Mad Girls In Love (4 page)

My mother was always rushing out of our red brick house to play cards, her charm bracelet jingling. But she'd always hurry back next door to Miss Gussie's porch. My mother was a wide-hipped woman, and when she sat down, the wicker chair creaked. Poor old Dorothy, trying to be helpful. Trying to make her mama love her. “Here, let me shell those peas for you, Mother Dear,” she'd say, reaching for the enamel bowl.

Over in the red brick house, my father sat alone in the dark living room watching
Bonanza.
Mack, swelled with importance at being the only boy in the family, dashed through the sprinkler in our front yard, beads of water gathering in his white-blond hair. From Miss Gussie's porch, our mother, wearing pink pedal pushers and a Ship 'n' Shore blouse, would laugh and say, “Just look at that boy run. He could be in the Olympics.” Dorothy wasn't insane then, and she had curly blond hair and a throaty laugh like Lana Turner. The most beautiful mother in the world.

I never thought our lives would change. It had shocked me when Mother and Daddy separated in the late sixties. Daddy only moved a few miles away, but it seemed farther. Or maybe that's further? I was never real good with grammar. He dated widows and the counter girls at his dime store. Lucky for him that Mother was locked up—separated or not, she wouldn't have cared for his new social life. Daddy had never been what I'd call a hands-on father, but I never dreamed he'd turn out to be a ladies' man. My brother liked women, too. Even though he'd lost his leg in Vietnam (and his metal prosthesis squeaked when he walked), the opposite sex still chased him. He and his second wife, Earlene, were crazy in love, and together they'd started a construction business. I hadn't gone to war, but somehow I'd damaged my life, and maybe Jennifer's, too. I sank down in the tub, and let the warm water cover my face, thinking of the moment Claude had tried to drown me. I'd never been that scared. But maybe I'd overreacted, maybe he hadn't meant any harm. What if he'd just been trying to scare me? If I'd waited one more second, he might have let go, and none of this would have happened.

The next morning, I called the Cadillac ad people. A child answered on the fourth ring. When I said I was calling about the ad there was a rustling sound as the child covered the phone. Then she hollered out in a musical voice: “It's about the c-ar.”

A pause, then a gravelly voice hollered something back. The child resumed the conversation. “My grandmother's having a card party, but she said to come on out anyway. You can park in the street.” She gave the address and directions, and I wrote them down.

On the way out of the hotel, I noticed a crowd in the lobby waiting for the ducks. I found a place near the elevators, and when the middle door finally opened, the ducks stepped out and waddled down the red carpet. Several people moved in to take pictures. Jennifer's small blond head turned and she pointed. Would she remember this? Would she remember the ducks climbing up the platform and then splashing down into the fountain?

A middle-aged woman smiled at Jennifer. “When I was her age,” she told me, “my parents held my first birthday party right here at the Peabody, and I jumped into the fountain with the ducks.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, smiling. Jennifer began to whine, struggling to escape my grasp.

“After that, Mother put me in a harness.” The woman's eyes clouded. “A leash! Don't ever do that to your little one.”

“No, ma'am, I won't.”

Jennifer flashed a haughty look at the woman and placed one hand on her tiny hip. I recognized whose genes
these
were, prissy and melodramatic, and I feared that my baby would grow up mispronouncing French and making flamboyant gestures.

Except for Aunt Clancy, who drank green tea and ate organic sunflower seeds, and my brainy cousin Violet, who dressed in fatigues from Army Surplus, most all the upper crust women I knew in Crystal Falls were fluffy. They all liked to spend a day at the beauty parlor, getting their hair teased and styled, nails buffed and polished. I have to admit that sometimes I put on way too much makeup, and it rubbed off on the necks of my blouses, an orange Cover Girl stain. I loved gold charm bracelets that clinked and rattled when I moved my hands. And several times a day I doused myself with Shalimar, my trademark fragrance. I was born a girlie-girl—that's not as wonderful as you might think—and it was in my genes. My mother used to say that people didn't realize how much
effort
it took to be fluffy. One could not achieve that look overnight.

While I waited outside for the valet to bring the Corvette, I tilted back my head and gazed up at the dingy buildings across the street. I didn't guess I'd ever see this town again, and it was a shame, because Memphis seemed a lot more southern than Crystal Falls. I wasn't accustomed to the humidity, but it made my Farrah Fawcett-Majors haircut curl up around my face—better than a home permanent. I could probably save a lot of beauty money by staying right here; on the other hand, if I lived this close to Crystal Falls, I'd have to spend a fortune dying my hair—and Jennifer's, too. I didn't think we'd look good as brunettes, not to mention redheads, so I made up my mind to keep on moving. I was still wearing the polka-dot sundress from yesterday, but the wrinkles were gone because I'd found an iron in the hotel closet. The Gucci suitcase was mainly filled with baby clothes, and for that I was grateful. I had bathed Jennifer in the sink, then buttoned her into a pale pink dress with ducks embroidered on the bodice. I could pick up a few outfits for myself at a thrift shop, or buy colorful muslin skirts in a border town.

The Corvette pulled up and the valet climbed out and held out my key. I carried Jennifer around the car and glanced down at the license plate. Below the numbers, in black letters, “Falls County” was plainly visible. Since my cash was limited—and I couldn't keep using Claude's cards—I wondered if I should keep the Corvette and just switch license plates; but if a cop pulled me over, I'd be in even worse trouble. Once he realized the car and tags were a mismatch…well, I'd just have to be cautious.

The person with the Cadillac lived at the end of Tulip Lane, a flat, heat-waved road. The house had columns, and the wood was painted a pinkish beige. Cars were lined along the street and in the driveway, and I remembered the card party the child had mentioned.

I stood on the porch and rang the bell. After a moment, a white-haired woman opened the door, and cool air poured out, scented with coffee and spice cake. The woman gazed at me, then grinned at the baby. “Well, hello there,” she said with a broad smile. She was shaped like a teapot, round with one arm on her hip, the other extended, bent at the elbow. Her fingers clutched a lace napkin. Stray crumbs were gathered in the wrinkles around her mouth. A thin, redheaded child of about nine walked up behind her, peering at me. A constellation of freckles spilled over her small, pointed nose. From inside the house, I heard a woman shout, “I raised that bid already, you nitwit!”

“I called earlier about the car?” I said, shifting Jennifer to my left arm.

“Oh, yes!” She dabbed the napkin along her mouth, blurring the lace with red lipstick. She stepped onto the porch, pointing toward the driveway. “The garage is around back. I'll meet you there.”

I walked around the house, the baby's legs bouncing up and down. The garage was also pinkish beige, with a weather vane attached to the roof. The woman came bustling out the back door of the house, gripping a key ring. The redheaded child followed, biting one of her braids. As the woman heaved open the garage door, heat flowed out, stinking of motor oil and freshly cut grass.

“Have you ever seen a hotter day?” the woman asked, dragging her hand over her brow. “All my poor little flowers are dying. But it's almost September, so I guess they don't have long to live anyway.” She turned to the car, waving one hand. “Well, this is it, my mother's Cadillac.”

The little girl had worked her way over to me. She reached up and tickled Jennifer's bare foot. “What's her name?” she asked, grinning a gap-toothed grin.

“Jennifer,” I said. Then I winced. That wasn't too smart, was it? Giving out her real name.

“That's pretty!” The girl chucked Jennifer under her chin. “How old is she?”

“Almost eight months.”

The little redhead turned. “Granny? Look at how the baby's smiling at me.”

“I'm looking,” said the grandmother, distractedly running one hand through her hair.

Jennifer let out a squeal and grabbed the girl's finger, babbling something with Ts. The woman started talking about the car, speaking with a loose vowels and consonants. I found myself entranced by her speech. I was more accustomed to mountain twangs, but her words sounded so pretty. I wanted to say, “Your speech is lovely.” But I was afraid I might stir up a conversation—old people were so easy to get going—and I might slip up and reveal more information.

“Can I hold her, miss?” The girl turned her freckled face up to me. She had small brown eyes, rimmed in gold lashes. “I'm real good with babies. I hold them at church all the time.”

“You can trust her,” said the grandmother. “She's bony but strong. She opens all my pickle jars. Don't you, Alice Ann?”

The girl didn't answer. She kept grinning at the baby, making her eyes pop open wide.

“Well, all right.” I eased Jennifer into the girl's thin arms. The baby leaned back and stared.

“Nee?” Jennifer asked, looking up at the girl, patting one of the red braids.

“She thinks I'm a knee.” The girl grinned at the baby. “My name's Alice Ann. Say Alice Ann?”

“It was Mother's car,” the grandmother said, jingling the keys. She gestured to the Cadillac. It was a bright bottle green. Not only did it remind me of a china parrot that Claude's mother had once kept in an ornamental iron cage, I thought it might attract attention on the highway.

“Mother thought she might travel,” the woman continued while I examined the interior. “You know—discover America, like Lady Bird Johnson used to say? We even had a luggage rack installed—see that shiny metal thing on the roof? It's ugly, isn't it? Mother thought so, too, and she never drove it out of Midtown a single time. It doesn't have but a few hundred miles. You can check the speedometer if you like.”

“Odometer,” called the child, bouncing Jennifer expertly on her hip.

“I can ne-ver remember that.” The grandmother laughed and wiped perspiration from her cheeks, smudging her rouge. The sun glinted on her hair, turning it silvery at the edges. She stepped past me, giving off gusts of cigarettes, bourbon, coffee, and Miss Dior. I wondered if the little girl had placed the ad.

“It looks brand-new. Is it reliable?” I asked, touching the side mirror.

“Barely five years. And hardly ever driven,” the grandmother said.

“She only went to the branch bank and Delchamps,” the child added. “When she got sick, Dr. Peterson made house calls on her. Grandmama and me did all her errands for her.”

“But not in
this
car,” the grandmother said.

“We took it to Senatobia.” The girl swayed back and forth, and Jennifer giggled.

The grandmother was waving her hands, trying to shush the child. When she saw me staring, she flushed. “She's making it sound like we went there all the time, and we most certainly
did not
. But there's the nicest Carter's baby outlet in Senatobia. You can pick up bargains. Didn't we find you a whole slew of clothes, Alice Ann?”

Alice Ann ignored her and kept talking to the baby in a sweet, high-pitched voice.

“And you're asking how much?” I asked the grandmother.

“Two hundred dollars.” She ran one hand through her hair again. “It's worth a lot more, believe you me. Hundreds more, maybe even thousands. But it eats up the space. You see, I'm planning to turn this garage into an antique shop.”

“I thought it was gonna be a playroom for me,” said the girl.

“We'll discuss this later, Alice Ann,” said the grandmother. From the house, a woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a gray uniform. “Miss Eunice?” she called. “We've got a disturbance inside. Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Hill are fighting over cards again, and Mrs. Hill knocked over the punch bowl.”

“Not Mother's bowl!”

“It didn't break, Lord knows why not, but planter's punch is spilled all over your floor.”

“Oh, my heavens. If you'll excuse me,” said the grandmother, turning to me. “I'll just be a minute. Alice Ann? You be nice, you hear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The grandmother bustled off, climbing the stairs—right foot, right foot. Through the open door I heard a screech, followed by piercing laughter. Back in Crystal Falls, the Wentworths were renowned for their parties, and all of the social climbers in Crystal Falls longed to be invited, but they were cruelly shunned. My own mother, who was well-to-do herself, had never set foot inside Miss Betty's house—not even after I'd married into Claude's family.

I took a deep breath, thankful that I was through with all of that society nonsense, and turned to Alice Ann. “So, how old are you?”

“Ten.” She grinned.

“Is this really a good car? I'd hate to get stranded on the highway.”

“Which highway you talking about, miss?”

“No one in particular.”

“Are you from Memphis?”

I shook my head. “So, it's a good car?”

“I guess.”

“Why is she really selling it, then?”

“'Cause she needs the room for Odell's car. Odell's her new husband? He drives a Lincoln, and he hates for it to set out. Can I give Jennifer a cookie? I've got me one right here in my pocket. Sally made them for the party.”

“Sally?”

“She's our cook. She can cook anything, even live turtles, but I've never eaten one.” Alice Ann fished in her pocket and drew out a sugar cookie. Jennifer accepted it with two fingers, then scraped it over her bottom teeth.