by Amy Metz
Araminta stepped forward, twirled around, in model fashion, and stepped back.
Lou put her hand up to the side of her mouth and whispered to Tess, “She looks like she made an ugly pie and ate every slice!” Jack leaned in, and Tess whispered Lou’s line to him.
“Cornelia Crump,” the mayor said into the microphone. Cornelia proceeded to step up and twirl.
“Land sakes, she can’t help that she’s ugly, but she could've stayed home,” Lou whispered.
“Julia Cole,” was the next contestant called. She stumbled a bit as she stepped forward.
“Bless her heart,” Lou said, “She’s so tall if she falls down she’ll be halfway home.”
By now, Jack was leaning over Tess’s lap so he could hear Lou’s commentary straight from her, since Tess had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud.
“Nellie Baker.”
“Mmm mmm, look at her.” Lou shook her head. “She’s so buck-toothed she could eat an apple through a picket fence.”
“And last but not least, Frona Walker.”
“Aw, it’s not right to say what I thank a poor Frona, bless her heart.”
“Lou, you can’t stop now! This is the last one!” Tess begged.
Lou took a deep breath, put her hand up to partially cover her mouth, and whispered, “She's so ugly they had to tie a pork chop around her neck to get the dog to play with her.”
“And the winner is . . . Julia Cole!”
Lou leaned over Tess’s lap and whispered, “I know Julia’s mama is happy. That child was so ugly when she was born, her mama used to borrow a baby to take to church on Sunday.”
“Lou, you outdid yourself this year. Excellent commentary.” Jack patted her on the back, as the audience dispersed.
“I don’t understand,” Tess said, confused. “Why aren’t these women more . . . ‘beauty queen-like?’”
“Well, now see, there’s your problem. You’re thinkin’ Miss Goose Pimple Junction’s a beauty contest. No, honey. This contest idn’t about how you look, it’s about who you know. Social prestige and power. That’s why I don’t mind makin’ fun of the girls. There’s not a one was in it on account of their beauty or brains or talent. It’s all just a crock a . . . “
“Mama!” Martha Maye interrupted. “Little pitchers have big ears.” She hitched her head toward Butterbean.
“Oh yeah, sorry, honey. Anyway, it’s all in good fun. Well,” she said, looking behind Martha Maye. “Hidee, Henry Clay. I figured you’d be around.”
Henry Clay Price had quietly walked up to the group and was standing right behind Martha Maye. He had a wide smile on his face and a campaign button on his shirt that said, “Henry Clay Price for Governor.” Martha Maye turned, saw him, and promptly wrapped him in a friendly hug.
“Henry Clay! How long’s it been? It’s so great to see you!”
His face turned bright red, but he looked extremely pleased to see Martha Maye, too. “What are you doin’ here, Martha?”
Lou jumped in and said, “It’s nice to see you Henry, but we’us just headed up to the watermelon seed spittin’ contest. Martha Maye, you and Butterbean, are comin’, too, ain’tcha?”
“Mama, y’all take Butterbean and gwon ahead, I’ll catch up dreckly. I wanna talk ta Henry Clay a minute.”
They all strolled off, leaving Martha Maye and Henry Clay behind. As they walked, Lou brought Tess and Jack up to date on her daughter and Henry.
“Martha Maye and Henry Clay—idn’t that cute how that rhymes!” She shook her head. “Anyway, they grew up together. He’s been sweet on her, long’s I can recollect. They even dated, against my better judgment, the summer she was home before her last year in college. But it was right about then that she met Lenny, and he swept her off her feet and away from Henry Clay.”
“Did Henry Clay ever marry?” Tess asked.
“Oh, yeah. But his wife ran off with the mailman. Or somethin’ like that. I think it broke his heart when Martha Maye got married, and he married on the rebound. You wanna hear a funny story about your mama?” She looked down at Butterbean, who nodded her head. “When they were in junior high skule, Henry Clay came up to her one day, out on our driveway. He handed her a note that said, “Will you be my girlfriend?” Well, she didn’t know what to do, so she said, ‘Wait a minute, I gotta go ask my mama.’ And in the house she ran. She asked me what she should do. I told her to tell him she already had a boyfriend. So she went runnin’ back out and told poor ol’ Henry Clay, ‘My mama said I’m already seein’ somebody and I can’t see two boys at once.’”
Everyone laughed at Lou’s story, and Tess said, “He seems like a nice enough fellow.”
“Henry Clay’s a banker, aspirin’ to be the gov’nor. He’s made a good livin’ for hisself. He just worries me a little about gettin’ on with Mart. He’s a nice boy, but he don’t have the sense God gave a chigger. He’s got too much book-smarts, and not enough common sense. And he’s a typical politician.” She stopped and looked at her granddaughter. “Buttabean, you wont a sno-cone? Here,” she gave the girl some money, “go gitcherself one. It’s hotter ‘n a fritter out here.”
Just as Butterbean skipped away, Buck strode up to their group. “And a marvelous fourth of Joo-lye to y’all.”
After a brief chat, Buck moved on, but Tess was surprised at Lou’s comment: “Beauty's only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way to the bone.” She sounded meaner than Tess thought was possible of Lou. “I don’t have much use for him. He don’t have a lick a sense either.”
Then, just as soon as the cloud had come on her face, she brightened again, as Butterbean rejoined them, sipping on a blueberry sno-cone. “Let’s stop by and take a look-see at the bakin’ contest. They shouldoughtta have the winners by now.”
They went to look at the myriad display of baked goods. Lou didn’t know that Tess had entered her apple pie. When she saw Tess’s name next to the blue ribbon she exclaimed, “Well butter my butt, and call me a biscuit!”
“I won?” Tess asked, a bit shocked. A big smile came over her face, reality sinking in. “I won!”
“And look here, Granny, your peanut butter cookies won, too!” Butterbean said, with a blue mouth.
“And your fudge,” Jack said, moving down the line, “And your coconut cake, Lou. You two gals cleaned up!”
After reveling in their victories, they watched Clive and Earl battle it out in the watermelon seed spitting contest, with Earl being the victor. The next event was one for fathers and daughters.
“Whatta ya say, Butterbean? Wanna sneak in with me?” Jack asked.
They watched as all of the fathers in town, and Jack as a substitute father, donned goggles and had their faces lathered with shaving cream. The children were given squirt guns, and at the count of three, the race was on to see who would be the first to squirt their daddy’s face clean. Jack and Butterbean didn’t win, but they had a ball.
Just as Jack predicted, as they made their way through the crowd that day, all of the ladies fawned over him. Tess was introduced over and over again to some women who were clearly jealous and others who were glad to see him “with such a nice girl.”
At dusk, Jack grabbed Tess’s hand and led her away from the heart of town and the crowd of people, to a grassy hill where they’d be able to watch the fireworks alone. Tess protested, but Jack was persistent. She wasn’t sure the other night had been a good idea. Maybe she’d let her guard down because of the martini, but she wanted to keep her distance from Jack now. There was still that matter of him cheating on his wife.
“Jack! What are you doing?” Tess towered over him, as he settled onto the cool grass at the very top of the hill. Lying down, he put his hands behind his head and scowled up at her.
“I do believe you could start an argument in an empty house, Mary Tess!”
“Jack, what are we doing up here? People will think we’re being anti-social.”
“You wanted to spend time alone with me,” he said, g
rinning and looking up at the sky.
“What?” she screeched.
“Well that’s what you said . . . “
“I said no such thing and you know it!”
“Oh, maybe it was me who wanted to spend time alone with you,” then he grinned, reaching out to pat the grass beside him. “Come on in. The water’s fine.”
“Jackson Wright! I can’t believe . . . “
“Shh, shh . . . now just simmer down. Stop arguin’ and relax.” He looked up at her. “Please?”
Nothing was said as she sat down next to him, bringing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.
“How’s the book comin’?” He sat up on one elbow and looked at her.
“I haven’t had much time to work on it lately. Between working at the bookstore and researching Lou’s family . . . “
“Hey! I meant to ask. Did you look any further online? Did you find anything?”
“Yes and no.”
“Yes and no?”
“Yes, I looked, and no, I didn’t find anything,” she explained.
“Dang.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s our next move?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Well, do you still think we shouldn’t approach Lou about it?”
“Yes, I have a hunch it’s still too painful for her even all these years later.”
“Okay, maybe we could discreetly talk to Martha Maye. She might know somethin’.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said, genuinely enthused.
“Yep, I’m full of good ideas.” He moved closer to her.
Does A Fat Kid Like Cake?
lilac: verb lahy-lak lie like
You lilac a dirty cur dog!
[ 1937 ]
The mosquitoes and fireflies were thick on the hot July evening when Trevor Hobb sauntered up his sister-in-law’s front walk. She sat on her porch swing, trying to stay cool, breathing in the sweet scent of honeysuckle and watching her children. The sun had set long ago, and all was quiet except for the cadence of the crickets and the squeals of her children in the yard as they tried to catch lightning bugs. Maye watched the tiny spurts of light flash throughout the pitch-black yard and was in such a reverie she wasn’t aware of Trevor’s presence until he’d been there for several minutes. Hearing him swat a mosquito, she turned her head and found him leaning against the porch column, silently watching her.
“Trevor!” she said, startled. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Sorry to scare you, Maye.” He came up on the porch and sat down beside her. “The kids sound like they’re havin’ fun.”
“The simple joys of life. A summer evenin’, catchin’ fireflies,” she said wistfully.
Trevor reached out for her hand. She pulled it away from him and asked, “Would you like a refreshment? I have some lemonade and cookies in the kitchen. Are you hungry? I can get somethin’ out of the ice box.”
“You’re my simple pleasure, Mayepie. But I don’t get you. You run hot and cold on me. Why are you fightin’ me now? You know I’m crazy ‘bout you.”
“Trevor, you and I can’t be. We just can’t. Please get that through your head.”
“You don’t mean that, Maye. I know ya don’t. I know I didn’t have a chance when John was alive, but now that he’s gone, let me take care of you and the kids. Let me make you happy again. I want ta marry you.”
“That’s impossible, Trevor. Don’t talk like that.” Maye got up and walked across the porch.
“It’s not impossible. I know you want me. I’ve been comin’ to your house for over a year now, and you haven’t discouraged me one iota. You know how I feel ‘bout you. I have always loved you. I always will.”
“Trevor! Don’t talk that way! You’re a married man!”
“I’ll get a divorce. Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll divorce Billie Jane, and you and I will be together. Say yes, Maye. Say yes. Be mine.” He was down on his knees in front of her, all but begging. “Marry me.” He clutched her hand.
“Trevor, stand up, the children will see you!” She pulled away.
“I don’t care who sees me. I don’t care who knows I love you, Maye. Do you hear me? I love you.”
“I cannot marry you, Trevor. I cannot.”
Trevor stood up. In the dim light, Maye couldn’t see the hurt and anger in his eyes. He ran his hands through his hair and looked out at the carefree scene in the yard. The children sounded so happy. And he was so miserable.
“Is it someone else? Is that it?” Maye didn’t answer.
“I won’t let you marry someone else, Maye,” he said in almost a whisper.
“Don’t talk like that! You don’t have any say in who I marry.”
“I do, and I won’t allow it, Maye. I’ll kill both you and the man before I’ll allow you to marry anyone else.”
[ July 2010 ]
A few days after the Fourth of July celebration, Tess and Jack had arranged to meet Martha Maye at Slick & Junebug’s Diner. Tess walked over after work and arrived first. Clive and Earl, who seemed to have grown roots from their butts into the stools at the diner, greeted her.
“Is it hot enough for you, gentlemen?”
“I don’t know about the weather, but you, missy, are definitely hot enough for me!” Clive said, with a sparkle in his eye.
“Forget it, Clive, she likes me better, don’t ya, Tess?” Earl flashed a toothless smile.
“Oh, you two! You sure know how to make a girl’s day!” Tess patted them both on the back as she slid past them. “Hey, Slick!” She waved at Slick behind the window, working in the kitchen.
“Hey, Mizz Tess! Junebug’ll be right out in a jiffy.”
Tess heard Clive say, “You’re nuttier ‘n a squirrel turd if you think that purty lady would be interested in you.”
She laughed to herself and headed for a table, settling into a booth in the back. She sat back and looked around the room. A couple of teenagers sat at a booth sipping milk shakes. An older gentleman sat by himself, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. And Clive and Earl cackled at the counter. It was late afternoon; the dinnertime rush would start soon. Through the window, she saw Jack crossing the street, and she quickly checked her compact mirror to make sure she had on enough lipstick. Jack stopped for some good-natured ribbing with Clive and Earl and then he headed to Tess’s table.
“’Scuse me, madam, is anyone sitting here?” He flashed that dazzling smile of his.
“Well, actually, I was hoping a handsome man would fill that seat, but you can sit there while I wait.” She smiled innocently.
Jack made a show of clutching his heart. “Tess! You wound me!”
“Somehow, I think you’ll survive.” Her eyes went to the door where Martha Maye had just entered. She managed to get past Clive and Earl without too much commotion.
Pickle came in right behind her, and the men were busy teasing him about his shirt that said, “Ninja Cleverly Disguised As A Physicist.”
“Hey, y’all!” Martha Maye said, coming toward them. Ever the gentleman, Jack got up to greet her and moved to sit next to Tess, allowing Martha Maye to take his place. They all settled in. Jack’s thigh nudged Tess’s. She pretended not to notice.
“It was so nice of y’all to invite me out. I left Butterbean with Mama at the shop, so I cain’t stay long, but it’s nice to be out with grownups for a change!”
Junebug appeared from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. Taking the pencil from behind her ear, she said, “Here’s all my little chickies, home to roost!”
Jack hollered toward the kitchen, “Slick! Watch out! Junie’s bun is on top of her head today!”
Junebug pointed her pencil at Jack. “That’s gonna cost ya, mister. Whatever you’re gonna order—we’re out of it.” She turned to Tess. “Let’s see . . . I’ll bet you want sweet tea with a lemon.”
“And lots of ice, please.”
“
Check,” Junebug said. “We’re gonna turn you into GRITS, yet.”
“Pardon me?”
“Girl Raised In the South,” Martha explained. “Sweet tea for me too, please, Junebug, and no lemon.”
Junebug started to walk away, and Jack hollered, “Hey! What about me?”
“I done told ya,” she called back. “We’re out of it.”
“Out of what?” he asked in mock disbelief.
“Whatever it is you want.” She turned her head briefly to flash a cheesy grin at him. Then she hollered into the kitchen, “Two sweeties with lots of hail and sour one.”
A few minutes later, Slick came out of the kitchen with an order of fried green tomatoes and a glass of sweet tea, which he sat down in front of Jack. “’S’on the house,” he deadpanned, before walking away.
Jack got right to business.
“The pleasure of baskin’ in your lovely company was just one of the reasons why we asked you here, Martha Maye.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up.
“Tess and I heard about, and subsequently have been researching, the murder of your grandfather. We think it’s a helluva story, and I’m considering using it in my next book. But there are holes all over the place. We think it’s a sore subject for your mom, so we thought we’d ask you . . . “ Jack didn’t know how to continue.
“Oh, you’re right. Mama won’t talk about that.” Martha Maye sat back from the table.
“Do you think she’ll mind if I write about it?”
“Does a fat kid like cake?”
“Ah, criminy. What if I helped solve the murder?”
“Jack, she doesn’t want it solved.”
“Why on earth not?”
“She has her reasons, bless her heart.”
“Well . . . how much do you know about what happened back then?” Jack asked.
“I never knew him, of course, so it’s not a sensitive subject for me like it is for Mama. And I never heard much, because she was so little at the time she hardly remembers, and what she does remember is painful. What do you want to know?”