Cakewalk

by Rita Mae Brown

  “I don’t either but there’s nothing I can do about it. She makes him happy.” Matching Juts stride for stride as they returned to the veterans, Betty added, “This was a good idea, Juts. You’re coming back to school next year, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Juts responded without enthusiasm. “And I will kill Dimps Jr. I just know it. So I’ll spend my life in jail.”

  Betty predicted, “I don’t think she’s coming back.”

  Before this train of thought could be continued, they were among the men again.

  Increase Martin, South Runnymede’s fire chief, moved among the men, slapping their backs. He carried a stone jug, which he gave to the old vets for a pull. He was followed by Lawrence Villcher, North Runnymede vice fire chief, who bent down to each older man, whispering something in his ear. A huge smile and a nodding head followed whatever he said.

  Ben, who made sergeant by the end of the war, talked with the other fellows. They all moved through the older men.

  Herbert Van Dusen, next to Julius Caesar Rife, led some veterans back to the two fire engines, the one having the motor turned off; at the other, horses were being unhitched from the big hand-pumped water tank.

  Lawrence spoke to Henry Minton, himself not a veteran but his younger brother was. Lawrence slipped him some money.

  Henry began to lead the horses back to the South Runnymede stables, his brother in uniform helping. “Better do this before everyone’s roaring drunk, including you and me,” Henry said with a laugh.

  Increase also moved his horses back to the stables. Veterans crowded around the fire engine and the South Runnymede water tank, in gorgeous red and gold, high up on the wheels. The ladies did not frequent this area.

  “Time for another barrel,” J.C. observed in disbelief.

  Herbert laughed. “Son, you were too young at Magna Carta pasts to keep track of our men’s capacity.”

  The fire companies always kept booze, but it was discreet, as many a lady believed as Carrie Nation did. Now, with Prohibition, it was even more covert. The barrels, one for each department, rested on their sides, a spigot driven into same. The barrels were covered with resplendent blankets in fire department colors. On display were two large lemonade barrels. The men lined up at that barrel while being handed a glass from the scotch barrel. A few men proved two-fisted.

  Eventually, all the men made their way in, veterans or not, one of the highlights of Magna Carta Day. King John had recourse to alcohol to overcome his humiliation at the hands of the barons, themselves in need of reinforcement.

  Celeste, Fannie Jump, Fairy, and Cora sat under a walnut tree, cooler in the shade. Carlotta, like someone running for office, walked among the crowd chatting, shaking hands, diverting attention from the fire departments. No point in some well-meaning lady blowing the whistle. Most knew perfectly well what was afoot but a few needed serious distraction.

  “Ah, Minta Mae, what a beautiful dress, and set off, as always, by your hat.” Carlotta meant it. “Well, here we are again and seemingly no closer to the vote.”

  “I don’t know, Carlotta, I just don’t know. I was glad though that Otto and John”—she named the two mayors—“kept the speeches short and that no one from the audience was compelled to complain.”

  “Quite.” Carlotta nodded.

  As they caught up with one another, Lottie Rhodes just had to bait Yashew by brushing up against him as though pressed by the crowd.

  His shoulders stiffened as he stood with Ben and Paul.

  “Oh, I didn’t know it was you,” Lottie cooed venomously.

  “Bag it, Lottie,” Yashew growled.

  Paul, putting his hand under Yashew’s elbow, tried to move him away.

  “Well, you two stick together. And to think I was blind enough to actually go out with both of you.”

  “Lottie, I know you called Archie Cadwalder.” Yashew pressed his lips together. “If you weren’t a woman, I’d bust you right in the mouth.”

  Paul pulled him toward the fire department gathering. “Come on. She’s not worth it.”

  Lottie glared after them, then turned to Ben, pleased as she was by his good looks. “I recognize that you men who were over there kind of stick together, but I don’t recommend the company.”

  He half bowed. “Which is why I’m leaving.”

  Her mouth dropped open as he turned on his heel and left her.

  A refreshing light breeze picked up from the west. Dancing began and the young women from both high schools, as they had worked on the rosettes, asked veterans to dance. Those men who were able had the attentions of a pretty young student for that dance. For some of the men, widowers, this enlivened them, made them feel young again. For those damaged by combat, the attentions and conversation with a comely girl delighted them. Yes, their wives, sisters, and even daughters tended to them but no man, no matter what he has endured, wants to feel like a burden. It wasn’t as though Juts, Ev, and the others discussed this, but somehow they knew and the men laughed louder, sat up straighter, and a few reached out to hold the girl’s hand. No matter what, life could still be sweet.

  Ben, a lemonade in each hand, walked up to Celeste and her friends. He handed a lemonade to Celeste, another to Cora. “Ladies, I will be right back.”

  “Ben, honey, will you bring me what is really at the fire engine?” Fannie asked.

  He inclined his head. “My pleasure.”

  He returned with a big, stiff scotch for Fannie and a lemonade for Fairy, then he sat on the grass with the ladies on their blanket.

  Paul was dancing with Louise, diamond on her finger. It had taken four women to talk Paul into the loan, they had to keep emphasizing loan, of the diamond reset in size 7 for Louise. Now it caught the sunlight, starting a new round of gossip, all of it praising Paul.

  “Love,” Fairy simply remarked as she watched them.

  “On that note”—Ben stood, offering his hand to Celeste—“may I have this dance with the woman I love?”

  Paralyzed, Celeste looked up at him. He took her hand, gently pulling her to her feet. Flushed, she placed her hand on his forearm as he led her to the dance floor.

  Fannie Jump watched. “I have never seen Celeste speechless.”

  Ever sensitive, Fairy said, “Perhaps it is the first time she can honor love openly.”

  “Good God, I never thought of that,” Fairy gasped.

  “Why would you? I hadn’t until now.” Fannie smiled, watching the two begin to dance, and dance well.

  “She was always protecting us,” Cora said.

  “From what? She’s our oldest friend and it’s not as though we didn’t know,” Fannie blurted.

  “She didn’t want people to think poorly of you.” Cora folded her hands together. “You know how it is, birds of a feather. If you don’t say anything, it doesn’t exist. Ignorance is bliss.”

  “If ignorance is bliss, why aren’t more people happy?” Fannie sharply remarked.

  “Cora, why did you never say anything?” Fairy ignored Fannie.

  “What was there to say? I love her. You love her. All we want is for her to be happy and all she ever wanted was for us to be happy. She saved me when Hansford walked out but she never acted as though anything was different. I would have starved without Celeste. She sent Wheezie to Immaculata as though that was the most natural thing to do. And when Ramelle took up with Curtis, what did we do?”

  “Nothing,” Fannie replied. “There was nothing we could do except stand near.”

  “Which you did. Which we all did.” Fairy finished her lemonade. “It’s fair to say that none of us suffers from emotional hemophilia.”

  Fannie laughed, then translated for Cora. “Means bleeding.”

  “Ah.” Cora smiled, watching Celeste and Ben.

  Glass held in both hands, Fannie ruminated. “All those years of cotillion, college, seeing Europe, knowing what to say and when to say it, manners.”

  “Protocol.” Fairy smiled. “We know exactly what to do and say
and when to say and do it. For which our parents spent a great deal of money.”

  “And I still don’t know what life means.” Fannie laughed, a rumbling laugh.

  “No one does.” Cora joined the laughter.

  Just then Patience Horney, being walked by two ladies from the Lutheran Dorcas Circle, stopped a moment. “Beautiful day. Comes from the creatures in the Crab Nebula. Good weather always comes with them.” Then she moved on, a backward glance and smile from one of her walkers.

  “Maybe we don’t know any more than Patience,” Fairy mused. “And maybe it doesn’t matter, although I keep trying, reading, thinking. But maybe it doesn’t matter.”

  Celeste and Ben returned, laughing. He held her hand as she settled back down.

  “Mrs. Thatcher, may I have the honor?”

  “You may indeed.” Fairy brightened, reaching up for Ben’s hand.

  As they walked to the dance floor, Celeste, breathing a bit hard, said, “He’s a divine dancer.”

  “Celeste, he’s just altogether divine,” Fannie roared.

  Cora laughed too. “Well, if you’re going to look at a man for a long time, better he be handsome.”

  They talked, drank more as Paul delivered libations and Louise sat down with her mother. Ben danced with every lady, including Cora, and Paul also asked each woman.

  The music stopped, the breeze grew a bit stronger. John Gassner held up a bullhorn, which Mayor Otto Tangerman playfully grabbed from him.

  The assembled, including the veterans and men at the fire engines, watched, a ripple of laughter spreading through the people. John, his arm around Otto’s shoulders, tried to speak into the bullhorn together with Otto.

  A garbled “Cakewalk” did come out.

  “Quarters.” Paul reached into his uniform pocket.

  Ben stood up, brushing himself off. “Quarters, ladies. Someone will be a winner.”

  “How many cakes have we?” Fannie Jump perused the program.

  “Twelve,” Fairy said. “Oh, Cora, you have number seven.”

  Cora waved her hand. “Caesura said I had to do one for the Daughters.”

  “Indeed, and it all goes to the vets who need it.” Louise stood up, taking Paul’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  At the dance floor, Paul handed quarters to Juts and her friends. One does the cakewalk with a partner, so the kids scrambled.

  Louise whispered something to Juts, who passed it on. The girls ran off the dance floor, each grabbing a veteran.

  Their high school boyfriends watched.

  Blind, Harold Yost was being led by Louise, teased as he passed the kids. He could hear the boys, so he baited them, “You’re going to have to fight for these girls!”

  Each cake brought a new group of partners. By cake six, everyone was crowding the floor. The high school boys asked their girlfriends. Now the older ladies took veteran partners.

  Celeste walked with Yashew, their number, 11, was pinned on Yashew’s back. This walk seemed to go on forever.

  The music stopped as they reached the conductor’s podium, his back to them.

  “Number eleven!” Otto yelled.

  Celeste clapped her hands, then kissed Yashew on the cheek. “You take it. Your mother will enjoy it.”

  Mrs. Gregorivitch, sitting in a folding chair, wore dark glasses, as she was recovering from her operation.

  By cake eight, the walk was jammed. Ben escorted Celeste; Paul had Louise; Fannie actually walked with her husband, who had been talking business throughout the whole day with other men. Archibald Thatcher walked his wife. Everyone was paired up. Dimps Jr. walked with Edgar Wilcox. Dimps Sr. had snagged Sidney Yost, who didn’t seem to mind. Even Mr. and Mrs. Grumbacher walked. Lottie walked with King John, a bit unsteady on his feet. Dick Yost squired Juts.

  As this walk was overfull, it moved slowly. Some couples crossed arms in front of them, others held hands, others just walked, but who was going to win this wonderful cake: a double devil’s food?

  The music played. Played some more.

  Arms crossed with Celeste, Ben looked over and slightly down at her. “Have I told you you are the most exciting, independent, beautiful woman I have ever known?”

  “You have now.” She threw back her head, exposing her long graceful neck, and laughed.

  On and on they walked and then the music finally stopped.

  “Number eighty-one,” Otto boomed into the bullhorn.

  “That’s me!” Dimps Jr. squealed as Edgar grinned.

  Thrilled with her cake, Dimps Jr. walked through the crowd, stopped in front of Juts.

  “Don’t you wish you’d won?” she sneered.

  “No, because then I’d have to be you,” Juts fired back, “and I’d have to rouge my nipples.”

  Dimps Jr. smashed the cake right into Juts’s face. Juts, eyes visible through the chocolate, hauled off and slugged her with all her might.

  Edgar tried to pull Dimps Jr. off.

  Neither girl gave up.

  The situation allowed old scores to be settled. Yashew socked Walter, who had tried to throttle Paul back during the movie popcorn fight. Ben hurriedly removed Celeste from the battle, then hopped back on the dance floor to flail away with his comrades.

  Reggie yelled out at old Donald Simpson, “You always were a son of a bitch.”

  “If you weren’t blind, I’d let you have it, asshole,” came the ready reply.

  The two old men went at it, Reggie not at a disadvantage by being blind, or so it appeared.

  Harold, younger and blind, made his way over to help Reggie; two against one seemed fair odds, considering.

  Lawrence Villcher, who had been sampling the contents of another cask, hooked up the fire hose to it.

  “Give ’em hell!” he hollered and opened the hose.

  Seeing this method to calm the riot, Increase Martin also hooked up his fire hose to his cask—he just opened the top, dumped in the hose, and told the boys to pump.

  Scotch poured over everyone. Some of the men fell down flat on their backs, mouths wide open. The women, hands on hats, dresses beginning to cling, hollered, fleeing the dance floor.

  Harold, grinning from ear to ear, gulping down the healing waters, as he thought of it, bellowed, “Heaven!”

  Celeste, Fannie, Fairy, flounced their clothing, which was wet and smelled of good scotch.

  Louise was trying to clean off Juts. “Look at them. They have no more sense than a goose.”

  “I’ll kill her!”

  “Juts, stay put,” Cora commanded as she helped Louise.

  Fannie surveyed the scene. “To think, girls, that fifty-five years ago some of those men were trying to kill one another.”

  Fairy shook with laughter. “I think a few still are, dear.”

  “I’ll kill her!” Juts persisted.

  “Unless I kill you first. Sit still!” Louise commanded.

  The fire engines clanged, a lone snare drummer hit a roll.

  Slightly bloodied, arms around one another, Ben, Paul, and Yashew extricated themselves from the melee. Soaked, they squished toward the ladies. It appeared some of the sprayed scotch had run down their gullets as well as their uniforms.

  Staring at the three young men, Fannie Jump exclaimed, “To think they’ve faced death. Look at them now.”

  The ladies did just that.

  Celeste remembered Ramelle’s wedding, when she stood on the landing looking at the people below and thought, “Et in Arcadia ego.”

  Laughing, she clapped her hands once and said, “Vita in Arcadia est!”

  True, Death is everywhere but so is Life!

  Dear Reader,

  Tendrils of gold flare out from behind the Blue Ridge Mountains. The sun has just set. The cumulus clouds will shortly turn to molten copper, scarlet, then deep pink, finally lavender—perfect timing for I have now finished Cakewalk.

  It took a trip to Runnymede, my heart’s home, to Celeste Chalfonte to show me the price one pays for institutionalized oppre
ssion, the subtle price; the political price is obvious. Once the bill is no longer due you can see easily.

  Sex is interesting. Sexuality is not. Or as Celeste says to Fannie, “Only a fool refuses love.”

  May you always be open to love. I add to this the love that comes to your door on four feet.

  As to sex, I leave that to you. Should you find it perhaps love will attend it.

  The sky is blood red now. Even if one is burdened with sorrow, heavy responsibilities, it is impossible not to be uplifted by such majesty.

  Maybe love is an interior sunset?

  Onward,

  Rita Mae Brown

  Dedicated to Bob and Sue Satterfield on the occasion of their Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary

  “Amor vincit omnia.” —Ovid

  Books by Rita Mae Brown

  & Sneaky Pie Brown

  Wish You Were Here • Rest in Pieces • Murder at Monticello • Pay Dirt • Murder, She Meowed • Murder on the Prowl • Cat on the Scent • Sneaky Pie’s Cookbook for Mystery Lovers • Pawing Through the Past • Claws and Effect • Catch as Cat Can • The Tail of the Tip-Off • Whisker of Evil • Cat’s Eyewitness • Sour Puss • Puss ’n Cahoots • The Purrfect Murder • Santa Clawed • Cat of the Century • Hiss of Death • The Big Cat Nap • Sneaky Pie for President • The Litter of the Law • Nine Lives to Die • Tail Gait • Tall Tail

  Books by Rita Mae Brown featuring “Sister” Jane Arnold

  Outfoxed • Hotspur • Full Cry • The Hunt Ball • The Hounds and the Fury • The Tell-Tale Horse • Hounded to Death • Fox Tracks • Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

  The Mags Rogers Books

  Murder Unleashed • A Nose for Justice

  Books by Rita Mae Brown

  Animal Magnetism: My Life with Creatures Great and Small • The Hand That Cradles the Rock • Songs to a Handsome Woman • The Plain Brown Rapper • Rubyfruit Jungle • In Her Day • Six of One • Southern Discomfort • Sudden Death • High Hearts • Starting from Scratch: A Different Kind of Writer’s Manual • Bingo • Venus Envy • Dolley: A Novel of Dolley Madison in Love and War • Riding Shotgun • Rita Will: Memoir of a Literary Rabble-Rouser • Loose Lips • Alma Mater • Sand Castle • Cakewalk