He swallowed. “Sure.”
Buster sat, his head cocked, watching his master attempt the box step.
“One two three, one two three.” She smiled up at him. “You’ve done this before?”
“Never.”
The record finished, she put another one on the player, then picked up Buster’s front paws and danced a few steps with the terrier, who hopped along. “Very good, Buster.”
Chessy laughed.
Trudy worked with Chessy for one hour and he even mastered a glide step. Although stiff and unsure of himself, he wasn’t as clumsy as he thought.
At the end of the hour she patted Buster on the head and thanked Chester for dropping by.
She smiled. “If you listen to the music it will tell you whatever you need to know.”
“You’re a good teacher.” He had his good Borsolino hat in his hand. “You know, I would like to learn. I’d love to surprise Juts. Is it expensive?”
“Five dollars a month for a one-hour private lesson once a week. There are group lessons for less, of course, but then I’m afraid word would get back to your wife and spoil the surprise.”
“How about if I try for one month? We’ll play it by ear.”
She smiled at his pun. “Deal.”
He reached in his pocket and gave her five dollars in ones. That was good money but he felt excited. He could dance.
As he strolled back out on the street he thought how wonderful it was to move to music and how Trudy Archer seemed clean and new, lustrous.
19
Juts dumped out the contents of a can of mixed nuts on the kitchen counter. She fished out the almonds, filberts, and cashews, leaving the lowly peanuts.
She wore her genuine Orioles baseball cap, which she had secured when she drove down to Baltimore to bargain for slightly used beauty-salon equipment. Never one to miss a baseball game, even at the high-school level, Juts hovered over the Orioles dugout in the splashing sunshine, begging one of the boys to part with a baseball hat. As Juts wasn’t hard to look at and had more charge than 220 volts, the catcher gave her his cap.
The morning paper, folded over to reveal the Curl ‘n’ Twirl grand-opening ad, proved handy for Yoyo, who never could resist the crinkle of paper.
Louise had insisted they also take out an ad in the evening paper, the Trumpet. That paper hadn’t arrived yet so she whiled away her time reading the classifieds in case she had missed something earlier.
The shop was as ready as it would be. Chessy had built the cabinets and the little back room. Pearlie and his crew had added the gloss of fresh paint. There wasn’t anything to do but worry now, and since Louise had worried enough for a woman of one hundred years, Juts saw no reason to duplicate her sister’s efforts.
The Hunsenmeirs hired away Toots Ryan, Rillma’s mother, from Junior McGrail. They offered Toots seven more dollars a week and she grabbed at it. Fair business practice, but Junior howled “Foul play.”
Chessy turned ashen when Julia boldly announced her coup. In order to pay back $398 the sisters were sinking deeper and deeper into the red. She told him to stop grexing and groaning. “It takes money to make money,” she quoted him.
The thump of the paper hitting the door sent Buster scrambling. She let him out. He picked it up, proudly bringing it back to her.
“Good boy.”
Before she opened the paper she returned to the kitchen to carefully scrape the peanuts into the can. She covered the top, setting it back on the heavy wax-paper-covered shelf. Then she flipped open the paper. In cursive script like a formal announcement was the ad for their grand opening. She stepped back to admire it.
Then she turned the page, where she was assaulted by a half-page ad for Junior McGrail’s Runnymede Beauty Salon for Discriminating Ladies. A bold banner declared, “Ladies, don’t be fooled by cheap imitations.”
“I’ll snatch her bald.” Juts dashed for the phone. She dialed Louise.
“Hello.”
“Mary, get your mother on the phone.”
“Hi, Aunt Juts, what’s up?”
“Look at page four of the Trumpet, that’s what’s up.”
Mary called out, “Hey, Maizie, go and get the paper.”
“Get it yourself.”
“I’m on the phone with Aunt Juts. You better do as I say.”
Julia heard the trudge of feet, a door slam, a door slam again. “Mary—Mary—”
“I’ve got the paper now.”
“You could thank me.” Maizie pouted.
“Thank you, Maizie,” Mary said.
“Where’s your mother?” Juts demanded.
“Out in the garden with Doodlebug.”
“Go show her the ad on page four. Right now, Mary, and don’t hang up the phone.”
“All right.”
Julia heard the receiver rock on the table and then in the far distance, “What!” The sound of a hurried footfall followed.
“Julia, I can’t believe she would stoop so low!”
“I can.”
“I was gardening to soothe my nerves before tomorrow and this—well, I don’t understand how Junior McGrail can consider herself a Catholic.”
“I don’t understand how anyone can consider themselves a Catholic,” Juts snidely said.
“Julia—” Louise’s voice warned. “We have to respond to this, this attack.”
“And give her free advertising? Not a chance.”
“Well—there is that.” Louise sat down on the phone stool. “Guess she’s still hotsy about Toots.”
“If she’d treated her better, Toots wouldn’t have left.” Juts spoke the plain truth. “Too bad her daughter’s in Washington. Whenever Rillma is around, the boys are around. I’d like a crowd.”
“We’ll get a big crowd. What else is there to do on a Thursday?”
“Yeah, the Strand doesn’t change the movie until Friday. Anyway, competition is the life of trade. I think we’re doing Junior a favor. After all, we’re focusing people’s attention on their hair and nails. She’ll benefit from our advertising if she’s smart. Or she’ll get better, right?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“How much longer can she keep showing Marie Antoinette’s radio cabinet?” Julia giggled.
Junior crammed her salon with fake French antiques. She was big on gilt. Her huge radio cabinet, a frightful sight, had been hand made, she said, in Paris, France—as opposed to Paris, Kentucky—and fashioned from valuable debris of Marie Antoinette’s. She also claimed to receive visitations from the murdered queen, checking on her radio, no doubt. Junior gave tarot readings in the back, even though Father O’Reilly declared it pagan superstition. Those tarot readings were Junior’s main draw, because her hairstyling consisted of a spit curl on the forehead and two for sideburns. She might branch out and give someone a finger wave, but you were just as likely to end up with hair that looked like frayed fuse boxes.
“Are you nervous?” Louise lowered her voice.
“No.”
“I am. If we flop I think my husband is going to put me on an allowance and God knows what else.”
“We aren’t going to flop,” Juts reassured her. “I have my lucky baseball cap, remember?”
“You just got that thing.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t lucky. Now relax. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“We go broke. Our husbands leave us. My children are shamed by a bankrupt mother. I suffer from angina and palpitations—”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Drink a hot toddy and go to bed early.”
“Alcohol never touches my lips, you know that.”
“For medicinal purposes, Louise. Like tobacco, it’s soothing. So if you will make yourself a hot toddy, you’ll sleep like a baby and be ready for tomorrow. We’re going to be on our feet all day, you know.”
“How do I make a hot toddy?”
Juts shared her recipe.
“Well—”
“I’ll see you in t
he morning.”
Knowing she had talked her sister into what Wheezie wanted in the first place, Julia repaired to the pantry, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and made herself a bracing whiskey sour.
When Chessy came home from work that night he grabbed the can of mixed nuts while Juts made him a whiskey sour and one for her, which she pretended was her first.
He twirled his forefinger in the nut can. “It’s all peanuts. False advertising.” He slammed the can down on the counter.
“I know. It’s awful,” Juts said as she handed him his drink.
20
Junior McGrail believed more is more. Staggering under the weight of bangle bracelets, large dangling earrings, and many wraps of roped beads around her fleshy neck, she marched down Frederick Street looking neither to the left nor the right. This took great discipline because the crowd spilled over onto the street like colored jelly beans.
The opening of the Curl ‘n’ Twirl had exploded into a block party. The mastermind behind the frolic, Pearlie Trumbull, had motored over to the Budweiser distributor and bought seven kegs of beer.
When Chessy asked whether he could afford it, Pearlie told him they couldn’t afford not to do it. Chessy, nursing along his old Dodge work truck, cruised back with heavy whiskey casks cut in half and crammed with ice, sodas, and mixers. He bought them from a big distillery down in Baltimore on the dockside. Noe Mojo, the husband of Louise’s dear friend, Orrie, and a hardworking man of Japanese descent, went along with Chester to help him load the casks.
To add a whiff of sin to the party, Chester bought some of the finest moonshine this side of the Mississippi, made in Nelson County, Virginia, and sold on the sly by Davy Bitters, Billy’s older brother. Those Blue Ridge Mountain streams produced exceptional shine but one had to be careful. If you drank too much your knees would lock up on you.
The boys had the bottles of moonshine stashed in various glove compartments, trunks, plus a few hip flasks for the daring.
With the exception of Junior, the town turned out in force. Even Caesura Frothingham showed up. She said it was to gather information for poor, dear Junior.
Junior pretended she was on her way to the Strand, but since the show didn’t start for another hour everyone knew that was a lie. Besides, she only had to walk across the square from the other side to reach the Strand.
“Junior, come on,” Juts motioned, never one to hold a grudge. Then, too, she had tested the moonshine.
“Never.” Junior glared at Caesura and continued in her progress.
Orrie Tadia Mojo sniffed in Louise’s ear, “The tragic queen.”
Thanks to Mary and Maizie, the kids from South Runnymede High gathered around, as did many from North Runnymede High.
Juts had even hired a small band.
Trudy Archer whispered in Chessy’s ear, “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I’m not ready yet.”
“You’ve had three lessons, four including the free one.”
“I’m too—” He shrugged. “I’ll get there. You have to be patient.”
“Am I not doing a good job?”
He patted her on the shoulder. “You’re great. When I’m ready—well, I’ll know. Now you go on and grab some of these guys. Edgar Frost is a good dancer.”
She smiled and moved toward the lawyer she’d met a few days ago.
The three ancient unmarried Rife triplets, the sisters of Brutus—Ruby, Rose, and Rachel—appeared, escorted by much-younger men. They could be distinguished by their attire. Ruby wore Mainbocher, Rachel wore Hattie Carnegie, and Rose had just discovered Sophie of Saks. Given the war, no one could go to Paris, and while it ravaged Europe the conflagration was a blessing to American fashion designers. Ruby’s milliner was Lilly Daché, Rachel adored John Fredericks, and Rose pounced on a rising star in the hat firmament, Tatiana, countess du Plessix.
The La Squandra sisters, as they were known behind their backs, were tolerated not because they spent money but because they were so patently useless. It was rumored that they couldn’t draw their own bathwater. Certainly one couldn’t blame them for the sins of their deceased brother and father.
Too tired to stand for long, they lounged in the barber’s chairs Juts had bought.
Fannie Jump Creighton, between boyfriends, squeezed by them when Rose declared, “Fannie Jump, do you think the girls can flourish? You know how dreadfully they fuss.”
Fannie paused and admired the sleek hat with curving yellow feathers. “They’ll be too busy to fight.”
Celeste emerged from the private room, a seraphic smile on her face. She edged toward Fannie.
“Celeste, Celeste, darling!” Rachel held out her gloved hand and in a flash of lucidity blurted out, “I want you to know I never minded you killing Brutus. Even though he was my brother he was a brutal son of a bitch.”
The buzz was so loud in the room, only Cora and Fannie overheard this statement.
“Will you hush, little girl,” Rose hissed at Rachel.
Ruby blinked her big china-blue eyes as though reentering the world. “Well, she did it, Rosie, everyone knows she did it.”
Cora stepped in. “Who knows how such things happen? He had many enemies and 1920 is so long ago.”
“Me!” Rachel pouted. “He sent away my gentleman caller.”
“Your gentleman caller was a gold digger,” Rose growled. “If Brutus hadn’t sent him packing, I would have.”
“Jealous,” Rachel triumphantly replied. “But Celeste, darling, I never cared a bit that you shot him.”
“Now, Rachel, don’t accuse me without the facts.” Celeste had in fact killed Brutus those twenty-one years ago for many reasons, not the least being his reign of terror in the town. She never admitted it and never would. “As for your gentleman caller, he was before my time, but I heard he was very handsome.”
“Oh, he had the softest hands, hands like a girl.” Rachel sighed like a coquette.
“Ha!” Ruby exploded, before lapsing back into silence. Celeste pushed her way through the bodies, Cora and Fannie right behind her.
“Useless as tits on a boar hog,” Cora mumbled.
Popeye Huffstetler, cornered at the front door by Caesura Frothingham, seized the chance to get away by grabbing on to Celeste, a good foot taller than his puny self.
Caesura called out, “Popeye, you aren’t being much of a reporter. You haven’t found out who smacked into George Gordon Meade.”
“Robert E. Lee,” Celeste answered her.
“You think you are so witty, Celeste Chalfonte.” Caesura reached for another beer, which was being handed to her in a sherry glass so she had to refill frequently.
“Caesura, let’s celebrate this wonderful opening. I think it’s good that you came over.”
“I came over to spy for Junior.”
“Have another sip,” Cora suggested.
“Believe I shall.”
“Junior is out there marching and countermarching. She’s doing her own spying.” Fannie harrumphed.
“I am not speaking to you.”
“Good.” Fannie pushed by Caesura to reach the street.
Julia Ellen danced with all the boys from the two high schools. Louise was as happy as anyone had ever seen her. She pointed her finger at Mary a few times, warning her against slipping into the shadows with Extra Billy.
The party rolled into the velvet twilight. Flavius Cadwalder, encouraged by his son and the moonshine, told the Hunsenmeir girls that he knew what a hardship the debt was. If they fell behind he’d work something out with them. Everyone cheered and solidified the goodwill with more spirits.
Jacob Epstein Jr., a high-school buddy of Extra Billy’s, passed out on the curb. The men lifted him on the flatbed where the band performed. He was out cold for every song, once emitting a low moan during “Red Sails in the Sunset.”
Junior grew tired of her ceaseless parade so Caesura joined her and they walked back to the north side of the square. Junior had to assist Caesura who,
tipsy, lied and said she had sprained her ankle.
The miracle was that Julia Ellen and Louise didn’t have one single battle, not one. Everyone knew it couldn’t last.
That Sunday, both sisters visited their mother at Bumblebee Hill for supper.
A weak knock on the door lifted Juts out of her seat at Cora’s dining table.
“Oh, honey, sit down,” Chester said, but she was already out of the room.
She opened the front door to face an old man, perhaps once handsome, now hunched over.
“Is Mrs. Hansford Hunsenmeir at home?” he gasped.
“Yes. Would you wait a minute?”
She walked back to the dinner table and whispered, “Mom, there’s some old geezer at the front door. You’d better talk to him in a hurry because he looks to die on the spot.”
Cora folded her napkin and walked to the door.
Juts, Chessy, Louise, Pearlie, Mary, and Maizie heard muffled voices and then a sob. Both Chessy and Paul hurried to the door.
Baffled, they walked with Cora as she helped the old man, crying, to the table.
“Girls, this is your father.”
21
That man is not my father.” Louise folded her arms across her chest.
“Well, if he’s not your father I guess he’s not mine either,” Julia said.
Chester and Pearlie sat in Louise’s two big armchairs with the heavy wool covering that looked like carpet and scratched in warm weather. Mary and Maizie were supposedly in bed.
The kids crept to the top of the stairs to listen. So far they’d managed to keep quiet.
“Why don’t you two sit down? You’re making me dizzy.” Pearlie, his long, angular face somber, pointed to the sofa.
“I can’t. Walking around helps me think.”
“Better walk around a lot, then,” Julia half joked.
“This is no time to be lighthearted. An imposter comes into our midst. He’ll eat Momma out of house and home—”
Chessy interrupted, “He won’t eat much, Wheezie. He’s on his last leg.”
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