Neither Mr. Dalt nor Miss Myrtis was dumb, so the question was, How had they managed to make such a mess of their son? Some thought it was Miss Myrtis being so tough. Some thought it was Mr. Dalt being so soft. Others suggested that maybe they spent too much time on good works and business and not enough on their child. But the majority chalked it up to Grady’s nature. He was just born mean as a junkyard dog, they said.
Two who refused to believe that were Peggy and her mama.
BY THE TIME SHE WAS TWELVE, life had taught Peggy two things: Money was the most important thing on earth, and men were far more efficient at getting it than women. Like all lessons that stick, she had learned hers the hard way. When she was ten her daddy died in a car wreck while driving home from an Auburn football game on a sunny Saturday afternoon in October. Her father, who had been a lawyer and should have known better, went without leaving a will or life insurance. He never expected to die so young. Plus his sweet fluttery little wife cried whenever he brought the subject up.
It took his widow eighteen months to go through his savings—Peggy’s mama had a great sense of style but no head for figures—and then mother and daughter were on their own. The beautiful old home Mama had so lovingly decorated had to go. They rented a tiny house with barely enough room for them and the stray mutt Daddy had brought home one evening. The landlord balked at having a dog living in his little cottage and only agreed after demanding an extra deposit which wiped out two weeks’ worth of the food budget.
Mama went to work as a saleswoman at Sally Boots’s Dress Shop, a place she had never dreamed of patronizing back in the days when she could afford new clothes. The chic stores of Atlanta had been her turf, and she was a disaster at selling the cute prints and fringed denim she could hardly bring herself to look at, much less recommend. Soft hearted Bootsie kept her out of pity but put her on a commission instead of paying her a salary. Mostly, Peggy and her mother lived on the Social Security checks the government sent because they’d lost their breadwinner and an occasional handout from Mama’s family. At the end of the month before the checks came in they ate cornbread sopped in buttermilk for dinner like poor people.
There were others who had it worse, families scrabbling out a life on dirt farms in the backcountry, but Peggy’s mother was not bred to poverty. She lacked the swagger and pride of redneck poor. She just became shabby and ashamed. Late at night, Peggy would hear her poor sad little mama crying and she would hold the dog tight and pray for a new father.
Instead, God sent her breasts. They popped up on her chest as if by magic one night while she was sleeping, or at least that was the way it felt. Soon after the breasts sprouted, her skinny tomboy’s body turned itself into a thing of curves, with rounded hips, a tiny waist, and long elegant legs. She had been prepared for menstruation, her red-faced mother had given her a book, but these new bumps and lumps were an intrusion she hadn’t asked for. At first she was angry about what had happened, but then she began to be aware of the effect she was having on the boys around her. She had a sense of possibilities. She wasn’t sure exactly what they were yet, but she knew her new body was giving her a valuable power. Grown men were looking at her too, in the grocery and the drugstore; even the school principal had to work hard to keep his eyes away from her chest when she wore her white angora sweater tucked into her circle skirt and cinched with a wide elastic belt. The effect on the hapless Mr. Dean was illuminating. She began to experiment—tastefully, she was her mama’s daughter after all—with cosmetics. She bought peroxide and began lightening her honey-brown hair by degrees so Mama would believe her when she said it was sun streaks. Then one night Mama brought home a push-up bra from the dress shop and handed it to her. After that she realized there was no need to hide anything. Her soft helpless little mother understood better than she did the campaign she was starting to launch.
For the next two years she honed her flirting skills and became known as a tease. It wasn’t fair because she never actually promised anything, but there was something about her that seemed to promise. It was in the way she carried her body in clothes that were a tad too tight, while wearing lipstick that was one shade brighter than a nice girl should put on. Peggy never withdrew in shock when she was slow dancing and a hard-on suddenly materialized in the pants of her overheated partner. She never cried and declared she wasn’t that kind of girl when a stray hand found its way inside her bra during a necking session. She looked the perpetrator in the eye and smiled a knowing smile she had picked up from watching Barbara Stanwyck at the Saturday movie matinee. But she always put a bit of air between herself and the afflicted dance partner, and she always removed the wandering hand. She listened unmoved to pleas of undying love, respect forever, and enraged complaints in which the term blue balls figured prominently.
Boys couldn’t figure her out, and it made them crazy. They drove her home in cars steamy with frustration and swore they would never see her again. But they always did. Because while she was saying no, Peggy managed to suggest that she was on the verge of saying yes. And every boy she’d tormented wanted to be there when she finally gave in. What they didn’t know was, she never would. Because the boys she was dating were simply a warm-up. Peggy had her eye on a much bigger prize than a high school senior with his own car and a summer job at Burger Queen. Without being sure exactly how she was going to pull it off, Peggy had set her sights on none other than Charles Valley’s version of the Prince of Wales, Grady Garrison. Later, when she looked back, she realized it had been Mama who started pointing out every time Grady was back in town.
She had heard the rumors about him, the whispers about drinking and the wrong kind of girls, but the details were vague and, as Mama pointed out, people were jealous and the Garrisons were an obvious target. Whenever she and Mama drove past the resort, or the massive stone entrance to the huge log cabin Miss Myrtis had built behind a grove of towering pines, she was reminded once again of how great the Garrison family was. It didn’t seem possible that anyone who had been raised in such solid, respectable splendor could be capable of the kinds of things the gossips said about Grady. And then the bills would come in again and she would hear Mama weeping, and any little doubts she had about trying to capture the Garrison money would melt away.
She had no specific game plan for accomplishing her goal. Two years of torturing the masculine population of Charles Valley High had taught her the futility of such plans. Experience had taught her you always wound up winging it, which was a special gift of hers. The problem was getting access to her target. With Grady away from home most of the year, her opportunities for catching his attention were limited.
Then, one hot June, Myrtis Garrison had her first heart attack and Grady came home for the summer.
WHEN PEGGY SAW GRADY, she was in the parking lot outside Jenson’s General Store with a bunch of kids who were waiting for Miss Li’l Bit’s station wagon. It was a sweltering day, and as she did every summer, Miss Li’l Bit had asked a group of young people to her house for swimming lessons. She’d started having the lessons in the pond on her property years ago, after her father died and left her the house. Miss Li’l Bit’s mama was alive somewhere, and there was some sort of story attached to the reason why she didn’t live with her daughter, but Peggy and her friends weren’t too clear on the details. It didn’t seem to matter much. The idea of Miss Li’l Bit needing a parent was ridiculous.
In fact, Li’l Bit Banning was only ten years older than Peggy, but it never would have occurred to Peggy or any of the other kids to drop the Miss in front of her name. There never had been anything young about Miss Li’l Bit. She was square and slow-moving. She spoke slowly too, in a flutey voice that sounded like Eleanor Roosevelt probably would have if she’d been born in Georgia. But it wasn’t the way Miss Li’l Bit looked or spoke that made her seem old. It wasn’t even the hair done in a knot at the back of her neck, or the old-lady shoes, or the thick glasses she peered through. It was the way she acted and the things she did. Like
giving free swimming lessons to anyone who wanted them. This year she had added a Red Cross lifesaving course for her young guests. For most of them it was an excuse to cool off on a hot day, show off their bathing suits, flirt, and have a picnic lunch provided by Miss Li’l Bit. Saving lives was not high on their list of priorities. Peggy was pretty sure their benefactress was aware of their attitude. Though Miss Li’l Bit might seem hopelessly out of touch to the teenagers who were taking cheerful advantage of her hospitality, Peggy had noticed a sharpness in the blue eyes behind the thick glasses. Her take was that Miss Li’l Bit didn’t miss a trick.
But on that Saturday morning, Peggy wasn’t thinking about Miss Li’l Bit or anything except getting to the pond. She was wearing a new white bathing suit under her blouse and Bermuda shorts, a suit so cruelly revealing of the least figure flaws that it had been marked down twice at Boots’s and Mama had been able to pick it up for a song. They both knew Peggy had nothing to fear. She’d left her blouse unbuttoned and tied the tails tightly around her waist to emphasize the point.
There were at least fifteen kids in the parking lot when Peggy’s mama dropped her off. Those who had cars would drive together to Miss Li’l Bit’s house, and those who didn’t would wait for Miss Li’l Bit to pick them up in her station wagon. But this morning, instead of cramming themselves into the cars or running into Jenson’s for a last-minute Coke, everyone was over at the far end of the parking lot. Peggy went over to investigate. The object of their attention was a cherry-red Chevy convertible with a white top and white leather seats. No one had ever seen it before. That in itself wasn’t unusual in Charles Valley; the resort drew a well-heeled crowd, and expensive cars were all over the place during tourist season. But this jazzy car was a far cry from the sober sedans the guests usually drove.
Speculation about the car’s owner began to fly. “Tall, dark, and handsome,” one girl offered.
“Blond and built like a brick you-know-what,” one of the boys said. “She’s probably in Jenson’s right now.”
“He is.”
Peggy wondered what a resort guest, male or female, could be buying in a little local store that stocked staples like Grape Nuts cereal and motor oil.
Then Grady Garrison walked out of the store carrying a carton of beer.
It had been a couple of years since she’d last seen him close up, and he’d changed. The last traces of puppy fat were gone now; he was lean and, even for an area of the country where no skin escaped the rays of the sun, he was richly tanned. There was a swagger to his walk as he made his way to his convertible.
The other kids backed off, embarrassed to be caught slobbering over Grady’s property. But Peggy recognized the hand of Fate reaching down to give her a gift. She moved around the car so Grady couldn’t see her, ducked down, opened her purse, and dumped the contents onto the asphalt. She’d seen a movie in which the girl did that so she could miss her train and stay with her lover who was married. She couldn’t remember if it was Doris Day or Audrey Hepburn who had the lead. She hoped Grady hadn’t seen the same film.
As she bent down to retrieve her belongings—not the most attractive position, but it couldn’t be helped—she saw that Miss Li’l Bit had pulled up in her station wagon. She froze, scared those smart blue eyes might have caught her emptying her bag onto the ground. But she told herself not to be dumb. Miss Li’l Bit probably couldn’t see that far, and even if she could it was none of her business.
Grady was getting closer. She was alone now. The stragglers who didn’t have rides had climbed into the back of Miss Li’l Bit’s station wagon. Peggy busied herself with picking up pennies and dimes. Grady’s shadow fell over her, and she gave a little gasp as if she was startled.
“Goodness,” she said, looking up at him. “You scared me.” She smiled a pouty little smile and ignored her racing heart.
“Sorry.” He was standing between her and the sun. When she looked up at him he was a dark figure outlined against a sky so bright it hurt her eyes. She couldn’t see the expression on his face. For a moment she wanted to run to the safety of Miss Li’l Bit’s car and a day spent learning to save lives in the shallow end of Miss Li’l Bit’s pond. But then the sun glinted off the stone in the ring Grady wore on his right hand. It was his granddaddy’s class ring from Vanderbilt. Grady was his granddaddy’s namesake, and passing down the ring was a proud family tradition. She took a deep breath.
“I was admiring your car and I dropped my bag,” she said, in a voice that sounded unbelievably steady.
He was looking down at her; she still couldn’t see his face.
“I was going swimming over at Miss Li’l Bit’s.” She made a fast decision not to mention the lifesaving lessons because that sounded too young. “Your car is a dream,” she added, a little desperately. He still hadn’t said a word. She wasn’t sure what to do next. The idea of running came back. She’d just leave her new lipstick and mascara and her house keys and all the rest of it scattered on the gravel of the parking lot and go. Then a voice called out from behind them.
“Peggy, we’re ready.” Miss Li’l Bit was leaning out the window of her station wagon, which was now loaded with giggling, squirming adolescents. Grady snapped his head around in the direction of the sound and she could see his profile. She thought he frowned but she couldn’t be sure.
“Come along, Peggy, you don’t want to keep the others waiting.” Miss Li’l Bit’s voice had taken on a sharp edge. Suddenly Grady squatted down and smiled. He had a big smile, lips opening wide to show white perfect teeth. She wondered if he’d ever worn braces. Mama had thanked God and the dentist when he said Peggy wouldn’t need them. Braces were so expensive.
“If you want to go swimming, come to my house,” Grady said softly.
It was the invitation she’d wanted. There was no reason to back off. He straightened up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” he urged, and opened the car door. He had a funny accent, harsh and kind of flat; he must have picked it up in those northern schools.
“Peggy!” The edge in Miss Li’l Bit’s voice was sharper. Peggy looked over and saw she was getting out of her station wagon.
“Hurry,” Grady said, with a playful wink. “Before she comes and drags you away from the big bad wolf.”
Afterward she would try to remember if he had pushed her into the car or if she had climbed in on her own. He put the carton on the seat next to her and ran around to the other side to get in. As he leaned across her to lock her door, she thought she smelled beer on his breath.
“Peggy,” Miss Li’l Bit called out.
“My things—” she began, but he was already turning the key in the ignition.
“Too late,” he said, and peeled out. Somewhere under his tires her lipstick and her mascara were ground into the gravel. As they raced toward the parking lot exit, Peggy turned to see Miss Li’l Bit standing next to her station wagon, staring after them.
WHEN THEY REACHED THE HIGHWAY, Grady took a beer out of the carton and opened it with a church key he had hanging from his rearview mirror. Peggy started to protest as he took his hands off the wheel to punch holes in the can; the college student who had plowed into her father’s car had been driving with his knees and balancing a bottle of Wild Turkey against the steering wheel, and she never let boys drive her if they had been drinking. Besides, being seen running around town at ten o’clock in the morning with a date who was sucking beer out of a can was low rent, even if he was Grady Garrison. But instinct told her Grady wasn’t just showing off like the other boys. A reprimand wouldn’t stop him, it would probably make him do it even more.
He smacked his lips. “Nice and cold,” he said. “Help yourself.”
“No, thanks,” she said, trying to keep the disapproval out of her voice. He shrugged and drove on in silence. Clearly it was up to her to start a conversation.
“I can’t wait to see your pool,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about it. Well, I guess everyone has. I mean, everybody knows Mr. Roo
sevelt used to go swimming in it when he was visiting your daddy.”
“Roosevelt’s dead,” he said flatly. He took a swig of beer and floored the gas pedal. The Chevy jolted and roared down the highway at a speed that made Peggy catch her breath. He heard her and laughed.
“You’re not chicken, are you?”
“You’re going kinda fast,” she shouted, over the wind that was whipping her hair into her face. He looked at her for the first time since they’d gotten into the car. Then he smiled and pressed down even harder on the gas pedal. They were flying now, taking curves at a sickening speed. Peggy braced her feet against the floor of the car and forced herself to keep quiet.
Finally they came to the fork in the highway, the tip of the wedge of land where his house was. The mad ride was over. Peggy allowed her legs to relax. But instead of turning up the long winding drive to his home, Grady raced past it and continued down the highway.
Peggy couldn’t keep quiet anymore. “What are you doing?” she yelled, over the sound of the air roaring past them. For an answer he finished his beer, tossed the can out of the car, rammed a fresh one between his knees, and started to fumble with the church key. The car swerved toward the soft shoulder of the road. Peggy stifled a scream. He righted the car and tossed the can of beer at her.
“Open it,” he commanded. With shaking hands she obeyed. It sprayed all over her blouse and her hair and the top of her new suit. Grady laughed.
On the left, Miss Li’l Bit’s house was coming up. For a moment, Peggy thought he was going to let her out, that the whole nightmare ride had been some kind of cruel practical joke. Instead, tires screeching, he turned to the right, onto the dirt road that led into the Nature Preserve.
The Three Miss Margarets Page 13