Orphan Train

think?”
    She shrugs. “Those flying monkeys were creepy. But other than that, I don’t know,
     I thought it was kind of boring.”
    We walk along in silence, past darkened department store windows. “What about you?”
     she says after a few minutes. “Did you like it?”
    I loved the movie so much that I don’t trust myself to respond without sounding foolish.
     “Yes,” I say, unable to translate into speech the emotions swirling through me.
    Back in my room, I change into my other outfit, a chiffon skirt and floral blouse
     with butterfly sleeves. I brush my hair over my head and toss it back, then shape
     it with my fingers and spray it with lacquer. Standing on my toes, I look at my reflection
     in a small mirror above the bed. In the late afternoon light I look scrubbed and serious.
     Every freckle on my nose is visible. Taking out a small zippered bag, I spread butter-soft
     moisturizer on my face, then foundation. A smear of rouge, a pat of powder. I slide
     a brown pencil along my upper eyelids and feather my lashes, apply Terra Coral lipstick,
     then blot my lips, apply it again, and tuck the gold vial in my purse. I scrutinize
     myself in the mirror. I’m still me, but I feel braver somehow.
    Down in the lobby, Lillian is holding hands with a guy I recognize as her fiancé,
     Richard, from the photograph she keeps in her purse. He’s shorter than I expected,
     shorter than Lillian. Acne scars pock his cheeks. Lillian’s wearing a sleeveless emerald
     shift dress, hemmed just above the knee (which is three inches shorter than anyone
     wears in Hemingford), and black kitten heels.
    Richard yanks her close, whispers in her ear, and her eyes go wide. She covers her
     mouth and giggles, then sees me. “Vivie!” she says, tearing herself away. “Look at
     you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with makeup. You clean up nice.”
    “You too,” I say, though actually I’ve never seen her without.
    “How was the movie?”
    “It was good. Where were you?”
    She glances at Richard. “I got waylaid.” They both start to giggle again.
    “That’s one way to put it,” he says.
    “You must be Richard,” I say.
    “How’d you guess?” He claps me on the shoulder to show he’s kidding around. “You ready
     for some fun tonight, Vivie?”
    “Well, I sure am!” Emily’s voice comes from over my shoulder, and I smell jasmine
     and roses— Joy, I recognize from the perfume counter at Nielsen’s. Turning to greet her, I’m startled
     by her low-cut white blouse and tight striped skirt, her teetering heels and crimson
     nail polish.
    “Hello, Em.” Richard grins. “The fellas are sure going to be happy to see you.”
    I am suddenly self-conscious in my prim blouse and modest skirt, my sensible shoes
     and churchy earrings. I feel like exactly what I am: a small-town girl in the big
     city.
    Richard has his arms around both girls now, pinching them on the waist, laughing as
     they squirm. I glance at the desk clerk, the same one who was here when we checked
     in. It’s been a long day for him, I think. He’s leafing through a newspaper and only
     looks up when there’s a raucous burst of laughter. I can see the headline from here:
     “Germans and Soviets Parade in Poland.”
    “I’m getting thirsty, girls. Let’s find a watering hole,” Richard says.
    My stomach is rumbling. “Should we get dinner first?”
    “If you insist, Miss Vivie. Though bar nuts would do it for me. What about you girls?”
     he asks the other two.
    “Now, Richard, this is Viv’s first time in the city. She’s not used to your decadent
     ways. Let’s get some food,” Lillian says. “Besides, it might be risky for us lightweights
     to start drinking on an empty stomach.”
    “Risky how?” He pulls her closer and Lillian smirks, then pushes him away, making
     her point. “All right, all right,” he says, making a show of his acquiescence. “At
     the Grand Hotel there’s a piano bar that serves chow. I seem to remember a pretty
     good T-bone. And I know they got a nice martini.”
    We make our way out onto the street, now humming with people. It’s a perfect evening;
     the air is warm, the trees along the avenue are swathed in deep green leaves. Flowers
     spill out of planters, slightly overgrown and a bit wild, here at the furthest edge
     of summer. As we stroll along my spirits lift. Mingling in this wide swath of strangers
     shifts my attention from myself, that tedious subject, to the world