WALKING ON THIN ICE

BEAUTY PAGEANT

We’re in Mary’s living room. I sit on the edge of the sofa because it creeps me out to touch it.

“Who do you think is prettier, me or Alice?” Mary asks.

I think about it for a while. Mary wears makeup; she looks like a teenager. Alice looks like she should look for a girl her age. Alice has natural blonde hair which is sparkly from being out in the sun, and blue eyes with long dark lashes. Her face blushes easily. I don’t think Mary would be so pretty if she didn’t have all the makeup. She’d look more her age. Still, Mary is probably more pretty than Alice.

“Come on, Becky, who?”

“Well, that’s difficult to say. Maybe Alice,” I say. It’s an act of rebellion. I say it to hurt her feelings.

“You just say that because she’s popular. Well, I’m going to be in a beauty pageant,” Mary says.

“Oh, really?” I say weakly. “What do you have to do for that?”

“It’s not only about beauty. It’s what you wear, and the hair style, and how you do in the talent part.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to dance. I have it all worked out. I’m dancing to Eye of the Tiger. Mom said I’m going to knock their socks off because I dance so sexy. Let me show you.”

The boom box is already loaded with a tape wound to the right place. “I’m going to stand over here. Push the play button down when I tell you.”

The song starts. Mary pops her shoulders to the initial thump thump thump of the music. She walks purposefully, as though on a catwalk. She makes a motion with her hand as though casting something away, then casually looks back, unconcerned, then gets down into some serious punky dance moves.

“Did you see that?” she asks. “When I threw my hand, I was supposed to be throwing my sweater. I’m going to tie a sweater around my shoulders like a preppy, and then throw it off before I really start dancing.”

* * *

Mom and Dad and Mrs. Rumsfeld go to the pageant. I’m in the makeup room with Mary to give her support. It’s a large dingy bathroom. It’s total chaos. Boxes of clothes and props are haphazardly scattered. Moms bend over their daughters. Some of the girls are kindergarteners. Girls crowd to the full length mirror.

Mary’s in the stall again. She has to go pee all the time and I’m always waiting for her. I wait for her by her box. I think It’s strange Mary wants me there. I’m not the type of girl who would enter a beauty pageant and I have no idea what to do to help.

Mary brought her own makeup mirror. Star bends down to fix a curl. Mary slaps her hand away.

“Come on, Mare, be nice,” Star says.

Star wears bell bottoms and a rabbit fur coat. Her hair’s been washed and curled and it looks orderly, like a wig. I think she’s trying to look sexy today but she still seems like a beaten down walking skeleton. When Star walks, she bends her head down. She has thick eyeglasses, so her eyes seem remote, dull. Her face is dry looking. Lines run down from her nose to her chin. On another person, they’d be laugh lines. But Star doesn’t laugh.

“Leave me alone,” Mary says.

“Fine. You can do it yourself. Don’t say I didn’t try to help you.” Star walks out.

As Star leaves, Mary mumbles “Stupid bitch. You don’t help me, you stupid bitch.”

I’m a little bewildered. How can Mary talk about her Mom this way? I think Mary’s a rotten egg.

Mary asks, “How do I look?”

“You look great. Very pretty.”

Mary’s applied thick eyeliner. I think of it as her feral racoon disguise. She wears matte pink lipstick. Her skin is orange from foundation. She never looks natural, but even so, I know all the boys find her attractive. What do I know about makeup, anyways. If the boys think she’s cute, then she must be doing it right.

A pretty brunette comes up to us. She’s not wearing as much makeup, and her hair looks healthy, shiny.

“Becky, this is my friend Ann,” Mary says. “She’s been doing this since she’s little. And she’s won a lot of pageants.”

“Congratulations,” I tell Ann. I look quickly at her face, but it seems so perfect that it blinds me. I feel embarrassed about myself, and I stare at the floor.

“My Mom’s my manager,” Ann says.

“Ann’s been in commercials, too. She never ever eats sweets and she exercises every day.”

“For an hour,” Ann says.

An organizer opens the door. Everyone turns quiet. “OK girls, Moms, you have five minutes.” Door closes.

Mary looks in the mirror. “Oh shit, my hair’s all wrong. These curls have not set right. I wish I had more time. I’d redo it.”

I don’t understand why it takes so much time to do hair. The more Mary looks at her hair, the more she doesn’t like it. It’s like she can’t see herself, or she changes her mind all the time.

“Don’t worry. You’re great.” I don’t know what hair’s supposed to look like, but this seems like the right thing for me to say.

I run out to the audience before the show starts. There aren’t very many other kids in the audience, just parents and family. I sit between Mom and Mrs. Rumsfeld.

“Are you going to be in a beauty show, too?” Mrs. Rumsfeld asks.

“Aw, no. Not me. I’m just here for a friend.” But I’m honored that she thinks I could do this. It seems as far away as the moon to me.

* * *

Mary’s in a queue to perform with the other girls. The queue is organized by age. Her white jeans are very tight, and they do not have bells, because they are new. Her feet are in white cowboy boots. She wears a preppy pink and white dress shirt with the collar turned up. The dress shirt is not tucked in to the jeans. A wide pink belt with a big gold buckle is wrapped around her waist. Big pink oval earrings dangle from her ears. She’s tied a fluffy pink sweater over her shoulders like the preppies.

None of the other girls look as adult as Mary or have as much obvious makeup.

The moms are segregated from the rest of the audience. They’re not supposed to make any noise.

I look behind me and see Mary’s Dad way out standing against the back wall. There are seats up here by us. I wonder why he doesn’t want to sit by us. I’m surprised to see him here. Sometimes he’s not home for weeks and I forget Mary has a dad. He’s not smiling. I wonder if he’s bored. He justs stares at Mary with a blank expression.

* * *

It’s Mary’s turn to perform. She’s shaking a little. She does not look at us.

“Oh boy, look at that one,” says woman in the row ahead of us. “She looks mature for her age.”

Eye of the Tiger starts, and Mary’s activated. The first part looks mechanical. After Mary drops her sweater on the floor, she coyly shrugs it off.

“Ew,” whispers Mrs. Rumsfeld. “That’s way too adult.”

Mary comes to life in the dance part. She whips her head, performs somersaults, and everything is flawlessly timed to the music. Her expression is stern.

I look back at Mary’s Dad. Something about the way he’s standing bothers me. Now it’s the end of the song, and there’s a noticeable silence.

“Woohoo Mary!” Mom yells. She’s broken the silence and everyone claps.

The judges do not have an exceptional opinion of Mary’s performance. The numbers are average.

* * *

On the way home, I listen to Mom and Dad in the car.

“She’s probably living through her daughter,” Dad says. “She wants to make her into a miniature version of what she’d like to be.”

“Well, I think it’s good for Mary,” Mom says. “It’s exciting for her. And she has an aptitude in beauty. Why not use it?”

“Yep. Anyways, regardless of what her Mom’s like, Mary’s smart,” Dad says. “She’s going to find some way to get ahead.”

I’m glad I don’t have to think about ways to get ahead. I’m glad I don’t think Mom’s a stupid bitch, and that Dad’s home at night and he’s fun to be around.