Addie and the King of Hearts by Gail Rock Read Free Book Online Page A

“We hook you up and plug you right in.”
    â€œYou have any special training for this?” I asked. “A license or anything?”
    â€œJust beauty school,” she said.
    â€œLooks like it would burn your head off,” I said nervously.
    â€œHaven’t lost a customer yet,” Irene said cheerfully, and started hooking one of the machine’s metal clamps to each curler on my head.
    She turned on the machine, gave me a pat on the shoulder, shoved a movie magazine into my hands, and went on about her work across the room.
    I sat there stiff as a board, expecting to be electrocuted any minute and wondering if the result was going to be worth all this trouble.

Chapter Six
    The afternoon of the Valentine’s dance I must have changed my mind twenty or thirty times about whether I was going. One minute I imagined how glamorous I’d be—sweeping into the gymnasium in my new dress and high heels. Everyone would marvel at how much older and more mature I looked. Mr. Davenport would look at me and smile and ask me to dance and tell me what he had been waiting to tell me all this time.
    The next minute I saw myself slouching into the gym all alone, with everyone whispering and glancing at the only wallflower there without a date. My dress and shoes and hair would look all wrong, and Mr. Davenport would have to struggle not to laugh when he saw me trying to be grown-up.
    I kept hoping I would suddenly come down with the flu or measles or something so the decision would be taken out of my hands, but I was disgustingly healthy.
    Grandma, who had a strong stubborn streak and a very direct way of dealing with any opposition, was having none of my indecision. She forced me into a kitchen chair that afternoon and wet my newly permanented hair and rolled it up in rag curlers. I jiggled and jerked around in my chair.
    â€œHold still,” Grandma said. “You’re nervous as a cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.”
    I laughed in spite of myself. Grandma knew her old country expressions always tickled me, and she would dredge them up at crucial moments to relieve the tension. I would always try to think of one to answer with, and then it would become a game as we batted them back and forth. She almost always won.
    â€œSteady as a rock,” I said, holding out my hands.
    â€œShakin’ like a leaf,” she answered.
    â€œCool as a cucumber,” I said.
    â€œHotter than a two-dollar pistol,” she said, hand on my forehead.
    â€œCalm as a—uh—calm as a … a … clam!” I said.
    â€œThat ain’t a sayin’!” she laughed.
    â€œYes it is!”
    â€œNever heard of it,” she said.
    â€œI just made it up!” I said.
    â€œDon’t count!” said Grandma.
    â€œOh, phooey!” I said irritably. “Aren’t you finished?”
    â€œAddie,” she said quietly. “Just calm down. Everything’s going to go just fine.”
    I wanted to believe her.
    I ran around with my hair in curlers for the rest of the afternoon, helping Grandma put the finishing touches on my dress and making sure her best rhinestone bracelet looked OK with it. My dress was a pale pink taffeta. It was very chic and understated, I thought, and made me look very mature. In my more positive moments, I expected everyone at the dance would comment on how I had aged, seemingly overnight.
    After dinner, I started my final preparations. I put on my best white slip, a new pair of nylon stockings, and my hated garter belt.
    As far as I could tell, garter belts had been invented by the same people who had thought up medieval torture instruments. My garter belt was a disgusting, flesh-colored satin, and fastened about the waist with hooks and eyes in the back. Since you could never hope to fasten hooks and eyes without seeing them, you had to put the garter belt on backwards, hook it over your stomach, and then wrestle it around so that the