Just Plain Al: The Al Series, Book Five Read Free

that’ll be the second.
    â€œMy mother says shopping with me drains her emotionally,” I told Al, “so that leaves you.”
    â€œI will be your duenna, child,” she said. “Just wait’ll I empty the garbage.”
    We fought our way through the mirrors on Bloomingdale’s ground floor. The salesgirl in the junior dress department gave us a disenchanted look. Probably her feet hurt already, and she figured us for a couple of deadbeats. And rightly so.
    â€œHave you anything on sale?” Al asked. She was her mother’s own child. Al’s mother always buys her stuff on sale. “She’ll grow into it,” Al’s mother says.
    â€œNot at this time of year.” The salesgirl sniffed. “Can I help you with anything?”
    â€œActually, we’re looking for something that would be appropriate for dining at the Rainbow Room,” Al said, sniffing back.
    The girl looked us over.
    â€œWhat size?” Her gaze skimmed the tops of our heads.
    â€œPetite,” Al said.
    â€œAh, yes, petite.” The girl smiled. “Perhaps something on this rack might do. Call me if you see something you like.”
    We went through the rack in record time. “My mother says they never tell their right size,” Al said. “If they’re above a size twelve, they lie. If you ask me, people in this country think too much about what size they are. Take Russia. I bet they don’t think about sizes in Russia.”
    We didn’t find anything at Bloomie’s, so we decided to go across to Alexander’s, where it’s much cheaper. On our way out we stopped at the food shop. Bloomie’s is famous for its exotic goodies. They frequently hand out free samples. Last time we got a memorable chocolate-chip cookie.
    A girl wearing a peasant costume handed us a little square of something attached to a toothpick. We each took one.
    â€œWhat is it?” Al asked, putting hers in her mouth. She must’ve been very hungry. Usually Al wants to know what she’s eating.
    â€œHeadcheese,” the girl said, flashing her gums at us.
    â€œWhat’s it made of?”
    â€œActually, it’s got a bit of this and a bit of that in it.” I think she was Danish.
    â€œAre you Danish?” I asked her.
    â€œOn my mother’s side.” She had very long gums.
    â€œWhat’s ‘a bit of this and a bit of that’ mean?” Al stopped chewing. Her cheek bulged where she’d stored her free sample.
    â€œA bit of the tongue, a bit of the brains, too. As well as the head, of course. Hence the name ‘headcheese.’” The girl’s eyes were very bright as she studied Al’s face. Al has one of those faces that shows everything.
    â€œWhose head?” Al managed to get out.
    â€œThe calf, or maybe the pig’s. It depends.”
    Slowly, slowly, Al spit out what was left of her free sample. Mine lay heavy at the bottom of my stomach.
    â€œIs there a trash can around?” Al whispered, not looking at what lay in her palm.
    â€œGee, I don’t know,” the girl said brightly. “I’m only here for the day.”
    Al stomped off. I had a hard time keeping up. She went through the revolving door like a whirling dervish and hit the street at a gallop.
    â€œDid you hear her? I almost barfed!” Al clutched her throat. “I almost lost my cookies all over Bloomie’s food shop. Do you think she was putting us on? Do you think she made that up?”
    â€œNo,” I said, “I think she was telling the truth.”
    â€œI have a feeling this is not my day,” Al said. Somehow we’d lost our interest in shopping. “Look,” I said, pointing. “There’s one of those cheapo hot dog wagons on the corner. Let’s get one.” Despite the headcheese inside me, I was hungry.
    â€œYou’re kidding me!” Al yelled, still clutching her throat. “I may never eat