Runny03 - Loose Lips

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Yeah.” Louise was worried, too. The reason she had gone to Celeste in the first place was to ask for a loan. Before she could open her mouth Celeste had asked her to intervene with Diddy. Since Diddy and Louise had gone to school together and remained friends, Celeste’s request made some sense. Louise readily agreed. It spared her the humiliation of being in debt to her mother’s boss. Once she caught her breath she asked for one year’s rent. Celeste laughed and called her shrewd. Scared was more like it.

  “You know what Chessy said to me last night?” Juts went on. “He said the most dangerous food in the world is wedding cake.”

  6

  Diddy Van Dusen lived the asceticism of the extremely rich. Self-denial in such lavish proportions gagged Juts. She would gladly have taken the castoffs that Diddy dispensed to the poor. Not that Juts was terribly poor, but she realized that in the class scheme of America she was hanging on to the lower middle class by a thread. Good bloodlines shored her up although not as much as Louise, who shouted D.A.R. the minute she felt threatened. Illustrious ancestors had never put a penny in Julia Ellen’s pocket, so she abstained from the great Southern vice of ancestor worship.

  Now, walking through the grounds of Immaculata with Diddy, she tried to be cheerful.

  “We’ve built another dormitory since last you were here.”

  “Wonderful,” Louise cooed.

  “We try to keep some rigor in their lives—after all, life is filled with tests.” Diddy’s strong features balanced her fair coloring. She resembled a Van Dusen more than a Chalfonte.

  “Do you ever get tired of it here?” Juts blurted out.

  Diddy stopped by the sundial in the middle of the central quad. “No, I’ll carry on Mother’s great work.”

  “Your mother was a saint.”

  Juts fought back a smirk as Louise drenched Diddy in praise about her departed mother, herself, and Immaculata. By the time Juts got back in the car her facial muscles ached from the strain of false smiles.

  Louise crowed over her victory.

  “—at the mere mention of godless people, Carlotta quivered. But it’s true, you know.”

  “What’s true?”

  “Julia Ellen, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  “Yes, I have. You talked about the British and the Germans fighting in North Africa. It was North Africa, wasn’t it?”

  “Don’t you read the newspaper?”

  “I read the sports page from cover to cover. The Orioles are going to be great this year.”

  “Juts, no one cares about a minor-league team but you. The Orioles are small beans and the International League is teeninetsy.”

  “Baseball is baseball!”

  “Well, as I was saying, I brought up the sale of her stock and told her flat out that Celeste sent me over, knowing how I care about these important moral concerns.”

  “Ha.”

  “I do so care—anyway, I told her that bad as the world is right now, it will be far worse if the Communists sit back and let Germany defeat everyone, then come in and beat a weary Germany on their way to mopping up all of Europe. They don’t believe in God. They believe everything is about money.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Julia!”

  “All right, all right. Good job. Celeste will be grateful.”

  “A year’s rent!”

  Juts brightened. “How about a striped awning outside. Red and white.”

  “Green and white.”

  “That’ll look like a grocery store. We have to be more colorful and we can’t give Junior anything to carp about. She’ll have to make it up—know what I mean?”

  “Well—”

  “Red and white.”

  “Red and white,” Louise agreed.

  Juts watched clouds, a deeper gray, rolling in from the west. “Louise, I’m real proud of you. I couldn’t have talked to Diddy. I can’t even talk to my husband.”

  “Oh, that will pass. What you need is a baby.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t been trying. He won’t go to the doctor. I even told him that I’ve gone and I’m okay.”

  The first raindrop splattering on the windshield forced Louise to slow down. “I hate to drive in the rain.”

  “That makes two of us when you’re behind the wheel. Why don’t you let me drive?”

  “I told you, Pearlie would die or kill me. The only reason I got the car today was that he wants to stay on the good side of Her Highness.”

  “He’s no fool. Hey, Wheezer, pull in at that Esso station, will you? I need a Co-Cola.”

  As Juts pulled two cold bottles out of the big red cooler, Louise watched as the raindrops splashed, mixed in with light sleet.

  “Now I’ll have to wash and wax the car.”

  “Men love their cars more than they love us.”

  “Pearlie says the car is more dependable and doesn’t throw dinner plates at him.”

  Juts popped the cap off the bottle. The metal cap fell down in the slot with a click. She handed the bottle to her sister.

  “I’m taking Celeste’s money to Barnhart’s tomorrow morning. How about if you meet me at the store at nine?”

  “Good by me.”

  They clambered back into the car, the rain and sleet beating down in gray sheets.

  Juts piped up. “Let’s wait until this blows over. Anyway, I want some peanuts.”

  “You can’t eat them in the car. One little shell and my husband will skin me alive.”

  “All right. All right.” Juts slammed the door, dashing for the little office.

  She brought roasted peanuts and two more Cokes to Louise, who got out of the car. Cold, they huddled under the overhang, eating and drinking.

  “Damn, it’s getting nasty,” Juts complained. “Ever notice how spring gets your hopes up and then whammo, you’re back down on the floor? Kinda like my Orioles. I’m going to buy a true baseball cap this year.”

  “You get fat by talking and thin by swinging a bat. That’s what Aimes used to say.”

  Juts brushed off her hands, the salt falling down like tiny sparkles. “Can’t wait for late summer when I get boiled peanuts. Is there anything better than that?”

  “Momma’s fried chicken.”

  “Hmm.” Juts took a hop-step to the car. “Funny what you remember. Aimes did say that, didn’t he? I remember him saying, ‘What you don’t have in your hand, you can’t hold.’”

  They rode back to Runnymede. Juts was unusually silent.

  “Are you worried?”

  “About what?”

  Louise replied, “About going into business. There’s a lot to do.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not like you to be quiet. You’re getting to be like a light-bulb, Julia, you switch on and off these days.”

  “My mind wanders.” She shifted her weight. “I don’t know. I have a funny feeling.”

  “Like someone’s going to die?” Louise imagined disaster in large portions.

  “No.”

  “Have you seen any blackbirds pecking at your window?”

  “For a Catholic you sure do set store by signs.”

  “I do not, but everyone knows a blackbird pecking at your window means someone’s going to die, and soon.”

  “No, I don’t think anyone is going to die. No.”

  “Did you skip your monthly?” Louise’s voice rose hopefully.

  “Nah. And will you stop pushing me.”

  “I’m not pushing you.” Louise inhaled and her voice lowered into the important-information register. “But I know that no woman is truly complete and happy until she has children.”

  “Mary and Maizie make you jump for joy.”

  Louise pooh-poohed that sarcastic comment. “Growing pains. They’ll grow up. We did.”

  “I wonder. Sometimes I think no one grows up, we just grow old.”

  “Women grow up, we have to.” She slowed as she neared Julia’s small house with its neatly trimmed hedges. “Maybe you’r
e tired. I feel edgy when I’m tired.”

  “No, I’m not tired. Not after two Co-Colas. I just have a funny feeling. Like life is going to throw me a curveball.” She paused a moment, then pulled herself back up with a big smile. “That’s why I need that Orioles cap.”

  7

  Rambunctious lived up to his name. By the time Celeste returned to the stables from what was to have been a relaxing hack, she was exhausted, out of sorts, and wondering if age was creeping up on her. If she heard the phrase “still beautiful” one more time, she thought she’d scream. A biting wind out of the north lashed her face. Her cheeks glowed rosy and moist.

  “How was he, Miz Chalfonte?” asked O. B. Huffstetler, Popeye’s brother.

  “Naughty. You know how he can get when he wants to see if you’re asleep at the wheel.”

  O.B. laughed. “Time for a come-to-Jesus meeting?”

  “I’ll give him a day to think about it. If he’s bad tomorrow then I expect I’ll have to remind him of his manners.” She slumped in a chair in the tack room as O.B. untacked Rambunctious, now an angel. She called out, “When’s your wife due?”

  “Another six weeks or so. Starting to tell on her.”

  “I should wonder.” She used the old phrase that was actually a form of agreement. “You’ll be a good father.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You know, your brother is in deep trouble with the Hunsenmeir sisters.”

  “I told him last night that he better write something good about them real soon or his goose will be cooked.”

  “Cooked, he’ll be pate.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “He’ll be cooked, then ground up into little pieces.”

  “Oo-whee.” O.B. shook his head.

  “I have an idea that might help him.” O.B. stopped brushing Rambunctious and looked over the horse’s withers as she continued.

  “You know the girls are opening a beauty salon in Barnhart’s old shoe-repair shop. Maybe on the day they open their doors for business, Popeye could write a story. Any new business is worthy of the Clarion’s attention, after all.”

  “Wish I was as smart as you, Miz Chalfonte.”

  “That’s very kind of you, O.B., but you know more about horses than I could if I had three lifetimes to learn. There are many different kinds of smart.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Doesn’t it surprise you that you and Popeye are from the same family? You’re so different.”

  He started brushing again. “Popeye always thought he was better than the rest of us. Going to the University of Maryland put the cherry on it.”

  “For Carlotta it was her summer in Rome in nineteen hundred and three. She saw one too many cardinals in a red dress. I think if you can get along with your family you can probably get along with anybody.”

  “You got a point there.” He paused. “My brother better do something fast. He’s twenty-five and can’t find a girl to please him. I never saw such a picky man.”

  “Miss Chalfonte.” A voice called from the end of the stable where the big doors were open.

  “I’m in the tack room.” Celeste recognized Rillma Ryan’s voice.

  Rillma greeted O.B. as she passed, then bounced into the oak-paneled room. “Thank you so much.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting me the job in Washington.”

  Celeste noticed how soft Rillma’s brown eyes were, how glossy her black hair, her lips perfectly shaped. She’d known Rillma was pretty, but somehow in the last few weeks she had matured into a beautiful woman, or maybe Celeste was just now noticing.

  “I’m glad you can go. It’s a wonderful opportunity. And you’ll be a big help to Francis. He’s like all Chalfontes, a strategist, not a tactician. I know you’ll take care of the details in his office.”

  “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, Miss Chalfonte, please tell me. I’ll do anything, you know.” Rillma exuded excitement.

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “Well, I’ve got to race back and pack up.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Monday.”

  “Ah, then you do have a lot to do.”

  Impulsively, Rillma kissed Celeste on the cheek, then dashed out again as breathlessly as she had arrived.

  As she watched the beautiful girl reach the open doors, her youthful figure surrounded by a burst of light, Celeste felt a catch at her heart and wondered if she’d made a dreadful mistake.

  8

  Chester Smith was foot-weary from the dance of politeness. Walter Falkenroth, Chessy’s biggest customer while his new house was being built, was not an unkind man, but when he said “Jump” he expected Chessy to reply “How high?” If Chessy hoped to find some peace in his mother’s kitchen, though, he was doomed to disappointment.

  Chessy’s mother and his wife cordially detested each other and had done so since he and Juts began dating. Their wedding day saw all their friends at the service but not Mother Smith, who feigned illness. Keeping both women happy, or at least away from each other’s throats, took elegant sidestepping.

  Mother Smith, built like a credenza, scrubbed her sink as she lambasted him.

  “—by the nose.”

  “Now, Mother.”

  “She does, she leads you around by the nose. The rest of the family will be here and you should be here, too.”

  “We go through this every year.” He sat on the floor, his legs straight out as he leaned back to fix a hinge on a low cabinet door to the right of the sink.

  “Your place is with me. Not with those Hunsenmeirs. They’re not our kind of people. She can go to her people, you can come home.” When her son did not reply she continued. “You married beneath you, Chester.” She sighed an artful sigh. “Those things happen, but you don’t need to keep company with them. You belong here on Easter Sunday with your brothers. Oh, Uncle Will is coming up from Richmond and Uncle Lou is taking the train in from Harrisburg.”

  With a grunt, Chessy tightened a screw, the powerful muscles on his forearm also tightening with each turn. “Mother, Christmas dinner here, Easter dinner there. Let’s not fuss.”

  “I’m not fussing. I’m trying to get you to see the light.” She turned off the water after wringing out her dishrag. “In order to rise in this world, one must mix with the right people.”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  “You could do better.”

  “I like what I do.”

  “You’re the eldest, Chester. You should set an example. Joseph received another promotion.” She paused and before she could say “at Bulova Watch,” where Joseph worked, her son quietly interrupted.

  “I’m not as smart as Joseph and I’m not as ambitious as Sanford.” Chester carefully did not use his brothers’ nicknames in front of his mother, who thought them common. “I get along.”

  Rupert Smith, a big, broad-chested man like Chester, opened the back door. “Hello, Son.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Chester, don’t use slang in my presence.”

  Rupert placed the folded newspaper he carried under his arm on the table as though it were fine china. “I’m ready for a cold beer. Will you join me?”

  “Sure.”

  “If you two are going to drink spirits, then you go out on the back porch. I don’t want anyone coming in the house and—”

  “Jo, we’re going to drink our beer right here in the kitchen.”

  She slapped down a wooden spoon. “Then you can fetch it yourself.”

  Rupert crossed over to the tiny wooden icebox with the ice compartment on the top and pulled out a long-necked brown bottle of good Pennsylvania beer. He handed one to Chester, then opened his own beer and the paper. Rupert’s idea of visiting was to read the headlines out loud.

  “Says here a man was arrested in Hagerstown for posing as a financier from New York City.”

  “Rupert,” Jo cut in, “tell your son to come to Easter dinner.”

&nbs
p; “I expect he knows that, dear.”

  Exasperated, she stormed out of the kitchen. “You men always stick together.”

  Rupert ignored her and read another headline. “‘Nevada lashed by storms.’” He read in silence. “Out there two inches of rainfall is a flood. I’d like to see the West.”

  “Me, too.” Chester drained his bottle. He needed to head home. “Dad, I’ve got to get back.”

  “Oh.” Rup glanced up from his paper. “Why don’t you try and stop by after church on Easter. It will make life easier here.”

  Chester felt a wash of battery acid in his stomach. “Dad, it’s not that simple.”

  Rupert said nothing, returning to his paper. Chester washed out his beer bottle, dropping it in the garbage can under the sink. He walked down the hall to say good-bye to his mother, who was polishing the big mahogany dinner table.

  “Bye, Mother.”

  Focusing on her task, she growled, “You could make an exception just once. After all, this may be the last time we’re together. You know Lou’s not been well.”

  This was too familiar a ploy for Chester to rise to the bait. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “When you have children we will refashion our holiday schedule.”

  “It’s been a long, dry spell.” He smiled tightly. None of his brothers had children, either.

  “You have all married barren women.”

  “Maybe it’s us.”

  Sharply she said, “Oh, no, it isn’t. Our people have never had that problem, not your father’s people.” She shook her head. “It’s the wives.”

  “If I don’t get by Sunday, you have a happy Easter, Mother.”

  He left by the back door. Without a word, she continued polishing. His father kept his nose in the paper.

  Chessy opened his own back door a half hour after he said he’d be home.

  Juts, wearing her apron with flowers on it, greeted him. “You’re late, goddammit, and I burned the liver.”

  “I stopped by Mother’s.”