Last Dance at Jitterbug Lounge

by Pamela Morsi

  I laughed, too. And then, somehow, someway, I leaned forward and I kissed her right on the lips. It wasn’t one of the chaste little pecks I’d been giving to Berthrene, it was a real kiss and it caught us both off guard.

  “Uh…uh, sorry,” I mumbled.

  “It was nice,” she answered.

  As if to test to see if it had been a fluke, we tried it again and then again. Kissing became as much a part of our nights at the Jitterbug as the chassé and the Susie Q.

  But that was on Saturday nights. Monday through Friday at school or around town, I officially didn’t know that Geri Shertz existed. I never talked to her, never looked at her. Away from the garish lights of the Jitterbug, my Crazy Girl was just a skinny tadpole of a person hidden in ragged clothes. I didn’t want to know her and I didn’t want it known that I knew her.

  What Geri thought about my weekday amnesia, I don’t know. She never said. But she wasn’t the one to give us away, it was me.

  One morning before school I was standing around with the guys on the steps heading to the door. Head down and clutching her books to her chest, Geri passed by.

  “What do you think of her?” Piggy Masterson asked of nobody in general. “I kind of like the way she moves. They say her older sister could be had. Do you think she could be, too?”

  I didn’t say a word, but Les piped up in her defense.

  “Aw, come on,” he said. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Yeah,” Hackshaw Hurst joked. “Her tits still look too flat, but you can’t tell if a gal’s heels are round until you try and tip her over.”

  Piggy and Stub laughed.

  I punched Hackshaw in the nose.

  That got me a retaliatory punch from him, howls of shocked disbelief from my friends and a trip to the principal’s office.

  Later that day, as I perched high above on the oil derrick, looking for Becca, I tried to leave it all behind. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t noble enough to openly acknowledge her. But I wasn’t cad enough to let a cheap remark go by. Both ways, I came up short.

  I closed my eyes, felt the breeze on my face.

  “Hey, Buddy!”

  I startled, nearly losing my seat.

  “Hey, Buddy, are you daydreaming up there?”

  I glanced down to the ground below me. Geri stood there, looking up, her brow furrowed with curiosity.

  “Uh…hello.” I hollered down to her, embarrassed to be caught loafing. “I’m…I’m looking for my cow.”

  She nodded. “I saw Becca down in that draw on the near north of the ball tank,” she told me. “You probably can’t see her for the dad-blamed cedars.”

  I climbed down the rig and dropped to the ground beside her. I felt uncomfortable. She was more familiar than any girl I knew. But I’d seen her mostly at night, laughing and happy, at ease in the world. In the full light of day, she looked very young and not nearly so confident. It was almost as if I could already feel her leaning on me. I didn’t like it and I didn’t want it.

  “I’d better go get Becca before she wanders on,” I said and moved away quickly.

  “I’ll go with you,” she answered, falling into step.

  I wasn’t particularly keen to that idea, but I couldn’t chase her off. So I decided to ignore her. I didn’t speak. As we forged a path through waist-high milkweed and scraggly brush, I didn’t look in her direction. I pretended that she wasn’t even there.

  Of course, my actions had no effect on hers.

  “I wanted to thank you for what you did,” she said.

  I didn’t bother to pretend not to know what she meant. Instead, I discounted it. “I’ve been looking for a reason to break Hackshaw’s nose. It was just the first reason that showed up.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she agreed. “Still, thanks for doing it. It was kind.”

  I didn’t comment or even look in her direction. I just continued moving forward, stepping up the pace. Geri was practically running beside me to keep up.

  “That’s what I like about you,” she said. “I mean, you are good-looking and smart, too. And you’re a hard worker and a comfort to your mama. All those things catch a girl’s attention. But mostly it’s that you’re kind to me. And you’re a good dancer.”

  She added the last with a little laugh that made me stop and turn to face her.

  “I’m not kind,” I stated adamantly. “You are a sort of friend of mine, and I take up for my friends. But I’m no kinder to you than I would have been to a stray cat. I don’t deserve any admiration or thanks.”

  I watched Geri take a deep breath and straighten her shoulders; she raised her chin in that defiant, determined way that was so familiar.

  “Okay then,” she said. “No admiration or thanks. What about love? I am in love with you, Buddy Crabtree.”

  She couldn’t have surprised me more if she’d suddenly sprouted wings. I had no idea what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I turned to walk away, but she wouldn’t let me go.

  “You know they ruined my sister Cleata,” she blurted out.

  “What?” I turned to Geri genuinely shocked. “Who?”

  “Some boys at the high school, two years ago almost,” she answered.

  I had, of course, heard rumors. In a town as small as Catawah, news traveled fast and gossip even faster.

  “Is that why she left?” I asked. Cleata had been in my class at school. One day she just didn’t show up and we never saw her again.

  “Daddy sent her to live with some cousins over in Hominy,” she answered. “He said if she stayed here, them boys would continue to pester her and she’d never find no one to marry.”

  I nodded. Old Dirty Shirts was probably right.

  “Some of these guys in town, they think that if a girl is real poor, then she can’t have morals. But I do,” Geri stated resolutely. “And I mean to keep them. That’s why I want to marry before something bad happens. I want to get married. And I want to marry you. I’m a good cook and I been taking care of my mama for years. So I know that I could take care of yours.”

  The instant I recognized where her conversation was headed, I looked at her in shock.

  “I know I’m not the prettiest gal in school,” Geri admitted. “But you like me and we have fun together. I’d be a good wife for you, Buddy. I could be a helpmate.”

  “No!” My answer didn’t call for further discussion.

  “You don’t need to make up your mind right away,” she assured me quickly. “You should take some time to think about it.”

  “I don’t need to think about it,” I told her. “You are a crazy girl. There is no reason on this earth why I’d ever want to marry you.”

  I remember so clearly standing there in that field with the sun on the horizon, staring at her in disbelief. She wasn’t upset or angry. She wasn’t crying. She just continued to look hopeful.

  “Nothing I can even imagine would ever cause me to want to marry you,” I had told her.

  But, of course, I could never have imagined Pearl Harbor and a world at war.

  Somewhere in the distance I heard the music playing. It was the music that brought my thoughts back to the hospital. It was the music that got me to the room of blinking machines and medicine smells. I could hear the piano and the horns as clearly as if Cab Calloway himself was out in the hall. It was the “Hep Cat’s Love Song” and he was playing it for me.

  Friday, June 10. Just after midnight

  The medical center was like most Jack had been in, with lots of neutral color and confusing directions that contributed to the vaguely uneasy feeling he always got inside hospitals. Because it was so late, they had to get passes from the security officer. Between him and Claire an unannounced truce had been called, but their argument still lingered and they didn’t speak as they rode the elevator up to the eighth floor. The building was so quiet, so empty, that every sound seemed magnified. As they approached the nurses’ station, the conversation there registered loudly against the whispered ambiance of the night.

&nbs
p; “Hi, I’m Jack Crabtree,” he announced to a large blond woman in a nursing smock festooned with cowboy motifs.

  “Crabtree? Is that yours, Lucy?”

  A black woman with a thousand braids twisted into an elaborate upswept hairdo glanced down at the computer screen in front of her.

  “Yes, he is,” she answered. “Jack Dempsey Crabtree, Sr.” She chuckled as if it were funny. “Are you Jack Dempsey Crabtree, Jr.?”

  “No, that was my father,” he answered her coldly.

  “May we see Mr. Crabtree?” Claire piped in. “We know how late it is, but we’ve come all the way from San Antonio. We’re really exhausted, but we’d feel better if we could see him.”

  “Sure,” Lucy said, sympathetically. “He’s right down the hall and around the corner, 8417. There’s a little waiting area just beyond his door. There’s already some family there.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Claire answered.

  Jack felt himself being dragged away from the desk, but he allowed it to happen. He didn’t come here to start a fight with the people caring for his grandfather—he just came to make sure the old man was being taken care of.

  “I wonder who from the family is here?” Claire asked. “Your poor old aunts shouldn’t be hanging around a hospital at night.”

  Jack nodded in agreement. He didn’t have time to comment. As they turned the corner, a scrawny, weathered-looking woman with no makeup and a gigantic hairdo popular in 1985 came running up to him.

  “Thank you, Jesus! Jackie Crabtree is here at last.”

  She threw her arms around Jack. He drew back, but not far enough that she didn’t manage to entangle him in an effusive embrace.

  Apparently she was aware of his startled response.

  “It’s me, Jackie. Your cousin, Theba.”

  From a vague place in his memory Jack recalled a pair of buck-toothed twins. Reba and Theba, Aunt Opal’s daughters.

  “Theba, I…ah…I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Oh, I understand. Your mind must be just a misery of feelings,” she said turning to Claire. “Hi there, I’m Theba McKiever. My mama and Jack’s grandma were sisters. You must be Claire?”

  “Yes.” Beside him, his wife offered her hand.

  “Oh, honey, we’re family,” Theba said and threw her arms around Claire in a bear-hug, as well.

  “How is Bud?” Claire asked Theba.

  “Well, the doctor was by a few hours ago,” she answered. “He said that there was still a lot of bleeding on the brain.”

  “Did he give you any kind of prognosis?” Jack asked.

  She shrugged. “He pretty much said it was wait and see,” Theba told him. “But he did ask us about what our life-support and do-not-resuscitate orders were. I told him that sort of thing would have to be your decision.”

  Jack nodded, though he didn’t like the idea that something so serious, so personal, should be up to him. Normally, he didn’t shy away from taking charge. He was willing to assume responsibility for his wife and his children, even for his mother and stepfather. But he felt as if he hardly knew his grandfather. Surely someone who truly knew him, who knew what he thought, what he believed, would be a better choice to speak on his behalf. Jack didn’t want to admit that. He didn’t want to think about it. So he simply changed the subject.

  “We didn’t expect anyone to be here with Bud this late,” he told Theba. “Do you live in Tulsa now?”

  “Oh, no, we living in Aunt Sissy’s house in Catawah,” Theba answered. “We’ve been there ever since the dear old gal went into the nursing home. It’s been like manna from heaven for us. The preacher and I are just living off the bounty of the Lord.”

  It sounded to Jack as if she were living off the bounty of Aunt Sissy, but he chose not to say so.

  “It’s good of you to stay here with the old man,” Claire said to her.

  “Oh, the preacher is laying a prayer cover upon your granddaddy and I’m here to support him in his work,” she answered.

  When both Jack and Claire stared at her without understanding, she continued.

  “The preacher is my husband,” she explained to Claire. “I call him ‘the preacher’ ’cause that’s what he is. His real name is Conrad and his folks call him Con. But with ex-con and con man, well, it just don’t seem a fitting name for a preacher now, does it?”

  “No, I don’t suppose so,” Claire agreed.

  “How long does it take?” Jack asked.

  Theba’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “How long does what take?”

  “Putting this cover on him.”

  Theba laughed a little too loudly. “Oh, darling,” she said, “it’s not like a quilt or a bedspread or nothing like that. He’s covering him with prayer. He’s praying over him until that admonition to the Lord fills up all the eternal void around him.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “And this is supposed to heal him?”

  Theba looked shocked. “That’s not for us to say, Jackie. It’s the will of the Lord.”

  Theba led Jack to the area across from the hospital room and he looked inside. It wasn’t a doorway in the true sense. The hallway walls were made of glass. From the nurses’ station around the corner, you could actually see into the room. The privacy curtain was not in use and was neatly tucked out of the way. Still, Jack couldn’t see his grandfather. His line of sight was blocked by a man in a cheap suit who’d scooted a chair up to the bedside and was kneeling on the seat with his hands outstretched. He was muttering in a singsong fashion. Jack couldn’t make out much of it except for an occasional “almighty God!”

  It bothered Jack to think of the old man lying there, helpless to control what was going on. Jack had put off thinking about his grandfather for almost six hundred miles of travel. Now he was here just a few feet away with Theba’s husband muttering some kind of incantations to fill up all the space around the him. It was smothering.

  “Theba, if you could get ‘the preacher’ out of there, I’d like to see Bud.”

  “Oh, go on in,” she answered. “It won’t make no difference to the preacher. When he gets on a roll like this, he hardly knows anybody else is even around.”

  Jack didn’t attempt to explain any further to Theba. There was not a timid bone in Jack’s body. He knew that if he wanted something done, he had to simply insist upon it. He walked past Theba and through the door. He went to the old man’s bedside, without even glancing in his direction. He was focused on what he was going to do.

  He grabbed the preacher by his hand, and the man opened his eyes.

  “Glory hallelujah!” the man shouted.

  “I beg your pardon,” Jack said with deliberate quietness. “My grandfather is sleeping.”

  “Oh, you’re young Jack,” the preacher said, suddenly pumping his hand with enthusiasm. “For a minute there, I thought I was seeing Uncle Bud come to stand beside me in an incorruptible body of resurrection.”

  The suggestion was so strange, Jack didn’t know how to comment on it. He just stared at the man. Conrad McKiever was a small man, significantly smaller than Theba. His sparse hair on the top of his head was gathered into one steel-gray curl that hung down on his forehead. His eyes were unattractively spaced close together, but his smile was huge, displaying a bright gold tooth in lieu of a left incisor.

  “Your granddad was as dear to me as any in my own family,” the preacher continued. “And I’ve been praying here for the Lord not to take him until the two of you have made your peace.”

  Jack’s annoyance at the man slipped into full-blown dislike.

  “There is no ‘peace’ that needs to be made between my grandfather and myself,” he said. “Our relationship was completely friendly.”

  “Well praise the Lord for that!” the preacher responded and slapped Jack on the back companionably. “I was thinking that because you never come around or nothing that there was bad blood between you, or harsh words spoken or some such.”

  “No,” Jack said simply.

  This guy migh
t be married to a second cousin, but he was not privy to Jack’s life. And even if he were a clergyman, he had no business speculating about other people’s family relationships.

  “I’d like to be alone with my grandfather,” he told the preacher very firmly. “My wife and I have come a long way to be here and we’d appreciate some privacy.”

  “Oh, sure, son,” Conrad said, apparently oblivious to the coldness that Jack was sending in his direction. “Theba and I just stayed up here cause we didn’t want him to be alone.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said. Jack hadn’t realized that she’d followed him inside the room. “We really do appreciate having you here with him,” she said. “But you both must be exhausted. Can you keep each other awake well enough to drive home safe?”

  Both Theba and the preacher were smiling broadly at Claire as if she were a dear, lifelong friend. They’d just met her two minutes ago! His wife’s ability to walk into any situation and make total strangers friendly and comfortable was one of the things that had attracted Jack to her when they’d met. And typically it was one of the things about her that now drove him crazy. She was so kind and so conciliatory as she unhesitatingly urged Theba and Conrad to the door. They left smiling and pleased, instead of angry and insulted. Which, strangely enough, was what Jack wanted them to feel. He knew it was crazy. He was mad and Theba and Conrad were just an easy target. Knowing that didn’t make him feel any less annoyed.

  As they left, his attention was finally captured by the occupant of the room. At first glance it might as easily have been a stranger as Jack’s own flesh and blood. The old man’s body was covered to the armpits with a sheet. His arms were a tangle of tubes and wires, needles in his hands and neck were connected to bags of medicine hanging above him. His face was distorted by an apparatus that filled his mouth, connecting him to a flexible blue hose of a breathing machine.

  Jack looked for something familiar. The tall proud senior of his memory was difficult to recognize in the silent, pale invalid in the hospital bed. He stood by the bed, uncomfortable, waiting.