by Joan Hess
There was a CLOSED sign on the door of the bar and grill, but we marched in with no difficulty. The barroom was uninhabited. I told Hammet to pick out a stool, then went around the bar and into the kitchen, where I saw one real nice lady crawling alongside the baseboard and the other watching her. Neither looked especially thrilled to see me.
Ruby Bee got to her feet. "I told you I was closed so's I could tackle these darn ants."
"So you did," I said politely. "I went to my apartment for lunch, just as you suggested."
Estelle and Ruby Bee swapped looks. At last, Estelle cleared her throat and said, "Hammet's lookin' fine, isn't he? It's astounding how much he's grown in the last year. With clean hair and decent clothes, he looks right smart, doesn't he?"
"Right smart," Ruby Bee said when I failed to respond. "He did so well in school that he's going into fifth this fall. He should be in sixth, but he was ignorant as they come when he started last year. Couldn't even count, his new ma told me. Can you imagine not knowing how to count?"
"I'm counting to ten right now," I said, "but it may not be sufficient. I may have to count to a hundred, or a thousand, or even a million. Did it occur to you to consult me before you invited a guest to stay at my apartment? What if I'd planned a trip or simply preferred to be alone? What if-" I stopped as the door opened behind me and Hammet came into the kitchen.
"Sumpun smells right tasty," he said, sucking in the noxious odor with the style of a seasoned connoisseur.
Ruby Bee put down the box of ant poison and scurried over to him. "I was just telling Arly here how well you've been doing at school. She's real proud of you, I bet. How about some pie?"
We all trooped back to the barroom and Hammet accepted a piece of peach pie, and with an encouraging word from me, a scoop of ice cream on top. I declined the same, mostly because I was so pissed, I wouldn't have accepted a bushel basket of ten dollar bills from the woman. She could have offered to hang the moon for me, and I'd have suggested an extremely uncomfortable place to do it. Without hesitation.
"So which one of you is head coach?" I said when I could trust myself.
Ruby Bee held up her hands. "I don't know anything about baseball…not one blessed thing."
"Neither do I," Estelle added quickly. "Why, I got more confused than a preacher in paradise when I tried to think what they call the players."
I gave them an evil smile. "I'll dash right into Farberville to the Book Depot and buy you a book that'll explain everything."
"Now, honey," Ruby Bee said, "you know I'm too old to teach a gang of children how to throw baseballs and swing bats." She leaned over the bar and put her mouth close to my ear. "Don't forget I'm fifty-two years old. You wouldn't want me to have a heart attack on the field. You'd feel guilty the rest of your life."
I raised my eyebrows and my voice. "Fifty-two, my foot! You're fifty-five if you're a day, and a heart attack's a damn sight cleaner than matricide-which is an appealing alternative at the moment."
"I cannot believe my ears!" Estelle gasped. "Your own mother! Imagine saying such things to your own mother. You young folks have no respect for your elders."
"Can it," I said. "If you've lined up nine players, and I'm assuming Hammet's visit has numerical significance, then you've got eight sets of parents. Surely one of the fathers is a closet jock who'd like to live out his fantasies on the field."
Ruby Bee opened the drawer below the cash register and took out a much-creased piece of paper. "Don't go jumping to conclusions, young lady. For starters, discounting Hammet, we've got six families. Now Saralee is staying at the Lambertinos', and Larry Joe is already coaching the SuperSavers. Joyce has her hands full with the little ones, so there's no way she can coach."
Estelle grabbed the list. "Two of the players are Elsie McMay's grandchildren, visiting for the summer. Elsie's been having real serious problems with swelled-up ankles, so she can't coach."
With a sniff, Ruby Bee retrieved the list. "And that Nookim boy is on the team, and you know perfectly well that his papa's been disabled for a long time and can barely walk. His mama works double shifts at the poultry plant, so there's no way she can do it."
Estelle's snort was on the testy side as she lunged for the list. "We thought we had a good candidate in Buzz Milvin, what with both his kids on the team. But he's aiming to start work at the SuperSaver Buy 4 Less as the night manager, and he said Jim Bob'd fire him in a Noow Yark minute if he found out Buzz was coaching the enemy. He was right worried about even letting the kids play. Ruby Bee had to chew on his ear for a good half hour."
"I'm sure she was convincing," I cut in before Ruby Bee could make a try for the list. "Could we hurry up the pace, please? Hammet's about finished with his pie, and the two of us are not entranced by your long-winded excuses."
"It's okay," Hammet said charitably.
Ruby Bee tried to snatch the list, anyway, but Estelle hung on for dear life and said, "That leaves the Mandozes boy, but I wasn't about to wheedle with his pa. Mr. Mandozes has that fiery Latin temper and a kinda wild look in his eyes when he talks. The only other one is Jackie Sattering, and Ivy was real firm about needing Alex to help on the farm. They're going into apple season, and she said they both work fourteen hours a day this time of year. Besides-"
"Besides," Ruby Bee said, tired of being offstage, "Alex is not what you call athletic. I watched him walk across the yard to get my tomatoes, and I was real surprised when he didn't stumble over his own two feet or drop my tomatoes on the ground. I think Ivy was, too."
I shrugged. "Well, you'll have to keep looking elsewhere. Come on, Hammet, let's go to the edge of town and bust speeders. You can operate the radar gun."
"I gets to shoot 'em?"
"Sort of," I said. I slid off the stool, waited while he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and joined me, and we started for the door-which burst open, almost in our faces. The sunlight blinded me for a second, but as my eyes adjusted, I realized I was nose-to-nose with Mrs. Jim Bob, aka Mizzoner. Mizzoner and I have a mutual loathing society. I'm president this year, but if she behaves, I may pass the honor next year. "You are just the person I wanted to talk to," she said, advancing on me like a tight-lipped piranha.
"Damn shame, Mrs. Jim Bob. Hammet and I were on our way out to preserve law and order in our cherished community."
Hammet grinned, but he'd encountered Mrs. Jim Bob in the past and had enough sense to maintain a cautious distance. "Yeah, Arly's gonna let me shoot folks what drive too fast."
Mrs. Jim Bob's beady little eyes narrowed. "How amusing, I'm sure. No, Arly, your little game will have to wait. I have things to say to you and your mother, and I intend to say them right now." She marched past us to the bar, where Ruby Bee and Estelle hovered uncertainly. "I have heard a most distressing thing, Rubella Belinda Hanks. It smacks of the devil's handiwork, and I'd like to think I was misinformed."
"It's happened before," I said as Hammet and I retraced our steps, curiosity having gotten to me.
"What'd you hear?" Ruby Bee said.
"I heard that you aim to sponsor a baseball team."
"You ain't misinformed yet."
"I also heard that you're intending to allow girls to play right next to boys, and that Arly here is the coach."
Ruby Bee ignored my growl. "You got problems with that?"
"Well," Mrs. Jim Bob continued, her mouth tightening until I wasn't sure how she could spit out the words, "I was afraid of that. You know as well as me that girls aren't supposed to play physical games with boys. It's dangerous for the girls, because they're so much weaker. Everybody knows girls do better at activities like sewing and making little animals out of yarn pompoms. What's worse is that seeing the girls jiggling around gives the boys ideas-wicked ideas about unnatural, sinful things. I know for a fact that Lottie Estes's younger sister 's boy, Kyle, went to a coed swimming party, and that very night his ma caught him in the bedroom"-she shot a quick look at Hammet-"doing an unnatural, sinful thing to hisself."
/> I could see Hammet's mind going every which way. Before he could say anything, I said, "That is absolutely absurd."
"It is not! You can just call up Lottie and ask her. She'll tell you how her sister liked to have cried for an hour on the telephone, and long distance, too-all the way from Enid, Oklahoma. She was sick with worry that Kyle's hands would break out in some kind of rash and everybody would know why. To this day, she frets over his report cards, wondering if his mind is quite right."
"Absurd," I said, still keeping an eye on Hammet, who was mystified but working on it. "Queen Victoria's dead, and we are in the twentieth century, with faint hopes of seeing the twenty-first. Girls have every right to participate in sports. They are not at a major physical disadvantage unless we're talking about weight lifting or wrestling. At this age, girls are better coordinated than boys, which more than compensates for a slight edge in brute strength."
"And nobody said one word about wrestling," Ruby Bee snapped. "I myself would be of two minds about girls rolling around on those mats with boys, especially in that skimpy underwear they wear, but there's nothing wrong with a girl throwing a baseball to a boy."
"Or hitting a ball," Estelle added.
"But they jiggle!" Mrs. Jim Bob said in triumph.
Ruby Bee leaned forward, her face beginning to take on the hue of the contents of the pickled-beet vat. "Not all of them, and the ones that do, why, they jiggle at school, too. They jiggle at the hardware store and at church. They jiggle all the time."
Estelle swept in for the kill. "And if God hadn't meant for them to jiggle, they wouldn't have anything that jiggled, would they?"
Mrs. Jim Bob took a breath and let it out in a martyred swoosh. "I suppose there is nothing wrong with girls having a nice team of their own so they can play other girls. Softball would be better, of course." She glowered in my direction. "And I am aware that Queen Victoria is dead, Miss Chief of Police. You were attempting to make a little joke, weren't you?"
"I was attempting to make you go away, but it didn't work. Come on, Hammet, it's high noon at the O.K. Corral."
Her smile had such a self-righteous air about it that I felt goose bumps rising on my arms. "Let me add one other thing," she said in an appropriately smirky tone. "If you coach this sinful team of jiggling girls and lusty-eyed boys, I shall insist that Jim Bob remove you from your position. He'll have your badge and your gun before you can make one more single smart-mouthed remark."
"You can't do that," Ruby Bee said, horrified.
"We'll just see about that, won't we?" Mrs. Jim Bob nodded curtly at the group, then stalked across the dance floor and out the door, no doubt expecting to be carried heavenward for a round of applause from the saints and angels.
Estelle patted my arm. "Don't worry about her, Arly. She can't insist that Jim Bob fire you just because you're coaching a baseball team."
Ruby Bee came around the bar and started patting my other arm. "Why, that's blackmail. She can't do that."
"She can't walk on water, either, but she'll be the last to admit it," I said. "Just how did she hear about this team and the name of the coach?"
"How would I know?" Ruby Bee said, retreating.
"Because," I said, advancing, "having her tell me I can't coach is about the only incentive that might make me change my mind."
"Is that so?"
"And you damn well know it," I continued. "This is a really cheap trick, and-"
"Yanking his pud?" Hammet said, giving me a puzzled frown. "Is that what she was so all-fired mad about?"
From the expressions on Ruby Bee's and Estelle's faces, I sensed it was time to leave for greener pastures. "Hey, I've got a box with three real bullets in it, Hammet. Let's stop at the PD to play with them before we go after the speeders."
"If'n all he was doin' was yanking his-"
"Ciao," I said brightly.
*****
"You realize you can't repeat a word of this," Elsie McMay began, giving Millicent McIlhaney a serious look. "It was told to me in the strictest confidence, and it can't go any further. You've got to promise me, Millicent."
"I promise," Millicent said obediently. "In fact, let me make sure Darla Jean's still on the telephone. Those girls do nothing but gossip from dawn till dark; you'd think they could find something better to do with their time. Help yourself to more coffee, Elsie. I'll be back in a minute."
She tiptoed to the top of the stairs. She could hear Darla Jean's voice through the closed door, just bubbling away like a creek, and it wasn't difficult to hear what she was saying, especially if you put your ear against the door.
Millicent was frowning as she came back into the kitchen and sat down across from Elsie. "I swear," she said, shaking her head, "I just don't know what gets into those girls. Sometimes I want to turn Darla Jean over my knee and spank her like she was back in pigtails. She's up there repeating the nastiest stories about folks, and she knows perfectly well that half of what she's saying is nothing more than lies."
"School starts up pretty soon, and she'll be more interested in clothes and football games and the new television shows," Elsie said. Even though there was no need for it, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Lottie told me the most horrifying story the other day. I was so upset, I couldn't stop thinking about it half the night. I tossed and turned like I was in a clothes dryer, and my sheets were damp the next morning."
"You'd better tell me, then. It'll do you a world of good to share your burden."
"Remember, this is just between you and me. Not one word to anybody."
"I already promised, Elsie," Millicent said impatiently. "Not one word will ever leave this room."
5
The officially tentative lineup of the Ruby Bee's Flamingos-because, as we've all been told since birth, you can't tell the players without a scorecard:
Pitcher: Raimundo "Ray" Mandozes, the only team member who can throw the ball in the general direction he intends. Ray does not speak any English whatsoever (we're talking nada) but did recognize the word spic and promptly convinced Georgie McMay of his folly in saying it aloud.
Catcher: Saralee Chewink, the only team member to have caught the ball thus far. Saralee is on the chunky side, with tight yellow braids, glasses, and glittering braces. She spent a good deal of time casting thoughtful looks at Hammet. She persuaded Georgie to avoid sexist slurs in the future.
First Base: Hammet Buchanon, who can neither throw nor catch but has enthusiasm. He actively discouraged Georgie from discussing the delicate issue of illegitimacy in Stump County. Hammet spent most of the first practice blushing whenever he caught Saralee looking at him. There may be romance brewing in the infield, folks.
Second Base: Earl Boy Nookim, who is mute and surly, and simply went to the base (a burlap bag) and stood on it. Why not?
Third Base: Enoch McMay, a runty whiner with a runny nose and a fierce preference for watching television at his granny's house. This preference was aired every thirty seconds or so for two solid hours.
Shortstop: Martin Milvin, who at least put his glove on the correct hand and assumed a professional posture. He is soft-spoken and very sober, and we can't have anyone playing the vital position on a bellyful of root beer.
Left Field: Georgie McMay, for his own protection. Were it not for the black eye, swollen lip, and twenty excess pounds of adipose tissue, he would not be an unattractive child. Maybe.
Center Field: Lissie Milvin, in hopes nothing will be hit that far. Lissie made a lovely chain of dandelions, and it looked quite striking in contrast with her auburn hair and dark, timid eyes. She caught a tiny purple butterfly, whispered to it, and gently released it. Later she discovered a mysterious hole, but even after twenty minutes of poking with a stick, she could not persuade its occupant to show itself. There is much to occupy Lissie in center field.
Right Field: Jackie Sattering, as above. He has all of his father's clumsiness and none of his mother's common sense. On the other hand, he was as gentle as Lissie
with the butterflies and went to extremes not to step on the honeybees in the clover.
Head Coach: Take a wild guess.
Assistant Coach #1: Take another one.
Assistant Coach #2: Ditto.
*****
"Say what?" Jim Bob said, gaping at Lamont as if he were a zoo animal screwing right there in the cage. "That ain't what you said earlier, Lamont. Jesus H. Christ!"
Lamont filled Jim Bob's glass half full of the cheaper whiskey he'd had the foresight to bring, then went over to the mirror and inspected his hair. The motel room seemed a sight more cramped now that the air was thick with Jim Bob's sweat. "I feel real bad, but the boys at the bank dumped it on me this morning, and they call the shots," he murmured as he licked his finger and smoothed down a stray hair. "I'm going to have to do some scrambling of my own, but we're both obligated to come up with whatever cash is required to close the loan next week."
"If I can't?"
"It's explained in great detail in the various documents that comprise the partnership agreement. You did read it all before you signed it, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but I couldn't make heads or tails of a lot of it. All that shit about parties of the first part and second part and the devil knows what other parts. I thought the money was arranged down to the last penny. Now you're saying we have to pay four points on Thursday. We're talking nigh on to a million dollars. Four points is…forty thousand dollars." Jim Bob sank down on the bed and drained the glass.
"But you'll only have to come up with half. Surely that's not a problem?"
"No fuckin' problem at all, Lamont. I got my checkbook in my pocket. I'll just write a check for my share. I always keep twenty or thirty thousand bucks in the account in case I want to make a down payment on fuckin' Buckingham Palace."