Windchill Summer

by Norris Church Mailer

  I put down the hairbrush. “Let me hold her for a minute.”

  “No, you still stink of hair straightener.”

  “Not any more than you do.” I tried to take her away from Lucille. “Look, Tiffany LaDawn. Aunt Cherry’s got new hair!”

  She started crying, of course, and Lucille plopped out her giant-sized breast and the baby glommed onto it. There’s no way I can compete with that.

  “I’ve been thinking—do you think it might be possible that the ones who killed Sharon Tate and them might have been the same ones that killed Carlene?” Lucille said as she settled into a chair with the baby hung for dear life on her left tit.

  “I doubt it. That was all the way out in California.”

  “They would have had plenty of time to get out there from here. Nobody knows where they killed Carlene. Maybe they wrote on the walls here, too. What was it they said out there? ‘Death to Pigs,’ or something?”

  “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

  “I wonder why they said that. None of them they killed were policemen.”

  “They were crazy, Lucille. Obviously, they would write something crazy.”

  That got me thinking, though. It was true—body had ever said where Carlene was actually murdered. Wherever it was must have been completely covered in blood. Certainly there would have been enough to write with.

  I wondered if Ricky Don knew about the writing up at Fat Man’s Squeeze. Maybe I should tell him. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral. I don’t know why I never thought before to tell him about the writing. It just never occurred to me. I’m sure they were still working on the case, although it seems like after her funeral, most people forgot about her and went on about their business like it had never happened.

  Except Mama. After the funeral, she called to see how Frannie was getting along, and had her and little Kevin over to the house for supper a few times. I always thought Frannie was unbalanced, but she isn’t really; just a little eccentric, like how she dressed and all. She and Mama were the same age and had gone to high school together for nearly a year, until Frannie quit in the ninth grade. Up until then, she had attended a little one-room school up on the Ridge near Shady Vista, which only went to the eighth. It’s not even there anymore. Actually, Bean Boggs would have probably gone up there if it was still going. He lived on the Ridge. Anyhow, Frannie thought she might finish high school in town, but she didn’t really like the town kids. She told Mama they acted like they were better than her because she didn’t have the right clothes, like sweater twinsets and pearls, so she quit and got married pretty young.

  I hate to say it, and I’m not looking down on them or anything, but it still was true that the kids from up on the Ridge were different than most town kids. A lot of their mamas dipped snuff, and their daddies wore overalls without shirts in the summertime. And like everybody thinks about us here in Arkansas, some of them went barefooted in the hot months. Most of them had outhouses and drew their water from wells.

  Mama told me that when Frannie was a girl, back in the thirties, most people on the Ridge didn’t have cars or even electricity, but used coal-oil lamps and rode on horses or in wagons. There is not a single paved road up there yet today, just gravel. It changed a little after World War II, in the last twenty or so years, but even now you can find moonshiners up there working their stills. Ricky Don was always bringing in confiscated Mason jars full of it to the sheriff’s office. One time he showed me some. It looked like clear water and didn’t really smell all that bad, but he said the kick was worse than drinking rubbing alcohol. If you got ahold of a bad batch, it could kill you, or at the least blind you. Maybe eat up your liver and kidneys.

  I don’t think Frannie ever had too many girlfriends, and she wasn’t all that close to her family since her mother died. She said her husband didn’t like them and didn’t encourage her to see them when they were together, and since he ran off and left, they didn’t try to come and see her. I’m sure that since Carlene was gone, she was lonesome out in that ramshackle old trailer. She had a woodstove for heat, and she told us that last winter the snakes would nest under the trailer for the warmth, and one of them crawled in through a hole in the floor. She had to go out in the snow and get the hoe to kill it. I didn’t know what she was doing for money, since she had to quit her job to take care of Kevin. She probably was hurting. Usually when she left our house, she was loaded down with pies or jam or clothes or whatever stuff Mama gave her.

  The phone rang. I ran to get it, my hair swinging from side to side behind me.

  “Hello,” I said, running my fingers casually down my straight locks.

  Tripp.

  “Get Baby and come down to the Family Hand. I have a job for both of you. You can tell that pickle plant and Alfred Lynn Tucker to kiss your rosy behind.”

  “Are you kidding? What kind of job? What do you mean?”

  “Something you’ll like. I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  “Wait a minute! What’s the Family Hand? Where is it?”

  “Down by the railroad tracks in the old train station. Baby knows. I’ll be here. Come soon. ’Bye.”

  He hung up the phone, and left me hanging.

  “What was all that?” Lucille asked, rocking the baby back and forth, trying to get a burp out of her.

  “That was Tripp. I have to go.” I picked up the phone and dialed Baby.

  “Tripp, huh.” Lucille got up and walked around the room, jiggling Tiffany LaDawn up and down. “Cherry, you shouldn’t run every time a man snaps his fingers. He won’t respect you. You have to play a little hard to get.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Lucille.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “Yeah, really. Like you did.” Baby answered on the third ring.

  “Baby, you won’t believe this, but we are quitting the onion room as of right now. We have a job at someplace called the Family Hand.”

  “You mean John Cool’s new place?”

  “John Cool McCool? He owns it?”

  “Yeah. Why? Who offered the job?”

  “Tripp. He just called.”

  “Tripp? Who died and made him God? He sure gets around, I’ll say that for him.”

  “Well, if you’re not interested . . .”

  “Who said I wasn’t interested? Pick me up. I’ll be ready.”

  —

  I was putting on my eyelashes when Mama came up behind me. I could see she wasn’t too thrilled.

  “Mama, I’m going out for a little while.” I got the eyelashes on perfectly and then just stood looking in the mirror. I still couldn’t believe it. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.

  “I don’t know why you had to straighten your beautiful hair, Cheryl Ann. It looked so much better before. Don’t you think so, David?” Daddy looked up from the paper. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on. He stared at me like he didn’t know who I was.

  “Well? How do I look, Daddy?”

  “You look like you’re peeping out of a white tent. At least pull it back so we can see your pretty face. How long will it be like this?”

  They just didn’t understand.

  But to make him happy, I picked up a green-and-orange scarf and tied it around my head, like Ali McGraw. I really liked my new hair, no matter what anybody said.

  23.Cherry

  “What happened to your hair?!” Baby screeched when she got into the car.

  “You like it?” I smirked a little, I had to admit, waiting for her to tell me how gorgeous it was.

  She stared at it, not saying a word. It made me uncomfortable. “Well? What do you think?” I finally said.

  “I don’t know. I think I liked the old wild hair better.”

  “Great. You and everybody else.”

  “I mean, it’s so different. It’ll just take some getting used to.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t be mad at me, Cherry. I’m sorry. On second thought, it looks good.”

  “Really? Y
ou wouldn’t lie?” She was lying, I could tell.

  Everyone’s attitude was beginning to take the bloom off, just a little. But I decided not to push it, and changed the subject.

  “What kind of a place is the Family Hand, Baby? Is it a music store?” The wind was blowing my hair out the window, just like I had fantasized. I didn’t care if everyone hated it. I liked it.

  “Cherry, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but it’s a head shop. They sell rolling papers and bongs and things that the heads use for smoking dope.”

  I jumped. “What! Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Well, they’re not selling the actual marijuana. And you can get rolling papers and pipes at the Rexall. They sell other things, too. Clothes and jewelry and stuff. Hippie stuff.”

  I felt my face turn red, not so much from my ignorance about head shops, but because I had actually smoked a joint of marijuana myself. I wondered if Baby could tell somehow. I looked at her sideways. She was looking straight ahead. I had to find out.

  “Bean smokes pot, doesn’t he?” Now Baby jumped.

  “Uh, well, maybe sometimes. Why do you ask?”

  “Did you ever do it with him?” Baby didn’t say anything. “Baby? Did you?”

  “Oh, Cherry, don’t ask me that!”

  “You did! You did smoke it! Why didn’t you tell me? What was it like?”

  “Now, don’t go bonkers on me here. I only did it a few times, and it was no big deal . . .”

  “I thought it was a big deal. I loved it. I thought it was the best feeling I have ever had, next to kissing Tripp. In fact, when he kissed me after we smoked the joint . . .”

  “You smoked pot with Tripp? Are you crazy?”I couldn’t believe she was screaming at me that way.

  “Quit yelling. Yes, I did.”

  “Stop the car right now.”

  We were passing the beauty school. I pulled over next to it and parked. Some of the girls looked out and waved at us.

  “Why are you so upset with me? You said you did it, too.”

  “Yes, but I knew what I was doing!”

  “Oh, so I was too stupid and ignorant to know what I was doing? Thanks, Baby.” My purse had fallen, and my change was scattered all over the floor. I got busy picking it up before I said something I would be sorry for. I didn’t like the way Baby was acting, and she knew it.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just think Tripp is trying to . . . I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but I don’t trust him. How could you have let him give you a joint?”

  “You don’t even know him.” I snapped the change purse closed. “And what about you? Here you pretend to be Miss Goody-Goody, valedictorian, straight A’s and all, and you’ve been smoking behind my back for years, probably.”

  “I have not. Just since Bean got back—he made me do it!”

  “Yeah, right. Like, the Devil made me do it?”

  “Well, maybe he didn’t hold a gun to my head, but you don’t know how he is since he’s been back.”

  “What, he was going to beat you up or something if you wouldn’t smoke?”

  “I don’t know.” She said it in a quiet voice and looked down at her hands. She was scaring me.

  “Baby? What do you mean, you don’t know? Has Bean hit you or something?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Not really? You mean he has hit you a little bit? Baby? Tell me what you’re talking about. If Bean ever hurts you, he will have to go through me! I’ll wring his neck. You better tell me the truth.”

  “No, Bean has never hurt me. He just gets in these bad moods, but I can handle Bean. It’ll get better. I just have to give him time to get used to being back home. But we’re not talking about Bean and me, we’re talking about you and Tripp, and you are right about one thing—I don’t know Tripp, but then neither do you. I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that he would come to little old DuVall University when he could be at Berkeley? What’s wrong with this picture, Cherry?”

  “I told you. He wanted to go where Jerry would have gone. You’re just trying to change the subject. Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me about you and Bean? What all else don’t I know, Baby? Maybe I don’t know you any better than I know Tripp.”

  I felt like crying. A minute ago I was so happy, and now . . . is nothing what you think it is?

  “Let’s don’t fight, Cherry. We’ve never had a real fight, and I don’t want to start now. I didn’t tell you because I just didn’t want you to think I was getting into drugs or something, because I’m not. I’m really not. You know how you are with the church and all . . .”

  That really got to me. I knew she didn’t especially like the church, but I never thought she was serious when she would kid me about it. I thought she understood how I felt.

  “No, tell me. How am I with the church and all? Do you think because I belong to the Holiness Church that you can’t trust me? Did you think I’d turn you in or something? I’m not Ricky Don, Baby. I don’t work for the sheriff. And as far as the church goes . . . I’m not all that sure what I believe anymore, anyhow.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know what you believe anymore? You mean about God? Don’t you believe in God anymore?” She was shocked, I could tell. I’m not even sure why I said that. It just popped out.

  “Well, I mean, yeah, I believe in God. Of course I believe in God. It’s just that . . . oh, I don’t know.”

  Now I was really confused. I don’t think I even understood myself. How could Baby possibly understand me? I tried to make sense out of what I was feeling.

  “All of them at church are so smug and self-righteous and think they have all the answers when they won’t even ask themselves the questions. They think if they ignore everything and pray, it’ll go away. I just don’t believe that anymore, I guess.”

  “So what are you saying? Are you going to quit the church and become a pothead?”

  “Don’t make fun of me.” It seemed like everything was changing and I didn’t have a clue how to make it stop. Things that I had always taken for granted, like Baby’s friendship, were all of a sudden not like they used to be. Tears started coming into my eyes. I couldn’t help it.

  Baby knew that I was really hurt. She turned her head and looked out the window. I rummaged around in my purse for a Kleenex. Baby handed me one, and put her hand on my arm.

  “I’m sorry, Cherry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I’d like to understand. Please give me a chance.” I blew my nose and wiped my eyes.

  “It’s just not like how it was when we were kids, Baby. Back then, right and wrong were so clear, and when we used to ride our bikes at night and go to Little League ball games, the only thing our folks worried about was if we had a wreck and skinned our knees. It’s not that simple anymore.”

  “You got that right. But it never was simple for me like it was for you.”

  “What do you mean? We had exactly the same childhood. We were in the same classes since first grade. We did everything together.”

  “We may have done everything together, but we didn’t have exactly the same childhood. You were always the golden girl. You were the only child of parents who loved you and were part of the community, and I . . .”

  “What?”

  “I am a Filipino.”

  “Well, I know that. So what? You’re the most beautiful girl in school. Everybody is crazy about you.”

  “That’s just you, Cherry. Not everyone thinks that. I’m trying to tell you something here, and you don’t get it. I mean, I’m an Arkansas red-neck, just like you are. I hang out with you, I think like you, I talk like you, and I can even believe I look like you until I pass a mirror. Then I stop in surprise and wonder who the girl in the mirror is, because she has nothing to do with the way I feel. Once, I was standing at the movie theater waiting for Bean, and I heard somebody say something about an Oriental girl, and I looked around to see who they were talking about. You don’t know what it is like to not even know who you are.�
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  This was nuts. I never knew she felt that way. She was the most together person I knew.

  “Baby, that’s crazy. So you’re different. I am, too. How many six-foot-tall albinos are there around here? You think because you are Filipino that makes it okay to smoke pot and sleep with boys, and because my father works at the post office and I go to the Holiness Church that I can’t? What would you like me to do, Baby, while you go to dances and drink beer and have fun? Just sing in the choir the rest of my life and die an old-maid virgin? Maybe I want to have some fun, too!”

  We had been raising our voices pretty loud. The girls in the beauty school were looking out the window, trying to figure out what was going on. Lucille would be there soon, and I’m sure they would fill her in on the fight we had. You can’t do anything in this town without everybody taking a front-row seat.

  “Stop it, Cherry. Just stop it! So we’re both different. You can do anything you want to do, and so can I. I’m not trying to boss you around. I don’t want to fight anymore. Just forget what I said.”

  “I don’t want to fight anymore, either.”

  We sat for a minute, not knowing what to say next. A time or two I started to say something, but stopped. I felt like if I said the wrong thing, our friendship would be lost forever. Maybe she was right and I didn’t understand how she felt. I had never really thought about her being Filipino before. I mean, I didn’t think it was something that bothered her. I felt like I obsessed over my looks a lot more than she did. She didn’t have anything to obsess over. She was perfect. I guess we are never perfect to ourselves, are we?

  I knew what they meant when they talk about a heavy heart. It felt like there was a lump the size of a bowling ball in there. Baby finally spoke.

  “Leaving everything else aside, let me just say this, and I promise I won’t mention it again—take it slow with Tripp. That’s all. People sometimes aren’t what they seem like.”