Mary Jane by Jessica Blau (best motivational books .txt) 📕

knows where we’re staying,” Mrs. Cone said. “So she won’t be dropping in with any cakes.”

Sheba sang, “Beeeanie Jones, Beeeanie Jones, when she enters the room, there are hollers and groooooans.”

We all sang the line and then Sheba went on, “Beanie Jones, Beanie Jones, first she grunts and then she moooooans.”

We repeated that line and then Izzy came up with, “Beanie Jones, Beanie Jones, the telephone rings ’cause she’s on the phones!”

“Good one!” I hugged Izzy and felt a rush of pride.

Mrs. Cone sang, “Beanie Jones, Beanie Jones, she storms into town like a trail of cyclones.”

“Your turn, Mary Jane!” Sheba said.

“Okay . . .” I bit my lip, thinking. “Beanie Jones, Beanie Jones, her body is flesh, then there are bones!”

“Bones, bones, bones,” Sheba sang. “Beanie Beanie Jones. Bones, bones, bones, she hollers then she moans!”

We all repeated those last two lines, with Sheba taking melody and me on harmony, for the rest of the ride home.

10

At breakfast, Jimmy looked at the last two recipe cards. One was for pot roast and the other was for tomato soup and grilledcheese sandwiches.

“Pot roast.” Jimmy slapped the card down in front of Izzy. Izzy had come to the table in her nightgown but removed it whenI wasn’t looking. She was now eating her porridge naked.

“That’s not a summer food.” Sheba was in a different bikini than yesterday. This one was white with a crotch so small thefuzzy scribbles of her brown pubic hair poked out along the sides. I was wearing my new suit, but had thrown my new Dolfinshorts and new striped T-shirt over it, as I couldn’t bring myself to walk out of the bedroom wearing just the suit.

“But I love pot roast. And I’ve been so good!” Jimmy climbed off his chair, went to Sheba, and started kissing her all over. She batted him away, laughing. Izzy got out of her chair and ran over to kiss Sheba all over too, so Sheba was covered by the two of them. I watched, smiling, and wondered what it would feel like to kiss so freely like that.

Dr. Cone came into the room and Jimmy lifted his head up from the kisses. “Richard, what do you think of pot roast for dinnertonight?” He sat at the table.

Dr. Cone looked at me. “Mary Jane?”

“Well, we bought all the ingredients. But Sheba thinks it’s not summery enough.”

“If we bought the ingredients, let’s not waste them.” Dr. Cone went to the stove and served himself a bowl of oatmeal fromthe pot.

“Seriously, Mary Jane. Does your mother make pot roast in the middle of summer?” Sheba lifted her bare legs and crossed themon the table. Izzy settled on Jimmy’s lap. She looked over the recipe card and sounded out the letters.

“I copied her recipe cards for the meals she had scheduled this week, so, yes.” I wondered if Dr. Cone cared that his nakeddaughter was sitting on a grown man’s lap. No one else seemed to notice.

“You got a hell of a mother,” Jimmy said. “The best meal my mother ever made was when she’d buy a brick of cheddar cheese,pull out a sheet of tinfoil, and then melt the cheddar on the foil.”

“And then what?” I picked up Izzy’s nightgown from the floor and slipped it over her head.

“Then what what?”

Sheba said, “What did she do with the melted cheese?”

“Nothing. That was it. She took the foil out of the oven, put it on the coffee table, and we pulled it off with our fingersand ate it while we watched TV.”

I laughed. “What did you call it?”

“She called it ‘melted cheese.’”

“How did you ever get so creative and smart?” Sheba recrossed her legs, left over right now. “Your mother was of no help toyou.”

“At least she was there. Unlike my dad, who was with the macramé lady who lived down the road.”

“We did macramé at camp!” Izzy cried.

“Who was the macramé lady?” I asked.

“She sold macramé plant holders outside the supermarket. She had big eyes and big tits. That and the macramé did my dad in.He followed her home one day and that was that.”

“Tits,” Izzy whispered. I hoped she wouldn’t ask what it meant.

Mrs. Cone walked in wearing a breezy yellow sundress and leather sandals. She paused, looked at Sheba, and then slipped offthe dress, revealing another microkini. Then she sat at the table.

“Izzy and I made oatmeal,” I offered.

“Lovely!” Mrs. Cone clapped.

I went to the stove and ladled out a big bowl for her. “Do you mind pot roast for dinner?”

“What does everyone else think?”

“I think it’s too wintry.” Sheba recrossed her legs again. Each time she moved them, it was like a flash of lightning thateveryone but Izzy turned toward.

“I want it,” Jimmy said. “It’s better than melted cheese on tinfoil.”

“Jimmy’s dad loves the macramé lady with big eyes,” Izzy said.

“Baby,” Sheba said, to Jimmy, “you’re right. This time is about you. Pot roast it is.”

“Hurrah!” Izzy shouted.

 

At two p.m., Izzy and I stuck the roast in the oven. It had to cook for four hours. Back on the beach, we decided we’d collect shells to decorate the dining room table.

“Hat.” I plopped a purple hat on Izzy’s head. Her face and shoulders had been burning and peeling all week long and I wantedto stop the cycle. Everyone but Dr. Cone and Izzy had been slathering on Bain de Soleil tanning oil all week, trying to heightenthe sun’s effects. Sheba was the darkest, with Jimmy coming in second. Mrs. Cone only crisped and then molted, so she hadto start all over again every second day. Dr. Cone was uninterested in tanning, but had been turning brown nonetheless. Ilooked as brown as a nut and my hair had gone blonder.

“Bucket,” Izzy said, and she gripped the handle of her bucket and started marching down the beach.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” I said, but Dr. Cone—the only one on the beach with us—wasn’t listening.

I hurried after Izzy. I hadn’t put on my shorts or shirt and felt like there