I Still Dream About You: A Novel (21 page)

After she was gone, the men looked at one another. They didn’t know if she knew what she was talking about, but they all agreed that in this litigious climate and with business being as shaky as it
was, they couldn’t afford to take a chance. Too bad. They had really liked the little lady from Birmingham.

If Hazel’s secret of success had been finding lucky pennies, Babs’s secret had been fear. She had discovered early on in her career what a powerful tool just the
threat
of being sued could be. She kept two mean little lawyers on staff at all times for just such a purpose. She’d found that people would do just about anything to avoid being dragged into a lawsuit.

Ethel had never been able to find out exactly how Babs had stolen the account, but she still blamed Babs for Hazel getting so sick that winter. Hazel was more than an employer to her. When Ethel had first met Hazel, Ethel’s husband, Earl, had just left her with no money and two small children to raise. Thanks to Hazel’s hiring her, they had not had to go on welfare, like some. As far as Ethel was concerned, Babs had helped kill the best friend she’d ever had. And then believe it or not, Babs had had the nerve to come to Hazel’s funeral and hand out business cards.

B
Y SUNDAY, MAGGIE HAD MANAGED TO GET ALL OF HER EQUIPMENT
, raft, weights, and rooster egg timer down to the river’s edge in two trips and had hidden it all quite effectively. So far, everything was in her favor for an all clear for her departure the next morning; no unexpected detours. The place she had picked was still deserted, and as it turned out, fall was the perfect season for hiding her equipment in the woods. With the leaves and pine needles on the ground, she had been able to cover all her supplies with no problem. Things were looking good.

All of her belongings were mostly packed and ready to go. She had been able to quietly clean out her desk and had shredded all her papers and old photographs without Brenda or Ethel noticing. After all these years, she had finally figured out how to work the shredding machine. It was amazing the things you could do when you really put your mind to it.

She was right on schedule; earlier this morning, she had run over to the pay phone in front of the Western Supermarket and ordered her cab for Monday at ten
A.M
. Of course, she couldn’t use her real name. The man had a foreign accent, so she gave her name as Doris Day. She had the car washed and filled with gas, had air put in
the tires, the oil and water checked, so it could go back to the leasing company just as it had been delivered, neat and clean, with all the proper papers in the glove compartment. All she really had left to do now was get ready to go and see the Whirling Dervishes.

That night, Brenda picked her up at seven on the dot.
Why
she always wanted to get somewhere an hour early was beyond Maggie, but she was dressed and ready anyway. No need to make Brenda nervous; she wanted Brenda to have a wonderful time tonight. As usual, Brenda rushed them downtown and parked in the theater parking lot, and they were in the lobby by seven-fifteen, waiting for the doors to open. True to his word, Cecil had left two tickets for them at the box office, and when Brenda opened the envelope, she was even more excited. “Maggie, you are not going to believe this: we have two first-row seats! Isn’t that great? I guess we won’t need the binoculars I brought.”

“No, I guess not.”

As they stood there, Maggie looked around the lobby of the Alabama Theatre and felt the same old pride and wonder. Thank heavens, because of concerned citizens at the last minute it had been saved from the wrecking ball and had been completely restored. Hazel and their company had donated five thousand dollars. She still remembered the first time she had ever seen it and being utterly overwhelmed, awed at the spectacle of the four-story lobby with the huge crystal chandeliers heading up the grand staircase, the ushers in uniforms wearing white gloves. The theater had originally been designed as an opera house, with plush red velvet seats and five sweeping balconies rising all the way to the top. Maggie had seen the theater from the stage, as well as from the audience. It was the stage where she had been crowned. As she stood there waiting for Brenda to come back from the ladies room, she remembered that night: the nervous excitement as they lined up, ready to walk out on the runway as their names were called; the smell of hair spray, the rib-crushing longline strapless bras, the four-inch-high heels, the sparkle of the rhinestone earrings, the blinding light of the powerful spotlights from the booth way up in the top of the theater; the thunderous applause as the million-dollar Hammond organ rose up from
the floor and hit the first deep chord of “Stars Fell on Alabama,” the spotlights hitting them as they circled the runway; the backstage running and scurrying, changing from evening gown to bathing suit to talent-number costume and back to evening gown; the squeals and screams of delight when the winner was announced. She realized it was very fitting that she spend her last night here.

At seven forty-five the doors were opened, and as they marched down the aisle to the first row and found their seats and sat down, Maggie realized that although they were in the front row the seats were not very good. In fact, they were terrible. She had to lean way back and look straight up in the air just to see the edge of the stage. But Brenda didn’t notice. She was so excited to be there and had turned around and was waving at friends and strangers alike in the balcony. The good news was that the entire house was packed. Maggie was happy to see that everyone was beautifully dressed. The last time she had been in New York, people had come to Broadway shows in jeans and sweatshirts, but good old Birmingham had not let her down this evening. Later, when the curtain finally started to rise, a hush went through the entire audience, but after it was up, Maggie was shocked to see that except for a row of wooden folding chairs, the stage was empty. She had been expecting exotic backdrops and colorful sets. After an uneasy two minutes, Brenda suddenly poked her in the ribs and whispered, “Look, there they are.”

Maggie looked over to stage right and saw seven or eight men in white shirts and shiny black pants waiting in the wings; then, with no fanfare whatsoever, they just unceremoniously walked out onstage and, without a smile or even a nod to the audience, sat down and started playing odd-sounding flutes and some kind of stringed musical instruments. They played one strange number after another, each one sounding exactly like the last one. After at least an hour (or so it seemed), again without a smile, they all stood up and left the stage as unceremoniously as they had entered, and it was intermission.

Maggie already had a stiff neck from looking up, and she had not seen a Dervish whirling yet. After a long twenty-minute intermission, the same men came back out, sat down, and started playing
again. Oh, Lord, she thought. The audience was at a loss for what to do, too polite to whistle and stomp their feet and scream, “Where are the Dervishes?” but restless nonetheless. Thankfully, after four or five more musical numbers, Brenda poked Maggie in the ribs again, and again pointed to stage right. Maggie looked over and, this time, saw several men in long black capes and big tall cone hats slowly gathering around. After another endless musical number, one of the men came out and walked across to the other side of the stage and laid down what looked to be two very large bath mats and then left again.

No question about it, this was the strangest show Maggie had ever seen in her life. But at least something was happening. After a while, two older men in tall cone hats and capes came out and knelt down on the bath mats for a while, and then finally, one by one, younger Whirling Dervishes in long black capes and at least two-foot-tall black cone hats entered the stage and, without a smile, went over and knelt down in a row. Everyone was so excited to see them at long last and wanted to applaud, but the men looked so serious, they didn’t dare. After another long time of doing whatever it was they were doing, they suddenly stood up and dropped their capes to the ground to reveal their outfits: white shirts with little white vests, flowing white skirts, and little soft brown leather boots on their feet. Then very slowly, one by one, they began turning around in a circle, and soon they were all whirling around and around, faster and faster, all over the stage.

At first, Maggie could tell this must have been a beautiful sight: all these tall, handsome, graceful men twirling all at once with their skirts flaring in and out, like waves in the ocean. Unfortunately, all Brenda and Maggie could see as they twirled by was straight up their skirts: the loose white pants and leather boots; and as they twirled faster, the wind from their skirts blew dirt and dust from the stage all over the people in the first row. But even the little bit that they could see of the twirling was terribly beautiful and exciting. For a while however as the twirling went on and on, after waiting so long see them whirl, Maggie now couldn’t wait for them to stop. Her neck
was killing her, and her eyes were burning from looking straight up into the lights, and she was getting a headache and a sore throat from all the dust and dirt blowing in her face. Maggie calculated that if they had twirled in a straight line instead of a circle, they could be all the way to Atlanta by now. As she sat hoping that this would be their last twirl, she began to notice a pattern. As they twirled, they always wound up right back at the same spot where they had started. In a way, it reminded her of her own life. All that twirling, and in the end, she hadn’t gone anywhere at all.

After another painful forty minutes, the twirling finally ended, and the Dervishes put their capes back on and left as slowly and as quietly as they had come on, followed by the musicians, leaving nothing but a row of empty wooden chairs and a grateful, but confused, audience. They wanted to applaud, but were afraid it would not be fitting. It was clearly a somber religious event, not what most had expected.

Brenda was deeply disappointed. “I thought it was going to be fun,” she whispered. Maggie nodded with a stiff neck. “Me, too. Oh well, who knew?” But Brenda was still hopeful. In the lobby, when she saw Cathy Gilmore, she asked, “Is there a cast party?”

“No. They have to leave right after the show.”

“Oh shoot, what a bummer. Did you get a chance to meet them before the show?”

“I met the bus when they arrived.”

“What were they wearing?” asked Brenda.

“Wearing? Oh, just regular clothes. Why?”

Brenda looked at Maggie. “We just wondered.”

A
S THEY DROVE
home, Maggie quietly opened Brenda’s purse and slipped Hazel’s lucky penny inside as a sort of private going-away present. When they pulled up to Maggie’s door, Brenda laughed and said, “Yeah, thanks to Cecil we sure didn’t need those binoculars tonight, did we?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“It was different, I’ll say that.”

“It was … Anyhow, I’m so glad we went.”

“Me, too; at least now we don’t have to go to Turkey.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Well, see you in the morning.”

“Well, actually, no. I’m taking tomorrow off, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot … and what is it you’re doing tomorrow?”

“Just a few things I need to take care of.”

“Ah … well, have fun. See you on Tuesday then.”

Brenda started to drive away, but Maggie said, “Wait—wait a minute.”

Brenda stopped. “What is it?”

Maggie stood there and looked at her for a moment and then said, “Oh nothing, I guess I just wanted to say … good night again.”

Brenda smiled. “Well, good night, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she said as she drove away.

Maggie stood there and watched her until she was out of sight. Sadly, the show had not been quite as exciting as she had hoped for, but still, she was glad she had spent her last evening with Brenda.

Inside, she got undressed and packed her dress and shoes in the box and looked over her last list for tomorrow morning.

Things to Do, Morning of November 3

1. Cancel
   Birmingham News
   
2. Empty refrigerator and freezer
   
3. Take out garbage
   
4. Call Dottie Figge about unit
   
5. Call phone company and have phone disconnected
   
6. Leave money and watch for Lupe
   
7. Make bed and do laundry
   
8. Check under sink for ants
   
9. Sweep off back patio and clean out bird feeder
   
10. Don’t forget to leave note on counter
    
11. Leave spare key under mat when you go
    

When she got into bed, she wondered why she was suddenly feeling so good. It seemed so wrong. My Lord. To wind up this way, she should be feeling just terrible around about now, but she wasn’t. She’d noticed that as the day had gotten closer, she had begun to feel better and better. Was it because she wasn’t watching the news anymore? She was certainly sleeping better than she had in years. It was amazing how nice it was to not have to worry about the future. Wouldn’t you know it, just as she was getting ready to leave, she felt better than she had in years.