Opening Belle Read Free Page A

square dancers, they form a fairly impressive circle and enthusiastically hurl the thing back and forth while clapping to the beat of the music. I catch a glimpse of the object they’re throwing: a shiny and sort of hairy ball that catches the light for a moment each time it’s thrown. I want to leave but am transfixed because something about the object seems familiar. The dancing, jumping, sweaty men cheer, and the circle grows larger. They shout each time someone catches the thing and I can’t help but watch.
    When I realize what they are throwing, I have a millisecond conversation in my head that goes something like this:
    Logical Me : “Take a second. Do you really want to make a scene?”
    Hysterical Me : “I’m going to kick King’s bony ass.”
    Logical Me : “If you do this, you lose all respect; just intercept it, put it back in the Toys ‘R’ Us bag, and elegantly exit left.”
    Hysterical Me : “This is it, I’m going in.”
    Logical Me : “Back away, no confrontation, no fight. Status quo keeps your reputation.”
    Hysterical Me : “They are throwing around Brigid’s Haircut Barbie head. My four-year-old’s present from Santa, the one I just stood on a Toys ‘R’ Us line forty-five minutes for, the last one on the shelf.”
    I leap the two steps down to get to the dance floor. Marcus has the Barbie head pulled to his ear and releases her quarterback-style. I lunge and intercept and can’t believe how well I just did that. I hold her by her tousled hair while some guys start whistling and I start shouting.
    â€œYou classless boneheads! This is my daughter’s Christmas present. How could you? HOW COULD YOU?” I’m almost as loud as the music. The clapping misses the beats and I hear a few “whoa”s.
    I look up to see the women at the bar holding their drinks, paused in midair. Stone Dennis, a young investment banker I’ve been helping train for our sales department, strides up to me. I remember him as a schmoozer: untalented with numbers, but desperate to be accepted. It’s pathetic that he has to be the one to set these guys straight. The music blares on, but the dancing stops as everyone waits to see the next move. I want to tell Stone to not even try to apologize. He is new and young and I know he’s not responsible. But instead of trying to talk to me, Stone smiles, leans toward my left hand, and in one motion swipes Barbie yet again and I, in turn, lunge for him.
    â€œDude,” he says to me, “chill out.”
    Did he really just call me “Dude”?
    Some foreign energy enters my body and I feel like I’m watching myself move like a crazy lady. I grab Stone by a wrist and twist him toward me, ending the motion only when Stone has turned 180 degrees and is now in a full headlock. Stone, in turn, lifts his arm and pulls his elbow back. Is this twenty-three-year-old guy trying so hard to be accepted that he’s actually about to punch me? I feel more amazed than fearful.
    â€œI am very chill,” I hiss in his ear.
    â€œWHOA!” shouts Marcus, and steps between us.
    A big vein bulges in Stone’s neck and his breath smells like pot. He hurls Barbie back to Marcus, who hands her back to me, even straightens her hair a bit as he does this and then goes so far as to straighten my hair too.
    â€œBelle, geez, they’re, like, $19.99 or something. I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow,” he says, and looks truly sorry.
    The crowd watching us grows and I feel my throat thicken. It’s really time to leave before I get sobby and pathetic. I say nothing more and head to the coat check to gather my coat and whatever remains in my toy bags.

CHAPTER 2
When That Was Us
    T ORNADOES, ILLNESS, famine, floods, and fires. I’m trying to get some perspective. It’s nothing, really, my little world and its little problems. I know I’m stronger than