men, so it’s the women who will be in charge anyway.”
I’ve been going from apartment to apartment asking people to lend pictures from the forties if they
have them, especially in uniform or at a USO party. One resident sniffed at me and said, “Excuse me,
but I was six in 1945!” Hastily I told her that pictures of her parents would be welcome too, of course
—but she was already closing the door in my face.
Scrapbooking to the Oldies has turned into a de facto dance-planning committee. I printed out war
bonds, and Mr. Morales is using my paper cutter to cut them. Maude, who is new to the group and is
Internet savvy, is clipping news articles from the war to decorate the refreshments table. Her friend
Claudia is working on the playlist.
Alicia will have a little table of her own. She’s making a paper-crane garland, all different-
colored papers, lilac and peach and turquoise and floral. Stormy balked at the deviation from the red,
white, and blue theme, but Alicia held firm and I backed her up. Classy as always, her pictures of
Japanese Americans in internment camps are in fancy silver frames.
“Those pictures are really going to bring the mood down,” Stormy stage-whispers to me.
Alicia whirls around. “These pictures are meant to educate the ignorant.”
Stormy gathers herself up to her full five feet three inches, five-six in heels. “Alicia, did you just
call me ignorant?” I wince. Stormy’s been putting a lot of work into this party, and she’s been a little
extra Stormy lately.
I just can’t take another fight between them right now. I’m about to plead for peace when Alicia
fixes Stormy with a steely look and says, “If the muumuu fits.”
Stormy and I both gasp. Then Stormy stalks over to Alicia’s table and sweeps Alicia’s paper
cranes to the floor with a flourish. Alicia screams, and I gasp again. Everyone else in the room looks
up. “Stormy!”
“You’re taking her side? She just called me ignorant! Stormy Sinclair might be a lot of things, but I
am not ignorant.”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side,” I say, bending down to pick up the paper cranes.
“If you’re taking a side, it should be mine,” Alicia says. She thrusts her chin in Stormy’s direction.
“She thinks she’s some grand dame, but she is a child, throwing a tantrum over a party.”
“A child!” Stormy shrieks.
“Will you two please stop fighting?” To my mortification, tears spurt out the corners of my eyes. “I
can’t take it today.” My voice trembles. “I really just can’t.”
They exchange a look, and then they both rush to my side. “Darling, what’s wrong?” Stormy
croons. “It must be a boy.”
“Sit, sit,” Alicia says. They lead me over to the couch and sit on either side of me.
“Everybody, get out!” Stormy yells, and the others scatter. “Now you tell us what’s wrong.”
I wipe my eyes with the corner of my shirtsleeve. “Peter and I broke up.” It’s the first time I’ve
said the words out loud.
Stormy gasps. “You and Mr. Handsome broke up! Was it over another boy?” She looks hopeful,
and I know she is thinking of John.
“It wasn’t over another boy. It’s complicated.”
“Darling, it’s never that complicated,” Stormy says. “In my day—”