by Cathy Holton
Nita shook her head and sat down. “He hasn’t,” she said.
“Damn.” Lavonne scratched dejectedly at her stomach.
“You really need to get someone to look at that rash,” Eadie said.
“It’s just nerves. I always break out in hives when I’m nervous. I always break out in hives when my life is falling apart around me and I’m powerless to stop it.”
“You just need a drink.” Eadie waved at Mona. “Hey, Mona, do you have any alcohol in here?”
“Alcohol?” Mona was busy rearranging the glass case.
“Scotch, whiskey, tequila?”
“I’ve got some Mogen David in the back.”
“That’ll do. Bring it up front.”
“No,” Lavonne said. “I’ll just have a cup of coffee.” She rose but Mona shooed her away and said, “I’ll bring ya’ll a cup. You just go on with your revenge planning.”
Lavonne scowled and looked at her hands. Eadie laughed and said, “Isn’t this supposed to be a secret? The revenge planning, I mean. I wonder how many people in town know about it now.”
“What difference does it make?” Lavonne said. “I’m pretty sure the closing with the Winklers is off. I’m pretty sure the sale of the Duesenburg is off.” All Lavonne wanted was what was fair. She was pretty sure she could make her daughters understand the necessity for the divorce without having to tell them about Leonard’s cheating ways. She had let them go to Costa Rica with friends for the fall break and she planned on telling them when they got back. She hated having to move so quickly and so furtively but she had no choice. Leonard had left her no choice. The money she would receive from the sale of their house almost equaled the money Leonard had hidden away in his secret bank accounts. She could go after that money, and after Leonard’s partnership interest in Boone & Broadwell as well, but Lavonne didn’t want to be vindictive. All she wanted was enough to make a fresh start. All she wanted was what was fair. She wanted the proceeds from the sale of their home and she wanted the beach house sold and the proceeds put into a college fund for the girls. Other than that, Lavonne wanted nothing else from Leonard Zibolsky.
“I hate to be the bearer of more bad news,” Eadie said cheerfully. “But Billie Stubbs, the woman who’s buying our household goods, can’t get a truck until Saturday.”
“Good God!” Lavonne said. “There’s no way she’ll be able to load up two households of furniture and do it before the husbands get back. Their flight gets into Atlanta at four o’clock. That means they’ll be home around seven-thirty.”
“Yeah, I know it’ll be a tight fit, time wise and all,” Eadie said.
“Mona,” Lavonne shouted, “bring me that Mogen David.” She tapped the table with her fingers to keep from scratching. “You seem pretty chipper considering all the bad news,” she said to Eadie.
“I’m just more used to dealing with heartache and disappointment than you are.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Trevor being back in town, does it?”
Eadie checked her nails for flaws. “What makes you think that?”
“Lee Ann Bales saw him out at the flower store buying truckloads of calla lillies for Tonya.”
“He wasn’t buying flowers for Tonya, he was buying them for me,” Eadie said quickly.
“Okay,” Lavonne said. “I get it.”
Mona set a nearly empty bottle of wine and three glasses down on the table and Eadie poured them all a jigger-full. “I’m not taking him back, if that’s what you’re implying,” she said. “I’m just saying I’m not as worried about money as I once was because I know I can get him to be fair. As long as Tonya’s out of the picture, I’m not worried. Which is a good thing because it turns out the history museum isn’t interested in buying the Thomas Jefferson letter or the Nathan Bedford Forrest medical kit without Trevor’s signature on the bill of sale.” Eadie looked at Lavonne. “I’ll stoop to anything but forgery,” she added apologetically.
Lavonne shook her head. “You know, theoretically you’re no longer a part of this little scheme. You don’t need to cheat your husband to get him to be fair to you, and you won’t have photos of him with female impersonators to bargain with anyway.”
“Don’t be bitter, Lavonne,” Nita said.
Lavonne sighed. She pulled her sleeve up and scratched despondently at a red patch near her elbow.
Eadie swirled her wine in her glass. “I talked to Ramsbottom this morning.”
“Oh God, don’t tell me the husbands are already on a plane headed home.”
“Relax.” Eadie patted Lavonne’s arm. “No wonder you’ve got hives. Ramsbottom promised me he wouldn’t let them leave before Saturday.”
Lavonne took a deep breath and sighed. At this time, any good news was welcome.
“Ramsbottom said Leonard had actually managed to shoot Redmon.”
“What?” Lavonne set her glass down.
Nita put her hand over her mouth. “Is he dead?”
“No, he said he just winged him, whatever that means. He says they’re still up at the camp and won’t be headed down until tomorrow morning, so it can’t be that bad. The female impersonators are already at the ranch, but Ramsbottom swears he’ll keep them all apart until Thursday evening.”
“Pray they don’t decide to head back early,” Lavonne said dejectedly. “Pray the closing with the Winklers goes off and the closing with Dr. Osborne goes off, and Ms. Stubbs shows up with the truck and the money she owes us.”
Eadie put her glass down and, leaning forward, gave Lavonne a little shake. “Now listen, we have to be honest here. The plan’s pretty complicated, we knew that from the beginning, and we didn’t have a lot of time to pull it off, so we all knew the chances of success were slim. You can’t beat yourself up over this, Lavonne.”
Lavonne pulled her sleeve down. “If this is your idea of a pep talk, it isn’t working.”
“Maybe Ramsbottom will wind up getting us pictures we can negotiate with, and maybe he won’t. Maybe all of our little plans for coming up with ready cash will pan out, and maybe they won’t. Whatever happens, I still say—good for us! I’m glad we didn’t just sit back and act like victims. I’m glad we did something, even if it fails, even if it all goes to hell in a handbasket—”
“Even if we all go to prison?” Lavonne said.
“Even if we all go to prison. It was still worth the risk. Even if we wind up broke and lonely and it takes Rosebud ten years to get the money that’s coming to us, I still say we did the right thing by trying to embezzle money and humiliate our cheating husbands.”
“This is beginning to sound a lot like the ‘As God Is My Witness, I’ll Never Be Hungry Again’ speech from Gone with the Wind.”
“I tell you what,” Eadie said. “If more women acted like Scarlett O’Hara there wouldn’t be near the divorce, poverty, and spousal abuse there is in the world today.”
The door opened and a woman dressed in black slacks and a black turtleneck with a green sweater tied around her neck came into the store. “Do you serve anything besides baked goods?” the woman said to Mona, who was standing at the counter. “Do you have a lunch menu?”
“No, ma’am, not yet. But we’re opening up a deli real soon that will sell sandwiches and stuff like that.”
“Can you tell me what that green vine is growing all over everything?” The woman had the hard clipped accent of a New Englander. Lavonne was guessing Boston or New York.
“Green vine?” Mrs. Shapiro asked, her little nose wrinkling as she tried to understand the woman’s accent.
“It looks a little bit like English ivy but it has broader leaves.”
“Does it have purple flowers in the spring and summer?” Mrs. Shapiro said, shaking her head. “ ’Cause if it does, it’s wisteria.”
“No,” the woman said. “I know wisteria. It doesn’t have flowers. It’s just green. It seems to cover everything.”
“It’s called kudzu,” Lavonne said.
The wom
an turned around and said to Lavonne, “Where can I get some?”
Behind the counter Mrs. Shapiro stared at the back of the woman’s head, a blank expression on her face. “What do you want it for?” she said.
“I want to take a clipping home.” The woman turned her shoulders so she could look at Lavonne and Mona at the same time. “I want to hang a pot of it in my sunroom.”
Mona Shapiro blinked. She arched her brows and looked at the woman like she might look at an escaped lunatic from the mental hospital.
“You don’t want a clipping of that,” Eadie said. “You’d go to bed and wake up the next morning and your whole room would be covered in vines.”
“Oh?” the woman said.
“It grows up to a foot a day,” Lavonne said.
“It won’t grow up north,” Eadie said. “And even if it did, you wouldn’t want it. It’s hard to kill.”
Lavonne looked at Eadie and grinned. “It takes over everything that gets in its way,” she said.
“It’s tenacious as hell,” Eadie said.
“Oh really,” the woman said, obviously feeling they were making fun of her. “A foot a day,” she said flatly, looking at Mona, who slowly nodded her head in agreement, her bad eye rolling toward the wall. “Okay, thanks,” the woman said, turning abruptly to leave. The door banged shut behind her. They watched her walk hurriedly down the street, her little green sweater flapping against her back like wings.
“You know she’ll take a clipping home with her,” Lavonne said, watching her disappear in a crowd of tourists.
“Serves her right if it takes over her whole damn house,” Eadie said. “I don’t think she believed a word we said.”
“Speaking of kudzu,” Lavonne said, trying not to think about the fact that Dallas hadn’t called her back and it had already been more than an hour since she talked to him. “The Kudzu Ball is Saturday and I’m assuming you’re going with me, Eadie, because I sure as hell don’t want to go by myself. It starts at seven-thirty, but the queen doesn’t arrive until later. If we’re lucky, and everything goes according to plans, we’ll be able to meet with the husbands and still get to the ball on time.”
“I like the way that sounds,” Eadie said. “Of course I’m going. I got my dress yesterday down at the Goodwill Thrift Store and I can’t wait to wear it. Aren’t you supposed to pick somebody to be the Kudzu King?” she said to Lavonne. “Aren’t you supposed to have an escort?”
Lavonne jabbed her thumb at Little Moses, who had come out of the back carrying a tray of Texas sheet cake. “I’ve always wanted to be a king,” he said, grinning.
“You’re not the king,” Lavonne reminded him. “You’re just the queen’s consort.”
Little Moses slid the tray into the display case. “What exactly is a Kudzu Debutante?” He stood up, wiping his fingers on his apron.
“It’s a cross between a feminist and a homecoming queen,” Eadie said.
“It’s a woman who thinks for herself and won’t do as she’s told,” Lavonne said. “Are you going, Nita?”
Nita shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She’d be lucky if Charles ever let her out of the house again. If she wasn’t able to sell the Deuce and come up with some money of her own, she’d be a virtual prisoner in her own house, dependent upon the generosity of a husband who would probably never forgive her for setting him up with female impersonators. It was a dismal thought.
Lavonne reached out and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Nita, everything will work out. No one’s blaming you for anything you do. It’s your decision, not ours. You’ll always be our friend and we’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”
“Even if you decide to stay married to that asshole Charles Broadwell, we’ll still love and support you,” Eadie said. “Even if it all falls apart and we wind up broke and incarcerated, you’ll still be our special friend.”
“Whether you want to be or not,” Lavonne said.
They raised their glasses in a toast.
“Here’s to friendship,” Nita said, trying to imagine life without Jimmy Lee.
“Here’s hoping our husbands get what’s coming to them,” Eadie said.
“And here’s hoping we get what’s coming to us,” Lavonne said, tapping her glass against the other two.
CHAPTER
* * *
EIGHTEEN
BENTLEY AND WILLIAM arose early Thursday morning. The snow had melted, showing the scattered remains of camp utensils and packs that littered the ground like a sacked and abandoned city. The charred tower of the fire pit rose from the center of the clearing. From the dim interior of one of the tents, the Nancy-boys watched them with the fish-eyed, hunger-crazed look of plane-crash survivors who’ve lived three weeks on roots, berries, and beetles. They hadn’t slept in two nights. Redmon had moaned all night in his sleep and William snored like a buzz saw, but Bentley was a heavy sleeper and he had awakened feeling cheerful and refreshed.
“Morning, boys,” Bentley said.
William got the fire started and fried up some bacon and some moldy biscuits he had brought in his pack, while Bentley cleaned up the camp. He whistled while he worked and spoke cheerfully to William, ignoring the strained silence of the lawyers who had refused to give up their sleeping bags, and settled their raggedy asses around the fire like a gang of lumpy scarecrows. They had been here two days and hadn’t shot anything other than Redmon. Bentley assumed their silence was from shame, but in actuality, Charles had admonished both Redmon and Leonard to keep their mouths shut so as not to damage their chances of retribution in a court of law.
They started down the trail around two. The storm had cleared; the sun shone from a blue and cloudless sky. Redmon, anesthetized by whiskey, rolled in his saddle and chattered like a magpie. Leonard, perched atop the perverse Big Mama, found that although she had been loathe to climb the trail, she seemed now, as they headed home, inclined to break into a trot at the slightest pressure of his heels against her flanks. He rode behind the stiff-backed, morose Charles Broadwell, and daydreamed about the new life he would have when the girls were grown and he was no longer saddled with Lavonne.
Bentley rode in front of Charles, feeling the greenhorn’s hatred like a cold wind on his back. He kept throwing out little comments meant to wound Charles, tales of other greenhorns who, unable to hunt for food, had perished in the wilderness. Charles didn’t say anything but Bentley could imagine each tale piercing the chucklehead like an arrow point. He could feel his words embed themselves deeply in the lawyer’s tender flesh. He imagined Broadwell riddled with arrows, like a member of the Seventh Cavalry at the Little Big Horn, flayed and tortured and pierced like a pincushion. This mental picture made him so happy that Bentley put his head back and began to sing “Oh Lord, Won’t You Buy Me a Mercedes-Benz.” They were almost to the bottom of the trail, where the trees thinned before breaking into a wide meadow in front of the ranch, when Charles, unable to stand it any longer, burst out, “Are you going to sing, or are we going to ride?”
Bentley reined his horse and turned around in the saddle. Redmon, remembering the trip in the Range Rover, fell suddenly quiet. Leonard fought a rising sense of panic while Big Mama pawed the earth with her hoof, throwing her head up wildly.
“Hey man, I’m draggin’ these sorry-ass mules,” William said, trying to diffuse the situation.
Bentley pushed his hat back on his head. He squinted at Charles, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You saying you want to run back to the ranch, Kemosabe?”
“Sure,” Charles said, gathering his reins. He’d taken dressage in college and he figured he could handle a sway-backed trail pony. “The sooner I get back to the ranch so I can have you fired, the better.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Redmon said.
“Oh dear God, no,” Leonard said.
“Giddyap,” Bentley said, touching his heels to his horse’s belly.
RAMSBOTTOM AND THE girls were sitting out on the front porch drinking beer a
nd watching the sun set behind the distant mountains.
“Just look at that sunset,” Stella said.
“It’s totally awesome,” Tawny said.
“I’m bored,” Cherry Blyss said.
“When do we get to meet the movie stars?” Morganna said.
Ramsbottom had promised them if they cooperated he would take them next door to meet the Enviro Nazi Movie Director and some of his Hollywood friends. “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” he said, running his hand up Morganna’s stockinged leg. “You do something for me, I’ll do something for you.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Morganna said, pouting.
“I’ll bet you have,” Ramsbottom said, turning his head toward the distant fringe of trees. He had heard something.
Stella had heard it, too. “What the hell’s that?” she said.
Ramsbottom grabbed the railing and hauled himself rigidly to his feet. “Stampede,” he said.
They burst through the trees, coming across the field at a dead run like a cavalry charge in a B western, only this time the charge was being led by a crazy Indian. Bentley stood in his stirrups swinging his hat from side to side and yelling like a madman. To his right William rode standing in his stirrups, the mules loosed from their tethers and coming up on either side of him with their packs flopping like corpses. Directly behind him rode Charles Broadwell, his hat gone, the reins loosed, both hands clutching the saddle horn, his face pale and contorted with fear. The fat one rode to his left; his saddle had slipped to the side and he rode perpendicular to the ground like a trick rider, his head inches from Big Mama’s thundering hooves. Redmon brought up the rear. His feet had slipped from the stirrups and he clung to the saddle horn and flopped around like a rag doll, screaming the whole time, his voice echoing down the darkened canyon and spurring his horse to new feats of speed and daring.
They came across the field and veered to the right of the ranch house, Bentley standing in his stirrups and doffing his hat to the girls like Buffalo Bill, William racing up beside him, his hat flattened, his face stretched in a wide grin, enjoying himself. Behind them followed the mules and the other three, still in the saddle by some miracle of God; their horses’ hooves pounding the ground and throwing up great clods of earth. It was a thrilling spectacle worthy of any Wild West Show. The girls jumped to their feet and began to cheer and clap their hands.