Georgia Bottoms

by Mark Childress

  “How long is she in for?”

  “Two years, they said, but might not be that long. My grandson Larue say she be out by next Easter if she don’t do nothing wrong while she in there.”

  “Because I’m just one person up here, you know,” Georgia said. “I’m a single woman, pretty much unemployed at the moment,” which was technically true, “up here in Six Points looking after my mama and my brother, they’re both disabled”—Brother might as well be, for all the good he did anybody—“and I want you to know I will try to send you more money, but things are a little tough for me too at the moment.” This was a tactic she had planned in advance, the lowering of expectations.

  “I understand,” said Eugenia. “I’d be mighty grateful for whatever help you could give.”

  “That’s fine,” Georgia said. “Now, I did send a wire to Ree two weeks ago. Fourth Saturday of the month. Did you pick that up?”

  “I went down there, had to wait a long time for the second bus… but when I got there, they said it has to be my name on the wire, not hers,” Eugenia said. “They wouldn’t give me any of it ’less you send it again with my name.”

  “I will go to Western Union tomorrow and straighten that out. How long has Ree been… away?”

  Eugenia didn’t know exactly. Three or four weeks.

  “And how is the boy?” Georgia said.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “The boy,” she repeated. She had never spoken his name aloud, but that was no reason not to. “Nathan. How is he doing?”

  “Aw he’s a good boy but he sho do like to eat,” Eugenia said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, you said. Is he smart, is he good in school?” Georgia was hoping he took after her in at least one respect.

  “I don’t know about that,” said Eugenia. “I don’t think he been, lately.”

  “He didn’t graduate?”

  “Not that boy. He like to fool around too much. I told him he better straighten up and fly right or I’m gone send him up to Alabama, let you handle him. That seemed to scare him pretty good.”

  “Yeah, listen, Miss Eugenia, about that… I’m not really set up to handle a boy here, what with my mother who’s disabled—and my brother is handicapped too,” Georgia said, “so whatever we do, we need to keep him living down there with you.”

  “I hear you,” Eugenia said. “You don’t want him coming to town and everybody find out you got a black son, I imagine.”

  “Well, that’s part of it too,” said Georgia. “I mean, it’s not like we know each other. I’ve never even seen him. Since he was born.”

  “You ought to come down and visit,” said Eugenia. “He would like to meet his mama.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “No, but if you had a mama, wouldn’t you want to meet her?”

  “I’ve got one,” said Georgia, “and in retrospect, no.”

  Whizzy jumped up in the chair beside her. Georgia stroked her ears with two fingers. Talking with Eugenia was easy. There was no judgment in her tone. Georgia couldn’t remember speaking this comfortably to a black person before. Except for Skiff, of course—which was what got her into this situation.

  “You could just come for a visit,” Eugenia said. “I wouldn’t try to stick you with the boy.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’ve always dreamed about visiting New Orleans.”

  “Well then you just come on down, baby,” Eugenia said. “We’ll show you how to eat. I know you gotta be skinny, Ree said you’s always a little bitty thing even when you was pregnant.”

  Georgia was delighted to hear that someone described her as little bitty. “Are you kidding? I have to starve myself to keep from blowing up like a balloon.”

  Eugenia laughed. “I’m more like the Goodyear blimp but who cares? My mama was big, too. Nothin’ wrong with some meat on the bone.”

  By the time Georgia hung up, she was certain the boy was much better off with Eugenia than he had ever been with Ree. It felt like the lifting of a load, just to know he was in better hands. Whatever extra money Georgia could send would be put to good use.

  10

  It took most of an hour for Shelley Grinnell at the Wee-Pak-N-Ship to straighten out the Western Union confusion and resend the money to Eugenia Jordan, with an extra fifty dollars thrown in as a sign of Georgia’s goodwill.

  “What happened to the one we usually send to?” said nosy Shelley.

  “That was Cousin Ree,” Georgia said, and to make her feel bad: “She passed away.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry for your loss,” Shelley said. “What happened?”

  “They think it was pneumonia but don’t quote me.” When lying, it’s always best to keep the details vague so you don’t get crossed up trying to remember. “This is her mama, poor old Aunt Eugenia. I do what I can to help her get by.”

  “That is so good of you, Georgia,” said Shelley.

  Stepping out into the creamy April sunlight, Georgia decided to walk the long way around the square. The air was delicious, a promise of better things to come. Sometimes Belk’s changed its window displays on Tuesdays, and Hello who is this getting out of a beat-up blue Chrysler in front of Skinner Furniture?

  Shiny blond movie-star hair combed up off his forehead in an old-fashioned Cary Grant wave. Pale green double-breasted suit, gorgeous emerald tie, the same expensive green as his eyes. An honest to God dimple in his chin, a face chiseled like the men in those old-fashioned ads for Arrow shirts.

  He was young and strong, maybe thirty. If she hadn’t seen him getting out of that battered K car, Georgia might have suspected him of being an actual movie star on the streets of Six Points.

  She had a good ten seconds to look him over while he was closing his car door and stepping up to the sidewalk. Big rangy rack of a guy. Great big hands. Wide linebacker shoulders, tapering down to slim hips. That was not an expensive suit but he filled it out nicely.

  Oh dear, what is that glint on the left hand? Is that a simple band of gold? Yes indeed.

  Georgia sucked in her tummy and walked by. She could feel his eyes raking her over. She hadn’t been so effectively felt up by a pair of eyes in a while. At the last possible moment, she turned to confront him in the act of watching her. His eyes gleamed—something animal there. “Morning,” she sang, sailing past.

  She sashayed all the way down the block into Ryan’s Drugs without looking back. She knew he was watching her—she could feel his hot gaze on her rear end—but she would not give him the satisfaction of turning around.

  The bell jingled on the door. Here was Sally Cranford with her bright smile and elegant, prematurely white hair. Sally had worked at Ryan’s since she and Georgia were girls. She knew how to treat her best cosmetics customer; she always called Georgia to let her know when the new lipsticks came in.

  “Look behind me and see if you see a good-looking man,” said Georgia.

  “I sure do, the new preacher, and he’s coming on a beeline for you.”

  “What new preacher?”

  “Our new preacher—didn’t you hear? And here he is now!” she said, as the bell jingled. “Hey, Reverend, my name is Sally, this here is Georgia. We’re members at your new church. Welcome to Six Points.”

  “Why thank you, Miss Sally, it’s a real pleasure… And Miss Georgia, how do you do? I’ve heard about you.” His voice was thrillingly deep. It went well with that statuesque chin. Georgia felt a little light-headed, a high-pitched hiss in her ears. She shook his hand but didn’t feel a thing.

  He said his name was Brent Colgate, and he was really going to enjoy ministering in a town with such pretty ladies. That sounded like something a used-car dealer might say, not the new preacher. Georgia was thinking “Brent Colgate” had the ring of a made-up name.

  Preacher Eugene was never all that attractive, although Georgia had talked herself into being attracted to him. This man was almost too handsome. It was like standing next to one of those revolving spotlights at the county fair—
you couldn’t look directly at it without hurting your eyes.

  Brent Colgate said his last church was in a much smaller town, a wide spot in the road called Schuyler’s Creek near the Tennessee line. “Daphne and I are excited to be here in the big city, ’cause that’s how Six Points feels to us,” he said.

  He seemed nice—overdressed in his green suit, perhaps, a bit floppy and eager, like a big happy puppy. His manner was endearing, slightly goofy. He said the First Baptist would be “the biggest church family we’ve ever had.” He told Sally he had come for a tube of Pepsodent, but Georgia knew the real reason he came in: to have a look at Georgia.

  Sometimes a seduction required an elaborate plan. This one appeared to be only a matter of waiting.

  She pretended to study the Ladies’ Home Journal while he paid for his toothpaste. She wondered why someone named Brent Colgate would choose Pepsodent.

  She ignored him the whole time he was in the store. She knew that would drive him crazy. A man that handsome is not used to being ignored. Sure enough, he turned around at the door and came back to the magazine rack. “So nice to meet you, Miss Georgia. Hope I’ll see you in church Sunday?”

  “I hope so too.” She granted him a mysterious smile, and returned to her magazine. She didn’t glance up again until the bell ushered him out.

  Sally was impressed. “Did you see how he came all the way back to say goodbye to you?”

  “Did he?” Georgia shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Oh, come on. You certainly did.”

  “That man is too good-looking to be a preacher,” Georgia said. “Anyway, he’s way too married for me.”

  Sally said he was not her cup of tea but she could see how some people might like him.

  “Sally, what happened to Preacher Barker?”

  “You’re slipping, you’re the one who always knows everything,” Sally said. “Heart attack. He was watching Wheel of Fortune. They did a quadruple bypass up at the Baptist hospital. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

  Georgia chose a tube of Bright Passion lipstick, a compact of Tawny Gold face powder. When she stepped outside, the K car was nowhere to be seen. She was relieved. If Brent Colgate had been standing by his car watching her with those animal eyes, she might have had to go directly to bed with him. Nothing wrong with that—he definitely deserved consideration for her to-do list—but it would happen at a time and place of her choosing, not because she got all worked up just by laying eyes on him.

  She stood back from her car door, letting out the heat. She saw Krystal hastening down the steps of city hall. She thought it was a normal hello, but the look on Krystal’s face stopped her.

  “You can’t go home right now,” Krystal said. “Come to my office.”

  “What is the matter?”

  “The Alabama Bureau of Investigation has gone to your house to arrest your brother.”

  “Oh, God. For what?”

  “It’s complicated. He won’t cooperate. He’s locked himself in your mother’s room and says he won’t come out.”

  “I’d better go over there.” Georgia started for her car.

  “No, Georgia—he’s threatened to blow up the house if they don’t go away and leave him alone.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Georgia said. “He can’t blow up a balloon without my help. Are you coming? Get in the car.”

  Krystal got in. Georgia drove. Krystal revealed that the ABI had opened a file on Brother three years ago, at the time of his supreme court demonstration. Agents had observed him and Sims Bailey purchasing a quantity of explosive material, placing it in a drive-up storage locker in Alexander City. The ABI believed Brother and Sims were planning to blow up the Ten Commandments and the Supreme Court of Alabama.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” said Georgia. “Like I don’t have enough on my plate? When did you hear this?”

  “They called me a week ago,” Krystal said. “I was not allowed to say a word, Georgia, I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

  “Did you call Bill Allred?” The sheriff and his deputies had known Brother since he was a kid. They had seen him at his worst, plenty of times. They knew how to calm him down and get him in the back of a patrol car.

  “I was trying not to make it into a big thing,” Krystal said. “I told them he’s harmless, but this ABI guy is a bit of a dick.”

  “I swear to God, Krystal, I leave home for one hour and look what happens!”

  “It won’t help for you to get all upset.”

  “I’m gonna kill that boy,” said Georgia. “And you know Sims Bailey was right there, egging him on. I’m gonna kill both of them.”

  The driveway was blocked by a conspicuously unmarked Ford Crown Victoria in a fecal shade of brown. Georgia had half expected a SWAT team surrounding the house, but there was no sign of any confrontation. Krystal lagged behind; Georgia hurried onto the porch and opened the door. “Anybody home?”

  She strode down the center hall to the kitchen, where she found Brother sitting with three men who had come to arrest him. Brother was drinking a can of Bud, holding a bloody wad of Kleenex to his nose. The agents were laughing at something he’d said. Georgia’s sudden appearance caused them to turn. Their laughter trailed off as they checked her out.

  She said, “What the hell is this?”

  The skinny man on the left got to his feet. “Alabama Bureau of Investigation, ma’am, I’m Agent Lathem. We’re serving a warrant on this man.”

  Georgia said, “I ran over here at the speed of light because somebody said this was a hostage situation.”

  “Yeah,” Brother said, “I was trying to stage a nonviolent resistance.”

  The agents laughed. “That didn’t work out so well,” said Lathem.

  Krystal came in, breathing hard. “I’m Mayor—Lambert, I—spoke with one of you men?”

  The older agent seated at the table identified himself as Agent Poole. He cast a skeptical eye over Krystal. “Mr. Bottoms was just as cooperative as you said he would be. Once we figured out we had something that he wanted.”

  Georgia asked what that might have been. The men chuckled.

  “Basically, he surrendered in exchange for a beer,” said Lathem.

  “They had me barricaded in Mama’s den and they wouldn’t give me a goddamn thing,” Brother said. “They didn’t care if I died of thirst in there.”

  If ever a cause was lost, it was Brother. Still, Georgia felt she had to make an effort. “Officer, whatever plan he was trying to hatch, surely you can see he was never in danger of being able to pull it off. I suggest you talk to Sheriff Allred. He knows all about the history here.”

  “Aw hush, Georgia! You’re only making it worse.” Brother sipped his beer. Georgia saw his hand trembling, holding the can. His bravado was all for show.

  Her heart went out to him.

  “I’m trying to keep you out of jail,” she said.

  “That’s not going to be possible,” Agent Poole said. “I suppose a judge might let him have bond. Not if it was me.”

  “On behalf of the city of Six Points, I can assure you this man is absolutely harmless,” said Krystal. “I’ve known him most of his life. The things he says often have no relationship to reality. I suggest you come down to city hall and look at his record.”

  “We’re not gonna do that today,” said Lathem.

  “You’re making a big thing out of nothing.”

  “We’ve got a warrant and we’re sworn to serve it,” said Poole. “If you want to help him, get him a lawyer. Come on, fellas, we don’t need a lecture from Mr.—I mean Miz Mayor, excuse me.”

  There was no mistaking the slant of his remark. He winked at his buddies when he said it. Agent Lathem laughed in surprise, as in, I can’t believe you said that! Krystal’s jaw tightened.

  The third agent at the table looked about nineteen years old. He carried a dot of shaving cream on his left earlobe. He hadn’t said a word until now. “He’s far from harmless,” he said. “He’s a dome
stic terrorist, he belongs to a radical group. He’s in violation of at least nine Alabama statutes and a bunch of federal ones too. He’ll be in prison till he’s old.”

  “God, what an asshole you are,” said Brother. “I come out of that room of my own free will—in a show of cooperation, you know, fuckin’ peace on earth and everything. And that’s the kind of bullshit you lay on me? No way, man. I call bullshit on your bullshit.”

  The other agents laughed at the spectacle of their shaving-cream newbie put in his place by a loser like Brother. Usually, where Brother was concerned, Georgia tended to side with the law. But these officious clowns had driven down from Montgomery in their crap-brown Crown Victoria just to ruin her day.

  “What group?” Georgia said.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You said he belonged to a radical group.”

  “AA,” Brother said.

  “He goes to AA meetings, you call that a radical group?”

  “He belongs to a gang that calls itself the Alabama Anarchists,” said Junior Detective.

  “AA,” Brother said.

  “Oh for God’s sake!”

  “I told y’all, they ain’t no ‘group,’ it’s just me and Sims,” Brother said.

  “Now fellas,” said Georgia, “if I can prove to you that my brother never intended to blow up anything, can we get you some lunch and put you back on the road?”

  “We’ve had lunch.” Agent Poole stood from his chair. “We’ll be taking him now.”

  “But if I can demonstrate to you—”

  “Ma’am,” Agent Poole said, “don’t try to interfere with our duty.” He went behind Brother and stood him up roughly, cuffed his wrists behind his back.

  “Dang, man, no need to hurt me,” said Brother. “I ain’t resisting you at all.”

  Poole said shut up. He didn’t like the interference from Georgia—his scowl stretched all the way over to Krystal—ah okay, maybe that was it. He took one look at Krystal and maybe made some assumption about her and Georgia.

  “Society always persecutes the visionary,” Brother was saying. “I’ve tried to warn you people that leaving that man in his office is exactly the same as worshipping a false god.”