The photo caption said his name was Sohn Kee Chung. He won a gold medal for the men’s marathon at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. They called it “Hitler’s Games” because it was right before World War II, when Hitler used the Olympics to show off his power.
Sohn Kee Chung represented Japan, which occupied Korea. He probably looked mad because he had to wear a Japanese team jersey, the trademark of the invaders.
Now here was a Korean who inspired me. Someone I could relate to…and be related to? Maybe Sohn Kee Chung could be my grandfather, and I could write my essay about him! Why not? It was a harmless idea. Mrs. Peroutka would get all gaga when she read my saga, I’d get a good grade, and my parents and I would avoid any more painful pangs caused by talking about adoption.
“Last chance for a milkshake, Joseph,” Gina called from downstairs. “And just for you, we used real chocolate bars and Lactaid milk to make them!”
Real chocolate bars? “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” I saved my place in the book. Now the essay actually seemed doable. Still a pain in the butt, but at least I had a cool name and face to relate to.
“Not too short around the ears,” I told Aunt Foxy as she snipped away at my hair.
“Don’t worry,” she said. She knew I didn’t want my ears sticking out like a Chihuahua’s.
Aunt Foxy has cut my hair ever since I started middle school. That’s because Mom can’t resist the temptation to style my hair like an upside-down bowl, the way she did in my preschool days. So Mom and I struck a deal. Aunt Foxy is allowed to cut my hair any way I want and Mom can’t say boo—as long as I don’t pierce any body parts.
Aunt Foxy was snipping along my neck and talking with Mom, who was at the sink rinsing Mrs. Bertolotti’s body wave.
“What a jerk Walt turned out to be,” Aunt Foxy said. “Cheap, too. He actually expected me to pay for the cheesecake and espresso last night. This, after he told me we were through!”
“Good riddance to him. What’s that saying? A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle,” Mom said.
“Without two bicycles,” Aunt Foxy added, laughing. Then she looked down and smiled. “A friend of yours came in for a cut and blow-dry the other day, Joseph.”
“Who?”
“A blonde with natural highlights. Hair past her shoulders and no split ends.”
“She have a name?”
“Kelly, I think it was.”
Wow! Just days ago, Kelly Gerken had sat in this very chair. I felt starstruck, like when you go to a restaurant and see a framed photo of a celebrity dining there.
“She said we were friends?”
“She said a lot more than that—how funny you are and how you make her laugh. She’s a looker all right, and very picky about her hair. If she weren’t your friend, I would’ve told her to chill out, what with all her bossy orders about evening out her layers.”
She thinks I’m funny? I make her laugh?
Mrs. Bertolotti shuffled back from the sink to Mom’s cutting station. The lady walked so slow it shouldn’t even be called walking, but she’d had a stroke a few years ago and was way up there in years.
“Since when does Kelly come here for haircuts?” I asked.
“Since Tiffany, that wenchy hairdresser at Beau Coup, ran off to LA and deserted her customers.” Aunt Foxy ran the razor across what I call my sideburns.
“Did Kelly say anything about having a boyfriend?”
“Nope. Besides, Joseph, it doesn’t matter. At your age boyfriends are like credit cards. A girl can switch any time she gets a better deal.”
Aunt Foxy sprinkled talc on my neck and unfastened the plastic smock. I got up and saw Mrs. Bertolotti was still only halfway to Mom’s station. I took her arm and helped her along. She smiled through thick glasses that made her blue eyes look like giant gum balls.
“You’re going to make one fine husband, Joseph,” she said. Her bony hand trembled, and she smelled like roses.
“I hope Mr. Bertolotti doesn’t catch us arm in arm like this,” I said, and she chuckled.
I smiled back. I liked making Mrs. Bertolotti laugh. And I’d finally gotten my foot in the door of Kelly’s world.
Courting Miss MVP
The curse of a superstitious Italian mother struck again. No wonder I felt nervous that Friday the thirteenth was C-day, as Frankie calls it when you make contact with a girl for the first time.
That afternoon was Kelly’s softball game, and I was asking her to the movies afterward. No matter what. Aunt Foxy’s words echoed in my mind: “You make her laugh.” If only I could get Kelly to share popcorn and a box of Junior Mints, who knows? Maybe going to the Farewell Formal together wasn’t the impossible dream.