Read Online Peyton Place by Grace Metalious - Free Book Online

mind.”
    So the friendship between Allison and Selena had continued, full and satisfying, until this Saturday afternoon when each girl had wanted a different something, and neither had been able to understand the other's need.
    Together, they walked up one side of Elm Street and down the other, looking into the shop windows, but unable to play the game that had always amused them.
    “Let's go to your mother's store,” said Selena.
    But Allison refused, feeling cheated at spending the lovely afternoon away from her favorite place.
    “Go in yourself, if you want to go that bad,” said Allison, knowing that Selena would not go into the Thrifty Corner without her.
    In the end, they walked around all the counters in the five-and ten-cent store, fingering strands of false pearls, gazing longingly at the rows upon rows of cosmetics, and listening to the popular tunes that came from the music counter. They sat at the store's soda fountain and each ate a huge, gummy banana split, and Allison felt her good humor beginning to return.
    “We'll go over to Mother's now, if you want,” she offered.
    “No, never mind. Let's walk to your house.”
    “No, really. I know you want to go to the shop. I don't mind. Truly, I don't.”
    “You don't have to go, just on account of me.”
    “But I want to, Selena. Really.”
    “All right, if you really want to go.”
    They wadded their paper napkins into small, round balls and dropped them into the empty sundae dishes, and things were suddenly all right between them again.
    Constance MacKenzie waved to them from behind the hosiery counter as they came into the shop.
    “There are some new party dresses,” she called. “Over there on the second rack.”
    Selena looked, and as if in a trance, moved toward the shining garments that hung displayed on a movable rack. There seemed to be hundreds of dresses, each one prettier than the last. Selena stared, her fingers aching to touch the lovely fabrics.
    Allison stood in front of the shop window and looked out at the traffic on Elm Street. It was always this way. She had to stand around for what seemed hours while Selena looked at every single article in the Thrifty Corner.
    Constance finished with a customer and walked toward Selena with the intention of holding up one of the new dresses to show to Allison, but she was stopped short by the glazed expression on Selena's face. The child's parted lips and half-closed, dreaming eyes wrung a sharp pity in Constance. She could understand a girl looking that way at the sight of a beautiful dress. The only time that Allison ever wore this expression was when she was reading.
    “Here,” said Constance to Selena loudly and suddenly, surprising herself. “This one is your size. Try it on if you like.”
    She held out a white, stiff-skirted dress, and her eyes began to fill foolishly at the look of gratitude on Selena's face.
    “Do you mean it, Mrs. MacKenzie?” whispered Selena. “Can I really touch it?”
    “Well, I hardly see how you can try it on without touching it,” said Constance shortly, and hoped that she had managed to cover the shaking of her voice.
    A few minutes later, when Selena emerged from the dressing room resplendent in the white dress, even Allison caught her breath.
    “Oh, Selena!” she cried. “You look perfectly beautiful. You look just like a fairy princess!”
    No, she doesn't, thought Constance, knowing suddenly what it was that bothered her about Selena Cross.
    She looks like a woman, thought Constance. At thirteen, she has the look of a beautifully sensual, expensively kept woman.
    Later that evening, Selena walked down the dirt road toward her home. She was still warm with the memory of Constance's pancakes which had dripped with butter and maple syrup, and of the coffee which had been served with real cream. She could still see, in her mind, the beautiful MacKenzie living room, with its big chairs and its wrought-iron magazine rack filled with copies of The American