Six of One

by Rita Mae Brown

  "Last stop." Julia hurried out.

  Louise waited in the car. Under the streetlight she noticed a white arm resting on a steering wheel. A puff of blue smoke curled from the window. She could make out, barely, a wide maroon tie with a silver moon on it. Lovers, she thought, indignant. How can people allow themselves to be seen in such surroundings? The shadowy form on the side of the car away from the light was leaning over talking to the driver.

  Julia skipped out, glad the work was over. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

  "I still don't approve."

  "I know. Thanks for coming along."

  Louise rolled off the crossroads and pointed toward home. She asked Julia about the false license plates on the car.

  "That's in case anyone gets nosy."

  "Government agents?"

  "Yeah, but hijackers are more trouble."

  A few minutes down the road, Louise looked into the rear-view mirror. "I think that car is following us."

  Julia twisted around to see it. "Well, step on it, and if they speed up, too, then we know we're tailed."

  Louise fed the car a little gas. The other car, which was about half a football field's length away, picked up as well.

  "Damn!" Juts cursed.

  "We're being followed. Federal men. I'm giving myself up. I'm no bootlegger. You talked me into this, Julia."

  "In for a penny, in for a pound."

  This fired Louise. She tromped on the pedal. "Look neither to the left of you nor to the right."

  "For Christ's sake. All they can see is the back of our heads."

  "Yes, but if we gawk we'll look guilty."

  "Speeding is worse. Besides, we are guilty."

  Louise winced. The car was gaining.

  "Damn thing must be souped up. Step on it!"

  "Don't tell me how to drive. You're the one who tore out the front porch—remember?"

  "This is not the time for that."

  "Well, you watch your mouth."

  "They're catching up! Faster!"

  "It's floored."

  "Shit."

  "I wish you wouldn't be vulgar."

  "Good God, Louise, this is no time to act like a lady."

  "Carlotta Van Dusen always said—"

  Julia interrupted her. "Up ahead, turn left."

  "That's a dirt road." Louise was reluctant.

  "I know where it goes," Julia commanded.

  "How do you know that?" Even tearing down the road full blast, Louise couldn't imagine anyone knowing more than herself.

  "Me and Chessy used to park there before we were married."

  "Juts!" Scandal ran riot on Louise's face.

  "Turn!"

  Louise slowed the car, stuck out her left arm and hung a sharp left.

  "You don't need to signal," Julia exploded.

  "Shut up. I'm driving this car."

  Potholes nearly rattled their teeth out of their arguing mouths. Stones flew up and scratched the paint job. Louise was screaming her pin-curled head off.

  Julia outshouted her. "Now turn hard right!"

  The damn car took that on two wheels.

  "Now turn your lights out, Louise," Julia barked. "Not the motor, too. Oh, Christ."

  "It's too late now. No use crying over spilled milk."

  The pursuing car roared by. They could feel the wind rock their black car. The Feds or hijackers flew onto a little dock and off into the river. They never saw it coming. Louise and Juts could hear the men shout when airborne. The loud splash garbled the rest.

  "We killed them. Oh, Hail Mary, full of grace."

  "We'll be lucky if they are dead. Come on, we've got to get out of here." Julia kept a cool head.

  "It's my Christian duty to save them."

  "Your Christian duty might get you ten years or a fine."

  "A fine?" This hit harder than the threat of jail.

  "Yes. Now move it."

  "It won't start." Louise's voice dropped to her shoes in despair.

  Not wasting time to talk, Julia bolted out of the car.

  "Don't leave me," Louise pleaded.

  "Put 'er in neutral."

  Julia pushed the front end with all her might and the car edged back onto the dirt road. She could hear the men bitching in the river. One was wiggling out the car window, no easy task since he had a belly on him. The other one was yelling, "Keep your weapon above water."

  The fatter one spat back, "Weapon, hell—my head!"

  Louise prayed, "Dear Lord, if you start this car I promise never to cheat on my income tax again." In case that wasn't good enough, she continued, oblivious to the fact that Julia, now behind her, was pushing like hell to get up speed: "Dear Heavenly Father, I know I am an unworthy soul. I am a sinful creature. If you start this car I promise to set one of my girls on the path to a religious life. A nun, Sister—"

  "Pop 'er in second," Julia ordered.

  Still in communication with higher powers, Louise decided to go whole hog. She called on Jesus and the Virgin Mary. She also rattled off a host of saints.

  "Louise, if the Lord's as good as you say, he'll hear you if you pray silently. Now pay attention."

  "What?"

  "Pop the gear into second. When I yell 'Now.'"

  "They're screaming out there like cats caught in the rain."

  "Did you hear me?"

  "Yes."

  One of the men was swimming toward the dock. Another two minutes and he'd make it. He had his pistol over his head. Julia ran her legs off. The car jostled, but gathered steam.

  "Now!"

  Louise, all concentration, popped it into second gear and heard a sound more beautiful than the gurgle of her firstborn on the morning of her arrival. The motor started. Louise completely forgot Juts and started down the road.

  Juts pumped after her. Her heels had broken off while she pushed the car, so she winced at every thud. "Wait up, goddammit. Wait up or I'll kick your ass into next week!"

  A shot slugged a tree to Julia's right. That spurred Juts. She was drawing close to the car. Louise turned to see her and remembered her sister. She screeched to a halt. Julia leapt onto the running board and hooked her left arm on the window. "Step on it."

  "Julia, get in this car. You'll catch your death of cold."

  Another shot ripped off the outside mirror. Louise jammed the gas pedal. Julia hung on for dear life. Down the dirt road the old black car thundered. Louise slowed slightly, then hit the paved road and jetted left. Five miles later, she stopped and Julia got into the car.

  "Are you all right?" Louise's face trembled.

  "Yes. Listen, Wheezie, I think we'd better get off the road for a while. Go down by Bumba Duckworth's. We aren't far."

  "Good idea."

  Louise guided the car onto another winding dirt road. Then she doused the lights but let the motor purr. Julia quickly changed the license plates, then got back in the car and slumped on the seat.

  "I thought you were leaving me there to get shot." Julia started laughing.

  "Never. You're my little sister."

  "Then how come you left your little sister down the road?"

  "I slowed."

  "Thank God for that." Julia unstrapped the Scotch from her thighs. They'd forgotten that delivery. She opened the cap and swallowed a mouthful. "I broke a world record tonight. Running with Scotch on the legs."

  "Julia, you shouldn't drink in public."

  Juts swallowed another mouthful in great relief, then readied to pitch the contents out the window. At this point she didn't give a damn about the customer.

  Louise grabbed her arm. "You have a contract to honor."

  Julia stared at her, unbelieving. Louise looked to the right, left and behind her. Then she took the Scotch from her sister's hand and treated herself to a much needed gulp.

  "For medicinal purposes only."

  "Yeah, that's what I always say," Julia quipped.

  The two collapsed, laughing. Narrowly missing danger makes life all the sweeter.
Their laughter was golden. A loud noise in front of the car cut short their hilarity. Louise's eyes outgrew her face.

  "What's that?" Juts jumped next to her sister and held her. The two of them clung to each other like children. The noise came closer. A large something lurched in front of the car. If there's going to be a monster, better to have the car lights on than be devoured in the dark. Louise flicked the lights on.

  "A cow!" Julia breathed.

  "See—I told you it wasn't anything."

  "You were too scared to talk!" Julia started laughing again.

  The two sisters sat next to the cow pasture until sunup. They were full as ticks before finally getting home.

  Bidding Louise good-bye, Julia slurred her words. "You know, Sis, I been thinking—we're like fried eggs in a pan, separate but together."

  July 28, 1932

  "Fm suffering the pangs of overrequited love," Fannie moaned.

  "Who?" Celeste asked.

  "Hans, the bouncer."

  "He's rather handsome."

  "Yes, for a man his age. He's forty, you know." Fannie waved as a familiar customer walked by.

  "You're fifty-five."

  "So what? I like my men median age twenty-five."

  "That's silly."

  Ignoring her, Fannie said, "After twenty-five, some of them grow up. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a mature man. I might have to talk to him."

  "You're impossible."

  "No; I have nothing to say."

  "Are you going to ditch him?"

  "Not unless Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. comes along."

  "What's wrong with Senior?"

  "He's too old."

  "Oh, yes, I forgot."

  "I do like Hans."

  "Fannie, Fm sure after exhausting all other alternatives you'll behave reasonably."

  Sans Souci did a modest business during the week. Weekends were big. After paying staff, the cook and a small live band, Fannie kept her head above water. Gone were the days of careless money, but she had never been happier. The jewel-encrusted exterior of La Squandra sisters was not her style anyway. Fannie, at long last, was her own woman and she was in her glory.

  She had kept most of her furniture but cleared out the ballroom, making it a real dance palace. Her house was one of those gargantuan extravagances with a balcony for an orchestra. Understanding the gentle arts needed for persuasion, she built a raised small stage in the ballroom for the band and used the balcony for very private couples. Sans Souci had the reputation of a place of taste, snappy conversation and good fun.

  "I must say, Spotty is coming along nicely." Fannie switched ploys. "I can't believe she's twelve. She's as tall as I am. You and Ramelle did a good job with that child."

  "Don't forget Curtis."

  "Him, too. How's he doing?"

  "Making money hand over fist. He says himself that it's insane. He's producing pictures full-time now. It might be a depression, but people are going to the movies."

  "Escape."

  "Perhaps."

  "Where's Ramelle?"

  "At the movies seeing Curtis's latest."

  "I got a letter from Fairy today and she's pissed at you." Fannie nibbled a pretzel.

  "Whatever for?" Celeste feigned ignorance.

  "You know perfectly well what for."

  "I got tired of her lectures, that's all."

  "Um-hum."

  "Is she really mad because I wrote her 'I don't do anything but I do it better than anyone else'?"

  "Mad! Not only do you not show proper revolutionary spirit; she thinks you're hopeless."

  "That's a good sign."

  Fannie giggled. "She does drag on about majority rule."

  "Dictatorship of the proletariat is not always majority rule."

  "What's wrong with majority rule? If it's good enough for America, it's good enough for Germany."

  "Majority rule presented us with prohibition," Celeste reminded her.

  "That's just what I said. Everything's wrong with majority rule." Fannie ate another pretzel.

  "Selfish. Give me one of those."

  "Sorry." Fannie shoved the pretzel bowl toward Celeste. "Who do you think makes up the majority in America?"

  "The dead. They outnumber the living in every nation." Celeste crunched a hard beer pretzel between her strong teeth.

  "Ha! May I steal that? I must write it to Fairy."

  "As far as I can tell, a great many of the dead cast their votes for Herbert Hoover."

  Hans hurried out of Fannie's kitchen. "The cook heard over the radio that Hoover busted up the vets camped in the capital."

  "The Bonus Expeditionary Force? The chaps who fought in the war?" Fannie wanted to get her facts straight.

  "Poor bastards. All they wanted was advance payment on their bonus. Hell, it isn't due until 1945. They need to eat now." Hans was upset. He remembered the war all too well.

  "How did Hoover break it up?" Celeste inquired.

  "Got the army to do it," Hans answered.

  "Fire on their comrades? I can't believe it!" Fannie marveled at the betrayal.

  "Who would do such a thing?" Celeste demanded. "Some creep named MacArthur."

  Walking home, Celeste thought about those hungry men in Washington. I'm glad Spottiswood didn't five to see this, she said to herself. She still thought of her brother at least once a day. Time may heal the wound but it doesn't erase the memory. If love is strong, a friend may die but the living one still continues the relationship. Thinking about her brother slowed her gait. She studied the Confederate memorial on the south side of Runnymede Square. Three soldiers fought in the thick of battle. One slumped toward the ground, his hand over a wound in his side. The other Confederate hooked his left arm under him, holding his gun in his right hand. The third man stood upright and kept firing. As those things went, it was a fairly dynamic statue. While Celeste looked up she suddenly realized that the generation that had bled at Manassas, Gettysburg and Vicksburg was passing from the face of the earth.

  May 23, 1980

  At seven in the morning, Julia Ellen and Ev dabbed each other's faces and squealed like kids at the circus. They had to be careful not to make too much noise because Nickel was sound asleep. Ev, appropriately padded, considered which inflammatory garments to put on.

  "How about this gypsy blouse with bear-claw beads?"

  "That's an Orrie Tadia outfit if ever I saw one. Here, try this gathered skirt with a big cinch belt."

  "The skirt's dark purple, the blouse is red."

  "You'll look more like Orrie than Orrie."

  "Thanks a lot. All I need is for this pillow over my behind to slip out while I'm walking up Louise's front drive."

  "We can always start a rumor that Orrie had a miscarriage on the path, just like Pope Joan."

  "Gimme a hand here with this wig, will ya?"

  Juts fiddled with the neon-red wig. Of late Orrie had taken to wearing a modified pageboy with long pointed ends. When putting on her white gloves and party manners, she fell back on her old standby, a French twist. "Maybe we ought to put this up."

  "No. Orrie reserves that for special occasions. Remember after she first married Noe, she wore her hair like a geisha and stuck chopsticks in it?"

  "I figured an eye operation would follow."

  "Julia!"

  Juts laughed at her own joke while combing Ev’s wig. "That Noe was a good guy. You know, Orrie ain't so bad, neither. She gets all influenced by Louise the Big Cheese. Away from the saint and she's O.K."

  "Yeah, I like Orrie fine. Funny how you miss people who are dead. I was thinking about Chessy and Noe and Pearlie. We had a gang." Ev started singing "Ain't We Got Fun."

  "I miss Mom and Celeste. But you expect older people to die. I never expected any of us to die. God, Ev, now we're older people. Think of it. I'm seventy-five. I bet I ain't got but ten years left."

  "I try not to think about it. You'd better be damned sure these last ten years are going to be worth something," Ev s
aid with conviction.