Mr. Rankin was walking around between the machines yelling at a typesetter. He wore a gray-green apron and reminded me of a grasshopper, bent-over, thin, freckled and pale, ready to spit. He took my grandmother’s letter from me, scanned it and smiled. “Your grandmother has a way with words.” Then he looked at me and smiled again. “I hope you don’t inherit it.”
When I got back, the divinity-making was going on. Louella had lined trays up on the counters, the tables, the pantry shelves, on stools. I didn’t see how in the world I could carry all of it, much less sell it. She and my grandmother sure seemed hellbent on making me the queen.
My grandfather was at his office, hiding the medicines, I hoped—but also knew that he wasn’t. I looked out the window at my parents’ house. The light was on in my old bedroom. The idea about becoming like B.J. and getting my picture in the paper was still there. Even though once it’d been thrown away and half-buried, it was now back and growing to full-force. Old ideas seem to be like that, tough as weeds and hard to get rid of, especially when they get mixed in with something like love or hope. I didn’t have much more of an idea of what I was doing than a coot in hell, but somebody had to do something about the sorry state of Sam and me.
I slipped out the back door and walked over the short driveway to knock at the kitchen door of my old house. When Foster Collins saw me, he looked surprised but pleased. He wore horned-rimmed glasses now, and his cheeks were sunken a little more than usual. His hair, sticking up as though he had been plowing his hands through it, was more gray than a year ago; and his shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loosely over a T-shirt.
He thought of me as a kid and, because I made him feel uncertain and a little nervous, he offered me hot chocolate and asked me to sit down. The cup he set in front of me was one of B.J.’s pink flowered china cups. I remembered her and Ron driving off in his pickup. Probably she couldn’t fit everything in.
Foster Collins and I sat a while, talking about the weather and bus trips and school. Then he smiled slightly and asked me if I’d mind looking at something he was writing.
He showed me two versions of an article named “The Ozarks by Bus.” When I told him that I liked the first one best, he smiled and said he did, too. And as I got up to go I asked him if he’d mind if I looked around a little.
“Make yourself at home,” he said. We laughed a little at that, seeing as how it was my home to begin with. Then Foster went to sit down at the desk in my old bedroom and look through some papers.
I went around the house, looking in closets and the drawers of old chests. Out on the back porch where the washing machine was kept was one of those twirly skirts that B.J. used to strip off. It had a little hole in the skirt and she’d probably left it for somebody to use as a dust cloth. Behind the drier I found an old bikini top that must have gotten lost in the wash.
Hearing me in the doorway, Foster turned around. “I’m going to go on home now,” I said. I’d wadded up the costume parts and stuffed them in my pockets. I tried to stand so that it wouldn’t look like I had swollen hips.
When I got back to my grandparents’, Louella was getting ready to go on home. She took her purse out of the pantry where she kept it, covered all the trays of divinity with wax paper, and set out a Roach Hotel.
As my grandmother passed the kitchen, she suddenly stopped. “Louella, I almost forgot. Can you find Ezekiel?”
Louella rested her pocketbook on the top of a kitchen chair and thought a minute. “Seems he’s patching Mr. Tyler’s porch.”
“Well, run over there and remind him that he’s supposed to move that outhouse before Tuesday. And not to forget it.”
“Yessum.”
While she was gone my grandparents and I moved to the front porch, where we settled in the swing to cool off and watch down the street for anything that moved.
My grandmother was content. The air was warm, but filled with the smell of fall leaves and Louella’s cooking. My grandfather didn’t eat anything off the plate of divinity and chocolate drops that Louella had left us to try out.
The chimes started. We sat back in the swing to listen to them. The light was becoming gray. It would last only a few minutes, it seemed, before dark would come, sudden and thick. The short days were one of the first signs that summer was over. The chains on the swing squeaked a little and my grandmother hummed along with “A Church in the Wildwood,” which was being broadcast out of the Methodist steeple.
Most of the screens on the porch were blocked with dirt. The gray siltlike dust, which was always eager to move with whatever breeze came, had settled into some of the small wire holes of the screening. My grandfather was staring into the yard, and probably into all eternity, trying to get himself ready for what he thought would be the biggest change in his life. It was my grandmother’s legs that were setting the slow safe rhythm of the swing that she wanted us all to sit to.
Suddenly the record being chimed out of the church steeple got stuck. Leaning forward slightly as the same refrain was played over and over, I strained along with the record, until, as I was holding my breath and bending forward to urge the record on, someone scratchily lifted off the needle.
The tune hung in my mind unfinished, driving me crazy. I kept finishing the notes in my head.
Then another record came on. In a few minutes I eased back in the swing again, letting my feet push it back and forth along with my grandmother’s. The old, interrupted notes were remembered, but no longer mattered.
Out on the street, a big new car that I didn’t recognize slowed down, and somebody honked the horn and leaned out. For a second I thought it was B.J., or my mother—something about the set of her shoulders and the color of her hair made me think that. But it was Ellen Best. She waved at my grandmother and called out that she’d just been over visiting for the day. She asked my grandmother how she was, and called hello to my grandfather and me. Then she drove on.
Out of the dusk I saw Louella walking fast down the sidewalk. She came in the screen porch door. She was a little out of breath, and she straightened her scarf. The front of her uniform was dotted with chocolate stains and misaimed butter. She stared at us.
“Miz Maulden. Ezekiel said it’s not him moving that outhouse. It’s that Pedro. He said you’d remember that. He said Pedro’d do it before Monday. You’re not to worry. Ezekiel said that Pedro’s going to do it.”
24.
The Outhouse Is Moved
Halloween night came mild, clear, with the air slightly chilled so that my grandmother said I had a choice—to wear a sweater or two pairs of underwear. But she didn’t know about B.J.’s costume.
I drew fishnet stockings on my legs, then put on the organdy dress and walked into the living room.
My grandmother looked me over as royalty does the troops. Leona Sutton’s handiwork had given me a long skirt in blue organdy with gossamer puffed sleeves that looked like swollen butterflies. I had a pointed hat with a veil, a wand, and silver shoes. I was a princess, beautiful—at a distance.
She clipped a few stray threads and let me wear lipstick that she put on like a Clara Bow bow and that outside I immediately smeared into a fat, sexy mouth. But first Joel arrived and stood on the front steps, where we could see his shape through the glass in the door as he rang the bell.
When my grandmother opened the door, she gasped a little. Joel stood grinning, his eyes black, his teeth white, his skin the color of olive, wearing a devil suit. The red cotton of it had been starched so that it shined a little. I half-expected my grandmother to say he was appropriately dressed. But Joel grinned and said, “It’s sheets, Rit-ed.”
His mother had made it in one day and he himself had sewn on the tail: sheet-casing stuffed with newspapers. When he moved, he crackled a little.
My grandmother sent me off with a huge red hatbox stuffed full of Louella’s treats. Joel carried a sack of gum that his father had donated from the dime store. It had just turned dark.
“Where you want to start?” I
said.
“I’m not much on this door-to-door thing.” He lifted the top of the hat box. “Your grandmother must be serious about you winning.” He ate a piece.
“Those aren’t for you!” I said, so loud that I scared myself.
He backed up to a tree next to the sidewalk and lit a cigarette. “So why don’t you start over there on that street and I’ll sit here.”
“I thought you were serious about this.” I said.
“I am. I’m just not much of a door knocker.”
I started walking toward the Mill Pond street. Joel followed me, carrying his tail like a wine steward would carry a napkin. The sidewalks were filling up with other couples now. I knocked on a few doors while Joel stood in the background. Several people dug into their pockets to put something in my Mason jar.
After I’d done a few houses, I had thirty-two pennies, four dimes, a nickel and a paperclip stuck to a scummy Cloret. “Blazing start,” Joel said.
I headed for Miss Pankhurst’s. When she came to the door, I could see into the living room behind her where, set up on a card table with his writing materials, was Foster Collins. Miss Pankhurst wore a fancy dress with a low-cut back. She was the new president of the Missionary Society, and obviously she was ready to go to the high school at midnight to do the crowning. “Why Sally Maulden!” She came out onto the porch. “I heard about this dress Leona was making. Turn around, dear. I want to get the full effect.”
She lifted the hem and studied Leona’s seams. “Your grandmother was afraid it wouldn’t turn out. Leona’s not much good with organdy. She tends to snag it.”
Joel went to the bushes and lit another cigarette. I could see the red tip of his Winston through the azalea leaves.
Miss Pankhurst and Foster Collins bought a half-row of divinity and dropped nickels, dimes, and quarters into my fruit jar, and while they did Miss Pankhurst told me that she and Foster were collaborating on a project called “America by Bus.” She grinned so wide that her mouth looked smashed. She said they were going to spend that whole next year riding buses all over everywhere.
Joel was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. As we started to the sidewalk, next door at the Levys’ house, there was the sound of voices. We watched Benjamin, tall and hooknosed, his glasses the only thing wrong about an otherwise perfect Palladin getup, walk to the driveway and get into a white Cadillac. He wore silver guns, black boots, shirt … everything. No doubt he had printed cards with “Have Gun Will Travel” to hand out all over town. He backed the Cadillac out of the driveway and drove around the corner.
“Damn!” Joel said. He grabbed the hatbox, as though that would allow me to run better, and took off.
The Cadillac was parked in front of Corinne Hamilton’s, and Joel and I hunkered in some bushes. He handed me back the hatbox and I checked to see if the divinity was all right.
Corinne came out wearing a Wonder Woman suit. I had the feeling that it was made-over twirling gear. She even wore boots. Her lips were so shined up that I could see them like red flares in the porch light. The top of her costume was two huge hearts like they were barely covering ocean buoys. And when she walked, the buoys nodded to everyone in the ocean. If she were padded, she’d done it right. From every angle she looked real.
“Hell!” Joel raised up a little. “They’re going to drive all over town. How can we compete with that?”
We sat in our bushes and watched.
Corinne said that her uncle lived on the next street and she’d promised to show him her getup when she got it on. Benjamin opened the Cadillac door and twirled a gun. Corinne giggled. I guess he was nervous. He dropped the gun and a cap went off.
Corinne’s mother opened the door. The giant eye of her TV was lit behind her.
“Just fooling around,” Corinne yelled. Then she laughed. “Benji’s gun went off.”
“His best shot,” Joel said.
The Cadillac took off and suddenly Joel broke out of the bushes. “Leave that there,” he yelled, meaning my hatbox. But I was too nervous to part with it. I didn’t have the slightest idea why Joel was so worked up over Benjamin Levy, unless he was running after another view of Corinne. Or, maybe it was something between Jews I didn’t understand. But I was quiet and didn’t ask questions, and we stopped at the set of bushes that Joel pointed to, just outside Corinne’s uncle’s house.
The white Cadillac was parked in front. “Hot damn!” Joel said, and told me to stay there. He skulked out and hunched down beside the car. With one sudden jerk from underneath, he pulled out a red-plastic-coated wire and brought it to me. I hid it under the tissue paper in the hatbox. We watched as Corinne and Benjamin came out. Corinne was good at small talk. She was carrying a tray of brownies that her aunt had made her to sell. She sat down in the front seat of the car and twirled her legs in, pointing the toes of her boots. Benjamin shut the door. He got in beside her and ground the engine half a dozen times. When it wouldn’t start he got out and looked under the hood. Corinne’s uncle came out with a flashlight and looked around down in the motor, and said he thought it must be the distributor cap.
Benjamin adjusted his glasses. Already he’d gotten a habit of resting his palms on his gun handles. He looked at Corinne. “No sweat,” he said. He had another Fleetwood at home and they’d just go get that.
“Damn!” Joel hissed.
Corinne fancy-pantsed it down the walk and Benjamin escorted her, his hands on his guns. Joel looked depressed.
“If we didn’t waste so much time,” I said, “we’d be better off.” I left Joel sitting there and went up the walk to Corinne’s relatives and knocked.
Corinne’s uncle opened the door. He was overweight and slightly red all over. He looked at me. “Well … I been wondering how you are. You hear much from your folks? You know who gets you yet?”
Corinne’s aunt stuck her head out and pinched his bicep. “Mind your own business.” Then to me: “Ain’t that right, darlin’?” She opened her mouth and sucked in a breath. “Why, don’t you look grand!” She had a mustache of red fuzz. “Your grandfather can’t sell any more of that medicine, can he?”
“No’m.” I held out my divinity.
“Oh, Bill! Don’t this look good! I reckon it’s been a coon’s age since I had a piece of divinity. Buy us some, Bill.”
The uncle reached into his pocket and forked over a handful of change. The aunt elbowed him and he threw in a whole dollar. I got the idea that even though they had a sweet tooth—they were both real fat—they were giving me money more out of sympathy than anything else.
The aunt reached into my hatbox and pulled out the divinity by the handfuls. She accidentally brought up the red wire, but like somebody at a dinner party noticing a hair, she politely put it back. “I don’t know anybody who deserves to be queen more than you do, except maybe Corinne,” she said. “I think you ought to get runner-up. Don’t you, Bill?”
“I reckon,” he said, and ate a piece. “Beer might cut this sweet,” he said and left.
Corinne’s aunt smiled at me and closed the door.
I went back to the bushes. Joel was smoking another Winston. It was so dark that we couldn’t see each other. “We’re getting nowhere fast,” I said.
Joel must have been leaning against a tree. I couldn’t see him in the dark. There was a sucking noise that I couldn’t place. “We don’t stand a chance anyway,” I said. “What’s the use? We might as well eat this stuff and forget it.”
I knew that wasn’t the truth, though. I could walk down Main Street and everyone who saw me would put something in my fruit jar just because of who I was and the pitiful state of my family. I hated that.
There was silence except for that odd sucking noise. Then, strangely, words started coming out of my mouth so fast that Joel was probably staring toward me in the dark, wondering if in the last few minutes I’d lost my mind and was now a certified loony. I finished with marriage and family and people who could twirl fire, and started on my grandfather and
how it would be when the government inspector came and took away his license to practice medicine. My grandfather would get written up in the newspaper as an outlaw, and for all I knew he might could end up in prison. Probably I was even an accomplice for helping make so much of the medicine. At least the Inside kind. I never had gotten far enough along to learn how to make the Outside Medicine. Then when Joel asked me why my grandfather didn’t just hide the stuff and I told him that he didn’t want to act like a crook, and Joel laughed—that’s when I realized something important about family.
“You know,” Joel said, “your grandfather’s a real strange bird.”
I might feel murderous about my family not doing things better, but not just anybody could run them down. You had to belong. “I don’t like your saying that,” I said, my voice right huffy, and I could feel my mouth pinching up mean.
Joel laughed and told me that I was getting feisty.
I reached for the hatbox where I’d set it down. Only one piece of divinity was left. Joel had been sitting over it in the dark, eating. That was the sucking sound I couldn’t put my finger on. “Now what are we going to do?” I said.
When he took a deep drag on his cigarette, it lit Joel’s face and he was grinning, puffing and grinning. He was looking at me. “You really want to be that queen bad, don’t you?”
The whole idea of being the Coldwater October Queen now seemed silly and stupid. But getting my picture in the paper as sort of a present to Sam wasn’t. And in my B.J. costume, I’d probably look so raunchy that my parents would get back together out of guilt, if nothing else.
“Fifty dollars is nothing to sneeze at,” I said.
“You’re damn right.” Joel reached into the hatbox and ate the last piece. He wiped his hands on his devil suit. “We just need to go on down to the pool hall and get my dad to run a few games for us.”
I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about, but I wasn’t going to admit that. As Joel started walking, I followed him. We could have cut through the backyard of Sam’s house and gotten on the train trestle and walked it all the way to the pool hall, but Joel said that we needed to be seen on Main Street.
Queen of October Page 24