Carolyn Brown
This title was previously published by Avalon Books; this version has been reproduced from Avalon Books archive files.
If I wiggled again, Great-aunt Gert was going to sit straight up in that pale pink coffin and give me an evil glare the way she used to do when I was a child and couldn't sit still in church. Not even in death would Gertrude Martin abide wiggling at a funeral, especially when it was hers. She'd been an outspoken, caustic old girl the whole time she was alive, and I had no doubt she could resurrect herself at the faintest whisper of queen-sized panty hose rubbing together as I crossed and uncrossed my legs.
I should have gone to the ladies' room before the service began. But my four cups of coffee that morning and the thirtytwo-ounce Coke I'd drunk on the way to the church hadn't made it to my bladder until the preacher cleared his throat and began a eulogy that sounded as if it would go on until six days past eternity. If the poor man was trying to preach Aunt Gert through the pearly gates, we'd all starve to death before he finished. Thank goodness I had a Snickers candy bar and a bag of barbecued chips in my purse and twenty extra pounds of pure cellulite on my thighs. At least I wouldn't be the next one knocking on heaven's door.
I crossed my legs yet again and tried to concentrate on what the preacher was saying to take my mind off the pressing matter. After two minutes nothing worked. The space between the far end of the pew and the wall was just barely passable for an anorexic teenager, so I had to walk sideways. It was unforgivable enough that I was leaving in the middle of the funeral sermon, but to trouble ten members of the congregation to get to the center aisle would have had Aunt Gert doing more than sitting up. The tirade she'd have produced would've withered my poor bladder into a dried-out raisin.
I trotted all the way to the ladies' room. By the time I was inside one of the two stalls, I already had my tight black skirt jerked up. I grabbed the top of the ultracontrol panty hose and tugged hard, only to push a thumbnail through the fabric. I'd thought that they were made of the same stuff that was used to construct space shuttles and that neither excess weight nor blistering fire could destroy the material.
I was carefully pulling up my ruined hose when the door opened, and Marty and Betsy, my cousins, rushed into the small room. I recognized them the minute they began to talk. They've smoked since they had to hide behind the barn to do it, and their voices proved it-plus they smelled as if they'd just walked through the sulfurous fires of Hades.
"We'll just blend in when the service is over, like we got there late and sat in the back pew," Marty said.
How stupid was that? Everyone would know they hadn't been at the service. Of course, everyone would also know I'd left in the middle of the sermon, but at least I'd been there through part of it. I wished I had the nerve to really fuss at them for being late and hiding out in the bathroom, but I didn't. Not at a funeral. Not even in the ladies' room. It wasn't the place or the time. I had my hand on the stall lock when I heard my name mentioned. I quietly put the lid down on the toilet and sat down.
"Did Trudy come to this thing?" Betsy asked.
"Of course Trudy is here. God knows she'll do what's right. Good old dependable Trudy. She's never rebelled and never will. She'll be the good child to her dying day. Only reason I'm here is to hear the will," Marty said.
"What if Aunt Gert leaves that house to you? What are you going to do with it?" Betsy asked.
"I'll hire a bulldozer to raze the thing and sell the lot to pay the bill. I wouldn't go through all the old junk in that house for a one-night stand with Brad Pitt."
Betsy giggled. "If she leaves it to me, I'm callin' an auction company. They take a healthy cut of the money, but they do all the work. I'm going to auction everything off in one day. Then when I get my share, I'm going on a cruise."
I heard the flick of a cigarette lighter before Marty commented. Thank goodness there were no windows in the bathroom, or lightning would have zigzagged in and zapped her dead for smoking in the church house.
"That place won't bring enough for a cruise anywhere, unless you want to hire a fishing boat on Lake Texoma. But it'll either be me or you or Trudy. We're the only living heirs, except for Trudy's mother. And she's got Alzheimer's, so Gert wouldn't leave it to her."
"Poor Trudy. Bless her heart," Betsy said.
I leaned forward and strained my ears until my head hurt. It would be too awkward to open the door now. There would definitely be a confrontation, and I've always hated that kind of thing. Besides, I wanted to know just what I'd done to be poor and blessed.
"It's sad, isn't it? But she's always been that way. Even when we were kids, we could convince her of anything. She's so blind. She's like an ostrich with her head in the sand and that big bubble butt in the air," Marty said.
A lump caught in my throat. I swallowed a dozen times before it went down. If they hadn't been so intent on talking about me, they'd have heard the gulps.
Betsy giggled. "Maybe not blind. Just naive. Hasn't got a clue as to what really goes on around her. She actually liked Gert"
"Anyone who liked that salty old witch deserves to be running around in the dark. Let her live in ignorance. They say it's bliss. Besides, Trudy's always had it all, and I've been jealous. She deserves to have to get her hands dirty. If she gets the place, she'll work her chubby little rear end off getting it all organized. There won't be a doily or an ugly knickknack that she doesn't categorize," Marty said.
My face burned, because that was exactly what I'd been thinking since I'd heard Aunt Gert was dead. Her prized stuff might not bring much, but it could be given to a good charity.
"That's Trudy-her head so far into good deeds, she doesn't see what's right before her eyes" Betsy chuckled. "Give me a drag off that. Does God strike people dead for smoking in a church? We'll have to go out and blend in with the crowd in a minute, and it'll be an hour before we can smoke again."
My skin prickled with hives. Was I that predictable?
"God won't strike us dead for smoking, but Gert would have. Maybe Drew will talk sense to Trudy and make her bulldoze the place," Marty said. "He's a smart lawyer. Guess Trudy don't care what she has to put up with for that fancy house and all that money."
Cigarette smoke drifted under the toilet-stall door. I clamped a hand tightly over my mouth to keep from coughing. Talk about a disaster. It would be the beginning of a family war for sure if I got caught now. And Aunt Gert would rise up out of that coffin if we got into it in the bathroom while her funeral was going on.
"Do you think she knows about either her husband or her daughter's shenanigans, or has her head been in the sand so long that she's never coming up for air?" Betsy asked.
"If she doesn't know, she's dumb, not blind. Everyone knows about Drew," Marty answered. "How could Trudy not? It's been goin' on ever since the week after he married her."
My eyebrows furrowed so tightly, I felt the birthing of a dozen new wrinkles on my forehead. What was it that everyone except poor Trudy, bless her heart knew about Drew? And what did they know about my grown daughter, Crystal, that I didn't know?
Marty lowered her voice slightly. "Remember when Trudy did that overnight sleepover in Dallas with Crystal and her little friends on-what was it?-Crystal's seventh birthday so the kids could go to see Disney On Ice? Lori Lou came over to my house and borrowed my casserole recipe for hot chicken salad. I caught her coming out of Drew's house the next morning when I delivered the newspaper."
My stomach did thirty-nine flip-flops before it settled down to plain old nausea. If I got sick, they'd hear me, and then I'd have to endure a gazillion apologies with excuses about how they should have told me but really thought I knew and was ignoring it to keep my marriage intact. Hearing the words was so much w
orse than the niggling little suspicions I'd had through the years. My two cousins had turned on the lights and showed me exactly what Drew was, and now I had to deal with it.
I wished I had that little .22 pistol from my nightstand. When the custodian came to clean the church bathrooms after the funeral dinner, there would be my two female cousins, one bullet in each. If only I'd had the good sense to carry a gun in my purse instead of candy bars.
My ears hurt so badly, it sounded as if Betsy was yelling, but she was really just talking in a conversational tone. "Lori Lou wasn't the first, you know. He was looking over the crowd and flirting even at his and Trudy's wedding reception. Only person who doesn't know that Drew is a rich, good-looking, philandering fool is Trudy. She just thinks he's rich and goodlooking. I've always said that if she doesn't know, then I'd let her live in bliss. I heard his newest toy is that new twentyyear-old blond teller at their bank. Her name is Charity something. Trudy gets older and frumpier every day, and his toys get younger and prettier. You've seen her, haven't you?"
"Know exactly who you're talking about. My oldest son asked her out on a date. She turned him down cold. Now I know why. Donnie James doesn't have the money to buy her one of those brand-new Thunderbirds like Drew shelled out the money for."
A moment passed before Marty continued. The cloud of smoke attested to the fact that she was busy burning an inch off the cigarette before she spoke. "Charity is young enough to be his daughter. Hey, so what did you think about Crystal's sneaking off to marry that worthless boyfriend of hers in Las Vegas?"
"Just a minute," Betsy whispered, and I heard the bathroom door squeak.
Maybe I could strangle them with the legs of my ultracontrol panty hose. It would be so satisfying to see their eyes bug out and their faces turn blue. If I put the hose back on after I'd committed justifiable homicide, no one would ever be able to find the murder weapon.
Betsy whispered, "They're all coming out of the church. We can blend in now. Put on your sad face, and for God's sake put a mint into your mouth. I can still smell the smoke from way over here."
The door shut, and I released my breath. I hadn't even realized I was holding it until it gushed out in a great sob. I leaned my head against the cold metal of the stall wall. Its coolness kept me from fainting dead away. It didn't, however, prevent me from curling up in a ball of anger, pain, and tears until my chest ached.
I had always had the perfect family, while my two cousins had messed up their lives with five unwise marriages between them. Now I had found out that the only real difference was that my family had had a sugar coating and theirs didn't.
I talked my jelly-filled legs into supporting me, and a glob of cheesy cellulite bubbled out through the hole in my panty hose as a runner inched its way down to my knees. If I didn't cross my legs, poor, frumpy Trudy might make it through the dinner without a run all the way to her ankles. A conspicuous run would certainly be a disgrace.
My reflection in the mirror almost sent me right out to my car. Big black mascara streaks ran through pink blush. My eyes were swollen. My chin wouldn't stop quivering. I took a deep breath and looked into my own green eyes. My long black hair was a fright. What was I going to do?
The first step was to make myself presentable. I'd focus on one thing at a time and get through the graveside part of the service. After that would be the dinner and the reading of the will. Then I'd deal with what I intended to do about my husband.
I walked out of the ladies' room with my shoulders straight and a fake smile on my face. A lady kept up appearances and never lost her dignity-even when her world had just shattered around her in the stall of the women's bathroom.
Marty, Betsy, and I were required to ride together in the limousine to the cemetery for the final bit of the service. They were whispering when I crawled inside. At least the fat escaping through the hole in my panty hose reminded me that I had a murder weapon at hand. I could strangle them and then shove half my Snickers bar into each of their mouths after they were dead and swear they'd both choked to death while weeping for Great-aunt Gert. No one would doubt frumpy old Trudy's word.
"How you holdin' up?" Marty asked.
"I'm just fine," I told her.
"Well, you look like warmed-over sin," Betsy said.
"And you look absolutely beautiful," I said sarcastically.
Marty became the buffer. "Don't take that tone with her, Trudy. What's the matter with you? She's just tryin' to make you laugh. We didn't know Aunt Gert meant so much to you. We're just happy the old gal finally kicked the bucket and we can go to the grocery store without checkin' around the end of the aisles to make sure we're not goin' to run into her."
"That's not any way to talk about the dead," I said.
"Why not? You're being hateful to the living," Marty snapped.
I turned my head and looked out the window.
They figured I was mourning or in a snit and went back to the latest gossip: whose kid was in trouble with the law, who was sleeping with whom. I didn't care about the latest gossip, but I would have liked to have that list of home-wrecking women they knew all about. I wanted to see the names of the women in Tishomingo, Oklahoma, and the surrounding areas that my husband had slept with. Peace always seemed to come at a high price, and the way my stomach was hurting, the cost of keeping quiet was going to be a full-fledged ulcer.
At the cemetery we were escorted from the limo by three of the men from Gert's church. They acted as if they expected us to go into some kind of wailing fit and were a little disappointed when we didn't.
The pallbearers set the pale pink casket on the fake-grasscovered rise, and everyone gathered in the tent. Three chairs waited for the bereaved great-nieces to sit in right in front of the casket. Sweat poured off my neck and ran in rivers down every wrinkle it could find, wetting the wide strip of elastic at the edge of bra that was biting holes into my rib cage. The fat bubble on my thigh stuck through the panty hose on the other side, and no amount of wiggling would unhinge it.
Through the pain, all I could think about was killing the messengers of the horrible news that my husband had been cheating on me most of my married life. They should have told me the day they found out rather than laughing about it behind my back.
"We are gathered here at this site to remember one more time the life of Gertrude Elizabeth Martin. She lived a long, happy life and has gone on to a better place. She has folded up her tent and gone on home to Jesus," the preacher said.
Jesus had better be ready for a different lifestyle once Gert got to heaven, because there were going to be some major changes up there. Saint Peter could get rid of his little black book with the names of the worthy written in it. Aunt Gert would arrive with a new and updated version tucked under her arm.
The singers began to sing "Amazing Grace," but I didn't hear a word of it. The preacher said a prayer, and as soon as he uttered "Amen," there were people all around us.
"You be strong, Trudy," Daisy Black said. "Gert wouldn't want to see you grieving a long time. Lean on your happy memories."
If I did that, I'd fall on my bubble butt pretty quickly. Was the woman daft?
Another little gray-haired lady hugged me and whispered, "Gert was a great lady. You'll have a time filling her boots"
"Dinnertime," Betsy whispered into my ear, and she headed toward the limousine that would take us back to the church.
"I sure hope someone made hot chicken salad," I said.
She did have the grace to blush. "I never knew you liked hot chicken salad. I mean, I know you make it for Drew, because you told me, but I didn't know it was your favorite."
"Of course I like hot chicken salad. I make it every week for Drew. If he doesn't have it on Tuesday night, it's grounds for divorce." It was amazing how easy it was to dump ashes upon her head and how much I enjoyed it.
I could have sworn I heard Gert's voice whispering that a true lady could weather tragedy and heartache and keep her pride and dignity. I suppose she w
as trying to tell me to be careful, but I didn't really care about all those old southernisms she'd spouted all the time. I wanted to roll down the windows of the limo and yell toward the single white cloud up there in the ultrablue summer sky, Don't be telling me anything about pride and dignity! I want to kill someone, and I'll gladly start with Betsy or Marty-either one. So take your advice on to the pearly gates and rearrange heaven. Don't be whispering into my ear. You probably knew Drew was cheating, and you didn't bother to tell me, either!
I didn't do it. Instead I sank down into the heavy silence. What on earth was I going to do? My salary at the school wouldn't pay rent and bills on a one-room shanty on the edge of the Washita River. Did I swallow my pride, wrap myself in a robe of dignity, and shut my eyes? After all, evidently he'd been cheating for years. Everyone in town knew and "blessed my little heart" on a daily basis.
If Aunt Gert could have been in that limo right then, she would have told me to stop blaming my cousins and blame the party responsible. She would have said for me to go take care of business so I could hold my head up. She would have kicked my hind end for wanting to kill the messengers when the person I should be thinking of murdering was my lying, cheating, two-timing husband.
Marty cleared her throat to get my attention. "What are you thinking about? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Aunt Gert," I answered.
Betsy pulled out a compact and applied a fresh coat of bright red lipstick. "What're you going to do if you get that horrid house? We've already decided what we'd do with that eyesore"
I paused.
"Well?" Marty asked testily.
"She'll probably leave it to the church, and we'll all get some of her jewelry. The church can take care of the sale of the place and use the proceeds to buy new carpet or a new piano." Betsy stopped herself. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this. She's not even covered up in her grave yet"
Marty set her mouth in a firm line and narrowed her eyes. "Stop acting like you're sorry she's gone. She was a pain. I hope she doesn't leave me her jewelry. That's the last thing I'd want. All that awful junk she bought at yard sales. I wouldn't be caught dead in any of it."
The Ladies' Room Page 1