Dollar Daze

by Gillespie, Karin

  The house had a sour, dirty-sock smell about it. Elizabeth threaded through an obstacle course of Glenda’s toys to find her husband, garbed in a bathrobe and sprawled out on the couch. His mouth was wide open, and he was snoring over the sounds of a Clifford the Big Red Dog video playing on the TV. A copy of Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care lay open on his chest.

  Elizabeth shook his shoulder. “Timothy, are you okay?”

  “What’s that?” he said with a start, blinking through bleary, bloodshot eyes. His face flooded with grateful relief as he recognized her. “Elizabeth, you’re home.”

  He immediately sprung from the couch and buried his face in her sweater. “Thank God you’re back.” His hair was matted with dried baby cereal.

  “Where’s Glenda?” she said, gently extracting herself from Timothy’s embrace.

  “In her room,” Timothy said. “She was up all night, so she’s probably exhausted. Please don’t wake her up.”

  Elizabeth hurried down the hall to the nursery, and Timothy followed close at her heels, as if he feared letting her out of his sight. As she passed the kitchen she noticed several empty pizza boxes on the counter.

  “Timothy, why was Maybelline eating pizza from the box?”

  Timothy shrugged. “We ran out of dog food. I kept meaning to get to the grocery store, but...”

  “Nevermind.” Elizabeth entered the nursery and stood over Glenda’s crib. Her daughter was dozing on her back, her long, dark lashes fluttering in slumber.

  “I missed my baby so much,” Elizabeth tucked the blanket around Glenda and discreetly checked her diaper. “What a little angel!”

  “Ha!” Timothy snorted. “She may look angelic now, but you should have seen her last night. Red-faced and screaming. Kept spitting out her strained peaches. On purpose.”

  Elizabeth tossed her husband a surprised look. Until today, Glenda could do no wrong in his eyes. He often bragged she was the perfect child.

  “And yesterday morning, she refused to let me change her diaper,” he continued, scratching his bare chest. “Wriggled like a worm on the changing table. Took me twenty minutes to put on one Huggie, and then guess what she did?”

  “Went tee-tee in it?” Elizabeth planted a light kiss on her daughter’s smooth forehead.

  “How did you know?” Timothy asked.

  “Been there, done that,” Elizabeth said lightly. She put a finger to her lips and tiptoed out of the nursery.

  ‘Td planned to take her out yesterday for a short stroll in the park,” Timothy said. “But a simple diaper-changing took an hour, and then she needed a nap and so did I. Time kept slipping away from me. The next thing I knew it was six o’clock, and I hadn’t even gotten dressed.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, honey.”

  Elizabeth knelt down to pick up a collection of plush toys from the carpet.

  “And just try to fit in a shower. It’s impossible, because—”

  “Because you can’t hear the baby monitor over the shower, and if you put Glenda in the bathroom in her walker, she cries when you pull back the shower curtain,” Elizabeth said.

  “Yeah.” Timothy snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

  Elizabeth went into the kitchen and peeked into the refrigerator. “I guess I’ll need to go to the market soon, and... Ugh!” She held her nose as she slammed the door shut. “Something’s hurting in there, but I’ll figure out what it is later.”

  Timothy hung his head in shame and stared at his bare feet.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to pick on you,” Elizabeth said, touching his wrist. “Besides a few pizza boxes and some clutter, this place is in pretty good shape. And I know Glenda loves spending time with her daddy.”

  Timothy still didn’t look up, so she wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

  “Why not take a long, hot shower? You’ll feel much better.”

  “No I won’t. I don’t deserve to feel better.” He glanced up at her with eyes ringed by dark circles. “Not after the way I treated you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I acted so high and mighty, insisting you stay home with Glenda, when I had no idea what it was like,” he said, sagging against the kitchen counter. “While you were gone, I thought I was going crazy. Every day was the same as the next. The tedium, the exhaustion. My brain was turning to mush.”

  “You never let on,” Elizabeth said. “When I spoke with you on the phone you seemed fine.”

  “Most of the time I was lucky to find the phone.” Timothy rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. “I had to stop myself from begging you to come home. I kept thinking it would get better.”

  “I’m sorry you had such a rough time.”

  “It wasn’t all terrible.” A faint smile played at Timothy’s lips. “Glenda tried to pull herself up on the coffee table yesterday.”

  “No!”

  “And when the Big Blue House was over on TV, she waved bye-bye to the bear.”

  “Wow,” Elizabeth said. “I wished I’d been here.”

  Timothy slapped the kitchen counter with the flat of his hand. “I can’t believe I screwed up that arrangement with Mrs. Pirkle. She was a terrific sitter. Even I could see that.”

  “That’s water under the bridge, honey,” Elizabeth said. “And the marketing job was probably going to take more hours a week than I expected. It would have been too much for me to handle.”

  Timothy reached out to brush a strand of her hair out of her eyes. “I just want you to know, Elizabeth, that whatever you decide to do with your life, I’m behind you one hundred percent.” He swallowed. “And I’m sorry for the bullheaded way I behaved. I had no idea what you’ve been going through.”

  “It’s getting better. Really it is. Some days I’m even dressed before noon,” she said with a laugh. “But going back to my high-powered career isn’t the solution. I want to be the kind of mother Glenda deserves, and that, unfortunately, limits my options.”

  “But being a good mother doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice everything you love about your life,” Timothy said.

  “You’re right,” Elizabeth said as she sat at the kitchen table. “And I’m not going to. I did a lot of thinking while I was gone, and I think I’ve discovered the perfect solution to everything. I believe I’ve finally found my place in the world.”

  “Your place? What do you mean?”

  “Come here,” Elizabeth said patting the chair next to her. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Thirty-Three

  “You’ve Done the Wrong Woman Wrong”

  ~ Selection F-7 on the jukebox at the Tuff Luck Tavern

  Mavis heard the lyrics to the song “Yakety Yak” drifting down the halls of the high school long before she reached the gymnasium. The tune transported her back to the late fifties when she’d spent countless afternoons at the Capri Theater on Main Street, scaring herself silly with the Fright Fests. The theater screened movies like “The She Creature,” “The Mole People,” and “I Was a Teenage Werewolf.” After the show she’d gaze into the large windows of Vickery’s department store, admiring the wool-blend twin-set cardigans. Or she’d wander into the record store, to buy a chart single like “To Know Him Is to Love Him” by The Teddy Bears.

  In each one of these memories, Birdie was by her side, grabbing Mavis’s shoulder in a tense part of the movie or gabbing a mile a minute as they walked down the streets of Cayboo Creek, arm in arm. The sudden rush of memories saddened her, and Mavis wiped a stray tear from her cheek and willed herself to stop. She’d just have to put Birdie out of her mind for tonight.

  As she entered the gym, the blue and white streamers hanging from the ceiling brought her alma mater to mind: “Here’s to our dear blue and white, Flying Squirrels we will unite...”

  She couldn’t remember the rest of the words, probabl
y because whenever the band played the school song, her attention had been focused on Arnold, her future husband, as he cavorted around the gym in his squirrel suit.

  Arnold’s costume had been retired in 1975. The seniors that year thought the flying squirrel was too tame a mascot for a sports team. The current mascot at Cayboo Creek High School was a fierce, sharp-toothed wildcat, which never failed to startle Mavis at the occasional games she attended, making her nostalgic for the more innocent days of the class of 1959.

  “Hi, Flump. You in a slump?” asked a wiry man in porkpie hat.

  “Morty? Is that you?” Mavis said.

  Morty Ames, former class comedian, had always called her by her last name in high school, usually along with a rhyme. Unfortunately, Flump rhymed with all kinds of unpleasant words: chump, frump, grump, and plump.

  “One and the same,” Morty said, answering her question. “Jeepers, look at this place. It’s like stepping into a time machine.”

  Mavis nodded. Brew had done an admirable job of creating a vintage mood in the gymnasium. The walls were plastered with posters of fifties icons like Davy Crockett, Chubby Checker, and Pat Boone. A disc jockey, his slick black hair styled into what they used to call a duck butt, spun Jerry Lee Lewis and Bobby Darin tunes on an old-fashioned hi-fi. And in the far corner of the gym, a hula-hoop contest was underway.

  “Feels like old times.” Mavis took a good look at Morty. It was hard to reconcile the washed-out, gray little man standing beside her with the vigorous, freckle-faced Morty Ames of her youth. “What have you been doing all these years?” she asked.

  “Car salesman. I work at a lot down in Camden.” He pointed a finger at her. “You know, Flump, you’d look great behind the wheel of a sporty little Hyundai.”

  Suddenly Mavis spotted Brew across the gymnasium. “Excuse me, Morty. There’s someone I need to speak with.”

  “Sure thing,” Morty said, tipping his hat. He eyed her backside with appreciation as she brushed past him. “Hey, Flump, I see you still have a nice—”

  She whirled around, a prim look on her face. “Morty Ames. Watch your tongue.”

  He held up a hand. “I’ll keep it decent. See you around, Flump.”

  Mavis was about to approach Brew when Dolores Lewis sidled up to him. Dolores had been a cheerleader in high school and, like many of Mavis’s female classmates, had once had a big crush on Brew.

  Dolores, who was now fifty pounds heavier than she was in 1959, seized Brew’s arm and was whispering in his ear. Mavis felt awkward speaking to Brew while he was with Dolores, so she decided she’d visit the powder room first, hoping to catch him alone afterward. She was anxious for him to admire her pretty new dress.

  Mavis entered the ladies’ room and checked her lipstick in the mirror. Then she went into a stall to pull up her pantyhose. Over the last few minutes they’d worked their way down her thighs, giving her a bowlegged, John Wayne gait. As she tugged at her stockings, the outside restroom door opened and the strong scent of gardenia perfume floated in.

  “Did you see Brewster Clark?” Mavis recognized Dolores’s high-pitched, babyish voice. “He’s still a cutie pie. If I wasn’t happily married to Harry, I’d be barking up his tree.”

  “Yes, I saw Brewster,” replied a low-pitched female voice. “And I think he’s a terrible cad.”

  “Why do you say to that, Trixie?” Dolores asked.

  Mavis remembered Trixie Scarsdale, head of the pep squad. When Brew played quarterback for the Flying Squirrel football team, the bouncy, red-headed Trixie had been one of his greatest fans. Mavis was surprised to hear her badmouth him.

  “Do you know he talked me into writing all his term papers during our senior year?” Trixie said.

  “Really?” Dolores said.

  “All the while leading me to believe I was his girlfriend. Then when prom came along he asked Prissy Stevens instead of me.”

  “He was always crazy about Prissy,” Dolores said. “But, Trixie, you shouldn’t hold a forty-five-year-old grudge. I’m sure Brew’s changed over the years.”

  “Don’t bet on it. He’s still a user,” Trixie said. “Earlier I complimented Brew on all the hard work he’d put into the reunion. I asked him where he’d gotten the fifties posters on the gymnasium wall, and how he managed to find all of our classmates. He hemmed and hawed, and finally had to admit he hadn’t done a speck of the work himself. He told me that Mavis Flump and Birdie Purdy planned the entire event. Mavis contacted the classmates, and Birdie handled the food and decorations.”

  Mavis gasped aloud. She heard an even louder gasp come from the stall next door.

  “Mavis Flump and Birdie Purdy?” Dolores said. “I remember those girls. They were like two peas in a pod. You never saw one without the other.” There was a sound of a compact snapping shut. “Let’s get back out there. I heard that Merle Jones is here, and he still has all his hair.”

  Mavis stood motionless in the stall after the women left, her mind swirling with shock. She couldn’t believe her ears. Birdie had decorated the gym, not Brewster! He’d lied to her. What other things had he been lying about? She had to find Birdie. She needed to talk with her right away. As she fled from the stall she nearly knocked heads with her best friend.

  “Birdie!”

  “Oh, Mavis!”

  “Were you in the stall next door? Did you hear what Trixie said?”

  “Every word.”

  “Can you believe it?”

  “That scamp!”

  “He’s gotten the best of both of us.”

  Birdie took a hesitant step toward Mavis. “Mavis, I don’t know what to say. I fear we’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve missed you so, and...”

  “Me, too,” Mavis said quickly.

  “I’m so sorry,” Birdie said. “Do you think we might... that is... is it possible that you and I...”

  “Say no more,” Mavis said holding out her arms.

  Falling into a tearful embrace, the two women tried to talk at once and through their conversation, they quickly discovered that Brew had been a two-timing scoundrel ever since he’d moved to Cayboo Creek. He had dinner at Birdie’s house on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and at Mavis’s on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Sunday was his day of rest.

  “It sounds like we were his personal chefs,” Birdie said, bitterly. “He never once took me out to a restaurant or even to a movie. And he always left right after dinner.”

  “It was the same with me,” Mavis said. “I can’t believe I was so foolish. One day Elizabeth told me she saw his car parked outside your house. When I asked Brew about it he told me you’d lured him over there, saying you needed his help with home repairs.”

  Birdie stomped the heel of her gold party shoe against the bathroom tiles. “He told me you were the one coaxing him over to your place with squeaky doors and leaky faucets. That’s why I was so angry with you. I didn’t understand why you were trying to steal my boyfriend away from me.”

  “He was supposed to be my date at the Business Person of the Year banquet,” Mavis continued. “I guess he was worried he’d see you there, so he made up a story about having a flat tire.”

  “I feel so foolish.”

  “Same here,” Mavis said, twisting a button on her new dress. “We were bamboozled.”

  Birdie took a lace hankie from her clutch purse and swiped at her eyes. “I felt terrible about your bra. I kept wanting to call you afterwards to apologize.”

  “Things haven’t been the same at the Bottom Dollar Emporium without you,” Mavis said in a soft voice.

  Birdie linked arms with Mavis. “Let’s never, ever let anything separate us again.”

  Mavis smiled. It felt glorious to have her dear friend beside her again, just like in high school.

  “I promise if you do.”

  Thirty-Four

  If you�
��re going to walk on thin ice,

  you might as well dance.

  ~ From the Methodist Church bulletin

  As Mrs. Tobias sat in Rutherford Spalding’s silver Lincoln Town Car, the leather seat beneath her got warmer by the minute.

  “Oh my goodness,” she said with alarm. “I think I’m in the hot seat.”

  “If your seat’s getting too warm, you can turn down the heat with the climate control center on your armrest,” Rutherford said.

  “How clever!” She surveyed the buttons and made a small adjustment to the temperature.

  Rutherford’s Lincoln was like a plush parlor on wheels. And Mrs. Tobias felt at home beside her date, who looked especially debonair in a cashmere topcoat and an English ascot. Both items had obviously been purchased at Gents, where all the distinguished men of Augusta bought their clothes. Harrison had refused to shop anywhere else, even purchasing his boxer shorts and wool socks from the clothier.

  How lovely to have a well-dressed, predictable man at the wheel! With Rutherford there’d be no impromptu excursions on the evening’s agenda. No sudden dashes into a drive-thru restaurant for chili dogs, no impulsive suggestions of Putt-Putt games or midnight canoe rides.

  And no rock music blaring from the car stereo. Rutherford kept his radio tuned to an investment station, whose motto was “all about stocks, all day long.”

  “I thought we’d go to the club,” Rutherford said. “It’s prime-rib night.”

  Mrs. Tobias gave a nod of approval. For years, she and Harrison had gone to the Summerville Country Club on Saturday nights for their fabled prime-rib night, and when Rutherford’s car passed through the stone-columned entrance of the club, Mrs. Tobias felt a strong sense of déjâ vu. Glancing at the driver’s seat, she almost expected to see Harrison at the wheel.

  Rutherford parked, and helped her out of the vehicle. As the liveried valet took the car keys, Rutherford warned him to be mindful of the Lincoln’s touchy accelerator.