Six of One

by Rita Mae Brown

  October 20, 1919

  Louise and Orrie covered Cora's kitchen table with the paraphernalia of beautification. Powders, a curling iron, magazines on the improvement of one's looks, small strips of rags for tying the hair—the table staggered underneath their assembled potions.

  "Louise, you are pretty by yourself," was all Cora had to say about it.

  "Ha, she's about as attractive as a bag of soft turds," Juts helpfully noted.

  Cora shook her head and walked out to the garden. "Banty roosters."

  "Shut up, Julia. You are too unsophisticated to understand such proceedings," Louise sniffed.

  "Unsophisticated! I'm smart enough to know you are going out spooning with Pearlie Trumbull tonight."

  "I don't spoon, as you so vulgarly put it."

  "Julia, your sister is too refined for you to figure." Orrie's hair blazed.

  "For your information, little sister, Pearlie is taking me to Hotzapple's restaurant and he's ordering a magnum of champagne before it's too late."

  "Make it a quart," Orrie suggested.

  "What do you mean—too late?" Ev Most asked.

  Tracing the directions for a new hair style with her finger in the magazine, Louise didn't look up. "The government stops all booze come January."

  "That'll kill Fannie Jump Creighton." Juts snickered.

  Louise smiled a bit at her sister's joke.

  Lillian Russell, the ancient cat, scratched herself in the corner. Louise, for Orrie's benefit, intoned, "The cat has fleas," as though to indicate she was appalled at such an event.

  "Bet you gave them to her," Juts said.

  "Why don't you and Ev go outside and help Mother. You're both too young to be with Orrie and me."

  "Yes, and so unsophisticated," Orrie added.

  "I'm not going anywhere and neither is Ev. This is my house."

  Louise turned her back on her. "Then do something useful and go pump some water so I can wash my hair."

  "Pump your own water, Fatass."

  "Chintzy!" Louise snapped.

  "What's that mean?" Ev needed to pin down the insult.

  "Cheap, vulgar." Wheezie dragged out the "vulgar" through her nostrils.

  "All right, I'll pump the water to shut you up. Come on, Ev. Let's prepare the princess's hair."

  As the two younger girls banged the door behind them, Louise rolled her eyes and Orrie put her hand on her hip. Louise felt particularly mature, since she now worked at the millinery counter for the Bon-Ton department store on the square. Orrie worked at the fabrics counter. Millinery was very respectable work, so Louise was pleased with herself.

  "How come you're giving in to Miss Priss?" Ev thumped behind Juts.

  "She wants her ass kicked bad," Julia started in on the pump. Ev held the bucket, not that it needed holding, but it made her feel useful.

  "So why you drawing water for her?"

  "I ain't so dumb. Look." From her apron pocket Julia drew a little packet of blue dye.

  Ev's hand went to her mouth. "Where'd you get that?"

  "Supposed to give it to Celeste on the way down to the flicker."

  "Julia Ellen."

  "Scaredy cat."

  "Well..."

  "You don't have to do anything. I'll put it in the water. Water's supposed to be blue anyway."

  "O.K."

  Julia poured the packet and stirred the contents in the bucket. A wicked smile crept over her face. When the brew mixed to her satisfaction, she carried it inside. Ev stayed behind at a discreet distance. She'd seen Julia and Louise go at each other before and she didn't want to get caught in the middle.

  "Here." Juts slammed the bucket on the table so her sister wouldn't think her too compliant.

  Orrie unpinned Louise's hair. "Thank you, Juts."

  Louise bent over the basin while Orrie poured water on her hair and then a lotion. She massaged her scalp. At first she didn't notice anything. Julia edged for the door. Orrie glanced at her hands, a parrot shade of blue.

  "Ack!" She held her hands up to the light.

  Louise, doubled over, couldn't see. "Orrie, what's wrong?"

  "Blue—my hands are blue."

  "Gimme a towel. No, wait—first rinse this stuff out of my hair."

  Orrie poured the water over Louise's hair. Not only was her hair a mysterious shade, but those parts of her skin touched by the dye reflected the blue quite nicely. She looked like an Indian who'd lost his touch with war paint.

  "Louise!" Orrie gasped.

  Louise raced for the mirror, while Julia and Ev hit the door. "I'm blue! That bitch turned me blue. I'll never be able to face Pearlie. What'll I do?"

  A born soother, Orrie patted her on the back. "There, there, Louise, sit still. I'll get some more water and maybe we can wash this out."

  Her scalp rubbed nearly raw one hour later, Louise bore faint blue traces but the worst was over.

  "That's some improvement. If the restaurant's dark maybe he won't notice."

  "Men are sort of dumb that way, Wheezie. Don't worry. He'll think you're beautiful if you wear a gunny-sack."

  "Thanks, Orrie. If it takes me the rest of my life I’ll get even with that brat." She grabbed the curling iron and headed for the stove.

  Cora came back in and placed the last of the squash on a chair, since Louise commanded the whole table. "Your sister flew out of here."

  "She put dye in my hair water."

  Cora threw her head back and roared.

  "I don't think it's so funny, Mother. How'd you like it if your hair was blue."

  "Better blue than bald." Cora couldn't help but enjoy Julia's pranks. You couldn't stay mad at the girl no matter what she pulled.

  A savage gleam shone in Louise's eye. Orrie, noticing her sudden resolve, said, "No."

  "Yes," Louise answered.

  Cora, unaware of the heinous plan just hatched, said, "Oh, come on, Louise, forgive and forget. After all, she's younger than you are and full of the devil."

  "I already forgot."

  October 21, 1919

  "Darling, I'm pregnant," Ramelle stated firmly over her after-dinner cup of tea.

  Celeste, without batting an eye, replied, "I'm too young to be a father."

  "You are impossible and wonderful."

  "I'm happy if you're happy. Do you want the baby?"

  "Yes, I do. Tm a bit old."

  "Thirty-five is hardly doddering. Have you seen the doctor?"

  "Yes. I suspected it, but today my suspicions were confirmed."

  "If it's a boy we name him Spottiswood, and if it's a girl we name her Spottiswood."

  "Celeste, I'm doing all the work here, I get to name the baby."

  "What do you mean? I have to go through morning sickness and the intricacies of your plumbing. Surely that entitles me to at least a middle name."

  "Perhaps."

  "If you do successfully reproduce yourself, what are you going to name the baby?"

  "Spottiswood." Ramelle smiled.

  "I adore you."

  "I haven't written Curtis, but I will. I'm afraid this will fire up his marriage dream."

  "Do you think you should get married now?"

  "No."

  "I want you to know, Ramelle Bowman, I will not have disgrace, scandal or wasps brought into this house."

  "Does that mean you want me to get married?" Ramelle was incredulous.

  "No, we'll simply tell everyone a star is rising in the east."

  Cora quietly came in to clear the plates. The cook had taken the day off, so she did double duty.

  "Cora, wonderful news. Ramelle is going to have a baby." Celeste beamed.

  Cora kissed the blond mother-to-be on the cheek and pressed her head against her large bosom. "Honey, I am so glad. Having children keeps you young."

  Blushing but arrogant, Celeste bragged, "Didn't think I could do it, did you?"

  "Celeste, sugar, I don't put anything past you."

  "If you go around taking credit for this, I'll name the
child Aloysius. If it's a girl I'll dub her Carlotta."

  In mock horror, Celeste glanced upward at Cora. "No, no, a thousand times no." She confessed. "Curtis was the lucky man,"

  Pouring more tea, Cora nodded. "Uh-hum!"

  "I hate you! I hate you!" A scream echoed from the back of the house.

  The door swung open and a tearful, half-shorn Julia Ellen presented herself. Lurking way in the back, Louise and Orrie could be spied.

  "Mother, she cut my hair off!"

  "Julia, you look perfectly awful," Celeste blurted out.

  "Louise Hunsenmeir, get in here!" Cora's voice rang with authority.

  Louise minced in, not the least bit guilty. "She had it coming, Mother."

  "God, you girls don't give me a minute's peace."

  "Children keep you young, Cora." Celeste struggled to keep from laughing in Juts' miserable face.

  "I take it back. Look at these gray hairs."

  "She dyed my hair blue yesterday. Now we're even."

  "You think! Just wait," Julia threatened. "That's not all. You should see Ev Most. All her little curls are laying over Runnymede Square."

  "Your partner in crime." Louise folded her arms triumphantly across her breasts.

  "Orrie Tadia, is that you back there by the icebox?" Cora called to her.

  "Yes, Mrs. Hunsenmeir."

  "You a party to this?"

  "Yes'm."

  "Some Christian you are," Cora accused Louise. "It ain't bad enough you near shave your sister, you drag Orrie in on it, too."

  "I'm not apologizing, Mother. She deserved it."

  "Yes, well, you can just go on and get out of here before I bat you one."

  Louise and Orrie hurried for the back door. Ramelle took pity on Julia. "Let me see if I can fix this mess. Bobbed hair is coming in style."

  "Good idea." Celeste hopped up to get a fashion magazine.

  All three women fussed over Julia until satisfied. She emerged with a close-cut bob that suited her very well. Celeste gave her a cloche hat, and Juts became an instant fashion plate. She was the first young woman in Runnymede to have her hair bobbed. Thanks to her sister's vindictiveness, Julia gained a reputation for being slightly ahead of her time, a reputation she was to keep into old age.

  February 2, 1920

  As Ramelle grew bigger, Celeste thought more and more about being a mother or mother number two. She wondered if she could behave responsibly; she feared she'd prove a dismal parent. Grace Pettibone had sent her new books by a Viennese doctor. Such dark theories about childhood sexuality made her feel worse. Cora set her right by telling her, "You do the best you can and leave the rest in the hands of the Lord." Celeste wasn't too sure about leaving anything in the hands of the Lord, but the obsession with creating the perfect environment for the newborn gradually faded. She resigned herself to making mistakes like any other human.

  Carlotta, upon nosing out Ramelle's condition, stepped up her weekly efforts to save souls, most especially the unborn's soul. When Celeste would no longer speak to her on the telephone, she resorted to writing epistles, imagining herself a female Saint Paul, and equally as dour. Despite La Sermonetta's efforts to align herself with Brutus, both Celeste and Curtis would not allow the war monument to be dedicated to Spottiswood. Rife and Carlotta got around them by having the bronze soldier look like Spottiswood although the statue did not bear his name. This proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back. Celeste no longer imagined there was justice in the world, but she seriously wondered where the line between society and individual conscience was drawn. Brutus Rife had personally killed one man, had paid to put others away, silently backed the Order of the White Camellia and held a large portion of Runnymede's population by the balls. And no one did anything. Celeste asked herself why she did nothing. The man was evil. Perhaps society could tolerate evil if it was rich enough and put on a conventional face, but could she?

  The back door opened and closed. Books slammed on the kitchen table. A spirited conversation intruded into Celeste's library retreat. She got out of her wing-back chair and headed for the noise.

  "I'm not taking any more dumb Latin. What do I care if Caesar came and saw and conquered? He wound up good and dead." Julia pouted.

  "You take what you're supposed to," Cora told her.

  "You didn't even go to second grade, so—"

  "That's why I'm telling you to finish up. 'Cause I know how important reading and writing is."

  "Latin ain't reading and writing. It's boring."

  Celeste entered the room. "Latin might not seem important now, but as you grow older you'll understand how valuable it is."

  "Everyone says that about everything. I'm tired of sitting in a seat. I want to go out and be making money. Latin's no good there."

  "Julia, you'll be fifteen come March. Then let's talk about it." Cora looked out the kitchen window. The snow swirled and the sky looked a peculiar yellow. "Funny," she said.

  "Yes, it almost looks like a thunderstorm," Celeste agreed.

  A flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder confirmed their forecast..

  "A thundersnow!" Julia raced to the window.

  "Cora, did you ever see anything like it?"

  "Once, years ago."

  "Is Ramelle upstairs?" Celeste wondered.

  "Taking a cat nap, but this thunder will wake her for sure."

  "I'm going out for a short while. If she does wake up, tell her I'll be back for dinner."

  "You can't go out in this."

  "It's such a rare event I don't want to miss it."

  "Miss Chalfonte, can I go with you?"

  "No, Juts. I want the lightning all for myself." Celeste hurried into the front hall, put on a heavy coat, her boots, went into her study and threw something in her pocket and was out the door before Cora or Jutts could think of other reasons why she should stay inside.

  Celeste could barely see her hand in front of her face. The snow swallowed up her footsteps and the thunder cast an eerie spell over the once familiar . town. Playing a long shot, Celeste headed for a row of office buildings a block off the north side of the square. The weather slowed her. It took a half hour to make the ten-minute walk. No one was on the streets, or if they were there, the snow obscured them from view. Celeste ducked into the building. A light shone in the hallway. Sweating under the heavy coat, she opened the door to the office. "Rife and Sons," in a semicircle, graced the glass part of the door. No one was in the office. She wondered if they had all left early, fearing a blizzard. Oddly disappointed, she stood in the foyer. A sound from behind a private office door alerted her. She walked over to it and knocked.

  "Who is it?" It was Brutus.

  "Celeste Chalfonte."

  Quick steps, the door opened, and a very surprised Brutus greeted her. "Miss Chalfonte, what are you doing here?"

  "The blizzard caught me. I ducked in the front door and noticed it was your office. I'm sorry to disturb you."

  "Please come in. Won't you take your coat off?"

  "No, thank you. I'll take it off in a moment. I'm still quite cold."

  His eyes glittered. He moved a heavy seat over for her to sit down and pulled a wooden office chair close to it so he could breathe in her face. Her beauty held him as it did twenty years before.

  "Now that I'm here I want to ask you something." Celeste stared at him.

  "What?"

  "Brutus, do you realize what you're doing is wrong?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Celeste."

  "Then allow me to speak of the few things I know about. God knows what I don't know."

  Brutus shifted in his seat. Honesty held little appeal for him. Why should Celeste bother?

  "You probably killed Hans Zepp many years ago. You certainly ordered Aimes Rankin out of this world. You purchase congressmen like cigars. You hold I don't know how many second mortgages and foreclose with a missed payment. You buy what you can and who you can. Anyone who resists is run into the gro
und."

  "Do you expect me to sit here for this?" He shifted as though to stand up.

  "I want to know if you realize how low you've sunk."