by Dana Taylor
Mavis and her crew had staked out a table. Ruth, Valerie, and I dropped our purses in chairs across from them. Mavis loudly herded us toward the serving line while she matched Valerie up with her daughter, Alisha. Valerie was fascinated by Alisha's cornrows and Alisha couldn't resist examining Val's spiky coiffure. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Ruth was telling me about the tornado of ‘68, so I wasn't paying attention to who was standing in front of me in line.
A female nasal voice spoke into my ear. “Hello, Perse. How is the metaphysical mumbo-jumbo business?"
God tells us to love our enemies, but mainly I tried to avoid Charlene Foster. Charlene and I went way back to grade school. It was from her mouth I first heard the word “bastard.” Children can be cruel, as the saying goes. Charlene was the third grader from hell. Even then she had a smile that revealed an abundance of gums. She'd demonically grin and tease me about my weird name and fatherless state.
"Persephone Jones, Persephone Jones, who her father is, nobody knows."
Her father, the local family doctor, thought my mom practiced voodoo medicine in the health store. As a man of science, he considered Mother little better than a witch and a quack.
Fuel was added to the fire when Charlene and I both ran for class president in the eighth grade. Being snobbishly rich and possessing the personality of a Mack truck, her popularity slipped with the rank and file. After a vigorous campaign-"Perse for Prez” posters plastered all over town-I won.
As an adult, Charlene had done all right for herself. She married the local District Attorney, Cowboy Bill Foster, and enjoyed being a big fish in the local political pond. She also had a nice house on a hill and two gummy, smiley children.
I smiled politely. “We keep busy. How are your children, Charlene?"
"They're doing well. Melinda made the honor roll.” She played with her fake pearls. “I was reading the other day that the FDA is going to start regulating the health food industry and really crack down on people making false health claims. How will that affect your business?"
"Mmm. I'll have to stop selling Dr. Anderson's Cure-All Elixir for Female Complaints, but other than that, I should be okay. Come get some before I run out."
She flashed those gums. “I admire how brave you are giving people medical advice without any medical education."
I started to fill her in on my degrees and certificates, the seminars I attend, but what was the point?
I shrugged. “It's more fun that way."
Gratefully, we hit the buffet line and grabbed plates. Charlene loaded on the carbohydrates. Did Cowboy Bob appreciate her ample love handles?
* * * *
At the end of the evening, I collected Val and Ruth from their classes and headed back to the Brooks encampment. It was obvious that they had enjoyed church. Val hummed to herself and rhythmically jiggled her foot.
Ruth continued chattering on the subject from Bible study class. “I was raised a Methodist and we always just sprinkled, but you know these Baptists don't think you're saved unless you're dunked. It was a very heated discussion."
Val suddenly changed the subject. “I got a postcard from my Mom today."
"What a coincidence. I got one from my Mom, too,” I said. “Where was yours from?"
"Rome. She and John are ‘having a lovely time seeing Europe.’ Gross. She says she's buying me designer sandals."
"Well, my Mom sent me a postcard from a KOA camp in Kentucky. It had a picture of Daniel Boone. Maybe she'll bring me a coonskin cap. I'll let you borrow it to wear with the sandals.” We all giggled.
I pulled into the circular drive. Brooks stood arms akimbo on the steps. He yanked open the passenger door and helped Ruth down. When Valerie started out, he put his hand on her shoulder.
In a stern voice he said, “I got a call from the school attendance office. ‘Your student missed one or more classes today at school.’ Meet me in the library."
Valerie mumbled, “Busted,” and dragged into the house.
His scowl betrayed extreme weariness. “I hope they weren't too much trouble."
His woebegone expression tugged at my heart strings. “You look like you've had a long day."
He glanced at Val's retreating figure. “And it's going to get longer."
"Maybe you should all just go to bed and tackle the problem in the morning."
"That would be a good idea if I didn't have to catch a six am flight to Houston for a murder arraignment.” He ran his fingers through his short dark hair.
He looked so stressed out; I said the first thought that popped into my mind. “You need a good massage."
His eyes riveted on mine and I read all the implications. His tension lessened as his face took on a lazy grin. “Now that's a damn good idea. You offering?"
"Well, uh, you know what I mean, a professional massage. A Swedish massage from a big male Swede."
He laughed a low, rumble that somehow echoed in my belly. “You're cute when you're flustered."
I put Lizzie into gear. “I'm glad I can be your comedy relief. You'd better go give Val hell before she escapes."
He sighed. “You're right. Thanks for taking them tonight."
"I think they had a good time. Good night."
"'Night.” He closed the door and retreated into the house with heavy footsteps.
* * * *
The next evening I was making myself a grilled tofu cheese sandwich as the sun set in the early fall sky. The leaves would soon be turning as we headed into October, my favorite time of year. Mild temperatures, crystal clear days, the tangy scent of burning leaves.
A knock rattled my kitchen door and I opened it to greet Val, looking tough and touchy. Her makeup was wild, lips lined in a dark maroon, eyes heavy with three colors of shadow.
Leaning in the doorway I asked, “What's up? Trick or treat? You're a month early."
She stood staring at me either about to cry or scream; I wasn't sure which.
"Come on in,” I said. “I'm just starting supper. Have you eaten?"
She stepped in the room and Orion immediately wound around her legs to make friends. Good cat. She knelt down to pet him.
Val's voice was strained, cracking. “I think I've, uh, started, you know and I don't have anything at the house and Mrs. Wilson has already gone.” She said all this to the cat.
Momentarily perplexed, it dawned on me. “Started? You mean started your period?"
She nodded.
I put my hand out. “Come on. You came to the right place. I'll get you all fixed up."
I took her to my room and I gave her fresh flowery panties and a pad. She closed herself in the bathroom. When she came out, I could see she felt lousy.
"I'm going to get you something for the cramps.” I handed her a jar of cold cream and a washcloth. “Here's some makeup remover. Wash your face. I don't want make-up all over my pillows."
She looked around my lacy Victorian bedroom. “This room looks like you."
"Dusty?"
"Soft and friendly."
I had to give her a hug. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. How about a foot rub and a grilled cheese sandwich? We can eat up here. I'd better call your Dad and tell him where you're at."
She grimaced and said, “Yeah, I guess so."
I called the house and talked to Ruth and filled her in. Jason wasn't home yet. She gave me his cell number. He didn't pick up, so I left a brief message. I'd done my duty and went about fixing comfort food.
We ate in bed, watched TV, and enjoyed the antics of an old “I Love Lucy.” When I came back upstairs after washing the dishes, Val was asleep. She looked like a little doll in my pile of pillows. Her clean scrubbed face relaxed in slumber revealed the sweet girl hidden beneath the makeup and hostility. How much love would it take to bring out her soft side?
A vehicle crunched the unpaved gravel of my driveway. Brooks was probably making his appearance. Quick, run a brush through your hair and slap
on some lipstick. I caught a look at myself in the mirror that I passed on the stairs-fluffy hair, granny dress, and bare feet. The spinster Jones at your service.
Opening the door, I found Jason, hand raised, about to knock. We stared at each other a moment, each making our own evaluations. I don't know what he saw, but I could tell he'd had a helluva day and was ticked off. His loosened tie hung around his neck and the lines at his eyes seemed more etched.
"Is she still here?"
"Yes, she's upstairs."
He walked past me. “Did she mention she's been grounded for cutting class?” He headed up the stairs. I followed.
"No, she was too upset about starting her period."
He froze and turned in the middle of the staircase. He looked down at me, groaned, and ran his fingers through his hair, a habit I was beginning to find endearing.
I had to laugh. “Where is my camera? I could sell this to the papers ‘Jason Brooks ... dumbstruck.’ She's fallen asleep. Why don't you come drink a beer on the porch?"
He reached up, pulled off his tie, and undid his collar buttons. “Great idea.” He trudged down the steps.
As I fixed our drinks in the kitchen, my stomach fluttered with an edge of excitement. Calm down, Perse, you're just being a nice neighbor, nothing more.
I wandered out onto the porch with a beer for him and a glass of wine for myself. He had taken possession of the large cushioned wicker chair. I handed him his beer and sat on the swing, which was fine. I could fidget on the swing, since he made me a little nervous.
"Thanks,” he said. “It's nice out here."
I glanced around the wrap around porch. Yes, it was nice. A slight breeze stirred the Indian summer night, wobbled the hanging plants, and tinkled the wind chime. My wisteria vine had grown magnificently over the summer on its trellis at the edge of the house. My family had been rocking on this porch for over a century.
"Yes,” I said, “it's a good spot to watch the seasons go by."
He took a long swig of his beer, leaned his arms on his wide spread thighs, and shook his head. “I'm not cutting it too well as a father."
"Oh, I think you're probably a fine father. It's your mothering skills that need work."
He sat back. “Right.” He put the beer on the porch and then did a full body stretch in the chair, arms and legs extended to their longest length as he released the tensions of the day. What a lovely sight.
His voice was a little hoarse from fatigue. “She cut a class yesterday. Told me they had a ‘dumb substitute’ and didn't miss anything important."
"What did she do?"
"She said she and a girlfriend just hung out in the girls’ bathroom, but who knows? I grounded her for three days. No visits, no phone calls. That's the standard procedure, right?"
I rocked the swing. “Sounds good to me. I've not had parenting experience. But I vaguely remember being twelve. You think you know everything, but a lot of stuff is scary."
He got up restlessly from the chair and paced. “Christina should be here to handle this kind of situation."
"Is Christina Val's mother?” The one having the lovely time in Europe.
"Yes, my-ex. Of course Christina isn't much on handling situations. She's just very good at creating them."
He joined me on the swing. “Thanks for helping with Val tonight. This wasn't something that ever crossed my mind."
I laughed. “It's pretty much a girl thing."
He sighed. “I'll make sure Mrs. Wilson gets whatever it is you have to get."
"That'll be good.” We sat and rocked in companionable silence watching lightning bugs sparking in the yard, listening to crickets chirp up a racket.
He cocked his head and looked at me. “You smell good, but it isn't perfume."
I flushed. God, I hoped I didn't smell like a pizza. “It's the oils. I did several massages today. I used a lot of garden variety today-basil, thyme, oregano and peppermint. I hope it's not overpowering."
"Oh, no. I like it. It's relaxing.” He stared at me intently. “There's a contentment about you. You're so different from the other women I'm around all day. Female attorneys are not laid-back people."
"I couldn't do what you do. Going to court everyday, always in a battle. You're a modern day warrior."
He laughed. “That's a good analogy. My weapons are subpoenas, depositions and interrogatories."
Mavis’ earlier conversation had been bothering me. I placed my wine on a little table next to the swing. “Let me ask you something. I heard you are defending that kidnapper from the Wal-Mart. How do you morally justify defending people like that?"
"Ah, the age old question. How many times have I heard it?” He gazed off, his pensive profile shadowed in twilight. His voice reflected the deep fervor he felt for his profession. “Our criminal justice system guarantees everyone a defense. If we don't defend every offender, pretty soon everybody's rights will be eroded away. It's the sanctity of individual rights that sets us apart from the dictatorships and repressive regimes in most of the world. Believe me, there are plenty of people out there who don't get much of a defense because they can't afford it. It may surprise you to know that a lot of my clients go to jail; they just don't go away for as long as they would have without my services. The guy in the Wal-Mart will do time and might not make it out of the system. Child molesters have a high mortality rate in prison. Every once in a while I get an innocent client. But that's the worst kind."
That bewildered me. “Why?"
"Because there's so much more pressure to get them off. It's a terrible feeling when you know your guy didn't do it and he gets ten years."
I guess I'm naive. “Does that really happen?"
"It happens,” he said with a hardened expression. “Can we change the subject?"
"Sure,” I forced a note of cheer into my voice. “How ‘bout them Sooners? Do you think it will rain tomorrow?"
"Tell me about yourself. Are your parents living? Do you have brothers and sisters?” He pushed the swing into motion again.
"My Mom is still alive, married to a widower, seeing the world in a Winnebago. I never knew my father.” I hesitated. Oh, well, might as well spill out the tainted truth of my parentage. “As far as I can tell, I'm a product of free love. My mother went to San Francisco in the sixties and got caught in the whole hippie movement. That's where her interest in health food and the environment began. Whenever I asked about my father, she'd say he was the god Zeus. She was probably tripping out when I was conceived. Anyway, she came back to Peeler as the Prodigal Daughter and my grandparents took us in. She's still an Okie hippie and the apple didn't fall too far from the tree because I'm a lot like her."
His eyes softened and his voice lowered. “An Okie hippie ... How come a good lookin’ woman like you doesn't have a man in her life? I know you had a fiancé that died ... Val isn't someone to trust with secrets. But how many years has that been?"
"Six. Six years.” A familiar thud hit my stomach as I thought of Scott. My hands turned clammy, but I tried to keep my tone light. I pulled a leaf off a nearby vine and let my fingers play with it. “I spent the first year in a fog, the second year in pain and since then I've built a new life. Coming back here has been good for me, but it's not a great way to meet men. The customers at the store are generally elderly. There is a Mr. Hailey who's about sixty-five and wears a baseball cap that says ‘S.O.B.’ He says it stands for ‘Swell Old Boy’ and he pinches me if I don't move fast enough.
The good guys my age are all married and I'm not too interested in the leftovers I've met. The singles group at church are in their early twenties. So, I think my ship has sailed. I was fortunate to have a wonderful ‘falling in love’ experience with Scott and now God has other plans for my life."
I'd nervously torn the leaf in my hands to shreds. I brushed the pieces out of my lap. “How about you? Are you in the market for your second shot at marital bliss?"
He grunted, “No way, no how. Marriage is a lot of tro
uble. I've got two women I'm responsible for in my household. I don't think I could handle a third."
"Is that how you look at marriage? Another mouth to feed?"
"And clothes to buy, trips to furnish, whims to cater to. I don't need any more demanding females in my life."
I studied his profile. “Well, I've never been married, but my relationship with Scott wasn't like that. We were going to have a great spiritual journey through life together. Soul mates fulfilling our destiny."
Jason spread his arms along the back of the swing. “Soul mates ... I'm not sure I even have a soul, let alone a perfect soul mate. Christina and I were more like business partners. I needed a wife who could help me build a firm, entertain the right people. She was very good at that."
I shivered. “Sounds like a cold, loveless marriage. I'd hate that kind of life."
"Not all of us are looking for hearts and roses, Miss Jones."
Now he'd intrigued me. “So, you've never been in love, Mr. Brooks?"
He waved his hand with a gesture of dismissal. “The romanticized notion of ‘falling in love’ is a lot of hype from movies, music and women's novels."
"You've never just been crazy about a woman? Never needed her so much you ached when you were apart?"
His profile turned to granite. “Nope. Never. And I never will. I'm a stand alone kind of guy.” He lifted his hands in supplication. “Don't get me wrong. I have great affection for my family and friends, but I have no desire for a ‘soul mate,’ as you put it."
We sat only inches apart, yet separated by an emotional abyss. When I loved someone, I gave it my all, no intimacy withheld. But Jason kept the world at arm's length, never needing, never committing.
I picked up my wine and took a sip. “So when your wife left you, it was no big deal?"