Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  “What’s that?”

  “Your ditching the dog suit and taking a shower.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I return to the den, my hair piled high in a damp bun, wearing clean pajamas that smell of detergent and a distinct lack of vermin. The night’s fairly young, and I’m too keyed up and upset to go to sleep. So, old movies with the parents on a Saturday night it is.

  I point toward the TV screen. “What’s this?”

  James hands me his bowl of popcorn. “A form of torture.”

  “It’s an old video from Mom’s showgirl days.” Millie makes room for Rocky, letting the giant dog sprawl onto her lap. “The casino used to record the shows for promo purposes. Years ago, Mom got the reel-to-reels, and we transferred them to VHS. I found the old tapes going through a closet a few months ago and paid Norm Busby at church to turn them into digital files. He just got them back to me.”

  James throws his arm around Millie and lets his head loll on the back of the couch. “This was supposed to be a date night for us. Some guys go out with their wives doing the whole cliché dinner and movies or taking romantic walks in the park. But me? Gimme a grainy video of my mother-in-law in feathers any day.”

  Millie turns up the volume on the TV. “James, I did make you cookies.”

  Rocky’s ears perk at the word cookie, but James is not nearly as impressed. “Yeah, without sugar or dairy.”

  “It’s not like you don’t have a stash of chocolate chip in your office.” She gives him the look. “Uh-huh, I know about your gluten-filled secret. Go clog your arteries with those contraband cookies and let me watch this in peace.”

  “And save me a few.” I take James’s place on the couch and blow him a kiss. “I always appreciate some gluten.” Grabbing the plush blanket beside me, I haul it over my legs and curl up against Millie. Rocky jumps down, following James to the cookies. “Wow, look at those outfits. James wasn’t kidding about all the feathers.”

  “Mom said her headdress could weigh up to fifteen pounds.” She reaches into the popcorn bowl and takes a handful.

  “Are you eating corn?”

  “It’s non-GMO. And don’t tell James. I have an image to protect.” She points toward the TV. “Second pair of legs from the left. That’s your grandma.”

  I study the young woman on the screen. “She’s so beautiful. Look at her face. Maxine’s smiling so big, she’s glowing.”

  “She’s having the time of her life.”

  “Such a contrast to the forced enthusiasm of her current routine.” I stay with Millie and watch the old footage for another half hour. When it’s over, I feel like I’ve just gotten a master class in stage performance. “Does Maxine have a copy of this?”

  Millie stifles a yawn as she stretches. “She wasn’t interested.”

  “Can you send me one of the digital files?” I ease Rocky’s head off my lap, then throw off the blanket. “I just had an idea.”

  Millie pulls the blanket to her. “Where are you going at this hour?”

  “To see a showgirl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Maxine opens her front door on the third ring. “You’re not the pizza delivery guy.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  She pulls me inside. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t know anyone who can compete with melty cheese and a garlic stuffed crust. What are you doing out so late?”

  “I have a genius idea.”

  “A bra that inflates itself? I already have a patent pending.”

  “This is even better.”

  “I think you underestimate instant perkiness.”

  “Katie!” Sam rises from his recliner and wraps me in a hug. He always smells like Old Spice and the Valiant. “How the heck are you?” He holds me at arm’s length. “I’ve barely seen you since you started college. It feels like years. Tell me what’s new.”

  “Well, I just got my PhD.”

  He resumes his seat and mutes the TV. “Quantum physics?”

  “It seemed the easiest.” I sit across from Sam on the couch. “I’m married now with two kids. Katie Junior begins boarding school next semester.” I’ve had many an evening chat with these night owls.

  Maxine tosses her blow-up ring beside me and sits. “Does this boarding school take annoying son-in-laws?”

  “Only imaginary rich children.”

  “Pity.” She grins. Because we both know she loves James as much as I do.

  “We’re excited to see you in your first college production,” Sam says. “Maxine’s told me all about it.”

  “It might have to wait.” I’m having a little trouble making eye contact, so I watch the silent images on the television screen. “I’ve been given the option of letting someone else take my place in the play, and I think I’m going to accept the offer.”

  “She means she’s gonna quit,” Maxine yells like Sam has a hearing problem.

  “Now, Maxine, you let that child alone. Katie’s had a tough semester. She just lost her mom, for crying out loud. If she wants to step back from the spotlight, then that’s okay. It’s not like she’s quitting college.”

  Somewhere a clock ticks, the ceiling fan squeaks as it turns, and my heart beats loud enough to echo in the room. “Leaving Hendrix is a choice I’m currently considering.”

  Sam’s forehead wrinkles like a Shar-Pei. “On a scale of one to your side of the dorm room’s already packed up, how would you rate the level of your consideration?”

  “My room isn’t packed up yet.” I watch him relax with relief. “But I did bring home two suitcases of clothes.”

  “Aw, hon.” He walks to me and claps me on the shoulder with his rough, handyman’s hand. “Sometimes, we just need a little rest and recalibration before jumping back in. If that’s what you need, then I’ll support you.”

  “I see how it is.” Maxine purses her lips. “You’ll support Katie dropping out, but you won’t support my plan to run for student body president?”

  “Katie’s plan involves self-care,” Sam says. “Yours involves free lattes and upping the age of the college cheer squad by forty years.” He throws his hands up in the air, clearly giving up on the both of us. “I’ll leave you two to your hen party. I’m headed to bed. I’ve got an early morning rural route for the church bus in the morning.” Sam kisses the top of my head. “Love you, girl. No matter what you decide.”

  My heart defrosts a few degrees as Sam climbs the stairs. I’d never had a grandfather until Sam. Moments like this make me realize how much I’d been missing.

  Maxine turns those wise owl eyes on me. “So, what’s up, buttercup?”

  “I saw something interesting tonight.”

  “Your neighbor Mr. Bajinski doing backyard yoga in nothing but his tighty-whities?”

  “Mr. Bajinski has a fifteen-foot privacy fence. How would you know that?”

  “Doesn’t matter and quit changing the subject, you rude thing. Stay on topic and finish your story.”

  I dig into my purse and pull out my phone. “I saw your showgirl videos from your casino days.”

  “Oh, boy.” Maxine throws herself back against the couch cushions. “Why would anyone want to watch that old black and white stuff?”

  “Do you know what I saw?”

  “My blatant sexiness that nobody can deny?”

  “A woman having the time of her life.”

  “Eh.” She shrugs. “I had nightly access to a steak buffet.”

  “Maxine.” I push play on one of the videos Millie sent. “Look at this.” I force the phone into her hands. “This woman is on fire.”

  A ghost of a smile lifts her lips. “A few times, quite literally.”

  “Notice how much fun you’re having. And your routine is incredible.”

  “It’s dated.”

  “Classic dance moves never go out of style.”

  “Who on earth told you that nonsense?”

  “You did. Two years ago, when I went to prom and was stressed about the slow dances
.” Maxine spent hours helping me. After I’d confessed I was nervous I’d look stupid, she pushed play on some music, grabbed me close, then danced with me until I got it right. It would surprise no one that she likes to lead.

  Maxine sighs then reaches into her shirt and procures a rarely seen pair of bifocals, sliding them up her nose. “That particular act was one of my favorites. We’d heard Elvis was going to stop by to catch the show, and the girls and I were all aflutter.” She taps the screen. “Do you see my high kick?”

  “Better than ol’ Gloria Hardcastle’s.”

  “Darn tootin’.”

  “That same routine would look great performed solo.”

  “And be an absolute blast.” Her eyebrows slant in a V. “But still, no way. It’s neither doable nor advisable.” But she cocks her blonde head and studies the screen, her gaze following each kick, each arm movement. “Those were such incredible years.”

  “Then let’s bring them back. Show those pageant judges a routine you care about.”

  “I can’t, Katie. I’ll get laughed off the stage.”

  “When have you ever worried about what anyone thinks of you?”

  Her pained face tells me maybe a little more often than she’d want everyone to think. “You make it sound so easy, but it’s not.”

  “Are you telling me Maxine Simmons Dayberry is going to let fear get the best of her? You’re gonna settle for something you don’t care about because you’re afraid to veer off your original course?”

  She walks to the double-paned window and stares into the night sky. “We’re out of time. It would be insanely hard to relearn that old showgirl act.”

  “So that’s it? You’re gonna quit on an idea that I know you love…because it’s hard?”

  She slowly turns, her eyes aglow with lamplight and bewilderment. “Are you hearing yourself?”

  “Yeah, I said—”

  “Maybe you should follow your own advice and not care what people think. Except for me. Because my opinion should be valued by every person who breathes.” She steps closer, so close, I can see the tired shadows beneath her flawless makeup. “And as for my quitting when something’s too hard, first let me remind the jury I’ve been in derriere distress for weeks. I’ve carried around that bootie donut like it was the latest Kors bag. And second, seems to me like that’s the very same thing you’d be doing if you left college right now.”

  “I’m failing.”

  “Is it over yet? No. You still have over two months left in this semester, and between help from professors, tutors, me, and that Alberta Einstein of a roommate, I bet we can get those grades up. I know you’re hurting, and it’s hard to focus.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  She pulls off her glasses, tucks them into some hidey-hole in her shirt, then turns weary eyes to mine. “You went into college afraid, and you’ve let it get the best of you. Somewhere in your head there’s a voice that says you can’t do it, that college isn’t for the likes of you. Does that sound about right?”

  “I’m Bobbie Ann’s daughter. You know what the statistics are for someone whose parent’s been incarcerated, not to mention the double bonus of being in the foster system.”

  “Yet, there you are. The fierce, fiery girl I know and love wouldn’t let some silly statistic define her and hold her back. Don’t you think your mom’s life might’ve been different if she hadn’t given up on so much?”

  My mom quit everything—jobs, sobriety, parenting. “I’ve tried so hard to do better than Bobbie Ann, to be different. But I can’t get a foothold at Hendrix.”

  “Some things are difficult, no matter who you are or where you come from. College is hard. I get that more than anyone. If you think it’s challenging doing school with your background, try enduring it as a fifty-five-year-old woman.”

  “I guess that’s an age neither of us currently knows about.”

  “I’ll thank you to keep your sass to yourself when I’m clearly delivering an impassioned and life-altering pep talk.” Maxine clutches my shoulders, and her voice softens. “Sweet pea, if you need to quit school because you’re drowning in grief and not in a healthy mental space, then that’s one thing. And if you can look me in my stunningly blue Reese Witherspoon eyes and tell me that, I’ll let this go. Not only that, but I’ll also make sure Millie and James are on board.” Her hands squeeze into my upper arms. “But if you’re quitting school because of fear and doubts, and because it’s harder than you thought, then I say that’s weaker than Bitsy Marlow’s tuba solos at church.”

  “Who’s Bitsy?”

  “My point is, fear is not a reason to back down and quit, is it? I think we both need to take your sage advice and press in and do the hard things.” She reaches for my hand and clasps it in hers. “We can do this—together.”

  I close my eyes and try to still the angry voices in my head. “Maybe.”

  “Give it at least one more semester.”

  I reluctantly nod my agreement. “I’m not promising I’ll make the Dean’s List.”

  “This means no bailing on that play, as well. Monday morning, you go see Dr. Maddox first thing and tell him you were overwrought and didn’t mean what you said. You tell that forgetful man Callie Scott wants her part back.” She gives me a sly wink. “I’ve got front row tickets, and I don’t want them to go to waste.”

  “Fine.” I tug my hand back and give Maxine my own pointed glare. “But only if you do the pageant routine you really want to do.”

  She gives an indelicate snort. “Yeah, unlike you, I don’t have anyone giving me deadline extensions. The contest’s in one week.”

  “Then I guess we better get started.”

  “I’ll never get it together in time.”

  “I’ve got all night and nothing to do.” I smile at my grandmother. “How about we take it step by step...and just see where it goes?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Water break!” Maxine collapses on the floor beside me, reaching for her wine glass filled with sparkling Perrier. “How is it two a.m. already?”

  I’ve got the dance video playing on her TV, and I cue it up again. “Times flies when you’re exhausted and using muscles even my fitness professor’s never found.” Maxine refused to dance alone and forced me to learn every move with her. I sure underestimated how hard a showgirl’s job had to be. I think I’ll take college any day over this torture.

  I sip my regular old tap water and slump against an ottoman. “Tate broke up with me tonight.” Technically, now last night.

  Her eyes go wide, and she plucks a grape from a nearby bowl. “Did he now?”

  “In the middle of a corn maze. While wearing his Dorothy costume from The Wizard of Oz.”

  She chews thoughtfully. “High carb with a nod to classic cinema. He knows how to set a scene.”

  “I liked him.”

  “And I like broccoli. Doesn’t mean we’re soul mates. You two have been good friends who occasionally kiss. I’ve seen more sparks in my underwear coming out of the dryer.”

  I lob a throw pillow at her. “Hey, a relationship should be based on friendship.”

  “Yeah, but it should also have a little va-va-voom. Hey, guess who you do have chemistry with?”

  “Do not mention Charlie Benson.”

  “Charlie Benson!” She scoots closer to me. “Now there’s a boy with some electricity.”

  “He has a girlfriend.”

  “Do you want me to make her disappear?” Maxine holds a finger to my lips. “Don’t say a word. Blink once for yes. Twice for yes, please.”

  I laugh, despite my fatigue and foul mood. “This does not require your intervention.” Wrapping my hands around my knees, I pick at the loose thread on my shorts. “Tate told me it was time to stop holding on for the wrong reasons.”

  Now I really have her attention. “I sense he wasn’t just talking about the two of you.”

  “He basically thinks I’m so busy trying to outrun my past, I’m falling behind
. But he also comes from a picture-perfect family and has no idea what it’s like to have some baggage.” Okay, my mom was more than baggage. More like a whole bus depot.

  Maxine lifts her glass toward the TV where the black and white version of her smiles wide and steps high. “You know, my past wasn’t all shimmies and sparkles. When I see that video, I remember a wonderful time of my life, but it wasn’t without some trouble. Exhuming this old routine isn’t only recalling the music and the moves of that time, but also the difficulties that surrounded that season in my past.”

  “I thought you loved your show girl days.”

  “I did then, and I do now. But the in-between? Not so much. After I left the business, it

  took me a long time to be proud of where I’d come from.” Her sigh seems to come from a faraway place she’d rather not travel to. “After Millie’s father swept me off my high heels and brought me back here as his bride, the town went nuts. And not with requests for my photo and autograph. Their sweet hometown boy had married a half-dressed showgirl. I was a scandal. Other young wives would hardly speak to me on the sidewalk. A few of their moron husbands would say mean things and catcall when I walked by.”

  “I’m sorry, Maxine. I had no idea.”

  “Do you know what my husband told me? He said, ‘My marvelous Maxine, you hold up your head and show them your high kick.’” She pulls her arm across her body, taking a much-needed stretch. “In other words, he wanted me to be proud of who I was and not hide where I’d come from.” Maxine blinks a few times against the sheen in her eyes. “My gosh, that man was a peach.”

  “He sounds wise.”

  “He was, so I listened to him. The town didn’t warm up to me overnight. It took a few years, the stuck-up snobs. But when the church needed a choreographer for the Christmas production, who do you think was the first to sign up?”

  “You.”

  “Yeah, but they gave it to Mrs. Penny Salvatini, who couldn’t swivel a hip to save a hula hoop. So, I volunteered at the high school, lending my talents to the fall musical. Then they asked me back for the spring show. Tickets sold out, and the newspaper wrote up a front-page article on the fine dance moves that brought attendees from all over the county.” She shrugs. “Eventually, people got to know me and realized I wasn’t here to convert them to the ways of Sin City.”