It Really is Sublime...
The next two days are a blur of telephone calls and the Birdie song and dress comparison as we prepare for the Ed Sullivan Show. Everybody's going to be there to watch Conrad kiss Kim; everybody, that is, except my mother and her husband, who decide to stay home at the last minute for no discernable reason. It's the social event of forever, the gleaming moment in our town's history, but so much for that, my mother and her husband want to stay home and cuddle.
Instead, I get a ride from Bridget's parents. They're driving their latest car, a glimmering new model that's all the rage. Daisy Doe's sitting in the back seat, presumably also getting a ride, although I'm guessing it's more just so Bridget can show off her new car. The ride over is a whirl of chatter about Conrad and our dresses, yet another way for Bridget to show off. She's wearing a red satiny number, very stylish to be sure, and we spend the appropriate amount of time gushing over it as she preens. Daisy Doe's dress is reminiscent of a First Communion with a blue sash tired around the middle and matching blue pearls, and she's allowed exactly three compliments before we go back to Bridget's. They are in one of their more materialistic moods today, and Bridget's being especially snobbish, but somehow, it isn't bothersome. My role in Bridget's group isn't a follower, but instead the "City Sophisticate", whose knowledge of city things is appreciated, respected, admired even. My "sophistication" is novel to Bridget, who allots me four compliments. No matter what I wear, she regards it as city style. Today it's an aqua sleeveless dress, high-heeled shoes, my trademark pearls jazzed up with a rhinestone brooch, plus my ever-present aqua scarf and cat-eye glasses. The combination of bare shoulders and high heels could be considered "risqué", but what can I say? I'm a bad girl. Bad Girl Suzie Sinclair, Risqué Bad Girl Suzie Sinclair.
Bridget is caught by playboy Freddie as we're walking in, so I stay behind with Daisy Doe. I feel bad that she's gotten herself in a position for always playing second fiddle. Though Bridget is my friend, I'm fully aware that she can be awful to people without assets such as "city sophistication" or social status. "I like your shoes better than Bridget's," I whisper to her. She smiles, and I realize it isn't a false compliment – they're a pretty bronze color, much nicer than Bridget's plain black ones.
Daisy Doe and I join Karl at the back of a crowd, standing up to see over the adults sitting in front of us. Bridget and Freddie pushed their way to the front row of seats, right next to Ursula, and Freddie wraps his arm around both of them, much to Ursula's mother's annoyance. Karl must be heartbroken; though he razzed Hugo for pinning Kim with the other boys, I know he wants to do the same to Bridget. True to form, Daisy Doe wants Karl too, proof that she wants everything that Bridget has. I scoot across the aisle to leave the two of them alone; for once, I'd love to see Daisy Doe triumphant. Craning my neck to see over Mr. Henkel, Penelope's father, I pop out my hip and stare at Conrad like there's no tomorrow, my face betraying my lust. Oh, Lord, I must be going insane. I am actually honest-to-God fawning over Conrad Birdie. This isn't a Sweet Apple Suzie act of pretense. I am actually fawning. The next thing I know I'll be daydreaming about china patterns and what to name the children. No. Real Suzie creates a mantra: I am only lusting for his body. I am only lusting for his body. Absently, I wonder if he drinks coffee. Oh, no, I'm fawning... I am only lusting for his body...
Oh, one last kiss, oh, give me one last kiss.
It never felt like this, no never felt like this.
You know I need your love – oh, oh, oh!
Oh give me one last kiss.
Oh, one more time, oh, baby one more time.
It really is sublime, oh, honey, so sublime.
You know I need your love – oh, oh, oh!
Oh, give me one last kiss!
Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-by, gi-ive me one last kiss.
Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-by, gi-ive me one last kiss.
Mr. Peterson pushes Kim into the spotlight, and she and Conrad stare each other down, walking in a circle, Kim's eyes disclosing the lust running through her. I'm no doubt wearing a similar look: thirsty for Conrad's body. Only lusting for his body... Oh, what have I become? A squealing teenybopper like all the rest?
Oh, one last kiss, oh, give me one last kiss.
It never felt like this, no never felt like this.
You know I need your love – oh, oh, oh!
Oh give me one last kiss.
Mr. MacAfee drags Kim away from Conrad and Conrad instead sings to the crowd of girls that I'm inherently a part of. Daisy Doe and I try to climb over the adults blocking our path to Conrad and are promptly scolded. "You could do so much better," Mr. Henkel tells me, pushing me off his shoulder, while Mrs. Garfein (who's decked to the nines in a chartreuse lacy dress and hat) wags her finger at me, as if to say, Shame on you. I sulk and feast my eyes on Conrad, who isn't shiny today, but still very attractive. Daisy Doe does the same, with Karl keeping her company in her Conrad-less state.
Oh, one more time, oh, baby one more time.
It really is sublime, oh, honey, so sublime.
You know I need your love – oh, oh, oh!
Oh, give me one last kiss!
Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-by, gi-ive me one last kiss.
Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-by, gi-ive me one last kiss.
After a brief incident with Randolph, Kim's little brother, making a spectacle of himself, we are once again given the pleasure of Conrad singing straight at us. Even in my spellbound state, I can realize fully the one-dimensional quality of the lyrics. The lyrics, however, are not what make Conrad so appealing- it's his body body body. He slides over to us, pelvis first, and I attempt once again to climb over Mr. Henkel and the Garfeins in order to reach him and stroke that sexy chest of his. I'm not sure if it's Sweet Apple Suzie being generally teenybopperish or Real Suzie obeying her lusty hormones, but at the moment, they have united into one passion-spurred entity, and this new Suzie is pushed away by Mr. Kinkerman and lectured by Mrs. Garfein. (Mr. Garfein is rather clueless to most of the goings-on.) This time, I put up a fuss, waving my arms around hysterically and pouting furiously as Conrad shimmies on the floor.
Oh, one last kiss, oh, give me one last kiss.
It never felt like this, no never felt like this.
You know I need your love – oh, oh, oh!
Oh give me one last kiss.
One last kiss! One last kiss!
Oh give me one last kiss!
Deborah Sue, Helen, Alice, Margie and Ursula get up and form a semicircle around Conrad as the rest of us sway and sing along. I notice Harvey begin swaying the wrong way and his mother correcting him. Poor guy. Sandwiched in between his mother and the town's other single mother – though she's undoubtedly single for other reasons – Mrs. Kinkerman, Nancy's mom, Harvey looks miserable on this day of all days. As I'm swaying, I notice Miss Alvarez and Hugo appear next to me, but I pay it no mind.
One last kiss! One last kiss!
Oh give me one last
The moment we've all been waiting for is upon us. We clasp our hands over our hearts and watch avidly as Conrad dips Kim, leaning in in preparation for the kiss.
"Brace yourself, chick," he says. Not exactly sweet nothings whispered in her ear, but okay.
"Brace yourself, Conrad Birdie!" Hugo shouts, suddenly right next to Conrad. In a blur, he pulls Kim away and swings a fist in Conrad's face. He's down in a flash, with Ursula and the Mayor's wife tending to his poor lifeless body. Amongst the frenzy, I realize that my feelings for Conrad have vanished with his sudden absence of consciousness. Why have I lusted so? I'm beginning to believe Conrad's gyrations and very presence have a hypnotic quality, bewitching otherwise sensible human beings into states of madness.
"Hugo! You hit him!" Kim exclaims, stating the obvious over Ursula's high-pitched wails.
"He deserved it! He was a... a thief of love!" Hugo retorts. It's all I can do to keep from breaking out laughing; they're taking a publicity stunt – for that's all it is – so seriously! All of the girls are hysterical, breathing shallowly, crying, gasping, embracing tearfully.
"Hugo Peabody, I never want to speak to you again!" Kim cries, her pink dress billowing as she runs out of the theatre, Hugo chasing wildly after her. I see some of the girls glaring at his retreating figure, as if to say, We hate you. You hit Conrad. Go die in a corner.
"I demand to know who's responsible for this! Who let that kid in here?" Mr. Peterson fumes, acting tougher than he really is.
Miss Alvarez steps forward, looking terribly underdressed in tight pants and a sweater. "I did, Albert." The crowd gasps again.
"Rosie?" Mr. Peterson asks, astounded. I never imagined Miss Alvarez capable of such deviancy – and I congratulate her silently.
"Consider it a sort of – farewell present to you and Miss Rasputin," she replies coolly, gesturing to a blowsy woman with a feather boa sitting next to Mr. Peterson's aged mother and the Mayor. "Wear it in good health." She turns on her heel and begins to walk out, all of our eyes on her, wondering what will happen next. Privately, I'm glad that Miss Alvarez orchestrated this little she-bang; otherwise, who knows what I could have done under the influence of Conrad-lust? I'm almost positive that I'm the only teenage girl that's happy about Conrad's being out for the count, despite my aghast appearance. Mr. Peterson calls out to her, stopping her in her tracks.
"Rosie! Come back! You can't leave me alone like this!" he shouts, clearly terrified.
"Oh, you're not alone, Albert," she says with simpering sarcasm. "You're on television!" She sweeps her arm out, grandly motioning to the camera while we all primp, suddenly conscious of the cameras documenting our every move and broadcasting to millions of families who are eagerly watching. Left alone by Miss Alvarez, Mr. Peterson nervously begins to sing, stepping in front of Conrad's prostrate form to cover up and motioning for us to do the same.
For he's a fine upstanding, patriotic, healthy normal American boy!
For he's a fine upstanding, patriotic, healthy normal American boy!
