by Cathy Holton
Joe said, “Well, I better be going.” He leaned and kissed Lavonne. “I had a great time. I'll call you tomorrow.”
She really didn't want him to go, but there wasn't much else she could say. Not with Eadie standing there grinning like she had caught them in an unnatural act and couldn't wait to see what happened next. “Okay.”
He let go of Lavonne's hand and slid past Eadie. “There's a Harold Lloyd film festival out at the college this weekend, if you're interested.”
“Oh, she's interested,” Eadie said.
“Call me,” Lavonne said to Joe.
They stood there looking at each other while he started his car and drove away.
“You sly dog,” Eadie said.
“It's only our first date. Don't get excited.”
“You know, I can get a hotel,” Eadie said drily.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Lavonne said. She leaned and turned on a lamp. “Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll make us some breakfast and you can tell me what's going on.”
Eadie took a present out of her suitcase and followed Lavonne into the kitchen. She laid the gift on the counter. “Forget breakfast,” she said. “Let's make some vodka martinis.”
“It's late, Eadie.”
“Shit, Lavonne, it's Friday night. You didn't use to be such a party pooper.”
“What's this?” Lavonne said, looking at the gift.
“It's your late Christmas present,” Eadie said. “I wanted to deliver it in person although I don't guess you'll be needing it. At least not for a while.” Eadie was trying not to feel jealous of the fact that Lavonne obviously liked Joe. A lot.
“It's not a Mondo Log is it?” Lavonne said, tearing through the paper. Inside was a black shiny box with a small horned figure etched on one corner. Lavonne squinted and saw the figure had a long forked tail and carried a pitchfork. Underneath, in red letters, it read “Love Monkey II.” “You didn't,” she said, lifting the lid.
“I did,” Eadie said, grinning.
“It looks like an instrument of torture,” Lavonne said, looking down at the gleaming apparatus in its form-fitting box.
“Oh come on. Admit it, Lavonne. You might use it.”
“I might use it if I was making a movie about chicks in prison.”
“Go ahead. Touch it.”
“What are those little pointy things?”
“Those are pleasure nubs.”
“Nubs? They look more like porcupine quills.”
“Touch it.”
“I don't think so.”
“Touch the Monkey, Lavonne.”
“No.”
“Lavonne, touch the Monkey.”
Lavonne touched it. “There,” she said. “Are you happy now?”
“Not as happy as you'll be once you learn to use it,” Eadie said, and turning, she went over to the counter to make them some drinks.
HAVING FINALLY SNARED REDMON IN HER PLANS FOR REVENGE and retribution, Virginia had no intention of letting him wriggle free. There wasn't a lot of time to pull this off without a hitch, although Virginia was the only one who knew this, of course. In the weeks following their trip to the island she worked feverishly behind the scenes to ensure that the Culpepper Plantation project proceeded ahead of schedule. She made sure Redmon met with the designer, made sure the permits were pulled and all the zoning approval processes were streamlined. Under Virginia's careful tutelage the slow, methodical wheel of county government spun like a well-oiled turbine. And she did it all without ever once expressing more than a glancing interest in the project. Virginia was a genius of detached involvement. She was a master of understated micromanagement.
There were times, though, when Virginia's impatience nearly got the best of her. There were moments, when Redmon dragged his feet over some insignificant detail, when she wanted to stamp her feet and rant and howl like a madwoman. It was at times like these that Virginia's sixty-five years of training as a Southern Lady served her well. A Southern Lady did not raise her voice or curse her husband. She did not throw crockery or kitchen knives or fireplace tools no matter how great the provocation. She was always a picture of serene and detached attractiveness, from her wellpedicured toes to her perfectly styled hair. She was a cool oasis of calm and reasonable sanity in the uncertain maelstrom of life.
There were days when it took every bit of false patience and cunning artifice that Virginia could muster.
By the first of March, her steel-jawed trap had been set, waiting only for Jimmy Lee to insert one of his hapless but expendable limbs. On a bright, sunny Tuesday morning, Virginia rose early to make Redmon's favorite breakfast: scrambled eggs, fried country ham, grits, biscuits, and red-eye gravy. Redmon followed the scent down the stairs like a bloodhound, standing in the doorway and lifting his big red nose to sniff the air.
“Goddamn, I smell ham,” he said gleefully. “What's the occasion?”
“Well, now, does there have to be an occasion?” Virginia said, widening her eyes coquettishly. She had made up her face and fixed her hair, and forgone her usual cotton bathrobe and slippers for a shimmering silk kimono and a pair of leopard-print mules. Normally, the mules alone would have been enough to capture Redmon's attention for some time, but at this moment he was fixed on something infinitely more appealing: fried ham. His doctor had long ago forbidden salty foods and cured meats. Standing there in the warm, fragrant kitchen with the smell of fried pork flaring in his nostrils, Redmon was like a recovering addict stumbling across a cache of Mexican black tar heroin.
“Goddamn, Queenie, what are you trying to do, kill me?”
She blanched and swung around to face the sizzling skillet. She thought, Now there's an idea. She said, “Oh, a little bit every now and then won't hurt you. Sit down. The biscuits are almost done.”
He sat down and she poured him a cup of coffee and slid a thick slice of ham onto his plate. She took the skillet back to the stove to make the gravy while he loaded his plate with eggs and grits.
“Um-um,” he said, chewing loudly. “If I'd known you were such a good cook, Queenie, I'd of had you down in the kitchen every morning making my breakfast.”
She thought, Fat chance of that ever happening. She said, “Silly,” grinning at him over her shoulder. She browned some flour in the skillet and then poured a little coffee in, stirring until it reached a rich brown color. The oven dinged and she took the biscuits out. “You've got that big meeting today,” she said briskly. “You need a good breakfast.”
Redmon chewed his ham and looked at her blankly. “What meeting?” he said.
She glanced up at him. “That meeting with Nita's husband, silly. About the Culpepper Plantation project.”
He took a swig of coffee and grimaced. “How'd you know about that?”
She turned and took the skillet off the fire. “Oh, I don't know,” she said, waving one hand vaguely. “You might have mentioned it at dinner.” She set a plate of biscuits down on the table in front of him. “Are you ready for some gravy?”
Redmon grinned and sucked his cheek. “Does a wet dog stink?” he said.
He opened up a biscuit on his plate and she poured gravy over it. Then she set the skillet back on the stove. “What time did you say it was?” she said. “The meeting?”
“There ain't no meeting,” Redmon said. “Goddamn, Queenie, where'd you learn to make red-eye gravy like this?”
Virginia put her hand on her hip. “What do you mean there ain't no meeting?” she said sharply.
Redmon frowned, looking at her suspiciously. She quickly turned to the sink and began to wipe the counter down with a dishcloth, trying to catch her breath, trying to drown out the sound of jungle drums that had started up suddenly and were pounding in her head. “I'm playing golf today,” Redmon said, behind her. “Got a ten o'clock tee time with that sumbitch Jack Ledford who took fifty dollars off me last week. I aim to get it back today,” he said, scooping a piece of biscuit up on his fork.
Virginia waited until her breathing was even, un
til the pounding in her head had gone from a base drum to a snare. Then she swung around to face him, both hands stretched out on either side of her, gripping the marble counter. “Golf?” she said sweetly. “But what about that meeting? What about the Culpepper Plantation project? We need to get a contractor lined up so we can get started immediately on the foundations.”
Redmon stared at her steadily, his jaw moving like a pile driver. “This is business, Queenie. You let me handle it.”
Virginia relaxed her stance. “Well, of course, dear, I don't know a thing about business. Obviously, you know what you're doing. I didn't mean to imply—”
“Why do you care so much about it anyway?” Redmon said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Me? Oh I could care less,” she said with a throaty little laugh. “I just thought you had everything worked out. I just thought you were ready to begin.”
He sucked his teeth and looked at her irritably. “I'll be ready when I say I'm ready.”
“Well, of course, dear.” She put a hand up and carelessly fluffed her hair. She picked up the coffeepot and poured him another cup of coffee. “Everyone gets cold feet and I do understand not everyone's a gambler,” she said casually.
He squinted at her, chewing high up in his right cheek. “I've done pretty good up to now,” he said.
“Of course you have! And I understand you wouldn't want to risk it all.” She shook her head and put the coffeepot down. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her little foot. “In fact, now that I think of it, I don't think it's something you should do at all.”
“Goddamn it, I've made up my mind.”
“That kind of risk, at your age.”
“Hellfire, woman, I know what I'm doing!”
“Maybe we can take a cruise instead.”
“I'm meeting with that pasty-faced churnhead Friday at nine o'clock!”
“More biscuits?” Virginia said brightly, lifting the plate.
SHE CRASHED THE MEETING OF COURSE. SHE COULDN'T HELP herself. Besides, she didn't trust Redmon to close the deal, and her whole plot centered on Jimmy Lee taking the bait.
She sailed into Redmon's office Friday morning carrying a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Sunlight flooded the room. Jimmy Lee sat in a chair in front of Redmon's desk looking dazed and confused. Redmon leaned toward him with his elbows resting on the desk, a sly, crafty expression on his face. If that's his business face, it's no wonder no one will do business with him, Virginia thought savagely.
“Yoo-hoo!” she said gaily. “Oh dear, excuse me! Here I am coming to bring my husband a breakfast treat and I had forgotten all about his Big Important Meeting.” She put her hand up in front of her mouth and giggled. Jimmy Lee looked relieved, which Virginia thought was a bad sign. If Redmon wasn't careful, her Big Fish would wiggle off the hook and she'd be left with nothing but the worm. A big fat red-nosed worm. “Doughnut?” she said, opening the box and pushing it toward Jimmy Lee.
“Thanks,” he said, reaching inside. She smiled and offered the box to Redmon.
“We were talking business,” he said gruffly, taking a doughnut.
“Oh, I know, men and their business! It's a good thing the business world is run by men and not silly women like me!” She giggled again and smoothed her hands over her trim little hips. Her figure really was quite stunning, and Jimmy Lee's expression told her he thought so, too. Good. That would make it easier.
Jimmy Lee cleared his throat. “I'm a little unclear why you need me,” he said, looking at Redmon.
“I need a general contractor,” Redmon said impatiently. “Someone to make sure the subs show up and the work gets done. Someone to …”
“I'm sure my husband has already explained all this,” Virginia said, letting one small hand rest against her ample bosom. “He's explained it to me until I'm sure he's blue in the face, but from the little bit I can understand, this is how it goes. And do interrupt me, dear, if I get it wrong,” she said, turning to Redmon who watched her with a gloomy expression. He reached a big hairy hand in the box and pulled out another doughnut. “I own the property,” she said, thumping her bosom lightly with her hand and smiling at Jimmy Lee.
“You and”—she struggled for a moment, trying to remember Redmon's Christian name—“Bob … You and Bob will go into partnership in the Culpepper Plantation Development. You'll pay me a finder's fee, a lump sum due at the beginning of the project, and you'll cover all the initial development costs, surveying, design, roads, utilities, well, you know, all that icky stuff.” She giggled apologetically and rolled her eyes. Jimmy Lee smiled and looked at his hands. “I'll retain ownership of the property but as each lot is improved, I'll release title to that lot to you at a preagreed price. A price much below market value, of course.” She smiled at Jimmy Lee like they were coconspirators. Redmon helped himself to another doughnut.
“Once the first ten lots are developed, sold, and paid for, I'll release the remaining acres to Culpepper Plantation Development Company.” She nodded her head at his stunned expression. “That's right,” she said. “You two will own the entire remainder of the island, which should be worth a pretty penny by then, to do with as you please.”
Jimmy Lee looked at her, openmouthed. A minute later he looked at Redmon and then back at her, swiveling his head back and forth like a spectator at the Darlington 500. “But why would you do that? Why would you give up the property so cheaply?”
She put her hand to her throat and laughed her girlish laugh. “Really, what do I want with an island in the middle of the Black Warrior River. It's not like I plan on doing anything with it. I don't need the money.” She smiled at Redmon. “And it would be lovely to see the old home place restored to some of its past glory.”
Jimmy Lee frowned and shook his head. “What does the bank say to all this?”
“No banks,” Virginia said briskly.
“Why?”
“That's what I said,” Redmon said glumly.
“Now,” Virginia purred, cocking one eyebrow at Redmon. “Banks prolong the process. They can tie you up in red tape so long you're practically a grandfather before the approval is made.”
“But that means we'll have to come up with the development money ourselves,” Jimmy Lee said.
Redmon grunted. “You hit the nail right on the head, son,” he said.
Jimmy Lee was quiet a moment, considering this. “But why me?” he asked finally. “I mean, I know you need a general contractor, but why me, exactly?”
“Well,” Virginia said, letting her eyes mist. She paused a moment before continuing. “It's all about family.” She stopped again and touched a fingertip to the outer edge of both eyes. After a few moments of awkward silence, she went on. “Now, of course, you're not actually family, but you are my grandchildren's stepfather. And my grandchildren are important to me. I want them to be happy. What's good for you is good for them. I want this to feel like one big happy family.”
Jimmy Lee was aware that Virginia had been spending a lot of time with Whitney. Nita had remarked about it just the other day, going on and on about how she had maybe misjudged Virginia over the years, how it was never too late for people to change for the better. And it was a fact Jimmy Lee had been racking his brain trying to figure out some way to make a better life for himself and Nita. This was the deal of a lifetime. The deal that would put him at the top of the monetary heap, for a change. He'd be able to afford a new house and a proper honeymoon for Nita, maybe a trip to Europe, or a cruise to the Bahamas. And he'd be able to afford to buy the kids the things their real daddy could give them, things like new cars or trips to Disney World or tuition to that snotty private school they used to go to. And who knows? Maybe having a husband who was a good and steady provider would make Nita change her mind about having other kids, too.
He looked at Redmon. “How much?” he said.
Redmon never skipped a beat. “Five hundred thousand,” he said. “Each.”
Jimmy Lee put his head back
and hooted. He laughed and looked at the ceiling like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “I could sell my truck, my house, my boat, and all my tools and still not have a quarter of that. I guess y'all better find yourself another partner.”
“Hey, no problemo,” Redmon said. “Not everybody's cut out for the high stakes game of real estate investment. It takes a smart man to know when he's skating on black ice.”
Virginia looked at him like do shut up. She sighed and checked one of the freckles on her arm. “Of course we understand,” she said. She looked out the window at the low-lying Ithaca skyline. “We wanted to give you first chance at the deal, but we have a list of other potential partners.” She smiled wanly at Jimmy Lee. “Charles perhaps.”
Redmon said, “Charles? Charles who?”
Virginia looked at him coolly. “He's been talking about doing some development deals,” she said flatly. “He's been talking about trying some other field besides the law.”
Redmon snorted. “Your son, Charles? That pencil pusher couldn't split enough firewood to fry an egg, much less run a multimillion-dollar job site.”
Virginia gave him a dirty look but kept her mouth shut.
Jimmy Lee sat forward with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his hands clasped in front of him. He wasn't laughing now. One knee vibrated nervously while he thought about things. “Let me make a few phone calls,” he said finally. “Give me until the first of the week to see if I can come up with the money.”
“Now, boy, don't do anything stupid,” Redmon said gravely, shaking his head. “Keep your wagon between the ditches, if you know what I mean. If it don't feel right in your gut, don't do it.”
Jimmy Lee coughed politely. Virginia clamped her lips together so tightly she tasted blood. She ignored Redmon, staring out the window at a flock of buzzards nesting on the Courthouse roof. When she felt her blood pressure had dipped back down into normal range, she smiled flatly at Jimmy Lee and said, “Will you let us know by Tuesday?”
“Yes, ma'am.” He stood up slowly and stretched his hand across Redmon's big desk. “Sir.”