Part 21 (1/2)
”Oh yes she did. Thinks you have a hidden talent you're afraid to show.”
Mothers are so embarra.s.sing sometimes. The whole lot of them, I swear. Even so, before Natalie got accepted at the Esther P. Marinoff, my mother never would have kidded me this way. Things are changing. They really are.
After my mom is done ribbing me, she heads for Bea Trixle's, where she spends half the day getting her hair done. I know because I knocked on the door at least three times looking for Janet, who still isn't back. I have to get the bar spreader off the island, for good. But I can't figure out how to do that until Janet gets home.
Only Natalie seems oblivious to all the fuss being made. Her big concern is who she can get to play b.u.t.ton checkers with her. I don't know how Theresa knew Nat would love this game, but she did. She beats everybody every time. She's clearly a better match for herself than any of us are for her, but she likes to play with us and she gets angry if we don't give the game our all. It can't be too easy for her to win.
By nightfall, the brand-spanking clean Black Mariah sits waiting to take Hoover and Ness up to the Officers' Club and there's a hum of excitement from one end of the island to the other.
”As soon as Piper and Annie are done singing, you need to come straight back here because Mrs. Caconi will have her hands full. You understand?” my father asks as he straightens his hat.
”Yes,” I say, watching my dad, wis.h.i.+ng I could tell him what's going on.
When Nat and I get to the Mattamans', I pretend everything is fine between Jimmy and me. He's been touchy lately. And I always seem to be on his bad side. I hope getting Mr. Mattaman off probation will make up for whatever else Jimmy thinks I've done wrong.
I do trust Jimmy though, and he definitely knows what he's supposed to do. We talked it all out this afternoon. He and Theresa will help Mrs. Caconi watch Natalie while I stick by Piper.
”You won't let her throw a tantrum or anything, right?” I ask Jimmy. There's no way to prevent Natalie from throwing a fit. We both know that, but I ask anyway.
”Theresa plays with her all the time. And if we start having problems I brought a bunch of rocks up and I'll let her sort them for my rock machine. You know she loves that,” Jimmy tells me.
”Okay, then, I'm gonna go. You're all right, right?” I ask again.
Natalie jolts upright, her body suddenly rigid.
”Not you, Nat. You're going to stay here with Theresa.”
Nat seems to take this in; a tiny darting smile flashes across her mouth. Theresa's whole face bursts with joy. ”Did you see that, Moose? Did you? She wants to stay here with me.”
When I close the Mattamans' door, Mrs. Mattaman is already gone. She went to the Officers' Club with my parents. Mr. Mattaman is on duty in the dock guard tower. Mrs. Caconi has settled in, knitting booties for the warden's new baby, Natalie is twirling a globe, and Theresa is lying on the floor, pencil in hand, ready to draw the country Nat calls. This is a new game Theresa just made up and they are having a lot of fun with it.
Everyone is content. I don't need to worry anymore.
By the time I get to the Officers' Club the place is almost completely transformed. Chairs are set up facing a main concert stage draped in blue. Piper and Annie are dressed in long velvet skirts with frilly white blouses and high heels. Piper looks elegant and grown-up. Annie looks silly, like a dressed-up domino. Her face is even more square underneath the hairdo Bea Trixle has given her.
Annie sits at the piano, waiting for her cue. She is an able piano player and she can sing okay. But when Piper opens her mouth, it's scary. Pretty as she is, her singing sounds like the noise the can opener makes. My mom grinds her teeth and pinches her hand every time Piper tries for a note. It isn't just the high notes she misses either.
When Annie and Piper are finished and they've taken their bows to resounding applause by everyone except my mother, I head outside the front door to wait for them. All I'm thinking about right now is how to pretend I really liked their performance.
”How were we?” Piper asks when she and Annie finally make it outside, giddy and flushed from all the attention.
”Great,” I tell them, trying hard to smile sincerely, ”just great.”
”Who dressed you tonight, Moose?” Annie asks, eyeing my suit coat and tie.
My mom got down the soap and water to wash my mouth out when she discovered all the b.u.t.tons were cut off my jacket. But then she saw them in Natalie's b.u.t.ton box and she put the soap away.
”Doesn't look like his usual self, does he?” Piper comments.
”Not a bit,” Annie agrees.
Inside, we hear the tables being moved into place and the hustle of activity as the Officers' Club is transformed from a piano hall to a restaurant.
”C'mon, we need to get going,” I tell Piper, and the two of us head down the stairs.
Annie lingers. ”Be careful, okay?” she whispers, standing at the stairs, her back bathed in light.
The main entrance to the Officers' Club is on the second story. Downstairs is the ”kids' door,” as we call it. The door is locked, but Piper has the key. She pulls it out of her pocket and unlocks the door. Annie's shadow is still on the stairs as we head inside.
No one is downstairs in the Officers' Club, but the bustle of the kitchen is right above us; dishes click, an officer gives instructions, urgent footsteps scurry across the floor.
Piper opens a cupboard in the dark back of the room. Inside is a stairwell. The Officers' Club used to be the post exchange (the PX) when Alcatraz was a military prison, so there are leftover parts from that time. The kitchen is still where it was, but this back route has been boarded off at the top.
The boards were hastily nailed, leaving gaps through which we can see the pantry-and through the open pantry door to the kitchen where a man in a starched white cook's uniform whisks past carrying a plate of stuffed mushroom caps.
Was that Capone? I crane my neck to catch sight of him, but I can't see much from here. Now a man in a black jacket and white trousers brings in an empty tray. ”What's next?” he asks.
”c.o.c.ktail meatb.a.l.l.s,” w.i.l.l.y One Arm's squeaky voice calls as he rebalances a s.h.i.+ny silver tray in his one good hand.
”Get the cherries!” someone yells, and the dark closet floods with light. Piper grips my hand, her fingernails dig into my palm. Officer Bomini bends down in front of us searching the shelves.
I hold my breath, but Bomini's only concern is locating the jar of maraschino cherries, which he finds easily. When he leaves, he shuts the pantry door tightly and everything goes black.
”We need two,” somebody else yells, and just as suddenly the pantry door swings open again. Now we see the whole array of servers waiting to carry food. None of them look like convicts, dressed as they are in white cook's uniforms or black dinner jackets like the waitstaff of a fancy restaurant. Something is making my nose itch. Dust or maybe it's the smell of garlic. The urge to cough tickles the back of my mouth. I grind my teeth, catching the cough in the cage of my throat. I swallow it down just as Bomini's hands find the cherries and grab the jar. He's in a rush and doesn't really look. This time he leaves the door wide open.
”Number 85 you're on. This is your moment!” Officer Trixle's voice belts out. Piper squeezes my hand and for a second it seems nice to be standing so close to her as we strain to spot Capone in the bustle of waiters. He looks dapper in the black and white waiter outfit, though his starched s.h.i.+rt pulls across his belly. His dark black hair curls slightly around his ear as if the barber missed a strand. I can see his scar as he gathers up the plates.
”One at a time,” Trixle orders. ”Let's do this up good.”
”The warden first?” somebody asks.
”Hoover first. Then Ness. Why not carry those two together,” Officer Bomini suggests.
It's then that we see him full on-almost as if he's coming toward us. He spins, and there is his jagged scar in perfect line sight of our dark pantry. Quick as a flash he hawks up a good bit of phlegm and aims it straight for the potatoes on one plate, then the other. Smoothly, as if he's done this a hundred times before, he switches both plates to one hand and with his index finger swirls over the top of the mashed potatoes with a finis.h.i.+ng twist.
”Got a problem, 85?” a.s.sociate Warden Chudley asks.
”No problem, sir. Just getting a good hold,” Capone reports as he balances one plate on the flat of each palm and carries them out with the confidence of a man who has been waiting tables his whole life.
”C'mon,” Piper whispers, tugging my hand.
Back we go down the stairwell as quietly as we can to the deserted first-floor bowling alley. I head for the door. Piper pulls me the other way.
”Twenty minutes, remember?” I whisper.
”It hasn't been that long.”