In Those Dazzling Days of Elvis

by Josephine Rascoe Keenan

  “Mother and me.”

  “Have you both gone stone crazy? Mama would have a cow before she’d let you into this house, never mind your mother.”

  “My mother isn’t buck wild to do this either.”

  “So, obviously, it won’t work. Come up with something else.”

  “You come up with something, if you’re going to be so all-fired choosy. So far you haven’t come up with diddly-squat. Now I have the perfect solution, and you won’t even hear me out. You have until the count of three to say we can come over, then I’m hanging up, and you’re on your own. One . . . two . . .”

  “Wait! I’ll talk to Mama, okay. We are pretty desperate. Give me some time to get her used to the idea of your mother being in the house . . . No, forget it. There’s no way!”

  “You have one hour.” And she hung up.

  “Mama!”

  “What is it? Who was that on the phone?” she called from the kitchen

  “Carmen. She’s thought of a plan to save me.”

  Mama came running. “What? Short of a doctor administered abortion, which is not to be had, there is no plan that is going to save you.”

  “She doesn’t dare tell me on the phone. They want to come over here.”

  Mama arched one eyebrow. “They?”

  “Carmen and her mother.”

  “Claudia?” Mama said in a faint voice. She looked upward. “Is this how You answer prayers?”

  “We’d better let them come, Mama.”

  “Julie, you know I’d move heaven and earth, if I could, to save you from shame, but that is more than I am capable of. In your wildest imagination, how do you think I could allow that woman and her child to come into my house?”

  I stood up and took Mama’s hand with my good one.

  “I know, Mama, but shouldn’t we at least hear Carmen out? So far we’ve come up with exactly no way to save face or my reputation. Maybe she has something in mind that would work. After all, Claudia is a nurse. What could it hurt to just hear what they have to say?”

  “It will hurt my pride. She’s already ruined my reputation.”

  “What she and my father did is a bad reflection on them, not you.”

  Mama gave a short laugh. “Maybe you’re right. And I would truly do anything for you.”

  “Then I can call and tell them to come on over?”

  “Considering it may well be your only hope to get out of this unscathed, what choice do I have?”

  “I’ll call her back right now.”

  “So soon?” Mama’s eyes pleaded.

  “Yes. After all, time and tide . . .”

  “Wait for no man,” she finished, her sad eyes looking into mine. “And neither do babies.”

  Chapter 8

  SHE’S NOT YOU

  Mama stood in the center of the kitchen floor in a state of frenzied inertia, arms hanging limp, frazzled hair sticking out in all directions, and no lipstick.

  “Hurry! Vacuum the living room rug. Oh no, better not. Your hand.”

  “Why aren’t we going to sit in the den?”

  “Julie, you don’t entertain your ex-husband’s mistress in the same room as your closest friends.”

  “This is not a tea party, Mama, and she’s not his mistress anymore.”

  “Oh God, how can I let that woman come into my house?” Mama strangled a sob. “You’ll never know what this is costing me.”

  And it’s all my fault.

  Mama glanced at her watch. “They’ll be here any minute. Quick, dust the commode.”

  I sighed. “Mama, please don’t refer to that piece of furniture while they’re here. They won’t have a clue what you are talking about.”

  Mama grabbed the Old Dutch Cleanser from a lower cabinet.

  “Going to swish out the real commode?” I said.

  “Enough of your sass!” she replied and headed into the bathroom.

  “Work on your makeup while you’re in there,” I called out over the sound of running water.

  She was still cleaning the bathroom when the knock came at the front door.

  “They’re here!” I cried, throwing off the apron I’d tied on to do the dusting.

  Mama emerged with combed hair and fresh lipstick, but her cheeks were pale.

  “God, give me strength,” she murmured, but I could tell from the glitter in her eyes, a part of her was excited about meeting Claudia and Carmen face to face.

  I followed her to the living room. There on the porch stood Eugene Hoffmeyer, puffed and confident, as if he were about to dole out favors to a cheering crowd.

  “I came by to see how you are,” he said, looking past Mama at me.

  Mama bristled. “What are you doing out of school, Eugene?”

  “I’m taking golf sixth period this year, in place of P.E. Thought I’d run by for a few minutes on my way to the club. I got worried when you weren’t at school today, Julie.”

  I held up my splinted fingers. “The doctor.” Looking past him I saw the mauve Chevy pulling up in front of the house. “Where are you parked, Eugene?”

  “In the driveway.” He looked over his shoulder. “Well, I’ll be diddly-dog damned. Here comes Carmen in that old crate.”

  “You have your nerve, calling someone else’s car a crate,” I said.

  He grinned. “I got you home that time, didn’t I? Even if I did have to do it in reverse. That must be her mother getting out of the car with her.” He scratched his head. “I never would’ve thought they’d come here. I mean . . .” His eyes crossed. “I don’t know what I mean.”

  A brisk wind swept past us through the open door. I stole a glance at Mama, who looked totally out of her tree, what with Eugene on the front porch in front of God and everybody, stammering about our disgraceful family history, and Carmen, with Claudia, coming up our walkway.

  Eugene glanced over his shoulder again. “Double doo-doo. They’re coming in.”

  “Aptly put,” Mama said.

  “I’d better blow off this visit,” Eugene said. “Unless you want me to come in.” He looked at Mama, then at me with hopeful eyes.

  Mama flipped out. “Dear God, no!” She took a moment before adding, “You’ll be late for golf class.”

  He scowled. “At least I came by to check on you, Julie. I bet you haven’t seen the likes of Justin Moore or Farrel Budrow at your front door.”

  “That was nice of you, Eugene,” I said, “but you better hit the road.”

  On the way to his car, he flipped off his cap and performed a sweeping bow to Carmen and Claudia, who had hesitated at the end of our walkway. We all watched his clunker jerk and cough its way up the street and out of sight.

  It took Claudia and Carmen only a few moments to come up the steps and onto the porch, not nearly long enough for Mama to regain her composure. She and Claudia stared at each other through the screen door. Like me, Carmen stood slightly back, waiting for the fur to fly, I supposed. Who knew what size eruption might occur as a result of our two mothers meeting face to face for the first time. The wait went on so long, I finally stepped forward and pushed open the screen door.

  “Yes, forgive me. Come in,” Mama said. “Have a seat here in the living room. Can I get you some coffee? I’ve just put on a pot.”

  “We didn’t come to pay a social call,” Claudia said in her usual sarcastic tone. “Carmen has a harebrained idea she thinks will save Julie’s ass.”

  Mama blanched at her language. Carmen settled on the couch in front of the windows, but Claudia spent several moments looking at the porcelain figures on the commode and accent tables before moving on to the mantle where she studied Mama’s cut-glass crystal pieces decorating the top. From there she observed the rosewood table that was my great-great grandmother’s, and finally the towering grandfather clock on the side wall.

  “Is it going to rain?” Mama asked.

  Hope dwindled in me. Mama was following the same, acceptable routine all well-bred Southerners adhered to of never discussing anything
but the weather, an upcoming marriage, or the arrival of a baby, within the bonds of matrimony, of course. Ironically, we wouldn’t have to stray terribly far from acceptable conversation today in talking about a baby—just not an acceptable baby.

  “So, what is the idea that is going to be Julie’s salvation?” Mama asked.

  “Yeah, let’s get right to the point,” Claudia said. “Understand, I don’t like being drug over here any more than you liked opening that door and letting me in, Elizabeth. Come on, Carmen. Spit it out.”

  Carmen rose and stood in front of the mantle, like she was taking center stage in the Thespian Club play.

  “First, we have to tell you that my stepfather has sent for Mother and me to come to England, where he’s been stationed for a year.”

  “How, pray, does that pertain to us?” Mama asked.

  “It pertains to you because I don’t want to go,” Carmen said. “I want to stay in school here in El Dorado. Now that Granny’s dead, Mother can join my stepdad, but then I’ll have no one in town to live with.”

  “What about your . . . father?” Mama asked.

  Silence fell at the mention of Scott Morgan. I looked at Mama first, holding her hand over her mouth like she wished she could perform a vanishing act, then at Claudia, toying with the frazzling fringe on her blouse, then finally at Carmen, gazing blankly out the window. She was the first to speak.

  “I could . . . stay with him. But I’m trying to help you and Julie out.”

  “I haven’t heard a word about how yet,” Mama said in a clipped tone.

  “I’m getting to it.” An instant later Carmen focused on me and did a double take. “Holy macaroni! I just now noticed your splint. Does it hurt?”

  “A little,” I admitted, grateful somebody was trying to comfort me.

  “Julie, the doctor told you to keep that hand still,” Mama said.

  “That complicates things, maybe, a little,” Carmen said, her brow puckered. “Oh well, never mind. We’ll work it out.”

  “Get to the point, if there is one,” Mama said.

  “Okay,” Carmen began. “If Julie doesn’t go to a home for the unwed, she’ll be ruined. Now here’s the deal. What if . . . ?” She wriggled all the way from her feet up to her head. “I’m so excited. What if me and Julie change places?”

  “Julie and I,” Mama said, “and that is completely insane.”

  “It’s not!” Carmen said. “No one would know she was gone. You wouldn’t have to make up some lie about her being terminally ill.”

  “No one would be fooled,” Mama said.

  “They would,” Carmen argued. “We can pass for each other. Stand here next to me, Julie. Put your sick hand behind your back. Now, look at us. If it wasn’t for our clothes, could you tell us apart?”

  “Of course I could,” Mama said.

  “Take off the blinders,” Claudia said. “They could pass for identical twins. They look so much alike it’s pure-dee, hard-down, flat-out shocking. Folks’ll buy it. If anyone has any doubt, they’ll write it off as them just being confused.”

  “How would it work?” Mama said, jerking upright in her chair and boring in on Carmen. “You and Julie—how did you put it? Changing places? Explain it to me.”

  “It’s simple. I would move in here, instead of going to England.”

  Mama sank back. “You? Living in my house?”

  “It’s either that or you in disgrace with your society bunch,” Claudia said. “Not to mention Julie’s life ruined, if anybody gets wind of where you’ve shipped her off to.”

  The look Mama and I exchanged spanned more than just our living room, gloomy in February’s winter light. We shared a glimpse into the future and what it might be like should my situation be discovered. Mama would not be on this earth forever. I’d be alone someday with no education, a menial job, and no husband. I knew Mama saw those same consequences for my life looming ahead of us if we didn’t do something drastic, something impossible to glom onto, but something we both knew could not be avoided.

  “The trouble is,” Mama rose to her feet, “you two girls resemble each other in looks but . . .” She gave a nod toward Carmen. “You could never pass for my daughter. You are nothing like her.”

  “I know my grammar is Nowheresville,” Carmen said, “so don’t try to put me down by saying so.”

  Score one for my half-sister.

  “She knows better,” Claudia said. “She chooses to talk like I do to keep from hurting my feelings.”

  “I don’t want to go to a home,” I said, failing in my effort to hold back tears.

  “Dry it up,” Claudia said. “You don’t have any other choice, the way I see it.”

  “Why can’t I go to England with Claudia?” I spurted out to Mama. “Nobody would know me over there, and I could go to school and have my baby without fear of scorn or judgment.”

  Mama flipped her wig. “Not while I have breath in my body!”

  “Ditto,” Claudia said. “So, scrap that idea. You’ll have to go to the home, and Carmen will come here and pretend she is you. It’ll be fine.”

  I could tell Mama was mulling it over, in spite of her next words. “I don’t know. Their choice of attire is as different as daylight and dark.”

  “I may dress like a Sukey Tawdry, but at least I’m a virgin,” Carmen said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter ’cause I’ll be wearing Julie’s clothes.”

  It was my turn to blink.

  “I don’t know if I want her wearing Julie’s clothes,” Mama said.

  “You know what?” Claudia got up and pointed a garish red fingernail at Mama. “I’ve had enough of you running my daughter into the ground. We’ve made you an offer. If you’ve got two brain cells to rub together to get a spark, you’ll take it. If not, you’ll suffer the consequences. Come on, Carmen, we’ve wasted enough time here.”

  “So you are or you aren’t going to take me up on this?” Carmen managed to ask me as Candia dragged her by the hand out the door and onto the porch.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “I know,” Mama said. “The answer is NO, in all capital letters.”

  —||—

  Worried that Mama would send me away, it was after midnight before I finally sank into a dreamless sleep. At five past three by the clock on my bedside table, something woke me. Instantly alert, I listened hard to hear the sound again. When it came, I realized it was too soft to have awakened me, but it had. I crept out of bed and followed it to Mama’s room. No light seeped from beneath her closed door. From the darkness of the room came the sound of her weeping in the winter night.

  Chapter 9

  SURRENDER

  Mama broke down and bought more cigarettes. After several nights of chain-smoking while calling homes for unwed mothers, she finally located one within a day’s driving distance in a small town near Dallas, Texas. It wasn’t her first choice, but it was the cheapest, and more important, it would take me at the end of March, when I would be going into the fifth month. Most homes only took girls six months along.

  Risky as it was, Mama’d had to let me go back to school. There was no alternative. It was the state law of Arkansas that all kids must go to school—unless they’re pregnant. Then they’re not allowed to go.

  When not on the phone at night, Mama spent her time pouring over a medical book she’d sneaked out of the law office where she worked, looking for an illness she could say I had come down with that would allow her to credibly stay in El Dorado while I was incarcerated. She’d lose her job if she stayed out in Texas with me, and she had to have her job to pay the fees for keeping me in the home. Even if she could have taken several months’ vacation, she couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel for so long.

  “It could be polio,” I suggested, looking up from my homework one evening. The scent of early daffodils drifted through the open windows of the den, making it hard to concentrate. “You could say I’m in an iron lung and can’t have any visitors
.”

  “Don’t even think of such a thing!” she said, pulling at her hair with both hands. “It wouldn’t work anyway. Nothing will! I’m at the end of my rope trying to think of a credible disease.”

  She got up from her chair in the den and sauntered into the breakfast room, where I sat at the table studying my French lesson.

  “Maybe you could ask Claudia for the name of a suitable illness,” I suggested.

  “Don’t make light of our situation. In the first place, no explanation on earth will convince Mavis MacAfee that I would leave my little chick alone and sick way out in Texas, no matter what the disease. I know Mavis. She’ll see through that in nothing flat, and it’s only a small step from there to concluding you’re in a home for unwed mothers.”

  “Then I may as well stay here and have the baby.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Julie. We’ve been over and under this a hundred times. You cannot, must not let anyone know the truth.”

  “Someone might already know,” I said, pulling up my blouse and tugging down the waistband of my skirt. “Look.”

  Mama stared at my slightly increased waistline. “You’re showing!”

  “Only a little. My clothes still fit. Pretty much.”

  “What are you now? How many months?”

  “Four. Maylene McCord asked me today if I’m putting on weight.”

  “God help us!”

  “She’s just being Maylene,” I said. “She’d say that if I went from a hundred and fourteen to a hundred and fifteen.”

  “What are you up to?”

  I dropped my gaze back to my French book. “A hundred and twenty.”

  “Julie!

  I laughed. “It’s only five pounds.”

  Mama wrung her hands. “This isn’t funny. We have to do something, now.”

  She went into the kitchen and, lighting a cigarette, leaned on the edge of the sink and stared out at the finely tended yards of our neighbors, while my own eyes glazed over with scenes from that day at school. Maylene and I’d had a conversation longer than two minutes for the first time since she and Farrel went to the Christmas dance.