Chapter 19: The Visitor

Art class was going to be the same as last year, Cookie knew. She was going to work hard to create paintings and sculpt objects from clay and Miss Wilson was going to 'accidentally' break her pottery and spill paint on her portraits and wind up giving her low marks on everything she did.

Home economics was a brighter part of her day. She knew all about housework and cooking. So much so that, even as a thirteen-year-old, she could probably teach the class herself.

Mrs. Shedd seemed like a nice person. She was a slim, older woman with grey hair (done up on her head) and 'granny' glasses over her hazel eyes. She looked like an older version of June Cleaver from 'Leave It To Beaver' even if Cookie had only see glimpses of that program while her father and brother watched it.

Mrs. Shedd led the girls through her kitchen, as she talked to them, telling them how much they would learn about taking care of a house and a family and being good, money-saving homemakers when they grew up.

Once home, Cookie made sure that the house was clean and then set about baking croutons, making dessert and preparing spaghetti sauce for that evening's dinner.

Corey came in, just after four, dragging his football uniform which Cookie pre-treated and then put in the laundry for him so that he would look good at tomorrow's game.

When her father came home, he looked irritated because of something that had happened to him at work and he demanded a martini, which Cookie made for him (perfect and dry as he always required they be) right away. She had Caesar salad ready and her father preferred it when she finished the salad by cracking the coddled egg into it and squeezing the lemon into the wooden salad bowl, at the table, and then tossing the romaine and serving it on the chilled plates. She had also made him and Corey spaghettini and home-made marinara sauce with garlic toast and Torta di Mele, an Italian apple tart, for dessert.

After serving her father the dessert and coffee, Cookie sat at her place in the kitchen and started to eat the small portion of the spaghettini that she had reserved for herself with a cup of tea.

That's when she heard the front doorbell chime and, knowing how much her father hated solicitations at dinner, she arouse quickly from the table and hurried to the front door to fend any errant salesman away.

She was surprised to see that it was Miss Fleming who was standing there on the porch, still in her white nurse's uniform from school. She was flashing her pretty, friendly smile and holding a small, white and red, plastic shopping bag, from Kresge's, in her hand.

"Hello, Cookie," she said cheerfully. "Is your father at home?"

Cookie tried to return the woman's smile while she looked anxiously back at the dining room table to see the look of extreme dismay on her father's face. He absolutely detested interruptions during dinner.

"Yes," she said tentatively, looking quickly back at Miss Fleming.

"Who is it?" her father barked out at her now.

Cookie turned back to him. "It's Miss Fleming, the nurse from school."

"Well... ? he bellowed in irritation, "what does she want? Don't just stand there, like an idiot, let her in."

"I'm sorry, Miss Fleming," Cookie said, as she opened the screen door for her and took a step back, "please come in."

Giving her smile to Cookie's father, as she spotted him in the dining room, Miss Fleming stepped past Cookie and walked right over to him, at the table, saying, "I'm sorry to disturb you at dinner, Mr. Mullins."

"Yeah?" he questioned, looking her up and down disdainfully, "but you're here anyway, aren't you? So, what is it that you want?"

Miss Fleming could see that he wasn't happy with her intrusion but she kept her pretty smile fixed on him as she said, "It's about your daughter Cookie."

"Her? What about her?"

"I've seen her in my clinic a couple of times and I was concerned about the fact that she doesn't wear a bra. Doesn't even have one, she tells me."

"A bra?"

"Yes, Mr. Mullins, a brassiere ... a foundation garment, worn by older girls and women, to cover and support the breasts."

"Breasts? What does this have to do with her?"

"Haven't you noticed? Your daughter has developed quite a bit since last year. I suspect that she's nearly a 34 B-cup now. She should be wearing a bra for both her emotional well being and the sake of modesty."

"Modesty?" he repeated the word as he looked past Miss Fleming and right at Cookie who was still standing with her back to the screen door. It looked, to Cookie, like he was trying to conceal a huge amount of anger that was now building in her direction.

"Yes, Mr. Mullins," Nurse Fleming continued, still smiling at him as he sat at the table before her, "modesty. A standard of decency, in dress and deportment, set by society for young ladies such as your very lovely daughter over there."

"Look," he said up to her now, "what do you expect me to do, drop everything and go and buy her a bra?"

"Oh," Miss Fleming laughed, reaching into her Kresge bag now, "no need to do that. I took the liberty of buying her one on my way over here." And she pulled a white, cotton bra from the bag and held it up, by it's thin straps, for him to see. "Isn't it pretty?"

Cookie's father just stared at it, as it dangled from her hands, as if she were holding some sort of an exotic, venomous snake in front of him.

"I don't think Cookie is quite a full B-cup size, Mr. Mullins, but the way she's growing, I'm sure she'll soon fill it."

It was clear that he was becoming highly irritated by the pushy, young woman and this whole conversation and he suddenly became very belligerent toward her. "Miss Fleming," he began loudly, "I don't believe that this is a suitable dinner conversation or any business of yours what-so-ever."

The smile quickly left the young woman's face but she kept her brown eyes directed right at Cookie's father as she said, "Ah, but in my position as the school nurse, your daughter's welfare is very much my business, Mr. Mullins, and I fully intend to have you fulfill your obligations, as her father, and make sure that she has what any budding young woman, her age, requires."

"Listen, Miss Fleming..." he said threateningly now, rising from his chair and towering over her.

"No. You listen, Mr. Mullins," she said quite loudly, pointing right at him with her slender, manicured finger. "When I see Cookie again, I had better see her wearing a bra or I'll take this matter right to the officials of the school district and, if I have to, the county authorities as well."

Cookie's father seemed to consider his options, for a few moments, before he suddenly flashed her his big, friendly, Irish grin and sat back down in his chair. "Sure, Nurse Fleming," he said apologetically now. "I don't know what I was thinking. Certainly she'll be wearing the bra after you went to all the trouble to come over here and even buy it for her."

Miss Fleming's smile returned, now that she had used her authority to win this altercation from this huge, hulking man. "I'm so pleased that you see it that way, Mr. Mullins. I'm glad that I came here and that we had this conversation."

"So am I," he told her, but looking over at Cookie now. "It was very enlightening for me."

"Well, I won't keep you from your delicious-looking dessert any longer," Miss Fleming said, setting the bra on the side-table and turning for the front door. "Just keep in mind what I said."

"I certainly will."

Miss Fleming stopped in front of Cookie, who was still standing, frozen in place against the screen door, and she touched her cheek warmly as she pushed open the screen and slipped past her. "See you at school, sweetheart," the nurse said cheerily and Cookie turned to watch her step down the sidewalk and over to her compact car, far too terrified to even chance a glance back at her father.

The car had started and driven away, disappearing down the street, long before what Cookie had been standing there and dreading, with all of her being, finally happened.

"Get over here," her father commanded in loud, vengeful anger and Cookie, knowing fully well who he was addressing, turned from the open door's warm sunshine and ran to her father who was now standing, looming as large as a volcanic mountain, beside the dining room table.

"Yes, Poppa?" she said as she stood before him, head bent and hands folded together in front of her lower torso.

"So you've been talking to the nurse, at school, about our private, personal family matters, have you?"

Cookie was trembling in reaction to the lethal tone in his loud voice and she tried to disarm him by explaining, "No, sir. She just noticed and mentioned that I didn't ever wear a bra and I didn't and she asked me why and I told her that I didn't have one and she told me that I should and she wanted to be kind and to help me and I asked her please not to..."

"Shut up," he barked at her, "and get your rounded little ass in the den."

Cookie practically ran down the short hall to the den with her father right behind her every step of the way. Once inside, he slammed the door behind him and looked at her with his eyes blazing in rage.