Free Stealing Home by Ellen Schwartz Page A

said.
    “But you’ve got to hide those bruises somehow,” Grossie argued. “Come on, Joey, at least let me try.”
    “But makeup’s for girls.”
    “Not
all
girls,” Bobbie growled.
    “You’d rather get punished?” Grossie said.
    Joey thought of Zeyde. If he was caught fighting again … would Zeyde really do it? All of a sudden, a little makeup didn’t sound so bad. “All right. But just a bit, Grossie.”
    “Promise,” Grossie said. “Close your eyes and hold still.”
    Something soft and velvety brushed against Joey’s forehead. It actually felt nice, though the bruise smarted. Back and forth went the soft pad, light as a feather on his skin.
    “There,” Grossie said in a satisfied tone. “See, Bobbie? It’s almost invisible.”
    Bobbie peered at Joey. Her expression changed. “Well…”
    “Told you. Now, hold still.” As he approached with the pad, Bobbie squirmed.
    Now that he’d gone through it, Joey could enjoy Bobbie’s misery. “Oh, dah-ling,” he crooned.
    “Shut up,” she said through gritted teeth.
    Joey chuckled. “I think you hate this more than I did, Bobbie.”
    “I do,” she snapped. “I hate girly stuff.”
    “But you look so glamorous …” Joey teased.
    She lunged. “I’ll give you one!”
    “Hold still!” Grossie said. He managed to get the powder on, then led them to the bathroom mirror.
    “I got to hand it to you, Grossie,” Bobbie said grudgingly. “It works. But the minute we get by Zeyde –”
    “
If
we get by Zeyde –”
    “– I’m washing it off!”
    Joey and Bobbie walked quietly into the house. Zeyde was in his chair in the living room, reading the paper. Helooked up. Joey held his breath. Bobbie went very still.
    “Been playing ball?” Zeyde asked.
    “Yup,” Bobbie said, staying in the doorway.
    “Have fun?”
    “Yup. Sure did. Didn’t we, Joey?”
    “Uh … yeah. Lots of fun.”
    “You’re filthy,” Zeyde said.
    “That’s because… we were practicing sliding,” Bobbie said. “So we can get good at it. And steal bases. Like Jackie Robinson. Right, Joey?”
    “Right.”
    “And we kept practicing, all afternoon. Leg slides. Stomach slides. So naturally we got dirty and a little banged up. Right, Joey?”
    “Right.” He elbowed his cousin. She was trying so hard, he was sure she’d tip Zeyde off.
    Zeyde gave them an odd look. “I don’t mind. It’s just dirt.” He returned to his paper.
    Joey and Bobbie took the steps two at a time, Joey choking down the laughter. He turned to his cousin to congratulate her. But she wasn’t there. She was already in the bathroom, washing her face.

C  H  A  P  T  E  R
9
    A streetcar rumbled down the middle of Utica Avenue, people swaying to and fro as they clung to the overhead straps. A shiny black Studebaker pulled up behind an old white Ford, and the mustachioed driver in a Panama hat beeped his horn importantly,
bee-beep!
A group of old men wearing little round caps sat on a bench, arguing in a strange, throaty language. Three teenage boys strode by, talking baseball.
    Across the street, the curved chrome front of Max’s Diner gleamed in the sunshine, and the smell of grease and potatoes floated on the air. SUMMER SALE, said a sign in the window of Grossman’s Children’s Wear. The neon-lit marquee of the Rialto Movie Palace proclaimed THIS SUMMER’S HIT – LORETTA YOUNG & JOSEPH COTTON IN THE FARMER’S DAUGHTER .
    Walking down the street between Bobbie and Zeyde, Joey drank it all in. He hadn’t been downtown since the day he’d first come to Brooklyn, and even though they were only doing errands today, he wanted to see the sights, smell the smells, meet the people, get to know his new neighborhood.
    First stop was Cohen’s Bakery. Joey’s mouth watered as he looked at the jelly doughnuts sprinkled with sugar, the chunky peanut butter cookies, the cinnamon rolls with plump raisins peeking out like shy children. There was a tray of oatmeal cookies at the side of