"Men are much worse gossips than women," Bunny announced over the wind. "They just call it something else. And how they rejoice when one of them fails. Mmm, mmm." She used that special intonation among Southern women where the first "mmm" was high and the second lower.
Regiments of women could converse in Virginia without any words at all. Mmm, mmm could cover just about everything.
The car dealership, a mile from Surry proper, was impressive. The huge windows of the steel-and-glass main building reflected the sky and cumulus clouds. Just inside was a circular reception center on a raised dais. Hojo Haines, the twentyish, attractive receptionist presided there in command central.
A few smaller outbuildings were more traditionally sided in clean white clapboard.
The main building's floor, made of a special terrazzo polished to perfection, was dominated by three new models, two cars and one truck, each one spotlighted.
When a customer walked in the front door, Hojo, a little too good looking for Bunny's taste and a little too young, greeted them and summoned a salesperson to help them. But she had sense enough to let them browse if that's what they wanted. Hojo favored tight pants, brightly colored blouses, high heels, big earrings, and exotically painted fingernails. She was also unfailingly cheerful to the customers.
At this particular moment, Hojo was in front of the handsome main building talking to none other than Nora Schonfeld. Nora's son, a classmate of Mignon's, was with his mother.
"That bitch." Bunny couldn't help herself.
Jinx leaned over to Chris, whispering the story of Nora and Don in her ear.
Mignon's eyes widened. This might prove a very interesting trip. Aunt Bunny was known for her spontaneous reactions, in contrast to R. J., who kept a tight lid on it.
"Aunt Bunny." Vic, thinking quickly, scanned the service bays. "Nora's here because her truck is being serviced."
True enough, Nora Schonfeld's Dodge Ram, a sparkling new 1980 model, sat in the service parking lot.
"Bitch," Bunny muttered again as Vic glided to a stop at the pickup window.
The woman in the booth waved to Vic. Everyone at the dealership knew and liked the beautiful young woman. Whatever job she held over the summer she performed competently and without complaint. She had even climbed up with the roofers to help replace flashing that had not been correctly put down.
As Bunny walked to the window to get her keys, Vic turned to Mignon. "Run up there and pull Buzz and Nora into the showroom. Go on, Mignon, before there's a scene!"
Much as Mignon wanted a scene, she was delighted to be an important player in the drama. She vaulted out, hurried up to Buzz, and managed to get Hojo, Nora, and Buzz inside the building. Jinx said in a low voice, "The next closest dealer is Williamsburg."
"Yeah, it's just dumb luck she happens to be here when Aunt Bunny comes to pick up her car."
"Isn't your aunt here a lot?" Chris inquired.
"She is, but Uncle Don can usually juggle things. He's had plenty of experience," Vic wryly replied.
"Yeah, but Nora was different." Jinx quickly shut up as Bunny returned.
"Thanks, girls. I'll see you after I win tomorrow."
Bunny had recovered enough to walk to her car without buttonholing Don. She'd nail him later. As Bunny walked away, Chris noticed that she moved with the same energetic gait that all the Savedge women had; they had a little bounce. Bunny was a very nice-looking woman. Her
hair was a rich natural chestnut, her shoulders were wide, and her hips not too big. She carried a few extra pounds, but by no stretch of the imagination could Bunny Savedge McKenna be thought unattractive.
She'd caught enough of a glimpse of Nora to see a curvaceous woman in her early thirties with long hair. She emitted that indescribable something that men noticed and liked, but women noticed and dismissed—studied femininity.
Bunny was pretty. Nora was sexy.
Chris looked at Vic, who had both in spades. As for herself, Chris wasn't sure what she had—but she knew she never lacked for male attention.
Mignon sprinted back.
"Good job," Vic praised her.
"Aunt Bun didn't lob a hand grenade?"
"Not yet," Jinx said, and then turned to Chris. "Welcome to Surry County."
Chris laughed. "I like it."
"Okay, Vic." Mignon sat in the front.
"Not okay. Chris, sit up front. You're the guest."
Mignon couldn't argue with that, so she climbed in the back with Jinx.
"Are you taking me to the football game tonight? We're playing Smithfield."
"No." Vic pulled out of the lot, waving good-bye to people as she did so. "Don't you have a date?"
"No." Mignon grimaced.
"What's wrong with Buzz Schonfeld?" Jinx smiled, knowing that if Mignon went out with Buzz, Bunny would pass out.
"Very funny." A pause followed. "I'm not very popular with boys." She leaned forward. "Chris, I bet you are. You're beautiful."
Chris blushed. "Thank you."
"Why don't you go with Lisa?" Jinx offered. Lisa was Jinx's younger sister, whom she didn't particularly like.
"Maybe," Mignon said without conviction.
"Come on, Mignon. You're not helpless. If you wanted to go to the game with someone, you would."
Mignon shrugged. She was a well-liked kid, but she was struggling with the hormonal surges in herself and others, sometimes taken aback at the social savagery of her sophomore schoolmates.
"Navigator to pilot," Jinx intoned. "Ice cream. You scream, I scream, we all scream for—"
"Ice cream," everyone said.
Vic turned toward town and the ice-cream parlor. As she did, the long slanting rays of the sun burnished them all bronze and the wind blew open Chris's blouse, already unbuttoned low thanks to the heat.
Vic noticed the sunlight on Chris's breasts and an unexpected lizard tongue of fire shot through her.
R
ibbons of scarlet unfurled on the James River. The Savedges loved to watch the summer sunsets together. Sitting with their chairs in a semicircle on the patio overlooking the freshly mowed back
lawn, the spot affording the best view, they chatted about the day.
Frank, genial though reserved, basked in being a man surrounded by women. He thought Vic's new friend extremely attractive with her blonde hair, lean body, and big smile. While he believed he was married to the most marvelous woman of his generation, that did not deter him from admiring others. Unlike Don McKenna, Frank never strayed from admiration to lust. He'd seen too many men undone by that. He thought beauty cruel even if the women possessing it weren't.
"—big, fat cow." Mignon wrapped up her discourse on Marjorie Solomon.
"If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Vic propped her legs up on a wooden footstool, which she shared with her mother. They looked almost like twins.
"Puh-lease." Mignon rolled her eyes heavenward.
"She's right, Mignon. You don't know what Marjorie Solomon goes home to." Frank plucked a sprig of mint from his drink and chewed on it.
"Yeah?" Mignon hoped a tale of woe was about to unfold. Perhaps Marjorie was suffering from leukemia, shortly to pass from this earth,
which meant they'd have to be nice to her. Or maybe her father was a closet drinker. Visions of abject misery delighted Mignon.
"She's bedridden with a hangnail," Jinx said, sucking in her cheeks, a funny face that made Vic laugh.
"Ha, ha." The little sister tossed her head, imploring her father with eyes for the real story.
"Honey, I don't know what Marjorie Solomon goes home to, but I know what you go home to." He pointed to the sunset crimson, pink, and purple with flashes of gold.
The splendor of the scene kept everyone spellbound until Mignon, having the shortest attention span, remarked, "She's probably a snob because she's Jewish."
"That's quite enough," R. J. sharply reprimanded her youngest. "Mom, it's true. People haven't liked Jews for thousand
s of years." "Jesus, Mignon, dig the hole deeper." Vic shook her head. "Ignorant people need scapegoats. Why not pull down those who are successful? You dump your sins on them, get rid of them, and take whatever they acquired in this world," Frank evenly replied, but he was furious at Mignon.
"Dad, you're right, but at least Mignon told us what she was thinking." Vic shielded Mignon. "If she's saying it, then the other kids at school are, too. At least, this way we can talk about it." Vic turned to Mignon, who was obviously distressed that she'd upset her father. They were all quite good at reading Frank. "I'm sure Marjorie is a snot, but it isn't because she's Jewish. Think of Walter Rendell. He's the worst, and he's Episcopalian."
"I'm sorry." She was, too.
"To change the subject, Chris, what's your major?" Frank smiled at her.
"Mr. Savedge, that's a good question. I've changed it three times. I think I'll try English." She laughed, and then said, "What was yours?" "History."
"Daddy's a Princeton man. He can't see black and orange, but he doesn't get fuzzy." Mignon tried to mollify him.
"My dad went to Colgate," Chris said.
"Good school," Frank replied.
"But it's not Princeton," Vic and Mignon said in unison.
"Family joke." Jinx filled Chris in, who figured it out anyway.
"Did you call your mother?" R. J. reached in her pocket, pulling out a small round beanbag, which she tossed to Jinx.
This excited Piper, who had given up on whatever was under the tobacco shed, at least for the moment.
Jinx tossed the beanbag to Chris, who tossed it to Vic. The bag was flying everywhere.
"I called her. She's mad at me. She wants me to come home, and I said I'd stop by tomorrow." Jinx reached up, snatching the beanbag out of the air.
"Hey," Mignon said.
"You snooze, you lose." Jinx straightened her arm, flipping it in a hook shot to Vic.
Despite Frank's financial troubles, he felt utterly relaxed in the sunset's glow, watching the small boats and larger vessels heading toward their snug ports. The sound of the water lapping the shore soothed him.
Like many extremely handsome men, he was only somewhat aware of his effect on people. Broad shouldered, tall, with a strong clean jaw—people couldn't help smiling when they saw him. He could talk with ease to both men and women. And he was going to have a talk with Sissy Wallace right now because she was tearing up the driveway laying rubber as she zoomed along.
R. J. stood up. "Sissy Wallace, full throttle."
Mignon leaned over to Chris. "Barking mad. All the Wallaces are . . .
"Mignon, stop sitting in judgment." Frank grabbed her shoulder, squeezing it as he stood up.
"Yes, Dad." She winked at Chris.
Jinx stood up, and Vic and Chris followed. "Wonder what she did this time?"
Sissy narrowly missed one of the lampposts at the end of the driveway. She hit the brakes with a squeal, cut the engine, and slammed the door. "I shot Poppy!"
Chris froze, not knowing whether to go forward or stay rooted to the spot. If this woman was mad, might she be armed?
Vic took her hand, noticing how cool it was. Some form of violence on a recurring basis is just the way they are. Last month her sister, Georgia, dropped a packet of shingles from the roof, which narrowly missed Edward, her father, who had just stepped outside. She said her foot slipped while she was repairing the roof, but that doesn't explain why the whole pack heaved overboard."
"He moves fast for an old man." Jinx stifled a laugh, Sissy was looking straight at her, and waved.
"Sissy can't drive either," Mignon added her bit.
"I noticed." Chris was finding her visit to Surry County even more entertaining than she had anticipated.
Frank checked his watch and whispered to R. J. "Honey, I expect Georgia and Edward together or separately will grace us with their presence in under ten minutes."
"I wonder if serving them a drink is a good idea."
"Make it a double." He kissed his wife on the cheek and then headed toward Sissy. "Sissy, now just you sit right down here and tell me all about it." He took her by the elbow, leading her toward the chairs.
shot him. I shot him," she wailed to high heaven.
Mignon said under her breath to Chris, "She puts shoe polish on her bald spot."
"And carries a flask in her stocking." Vic wondered what she'd have to do to help her parents.
"Support hose." Jinx thoughtfully supplied that detail.
Chris ran her left hand through her silky straight hair. "Well, I think someone else is coming." She nodded in the direction of the turnoff from the two-lane road to the driveway.
Even though trees sheltered the view and the two-lane road was a quarter of a mile down the drive, in the twilight stillness they could all hear the roar of the engine.
"I shot him in the butt," Sissy claimed. "I warned him. I fired over his head but—"
"Poppy change his will again?"
She nodded tearfully. Before she had a chance to take her place in the semicircle of chairs, she, too, heard the rumble of a big V-8 engine.
She stared at Chris, realized she didn't know her, and stuck out her hand. "Hello, I'm Sissy Wallace. I'm so glad to make your acquaintance even if I did fill my Poppy full of ratshot."
Vic, still holding Chris's hand, dropped it. Chris reached out and shook Sissy's hand.
"Miss Wallace, you can pick out the ratshot with tweezers." Mignon helpfully supplied this information.
"Got it to pepper the crows. If I had any sense I'd hit up Yolanda with it. Poppy lets that cow stick her head in the kitchen window. I hate that cow smell! He pays me no mind, just feeds her carrots." Sissy was recovering her aplomb. "Here comes my sister. How she has the nerve to show her face! Georgia is a hussy—oh, yes, the stories I could tell you about my sister who never has a hair out of place, all two of them."
Georgia and Edward disembarked from a big white Cadillac.
"You never loved me. You love Georgia," Sissy shouted.
"Georgia doesn't shoot me." A square-built man, fit-looking, in his eighties, sensibly replied. Hostility clearly had a rejuvenating effect on Edward Wallace.
"No, she nearly killed you with shingles."
"That was an accident," the well-groomed Georgia snapped back; her fingernail polish matched her pale pink dress. "You want everyone to pay attention to you. The world centers around your navel." Georgia pushed her tortoiseshell glasses back up on her nose.
"Don't you talk to me. I'm not talking to you."
Piper, fascinated with human irrationality, watched, wagging her tail. The golden retriever sniffed the air and raised her eyebrows.
R. J. emerged bearing a tray of potent drinks. She knew everyone's preference. Edward liked Scotch—Johnnie Walker Black, on the rocks. Georgia, pretending to partake only to be social, enjoyed a vodka martini. Sissy would drink whatever you put in front of her, but she was partial to margaritas.
The Wallaces collapsed into chairs. Frank introduced Chris to Edward and Georgia.
"So pleased to meet you." Georgia lowered her pleasant voice. "I'm sorry you aren't meeting us at our best. As you can see, we are afflicted at this moment by familial discord."
"Oh, balls." Sissy clamped her mouth shut like a turtle.
"You're the source of our affliction." Georgia's voice took on a patronizing tone.
"Am not!"
"Did I make that martini to your specifications?" R. J. handed Georgia a napkin, her own slender hands a contrast to Georgia's square fingers.
"Why, it's just perfect, R. J. Just like you, perfect. Of course, I'm not much of a drinker, so I can't really compare."
"Liar. You go to parties with a siphon." Sissy was beginning to enjoy herself. The double-strength margarita was helping.
"Mother, can I do anything to help?" Vic smiled at everyone. "How about some peanuts and oh, there's some of that dip to go with the potato chips. Edward likes my special dip."
"Sure." Vi
c disappeared into the kitchen followed by the other three young women.
They could hear everything since all the windows were open. "What's ratshot?" Chris asked.
"Little pellets. Same as birdshot, but we call it ratshot down here." Jinx pulled out a big tray from the pantry. "Napkins." She put a bunch on the tray.
"Mignon, get the bowls, will you? I can't very well serve in plastic bags."
Alma Mater Page 4