This was something Vic did not understand. She'd heard this
sentiment expressed in a variety of ways from other women, all older than herself. Men appeared strong enough. Why couldn't they handle these blows? It didn't make sense. Were they truly fragile, or did women keep them that way so they could control them? She wasn't going to argue with her mother. She knew R. J. wasn't a manipulative woman. R. J. met everyone, man, woman, or child, straight on.
As R. J. rowed back to shore, Vic quietly said, "I've taken a lot for granted, Mom, and I forget to say thank you."
"Honey, you're twenty-two." R. J.'s lovely voice sounded happier. "I took things for granted then, too. But thank you."
"What is it that Grandma Catlett says, 'Life stuff.'" Vic drew out "'life" until it took up enough time for four syllables to be pronounced, a good imitation of the old biddy. "I'm learning about life stuff."
"Me, too."
A
fter a day of September perfection, warm yet crystal clear, the three young women headed back to Williamsburg. Mignon missed them before they even passed the mailbox on the state
road. R. J. draped her arm around her younger and gave her a driving lesson to cheer her up.
Back in town, Vic dropped off Jinx, who invited them to dinner Wednesday night. As the following weekend would be an away game, Vic was "off duty," as she put it. Jinx decided they'd all come back to Surry Crossing.
Vic laughed and thanked her for the invitation to her own home, and then drove Chris to her house. They pulled into the driveway.
"You could have parked at your place. I could walk over." Chris smiled as she opened the door. "Thank you. That was the most fun. I'm ready to turn around and go back."
"Next week. Jinx just invited us."
Chris leaned toward her, paused, and then slid out the door. "You know where I live, so come on over when you feel like it."
"You, too." Vic wanted to cut the motor and follow Chris upstairs, but she knew she'd better call on Charly.
She cruised down to his dorm. The football players, regardless of seniority, bunked together and ate together at the training table.
Charly hated it, but the coach felt it built camaraderie. It did and it didn't. A surfeit of red meat, vitamins, and the steroids illegally used by some of the players created a combustible mix of male hormones.
Vic parked, walked up to the front door, and knocked. Women were allowed in the lobby but not in the rooms. Coach thought segregating the boys would make it more difficult for them to get laid. He was right. He subscribed to the old theory that sex before a game robbed a man of his competitive drive. Of course, science had proved the exact opposite was true. Sex boosted testosterone levels. Perhaps it was just as well he subscribed to the old theory; otherwise a line of nubile young lovelies would have been enlisted as a training aid.
"Charlyr Tareq Nassar bellowed as he let Vic in the door.
Wiry and lean, Tareq, a cornerback, contrasted sharply with Orion Chalmers, the right guard, who was sprawled on a lobby chair. Orion looked as though he'd sucked on the air hose at the filling station and inflated himself.
Charly appeared. "Vic." He threw open his arms and gave her a bear hug. "Let's go for a walk. Away from these animals."
The men in the lobby howled, with a few wolf whistles added. Once out in the twilight air, Vic noticed Charly's legs. He was
wearing Bermuda shorts. "Jesus, you look like a Dalmatian."
"They hit hard." He reached for her right hand as they walked
through the campus, the leaves on the trees swaying gently.
"Mom, Dad, Mignon, and Aunt Bunny send their regards. Oh, Aunt
Bunny won the club championship again. She retired the trophy." "Great." He leaned down to nuzzle her. "And you look great. I
missed you."
"I missed you, too." She liked the scent of him, his aftershave, not too strong, added to his own clean smell.
People waved to them as they walked along, half leaning on one another, the picture of young love. He described the game and Coach's outbursts in the locker room, directed mostly at the defensive linemen. She told him about Mignon's pierced ears and Edward Wallace's butt full of ratshot. She didn't tell him about how bad it was with the money, nor did she mention the overpowering attraction she felt for Chris.
Seeing him was a relief to her; the familiarity of him soothed her. Apart from Jinx, Charly was her closest friend.
Yet the emotions Chris had ignited, the sheer feeling of lust, was something she'd never felt for Charly. She felt physical attraction, happiness, comfort, and trust with Charly. Walking with him, she felt as though she could breathe at last, as though she hadn't taken a deep breath since Friday afternoon. She also knew everything was the same but that she was somehow different. She made herself focus on what he was saying.
". . . it's only the middle of September!" His voice rose. "So she's going on about planning ahead and how Thanksgiving is so important to Uncle George since Nana died." He waved his hand in front of his face as though chasing away a bug. "Anyway, she went on and on. Compromise. I'll go home for Thanksgiving, do the family thing, but I'll come on over to your house that evening. Think of it as a dessert call."
"I'll think of you as a dessert call." She stopped walking and kissed him on the lips, his smooth lips.
"I like that idea." He hugged and then released her. "Hey, Vic, I'm starved."
"Did you eat—?"
He interrupted. "I did, but I'm starved. Maybe I've got tapeworm." "Nah. You need to make up for all the torn muscle tissue, all those bruises. You really do look like a Dalmatian."
"I wonder if I'm a real shit. I love my mother, but she drives me crazy."
"Charly, she's" —Vic weighed her words— "a controlling woman."
"Yeah." He grabbed her hand again and then took two swinging steps to the right followed by two swinging steps to the left.
Charly delighted in Vic's presence. He felt he could say anything to her and she wouldn't judge him. He had never felt so free with another human being. She made him laugh. She made him want to be better than he was, to make her proud of him. He loved to listen to her stories of Surry County, to her sizing up of the people around him. He was often amazed at her insights, terse and on target. He was the talker
of the two of them, and she used to tease him that he was perfect for politics. There were worse jobs than being governor, but he knew he wanted to make a lot of money. A man doesn't really make money in politics; he needs to go into it with money. Whatever the future held, he imagined Vic by his side. And even though he would inherit plenty, he wanted to make money on his own. He wanted Vic to be proud of him.
T
he click, click, click of her heels tapped against the gleaming black floor of the dealership, sending out an invitation. Hojo swayed slightly, enticingly, perched on those open-toed sling-backs with
heels halfway between a flat and a stiletto.
The curving receptionist's desk reminded Hojo of the bridge of a battleship. She loved manning her station. As she sat higher than the floor, she could see over the salesmen, giggle to herself about their shiny bald spots. She felt above all of them.
She climbed up to her seat, picked up a mechanical pencil, and started scribbling sales figures. Being a receptionist had advantages, one being that there wasn't much pressure. But she wasn't stupid. She knew sales equaled money. Her salary might grow a little, but she'd never make a commission sitting on her butt overlooking the dealership. Quietly she was learning the business, learning the product. She wanted to be the first female car salesman at McKenna Dodge/Toyota.
The front door opened. She smiled broadly at Bunny and R. J. Like most women, she unthinkingly studied R. J., whose understated manner of dressing suited her perfectly. Hojo firmly believed more was more. She admired R. J., though, understanding that R. J. had found her style and stuck to it. Hojo considered herself still a work in progress, and at twenty-five, she believed she coul
d and would progress.
"Good morning, Mrs. McKenna, Mrs. Savedge."
"'Morning, Hojo." Bunny didn't smile but walked to the back of the receptionist's raised area and ascended the three steps that put her on the platform with Hojo.
Hojo reflexively covered her papers with her forearm. R. J. stood below her.
"Hojo, you pierced Mignon's ears, am I correct?" Bunny folded her arms across her chest.
"A needle and ice cubes. She didn't squeal a minute." Hojo smiled. "Now why would you do a thing like that?" Bunny liked lording over the staff as much as they disliked her doing it.
"She asked me to." Hojo's amethyst earrings reflected the lights from the overhead tracks.
"She's fifteen," Bunny snapped.
"I didn't know that. She's a big girl." Hojo wasn't intimidated by Bunny.
"She is big," R. J. concurred. "She didn't say why she wanted you to do it? I mean, most girls will go to the mall to get their ears pierced with one of those, I don't know what you call them, guns. Of course, she'd have to show her ID there, which may explain why she came to you."
Hojo stood up and leaned over toward R. J. "Mrs. Savedge, she said she liked the way my earrings looked and she saw Courtney's ears at school, so she wanted me to do it."
Courtney, sixteen, was a class ahead of Mignon at school. "It showed bad judgment." Bunny dropped her arms.
Hojo breathed in, counted to three, and then evenly replied, "I didn't know she was only fifteen and I didn't know Mrs. Savedge didn't want Mignon's ears pierced."
"Bunny, I'm satisfied." R. J. glanced out the window at the new trucks, which looked as bright as shiny jelly beans. "Hojo, the reason we're asking you these questions is just so I know whether Mignon told me the truth. She did."
"How are her ears?" Hojo asked, a touch too solicitously.
"Fine. Vic and her friend, Chris, bought her gold posts. Actually, she looks cute. I wanted her to wait until she turned sixteen, that's all. You didn't do anything wrong. Mignon can be very persuasive."
"She's a live wire." Hojo leaned farther down, her breasts touching the counter surface. "Vic is so quiet and Mignon's just bubbling over."
Bunny stepped back down. "Be back in a minute, R. J." She headed toward Don's office, which was filled with photographs of Bunny winning a variety of golf tournaments and of Don holding up sailfish and barracudas caught during his annual escapes to Florida each January.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm," Hojo half sang the sounds, three long notes indicating not disapproval but amusement.
R. J. pointed out a fire-engine-red Dodge half ton and smiled up at Hojo. "That's a beauty."
"We should take a picture and use it for an ad. You could be a model. You and Vic could do commercials, you know, like those mother-anddaughter commercials for soaps and stuff."
"Hojo, that's sweet of you to say."
Hojo trotted down the steps, joining R. J. to admire the truck. "She keeps that man on a short leash."
R. J., not about to criticize her sister with an employee, said, "She likes to stay involved in the business. She has a good mind for it."
"Mr. McKenna says Bunny will be the one that gets us the Mercedes dealership." Hojo lifted the edge of her skirt to wipe off a fingerprint on the plate-glass window, thereby exposing even more of her fit, feminine body. "He says Bunny wants to drive a Mercedes, but as long as we only carry Dodges and Toyotas, that's all she can drive."
"Bunny would look quite wonderful behind the wheel of a silver SL, top down."
"Wouldn't we all?" Hojo laughed. "Bet you two had fun as sisters." "We still have fun."
"I mean in school and stuff."
"Yes. Bunny was always clever. She could figure out the angles. I more or less forged straight ahead. She's a lot smarter than I am," R. J. said appreciatively.
"But you're so beautiful—" Hojo stopped herself, quickly adding, "And smart. I've never heard anyone say you were anything but smart, Mrs. Savedge. People respect you and people know your life hasn't always been easy."
"It's not easy for anyone." R. J. smiled, wishing she could take a handkerchief and wipe some of the makeup off Hojo's face.
Bunny reappeared. "Let's rumble."
As if on cue a boom, boom, boom of thunder crashed, like the bumps of a moving caterpillar, one vibration following the other.
"Now, where did that come from?" Hojo ran to the door going outside.
The eastern sky, clear and blue, contrasted sharply to the western sky, dark blue-black with rolling clouds.
Bunny and R. J. walked outside to Bunny's car. "Oh, boy—we'll make it home just in time."
The rain was already pouring over Williamsburg, washing down clapboard houses in the historic center, sweeping the dust off the great wrought-iron gates to the House of Burgesses, drenching the cadmium-yellow and red marigolds, the mums of all colors, the tall zinnias.
Mary, Blessed Virgin Mother, appeared to be crying as the rain poured down her serene visage. Vic and Chris stood on the brick walkway, the lawn already soaked. They'd met after their last class of the day.
Chris, the rain sliding down her neck and along her back, was laughing. "Your tour of Williamsburg is original. You make these old buildings come to life."
"History is important. For instance, this statue of Mary will grant your wish if you make it during a thunderstorm." Vic grabbed Chris's hand, pulling her to the front door of St. Bede's, which was sheltered by an overhang.
A crack of thunder followed by pink light appeared. On the street they could hear the screams and laughter of folks running for their cars, for any doorway.
"That was close." Chris blinked, pressing next to Vic.
Vic put her arm around Chris's slick wet shoulders, drawing her next to her. She hunched over a bit. "The next one ought to be right above us." She released Chris for a second and tried the front door. It opened. They stepped, dripping, into the vestibule as a blinding bolt of lightning hit the lightning rod on the building next to the small well-kept lawn.
The temperature was dropping. They shivered together, the votive
lights in small red chancels providing the only light as the power cut off. No one else was in the church.
"We're dripping all over the floor," Chris said, the water collecting in pools at her feet.
Another crack and they jumped closer together, laughing. "Glad the door was open." Vic put her arm around Chris again.
"Me, too."
"The sky was clear one minute and then the wind picked up." Vic loved watching the storms over the James. "Have you ever noticed how many different kinds of rain there are?"
"Hard rains, soft rains."
"There are rains with drops that fall here and there, big drops like wet polka dots. Then there are rains when the water falls like a beaded curtain, steady and silver. Sometimes rain falls soft, then hard, then soft again, as though it has an accelerator. I love watching it. I've seen rain come down sideways. Forty-five degrees to the ground. It's wild."
"I love the sound it makes."
"Especially on a tin roof."
The thunder rolled, still close but moving down toward the river. "I don't know if I've ever heard that," Chris said.
"Sometime you'll be at the farm and a storm will come up. I'll take you to the tobacco shed. Sounds like BBs, or if the rain's hard, bullets, but you're standing on that hard-packed earth and all the curing smells rise up. God, it smells wonderful."
"I don't know if I would recognize a tobacco plant if I saw one."
Vic, who loved growing things, replied, "They're pretty amazing. They get big." A strong wind rattled the heavy door. Chris pressed her body into Vic's. "Are you frightened of storms?"
Chris said, "No . . . well sometimes." She looked up at Vic, holding her gaze. Chris's heart pounded as she shivered.
Vic fought back the impulse to kiss her. Instead she wrapped her other arm around her. "Once the lightning is gone we can run to the car. I wish I had some extra clothes in it."
; "Take me to the coolest store. I'll buy us shorts and sweaters." "You don't have to buy me anything."
"Hey, I spent a weekend at your house. Your mother stuffed me with food. The least I can do is buy you a sweater and a pair of Bermuda shorts before we both catch our death of cold."
"Does that mean we get naked?" Vic teased.
"Briefly." Chris stood on her toes, in anticipation of making a run for it. "Let's go." She wanted to stand in the vestibule, she wanted to strip right there and then wrap her arms around Vic's long body. She suspected the Catholic Church would not approve.
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