Queen of the Cookbooks

by Ashton Lee

  “What’s jailbait?”

  He made a soft whistling noise. “Now I’m convinced you are, askin’ me a question like that.”

  “No, really, I’m nineteen. My driver’s license is over there in my purse if you’d like to check it out. It’s just that I don’t like the taste of that whiskey. It’s pretty strong, and the vapors went up my nose. But I would like for you to kiss me. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “Boy,” he said, swilling more of his drink. “I don’t know what to say. Up in the bleachers all friendly-like the way you were, I coudda swore you were lookin’ for a good time. Now . . . well, I’m not sure you even know what a good time is. Not the way I mean it.”

  “Sure I know what a good time is.”

  “Do ya?”

  “You don’t want to kiss me then? Please . . . kiss me.”

  He said nothing for a while. Then he put his drink down atop the mini-fridge, moved to the sofa, and snuggled up to her quickly, embracing her tentatively. “Okay, then. Since you asked me so nicely and all, I’ll kiss you.”

  Before Renette knew it, his lips were on hers. They felt hot, but she could also smell and taste more of the strong whiskey that had been such a shock to her system. She decided it was an altogether unpleasant sensation and nothing like she had expected and wanted her first kiss to be. It was then that she came to her senses in the nick of time, realizing that the wicked little girl she had fancied in the full-length mirror was just an illusion. She wanted the kiss to end, but the two of them suddenly seemed attached at the lips. She realized for the first time just how muscular he was and that it was not going to be easy to back off and get out of her predicament. He didn’t just look strong, he was strong. More to the point, the entire experience was becoming increasingly unpleasant, if not alarming.

  Finally, and with some effort, she was able to pry herself loose, holding him at arm’s length while she caught her breath. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here with you like this.”

  Irritation crept into his face. “Is that right?”

  “This . . . this is all wrong.”

  He took a moment but kept his voice calm and steady. “Well, I think I prob’ly agree with you, darlin’. But you just asked me to kiss you, and I did. I do wanna go on record that I never had any complaints about my kisses from anyone before. I reckon you’d be the first.”

  “Please don’t be mad. I’ve . . . I’ve just never been kissed before—I mean, not that way—and I’ve never tasted liquor before. Any kind of liquor. My parents never allowed any of that stuff in the house when I was growing up.”

  His mood changed quickly from annoyance to forced laughter. “Man, I can guess what’s comin’ next.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He leaned into her, blowing more of his whiskey breath into her nostrils. “You’re a virgin, aren’tcha?”

  “Oh,” she said, almost in a whisper. “That.”

  “Then you are?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  Her voice began to tremble, and she could feel her heart racing faster. Only it wasn’t from excitement any longer. It was from a new and different visitor—fear. Sudden fear. “Please . . . don’t be mad at me.”

  Everything went silent between the two of them for what seemed like an eternity, even though it was probably less than a minute in reality.

  Then, to Renette’s great relief, Shark’s attitude changed completely, his tone becoming almost fatherly. “Listen, Renette, I’m not mad at you, and I’m not disappointed. The truth is, I’m no saint, but I got my standards when it comes to how I treat women. You got lucky tonight ’cause some guys woudda pressed on and took advantage of you if you got this far with ’em. I mean, in a New York second, they would’ve. But now, let me tell it like it is, and I want you to listen real close to what I say. This idd’n your fault. I made a snap judgment about you tonight out on those bleachers, and that’s all on me, but it almost got both of us in trouble. I don’t know what’s goin’ on in that little head a’ yours right now, but just take my word for it, this ain’t the way to go about things as nice and trustin’ a girl as you really are. This bid’ness we were about to conduct here in my van—and I think you understand what coudda happened so easily—it’s not for you. You’re not ready for it—no way, no how. And believe me, I really do know what I’m talkin’ about. Shark’s been around the block a time or two.”

  Renette felt a wave of embarrassment sinking down to the tips of her toes. “I . . . I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s this crush I have on Waddell Mack. I haven’t been able to think about anything or anyone else. I came to the concert with my head spinning about him, even though I knew I wouldn’t be coming anywhere near him. And then you came along and I just let everything happen without even thinking. I was trying to be somebody I’m not, and I guess you figured that out. I guess I figured it out, too. Do you think I’m crazy? Do you think I’ll be punished for what I’ve done?”

  This time he patted her shoulder without a hint of sexual innuendo. “Punished? What? Where did you git that from? You haven’t done anything. No way, darlin.’ You just got carried away with your crush is all. It happens. You gotta right to make a mistake in judgment. Looks like I did, too. But now, I think you oughta go home and get you a good night’s sleep. You just take my advice and you wait around until the right guy comes along for a real romance—and you’ll know it when he does. You won’t have to freeze up like you did and ask somebody to kiss you. You make up your mind to be in control of everything all the time, now. You be the one to call the shots, okay? Will you promise Shark you’ll do that?”

  Her embarrassment faded as she smiled. “I promise, and what you’re saying makes a lot of sense. Right now, I feel exhausted. It sure takes a lot of energy playing games, doesn’t it?”

  “You got that right. I do too much of it myself.” He exhaled. “One a’ these days, maybe I’ll even settle down and make my parents happy. They worry about me all the time, ya know.”

  “Same as my parents do me. But if they knew about all this, they’d disown me. But then, they don’t like anything about my life. They even think there’s something wrong with my working at the library for Miz Maura Beth. To their way of thinking, she’s the bad guy. Or gal, I guess.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me?”

  She shook her head emphatically.

  “What’s wrong with you workin’ at the library? Seems like that’d be the nicest, quietest place in the world to work.”

  She laughed good-naturedly. “My parents are convinced it’s a den of iniquity. Or worse.”

  He stood up and straightened his shiny belt buckle. “Now that’s right funny. A library as a den of iniquity. Shark’ll have to remember that one and tell all his buddies next time we play a round a’ pool and I clean out their wallets. Now there’s your real den of iniquity—the pool hall I go to with all the beer flowin’ and the smoke swirlin’ so you cain’t tell who’s who and what’s really goin’ down.” He paused to gaze at her affectionately. “Well, darlin’, this has been real nice and all, but I think it’s high time Cinderella went on home.”

  Renette stood up and gave him an impulsive hug. “Thanks. You’re right. I did get lucky tonight. Thanks for being a gentleman about it all.”

  “No problem, sweetheart. You good to drive?”

  “I think so,” she told him, even if she still had a slight buzz from the swallow of straight whiskey that was still hanging around.

  Then he cemented the feel-good exchange they were having as he checked his watch. “I don’t think your car’ll turn into a pumpkin just yet. Got you a good hour or so before midnight.”

  She was almost out the door when she turned at the last second, and asked, “Just for the record, are you really Waddell Mack’s cousin? Were you telling me the truth?”

  His grin was toothy and handsome, and he took a moment. “Like I said—distant . . . real dist
ant.”

  * * *

  By the time Renette got home, she felt completely wrung out. Maybe some of the things her parents had been telling her all this time were right after all. She had indeed led a very protected life, and this incident with Shark had brought it home dramatically to her. Suppose he had been a different type of guy? And then, what if that awful whiskey had taken over for the both of them? More than anything else, she felt she needed to talk things out with someone who would listen and understand. Or at least use someone as a sounding board so she could move on.

  Two people came to mind: her mother and her mentor, Maura Beth. She went back and forth about it, and finally she reached the point of no return. She had to dispose of it all emotionally because keeping it to herself was not something she could handle. But first, she simply had to take off all that makeup. She had come to the conclusion that it was messy, complicated, and way too overrated. All those ads in the fashion magazines made it look like all a girl had to do was put it on, pose for the camera, and her world would fall into place as if by magic. Maybe someone needed to sue the cosmetics companies for false advertising.

  For instance, the talking-a-mile-a-minute saleslady with the beehive hairdo who had sold it all to her and shown her how to apply it was just too slick for words. “Sweetie pie, this is just the right shade for you, but you know, you need something to bring out your cheekbones a little more. You have such beautiful, high cheekbones. And you also need to bring out your eyes. Such, beautiful blue eyes they are, too. Just try this shadow, try this blush, try this eyebrow pencil, try this lip gloss, try this foundation . . .”

  Ha! Did these department store people work on commission or what?

  Once she was in her soft, roomy pajamas that smelled of fabric softener, she sat down on the edge of her bed and made her decision. It was as if all that makeup had penetrated her pores, entered her bloodstream, and traveled to her brain cells, making them unable to function. There was some risk involved, but she ultimately erred on the side of talking to her family about what had happened after the concert. Maybe, just maybe, her mother and father would understand and approve of the way their daughter had been honest enough to share her experience in the van. After all, nothing bad had happened. She had actually done nothing wrong; and fortunately, neither had her cruising Shark.

  She could picture her mother saying something soothing to her like, “The angels were looking out after you, Renette. Your father and I have always told you there were angels out there. You just need to know where to look for them.”

  Yes, that would be her mother’s response. Surely that would be her calm, collected response, and that would be the end of it.

  10

  The Rabble-Rouser

  How on earth had things come to this in a matter of a few days? How had the joy and sense of accomplishment Maura Beth had felt at the opening of her new, state-of-the-art library overlooking the waters of Lake Cherico vanished in the face of these baseless charges against her?

  She kept trying to deny the upsetting reality of it all, but here she was in City Hall Chambers, Jeremy on one side of her, Renette on the other, defending herself against a request by Hardy and Lula Posey, Elder Warren, and the Church of the Eternal Promise that she be removed immediately as the director of the Charles Durden Sparks, Crumpton, and Duddney Public Library. At the other end of the long, highly polished meeting room table sat Councilman Sparks, flanked by Chunky Badham and Gopher Joe Martin; and halfway between those two contingents were Maura Beth’s accusers—Renette’s thin-lipped parents and their embalmed-looking pastor. As she silently observed Elder Warren closely, she was unable to detect even the tiniest tic on his pale, frowning countenance with its glazed, dead eyes; and it even came to her that he had a great deal in common with a flawless work of taxidermy. Then she came to as Councilman Sparks made his opening remarks.

  “As you well know, Miz McShay, since City Hall has jurisdiction over the library in Cherico, it is our duty to take these accusations against you seriously. We must give Mr. and Mrs. Posey and Elder Warren their say in this, but you will have the opportunity to rebut them afterward, of course.”

  Determined at all costs to keep her cool, Maura Beth said, “I understand perfectly, Councilman Sparks.”

  She and Jeremy had spent a great deal of time the evening before exploring her responses to every possible angle the Poseys might pursue in this hearing, which was not open to the public, and she felt reasonably confident that she would prevail in this challenge to her qualifications as a librarian.

  “I’ve changed the balance of power in Cherico,” Maura Beth had reminded Jeremy during their rehearsals. “Those first few years when I was struggling to make ends meet for the old library, I wouldn’t have won this battle. I would have been down for the count and maybe even blaming myself for getting the short end of the stick. But this is a new day, and we’ve got a new library now.”

  Jeremy had not been quite as optimistic, remaining cautious. “I hope you’re right, Maurie. I just have a hard time trusting Councilman Sparks with all you’ve been through.”

  Back in the meeting room, Councilman Sparks was officially opening the proceedings, turning his attention to the Poseys and Elder Warren. “Which of you wants to speak first?”

  “I will,” Hardy Posey answered, raising his hand. He glared at his daughter and then cleared his throat. “As we told you when we came to your office before, Councilman Sparks, our daughter, Renette, hasn’t been the same since she came to work for Miz McShay at the library right after she graduated from high school. She was just a sweet, innocent girl back then.” He paused to point dramatically at Maura Beth. “There Miz McShay sits next to our daughter.”

  “Yes, Mr. Posey,” Councilman Sparks said without emotion. “Everybody knows who everybody else is at the table. We can dispense with more introductions. Please proceed.”

  “Our Renette was happy to live at home with us before she got that job. We had high hopes for her happiness, and we just knew she would find the right young man and get married and give us grandchildren—which is the plan intended for everyone. Then, she started tellin’ us about all these books that Miz McShay would buy and put on the shelves. Stories and such we don’t think are proper to have for people to check out. They could influence young people the wrong way, you know? That was when we first started to worry about Renette. Especially when she told us she was movin’ out and gettin’ a place of her own and—”

  Councilman Sparks interrupted. “Excuse me, Mr. Posey, but what were some of these stories that you thought were improper for the library to have? Should I be worried about it?”

  “Why, anyone would think they weren’t fit for a library, sir,” Hardy continued, his round, fleshy face reddening. “Those Harry Potter novels that glorify sorcery, for starters. And then there were some actual books on witchcraft and Wiccan stuff. How to practice it, mind you. We got no bid’ness havin’ that material in our library. Some of the fiction is about teenagers who become vampires or want to become vampires—which we know is ungodly. Now, who in his right mind wants to be promotin’ that? And there’s more fiction that is not about churchgoin’ people like ourselves. How are we supposed to keep our children on the straight and narrow when they have temptations like that to read? You do see my point, don’tcha, Councilman?”

  “I do see what you’re saying, yes,” Councilman Sparks told him, his tone once again calm and deliberate. “Please go on.”

  “Well, as if Miz McShay fillin’ our shelves with all that wudd’n enough, Renette told us about what happened to her at that Queen of the Cookbooks to-do out at the lake the evening the new library opened up. She came to us all emotional the day after it happened, and that’s when we knew we finally had to do somethin’ then and there about Miz McShay. That Queen of the Cookbooks contest was her idea, we’ve heard, and she ran it like a dictator. We saw her actually kick people outta the contest just because they had a few words with each other. They didd’n d
o nobody harm, and it was kinda funny watchin’ them carry on the way they did. And then, look what it led to with our Renette.”

  “What exactly did it lead to, Mr. Posey? Please elaborate for us again because I thought all the contest led to was people eating good food and listening to some country music and having a good time.”

  “Drunk behavior and nearly some fornication is what it led to, no thanks to Miz McShay, and not only that—”

  “That is not what happened, Daddy. That is not what I told you, and you know it. You’ve twisted this thing to make it sound horrible and a whole lot worse than it was. I sure wish I hadn’t said anything at all about it to you and Mama,” Renette interrupted, nearly in tears, while Maura Beth comforted her with a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder.

  “Miss Renette, I promise you that you’ll get your turn,” Councilman Sparks told her. “We’ll give you plenty of time, but we must get both sides of the story here to make a fair decision.”

  Renette exhaled vigorously, her hands knotted in fists, and then offered a barely audible, “I’m sorry to butt in like that.”

  “No, you don’t have anything to be sorry about. I understand that this is difficult for you.”

  “Well, as I was sayin’ before my daughter’s outburst,” Hardy continued, “there was some people that had flasks of liquor in the stands, and one of ’em invited my daughter back to his van after that concert was over by that singer whose songs don’t have any morals to ’em. They’re all about drinkin’ and people who cheat on each other and that sorta thing from what I can make out. But that Waddell Mack, he sure makes lotsa money off ’em. That’s how it is these days in this world.” He paused to stare at the faces of the three councilmen, searching for a sympathetic reaction, but found not so much as a nod in his general direction.

  “Anyhow, this man in the stands offered my daughter whiskey and tried to get her drunk, and I ask you straight out—would any a’ that’ve happened if Miz McShay hadn’t come to Cherico and changed things the way she has? She’s been a bad influence on our daughter, and there’s no way of tellin’ how many others have come into that library and found those materials and lost their way. This never happened when Miz Annie Scott was there. My wife and I think Miz McShay needs to be reigned in, and things need to go back to the way they were before. We tried to get Miz McShay to take those books off the shelves. We asked her nicely, but she just wouldn’t do it. She told us no way would she ever do it. So let’s forget this Queen of the Cookbooks bid’ness for a moment. That’s the least of it. I’d just like to know who made Miz McShay the Queen of Cherico who answers to nobody? Can you answer me that?”