Rosemary Danced: Ivy Book One Page 6

  Mike: Hi, Rosemary. This is Mike Studor. Hope my mom let you know I’m going to tutor you.

  Rosemary: Just got a text. I won’t be home until next week but working on the tutorials online.

  Mike: Questions?

  Rosemary: Just some little stuff. I have to get to work right now; can I email questions later? I have to work until seven-thirty or so, your time.

  Mike: K. U in a different time zone?

  Rosemary: Eastern. TTYL

  Mike checked his email three times before he saw the email from her just before he went to bed.

  Hi, Mike. Thanks for agreeing to tutor me. I’m kind of embarrassed that I need tutoring, but math has never been easy for me and I don’t want to be stressed about Alg. II any more than necessary. Below are pics of the three problems I was working on that I couldn’t seem to get right. Would you look them over and give me some pointers? Take your time, I probably won’t get back to this until tomorrow evening. Thanks. R.

  Mike grabbed a tablet and set the problems. He worked through them and compared his to Rosemary’s. He found a small transposition error in one of her problems, one problem had an issue with the order of operations and in the third, she had set up the equation for a narrative problem incorrectly. He embedded pictures of his work and typed in comments after each problem, explaining what he had done, why he’d done it, and the differences between hers and his.

  Rosemary responded the next evening.

  Hey, Mike. Thanks for looking at my questions. I have one for tonight, and I’m starting already to see a pattern with narrative problems, meaning I think they make me even more nervous than numbers-only problems. I had a teacher in fifth grade that loved ‘story problems’ and also loved to slap her desk with a yard stick when we got something wrong with them. I may have been traumatized. (That’s the excuse I’m going with—I’ll have to think of another one about fractions, if/when I encounter them.) Anyway, translating the narrative into the proper set-up of the equation is a challenge. R.

  From Mike:

  Elementary-school-math-teacher-trauma is common with math issues later in a school career. (The struggle is real.) Joking aside, setting up equations from narrative problems isn’t easy. My dad started making a game of it for me when I was in third grade, so it’s fun for me. I understand that math is not fun for everyone. By the way, don’t worry about needing a tutor. It happens. Personally, writing is not fun for me. Have you ever met Miss Lawson? She is SCARY. Any writing/grammar trauma I harbor in my psyche is directly related to her. M.P.S.

  From Rosemary:

  Sorry about your writing/grammar trauma. I actually met Miss Lawson last year. My mom went to conferences, but my dad had a meeting, so I went along to entertain my baby brother Jared while my mom conferenced. Miss Lawson was nice to me. (I understand she is formidable in class). Perhaps she was nice because, a) I’m not her student, b) she likes babies, or, c) she loves dancing. Did you know that before she was an English teacher, Miss Lawson danced in New York? In fact, she was a Rockette at Radio City Music Hall. There’s some trivia for you. I thought of some random questions today while I was waiting to be called to the set. See attachment. Thanks. R.

  From Mike:

  I can’t picture the Divine Miss L as a Rockette, but I’ll consider it further. Formidable doesn’t begin to cover her behavior in class, but my mom assures me Miss L is a lot of fun as a co-worker. Perhaps the fact that you weren’t her student made her more pleasant. She likes babies? Something else difficult for me to visualize. I am intrigued: What is it you’re doing, in another time zone, ‘waiting to be called to the set’? Are you an actress? Are you starring in a musical? A remake of ‘Guys and Dolls’? ‘Singing in the Rain’? By the way, your questions are answered below. M.P.S.

  From Rosemary:

  If you heard my singing, you wouldn’t ask if I’m in a musical. No, I do some plus-sized modeling. Boring work, but decent pay. This has been an unusual shoot; more like a party than the usual grind. No math questions for you today. Thanks. R.

  From Rosemary:

  My flight was delayed in Miami for five hours. While I waited, I completed two full chapters. Several questions below. No hurry; I won’t be looking at math again for a couple of days. Thanks. R.

  From Mike:

  Responses to your questions are in the attachment. Do you want to set up a face to face tutoring session after you get back? Thanks. M.P.S.

  From Rosemary:

  I can’t. I get home for the holiday, leave the next day, gone another week. R.

  From Mike:

  K. More singing and dancing? Ha. Ha. Keep emailing questions. M.P.S.

  Chapter 10

  Rosemary put the last cookie in the tub and snapped the lid on tight. She smiled when her mother walked into the kitchen. “I like your hair, honey. I haven’t seen it like that before.”

  “The stylist on the Bahamas job showed me how to do it. It’s mostly a series of ponys tucked to create volume. If it’s humid and my hair’s curly, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What were you modeling on that job?”

  “It was less ‘what’ and more ‘who.’ It was a virtual fashion show for a new designer along with a big spread in Curves.For.Me magazine.”

  “I hadn’t had a chance to ask what you thought of the Bahamas.”

  “The beaches are beautiful. The shoot was on a big oceanfront property with a mansion and a couple of guest houses. There was actually a mix-up with our accommodations; most of the models ended up staying in the guest houses because there weren’t any available hotel rooms on the island. The organizers had to bring in catered meals; it was fun.”

  “So, you were in the guest house?”

  “No, I was in the main house. There weren’t enough beds in the guest houses. I was the youngest model on the shoot, and since I was uninterested in the well-stocked bar on the lanai between the guest houses, I volunteered to sleep in the main house. I was the only model who didn’t look like death warmed-over in the mornings. It’s quite possible that I was given more time in front of the camera because I’d been a good girl.”

  Margie laughed. “Your nonnie has always said nice girls win out in the end.”

  “Nonnie’s always right.” Rosemary placed the tub of cookies with the rest of the food that was going with them. “I’m going to change my clothes. I’ll be ready in ten.”

  Rosemary held Jared while Margie unloaded their picnic basket. “There are a lot of people here.” She looked around at the big backyard that not only had numerous Independence Day decorations, but picnic tables covered with colorful tablecloths and several groups of lawn chairs in circles. The food was crowded on a huge table, with the exception of several ‘stations’ around the yard. There was a lemonade stand with a server, movie popcorn popper staffed by a ‘popcorn girl,’ and an actual antique bike with a huge ice cream freezer on the front with the ice cream man, complete with paper hat, handing out ice cream treats strategically placed around the big yard. Dozens of people milled about.

  “This party is always big and it’s a lot of fun.”

  “I’ve always gone to the lake with Pete’s family for the holiday.” Rosemary smiled sadly.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Margie hugged her.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back in a minute.” Rosemary handed the baby to her mom and slipped out of the back gate, hoping the bench under the maple tree was unoccupied. Cruz had shown her the peaceful spot one day when she’d come over to help his sister with a dance routine.

  Sinking down on the bench, she took a deep breath. She’d been so busy in the past ten days, she’d almost forgotten that today might be hard. She had gone to Pete’s lake house on West Okoboji for the first time when she was ten. Pete’s dad had still been alive then; he’d taken them fishing, out riding on the boat and had taught Rosemary to water ski when she was twelve years old. When she was thirteen and Pete was fourteen, Tad drove the boat while Mr. Noah watched from the dock. He’d died of cancer
a few months later. I hope you and your dad have a great lake to fish in, Pete. Wiping her eyes, she went back to the party.

  Cruz met her in the yard. “There you are. My brother saw you head out the back gate; I thought I was going to have to track you down in the park.”

  “I took a breather on the bench under the tree.”

  “Can I buy you some of my dad’s famous lemonade?”

  “Sure.” Cruz asked for two lemonades and handed Rosemary one of the tall glasses full of chipped ice and lemonade. They found two chairs in a quiet area of the patio. Everyone had moved to the huge side yard to either play in or watch a lively corn-hole tournament.

  “So, Darcie?” she asked softly.

  Cruz smiled faintly. “I taught her to drive, took her to dance lessons, and watched out for her when her mom was sick. I’m the protective older cousin or brother she never had.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “I don’t see it that way.” He grinned suddenly. “She bakes for me, so there’s that.”

  Rosemary laughed. “Let’s go see what excitement we can find in the park.”

  “In Ivy? You’re looking for excitement in Ivy?”

  “Not really; it was just a figure of speech. But, let’s go walk around and get our minds off our worries.”

  They walked slowly, talking and laughing. Rosemary felt an ease with Cruz that she hadn’t felt with anyone except Pete.

  “I forgot to tell you, Miss Bakker, you look very pretty today. What do you call that color?”

  “Fuchsia.” Rosemary’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “The uninspired might refer to it as dark pink, but the designer calls this a ‘fuchsia pointille` Suisse summer frock.’

  “Frock?”

  “Old-fashioned word for dress. This is a dark pink dotted-swiss summer dress with a halter top. Very retro, very mid-century, which is why I feel comfortable wearing it. The more modern versions show a lot more skin than I like.”

  “You look good. You’ve got some serious muscles in your arms and your legs, girl. I feel kind of wimpy in comparison.”

  Rosemary shrugged. “Dancing is intense. What shall we do first?”

  “There’s a softball game, a pretty baby contest, a lawn darts competition, a washers tournament, kiddie rides, music at the bandstand or snacks. How about lawn darts first?”

  “Okay.”

  After watching lawn darts, they listened to live music at the bandstand. As they walked slowly back towards the Keller’s house, Rosemary flinched when she heard a familiar voice calling her name. “Hi, Oma. What are you doing here?”

  “Our church fundraiser.” Oma pointed to the sign advertising her church selling desserts.

  “I see. Oma, this is my friend, Cruz Cruzado.”

  Oma sniffed. She nodded at Cruz, ignoring his outstretched hand. She turned back to Rosemary. “Where is your mother?”

  “Why?”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  Rosemary laughed. “Yes.”

  Oma looked at Cruz. “I wish to speak to my granddaughter privately.”

  “I’ll wait over there, Rosemary.”

  Cruz went to the dessert tent and ordered pie. Rosemary smoothed her face into a bland smile. “Okay, Oma. What’s going on?”

  “Did your mother see you before you left the house in that revealing dress? Couldn’t you have least brushed your hair? It looks like a rat’s nest. Does your mother know you’re with that man?”

  Rosemary ignored everything but the last statement. “Of course, she knows. Cruz’s mom is the associate pastor at our church. Our parents are friends. Our families are together at a party across the street.” Rosemary pointed to the stately home surrounded by a tall fence.

  “That’s Dr. Keller’s house.”

  “That’s right. Cruz is Dr. Keller’s son.”

  Oma recoiled. “What are you talking about? Dr. Keller is white! It’s impossible that boy is Dr. Keller’s son.”

  “Dr. Keller and Reverend Jocelyn Keller both have children from previous marriages and adopted the other’s children when they were married. Cruz and his sister kept their late father’s name out of respect for him, but he is Dr. Keller’s son.”

  “This Jocelyn is black?”

  “Reverend Jocelyn Keller is black, and her late husband was black. You know what, Oma? I don’t have to explain my friends to you. Excuse me.” Rosemary walked away. She stopped to whisper in Cruz’s ear before she made her way alone to the restroom.

  She had passed the tents when a skinny young man with a huge nose stepped from behind the last tent and stepped in front of her. “Marty, what are you doing here?” Rosemary asked.

  “I’m helping your grandmother with the fundraiser. Something you should be doing.”

  “I’m at a party with my family today.”

  “It looks like you’re walking around with some black guy. Your family is nowhere around.”

  “They’re at that house, at a party Cruz’s parents are hosting.” Rosemary pointed to the Keller’s house. “We took a walk before lunch. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

  “I’m concerned about your Oma. Since her only grandchild isn’t concerned with her.” Marty stepped closer and wrapped his hand roughly around Rosemary’s arm.

  “My relationship with Oma is none of your business.” She wrenched her arm away. “That hurts, Marty.”

  “You’re such a whiner. You always have been; you were always crying about getting pushed down or losing your babydoll.”

  “You should know. You were the one who was doing the pushing.”

  “It’s time you got something straight. Start treating your oma right or you’ll deal with me.”

  Rosemary laughed. “Whatever.”

  “It’s a shame your grandparents didn’t win the case to get custody of you when you were a baby. If they had, you’d be an actual credit to them, instead of such a disappointment.” He sneered. “You must not have any self-respect. If you did, you wouldn’t wear inappropriate things like that…that dress you’re too fat to wear. It’s disgusting that you’re showing your back fat and your fat arms.”

  Rosemary looked embarrassed. “I…”

  “That’s enough.” Cruz put his hand on her elbow. “Come on, Rosemary.”

  “This is a private conversation.”

  “It’s not private; you’re yelling insults at my friend in a public place. Get lost, loser.” Cruz led Rosemary away.

  “I’m sorry, Cruz. My grandmother was horrible to you.”

  “I don’t care about that. I can’t stand how she treated you.”

  “She acts like we’re still living in the Happy Days era. You should see me when I go to their house. I dress like a Stepford wife while smiling vacantly, just like she wants.”

  “You know that’s screwed up, right? You dress more conservatively than any seventeen-year old girl I’ve ever met. Let’s sit down on the bench.” They sat on the bench behind Keller’s back fence. “What was that about your grandparents having a case to get custody of you?”

  “My dad was killed before I was born, when Mom was only nineteen. Oma was convinced my mom couldn’t raise me, so she sued for custody. Mom hasn’t told me much, but Oma had Mom followed twenty-four hours a day for months, trying to find things on her. The only real issue was Mom was very depressed after my dad died. The depression is what Oma used as grounds to bring the case. I’m not sure about any other details, but Oma didn’t win. Since then, she’s been relentless in her criticism of Mom.”

  Cruz was quiet for a few minutes, absorbing what Rosemary had told him. He shook his head. “That’s messed up. But aside from that, who was that ugly guy treating you like dirt?”

  “He’s a distant cousin named Marty Maass. I absolutely can’t stand him. Even if he was a decent guy, he’d nauseate me because of the way he fawns all over Oma.”

  “I really wanted to deck him, but that probably would’ve been a bad idea.” He sighed and took her hand. “Come
on, I invited some of my frat brothers and I should be here if they show up.”

  Cruz’s frat brothers ate copious amounts of food, all while telling hilarious stories about Cruz. One of his frat brothers, Seth, was a little quieter than the others. He chatted with Rosemary almost exclusively, asking her about dancing and expressing sympathy about Pete when it came up. Rosemary, normally very shy with people she didn’t know, felt comfortable enough to chat with him after Seth told her he’d be starting Seminary in the fall. She was shocked when she realized it was after six o’clock.

  “Guys, it’s been fun, but I have to get home and pack for a trip.”

  “Where are you off to, Rosemary?” Cruz asked.

  “A shoot on the edge of Lake Superior under some famous waterfalls.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’ll get in the early afternoon on the eleventh. Guys, it was nice to meet you all. I’m going to find Jocelyn to thank her and then I’m out.” Giving Cruz a quick kiss on the cheek, she waved and disappeared into the house.

  Back from the Lake Superior shoot, Rosemary tossed her suitcase into the back seat before she read the text.

  Dad: Rosemary, are you on the road home yet?

  Rosemary: Getting gas, then yeah. What’s up?

  Dad: Can you do me a favor? My printer quit, I have a board meeting tonight and I need some documents printed. Could you stop at Zippy Office and get me a new printer? I’ll text a pic of what I need.

  Rosemary: Sure. I’ll drop it off when I get into Ivy.

  Dad: Great. Sending pic now. THANK YOU. Love you.

  Rosemary: Love you, too.