by Karen Young
“Is that what you think?”
Claire shook her head. “No, I think she’s rebellious and creative and frankly, a little too smart for her own good.”
Because that was essentially Anne’s opinion of Paige, Claire went up a notch in her estimation. “Sounds like a daughter anybody would want. I know I would.”
Claire’s lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Yeah, I love her to pieces, not that she would believe it lately. I’m the Number Two Demon in her life. Her grandmama, of course, is Number One. At this point, I’m not sure where Pearce ranks.”
“Age fourteen,” Anne said, sighing in recollection. “It’s painful.”
“And she wouldn’t believe this either, but I wish I’d had the guts when I was her age to do some of the stuff she does…and says.” Claire glanced at the door. “You notice she’s not here? Victoria gives strict orders that all members of the family attend these Sunday dinners, but Paige just loves jerking her chain. She’ll probably be here, but in her own time…and she’ll make an appearance with all the drama of a rock star! It’s enough to drive me crazy.”
If only. Anne looked down at her empty wineglass, wondering if she’d ever have a teenager. Even with the trials and tribulations that plagued Claire, she’d volunteer in a heartbeat.
“I remember thinking of my mama as a demon, too,” Claire murmured, focusing again on the storm-lashed windows. Anne wondered, by the look on her face, if she was remembering her star-crossed relationship with Jack Breedlove. Whatever her thought, Claire blinked it away with a little shake of her head. “But I don’t want to be seen that way by Paige. I’d like for her to think of me the way she thinks of Beady, but it’s not likely to happen.”
“Beady?”
“Beatrice, your stepmother.” Seeing her surprise, Claire said, “She’s practically a surrogate grandmother to Paige and has been ever since she was a little girl in Beatrice’s Sunday School class. The woman is a saint to put up with her with so much grace and patience.”
“I didn’t realize they were friends.” Anne frowned, thinking back. “I don’t recall seeing Paige at the wedding. Why is that?”
“Spring break. We were skiing in Colorado. The trip had been planned for months, otherwise, nothing could have kept Paige away.” Claire finished off her wine and set the glass on a small table just as a loud clap of thunder shook the house and a wind gust rattled the windows. “I hope Paige hasn’t gotten it into her head to go out in this,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I left her sitting in front of a mirror putting on that bizarre makeup. I’ll wring her neck if she doesn’t show up soon.”
Miriam again appeared silently with a fresh glass of wine on her silver tray. Claire took it, smiled her thanks. “To hell with Victoria. I’m smoking.”
Once the cigarette was lit, she opened the piano bench and found a tiny crystal ashtray. “I told Victoria that the reason Paige’s grades went to hell in a handbasket was because she missed Beady so much. Before she met Franklin, Beady spent a lot more time with Paige. She’d take her shopping in Memphis, they’d go to the horse races in Little Rock, they’d go to the beach in Florida. When she went to Disney World the first time, it was with Beady. I swear those two are soul mates.”
Once the cigarette was lit, she exhaled, blowing the smoke away from Anne. “It was great for Beady that she fell in love, but it was a major adjustment for Paige.”
“Are you serious?” Anne asked in dismay.
“Well, I’m probably exaggerating a little, but whatever, it worked. When Beady saw how Paige screwed up, she stepped right in and arranged the ‘punishment’ at the Spectator.” Claire made quotation marks with her fingers. “Paige acts like she hates it, but it’s an act. Poking around in those old newspapers isn’t nearly the trial she makes it out to be. She’s always coming home and dropping some obscure fact about Tallulah’s past.”
“With five generations of her family in Tallulah’s past, there is a lot for her to uncover. Actually, I’m looking forward to poking around in the archives, too.”
Claire stared at her through a smoky haze. “Why, for God’s sake?”
“Why not? I’m here for a while and when I’m not reporting, I have the time.” She smiled. “Let’s face it, not a lot goes on here in Tallulah that’s worth writing about.”
“You’re telling me.” Claire tilted her head, thinking. “And I’d give my eyeteeth to do like Buck and shake the dust of the place off my feet forever.”
“On the other hand, what if you had no roots at all?”
“Uh-oh.” Something caught Claire’s eye beyond Anne’s shoulder. She groaned and ground out her cigarette in the tiny ashtray. “It’s Paige, ready to make her entrance.”
As soon as Buck got away from his mother, Pearce cornered him. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, drawing him apart from the group. “Man, you come into Tallulah under cover of night, not telling a soul and then you disappear. I’ve been all over this county looking for you. And while I’m thinking about it, before you leave I want your cell phone number.”
“I’m at the lodge.” Buck glanced across the room looking for Anne and was glad to see her talking to Claire instead of his mother. No matter that he was damp and soggy and that he felt hounded on all sides, it was worth it to spend an evening with his wife.
“You think I didn’t try the lodge?” Pearce replied. “That was my second stop…after your in-law’s house. So unless you were under the porch steps or hiding in the azaleas, I couldn’t find you there either.”
“I don’t answer the phone or the door when I’m with my trainer.”
“Humph. And what’s the big idea not staying at the Marshes’ with Anne?”
He stared directly into Pearce’s eyes. “It’s a privacy issue.”
After a beat or two, Pearce said, “Yeah, so how’s that knee, man? I hear you’re out for the season.”
Buck nodded. “It may take a while to get back to a hundred percent.”
“Rotten luck.” Pearce studied his face, trying to read something he sensed. “Word is you’ve hired Tyrone Pittman.”
Buck gave a short laugh. “I see the ol’ grapevine is still dependable.”
“Hard to keep a secret around here.” Pearce glanced over his shoulder and moved a little closer. “Guess who I ran into yesterday at the Piggly Wiggly?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Bert Atkinson.”
Buck looked at him blankly. “I don’t know him.”
“Yeah, you do. He’s a few years older than you, but if you see him, you’ll remember him. Went to law school with me at Ole Miss, but he’s a Memphis State man, I think.” He shook his head, giving up. “Anyway, here’s why I mention it. He’s Jack Breedlove’s campaign manager.”
Buck saw Miriam heading their way with a tray holding the drink he’d requested. “I’ve seen the signs around town.”
Pearce cocked his head, eyeing Buck thoughtfully. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to be all over town, checking out my competition, talking to Mama, cozying up to Tyrone Pittman and somehow or other I don’t rate a measly phone call.”
“Thanks, Miriam.” He took the Coke and raised the glass in a silent salute to Pearce. “I’ve been busy.”
“What’s that you’re drinking?” Pearce asked, making a face.
“Coca-Cola,” Buck said, letting his gaze drift around the room. Claire was entertaining Anne, which meant she didn’t need rescuing yet.
“What the hell?”
“I’m off alcohol for a while.”
“Huh.” Pearce mulled that over half a minute. “Cleaning up your act, right?”
Buck’s reply was a shrug, a brief lift of one shoulder.
“I hear you.” He studied the straight Scotch in his hand. “I probably should cut back while I’m campaigning.”
“Speaking of…how’s it going, Pearce?”
“The campaign? It’s going, but like anybody in politics today, I need money and good peop
le working for me.” He paused, still eyeing Buck shrewdly. “I know you and Jack Breedlove go way back. I’m not going to have a problem with that, am I?”
“I haven’t heard from Jack since I’ve been here. He probably knows I’m not a political animal.” Where’s a distraction when you need it, Buck wondered.
“You don’t have to be a political animal to do either one of us good and you know it. I’d just like to know where you stand.”
“If that means you want me to get out and go glad-handing and kissing babies for you, I’d have to say not in this lifetime. But I wish you luck, Pearce.”
Pearce studied him over the rim of his drink. “You mean that?”
“Why would I wish you anything else?” Buck noticed that Anne was still talking to Claire. His sister-in-law had a brittle look about her, reminding him of Victoria’s disapproval. He wondered if being married to Pearce was as wearing as being his kid brother.
Pearce was talking again. “I mentioned Bert Atkinson because he couldn’t wait to tell me not to count on your endorsement carrying enough weight with the voters to make a difference in the election.”
“He was right. You shouldn’t underestimate the voter.”
“He was dead wrong,” Pearce countered with a look of disgust. “He knows just how big a difference it’ll make and he was ready to choke on the possibility.” He set his empty glass on a table nearby. “Which is the reason I’ve been trying to find you all over this freaking town, Buck. Mama tells me you’re here for the duration.”
Buck finished his drink and looked around for a place to put it. He wasn’t willing to chance setting it on one of Victoria’s priceless antique tables as Pearce had done. His mother would be on him like a chicken on a June bug. “I know where you’re going, Pearce. Save the pitch.”
“What other plan do you have until that knee is fixed?”
“My life is baseball, not politics. I’m concentrating on getting back in shape while I’m here. I can’t do anything to screw that up, which means I can’t be out making personal appearances with you.”
“Hey…” Pearce gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “I know that, bro. But I need you to be openly supportive, you know? And when you’re out and about, I need you to make positive statements about me, lie a little. Hell, lie a lot. It’s what happens in politics. Your name is golden here, Bucko. You want to see your brother in the U.S. Senate, don’t you?”
Buck caught Miriam in passing and set the glass on her tray. “I thought you were running for the state senate.”
“Yeah, in this particular campaign.” Pearce grinned and winked. “But look out. Another couple of terms and I’m set to head for Washington.”
Buck studied him for a moment. “Does Mother know this?”
Pearce heaved a sigh. He took Buck’s arm and urged him over to a window well out of earshot of anybody. “If she did, she’d shit a brick, I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Yeah. And here I was having trouble believing she’d let you go off to Jackson,” Buck said. “If she thought D. C. was your ultimate goal, she would probably be making contributions to Jack Breedlove.”
“Which is why we aren’t going to tell her, right?”
“It’s a big hurdle for you to overcome, Pearce. She believes you should put Belle Pointe and your responsibilities here before anything else.”
Pearce let out a hiss of frustration. “Yeah, and yet she wants to run things. It’s her way or else. I try to tell her that we don’t need to be so hands-on. We don’t need to be hanging out with the hired help from daylight to dark. That’s why we have hired help, for God’s sake. But does she listen? No.”
“She runs a tight ship.”
“Tell me,” he muttered with a twist of his mouth. “I don’t have a clue how to operate a combine, Buck, and I don’t care. You were the one who learned cotton farming from the bottom up. You were the one who was interested, for Chrissake! I never liked any part of it. But no…” He whacked his fist in his palm. “She wants me right here so she can continue to boss me around like a slave while she plays the chatelaine of Belle Pointe.”
“She is the chatelaine of Belle Pointe.”
“Big deal.” He swore softly. “I’m tired of the stranglehold she has on my life. Sure, being born a Whitaker and living at Belle Pointe are definite assets. The Southern aristocrat role plays well with voters.” He looked Buck keenly in the eye. “Do you realize how that stuff impresses people? It’s a pain in the ass to me, but to other folks, the Delta and the whole mystique of plantation life, all this antebellum shit, it’s irresistible…in a political sense. You know what I mean?”
“Tell me something, Pearce,” Buck said, looking him in the eye. “If Mother has such a stranglehold on you and she makes all the decisions around here, how is it that she allowed you to fire Oscar Pittman?”
Pearce swore and rolled his eyes. “I see Ty’s been talking. Got your ear while he’s massaging that knee, so he’s making hay while the sun shines, eh?”
“It was a low-down, dirty trick, Pearce. Oscar has been at Belle Pointe since we were boys. What were you thinking, firing a man like that?”
“He’s a troublemaker, always stirring up shit. We don’t need his type around.”
“With Will gone, seems to me you need him more than ever.”
“They can both be replaced. It’ll just take some time. I’m working on it.”
“In the meantime, I guess you’re prepared to operate a combine and manage the hired help while campaigning,” Buck said. He watched as Pearce tried to curb his temper, then lowered his voice and said very quietly, “I’m going to make it right with Oscar, Pearce. I’m going to see to it personally.”
Pearce’s dark eyes flared with temper, but he was prevented unleashing it when he spotted someone over Buck’s shoulder. Instantly, anger morphed into a practiced smile. “Hey, here’s somebody else you’ve been dodging. Joel, say hello to my brother, the town hero.”
Buck turned, recognizing Joel Tanner. For as long as he could remember, Tanner had been the sole legal representative for the Whitaker family. “Joel, good to see you,” he said, putting out his hand.
“Same here, Buck. You’re looking good considering the garbage I’m hearing from the media.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Buck told him. Tanner was an older man with a distinguished look and keen blue eyes. “How’re things with you these days?”
“Good. Better than good.”
“Damn right,” Pearce said jovially. “Joel’s my campaign manager. We’re headed for victory in November.”
Buck managed to look interested. “No joke.”
“Politics is nothing to joke about,” Pearce said, then turned to Tanner. “So tell Buck how much we need him to take an active part in the campaign, Joel.”
“Your endorsement would be helpful,” Tanner said, looking hopeful.
Buck gave a noncommittal smile. Campaigning for Pearce was a non-starter, but he hadn’t totally ruled out the possibility of endorsing him. He just wasn’t sure yet that he wanted to and the incident with Otis Pittman didn’t help. It told him his brother was still a ruthless SOB.
But it wasn’t something he wanted to deal with tonight. He located Anne across the room talking to his niece, who had just made an appearance. He did a double take when he saw her all-black getup. Jesus, the kid was dressed like a mortician. He looked again. A mortician with orange hair.
“I see someone I need to hug,” he told them and headed over to get a closer look. After tonight, it would be interesting to get Anne’s take on his family.
Nine
Claire knew her daughter well, Anne thought. Paige, decked out in full Goth costume complete with wacky orange hair and bizarre makeup, had paused like a young Scarlett O’Hara midway on the stairs. Ignoring Victoria’s disapproving scowl, she descended and strolled into the room with all the panache of a movie star.
Claire caught Anne’s strangled laugh. “Whatev
er you do,” she muttered, stubbing out her cigarette, “don’t let her know you think she’s cute.”
Paige had foregone the clunky boots, Anne noted with amusement, and the long coat had been replaced with a long black leather vest over a black turtleneck and black jeans. Riding low over her flat tummy was a belt—black with silver studs. Where did she get the stuff, Anne wondered. It seemed unlikely that Tallulah would have a store catering to a fringe element of any kind.
But the little kid who still admired her sports hero uncle was somewhere underneath all that adolescent blackness. On seeing Buck, her eyes gave away her surprised joy. But surprise and joy were majorly uncool emotions, so her face quickly went deadpan.
Buck, mastering his astonishment, now abruptly left Pearce and the family lawyer and moseyed across the room. “Paige! It is Paige, isn’t it?” he teased, greeting his niece with a big hug.
“I thought you said he wasn’t going to come to Tallulah,” Paige complained to Anne.
“I surprised her.” Buck angled back while holding Paige’s arms and giving her an exaggerated once-over. “I was missing my wife too much to stay in St. Louis without her.” Then he glanced at his watch. “I thought this was a party, not a funeral. What time is the wake?”
Although Paige tossed her head with a sulky look, she had trouble hiding a smile. “I guess you’re going to be like everybody else and try to cut me down about the way I dress.”
“Well, just let me say this…” Buck lifted a strand of her neon-tinted hair, uncovering the row of studs in her ears. “I know a guy in St. Louis who owns a business salvaging scrap metal. He’ll give you a good price for all this stainless steel.”
In spite of herself, Paige giggled. “What about the ring in my navel?”
Buck’s face showed mock horror. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Uh-uh,” she said with a gleam in her eyes. “And that’s not the only place I’m pierced.” She watched him clutch melodramatically at his chest, enjoying herself before adding, “But it’s the only place I’m pierced that I can discuss…around here.” She shot a wicked glance across the room at her grandmother.