I asked the good Lord to forgive my one white lie, or maybe it was a black one.
Chapter Nine
Sneezing all the way down the footpath that snaked its way through the vacant lot, I felt like a kid playing hooky from school. The guilt I’d felt earlier about writing my daughter’s name down had flown away. I still felt anxious, but excited.
I finally made it to the sidewalk and headed toward Begley Drugs on the corner of Main and Hope. It was only three blocks away, but I was out of breath and sweating like a field hand. It felt like I had already walked the length of South America.
“Charlie, my mind’s writing checks my body can’t cash. Good grief, I’m starting to sound like Alice.”
Just ahead, an old woman holding a broom stepped out of Blind George’s Pool Hall. Her too-thin body was topped by stringy hair that looked like Spanish moss. A cigarette dangled from her mouth. According to Betty Jo, the pool hall was one of Sweetbriar’s eyesores. She had been delighted to sign a petition against it and was sure it was destined for urban renewal.
The woman stopped her vigorous sweeping to let me pass. She leaned on her broom and eyed me up and down.
“Nice day,” I said as I stumbled over a rise in the concrete, pushed upward by large elm roots.
“Gonna be hotter’n hades,” she said before returning to her task. “Humph … nice day my foot.” She stopped sweeping and eyed me again. “Where’d you come from? That house for crazy old people? I’ve heard things about that place. Yes sir, and they ain’t good things neither.”
I was tempted to ask what she’d heard—and to see if the upstairs apartment was still for rent—but hurried on my way instead. I’d stop on my way back to Sweetbriar Manor and maybe by then she would be gone. She was one creepy old woman. When I heard the sound of her broom again, I let out a long breath.
As I passed a store with windows covered by yellowed newspapers, an overhead sign painted with the words Rodeo Rags, creaked from its rusted chain. This was where Charlie and I bought cowboy hats and boots when we decided to take up square dancing. I peeked through a tear in the water-stained paper and saw nothing but darkness. My, how everything changes.
Not two yards ahead, a policeman was arresting an old man, pressing his head down to fit him into the squad car. My heart leaped, and I moved away slowly, trying to act casual. If Prissy missed me and knew I had forged Betty Jo’s name, would she send the law after me?
Gold lettering on the car glimmered in the bright sunlight: Cershaw County Sheriff. The officer was a young man I didn’t recognize. He tipped his hat as he drove away.
“One more block, Charlie. One more block.”
I spotted Begley’s Drugstore on the next corner, trying to hold onto its dignity after a tattoo parlor had moved in upstairs. A neon sign flashed in a darkened window.
Once inside, I dangled my feet from my perch on the soda fountain stool while sipping a cherry coke. Not too many of these old-timey soda fountains left, and I cherished the memories it brought back. Made me feel like a teenager again, waiting to meet Charlie after school. I looked beyond the milk shake machine and pile of bananas and saw a little old woman wearing a straw hat nearly as big as she was. I was shocked to realize that reflection was me.
“What happened to all those years, Charlie?”
A young waitress leaned her big bosom across the counter. “Honey, you want a refill? You just slurpin’ air.”
“No, I’ve got some shopping to do,” I said as I carefully slipped off the stool. “Point me to the Nyquil.”
The pharmacist, old Mr. Watson, spotted me and came rushing over to the candy aisle. “Why hello there, Agnes,” he said loud enough for the whole store to hear. He must have figured anyone wearing a hearing aid was stone deaf. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. You taking that blood pressure medicine Doc ordered?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Heard about the fire. A real shame.”
“Losing my home was more than just a shame,” I said. When he got closer, I lowered my voice. “You sell cigars in this place?”
His voice boomed. “Cigars? Behind the register. Cigarettes too. Just tell Hazel what brand. Betty Jo’s Henry take up smoking?”
“Don’t know. Not living there anymore. We had a mutual dislike for the situation.”
“My, my, you don’t say. Children can be difficult. Yes sir, very difficult.”
Back on the sidewalk and heading toward Sweetbriar Manor, I said to Charlie, “That Sam Watson was nosy as a young man. Now he’s a nosy old fuddy-duddy.”
Hazel had loaded all my purchases into three small paper bags and then laid them in a shopping bag. It felt like a twenty-five-pound bag of potatoes, and my red purse strap cutting into my shoulder didn’t feel much better.
“We’ll be happy to deliver. First time free of charge,” Sam had said.
“No thank you,” I answered three times as he followed me out the door.
The crotchety old woman sweeping the sidewalk was nowhere to be seen. I did agree with her, though, about the temperature and about Sweetbriar Manor being a home for old people—and most of them crazy.
Blind George had his door open. Tacked to it was a tattered sign: Apartment to let.
“To let? I would hope so, Charlie. A place to live has got to have a toilet, even if they don’t know how to spell it. But if I came to live here, would I be jumping from the iron skillet straight into the fire?”
All I could hear was someone playing pool and Fats Domino singing “On Blueberry Hill.” It reminded me of traveling all the way to Greenville on a summer night with the radio blaring, just for a chilidog at the Blue Bonnet Drive-In.
With the heavy bag and my concern for Alice, I was tempted to keep on walking, but curiosity about the upstairs apartment, plus the smell of chili and onions, pulled me inside. Besides, I’d been trying to find out about this place for days.
Out of the cool darkness a big man with a dirty apron approached. “What you doing in here, Granny? You come to play some pool?”
Someone laughed, but I couldn’t see the culprit. I straightened to my full height and shook my finger. “I’ll have you know I’m not your granny. I could play if I wanted to, but I don’t. Came to check out your rental and to get me a chilidog to go—with onions.”
“Well now, Granny, you give me a dollar and twenty-five cents, and I’ll fix you right up with the best dog you ever did eat.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “But let’s go upstairs first. Follow me, little lady.”
He led me out the back door to a narrow flight of stairs. I left my bag from the drugstore at the bottom. After a steep climb we stood on a small landing, barely big enough for the two of us, where he fumbled with a massive ring of keys. He held one up to the light and squinted.
“You come back one day to play a game of pool, and it’s on the house. Be worth every penny to watch. Rent this place, you can play anytime you want. Free. Plus you can order anything from our extensive menu at a discount. Fifteen percent. That’s better than gettin’ honey straight from the honeycomb.” He laughed at his own joke, which caused a coughing fit. My stomach churned as he spit gunk over the railing and into the alley.
George opened the door with one of his big keys, and we stepped inside a small kitchen. It’s yellowed and cracked linoleum floors slanted inward.
Stifling hot air that smelled of stale food smothered with onions, took my breath. “My goodness, Charlie,” was all I could manage.
George threw windows open and turned a fan on high, which did nothing but stir up dust and dirt. Something scampered across the floor to a dark corner.
“Was that a rat?”
“Nah. Little mouse. A cat’ll take care of that.”
“This place have a toilet?”
“Of course. What kinda place do you think this is? Hot and cold water, all you want, is included. Can’t beat that.”
I walked across the living room, stepped into the adjoining bedroom, and peeked into the bathroom that had a tiny sink a
nd a claw-footed tub. Both were stained orange. “How much?”
George stood in front of the fan and didn’t hear me, so I yelled, “How much rent?”
He turned the fan off and began shutting windows. I waited for him outside on the stoop.
“Three hundred and ninety-five dollars, plus electricity. Won’t cost much to heat this place, and there ain’t no air conditioning, as you know.”
We descended the stairs, which I now noticed leaned slightly into the side of the building. We stood in the alley near two overflowing garbage cans. There was no way I could live in this place, but before I could speak, George said, “I’ll catch ya one of these cats, a young one, and you’ll be set. Whatcha say, Granny?”
“You’re a generous man, and I’m sure you’re a good landlord, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
His brows squeezed together like one lumpy caterpillar. “Say whatcha really thinkin’.”
“All right, you asked for it. You couldn’t pay me enough to live here. It’s awful. Worse than awful. Depressing. I’d rather live in the same room with my daughter than here.”
This time the brows lifted. “Maybe I could fix it up a little.”
“Take more than a little.”
He laughed hard, coughed, and spit into the gutter. “You’ll come back sometime? Play some pool on the house?”
“Of course I will,” I said, getting my coin purse out and counting the exact change for a chili dog into his big hand.
By the time I was out the front door and on the sidewalk again, even though he’d double-wrapped the hotdog and slipped it inside a small paper bag, grease was seeping through, threatening to stain my flower-printed dress. I should have stayed at least long enough to eat.
Slipping back inside Sweetbriar Manor more than thirty minutes before the lunch buzzer was almost too easy. Now I knew I could do this again. And soon.
To be safe, I went into my bathroom, shut the door, and locked it. Didn’t want to be surprised by Prissy popping in, though she was probably busy in the kitchen. I flipped the exhaust fan on to draw out some of the onion and chili smells, removed my straw hat, sat on the commode, and enjoyed every bite. Best chili dog I’d had in years. Blind George certainly outdid himself.
After washing my hands and wiping a little mustard off my dress, I sprayed pine air freshener until I felt like I’d drowned in a forest. I grabbed the shopping bag, along with my purse, and stumbled out of that little bathroom, coughing and sneezing. Even my glasses were coated with little drops of pine spray.
“Surely that took care of the smell,” I said to Charlie.
Because I had already thought things through on the way back, I stuffed a Baby Ruth into the toe of a pink bedroom slipper. A Milky Way fit nicely in a Keds, a Mounds in a rain boot. Vick’s Salve went into a hatbox under a black, feathered felt. Deciding Alice could come to my room for a nightcap, I emptied the bottle of Nyquil into a decorative lotion dispenser purchased at Begley’s. All finished, I splashed cold water on my face, straightened my hair, and threw the trash into an empty paper bag as the lunch buzzer sounded.
Before entering the dining room, I stuffed the paper bag into a fancy trashcan beside the front door. It was tall and skinny, looked like blue china, and held an umbrella someone must’ve thrown away, though it looked almost brand new to me.
“Some people are so wasteful,” I said. Charlie agreed.
Betty Jo rushed over, her face flushed. “Mother, where on earth have you been? You weren’t in your room. I looked everywhere. Even out in the garden, though Lord knows it’s too hot to be outside.”
“What are you doing here? It’s not Sunday.”
“Our Women’s Club brought lunch. Don’t change the subject. Where were you? Started to ask Miss Johnson, but that poor lady has enough on her mind. You been visiting in someone’s room all morning?”
Before I could come up with a half-decent answer, Pearl rushed over, wringing her hands and wearing a deep frown. “Did I see you dancing in the garden this morning, Agnes? What’s happening? Is there something I need to know?”
My stomach did a double flip and landed at my feet. Just like that I knew I could not leave Pearl behind. When I left this place, somehow I’d find a way to take her with me.
Chapter Ten
“Pearl, I’d like you to meet my daughter. Betty Jo, this is Pearl Spearman, my temporary next-door neighbor until I find us something more suitable. We’re getting to know each other.”
“How nice,” Betty Jo said. She smiled, but gave me the oddest look.
“Yes indeed,” I said, rushing on to keep the conversation from going back to me. “This lady stays busy fixing fresh flower arrangements. Knows all the flowers’ names too, like a walking encyclopedia. Bet she could tell you the name of those little pink flowers on the tables. Go ahead, ask her.”
Betty Jo continued smiling. She reached out and took one of Pearl’s hands in both of hers as she leaned down to my good ear and whispered, “I thought she was your very best friend from high school. And what do you mean temporary neighbor until you find something?” She wiggled her nose like a rabbit, then sneezed. “What on earth? You smell like a truckload of pine logs.”
“New fragrance,” I said. “Christmas Spruce. How do you like it?”
“Well,” she said, sneezing again. “Smells fresh. Mighty fresh.”
“Thank you, dear.” I patted her hand and turned back to Pearl. “That’s right, Pearl’s a regular flower expert. And besides, she’s the best artist to come out of Southern High. You should see some of her work.”
“You don’t say.” Betty Jo raised her eyebrows into question marks. “Mother, we’ll have to talk later. Are you taking your blood pressure medicine?” I nodded and she turned her attention to Pearl. “Let’s go sit down, and I’ll bring you some nice chicken salad. Do you like chicken salad?”
As they turned to walk away, the director rushed up, puffing sweetness with every word. “Mrs. Hopper, your daughter has been a saint in our little crisis. A pure saint. You must be mighty proud. Take your seat now. We don’t want to be the cow’s tail again, do we?”
Even though lunch turned out to be a special treat, my stomach felt slightly unsettled, so I picked at my food. Seems Prissy had put out a distress call to Sweetbriar’s Women’s Club. Since they were coming that afternoon for bingo, she asked if they might come a couple of hours earlier and help her prepare sandwiches. They did better than that. They brought homemade chicken salad and served it with fresh grapes and cantaloupe. They even brought tiny poppy seed muffins and lemonade.
The director was beside herself. “My goodness, this is wonderful,” she said over and over. “This is simply wonderful.”
Betty Jo brought the lemonade pitcher to our table. “Mother, you don’t seem very excited to see me. I know we agreed to visit on Sunday afternoons, but I thought I’d surprise you and come today too. Why aren’t you eating? You love chicken salad. Spent all morning stewing chickens, and you’ve hardly touched your plate.”
“Would you like a peppermint?” I said, reaching for my purse. “Think I’ll have one.”
She ignored my suggestion. “Where have you been, Mother? I looked everywhere, but I got busy with lunch and then, there you were … walking into the dining room.”
Alice started coughing as if she might be choking. All the club ladies rushed over to her. They patted her on the back, raised one arm, and told her to take a small sip of lemonade. She finally waved them off, squeaking out, “I’m fine. Really. I’m fine. Swallowed the wrong way.”
Betty Jo turned to another table to pour lemonade. Alice winked, or I think she did. Bless her heart. It’s hard to tell behind those thick glasses of hers, but I could see the grin spread across Smiley’s face.
I offered my plate to Lil, assuring her I hadn’t touched a thing, though I guess I had a little. She hesitated, but we traded plates and she dove in.
When Betty Jo came by again, she leaned down and said, �
��Well, that’s more like it. Soon as we get the dining room cleared, we’re going to start bingo. Won’t that be fun?”
“As much fun as hanging burley in the barn to cure while straddling the top rafter.”
She shot up straight. “Mother, your breath! Are you taking care of your hygiene?”
“Certainly. Cleanliness is next to godliness, I’ve been told.” I smiled at Alice and Smiley’s shoulders shook with laughter.
The loud clapping of hands got everyone’s attention. “People. People. Listen, people. Come back in thirty minutes for bingo. Sweetbriar’s Women’s Club brought wonderful prizes. Get up now and stir around. Up, up, and stir around.” She fluttered to every table directing us like a church choir until we did her bidding.
“Charlie, when that woman oozes all sweetness and niceness, it just don’t seem natural.”
Soon as I stood, the pains in my stomach told me I needed to visit the nearest facility—and fast.
As I hurried through the dining room door, nearly blocked by Diamond Lil and her wheelchair, she grabbed my arm. “Where did you disappear to this morning? I saw you out behind the jasmine.”
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” I said between clenched teeth. I tried to pull away, but the woman had a stronger grip than I expected. “Let me go and I’ll tell you.”
She let go, and I headed to the closest restroom, across the entry hall between the office and the reading room. “Oh, Lord, Charlie, I’m not going to make it.”
With diamonds flashing, Lil sped ahead, turning her wheels with quick hand movements. “Yes you will. Come on. You’re almost there.”
The door was locked. “Someone’s in there!” I yelled.
Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) Page 7