by G M Barlean
A tear glistened at the corner of Mari’s eye.
I’d heard as much as I could take. If Mari wasn’t going to stand up for herself, I’d do it for her. “Naomi, the truth is you’re nothing but a shallow snob. All the money in the world couldn’t buy you the manners Mari comes by naturally.”
“Well, excuse me, Betty, if I’m not offended by comments from your kind.” Naomi laughed, then looked down her nose at us.
Then Tanya’s temper kicked in. “Our kind? What the heck is that supposed to mean?” She stepped forward. “You mean the nice kind? The normal kind? The not-having-to-get-pregnant-to-catch-a-man kind?”
Doug walked up right at the end of Tanya’s small tirade. We all stiffened and fell quiet. “What’s going on here?” He searched our faces.
“Doug, these friends of yours… they’re upset about their criminal friend being hauled away. Now they’re taking out their petty anger on me.” Naomi pouted, her bottom lip jutting out, and clung to his arm.
“You started it,” Tanya blurted out and moved toward Naomi with her eyes practically shooting fire. “You came and stopped us. We’d have been long gone by now, but you had to get your licks in.” Tanya’s fingers curled into fists.
Naomi pointed at Tanya’s hands. “See, Doug. They’re ready to fight. What am I to think? Debbie keeps a jackknife in her pocket and this one looks like she wants to hit me. What kind of mob are you girls, anyway? Really, Doug, you’re lucky I came along and saved you from this unsavory crowd.”
Naomi looked back toward her father, who kept protective eyes on his daughter. He began to move toward her as though she drew him on a leash.
I held my breath. Now what lies would she spin?
“Naomi, I don’t think you need to insult our guests. I’ve known these girls for a long time. They’re all good eggs.” Doug smiled at Josie, Tanya, and me, then let his eyes drift down to Mari. He smiled at her, too.
Naomi’s face paled, then she flared. “Are you taking their word over mine, Doug? On my wedding day, no less?” She looked as though she might sprout fangs and rip his head off.
Doug reddened and turned away from her, then looked back with a glare that said he wasn’t about to be embarrassed by his wife… on his wedding day. “Yes, I guess I am. I saw what happened. They didn’t pick the fight. You did. Why don’t you let them be?”
Naomi’s eyes squinted with hate. She reached up and slapped Doug’s face, her nail dragging across his cheek. A long red cut sprouted red.
Mari covered her mouth and gasped.
Class act, Naomi. Things were getting interesting.
Naomi’s father rushed to his daughter’s side, her mother coming up right behind. “What’s going on here?” he bellowed.
“Daddy, I’m not feeling well.” Naomi grabbed at her stomach and swooned.
Her father put his arms around her and glared at Doug. Naomi’s mother fanned her daughter with a cocktail napkin, but I caught something in her eyes other than worry. Disappointment?
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get her in the house. Put a cold cloth on her head.” She shooed her husband and Naomi away.
The bride clung to her father and he hugged her tight, cooing as they went. “My poor baby.”
Mother Waterman glared at Doug. He mopped at the blood on his cheek with the white handkerchief from his coat pocket. Her stare finally caught his attention and he looked into her formidable expression.
“Well, go on. Help your wife,” she snapped.
Doug hesitated, looking from the red-stained handkerchief to the girls, then back to his mother-in-law.
“Now,” she hissed in the loudest whisper she could manage.
Don’t want the guests to know your dirty laundry?
Not only was Naomi pregnant out of wedlock, but she’d made two ugly scenes at the fancy wedding reception, which must have cost her parents a small fortune. I could tell Mother Waterman was less than pleased.
Doug hurried off, escaping her wrath.
Then Mrs. Edith Kern Waterman of the Boston Kerns and the fourth generation of Watermans in Hayes County turned to us. I braced myself but stepped forward to face her.
For a moment, it looked as though she would slice us with her tongue, but instead, she let out a deep sigh. Her face altered and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, they had filled with exhaustion.
Mrs. Waterman swallowed hard, then said with as much poise as she could muster, “Thank you all for coming. Please see yourselves out.”
As I watched her turn and hurry away to the house, I wondered how many other things Naomi’s mother had put up with from her daughter over the years.
Disapproving stares from guests around the patio shot our way. I hurried the girls out the gate and beyond the fence, then looked back and realized what a false front we’d passed through. It felt good to be back in the real world.
“Betty, wait up,” Tanya panted.
I was running up the sidewalk to the door of the police station and the girls scurried behind me, their shoes scraping the concrete, their conversation rushed and worried.
I’d known Debbie forever it seemed. I understood everything about her—the need to protect herself, the rebel living inside the skinny girl, the brave face hiding a frightened young woman. And, Debbie, the girl who would act like being put in jail was a badge to wear, not a shame to hide.
There wasn’t much she could hide. The whole town knew her mom was a drunk, and no one, including her mom, had any idea who Debbie’s father was. She owned the right to be brash and loud. She’d earned the ability to wear her troubles behind a mask of toughness.
And it was easy for me to feel guilty. My dad was an upstanding citizen of Rosewood. A banker. A councilman. So although I couldn’t relate to Debbie’s troubles, there was one thing I could do: take care of things. I knew how to be responsible, and that’s what I would do right now.
Pushing the door open wide, I led the others into the front room of the police station.
“I’ve never been here.” Mari’s eyes darted from wanted posters to sale bills and finally landed on the woman standing at the counter. Debbie’s mom. The woman who had turned Debbie into the tough cookie she pretended to be.
I cringed. Mona Jenks was drunk as usual, which translated into angry. Essentially, she was always yelling at someone.
Mona pointed at us, then swayed as though she might topple over. “Those girls. Put them in jail, too!”
The policeman behind the counter reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back upright. “Mrs. Jenks, settle down. You’ve had too much to drink again.”
“Me? I ain’t been drinkin’. You shut your lyin’ mouth.” She shoved his hand away.
Mona turned to glare at me. “Betty, you gonna bail my Debbie out or stand there starin’ at me?” She took a step forward. I took a step forward, too, and held my ground.
Mrs. Jenks stepped back. “Well, are ya?” She turned to the officer. “’Cause I ain’t got enough money.”
I turned back to the girls. They looked collectively horrified.
Josie lived with her grandmother. She spent more time in church than the rest of us. She’d most likely never been near a bar, let alone seen the likes of a drunk like Mona Jenks.
Mari was as pure as the driven snow and looked as though she’d melt at any moment.
Tanya’s face was white as a clean piece of paper. Her eyes bugged out of her head as she pushed up her blue horn-rimmed glasses with the little rhinestones at the corner. She would be talking about this for weeks.
“Girls?” I asked. “Do we have money?”
“How much, Betty?” Mari stood tall.
“Officer, how much to bail out our friend, Debbie Jenks?” I asked.
Mrs. Jenks had laid her head down on the counter and looked to be in a drunken stupor.
“Twenty bucks.” The officer walked away from the gin-soaked aroma of Mrs. Jenks and came to stand at the counter near us.
“I have two doll
ars,” Mari offered.
We all dug in our handbags and came up with $10.42 between the four of us. I walked over to Mrs. Jenks and cleared my throat.
She didn’t respond. The sight of her sickened me.
“Mrs. Jenks!” I shouted.
Mona jerked her head up, a long stream of drool dripping from her mouth to the countertop. Her red eyes stared at me but didn’t seem to really see me. She was probably trying to remember where she was.
“What?” Mrs. Jenks shouted and almost fell over.
“We need money to get Debbie out of jail. We don’t have enough. Do you have any?” I shouted back.
Mona appeared stumped by the question at first, but began to paw into her purse with clumsy hands. She pulled out a fistful of money and slammed it down on the counter. Pennies rolled to the ground, and nickels spun on the counter top in little tornadoes. “That’s it. It’s all I got.” Then came an outburst of tears—a drunken sob about everything and nothing at the same time.
I reached around her to count out the money she’d slammed down. “Now we have a total of $14.32.” I looked at the officer. “I guess we’ll have to go find more money.”
I turned to leave and nearly ran into Doug Talbot, who was standing in the doorway of the station. He looked more than out of place with his tuxedo and white carnation still pinned to his lapel.
“How long have you been there?” I asked.
“Long enough,” he answered. “I’ll cover the bail, Betty.” Doug reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He went up to the counter and put a twenty down. The policeman raised his eyebrows but brought out a clipboard with papers to be signed. We stood back and watched.
When Doug finished, he turned to us. “I’m sorry. None of this should have happened.” His eyes fell to Mari. “None of it at all,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Mari’s eyes filled with tears. She turned her back to him. Even I could see Doug was talking about more than what happened at the wedding.
I stood there with the fourteen dollars and change clenched in my fist. Mona Jenks stormed over to Doug. He turned in time for her hand to come down hard across his cheek.
Mari gasped and stepped forward… then dropped her head and retreated.
“Mrs. Jenks!” I shouted.
“You rich bastard. Who do you think you are? You come in here like you own us. Throwin’ your money around. You think you’re so perfect, don’t you?” Her eyes cleared for a moment. “Well, don’t forget—you knocked up the little bitch you married. You ain’t any better than the rest of us.” She put her hand on Doug’s chest and pushed him like she was picking a fight in a bar.
Doug said nothing but met her stare.
“Well, let me tell you this, you snotty little prick. Your slut wife will get what’s coming to her for putting my little girl in jail. I promise you that.” Mona’s words growled through her yellowed teeth.
She turned to face us. “You all get Debbie home. I got stuff to do.” She turned and staggered out of the jail.
We watched her stumble across the street to the Shady Bend Tavern. Stuff to do. Lives to ruin, money to waste, I thought.
“Good old Mom. Sets quite an example, doesn’t she?” Debbie stood in the hallway behind us, escorted from her cell by the police officer.
We all turned. I stayed back, but Tanya, Mari, and Josie ran over to hug her.
Doug hung his head and turned to leave. I touched his arm as he passed. “Thank you, Doug. I’m sorry, too.”
He looked at me with confusion. “What are you sorry for, Betty?”
“I’m sorry for you, Doug. I’m just sorry for you.”
We left the police station arm in arm.
“Sorry about my mom,” Debbie offered, her hands shoved down into the pockets of her dress. I knew she was playing with the jackknife the officer had returned to her.
“Hush. Don’t even talk about it.” Mari wrapped her arm around Debbie’s shoulders.
“I can’t believe Doug left his own wedding to bail Debbie out.” Tanya pushed her glasses up her nose.
“I know. Naomi’s gonna kill him if she finds out,” Josie added.
“But it was the right thing for him to do,” Mari said, and it seemed obvious to me she was still proud of Doug.
“Well, if I were Naomi, I’d be worried about my safety. Your mom isn’t someone I’d want to mess with.” Tanya’s voice wavered.
Debbie fell silent—her brows furrowed and the corners of her mouth turned down. “Someday Naomi will get what’s coming to her. Of that I’m sure.”
Chapter 11
No wonder Debbie viewed life like a person looking in from the outside.
“Sorry.” It was all Gloria could think of to say. Her own childhood had been lovely, and it was hard to imagine anything different.
“Save your pity. I turned out great, if I do say so myself.” Debbie lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the window.
Even though the old bird was rude and mouthy, Gloria couldn’t help but respect the strength it took to be who she was.
“Nineteen fifty-one was a tough year for you ladies. I assume, though, more trouble followed.” She searched their creased faces.
“Oh, it never seemed to end.” Tanya threw her hands up in the air.
Gloria hadn’t heard much from Tanya yet, but she had a feeling she was about to.
“Naomi was like a bad cold. You’d think you had it cured, but damned if it didn’t come back.”
Gloria grinned. Tanya was so colorful. Her white hair, those big eyes behind glasses, a hot cup of coffee always at her lips. It was fun to watch her fidget and some of the things that came out of her mouth were golden.
“Sounds like you had your own problems with Naomi, Tanya.”
“Kid, you have no idea.”
Tanya’s Boss—1960
I remember staring at the door with the gold lettering. It read Naomi Waterman Talbot, Chief Lending Officer.
I never thought that someday Naomi would be my boss. The idea turned my stomach.
Every morning, I would change the calendar on the wall of Naomi’s office. I ripped off yesterday’s page, and a large red number seven stood out below the word March. Rosewood National Bank headed the cardboard holding the date. It was 1960.
I turned on the radio to the local news station. The announcer repeated a story from the day before. President Eisenhower had sent 3,500 American troops to South Vietnam. At least Elvis Presley had been honorably discharged on Saturday—one less thing for me to worry about. I was his biggest fan.
I put a note on Naomi’s desk to remind her about her one p.m. appointment. Glancing around her desk, I noticed the picture of her son, Douglas Junior. I picked up the photograph and shook my head. Poor kid. I wondered if Naomi ever gave him any attention. He was almost ten at the time. The kid had been handed off between Doug and Naomi’s parents while both of them went to college. Doug took over his father’s law firm, and of course Naomi began running the town’s social calendar. It wasn’t long before she landed a snug loan officer’s job at Rosewood National, thanks to her father-in-law’s position on the bank board. She was a pro at looking as though she was working hard while making everyone else do her work.
I left, went to my desk outside Naomi’s office, and began to go through the mail. It was eight o’clock and the bank was about to open. It would be at least an hour before the great and powerful Naomi swished into the building like she owned it.
Ten after nine, the sunlight glinted off the chrome of Naomi’s Corvette as she pulled up to the front of the bank. Everyone else parked in the rear of the building, but Naomi always had to be front and center. I watched her long legs stretch out of the car. She stood and adjusted her silk scarf and sunglasses, then pulled down her tight skirt.
When Naomi pushed the door to the bank open, the president jumped up and scurried out of his office. “Good morning, Naomi,” he called out as he gave a wave. The fool looked like a puppy wagging his tai
l. Two other men on staff snapped to attention and echoed his greeting.
“Good morning, everyone.” Naomi had her wiggle on and her tight skirt didn’t go unnoticed by any of the men at the bank. A contented smile showed she had made the entrance she’d intended.
Naomi approached my desk, her smile replaced by a look of disdain. Taking off her sunglasses, she sniffed at the air. “Tanya, what is that smell?” She crinkled her nose and sniffed around my desk.
I sat up straight. What game was she playing? “I don’t smell anything.”
“Rebecca, come here, please.” Naomi motioned to the teller nearest us.
“Yes, ma’am.” Rebecca’s face showed eager gratitude for Mrs. Waterman Talbot even knowing her name.
“Do you smell anything odd here at Tanya’s desk?” Naomi continued to inhale delicately. Soon, Rebecca was sniffing, too.
“Really, I don’t smell anything,” I said. Except your overdose of perfume. Naomi doused herself in heavy quantities of some ridiculously expensive French scent and bragged about it as though I would have known Chanel from dime-store toilet water. All I knew was it gave me a headache.
After they sniffed and made a big deal about it, Naomi finally proclaimed, “Well, your desk must need to be cleaned. It’s all I can think of.” She threw up her hands and laughed. “Sorry to bother you, Rebecca. I know you were busy.”
I’m busy, too. And my damn desk is spotless.
“Your desk may need a good scrubbing, Tanya.” Naomi glared at me with a twisted smile.
“But…” I was about to argue when the bank president approached.
“What’s going on over here?” He gave Naomi a concerned glance and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Oh, Richard. I have too sensitive a nose. Something smells peculiar and I worry at what customers will think.” Naomi pinched her nose.
My face turned every shade of crimson. I’d gone from offended, to angry, and now plain humiliated. “I don’t smell anything, sir.” I knew Naomi was trying to upset me and make me look bad. It was working.