Anyone But You (3 page)

“Are you alone?” she asked, breaking the silence. “Seems like you’re up here on a dare.”

I pointed with my thumb in Benny’s direction and waited for the imaginary hearts to come shooting like fireworks out of her head. Whenever a girl got her first glimpse of my devilishly handsome (even for twelve) friend, swooning was inevitable.

“Hmm. Got a name?” she asked.

“Oh, that’s Benny,” I responded. “I’ve known him all my life.”

“Not
him
.
You.
I’m Stella.” She extended her hand so that I might shake it. I wiped my palm on my pants, then obliged her as she continued. “It means ‘star.’”

“Dominick,” I said, all formalities, since the moment seemed to suddenly suit it. “It means, ‘our Lord.’” Benny would have fallen on the floor, howling with laughter, had he heard me. I swallowed hard, hoping to calm the snare drum beating in my chest. Gee, she sure was cute. Instead of letting go of my grasp following our introduction, she laughed and squeezed my hand tighter.

“Well, ‘my Lord,’ we’re almost back to the platform. You really should look out the window, just once, before the ride is over. Come with me.” She stood and tugged on my hand with both of hers. Mesmerized by this girl’s face—and our sudden physical contact—I allowed her to lead me as I trudged, practically sleepwalking, to one of the observation windows on the other side of the tram car from where Benny was standing.

I felt woozy, and involuntarily squeezed Stella’s hand tighter while steadying my left hand upon the glass.

“Holy mackerel,” I marveled.

Stella leaned her forehead against the windowpane, the garish sun illuminating the top of her straw hat as if she were wearing a halo.

“Be careful!” I stammered, prompting her to giggle again.

“Thank you for caring, but there’s no chance of me falling. Try it, you’ll see.”

As if going in for a first kiss, I reluctantly inched my forehead closer and closer to the glass until it landed with a soft thud against the smooth warm surface. I inhaled deeply, allowed my shoulders to relax, and gazed at the truly remarkable view spread out before me. Eastward, Lake Michigan reflected like a giant looking glass as far as the eye could see. In the other direction was the bustling skyline of the nation’s second largest city. The skyscrapers gleamed and sparkled like the imaginary Oz from the illustrated book I’d seen on a class visit to the Chicago Public Library.

“Made you look,” she whispered next to me. “You’re going to thank me for this one of these days.”

Though I couldn’t see her face, I glanced down, taking note of Stella’s pristine black patent Mary Janes and white ankle socks. We were still holding hands. Her last comment implied that she expected the two of us would still be interacting at some future point in time. Or was I taking it too literally? Not that I’d mind, but it wasn’t likely this girl with the fancy new shoes and pearl earrings would enter my orbit (let alone the Near West Side where I lived) once we returned to earth. Not, at least, unless I did something audaciously “Benny-like.” As I contemplated this, Stella dropped my hand, and my heart sunk. An older girl who could only be her overbearing big sister strode up to her.

“Give me your coin purse, Stalactite,” she demanded. “I’ve only got two dollars left.”

It sounded like a fortune to me, but Stella dug in her heels.

“No. Mother gave us an equal amount. It’s not my problem if you spent all yours on chewing gum and cotton candy.”

“Mother said I’m in charge, which makes me the boss. C’mon, cough it up.”

“Uh-uh.” Stella shook her head resolutely, causing her sister to scowl.

“I can make you.”

“I can scream.”

“I hate you, brat. Why don’t you just
get lost
?” Trudy turned on her heel and stormed off to the far side of the gondola again. I looked at Stella’s face and saw the fire in her eyes turn to sadness. I felt instinctively compelled to change that.

“Have you been to Paris yet?” She looked up at me, with a bemused expression. “You know.” I pointed toward the ground way too far beneath us. “The Streets of Paris. Down
there.
”

“Oh,” she said, realizing I was talking about one of the fair’s more popular international pavilions. Over a dozen countries were represented, including France. “I haven’t seen much of
anything
yet. Trudy the Terrible insisted on spending most of this morning fawning over all the babies on display.”

“You mean the ones in the incubators?”

“Yeah,” she huffed. “All they did was sleep. So much for World’s Fair excitement.”

“Well, excitement just happens to be my middle name,” I lied, my boldness increasing as I sensed the gondola bumping its way back to the platform. It was now or never. “I haven’t seen Paris yet, either. Maybe you and I could … go together?”

“But my sister ….”

“Unless I’m really confused on what ‘get lost’ means, I think she just told you to disappear. Am I wrong?” A sly grin instantly took hold of Stella’s girlish face.

“Wouldn’t it be sweet revenge if I
did
? Get lost, I mean? With you?” Now she was the one who blushed. “But your friend—he might not want some girl tagging along.”

“Oh, no—you won’t be tagging along. And he won’t mind. Just give me five minutes to talk to him.” The gondola doors opened and our fellow passengers began to exit. I saw Benny threading his way over to me. “Go on ahead, and when you get off the elevator, give your sister and her friends the slip. I’ll meet you behind the shooting gallery in the arcade.”

“Promise?”

“I swear—on my favorite baseball card, in fact. That’s as good as a blood oath.”

• • •

“What do you mean you want to split up? Right now?”

“Yeah, Ben, like I said, I met a girl. A really
nice
girl. And cute, too.”

“I saw you chattin’ up that powder puff on the ride, but come on, Nick. You just met her. We’ve been talking about this day for months. This wasn’t the plan.”

“We have a
pact.
” A year ago when Benny and I first began to realize that girls were not, in fact, carriers of the dreaded “cootie” scourge, we both agreed either one of us could give the other the boot to pursue
l’amour,
no questions asked. “You’ve cashed in pretty much biweekly for the last six months,” I added.

“Quit exaggerating.”

“Remember Abigail? Anna? Then let’s move on to the Bs—”

“The difference is, I never asked you to honor the pact at the World’s Fair, for crying out loud!
Here
, Nicky?
Today
, of all days?”

“We had a deal. I’ve always honored it, now it’s your turn. C’mon, you wanted me to go on the Sky Ride, and I went. Do something for me, for once.” I regretted those words the minute I said them, but it was too late to take it back. I sighed and hung my head. “Twenty minutes ago, you were telling me I’d regret all the chances I didn’t take. You were right. I don’t want to have any more regrets, starting now.”

“You’ll regret this,” he said quietly.

“Just a couple of hours, that’s all I’m asking.” Part of me did feel guilty, but it wasn’t like Mr. Personality ever had any trouble fending for himself. By the time we crossed paths again, he’d probably have amassed a harem of female admirers.

“I can’t believe you’re ditching me for some Dumb Dora.”

“She’s not dumb. And I wouldn’t even ask except, well, there’s just something about her.”

“Oh, what? Newly-minted loverboy thinks he’s just met his future wife or something? Guess what, Nick: We’re
twelve.
Quit acting all moonfaced. You’re not going to end up ‘happily ever after’ with the first girl who plucks your heartstring. Trust me on this.”

“Okay, I see what this is all about.” I folded my arms defiantly. “I was never supposed to invoke our sacred ‘pact,’ was I? No girl in her right mind would ever look twice at,
me
, huh? It was all just for you. That pact was just your way to get rid of the third wheel.”

“I never called you a third wheel.”

“But don’t deny that’s what you thought. I cramp your style, don’t I?”

“Nick, just cool your heels.”

“To hell with you. I’m outta here.”

“Some friend
you
are!” Those were the last words I heard before my left eye exploded into lightning bolts, my head cracked the pavement, and my world went black.

When I came to, I was lying on my back staring up at a dome of concerned faces, and Benny’s was among them. Had I fallen from the aerial tram car? If so, how could I possibly still be alive? A few ladies’ fans hovered inches from my face, and I batted them away as I sat up and shooed off the gawkers.

“Cheesy Petes, Nick, thank God you’re okay,” Benny looked chagrined. “You weren’t responding.”

“How—how long have I been out?”

“You know this hooligan?” asked a balding middle-aged man, neglecting to answer my question and thumbing his finger at Benny. He handed me a paper cone of water that had been passed to him. “He’s the one who clocked you, but he won’t scram. Want us to flag down a policeman?” I took a cool swig and eyed my obviously contrite friend. He’d punched me? My memory of the incident was scattered around the inside of my brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

“I’m so sorry, Nick, I didn’t mean to do it. I wasn’t even thinking when I hauled off and—”

“Stop.” My head was throbbing. “I’m fine,” I said, transitioning to my feet to prove that everyone could just mosey along. Slowly people began to disperse, mumbling advice about cold compresses and seeing a doctor.

“He’s probably still seeing stars,” said one concerned older woman to her friend. Stars?
Stella!
I grabbed Benny by the elbow.

“What time is it?”

“How would I know? Around lunchtime, I guess.”

“How long has it been since we got off the Sky Ride?”

“Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes?”

I bolted toward the arcade, praying I wasn’t too late.

“A
W, C’MON,
G
IGI, GIVE THE GUY A CHANCE.”

“Dad, Perry Beresdorfer is just ….” I wasn’t quite sure how to put it tactfully, so I shot my cousin Ty a “save me!” glance.

“He’s a complete dolt, Uncle Benj,” Ty intervened. “His idea of Parmesan cheese is that stuff in a green can. He thought
cacciatore
was our fish of the day!”

“He even wears pleated-front pants!” I added as an afterthought, albeit an important one.

“What’s wrong with that?” Dad questioned, his brow furrowing as he unfolded his napkin into his lap for dinner.

“Well, it’s just that, umm ….” I fidgeted in the formal, straight-backed dining room chair.

“No self-respecting adolescent male would be caught dead in
slacks
,” my seventeen-year-old cousin Enzo completed my thoughts.

“I don’t get it,” said Dad, mystified.

“Which, with all due respect, Uncle B, shows why maybe you shouldn’t play matchmaker for Gigi,” reflected Enzo’s fraternal twin, Frankie. Across the table, Dad gave him one of his don’t-push-your-luck scowls, and I made a mental note to privately thank my brazen cousins for having my back. Despite their lobbying on my behalf, I didn’t get the sense that Dad was going to abandon his campaign to, dare I say it, pimp me out.

“Well, anyhow, we
have
to invite him to your Sweet Sixteen party, honey,” Mom said as she served a spatula full of lasagna onto my father’s plate.

“Which we’re
not
wearing nooses to, by the way,” declared Enzo, reaching across the table for a garlic roll. Seated next to him, his mother, my Aunt Valerie, swatted him upside the head.

“You sure as heck
will
wear a tie, if that’s what Gigi wants,” she said. “This is her big day, and you three boys will wear hot pink sequined leotards if she says so.”

“Only Enzo has the runway walk to pull that off,” Frankie smirked, punching his twin in the bicep. “Just as long as you don’t make us dance with the ugly girls, Gig.”

“Don’t worry, bro, she’ll be far too busy dodging Perry, like that cartoon cat stalked by Pepé Le Pew,” teased Ty, kicking me under the table. Sometimes it seemed as if every word out of my cousins’ mouths caused a corresponding knee-jerk movement of their fists, elbows, and feet—bruise-inducing marionettes. Mom and Aunt Val had moved on to zealously discussing my birthday party decorations, while Dad, humming absentmindedly, reached his hairy arm clear across me to retrieve the balsamic vinegar. Enzo and Frankie had a thumb war match going even as their free hands shoveled forkfuls of dinner into their momentarily silent mouths. Carmen—not related to us by blood, but considered family since she’d been working at Cap’s before my dad was born—was slipping contraband morsels of lasagna under the table to our German Shepherd, Sampson, whose exuberant wagging tail thudded against the table leg. As usual, our Monday night family dinner was more three-ring circus than civilized supper. Having experienced these get-togethers every week of my life on the one night in seven that our restaurant was typically closed, I could totally identify with Alice’s bewilderment at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. How in the world did I share the same DNA with all of these baffling personalities?

“I don’t even want a Sweet Sixteen party,” I sulked, stabbing at the leaves in my spinach salad. It felt as though I’d suddenly (and without cause) been branded the girl who longs for an occasion to spray tan, wear glitter hairspray, and behave like a raging prima donna. That
so
wasn’t me, and the fact that my parents didn’t realize it set my teeth on edge. Having given me life and then lived in my presence for sixteen years, it blew my mind how woefully they failed to comprehend me.

“We’ve been over this a dozen times, sweetheart,” said my dad. “A big to-do is just the sort of thing we need to let people know we’re back in business.” Cap’s had been shuttered for nearly a month to deal with the water damage.

“Then call it a ‘Grand Reopening’ or something. Why do you have to drag my birthday into it?”

“Because not even the Montes would dare rain on a sixteen-year-old girl’s parade, no pun intended,” Mom explained.