Alma Mater

by Rita Mae Brown

  "He does seem headed that way, doesn't he? Toward some kind of power and position. In the blood, I guess. But they're young. Things could change. Maybe he'll wind up a rich tax lawyer."

  "Boring."

  "Oh, he's not boring, dear."

  "He'll become boring." Bunny's voice had an acid tinge.

  "Not every day can be fire and flame."

  "I'd settle for once a week." Bunny sighed. "All Don ever thinks about is the business. Jesus Christ." She trailed her hand in the water. "Maybe we can't have it all."

  "I don't want it all. I just want enough."

  "Oh, Bun." R. J. picked up the oar in the new oarlock and swung the bow around. Then she rowed upstream, rejoicing in the resistance. "Want me to row?"

  "No, you need to preserve your strength. Isn't the club tournament tomorrow?"

  "Yes, it is."

  The small but lovely old country club was quite active, and at the time both young families joined, twenty-odd years ago, it hadn't been expensive. Their parents had been members and their paternal grand· parents had been founding members.

  "We might have to drop our membership."

  "Don't do that, Orgy. Big mistake. Not only are those our friends, think of the business contacts."

  "Well, I'm not in business, and Frank is a good lawyer. People know he's solid. He is what he is."

  "Maybe you and I could go into business."

  R. J. pulled rhythmically against the light current. She noticed creamy cumulus clouds building in the west. "Bunny, we've been over this."

  "You've got to do something and so do I. I want to do something . purposeful."

  " 'Bacca."

  "Tobacco is labor intensive plus all the paperwork just to keep the allotments alive."

  "I do it every year," R. J. reminded her.

  "I know you do the paperwork, but you don't put in much of a crop because you can't and we can't. There aren't many people left around here who know 'bacca, and sooner or later all this smoking-ishazardous-to-your-health stuff will bite us in the ass."

  "Hmm. Peanuts."

  "Orgy, just keep the land in hay and timber. Trust me."

  R. J. did trust Bunny, who possessed a sharp business mind. Everything Bunny suggested paid off. She read voraciously, not just about the auto industry, but about the economy in general.

  All of Bunny's work benefited her husband. People knew Bunny was behind it, but still, he was the front man; he got the lion's share of the attention. She had more freedom than he did, but she felt adrift. She wanted structure, a business in her name.

  "Sometimes I feel ambushed by life. Surprised. But . . ." R. J.'s voice trailed off as she glanced over her shoulder to see how she was coming in to the dock.

  They hit it with a slight thud. Bunny grabbed the mooring and quickly wrapped the tie line around it. She hoisted herself out as R. J. arranged the oars.

  Bunny leaned over, hand outstretched.

  R. J. took it and swung herself up. Standing in the sunlight, the two of them were clearly close relations. It wasn't so much a physical re-

  semblance, because they took after different branches of their family. It was the way they moved, their gestures, their physical comfort in one another's presence.

  "Listen to me." Bunny's voice was commanding. "You don't know if Frank can make the money back. If he does, it will take years. Remember last time? You've got to go beyond what you've done before. It's a new day. Let's hope that Vic marries Charly. God knows that won't hurt. But let's go into business. I mean it. Don can give me the seed money—and he will. One, I've earned it. Two, he's still guilty about his little affairette. Three, there's a part of him that would get a kick out of seeing us succeed. Four, I'll pay him back just because I want to do that. Over time, of course. Five, Surry Crossing has been in our family since Charles the First gave us the land grant, and by God, it's going to stay in this family. Sometimes I wish I'd never left here, but Don wanted to be closer to town and we'd just married. I couldn't much see the point of being around Mom and Dad then."

  R. J. draped her arm around Bunny's shoulder. "I miss them, too." "Let's do this. Not just for you, but for me as well. Let's go into business."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "A plant nursery. We've got the land. People are building houses in this county all the time. And if you ever decide to develop 'intelligently,' " —she mimicked her sister's voice— "we'll have all the nursery stock to make it the best landscaped development in Virginia."

  "You're serious."

  "As a heart attack."

  "Maybe you've hit on the right formula this time. There's so much to think about. But the first thing I've got to do is get Frank off the deed." R. J. kissed Bunny's suntanned cheek.

  Bunny pointed to a dust cloud about a quarter of a mile away. "Vic." She lifted her binoculars, catching sight of the 1961 aqua-andwhite Impala convertible, top down. "Yes, it's your eldest, with Jinx. And someone else, a girl. Very blonde. Very pretty."

  "Let's go greet the next generation."

  "Degeneration."

  "With any luck," R. J. said, laughing.

  A

  plume of pale gray dust, atomized oyster shells, floated up toward the turquoise sky, which was the same color as Vic's '61 Impala. With the top down, hair blowing in the wind, the

  three occupants personified youth itself, absolute freedom allied to absolute uncertainty.

  R. J. walked up the slow rise of lawn to the house, a simple frame clapboard house built in 1734. The original structure, a log cabin, was burned in 1642 during an Indian raid. It was stubbornly rebuilt, and when money poured in from England in those middle years of the eighteenth century, thanks to tobacco, the third generation of Vances built a proper frame house with large glass windows, a sure sign of affluence, and named it Surry Crossing.

  Farther west past Sloop Point, Claremont Manor abutted Surry Crossing. Across the impressively expansive river, one could see from Sandy Point to Dancing Point. The vista alone was worth the generations of toil and blood.

  As the Impala screeched to a halt (God forbid Vic would ever drive slowly) the doors opened, and Jinx hopped over the driver's seat from the rear.

  As everyone hugged everyone else and Chris was introduced and hugged in turn, another spiral of dust could be observed accompanied

  by the guttural roar of a large diesel engine. The brakes squealed at the

  foot of the long drive; then the roar continued as the driver sped away.

  "Hey. I'll be right back. Let me go pick up the brat." As Vic hopped in her car and sped down the drive, R. J. and Bunny began to give Chris the tour, starting with the enormous walnut tree planted immediately after the War of 1812.

  Books under her arm, Mignon looked up to see her older sister barreling down at her. Vic pretended to steer at her and then she hit the brakes. Mignon feigned cool indifference.

  "Lame," the younger Savedge said.

  "Hop in, Your Weirdness."

  Mignon threw her books in the back then climbed in the passenger side. "Lowness."

  "Boobness." Vic spun the car around.

  "You'd better not have to buy another set of tires for this, Vic. You know how Dad hates it when you do wheelies."

  "Dad's not here."

  They both giggled as Vic drove back to the house.

  "Made an A in . . ." Mignon paused. "Who's that?"

  "Chris Carter. Friend from school."

  "Where's Charly?"

  "Football tomorrow."

  "Oh. Aren't you going?"

  "No. Stuff to do here."

  "Sure." Mignon's tone implied that she knew what the stuff was, which she didn't. No point in being too eager to find out; then Vic would taunt her.

  Mignon came up to be introduced to Chris just as Aunt Bunny was saying, "My real name is Beatrice. If it were good enough for Dante it should be good enough for me, but Orgy, I mean R. J., has called me Bunny from the time we were toddlers. Hello, Mignon."

 
"Hi, Aunt Bunny."

  "Chris Carter, this is my horrible little sister, Mignon Catlett Savedge. I added her middle name to make her sound better than she really is."

  "Your middle name is . . ." Mignon started to say turd and then realized she ought not to say that in front of someone she'd just met. Well, really, she supposed if Southern lady ought not to say it at all. "Your middle name is Weenie."

  "Clever." Vic pushed Mignon.

  "All right, you two." R. J. gave them the look. "Chris, come on inside. Let me help you with your bags."

  "I'll get them." Mignon knew that was her signal.

  "There's just two books in the backseat of the car and a red canvas bag."

  "Got it."

  R. J. turned to Jinx. "Sleeping with us or at home?"

  "My mother is to be avoided at all costs." The corners of Jinx's lips turned up.

  "What an awful thing to say." Bunny's voice indicated the exact opposite.

  "You have to see her some time if I'm going to get any furniture," Vic said.

  "Come on, let me get you girls settled." R. J. pushed them into the

  house as Bunny headed to the kitchen to pour iced tea for everyone. When they returned downstairs, she set out glasses and some small

  sandwiches she'd made. They carried everything out to the patio. "Playing tomorrow?" Vic asked her aunt.

  "She wins that damned golf cup every year." R. J. savored the sweet butter on her chicken sandwich.

  "True, but does that make it any less of a triumph? Do you golf, Chris?"

  "No, I'd love to learn."

  "Stick around here. You'll have no choice." Bunny caught the sun-

  light glittering on a large spinnaker, its brilliant yellow-and-red sail bil-

  lowing, and instinctively pulled her binoculars up to her eyes.

  "Aunt Bunny is rarely without her binoculars," Vic explained to Chris. "She might miss something otherwise." R. J. laughed.

  "Bet she could be a detective," Mignon said. "You know, Aunt Bun, I am giving serious consideration to a profession, and I think I'd like to be a detective." Mignon adored the sound of her own voice.

  "That would suit you." Vic reached for the potato chips. 'Snoop," Jinx filled in.

  "I'm a snoop? Ha! Jinx, you should see what your little sister has done." Mignon rolled on. "She drilled a hole into the boys' locker room, and she's charging us a dollar to look."

  Bunny winked. "Most men will show you for free."

  "Chris." R. J.'s voice took on a silky quality. "What's really scary is that we're on good behavior."

  Chris laughed. "I might surprise you, Mrs. Savedge."

  "I hope so." R. J. smiled.

  "I made JV field hockey," Mignon interrupted.

  "You did that last week." Vic slapped Mignon's hand as she reached to steal half of Vic's sandwich. "If you keep eating so much you'll be a goalie."

  "Goalies have to be fast."

  "Yeah, well then your fat ass will sit on the bench."

  "Vic," R. J. admonished.

  "It's true," Vic added. "But I shouldn't have said fat ass. How about 'ample derriere'?"

  "Oh, you are so funny. I mean, I could just die from laughing." Mignon fumed.

  "Don't let us stop you," said Jinx, one of the family really.

  Mignon, realizing she was outnumbered, tried another tack to keep the spotlight on herself. "Chris, did Mom and Aunt Bunny tell you the history of the house?"

  "We did . . . more or less." R. J. added another spoonful of sugar to her tea.

  "The part about why the house is painted yellow?"

  "Well, no," R. J. said.

  Mignon quickly declared, "In 1834, Robert Vance married a beautiful woman from Vienna Austria, and she had some royal blood. She painted the house yellow because it's the color of imperial buildings in Vienna."

  "Must have been a princess." Jinx slyly glanced at Vic.

  "Yes, royal blood runs in this family." Vic's voice grew lighter. "Mignon, the Princess of Potato Chips."

  Mignon glared at Jinx and Vic.

  "It's really beautiful, the yellow with the Charleston green shutters," Chris remarked.

  "Princess Bullshit," Vic whispered to Mignon, drawing out the word princess in her low voice.

  "I hate you," Mignon whispered back.

  "Kiss kiss. Hug hug." Vic puckered her lips, and in a flash Mignon threw a pickle in her face.

  "Mignon." R. J. tried to sound stern.

  "I wish it was a big fat ice cream cone. Cold strawberry ice cream going right up her nose."

  Vic wiped off her face. "I don't like strawberry."

  "Exactly," Mignon sang out.

  "I am so grateful to my two nieces." Bunny leaned toward Chris. "They have cured in me any desire to have children."

  "Cured it in me, too," R. J. said laconically.

  Everyone laughed. It took Mignon a second, but she laughed, too.

  Bunny checked her gold Rolex with the Jubilee bracelet. Bunny had a taste for expensive toys. "I'd better get my car." She glanced at Vic. "Honey, will you run me down to the dealership? I know your mom's got a million things to do."

  "Sure, Aunt Bunny. Chris, come on. You'll see the sights and the sites. Jinx?"

  "Sure, unless" —she looked to R. J.— "you need me to help you clean up?"

  Mignon asked, "Where's Piper?"

  "In the tobacco shed," R. J. answered. "There's a woodchuck or a fox or a skunk, I'm not exactly sure, with a burrow under the back side, and she's on patrol. And no, Chris, I don't need you to clean up, but thank you for volunteering to help, which my adorable and dutiful daughters did not do."

  "Mom, I would have," Mignon protested.

  "Oh, yeah." Vic pinched Mignon.

  "I didn't hear you say anything."

  "How could 1? You were talking. Oh, how I love to come home and see my sister."

  "Hateful." Mignon turned her nose up, but she obviously loved the attention.

  At fifteen she carried a bit of baby fat, but it was clear to her elders that Mignon would turn into a lovely woman, perhaps not as beautiful as her mother and sister, but plenty good looking. She was impatient because she couldn't see it yet. She felt she was taking forever to grow up.

  "If it's a fox or a skunk, you'll smell it." Vic stood up, picking up her plate and Chris's.

  "Actually, you won't." R. J. was wise in the way of animals. "Animals can turn their scent off and on. Plus the old smoke smell is still so strong in the shed and I'm not sticking my nose at the mouth of any animal's den. What if she's got babies in there?"

  "Good point," Vic responded as she headed toward the back door off the kitchen. "But too late in the season, I think."

  "Mom, if you'd stop smoking, your sense of smell would improve," Mignon said self-righteously.

  "I know." R. J. sighed. "I can give up smoking anytime I want. I've done it many times."

  "Well, I'm not giving up my fags," Bunny defiantly stated. "A girl needs a little dosage now and then to smooth out the day. It's better than being on prescription pills like Nora Schonfeld and some others I could name."

  Nora Schonfeld was the sexy younger woman Don had dallied with that spring but set aside at Bunny's urging. Urging was Bunny's euphemism. At the mention of her name no one said a word. Not one word.

  After that beat of awkward silence, Vic, becoming more like her mother every day, stepped in. "You're smarter than Mom, though, because at least you smoke filtered cigarettes."

  "But she smokes twice as many as I do." R. J. laughed.

  "Well . . . there is that." Bunny recovered her spirits. "But I like my mentholated Kools. I like the penguin logo."

  "It's all tripe." R. J. laughed again. "The plastic filters and the chemicals added to tobacco actually make it more dangerous, I swear. If you're going to smoke, then smoke a pure cigarette and be done with it."

  As they headed toward Surry, they passed Boonie Ashley's convenience store two miles from the house. The too-small parking lot was j
ammed with people picking up loaves of bread on the way home—or more likely, six-packs of beer.

  "Boonie is the biggest gossip," Mignon announced to Chris. She had been pointing out the sights along the way. The real historical information was interspersed with tidbits like, "Here's where Vic wrecked Dad's car."