The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder: A Novel

by Rebecca Wells

  1. Sleep with the windows open. (Window screens are fine, when necessary.)

  2. Whistle in the dark. Calla Lily, your attempt at whistling is good enough.

  3. Good enough is good enough. Perfect will make you a big fat mess every time.

  4. Sing anytime you feel like it, and even more when you don’t feel like it. Sonny Boy, this does not mean in math class, although you have my permission to sing in all other classes. Will, all your silent singing is good, and also try to sing out loud at least once a day.

  5. Am I going to have to haunt y’all to keep everybody laughing? If I have to, you know I will.

  6. New visitors are going to come join y’all. Welcome them with open arms.

  7. Make new friends, keep the old ones. Get a new dog or cat as soon as you can, and always let one keep you.

  8. Let love slip underneath closed doors, through tiny cracks in the wall, through your pores.

  9. Remember: Y’all are so dear, each and every one of you make it so easy to love you, as if anybody needed a reason.

  10. Don’t push the La Luna. You do not push a river.

  11. Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT, wash my seasoned cast iron skillet in soapy water. It MUST simply be wiped clean with an oiled paper towel. We have got to respect things that help bring us good food from the Louisiana earth.

  12. MOST IMPORTANT: KEEP ON DANCING. Dance while you’re brushing your teeth, dance while the sun shines, dance under the moon. Oh, please be sure to dance under the moon, Calla. Remember, La Luna waits for us to dance in her light, so dance in the streets. When life is happy, dance in the kitchen, and when life is roughest, dance in the kitchen. My dear holy family, dance for the good of the world.

  Love,

  M’Dear

  Chapter 12

  1970

  Everybody knew we were going through a lot with M’Dear’s passing, and chipped in wherever they could. But it was Nelle who was most persistent. She was part of a rotating group of lady-friends who had organized themselves to help with groceries, cooking, and cleaning, working alongside of Olivia and staying when it was time for Olivia to go home to her own family. But besides those chores, Nelle often stayed after supper. Just sort of hung out, visiting whoever in our family needed visiting the most. While Renée and Sukey were my best friends, like sisters, Nelle I could talk to, well, not like a mother—nobody could be a mother but M’Dear. But I could share stuff with her that I somehow couldn’t share with my girlfriend sisters, Tuck, or Aunt Helen. School stuff, stuff I was so embarrassed about—like my mile-long legs, or how tall I was.

  “You look like a model,” she’d say. “Girls would kill to be tall like you—the way clothes drape on you like a runway model. You’re no Twiggy, although you’re gonna get too skinny if you don’t start eating. No, you’re an original; you are calla lily. Tuck sure seems to know it. He’s a cutie-pie,” she said, trying to get me to smile. “Isn’t he?” I didn’t answer. “He certainly is one helluva cutie-pie.” I turned away.

  “That olive complexion of yours can’t hide the fact that I know you are blushing inside, if not on the outside.” She paused. “Like so many things, huh, Calla?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “How’d you get so smart?”

  “On-the-job experience,” she answered and gave a little laugh, then leaned over and gave me a kiss on my forehead.

  For a week or so, Nelle stopped her long visits and only came by for a short “good night.” It didn’t seem to bother Papa or my brothers. But it bothered me. I missed her. I’d gotten used to her being there every night. But I knew she had duties at the Shop ’N Skate.

  Then one afternoon, Nelle came up to my room where I was listening to Simon & Garfunkel. She was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, tied at the waist over a pair of baggy khaki shorts, the waist cinched in so tiny, she looked cooler than most girls my age.

  “Come on!” she said, lifting the needle off the LP. “Get dressed! No more mournful music!”

  Next thing I knew, she was driving me to the Shop ’N Skate, which had a new sign out front. “Shop, Snack ’N Skate,” it read. If that wasn’t enough, there was a red ribbon going across the skating rink door, which had been widened and repainted. Everybody in town was there, it seemed, including the gang—Sukey, all dressed up in a yellow mini-dress, Renée, and the boys. Even the grown-ups had taken off work, including Papa, who had the La Luna band there, playing a lively tune.

  “Here,” Nelle said, and handed me a shiny pair of scissors. I looked at her and at the whole crowd, and decided to laugh and have fun. I cut the red ribbon and walked through the threshold into a place that I didn’t recognize at first. Tuck came up behind me and hugged me. I looked over at Nelle, who stood on the other side of the crowd and just gave me a wink.

  It turned out that, as Nelle put it, “Y’all are around this joint so much, doing nothing but drinking Coca-Colas and eating peanut butter crackers, that I thought I ought to bring some decent food into this joint. Besides, a good businesswoman has got to have a sense of timing.”

  She had put in three diner-style booths between the grocery items and the skating rink. And she had hired her a cook, Bertha Bonton, Cleveland’s mama and Olivia’s daughter, and one of the best you could ever find. Oh, just the smell of her homemade French fries! She also hired Cleveland to wash dishes, and to help with all sorts of chores.

  “Just let old fat-ass Sheriff Ezneck fool with having Negroes on the premises now,” Nelle said.

  I said to Nelle, “I can’t believe you didn’t think of serving food before.”

  I kept telling myself that I was lucky. Because everyone showed me so much love. Miz Lizbeth and Uncle Tucker invited me in their home like I was one of the family. And I already felt like family with Tuck. The way he held me, looked at me, told me that he’d never leave—he’d say it out of the blue like a chant or something, and I’d realize that it was just what I wanted to hear.

  Sukey and Renée were the best friends a girl could have. They were by my side all the time. There were, of course, many days when I had to stay home from school because I was just too sad. On those days, my brothers were champs. They brought me hamburgers and fries and Seventeen magazines from Nelle’s. Then Will would sit and play songs that he called “Calla Tunes” on his little guitar. M’Dear must have been looking down on us then, keeping an eye on us and smiling.

  I loved my friends’ mamas, too. One day, Renée’s mama, Mrs. Jeansonne, thought it would be nice to take Sukey and me shopping for school clothes at Richardson’s Department Store in Claiborne, since Sukey’s mama was busy at work. Now, I’m sorry to say this, but I just kept wishing and wishing that it was M’Dear who could have taken us.

  First of all, Renée’s mama liked clothes for us teenage girls that made your body feel boxed in. M’Dear always said that clothes were meant to make your body want to dance. Renée’s mother liked clothes that make you want to sit down and fold your hands. You could tell by her hair how formal she was—it was always up in a super tight French twist. I never saw Renée’s mother with her hair down in my whole life.

  Still, she was dear to take us, and mostly, I just missed M’Dear. She had just been so much more fun than any other mother. When she took us to Richardson’s, I loved how she would dance around the store—and oh, how she loved the scarf department! M’Dear would pick a scarf and she’d twirl and twirl around and finally whirl the scarf in the air! She knew Miss Betty, the lady behind the counter, and Miss Betty would just shake her head and smile as she and the other salesgirls watched. She’d say, “Oh, you just go ahead, Lenora. Just play with any scarf you want.”

  Then M’Dear would hand some scarves to me and say, “What do you think?”

  I’d say, “Oh, M’Dear! I can’t decide—I love them all.”

  Then M’Dear would say, “You know which one speaks to you, Calla.”

  M’Dear was right. I did know the scarf that spoke to me. It was light purple with blue swirls in it, like the ocean, and we
bought it right there on the spot.

  Renée’s mama was different. When we got to the store she told us, “Girls, I want you to find outfits that match the clothes you already have. Always try to mix and match. It’s the way to build a wardrobe that can serve you without breaking the bank. Bring a little list of skirts that need new blouses to match them, or blouses that could use a little sprucing up with an accessory—a little pin, or just the right scarf, for instance. There is really nothing like an accessory for stretching the dollar!

  “Accessories make the girl, wouldn’t you agree?” Mrs. Jeansonne said, and gave me a smile.

  It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. My mind was still picturing M’Dear dancing with the scarves.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t agree. Accessories don’t make the girl.”

  “It was just a figure of speech, sweetie,” she said, apologetic. I knew she was trying her best to be nice to me now that M’Dear had passed.

  “I suggest you start with three items of clothing apiece,” Mrs. Jeansonne went on. “That way you won’t get the clothes mixed up.”

  I nodded and smiled, but then piled on about twenty different items and walked into the big dressing room with three mirrors, urging Sukey and Renée to join me.

  Once we were all in there, I took off my miniskirt and tights and started dancing around. “Come on, y’all,” I said. “We’ve never had this many mirrors before. Let’s do our Supremes number!”

  Sukey peeled off her bell-bottoms and turtleneck and then her panties, and swayed there, almost nude. I was a little shocked, but I just started loosening up my shoulders and warming up, like it’s good to do before you dance. Then I took off my blouse.

  “Come on, now, Renée,” Sukey was saying, “don’t be a fuddy-duddy.”

  “I don’t want to take off my clothes,” Renée said, looking at the door, her eyes peeled to see if her mother was going to step in. “I’ll get undressed if Sukey at least puts her lingerie back on.”

  “Oh, brother,” Sukey said, crossing her eyes. “All right. Y’all are no fun! I’m only putting my panties back on because you called them lingerie. Anyway, I hate my boobs. I can’t even take my bra off in front of y’all because they’re so tiny. They look like mosquito bites!”

  “No, they don’t,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Renée.

  “Look,” I said, “I’ll take off my bra, and you can look at mine. They’re not big.” I took off my bra, which I never would have done if I didn’t need to make Sukey feel better.

  “See?” I said, then mouthed to Renée to join me. Renée slipped her blue wool jumper over her blond hair, then took off her bra, even though I could tell that she was mortified.

  “Look at our boobs, Sukey,” I said, reaching for Renée’s hands.

  “Yeah, do,” Renée said, keeping her hands firmly covering her breasts.

  “See?” I sighed. “Boobs are simply the size we need to fit our own bodies. You’re really petite—” I started to say.

  “—so you have petite boobs!” said Renée, finally uttering an intelligent phrase.

  “Okay, girls,” I said. “Bras back on. We are the most famous girl group in the world! Hit it!”

  We had done our “Stop! In the Name of Love!” number countless times at the Swing ’N Sway, standing in front of the long mirrors and copying the Supremes’ dance movements. We each had our own verse tied to our own movement, and we put as much emotion as we could pack into those lines. Sukey sang first, jumping in front of her mirror, her hand held out in a stop signal. I sang my verse next and leaped in front of my mirror, with my hand held over my heart.

  Then there was a little pause. “Come on, Renée!” I whispered. She looked at me, and I nodded. Finally our Renée jumped in front of her own mirror, put her hand up, and made circles around down from her head and sang about thinking it oooover!

  We did the whole song, with all the moves we’d made up. After we finished, we all cracked up laughing, squealing together, “Oh, we all are so good!”

  “Maybe we’re the La Luna Supremes,” Renée exclaimed.

  “No!” I said. “We are the Lunettes!”

  “No, no, non,” Sukey said. “We are the La Lunettes! Calla, you were perfect! You get to be Diana for now unto eterrrrnity!”

  “And Renée,” I said, “girl, you are learning to shake it.”

  “Maybe big old boy Eddie done stirred up the honeypot,” Sukey said.

  “Will you stop that!” Renée was blushing.

  “Okay, okay, we’ll stop,” I told her. “But let’s be sure to get some outfits today for our magic performance nights.”

  “Yes!” Renée said.

  We were all still dancing around in our panties and bras when we heard, “Girls, yoo-hoo, anybody in there?”

  Mrs. Jeansonne stuck her head in the door. She looked down at the clothes that we’d just left lying there in piles, then up at us in our underwear. I thought that for sure we were in for some stern correction, but people will surprise you sometimes.

  “Y’all been having fun in here?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am!” we said.

  Then she looked at me, almost a little shy. “I got you something, Calla.” She stepped into the dressing room carefully, and handed me a Richardson’s box. When I pulled back the lid and tissue paper and peeked inside, there was a scarf I knew that M’Dear and I would have wanted. It was big and blue, silk, with soft, almost undetectable white swirls. Pulling it out of the box, I held it up. I could see Sukey’s eyes open wide, and Renée smiling at her mother. They all watched as I swirled the scarf around, like M’Dear used to do in the dance studio, moving with the scarf, barefoot, hearing the rhythm of the cloth, as she would say.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jeansonne! This is gorgeous. It’s so, so—” And I couldn’t find the right word. “It’s just so right, somehow. Know what I mean?”

  Mrs. Jeansonne closed her eyes for a second and smiled. “I do, Calla,” she said. “Do you think you might be able to work it in with your other outfits?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. Absolutely.”

  “Good!” she said. “Well, y’all keep on having fun and meet me in women’s shoes in thirty minutes.”

  “Okay,” we said.

  After Mrs. Jeansonne left, Sukey and I saw that Renée was holding up an orange crêpe blouse that I picked out.

  “I like this,” she said. “Maybe we could wear something like this to perform.”

  “Yeah,” Sukey said. “Wild paisley blouse, tied at the waist, and these!” From under a deep pile of her clothes, she pulled out a pair of brown suede hot pants with butterflies on the sides.

  “Those are mine!” I said.

  “Well, can’t I get a pair too?” Sukey asked.

  I thought for a minute and said, “Let’s all of us get the same outfit! We can triple-date and surprise the boys!” And I swished my scarf around.

  “We can get dressed at my house,” Renée said, “and walk down the stairs wearing our coats. When we get into the living room, we’ll say ‘Hey, y’all.’”

  I swished my scarf again like a punctuation mark.

  “And then, and then,” Sukey said, “and then we’ll swing open our coats, and Voila! Tuck, Eddie, and—well, whoever my date is—will fall out on the floor!”

  “On the floor!” I said with a swish of my scarf.

  We were cracking up laughing, and with each idea we had, we struck different poses in front of the mirror like we were fashion models. Then, all of a sudden, a dark wave of sadness came under the door of the dressing room. My sadness seemed so sudden and so private that I’m not sure what made Sukey drop what she was doing and put her arms around me before my sob was even fully there. Renée put her arms around both of us. None of us had to say a word.

  Sadness can find you anywhere, anytime, so you better have fun when you can.

  After a while, Sukey took the blue scarf from my hand and swirled it through the space above our hea
ds. Then she lightly wiped away my tears with it and held its cool silkiness to my hot, blotched face. “We’re the La Lunettes,” she said. “We’ll always take care of each other.” That made me cry again, and Renée held the silk scarf as I blew my nose into it. “It was supposed to stay pretty and curl through the air,” I said. “Oh, I have ruined it.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” Renée said. “Mama gave you that scarf for you to do what you wanted with it. Mama doesn’t think you are an accessory. She knows you are Calla Lily Ponder, and she knows M’Dear would have wanted you to have it.”

  “Yeah,” Sukey said, “she wanted you to have the perfect accessory, what every girl needs: a big beautiful blue silk scarf to soak up her tears.”

  Chapter 13

  1970

  One time, for World History class, we had to write a paper on trends that shaped civilization. I thought and thought about ideas like democracy and world wars. They all seemed too dull to me. Then it struck me how big a role hair has played in human life. I went back as far as I knew for my research, to the Bible and to Greek mythology and stuff. I was thrilled by what I learned.

  I started my paper with the Bible, where God threatens to punish snooty women by making them bald. I wrote about the ancient Greeks, who thought up the chignon, still a good style today. About Lady Godiva, who rode naked through the streets, hidden only by her hair, to make her mean husband let up on his subjects; and about Saint Barbara, whose father dragged her by her hair because she was Christian. I described the hairdos of the eighteenth century, which were padded with horsehair till they were mile-high and then decorated with toy sailing ships and birds’ nests. I can’t imagine how those women slept in them! Then I covered the bobs of the so-called flappers—the wild women of the 1920s—marcel waves, which introduced curling irons; ratting, which led to beehives; and the trend toward long hair for both men and women today. What I discovered about hair was amazing—or at least I thought so.