The longer the kissing went on, the more my face burned. Finally Izzy broke the silence by singing “Rhinestone Cowboy.” I knew the words too, because the twins’ mother owned all of Glen Campbell’s records. When we got to the chorus, Sheba and Jimmy finally stopped kissing and joined in. Mrs. Cone was singing too, but her mind seemed elsewhere. Her face went from the books to Jimmy to the books to Sheba.
We were on the letter V when I had to sing again.
“Uh . . . uh . . .” All I could think of was “My Victory” from church. This pained me so much that I considered taking the point and passing my turn.
“No church songs!” Izzy said, as if she could see into my head.
“Oh! Wait. What about ‘Kumala Vista’？ We’ll go by the last word in the title, like the last names on books. V for Vista.” I was so relieved to not sing a church song that I didn’t mind singing a Camp Fire Girls song.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. I kneeled on the ground and slapped my knees twice and then my hands together to get the beat. In my head it sounded like cha-cha, pop, cha-cha, pop. . . .
Izzy kneeled and clapped along. And then Jimmy, Sheba, and Mrs. Cone did too.
“Well, shit, Mary Jane, give us the words, will ya?” Jimmy said, smiling.
“You have to repeat after me,” I said. “And follow my hand motions, too.”
“Oh, I love this,” Sheba said. “Is this from that one time you went to sleepaway camp?”
“It’s from Camp Fire Girls. Ready? Repeat after me: FLEA!”
“FLEA!” they all repeated.
“FLEA FLY!”
“Flea fly!”
“FLEA FLY FLOW!”
“Flea fly flow!”
“Kumala!”
“Kumala!”
“Vista!”
“Vista!”
“Kumala, kumala, kumala vista!” I sang in the melody.
“Kumala, kumala, kumala vista!”
“Oh, no, no, no not sevista!”
“Oh, no, no, no not sevista!”
When we got to the end, where you pretend to scratch your body all over, Dr. Cone came into the living room. He sat on the couch and watched us as if we were monkeys in a zoo, his head tilted.
Everyone laughed when the song ended. It was Izzy’s turn to pick the next song and she said, “I want to do ‘Kumala Vista’ again.” And so we did.
Mrs. Cone, Sheba, and Jimmy all wore wigs that night to go out to dinner at Morgan Millard, the only restaurant in Roland Park. Jimmy put on one of Dr. Cone’s suits. It was blue and had wide lapels and bell-bottom pants. He didn’t wear a tie, but he did wear a starched button-down, with the top three buttons open.
“What do you think?” Jimmy asked me as we walked to the car. “Anyone gonna recognize me?”
“No.” But I did think people would look at him. His wig was black and straight, with bangs across the front. And he was wearing leather sandals. I’d never in my life seen anyone wear leather sandals with a suit.
Mrs. Cone and Sheba were wearing the Swedish sister wigs again. Dr. Cone looked just like himself with his fuzzy, irregular sideburns eating up half his face. I put Izzy in a flouncy pink dress and white patent leather shoes. Just for fun. And Sheba gave me one of her dresses to wear. Also just for fun. It was red with a pattern of black spiderwebs all over it. The dress wasn’t cut low, but the straps were thinner than my bra straps, so it felt like I was being a bit risqué. Sheba was so much taller than I was, the dress probably fell to her upper thigh. On me, it modestly hit my knee.
Dr. and Mrs. Cone got in the front seat, and the rest of us got in the back. Sheba sat by one door, Jimmy sat by the other. Izzy and I squished in the middle. Everyone was talking at once, happily, excitedly. We had finished the bookshelves. Jimmy had recommitted himself to sobriety. And we were going out to a restaurant so no one would have to make dinner or clean up after it.
The car was warm and dark; streetlights cast moving shadows over us like ghosts dancing across our laps. Sheba leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “I think you should just take off the bra.”
“I’ve never done that,” I whispered, even lower. I really didn’t want Dr. Cone or Jimmy to know what we were discussing.
“The dress will look better. Here. Lean forward.”
I leaned forward and Sheba reached down the back of the dress and unhooked my bra. I quickly slipped my arms out of the straps and then pulled the bra out from the neckline. I was definitely being risqué now, though no one seemed to notice. Jimmy and Izzy were singing “Kumala Vista” again, and Dr. and Mrs. Cone were talking about what to do if they ran into someone they knew.