Oh it was all too much for them. Dinner beforehand — Marv said let’s pick a place we know from home, the Olive Garden, T.G.I.Friday’s, but Mim said no, a new place, anyplace, please — and now a show, one with old-fashioned costumes and a spotlight that followed the leading man around the stage while in the background his castmates froze, still as trees, feigning invisibility, until the song was over. Think they get stiff up there? Marv whispered to Mim, and she knuckled his leg and held one angry finger to her lips. I’m just saying, Marv whispered again.
It was too much — too much. Mim had a feeling inside her like a train approaching. She was seventy last week. She had seen plays before, but she had never seen anything like this. Never up close. The theater was huge, a palace, with little white lights lining the aisles and a ceiling that was painted like the sky. She became very still, and a tear fell down her cheek when the leading lady sang her final song. She’ll die, she’ll die, thought Mim, without breathing; she’s going to die! Sure enough, one scene later, dead on the ground. And so pretty, too — wearing a blue dress that came to her ankles, with little black shoes beneath. The skirt swung heavily when she danced and formed a pool about her when she fell to the floor in her final scene. Mim had made a dress like that for Sherry once when Sherry was a girl, six years old, wanting a Cinderella costume for Halloween. Sherry would look lovely onstage too, thought Mim, though she was never much of a singer. The leading lady came out with everyone else afterward and bowed twice, and twice again. Then the curtain parted in the middle and the lady walked out, alone this time, not scared at all, and received a bouquet from a man who climbed up the stairs at the side of the stage. Red roses. Two dozen or more. She’s alive! It’s a miracle! said Marv. He was always joking, but this time it didn’t matter how loud he was, because everyone around them was clapping. Oh Marv, said Mim.
* * *
In her purse was a camera for taking pictures of Sherry and Sherry’s new boyfriend — maybe even Sherry’s apartment, if she invited them — along with a tube of lipstick that Mim was going to apply in the bathroom on their way out. Now don’t get too excited, said Marv; you always get too excited. Also a change purse, and a wallet, and a small pack of tissues, and her reading glasses and a comb. And something called Mr. Cheap’s Guide to New York, which Marv had insisted on getting back in Utah, and a prepaid, disposable cell phone — she had not known such things existed — that they would share to keep in touch with Sherry, who had said that visiting New York without a cell phone would be a recipe for disaster. But so far New York had been better than she could have expected. Only eight hours since they had landed at the airport, only six since they had checked into their hotel, and already they had befriended the young couple staying in the room next to theirs on the way down in the elevator, and a taxi driver who told them that the best place to go for cheap shopping was Canal Street. Mim wanted sunglasses and a scarf, and Marv wanted a wallet he could fit all his cards in — he joined organizations compulsively; the library, the AARP, AAA, USAA — along with stamps and the photos he had of Sherry at ages four, ten and seventeen. Where’s Canal Street? Mim had asked Sherry, when they called her earlier from their hotel phone. Sherry had said she would show them on a map.
They were shuffling out of the theater now, one foot in front of the other. Two thin young women pushed past her on the right, saying silly things to each other breathlessly. Because, because, said one, you love him! And the other nearly fell apart laughing.
This was New York.
Last week, out to dinner on Mim’s birthday, Marv had presented her with two plane tickets in a Hallmark card that said: To My Loving Wife. Just for the weekend, he said, because did she know how expensive hotels in New York were?
She had phoned Sherry when they got home and asked her if she knew what her father had done. Yes, said Sherry, and my present to you guys is tickets to a Broadway show.
With you? asked Mim. Could you come too?
Sherry had said she wished she could, but work was killing her, and Fridays were hard. She said they could all meet up afterward and go out together. She’d show them the city on Saturday and Sunday. Think about what you guys want to do, she said.
Maybe your new friend can come out with us, said Mim. After the show on Friday.
He might, Sherry had said. But let me double-check.
Mim had spent the week packing and repacking. She had called Sherry twice more than was necessary: once to ask about the weather, and once to ask about what people wore to Broadway shows.
* * *
Outside the theater Mim was surprised by how light it was, still, at eleven o’clock. There were men selling things everywhere. A policeman on a horse. A man on a bicycle with a little carriage behind it that could fit two people comfortably. Look, Marv! she said, and he said, A bicycle built for three! Then he was bumped forcefully by a man who walked past them in a rage, shouting about the teachers he had had as a boy, how they picked on him, how they all called him names. Well, said Marv, excuse me. He rubbed his shoulder where the man had made contact. He would sulk for a while; he was as unforgiving as a child. Give me that phone, Marv, said Mim. It was eleven o’clock already, and time to call Sherry.
It was so loud in Times Square that she couldn’t even tell if the phone was ringing. She couldn’t hear anything on the other end, though she plugged one ear and dove through the crowd for a nook in the building behind her, so she could stand facing it. Sherry? she said, but then from behind her she heard Marv cry, There she is! and she spun around to look. There she was, Sherry, walking toward them with her arms folded and her shoulders up by her ears, looking down at the ground and then, every tenth step or so, up at them; weaving in and out of the crowd gracefully, shorter than average but noticeable, striking, a real stand-out. There she is! Marv said again.
She had a short haircut now, and she was wearing her after-work clothes, flats and jeans and a T-shirt with writing on it. As she got closer Mim saw it said Grandview Elementary, and she took a deep breath in happiness — it was the school Sherry had gone to as a child in Provo. She had kept it all these years. Who could have known she would? She was a mystery to Mim, sly as a doe since early childhood, all of her actions furtive and therefore special and dear.
Marv was hugging her hard, his great arms pinning both of hers to her side. Hi, sweetheart! he said. She’s too skinny, he said, to Mim. Isn’t she too skinny?
