by Amy Metz
Jack grabbed his wife around the waist. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Are you attempting to change the subject?”
“What were we talking about? I can’t remember.” Jack started to kiss her.
“We were talking about you taking me to lunch.”
Jack wrapped his arms around his wife. “In a minute.”
Mama always said . . . When you’re getting kicked from behind, that means you’re in front.
Louetta could have sworn the kid realized she had seen him shoplifting in her bookstore, A Blue Million Books. He looked right at her two seconds after he stuffed the book under his pink Ralph Lauren button-down shirt. She couldn’t believe it when he headed for the door with a blatant look of defiance.
“Jimmy Dean Howe, you hold it right there.” Octogenarian Louetta barreled across the bookstore to the teenager who’d just opened the door. “Are you leaving?” She glared at him, her hands on her ample hips that were covered in a lime green dress. Every hair on her gray head was in place, and her makeup was just as loud as always. Her appearance was every bit as bright in color as her mind was sharp.
“Yes, ma’am. I need to get home.” The boy stared at his feet. He was short, stocky, and had brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in years. He’d opened the door and was halfway out. His expensive preppy clothes didn’t match his hairstyle at all. She supposed the look was what the youngins called the naturally tousled look. She thought it was the naturally ignorant look.
“Yeah, well there are two things you gotta do first.”
Jimmy Dean looked blankly at her. With the door open, she could see Officer Hank Beanblossom coming their way up the sidewalk.
“First, you gotta give me that book you think you’re hiding in your pants.” She leaned out and called to Hank, “Officer Beanblossom, I’m in need of your assistance.” She looked back at the boy. “Then you gotta explain to this officer why you’re shoplifting in my store.”
Officer Beanblossom stopped just outside the doorway, assuming a wide-leg stance with his arms folded across his chest. He resembled a bouncer. He peered over the top of his dark sunglasses. “Can you explain that, kid?”
Instead of the fear Lou thought she would see in the boy’s face, Jimmy Dean’s air of feigned innocence also had a tinge of . . . of . . . was that glee?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The boy’s chin rose in the air, and a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.
“What I’m talking about,” her voice got louder as she reached to pull up his shirttail, “what I’m talking about is this.” She yanked the book from under his belt.
“But, Mizz Louetta, that book’s mine.”
The dirty little ninny had the nerve to appear amused.
“Oh it is, is it?” She was horrified to see the book was Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed, but she could feel her face growing hot. She knew she didn’t carry the book in her store, but she opened the cover just the same. Written inside was “Jimmy Dean Howe.”
She looked from Hank, who was rubbing his forehead, eyes hidden, to Jimmy Dean, who had Don’t you feel stupid now? written all over his face.
Hank broke the silence. “Uh . . . Lou . . . I don’t reckon . . . you still need me?”
She handed the book back to Jimmy Dean, and with all the dignity she could muster, said, “No, Officer Beanblossom. I don’t reckon I do.”
The kid actually had the nerve to say, “It’s all right, Mizz Louetta. I know you’re getting on in years. I won’t tell my dad about this.”
Louetta was seldom at a loss for words, but all she could do was stare at him wide-mouthed like the fish she felt she was, having been hooked and reeled in by this kid. Thankfully, Hank spoke up.
He whipped off his sunglasses and used them to point at the boy. “Dude, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but Mizz Louetta is sharper than anyone in this town. There’s not a person in it she doesn’t know and nary a Goose Pimple Junction fact she’s forgotten. I’d keep that in mind next time you cross her path. You’re already in a heap of trouble for past lapses in judgment. You need to keep your nose clean. Now you best be getting home.”
The kid smirked and sauntered away. Louetta turned to go inside with Hank on her heels.
“Louetta, what was that all about?”
“Hank, I wish I knew. In all my days—and there have been many—I never saw anything like it. I saw him put the book inside his belt and cover it up with his shirttail. And I saw him seeing me see him put the book in his pants. Lord knows he doesn’t need to steal, what with his daddy being the richest man in town. But I saw him do it. Or at least I thought he was stealing.”
“His daddy’s Louis P. Howe? The highfalutin lawyer?”
“Mmm hmm. Maybe I am losing it. Lord knows I feel as old as Moses’s toes.” She shook her head in disgust. “I’ve owned this store probably longer than you’ve been alive, and I know a shoplifter when I see one. I thought for sure he’d taken that book.”
“You’re not old, Lou; you’re a classic.” That comment elicited a small smile from her. “I meant what I said a minute ago. You could whoop anyone in town in smarts and twice on Sunday.”
“Lawzee, don’t go getting carried away now. You don’t have to try to make me feel better.” She patted his arm. “But I do ‘preshade it.”
“It was an honest mistake, Lou. He set a trap. Don’t let that kid get to you. He ain’t through climbing fool’s hill yet.”
“He ought to be. He’s about to be a senior in high school. It’s time he stop climbing.”
After Hank left, she asked Pickle Culpepper, her teenage employee, to mind the register, and she sat in her office at the rear of the store. The incident had really rattled her. Why would that boy want her to think he was shoplifting? Just to humiliate her? It certainly felt premeditated with his choice of book. It just didn’t make sense. She closed her eyes and shook her head vigorously, trying to rid her head of the thoughts. When she opened them, her eyes fell on the calendar. She sat up straight then grabbed the phone and punched in some numbers. Her daughter, Martha Maye, picked up.
“We need to have a party.” Lou gripped the phone hard.
“What for?”
“For Tess. Are you in?”
“Well, sure, Mama, but why does Tess need a party?”
“Her one-year anniversary as a resident of Goose Pimple Junction is coming up, and we’re gonna throw a party. We’ll have it here at the store. Get a pencil. Let’s plan the menu. We can cook all weekend. Number one on the list is lemon squares.”
“Oh, of course. They’re Tess’s favorite.”
“And pound cake. Orange-almond or coconut?”
“How about both? And a chocolate one and a chocolate chip one too. You never can have too much chocolate. Or cake.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Chicken salad?”
“Check.”
“Yeast rolls?”
“Check.”
“Ham?”
“Uh huh.”
“Brownies?”
“Plain, frosted, and Mississippi mud.”
“Pea salad, corn & Fritos salad, and my famous lime Jell-O mold?”
“Check, check, and check.”
Lou could tell her daughter had put her hand over the phone because her voice was muffled when she said, “Butterbean! Step away from the cookies until after dinner.” Then she came back on. “Let’s do squash casserole, green beans, and smushed potatoes too.”
“Wonderful. Make some little corn muffins, ‘kay? I’ll get Slick to bring some of his barbecue, and it’ll be good as little finger sandwiches with the corn muffins.”
“All right, Mama. You think we’re gonna have enough food?”
“I think we’ll be in good shape. You get busy on the shopping list and going to the market. I’ll be home in a
little while. Meet me there so we can get started?”
“Sure. Mama, is everything all right? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Oh yeah, honey. I’m fine. Just fine. See you in a bit. And give that handsome husband of yours a kiss for me.”
“Okay, Mama.” Louetta could hear the laughter in Martha Maye’s voice, and it warmed her heart to know her daughter was so happy now.
She hung up, and her mind went back to Jimmy Dean. She kept picturing his smirk. What on earth was that boy up to? Did he just want some kicks to humiliate an old woman? It didn’t make sense. But one thing she was sure about: he didn’t know who he was messing with.
He sat in his fancy office with his big feet inside shiny loafers propped on his solid mahogany desk. He shifted his size 11B’s from side to side slightly so he could admire the bright shining pennies in his shoes against the polished brown leather. He was forty-one but felt twenty-one. Or he would if he were free. Not tied down with a ball and chain. What had he been thinking when he married her? Probably let his hormones do the thinking for him. She was so hot back then; he’d been like a rat on a Cheeto. If she wasn’t so needy, maybe he could tolerate her. And that mindless drivel that constantly fell from her mouth. But the thought of divorcing her and losing half of everything he owned made him sick to his stomach. Ugh.
He shook his head in disgust and turned his swivel desk chair so he could look out the window. It was a beautiful June day in Goose Pimple Junction. Flowerpots were brimming with flowers outside each business. Fresh fruit was displayed attractively outside Fern & Moody’s General Store. His office was one block off the town green, but if he sat in his chair just right, he could see most of the shops on the main block of Pearl Street. He whirled back around in his office chair when he heard an email alert on his computer. An evil grin came over his face as he began to read the email. He was annoyed when the phone rang and interrupted his reading. He picked up after one ring. “I tell you what, my woman is driving me crazy,” came the whiny voice on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, I hear ya. Mine too.”
“I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Ya know? If I ask for a divorce, I’ll have to give up a fortune. If I stay, I may go insane,” whiny voice said.
“I know exactly what you mean, believe you me.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I wish I knew. I wish I knew. But I’ll tell you one thing: make sure you know who to talk to about a divorce, if it comes to that,” penny loafer warned.
“Oh yeah? Is one better than the other?”
“One’s better than the other. But the other is the one you want if you know what I mean.” Penny loafer glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was nearby. “Look, I’d rather we talk in person. You free later on this afternoon? I’ll stop by and see you.”
“Sure. I’ll be here,” whiny voice said before the line went dead.
Mama always said . . . It’s better to look good than feel good.
“Oh, honey, I am so sorry,” Caledonia’s best friend, Paprika Parker, said as they sat in her kitchen. A heavenly aroma of blueberry coffee cake wafted in the air. Caledonia had just told her friend about her husband trouble.
“You know what my mama always said though.” Paprika sucked on a lemon wedge before plopping it in her glass of tea.
“She said a lot of things. Which one are you talking about, Spice Girl?”
“If it’s got tires or testicles, you’re gonna have trouble.”
Caledonia smiled wearily. She was too melancholy to laugh. “You don’t think he’s having an affair, do you?”
“Oh, now darlin’, don’t you go thinking that way.” Paprika stood to check on her children playing in the yard. Satisfied they were all right, she returned to the table.
“What else am I supposed to think? He doesn’t pay a lick of attention to me. I can’t remember the last time he even touched me beyond the obligatory peck goodbye.” Caledonia swept her long blonde hair behind her back.
“He never has been the romantic type though, has he?”
“Well, no. He was before we got married. He was romantic and affectionate. Then we got married, and I guess he figured he’d bought the cow but realized he didn’t like milk.” She slumped back in her chair.
“Oh, you . . .” Paprika gently touched Caledonia’s arm.
“I tell you one thing. I know now what Elvis was talking about.”
“What do you mean?” Paprika’s brow wrinkled.
“I feel so lonesome I could die.” Caledonia’s eyes met her best friend’s, and Paprika could see the hurt in them.
“I think it’s ‘so lonesome I could cry,’” Paprika gently corrected.
“Well I could do that too.” Caledonia propped her arm on the table and dropped her chin into her hand.
“Oh, honey,” Paprika soothed.
“The few times we discussed it, if you could call it a discussion, Phil made it clear I was expecting too much. He said I wanted to live in a romance novel. He said I have it all: kids, a big house, I don’t have to work, I can buy most anything I want . . . ” Her voice trailed off.
“But what good is all that if you don’t have love and affection? If you don’t have genuine companionship?” Paprika said quietly. “You need someone to watch your back.”
“You know, I think if I stood naked in front of the TV, Philetus would tell me I was blocking his view. The only time he notices me is when his laundry isn’t done or his toilet isn’t cleaned.”
“Now you are bumming, aren’t you, sugar? Tell you what do,” Paprika said in her best Southern diction, “why don’t you bake up some of your famous chocolate chip cookies and Oreo fudge brownies and take some to his office. You could surprise him. He’ll love you to pieces for it.”
“You think?”
“I do. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, that’s what my mama always said.” She paused for several seconds and gave Caledonia a mischievous look. “Or through his chest with a shotgun.”
Caledonia laughed. “Did your mama say that?”
“No, I said that.” Paprika smiled sweetly.
“I don’t know.” Caledonia slumped into her chair. “I’m kind of tired of trying anymore. I’m thinking I should have just gone into Louis P. Howe’s law office instead of buying that dress.”
“California, you stop all that negative talk right this minute,” Paprika cried.
“I’d rather be a Carolina than a California.”
“Too bad. California sounds more like Caledonia, and besides, you of all people should know you can’t pick your own nickname.” She stood. “Tell you what. You think Pickle would mind the kids while you and I treated ourselves to a girly lunch?”
Caledonia’s face broke into a smile. “He’s a good boy. He does what his mama tells him to do.”
Paprika and Caledonia walked into the diner, bringing a blast of hot air in with them.
“Is it hot enough for y’all?” one of the old men at the counter said with a smile.
“I’ll tell you what, Clive,” another old man said. “It’s hotter than a spanked baby’s butt.”
“It is that, you old fools,” said Paprika.
Slick called out from the kitchen, “If you think it’s hot out there, you should come slave over a hot stove all day. Then you’ll know hot. It’s hotter than five fat old biddies in an Escort back here.”
“Don’t you worry, Chef,” Caledonia called out good-naturedly, “we won’t order anything . . . ” her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened as she spotted her husband dining with a woman near the back of the diner. It didn’t appear he had seen his wife come in. He and the woman looked to be deep in conversation.
Paprika’s eyes followed Caledonia’s. When she saw the problem, she finished her friend’s sentence for her. “We won’t order anything requiring the griddle today, Slick.”
“You girls are mighty kind,” Slick said, dipping his head to resume his cooking.
“’Scuse me, I see somebody I need to have a word with.” Caledonia straightened her spine and walked toward her husband’s table with a forced smile pasted on her face. Most of the eyes in the diner followed her, both for the view and the show that was bound to unfold in front of them.
“Well, hi, y’all,” Caledonia drawled when she walked to their booth.
Phil looked up, startled out of his conversation. A slight hint of surprise followed by annoyance flashed across his face before his eyes narrowed. “Caledonia. What are you doing here?”
“Well, sugar, I expect the same thing as you. It is lunchtime, you know.”
Phil glanced at Dee Dee and said, “Yes, we do know.” He wagged his finger from one plate to the other.
“Hi, BB, hireyew today?”
The other woman sized up Caledonia thoroughly. “It’s Dee Dee. And I’m just fine, Caledonia. But you look a little tired. Are you okay?”
Caledonia swallowed the slight and said, “Yes, darlin’, but you’re so sweet to worry about me, bless your heart.” She wanted to say, And you look like a little Dutch Boy, but her mother had taught her never to show anger in public. She must act like a lady.
She shifted her weight to her right leg and propped one hand on a hip. Awkward silence permeated the air. Finally, Caledonia said, “That looks good,” pointing to the cheeseburger and fries on Phil’s plate.
“Where are the children?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
“Pickle’s watching Peanut and Spice Girl’s little ones so us girls could sneak out for a quick lunch.”
Phil grunted. “I tell you what. When I die, I want to come back as a GPJ housewife.”
Dee Dee laughed too loud. “Not me. I’d die of boredom.”
After moments of awkward silence, Phil stated more than asked, “You don’t want to join us, do you?”
Caledonia felt the brush-off but quickly recovered. She flopped her hand in the air. “Oh no, darlin’. I’ll just go join Spice Girl. Y’all have a good lunch.” She flashed a shaky smile.
“We intend to.”