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

hooks were in the back.
    That left three long strips of elastic dangling down each leg, to fasten your stockings to. Each strip of elastic had a pink rubber knob and metal clamp on the end. The trick was to capture the top of your nylon stocking over the pink knob and then press the knob into the metal clamp before the stocking slipped off the knob or the elastic slipped out of your hand and snapped up and hit you in the face.
    To add to the confusion, the strips of elastic were adjustable up and down, and there were three different lengths of stockings you could buy. So you had to work out the right combination of stocking length and elastic adjustment for your particular legs or else your stocking would droop down around your ankles like elephant skin, or they would be held so taut by a too-short elastic that you would have to walk all bent over like the hunchback of Notre Dame.
    If that wasn’t enough, you also had to worry about the seams in the back of your stockings being straight up and down. In order to do that, you had to see the back of your entire leg from ankle to thigh all at the same time while holding your leg straight and simultaneously keeping a firm grasp on the rear elastic strip of your garter belt with one hand and a firm grasp on your stocking top with the other hand. There was, obviously, no way in the world anyone could do all of that at the same time. I hated garter belts.
    After a lot of wrestling with the stockings, the seams appeared fairly straight, and I pulled on my old chenille bathrobe and started putting on make-up. It would be the first time I had ever worn any in public, though we practiced using it at slumber parties.
    I stood in front of the bedroom mirror, squinting a bit to see without my glasses. Grandma watched closely at my elbow, and Dad stood in the doorway looking apprehensive.
    â€œThought they didn’t wear war paint until high school,” he said.
    â€œWell, this is a special occasion,” Grandma answered.
    I was concentrating hard, trying to pat some of Grandma’s loose powder on my face and raising a cloud of powder dust that nearly choked me. When the air cleared, Grandma handed me a hanky and suggested I wipe off a bit of it.
    Then I used some of her cream rouge to color my cheeks a bit, and she watched closely to see that I didn’t use too much and look like a “painted woman.”
    The next step was lipstick—a brand new tube of “Ruby Red” I had bought at the Clear River Pharmacy that morning.
    I started coloring in my lips very carefully, rolling them around over my teeth as I had seen women do, trying to draw a straight line.
    â€œLooks a little heavy on the left side to me,” Dad said.
    â€œNot through yet,” I said, mumbling through my facial contortions.
    I was twisting this way and that, trying to see, almost holding my head upside down. “The light in here is awful!” I said irritably.
    â€œTry not to get any on your teeth,” Grandma said helpfully.
    â€œCan’t do it if you talk to me!” I said, annoyed.
    I finished and mushed my lips around together to even out the color, then made a big puckery mouth at myself in the mirror.
    â€œOh, boy!” said Dad. “I can’t take any more.” He turned and left the room.
    I stood there silently, surveying myself in the mirror. It was hard to tell what the final result would be; I was still in bathrobe and curlers. Grandma was watching me in the mirror.
    â€œAm I pretty?” I asked, turning to her suddenly.
    She looked at me quietly for a moment, as though she were thinking of an answer.
    â€œWell, am I?” I said, almost angry. “I just want to know!”
    â€œWhy I think you’re as good lookin’ as any girl could hope to be,” Grandma said.
    â€œThat’s not what I mean!”
    â€œWell, everybody’s got their own ideas of what’s pretty and what ain’t. You’re sure