Free Wifey by Judy Blume Page B

nobody here but me,” Mona said.
    “Please, Mom, Zelda doesn’t want you to see her in just pajamas.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since I’ve gotten modest, Mrs. Schaedel. It just happened a few weeks ago.”
    “I see,” Mona said. “All right, but hurry down because then you have to go to sleep even if it is New Year’s Eve.”
    “Whew . . .” Zelda/Lisbeth said, when Mona was gone.
    They got into their pajamas and robes and went downstairs, where they were hugged and kissed by Mona and Ivan’s friends. Friends from the Sunday Night Club, where the women played Mah-Jongg and the men played poker, friends from the Tuesday night group, where the women played canasta and the men played poker, and friends from the Friday Night Dance class, where Mr. Zaporro came to the house and taught them the cha-cha-cha.
    Sandy had to call the friends
Uncle
or
Aunt,
and let them pinch her cheeks. When she and Zelda/Lisbeth went downstairs, Aunt Totsie spilled champagne on Sandy’s robe and Uncle Jerry was too busy to kiss her because he had his hand up Aunt Ruthie’s dress. Aunt Ruthie wore black stockings and the girls could see clear up to her garters, even caught a glimpse of her black girdle. That was really funny because Aunt Ruthie was married to Uncle Ned and Uncle Jerry was married to Aunt Edie.
    “Do you think they’re going to do it?” Zelda/Lisbeth whispered to Sandy.
    “No, they’re just good friends.”
    “She has her hand on his fly.”
    “I know, but they’re just good friends, believe me. Sometimes good friends act that way.”
    “I never knew that.”
    “Yes. When it’s New Year’s Eve anything goes.”
    “Oh.”
    L ISBETH HAD SUCH DREAMS! Getting married and having babies was enough for the rest of the crowd but not for Lisbeth. She dreamed of being president of Lord and Taylor’s. After all, she read the
New York Times
and longed for a zebra-covered sofa and a Manhattan apartment when the rest of them were concerned with Saturday night dates and being felt up.
    And later this same Lisbeth marched on Washington and no longer dreamed of zebra-covered sofas because her consciousness had been raised to such a degree that she insisted that her mother get rid of her cherished Persian lamb coat and hat. Mrs. Rabinowitz, who had a friend, who had a cousin, who knew a man who manufactured Borgana coats and the summer before they went off to college had schlepped both girls into New York, to the wholesale house, where each bought a Borgana coat for freshman year. Lisbeth had whispered to Sandy, “It feels so good against my skin I’d like to turn it inside out and wear it naked.” And later, after she’d met Vincent, called Sandy to say, “You know that coat . . . the Borgana one . . . well, Vincent and I make love on it . . . in his office . . . on the floor . . . you ought to try using yours for that, San . . . it’s terrific!”
    “Sandy! It’s been so long . . .” Lisbeth sang, hugging her, outside the Plaza. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, I’m fine, why?”
    “I don’t know. You looked tired.”
    “I’ve had a busy morning.”
    “Well, let’s get a table. I’ve got so much to tell you.”
    Lisbeth was in French pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway to her navel. Sandy felt very suburban in her linen suit.
    “We’re leaving for Maine on the first, taking the whole month off. Vincent is thinking about doing a book.”
    Vincent was always thinking about doing a book.
    “I’m just going to relax, unwind, be free.”
    “Sounds wonderful. How’s Miranda . . . is she going with you?”
    “Of course. She has friends there. You should see her, San . . . I should have brought pictures . . . she’s got tiny breasts and just had her first period. I taught her to use Tampax right off. Remember how we had to put up with those disgusting pads?”
    Sandy nodded.
    “Let’s order. Then I want to hear all about you.”
    Sandy scanned the menu. “Did you ever have