by Kim Boykin
“You the bride?”
“And this is my maid of honor.”
They let us in for free and put us at a special table up front near the stage.
“Come on, ladies,” the announcer hollered as women actually ran to get a good seat. “The men aren’t ready just yet. You’ll have to get loud and let them know you’re ready.” He pumped up the crowd with dirty jokes and promises of who would be performing. Everybody there seemed to know who these guys were, and they definitely had their favorites, especially “Blaine, Blaine, the man who puts Fabio-o-o-o to shame.”
When the bass started pumping, the whole place throbbed with excitement. A series of male strippers came out and did their thing, but I wasn’t impressed, and Sara Jane said she wasn’t, either. The jungle guy was okay, but he was greased up with baby oil and bad cologne, and was so close to us the smell made me nauseous. The police guy danced a little too well, and you could tell he wasn’t really looking at any of the girls in the crowd. He just did his dance, looking over the tops of our heads, toward the back of the bar, but he still had those girls stuffing money in his gun belt like crazy.
I was glad they didn’t take everything off, but they didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, either. One of them came up and started dancing around me. I don’t think he liked it when I got grossed out by the sweat he was slinging all over me, because he moved on to some of the other girls who seemed to like it.
I guess we’d been there an hour, maybe a little longer, when we both looked at each other and decided to go. The minute we started to leave, a spotlight hit each of the five bride-to-be tables.
“And now, for those girls who are going to spend the rest of your lives with the same…old…guy…for Sandy Deaton, BeBe Elliott, Sara Jane Farquhar, Barbie Harvey, and Jane Wilson, here’s the man of your dreams, the anatomically correct Ken doll for your viewing pleasure, Derek!”
We sat back down out of sheer embarrassment as a disco version of “Here Comes the Bride” started pumping. A good-looking guy in a tuxedo walked out near a pink pulpit like he was waiting for his bride to come down the aisle. As the beat to the music picked up, he started gyrating around and stripping down to just a black bow tie and a little white pleated G-string with little black buttons. He danced by everybody’s table except ours, which I thought was kind of funny, and when the song was over, Sara Jane said something to me, but I couldn’t hear her.
“What?”
“I know him.”
After Derek put his clothes back on, he came out to our table and hugged Sara Jane and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding. He introduced himself to me, and I know I turned ten shades of red shaking his hand after he’d just stripped right there in front of us.
“We were just leaving, before you danced,” Sara Jane said. “We’re going over to Shaker’s for a while, wanna go?”
“I’ve got to dance in the second show and then I’m out of here. Do you want to grab some breakfast at Waffle House?”
Sara Jane hugged him again, and while she did some old lady pinched Derek on the butt. He just laughed and gave Sara Jane a big smooch, which made the whole place go wild.
We went to Shaker’s, which was kind of dead, but a nice change compared to the strip show. I drank Coke and Sara Jane drank Tom Collinses with tiny paper umbrellas in them while we sat and talked. She told me that Derek’s daddy threw him out of the house when Derek told him he was gay. I wondered if he was gay, how he could dance around those women and play to the audience like that. But then I thought about all that money those girls stuffed in his G-string and guessed that made it a whole lot easier.
We went to the Waffle House about eleven thirty, and Derek showed up around midnight. He looked different in baggy jeans and a white T-shirt, not at all like a stripper. He told us stories about being on the road with the show and how he lied about his age to get his first job. Sara Jane had told me earlier that he left home a year ago Christmas, and he talked about working since March. I asked him what he did before he hooked up with the show.
“You don’t want to know,” he said. “But I met Bryan, I think you saw him, the cop. He got me this job, and things have been real good.”
A bunch of noisy guys came stumbling in the door.
“My Lord,” Sara Jane said.
I looked up and saw Jimmy, so drunk he could hardly stand up. His buddies sat him down at a table and about five minutes later, they were so obnoxious, the cook was threatening to throw them out, but the waitress told him to let Jimmy stay since he was behaving himself.
“Is that your guy?” Derek asked.
“That’s my boy,” Sara Jane said with the sweetest blush on her face.
Even in his drunken state, Jimmy knew Sara Jane was there. He slipped away from those boys, came over to our table, and sat down beside her.
“Alcohol will seriously kick your ass,” he said as he laid his head on the table and closed his eyes.
They must have gone at it hard because Jimmy always had a high tolerance for alcohol.
“Honey,” Sara Jane cooed, “you need to eat something. How about some coffee?”
“Okay,” Jimmy said and then dozed off.
We ate our breakfast and Sara Jane poured coffee down Jimmy. He ate a little grits and toast and almost laid his head in his plate twice. Sara Jane would just pull him over to lean on her, and then she said things in his ear we couldn’t hear over the Waffle House clatter.
“I saw naked women tonight, Sara Jane,” Jimmy confessed loudly on her shoulder.
“I saw naked men.”
Then Jimmy raised up and looked at her like he was going to cry. “They got me a hooker.” I could see that Sara Jane didn’t take that as well as the other confession.
“What did you do?”
“We went in this room. I told her I didn’t want to do nothing. I told her about you,” he said. “When the time was up she made some noises like we was doing it. I could hear the boys outside the door laughing, and I was about to laugh, too, so she held her hand over my mouth and kissed me right here,” he pointed to his cheek. “She told me to be good to you. I told her I didn’t know any other way to be.”
I left Sara Jane and Jimmy at the Waffle House and dropped Derek off at the hotel parking lot.
“I might come see you all the next time we’re in town.” He smiled and then looked away from me, his hand on the door. “I haven’t even thought about going back to Davenport, but my folks are old. Sooner or later, I guess I’ll have to.”
“Well, then, come on.”
He kissed me on the cheek. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to go home. He needed to know he could still go home, even if he couldn’t stay. I knew this about Derek because I knew this about myself.
33
I passed the State Board examination on the first try, even though I was so nervous my hands were jittering like I’d had nineteen cups of coffee. I chose Hannah Darling to be my model because she had gorgeous thick hair, and it’s really important to have good hair to work with. One of the girls brought her mama, who had the thinnest head of hair I’d ever seen on a woman. That poor girl had a time trying to roll that wispy hair onto permanent wave rods, and, at one point during her demonstration, she broke down crying.
Hannah was a senior in high school and was excited she’d been invited to Davenport High’s Christmas Dance at the country club; she wanted a stylish new look for the occasion. While I was glad she’d agreed to come to the exam with me, I didn’t appreciate her giggling like the schoolgirl she was, and I could tell the folks who were giving the exam didn’t like it, either. One of the proctors rolled her eyes every time Hannah started up, which made me pick up the pace. I don’t think I’ve ever turned out a head of hair so fast in all my life, and they only marked me down five points for “miscellaneous,” which I’m sure meant immature model.
I finally had my temporary license; the permanent one would come after I finished my apprenticeship. Ronnie and Fontaine had
agreed to take me on as a shampoo girl. They said I could do some comb-outs when they got backed up, and if any of my regulars wanted to follow me there, they were all mine. I knew that wouldn’t happen because a haircut was twenty dollars at Ronnie’s, and my ladies were used to paying three dollars. That was okay; I was sure I could build a good clientele there so I could take care of my baby and me.
I told Ronnie and Fontaine about the baby because it was the right thing to do. I was a little scared. I thought they might not want me after the baby came, but they were fine with it. Ronnie got all excited and showed me some adorable nurseries he had seen in magazines, while Fontaine, who never got excited about anything, had just seen 9 to 5 with Jane Fonda and said some companies let young mothers bring their babies to work.
“How do they do that, Fontaine?” I was amazed at such an idea.
“Well, in the movie, they had a day care center in the building, but we could put a little playpen in the break room. That way he’d be away from the chemical smells and we could still hear him.”
“It’s not a boy, Fontaine,” Ronnie said, “and we can’t just shove a playpen in the break room. We’ll have to redo it, lots of pink. I’ve already started going through some magazines. House Beautiful has some gorgeous nurseries.”
Fontaine rolled his eyes. “You’re such a cliché.”
“Yes,” Ronnie said, “I am, and I absolutely love it.”
*
I passed my exam on Thursday, and Sara Jane’s rehearsal dinner was that Friday. I stopped by to ask Ronnie if I could start the following Monday. He said I could start any time, and that he’d kind of held the position open for me because he knew in his heart I was the right one for the job. He hugged me, which he always did, and then Sara Jane and I went to run errands.
Now, Jimmy didn’t have the money to throw a big rehearsal dinner, and neither did his mama. Since the Farquhars had already adopted him into the family, like they had me, they told him not to worry one bit about any of the expenses and to just save his nest egg for after the wedding. At first, Jimmy put up a fuss and looked a little embarrassed, but Mr. Farquhar took him aside and smoothed everything over.
When Jimmy was ten, his mama sent him to Raleigh to live with his aunt and uncle. Jimmy said they were so poor in Mexico and since his uncle was making a good living with his own yard business, it seemed like the best thing for Jimmy. He became a U.S. citizen when he was twenty and that was the last time he went home to Mexico. But he wired money home to his mama religiously every Friday.
The only family Jimmy had that were coming to the wedding were his uncle Humberto and aunt Norma, but I know he would have loved for his mama to be there. Mr. and Mrs. Farquhar offered to fly her up for the wedding, but Jimmy said she’d never set foot on an airplane, not even for his wedding.
We all met at the church around six thirty for the rehearsal, and poor Tiny was about as high-strung as she could get. She was nervous and short-tempered, and when she thought Jimmy and his buddies were even thinking about cutting the fool, she hollered at them in her little squeaky voice.
Rembert, Jimmy’s best friend, was kidding around with the flower girl and told her that there was a great big alligator in the baptismal pool at the front of the church. When we practiced the processional, Little Cindy would strew her petals about halfway down the aisle, turn around, and run screaming out of church.
Rembert felt bad about teasing her. He promised her he was just kidding and even got so desperate, he swore right there in church he’d buy her a pony if she’d walk pretty down that aisle. But it didn’t matter because nobody could convince Little Cindy there wasn’t an alligator in the baptismal pool. Even Big Cindy, Little Cindy’s mother, tried to straighten her out. She threatened her, she bribed her, she even tried to make a game out of it, but Little Cindy just held on to her mama’s dress screaming, “I don’t want to get ate by no alligator.”
When it was apparent that nothing short of a miracle was going to get that child to walk down the aisle, her mama snapped. “Well, that’s a waste of seventy-five dollars, not counting the shoes.” And she gave poor Rembert the eye every chance she got.
Tiny was all bent out of shape over Little Cindy and said that she knew a number of veteran flower girls that would be glad to do the job. It was at that point that Mrs. Farquhar took Tiny aside. I don’t know what she told her, but it was like she had slipped that woman a Valium, because Tiny didn’t snipe one time the rest of the rehearsal, and she let the whole flower-girl crisis go.
When it was her turn, Sara Jane glided down the aisle in her black velvet cocktail dress with her daddy on her arm. She literally glowed, like folks said I was supposed to. Mr. Farquhar dabbed his eyes and wouldn’t look at Sara Jane, which made Tiny launch into her lecture on father-of-the-bride decorum.
“I can’t look at her. I just can’t. I’ll break down,” he complained. “I’m sorry, Sara Jane, I hope I can tomorrow.”
Mama Grayson was there, feeling spry and flirty. She still made over Jimmy, but something must have clicked about the wedding, because she didn’t call him her beau or fuss when he wasn’t paying her attention.
“Your daddy didn’t like that one at all,” Mama Grayson said to Mrs. Farquhar and then pointed at Sara Jane’s daddy. “If it wasn’t for me, he’d have made you marry that ugly, rich boy, Lawton Berry.”
After we practiced the procession three times, the minister walked us through the actual ceremony. Sara Jane and Jimmy were like two kids playing church, giggling and whispering between themselves. When they practiced their vows, Jimmy’s buddies tried to crack him up and succeeded a couple of times, which nobody minded except Tiny, but she didn’t say anything.
By seven thirty we were on our way to the country club for the rehearsal dinner, and everybody was starved. All of Jimmy’s friends went into the bar and bought drinks since it was a dry dinner, as the reception would be. Mrs. Farquhar nearly had a fit because she was worried it would upset Mama Grayson, who could never abide liquor because her daddy was an alcoholic. So Mrs. Farquhar made them pour their drinks into coffee cups, and Mama Grayson was never the wiser.
Humberto and Norma sat at the front table where Jimmy’s mama would have been. They said they had a good time, considering they really didn’t know anybody except for Sara Jane and Jimmy. The food was good, but not as good as some of the spreads Mrs. Farquhar had laid out and I told her so.
We toasted the bride- and groom-to-be with sweet tea in fancy crystal glasses. Several of the guests said the most eloquent things they could think of, except for the wedding party, who told funny stories about the bride and the groom. Humberto and Norma stood up and read a beautiful poem in Spanish they had recited to each other at their own wedding and then Humberto translated it for us.
Everyone had toasted Sara Jane and Jimmy except for me, so I clinked my teaspoon on the side of my water glass, cleared my throat, and stood up. I looked at the two of them, and opened my mouth, but I was so taken with emotion, nothing would come out. I think every single soul in that room knew what I was feeling. I know many of them felt the same way, happy but longing, almost in a covetous sort of way, for Sara Jane and Jimmy’s kind of love.
34
We sent Sara Jane and Jimmy off about six thirty in a shower of birdseed. They were so pretty, they looked like a picture as they got into that limousine and waved at everybody. The driver took them to the Marriott by the airport in Charlotte, where they spent their first night and then flew to Mexico the next morning for the honeymoon.
I didn’t know that a Baptist wedding ceremony lasts all of twenty minutes, thirty minutes tops. A dry reception lasts a couple of hours and then folks start going home, so the social hall was empty and the wedding party was getting their things together to leave.
Mr. and Mrs. Farquhar were in the kitchen helping the caterer pack up all of the leftovers for them to take home and put in the freezer. They were just putting the top to the wedding cake in a precious little freeze
r box that had silver doves on top when I walked into the room.
“Thank you for the dress and everything.” I kissed them both. “It was a beautiful wedding.”
“It was,” Mr. Farquhar said, as he hugged me. “You’re my daughter, you know. And yours will be just as grand.”
Every time the Farquhars talked about me being family I felt like they said those nice things because they were nice people. But that day, when Mr. Farquhar called me his daughter and talked about my wedding, for the very first time, I felt it was really true.
On the way home, Mrs. Farquhar told me that I would be able to feel the baby move soon. She said that it would feel like the flutter of butterfly wings, and that if I wasn’t paying attention, I’d miss the very first movement. I told her I’d try real hard, and hoped to myself that it wasn’t that night, because I was so tired when we got home, I just put my nightgown on and was dead to the world by nine o’clock.
I dreamed bits and pieces on and off all night, and then what seemed like a long dream about home. Daddy Heyward came walking out to the little shed out back where I used to hide out from the world. He walked on legs that didn’t have any idea how to walk without weaving and stopped right in front of me. At first, I was afraid because he just stood there staring at me for the longest time, and then I realized that he had come out of the stupor he’d been in for the past twenty-odd years because he had something important to say.
“Did you ever want something powerful bad?” His hands were shaking and his words quivered, not knowing how to sound coming out sober. “I want—I want a boat, just a little boat. I used to fish when I was a boy, and, I don’t know, I just wanted to tell you that if you ever want anything powerful bad, it’s okay.”
He was so pale, and his shakes were worse than when he walked out of the mist and into my dream. Then I saw him go into the house and get his little tin pint that Mama thought made him look so sophisticated and start down the road toward the creek.