by Anne George
I reached down and kissed the top of his head. And a nice head of hair it is, too, thank you, ma’am, thick and steely-gray on a good-looking sixty-four-year-old guy.
“Why don’t you hop down and go get a warm shower before we eat?” he suggested.
“Sounds great.”
“I’ll even get in the shower with you. Scrub your back.”
“Okay. But only if you’re up to doing something kinky afterwards.”
“Be still, my heart. What do you have in mind?”
“A good rubdown with Ben-Gay.”
“Put the paintbrush in the sink, woman.”
Two
Fred was delighted that we were going to a dinner that Henry was cooking. On the way over to Mary Alice’s the next night, Henry’s culinary talents were much on his mind.
“Maybe he’s fixed those little pinwheel sandwiches or some of that paté you put on those Norwegian crackers. Lord, that stuff’s good.”
“Mary Alice still doesn’t know Meemaw Turkett’s whole name,” I said. “She looked ‘Turkett’ up in the phone book and there were about five of them. One of them was ‘M.M.’ She said reckon it could be Mee Maw? I told her that was ridiculous.”
But Fred, who had laughed like hell when I first told him about Meemaw and Sister’s call to Sheriff Reuse, had other things on his mind. “Maybe he’s fixed those little chickens with the glaze and the pecan stuffing. That’s one of the best things he does. You know?”
“Rock Cornish hens.” I was beginning to feel a little testy here. Granted, Henry Lamont is one of the best chefs in the world but, to listen to Fred, you’d think Henry invented the art of cuisine. One look at Fred and you’ll see I’ve done a pretty good job of feeding him for forty years. Okay, so occasionally I get help from the Piggly Wiggly deli or Morrison’s Cafeteria, or Stouffer’s. So what? I can whip up a mean meal when I have to.
But it was visions of Henry’s cooking that were dancing through my husband’s head. “He makes it look good, too,” he said. “I like the way he puts the green tails on the chickens.”
“Doesn’t take much talent to stick a piece of parsley up a chicken’s butt.”
Fred looked over at me, surprised. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“Nothing.” Am I going to admit I’m a jealous, spiteful person? But Lord! Forty years of slaving over a hot stove deserves some appreciation.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Fred didn’t catch on. He stopped at a light and said he hoped Henry had made those little lemon pies, the tiny ones that were just two bites and had the crust with something special in it so it didn’t taste like paper.
Fred was treading on thin ice. Ice that was getting thinner all the time. It just so happens that I make wonderful crust, thanks to Jiffy pie crust mix. And it doesn’t taste like paper.
“What did you say the girl’s name is?” Fred’s sudden veering from the subject of pie crust caught me by surprise. I had to think for a moment.
“Sunshine Dabbs. Crane now.”
“I used to have a Dabbs worked for me years ago. Pretty good old fellow. I wonder if he was her father.”
I shrugged. We Southerners do this, try to make connections. It’s as inborn as the color of our eyes or our hair. Introduce two Southerners and they never lack for something to talk about. And it’s not the weather. It’s the search for connections. We do love to connect the dots.
“Mary Alice said the girl’s parents are separated,” I said. “Actually, what she said was the father’s never been there, whatever that means.”
“Probably wasn’t the guy who worked for me then. I don’t think he ever missed work.”
He was serious. Lord, you had to love this man.
Mary Alice lives in an English Tudor house on the crest of Red Mountain. It’s a beautiful old home with a spectacular view of downtown Birmingham. It was built by Will Alec Sullivan’s grandfather who was one of the founders of the steel industry in Birmingham. Will Alec was Sister’s first husband, the one without a chin. Even Sister admits he was slightly lantern-jawed, a nice euphemism for not having a chin. He was a nice man, though, rich and generous. When he drove his car into their driveway one afternoon, parked, and died, he left Sister not only the house but shares in a steel mill and insurance enough to choke a horse as Fred put it so aptly. He also left Marilyn, Sister’s oldest child, who fortunately is not lantern-jawed but a beautiful woman.
The house, which Mary Alice has always wished looked more like Tara, is impressive, especially at night when its location on the crest of the mountain makes it seem to float, bright lights against the sky. This August evening, however, the rays of the setting sun were still glinting off the cream-colored stucco exterior. We parked beside three other vehicles, a Honda Accord which I recognized as our daughter Haley’s car, a Bel Air Chevrolet, and Henry’s van.
“Are we late?” Fred asked.
I glanced at my watch. “Not unless Sister changed the time and forgot to tell me. Which is possible. She didn’t tell me Haley was coming, either.”
“Well, long as Henry’s here. Come on, honey.” As we walked by the Bel Air, Fred gave its fins an admiring pat. “They shouldn’t have quit making these old beauties.”
That old beauty, I figured, had used a tank of gas to get into town from Locust Fork. I wondered if it was the one Sister said had backfired.
Haley opened the door for us and explained that she was taking Debbie’s place, that Debbie couldn’t face food, and Aunt Sister had called her, Haley, and said there was an empty place at the table and she could come over if she wanted to.
“What a gracious invitation,” I said.
Haley grinned. “I have no pride. Henry’s fixing Rock Cornish hens.”
Fred rolled his eyes upward. “Thank you, Lord.”
“Y’all come on out to the sunroom. Meemaw and Sunshine are already here,” Haley said.
“By any chance do you know Meemaw’s name?” I asked.
“She said to call her Meemaw. And Mama, that Sunshine is the cutest thing you ever saw. Her name fits her. Ray did himself proud.”
“Where’s Mary Alice?”
“Talking to Meemaw.”
“Connecting the dots?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I walked back to the sunroom.
It’s my favorite room in Sister’s house. Light and airy, furnished with white wicker, it has windows on three sides. The west windows provide a view of the setting sun as well as of Vulcan, the giant iron statue that sits atop Red Mountain. Sister has a side view of Vulcan and he looks majestic, holding out his torch like a blessing over Birmingham. We in the valley behind him, however, have a different view, a big bare behind. My neighbor, Mitzi Phizer, swears he’s anatomically complete under the apron he wears in front, that all the women in her bridge club know this for sure. I can’t imagine how. There’s not a member of that bridge club, or anybody else for that matter, who would ever have risked a hip to shinny up for a peek at old Vulcan’s equipment.
As I walked into the sunroom, Sunshine Dabbs Crane turned from the window where she was admiring the sunset and smiled. Blonde, tanned, dressed in a pink sundress that emphasized her tiny waist, she was a Barbie doll. And on the sofa sat an ancient Cabbage Patch doll talking to Mary Alice.
Mary Alice introduced me to Sunshine and Meemaw Turkett.
“How do you do, Mrs. Turkett,” I said to the Cabbage Patch doll.
“Just call me Meemaw.”
I glanced at Sister; she gave a slight shrug. Sunshine came across the room on those Barbie legs that reached to her boobs and took my hand. “Mrs. Hollowell—may I call you Aunt Pat? I’ve heard so much about you that I feel I know you. You and Mother Crane, too.”
Mother Crane. I sneaked a glance at Mary Alice who refused to look at me.
“Don’t bet on it.” Fred had come in behind me. “Over forty years and they still keep me confused.”
Mary Alice beamed. “What a nice thing to say, Fred.” S
he introduced him to Sunshine and Meemaw. I wondered if he thought like I did that they had escaped from the local Toys “R” Us.
“Give me your orders for drinks,” Mary Alice said. “Where did Haley go?”
“To check on dinner,” Fred answered. “Henry will throw her out in a minute.”
“He probably will. He brought a boy who works part-time for him at the club to help him, and it doesn’t seem to be working out well.” A crash from the kitchen underscored this. “Maybe I’d better go check.”
But Haley stuck her head in the door. “It’s okay. It was an empty tray.”
“Well, bring your father a beer and your mother a Coke.” So much for orders. Sister turned to Sunshine and Meemaw. “Would either of you like a refill?”
Sunshine shook her head no; Meemaw held out an empty glass. “Bourbon. One cube of ice.”
Haley grinned. “You got it.”
“Nice girl,” Meemaw said as Haley left. “How old is she?”
I had to stop and think. “She’ll be thirty-five in a couple of weeks.”
Meemaw patted the sofa beside her and I accepted the invitation. “She’s just a couple of years younger than my Kerrigan then,” she said.
“Kerrigan?”
“Sunny’s mama.”
Whump. Age suddenly hit me over the head like a crowbar. Barbie over there could be my granddaughter? Ancient Meemaw had a child who was in her thirties? Lord, the woman must have made the Guinness Book of World Records with that birth.
“Of course Kerrigan got an early start. Just like I did.”
An early start? I looked at Mary Alice who smiled back benignly.
Haley came in with the drinks; Henry was with her. “Everything’s under control in the kitchen,” he assured us, passing around a plate of Norwegian crackers and paté. “Your favorites, Fred.” Fred grinned and helped himself liberally.
“How’s Debbie tonight?” I asked.
“She’s fine, Aunt Pat. Really. Just an unsettled stomach.”
Having barely survived the nausea of three pregnancies, I was grateful Debbie wasn’t there with a weapon when Henry described her stomach as “just unsettled.”
“Well, do we have time before dinner to see the video of the wedding?” Mary Alice asked. “I saw it yesterday, but I can’t wait to see it again.”
“Sure,” Henry said. “Dinner won’t be ready for about a half an hour.” He put the plate of hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table where Fred could reach it easily.
“It’s ready. I’ll just turn it on.” Mary Alice reached over and punched the Play button on the VCR. We all settled back.
“It’s on the beach,” Sunshine explained as the tape began to roll.
A low moan and panting sounds from the VCR. Sister looked puzzled. The screen brightened. A woman’s face was visible over a man’s shoulder as she writhed. “Yes, yes, yes!” she screamed.
“Shit!” Sunshine lunged for the VCR and hit the Off button. “Damn it, Meemaw,” she said, jerking the tape out. “You picked up one of Mama’s tapes.”
“Looked the same,” an unperturbed Meemaw said, sipping her bourbon.
“It did not. It said Wedding plain as anything on it.”
“Guess it’s still on the front seat of the car.”
Sunshine turned to Mary Alice who for once in her life seemed speechless. “I’m sorry, Mother Crane. I’ll just run out to the car and see if it’s out there.”
Mary Alice nodded.
“I swear,” Meemaw said, “that child expects me to keep up with everything.”
Haley was suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing and disappeared into the kitchen with Henry right behind her. Fred reached over, got the plate of hors d’oeuvres, and set it on his lap.
“That was my Kerrigan,” Meemaw said. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?”
“What?” I asked.
“On the tape. My Kerrigan.”
Mary Alice’s power of speech was suddenly restored. “The woman on the tape. That was your daughter?”
Meemaw nodded yes. “You can see where Sunshine gets her looks, can’t you?”
Mary Alice shook her head. “Wait a minute. I don’t think I understand.”
“Sunshine’s mama’s a movie star. I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that.”
If someone had taken a picture of us at that moment, they would have caught me with my hand to my heart, Fred with a Norwegian cracker frozen midway to his mouth, and Mary Alice squeezing her cheeks like a Macaulay Culkin lookalike. The picture would be entitled Family Learns New In-Law Is Porn Star.
“I do declare,” Mary Alice finally managed to say.
“It does boggle the mind. My own child in the movies.” Meemaw drained her glass and set it on the coffee table. Fortunately, Sunshine came in at that moment with the right tape.
“Here we go,” she said brightly.
“I’ll get Haley and Henry. They won’t want to miss this.” I hopped up and went to the kitchen where those two were stuffing their faces with hors d’oeuvres and still laughing.
“Are we missing anything?” Haley asked.
“You missed the fact that the woman in that movie was Sunshine’s mother, Kerrigan.”
Both of their mouths fell open. An unpleasant sight, given the paté.
“Get on back to the sunroom. Sunshine’s got the wedding tape now.”
“Are you kidding?” Henry asked. “That was Sunshine’s mother?”
“If I’m lying, I’m dying. Now get in there.”
“Is she teasing us?” I heard Henry ask Haley as I left the kitchen.
“Not with her forehead wrinkled up like that.”
Sometimes it’s better not to overhear things.
“It’s on the beach,” Sunshine was explaining again as I entered the sunroom. “A friend of Ray’s played the wedding march on a ukelele. He wasn’t real close, so you’ll have to listen.”
Haley and Henry came in and sat down and Sunshine turned on the tape. The video camera scanned a beach that looked like a stage setting for South Pacific. A few twangy sounds must have been the wedding march, for suddenly three men attired in white suits appeared from behind a palm tree, walked a short distance toward the water, and turned. Long shadows stretching behind them placed the time as late afternoon.
“My baby has a beard,” Mary Alice exclaimed.
I looked closely and realized that the heavily bearded man was indeed my nephew Ray.
“The one in the middle is the preacher,” Sunshine explained. “The other guy’s name is Buck Owens. You know, like the country singer. He works on Ray’s boat.”
Buck must have weighed three hundred and fifty pounds. I don’t know anything about diving, but Buck looked like he might have trouble getting back to the surface.
“Here I come now,” Sunshine said. “Those high-heel shoes were terrible to walk in on that sand.” The tinkle of the ukelele got a little louder and Bride Barbie appeared beside the palm tree and slowly began her way across the beach toward the men.
“I love your dress,” Haley said.
“Thanks. There’s a wonderful bridal shop right there on Bora Bora.”
“I thought it was Pago Pago,” Fred whispered.
“Shhh.” I reached for his hand like I always do at weddings.
Buck Owens stepped out to meet Sunshine and escort her to the minister and Ray.
“Dearly beloved,” the minister began.
“Anybody got a Kleenex?” Meemaw asked.
It was a lovely wedding, very traditional in spite of the setting. By the time it was over, Sister had had to pass around a box of Kleenex, but that was fine. The bride was pleased with our reaction.
“I know Ray and I haven’t known each other very long, but we really love each other,” she said. Which brought on more tears.
“I’m going to go check on dinner,” Henry said. He was going to go call Debbie and we all knew it. It had been only a few months since they had repeated those same vows.
My sister is the only person I know who can give a dinner party and not lift a finger. Tiffany, the Magic Maid, cleaned up the house and set the table, Henry did the cooking, Haley served the drinks, and here I was, helping out with last-minute details. The boy Henry had hired would do the serving. When I got to the kitchen, though, he was sitting at the counter with his head in his hands.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“No ma’am,” he said, looking up. “Mr. Lamont never told me this party was for Sunny Dabbs or wild horses couldn’t have dragged me here.” He reached over, got a paper napkin, and held it against his eyes. He had a crew cut which made his ears appear huge and which gave him a vulnerable little-boy look. Crew cuts always get to me, reminding me of my boys when they were children. I was sure that under that napkin were a few zits.
“You’re a friend of Sunny’s?” Dumb question.
Just then Henry walked in. “Line’s busy.” He looked at the boy. “Something wrong, Dwayne?” Dumb question.
“I have to go, Mr. Lamont. I didn’t know this party was for Sunny and Meemaw.”
“That’s a problem for you?” Henry asked.
I swear, all the man would have had to do was look at the boy and see that indeed it was a problem.
Dwayne stood, wiped his eyes again, crumpled the paper napkin, and threw it into the trash compactor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lamont. You can fire me if you want to.” And with that, he walked out and quietly shut the kitchen door.
Henry and I looked at each other. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“My guess is that Sunshine’s marriage has broken a heart. Is Dwayne a Jefferson State student?”
Henry nodded yes.
“He didn’t hear you and Haley laughing about the tape, did he?”