one else turned around, though, so I went to the refrigerator and said, “Does anyone want some milk?” No one responded, but I took out the milk anyway. Izzy and I had bought it last week. It was good. Smooth. No chunks.
By the time I turned around again, Dr. Cone was wearing his jeans, waiting beside Mrs. Cone, who had one leg cut off and one leg long.
“Me next!” Izzy stripped off her dress and underpants so she was completely naked. I put the milk back and went to her.
“You can wear your underpants.” I picked them up from the kitchen floor and held them open while she stepped back in them. “I’ll go get you a shirt.”
I picked up Izzy’s dress and rushed upstairs. Her door was shut, keeping the witch out. Last week I’d spent a little time each day putting things in order, and I was pleased to see that her room was still tidy and organized. All her shirts were in one drawer, folded and arranged by color. I was wearing a rainbow-striped tank, so I pulled out Izzy’s rainbow-striped tank. It seemed like a fun idea to match.
When I returned to the kitchen, Sheba was cutting Izzy’s jeans and Mrs. Cone had tied her dress around her waist like a shirt. “Do you want me to get you a shirt?” I asked.
“Maybe there’s one in the laundry pile,” Mrs. Cone said.
The laundry pile was on the couch in the TV room. Last Thursday, Izzy and I had watched Match Game ’75 while I folded and sorted everything. The piles of folded clothes remained where I had left them, lined up on the floor. But the couch now held a new pile of clean clothes.
I ignored the heap, went to what I’d folded, and pulled out Mrs. Cone’s only clean shirt, a white tank top. I’d seen her in it before, and it was embarrassingly see-through. Would Mrs. Cone worry about her nipples showing with Sheba and Jimmy in the room? Maybe not, as Dr. Cone had just removed his pants in front of everyone. And no one even noticed when Izzy was completely naked. I liked the idea of all the girls being in tank tops, so I took a chance and hurried back with it.
I handed Mrs. Cone the tank. She took it and then lifted her dress straight off her head so she was completely nude on top. My breath left my lungs. I tried not to stare, but I didn’t know how to stop. I quickly glanced around the kitchen. No one else was looking at Mrs. Cone. Not the rock star, who was monitering how Sheba cut the second leg of Izzy’s pants. Not Sheba, who had her eyes focused on the scissors. Not Izzy, who was staring at me, grinning, as if getting her pants cut into shorts was the greatest fun a kid could have. And not Dr. Cone, who stood with his hands on his hips, waiting.
At Sheba’s urging, Dr. Cone took a Polaroid picture of all of us in our cutoff shorts. How strange it was to see myself, Mary Jane Dillard, in a photo wearing shorts the size of underpants, standing with Sheba and her furry-chested rock star husband; Mrs. Cone, whose white circular breasts had recently been flashed at me; Dr. Cone, with his goaty sideburns; and sweet Izzy, who was pushed up against my torso like we were two Legos snapped together. I looked so happy. So in place. I looked like there was nowhere in the world I’d rather be. And, really, that was true just then. There was no place I’d rather be.
There was so much chatter and excitement around the new shorts that I’d forgotten that Jimmy was there for therapy. The moment ended when Dr. Cone gave Jimmy a little pat on the back and said, “Time for work, my friend.”
“Let’s go to Eddie’s for Popsicles,” I said to Izzy. I went to the drawer that had held the scissors and pulled out two rubber bands so I could put a couple of braids in Izzy’s hair before we left.
“Maybe we have to put a wig and sunglasses on you and get you to Eddie’s one day,” Mrs. Cone said to Sheba. “The customer-to-employee ratio is one to one. It’s a trip, man!”