“You go to the head of the class,” I said. “And I’m going to the tavern right now.”
“Oh no. Evie. Wait. You should wait. Let’s talk first.”
“You have enough on your mind, Lizzie.” The light turned green, and I gunned my accelerator with the toe of my boot. “I can handle this. If Doreen was pregnant when she left here, that means that Vernon has another daughter.”
“I don’t know about that, Evie, but what I do know is... wait a minute.” Her voice became muffled. “What?... I’m trying to get ready to go get Mother... I’ll be there in a minute... In a minute!” There was a break, then Lizzie said to me, “Lord help me, I’ve never sounded this much like a fishwife in my life.”
I spied the Gold Rush Tavern in front of me. “I’m at the tavern,” I said. “I’m going in, Lizzie. You can pray for me or you can just wish me well.”
“Well, of course I’m going to pray for you,” she said. “But I think you ought to talk to Vernon first, don’t you?”
“Mr. Passive? No. He promised me he’d talk to Donna about Doreen being back in town, and he hasn’t done that yet. No. I’m handling this one. That woman will not ruin my wedding day.”
“Well, if you feel that way, Evie. Okay, Samuel is calling for me. I have to go. I’ll pray for you, and you can pray for me, okay?”
I said I would and then hung up as I pulled into the parking lot of the tavern, sliding a bit in the icy slush left over by the week’s snowfall. I got out of the car and stomped my way to the front entrance, swung it open, and stepped into its darkness. The lunch crowd had already gathered there, their silhouettes outlined in the smoky dimness. It took me a minute, but I finally spied Doreen carrying a tray of bottlenecks to a table in the back. She saw me too; her chin tilted in that way it always did when she was bracing herself for a fight.
Well, she was about to get one.
I headed straight for her and then stood nearby as she placed the beer bottles on the table. I crossed my arms, waiting for her to turn to me. She took her own sweet time, I’ll give her that much. “Here you go, fellas” and “What else can I get for you?” and “You want an order of fries with that?”and “Chili on the fries?”
For heaven’s sake, Doreen. Give ’em their food and hush with the small talk. But far be it from me to tell a barmaid how to do her job.
She finally turned my way. “Evangeline,” she said, pursing her lips.
“We need to talk.”
“We do?” She brushed past me. I turned and stayed on her heels.
“I need five minutes of your time, Doreen Roberts,” I said.
She spun around. “I’m Doreen Vesey, remember?” she asked with a smirk.
“You are most assuredly not. I know about you, Dee Dee Mc-Gurk. I know about the marriages, the children, and I even know about your time in the... what do they call it? The pokey? I know about your time in the pokey for prostitution.” My head was bobbing like one of those little dogs you see perched in the back of a tourist’s car. Or, at least you used to see them. I haven’t seen one in years.
Doreen’s brow knit together, and even in the dim light I could see her turning red. “Shut up, Evangeline,” she said, clenching her teeth. Then she jerked her head toward the kitchen. “Come on. We can talk in the office back there.”
On our way through the grease-laden kitchen, Doreen yelled at the head cook, “Hey! Two number sixes, hold the pickle on one of them, and two number threes. Oh, and chili on the fries on all four. I’ll be in the office with Miss Priss. I won’t be more than a minute. I can promise you.” She sashayed past all the men dressed in big white aprons, their hair held back with clear plastic caps and their hands shoved in clear plastic gloves. With all the grease dripping off the walls back here, I wondered what a little hair or fingernail dirt would hurt. But I wasn’t here to inspect the kitchen. I had another mission.
When we reached the manager’s office, a tiny little thing with what appeared to be a chain link fence for a back wall (and behind it all sorts of restaurant-size cans and boxes stacked on sagging shelves), an old metal desk, and a Playboy of the Month calendar—the only wall hanging—gracing the wall next to it, Doreen swung around and said, “I’d offer you a seat, but there ain’t one.”
“Ain’t? Did you learn to speak like that in prison?” I cut my eyes over to the naked girl posed on the calendar. “Can you take that thing down long enough for me to talk to you?”
She pointed a sharply manicured finger at me, ignoring my request. “Look here, Evie. I haven’t ever been in prison. I’ve been in jail, but that’s nobody’s business out there except the manager’s. He knows my record, and he hired me, and I can’t afford to lose this job. You got that? You make me lose this job, and you can be sure bettin’ I’ll see to it that you lose Vernon or half the hair on your head, whichever comes first. You get what I’m saying to you?” She took a step toward the calendar and jerked it off the wall, laying it face down on the desk. “Now, I ain’t got no beef with you,” she continued. “I’m not planning to do anything to upset your little wedding plans. I have no designs on Vernon Vesey. You can have him. My leftovers, anyway—”
“Hold on a minute,” I said, taking a step forward.
“No. You hold on. I have caused you not one minute of trouble since I got here. You wouldn’t have even known I was in town if you hadn’t of busybodied yourself in here, snooping around after Vernon.”
“That’s none of your business. And Vernon is none of your business.”
She planted her fisted hands on both hips. “Oh, but he is. He’s the father of my child, lest you forget. We still have Donna between us—”
“Donna and Velvet?” I spouted back.
That got her. Her mouth clamped shut so fast, a fly could have been caught had it been buzzing by. Then it opened again, shut again, and opened one more time. “How do you know about Velvet?” she asked, her tone subdued.
“I know, that’s all. One thing you don’t know about me, Dee Dee McGurk, is that since you’ve been gone, I’ve pretty much run this town. I know everything that goes on around here.”
Doreen stepped over to the desk and rested her scrawny rear end against one corner. She opened the middle drawer, and for a minute I wondered if a gun was inside. Maybe she’d pull out a.22; she’d shoot me dead and claim self-defense. “She went mad,” she’d say to the authorities—ironically her ex-husband and her daughter. “I had to protect myself.” Then she and Vernon would fall into each other’s arms, make passionate love, and get married, and the four of them—Vernon, Doreen, Donna, and Velvet—would live happily ever after.
In my house. Wanda Whittman would be quick to put it on the market, and Doreen would be just as quick to buy it.
I shook my head, freeing the insane imaginings as I watched Doreen pull a pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter from the drawer. She pulled a cigarette from the pack, squinted her eyes as she lit it, drew on it with lined lips, then blew the smoke in my direction. She studied me for a minute, taking in another draw, blowing it out again, this time toward the ceiling. “Well, apparently not,” she finally said. “Apparently you don’t know everything.” She ran her tongue across her bottom lip.
My shoulders sagged. “Then, it’s true. Vernon has another daughter.”
She flicked the ashes from the cigarette to the stained concrete floor below.
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. I was suddenly very cold. “When will you tell Vernon?” I asked.
“Why should I tell him? If Velvet wants to tell him, she can. She ain’t had no real daddy since the day she was born. If she don’t want Vernon to know, who am I to tell him?”
“But you have to. It’s immoral.”
Doreen coughed out a laugh. “Immoral? Like I’ve ever worried about immoral.”
She was right about that. “You should stop smoking,” I said. “You sound awful.”
“Like you care,” she said and drew on the cigarette again. “Look here, Evangeline,�
� she continued, each word wrapped in a puff of gray smoke. “Leave my kid alone, you hear? I won’t bother you, and you don’t bother her, you got it? She’s had it rough enough in life having me for a mama.” She took another draw, then dropped the cigarette to her feet and ground it out under the sole of her black shoe. “I ain’t much. But I’m all she’s got.”
Dear Lord, I was actually beginning to feel sorry for Doreen. I looked down, then back up. “What about Donna?” I asked, keeping my voice as tender as I could.
She pushed herself off the corner of the desk and took a step toward me. “I’d like to talk to her. Vernon won’t like it, but... well, you’ve never been a mother, so you may not understand. I still love my baby girl. I don’t want to do nothing that’s gonna hurt her. I’d like to have something with her. Some kind of a relationship. Girls need their mamas. That’s why Velvet followed me out here. Bad of a mama as I’ve been, she’s still gotta be near me for some reason.”
I nodded. “So, what do you want me to do, Doreen?” Lord have mercy, this was not going like I’d planned.
“Just leave me and mine to me, okay? And I’ll leave you and yours to you. If Velvet wants to tell Vernon, that’s for her to do. Deal?” She stuck out her hand for a shake, and I took it.
“Deal,” I said.
27
A Plot Twist
Clay was on his way to the Hallmark store, hoping to surprise Britney with some takeout from MiZuppa, a small soup bar and bakery chain that made the absolute best homemade soup in the entire ski-resort area. Not to mention Denver. He’d ordered chicken ‘n’ dumplings for Britney and Indian mulligatawny for himself. But when he saw Evangeline Benson nearly speeding on the icy roads and headed toward the Gold Rush Tavern (talking on a cell phone, no less) he knew trouble was brewing and in a big way. He slowed his Jeep down, made an illegal U-turn, and then followed behind her. By the time he’d made it into the parking lot of the tavern, she was pulling the door open and stepping inside.
A sick feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach. He sat for a minute, trying to decide whether to go in or let it go. After all, it was none of his business. But, he thought, very little about the Potluck Club is my business.
Somehow he always managed to make it so.
He waited five minutes, then slipped out of his Jeep and quietly into the tavern. He scanned the room but could see neither Evangeline nor Dee Dee McGurk, who he assumed she’d come to see.
He’d known about Donna’s mother’s and Evangeline’s feud since he was a boy. His mother had told him it was the stuff legends were made of. But this... this “legend” might hurt Donna in the long run. And that he didn’t think he could stand. After all and no matter what, Donna was and always would be his good friend.
He took a seat in a dark corner and waited for several minutes. If his guess was correct, Evangeline was going at it nose-to-nose with Dee Dee in a back room somewhere. He pulled out his leatherbound notepad and began to hen scratch some notes. After a few minutes more of that, his face broke in a grin.
Yeah, Donna was his friend, but a good plot twist was still a good plot twist.
Lisa Leann
28
Burning Words
It had been a merry Christmas season. Henry and I had flown our son Nelson as well as our son-in-law, Ray, in on Christmas Eve as a special gift to our very pregnant daughter Mandy. When first Nelson, then Ray walked through the front door, Mandy had hollered loud enough that I thought Donna would be summoned to tell us to stop disturbing the peace. Mandy had thrown her arms around Ray and wept so hard she’d soaked his shirt clean through. It made me wonder if she thought her father and I were holding her hostage. But that was ridiculous. We weren’t the ones who’d given her the doctor’s order of “no travel” as well as “complete bed rest” following that terrible scare she’d given us in the ER last month. She was lucky she had us to look after her. I sighed. It was too bad Ray had to return to work at his job in Houston after Thanksgiving. Mandy had been terribly lonely for him. But the baby would arrive in the next month, and Mandy’s little family would be back together in Texas lickety-split. I had to take advantage of the time we’d been given here and now. It would too soon be over.
I’d left Mandy, Ray, Henry, and Nelson back home with a pot of my clam chowder, a family favorite, while I busied myself getting ready for tonight’s Christmas tea at the church.
I stood back to admire my handiwork. I’d just finished turning a large cardboard box into a festively wrapped present with an open top. My sign, “Place Toys for Toys for Tots Here,” was prominently displayed. I sighed happily. I loved being in charge.
Okay, let Evie think she was Queen of the Tea; she didn’t need to realize I’d succeeded in pulling off a coup. Though I couldn’t gloat about it, as Evie was my oldest (and I mean that literally) and dearest wedding client. So my behind-the-scenes direction had to be not only friendly but subtle.
I’d easily figured out who Evie had called to be the table hostesses with a few well-placed phone calls. Then, in pleasant conversation, I’d gleaned the details of how each would decorate their tables. I’d also managed to discover who would join each hostess at their tables and how many of the seats would be available to open up to the community at large.
With this information, I’d even gone about town to individually invite the local women to join us. In my efforts to reach the locals, I’d called on barmaids and shop owners alike, finding a seat for everyone who’d accept my invitation, even that poor, haggard Dee Dee McGurk, who worked at the Gold Rush Tavern.
I must admit, I was pretty proud of myself. I’d managed, without Evie’s help, mind you, to turn the annual Grace Church Christmas event into a community outreach. Evie’d never be able to argue about the good in that.
And, as the Toys for Tots auction had been put under my domain along with the special music, I had plans so rich they’d knock the socks off everyone. And again, I knew I had to be careful here as well. After all, the auction had always been under the special care of Jan Moore, our beloved pastor’s wife who had recently passed away. So, I had to be especially sensitive to everyone’s thoughts and feelings of loss.
I turned to admire my own decorated table from afar—a lovely affair with a two-foot tall, live pine tree on a revolving, motorized platform. To cover the base, I’d put twinkly white Christmas lights under fuzzy white bunting to create a sparkling snow effect. Of course, the tree, done in gold ribbon with glittering red edges, carried out the partridge and the pear tree theme in miniature. I’d placed my ivory cloth table napkins, each encircled with five gold napkin rings, next to my china plates.
As this was the table where I was personally hosting the women of the singles class, I’d also lovingly placed a carefully wrapped present, in gold foil, on top of each ivory plate. Every box contained a gift certificate for a complimentary makeover plus a free trial run of my new computerized dating service that I’d been advertising in the Gold Rush News since before Christmas. With that, and the fact that my wedding service had recently been on national television—and I had Vonnie to thank for that—business was booming.
I turned to help Vonnie, who was busily decorating her hostess table with a centerpiece of miniature rocking chairs crowned with some of her antique baby dolls dressed in their Christmas finest.
“How cute is that,” I said to Vonnie, who gave me one of her sweet smiles.
“How’s Mandy?” she asked as she finished placing her red cloth place mats then began to top them with large glass plates in opaque white. It was a pretty effect.
“She’s good, though having to deal with a lot more Braxton Hicks contractions of late.”
“That’s to be expected. What is she, almost eight months?”
“That’s right, eight months next week. She’s looking forward to getting that baby home to her husband.”
“I bet,” Vonnie said. “How hard it must be to be in love but be separated by circumstances.”
I nod
ded then sighed. “It is, I know. But this too shall pass.” I laughed. “Someday, she may even be able to thank me for taking such good care of her.”
Vonnie giggled as the door to the fellowship hall burst open and Donna Vesey, looking rather official in her sheriff ’s deputy uniform, blustered inside. She’d been baptized with a bit of fresh snow and looked right charming as she waved a fistful of gift certificates at me. “I got ’em,” she said.
Vonnie waved too as I ran to greet her. “Donna, you’re a peach. Thanks for picking up these gift certificates for me. Did you have any trouble at any of the stores?”
“Nope, just told everyone I was there to pick up their contribution for the Toys for Tots auction tonight. They all seemed to expect me.”
I smiled and thumbed through the treasure of certificates for free manicures, custom framing, haircuts, fresh flowers, and so much more.
“I’ll pick up the donated gift baskets during my afternoon break,” she said.
“Great, and Donna, don’t run off just yet, you’re just in time.”
“Not for decorating a table, I hope. That is, unless you want one decked out in personalized speeding tickets.”
I laughed. Despite rumors to the contrary, this girl did have a sense of humor. There she stood, her blue eyes sparkling, her blonde curls gently framing her face, looking pretty. I was beginning to see what Clay saw in her. Now if she’d only let me apply a dash of pink blush and a bit of mascara. But that would come with Evie’s bridesmaids’ makeover party next month. I’d just have to be patient for now.
“No, you’re off the hook,” I said. “It’s just that Clay was about to stop over to take some photos of the Grace ladies getting ready for tonight.” I swept my hands dramatically as if showcasing the number of women gathered over each table, busy with their decorations.
“You don’t need me for that,” Donna said. “Besides, I’m late for a lunch date with David.”
The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake Page 16