Dearest Dorothy, Slow Down, You're Wearing Us Out!

by Charlene Ann Baumbich

  Tucked in with all the good news, however, Katie thought she discerned a bit of a jealous note in his voice when he talked about all the guys Shelby’d introduced him to. But it was clear Josh himself was encouraged by all the new acquaintances, some of whom even stopped by the Lamp Post and invited him to join them in after-school French fries at Harry’s. “And Mom, the best part is that the majority of them are just regular guys, not a bunch of geeky, boring college preppies!”

  Now that Katie and Josh had moved into the farm, Katie sought out every opportunity she could to spend time with Jessica. She missed their nearness from all those stays at the motel. It turned out that since the Lamp Post had had such steady bookings for the last few months, thanks to the city slickers, a little extra money was in the till—at least for the moment—for Jessica to hire a cleaning lady for the rooms one day a week, and today was the day.

  Jessica sat cuddled in a corner of Katie’s posh, mud-colored, kid-leather couch, legs drawn up under her. Katie marveled at how young Jessica sometimes appeared, especially with her sassy new hairdo, which Katie still couldn’t believe Maggie Malone had given her. Sarah Sue slept in the new portable crib Katie’d purchased for her, saying she’d never before had a chance to give Sarah Sue a gift. Katie also selfishly knew the lightweight contraption would enable Jessica to stay out at the farm for longer periods without having to worry that Sarah Sue was going to roll off the couch, even though she wasn’t even scooting yet, or catch a draft from lying on the floor.

  Jessica got up off the couch and started surveying the living room, walking from here to there and holding her fingers up, looking through the box she made with them. Katie had simply been unable to arrange her furniture so that it felt right. She was shocked at how out of place her African décor looked in the old farmhouse, deciding she must have had her head in the clouds to have ever imagined it would work. But even though Jessica’s eyebrows had shot up in the air the first time she saw the room, she finally convinced Katie that with a little ingenuity, she was sure they could tie everything together and make it just beautiful. Shortly after Jessica had arrived today, she called the visit Let’s Imagine. “No ideas will be off limits. No colors ruled out. We’ll just brainstorm.”

  “I’m not good at brainstorming,” Katie replied. “I’m good at high stakes and deal closing.”

  “Don’t be silly. Everyone can brainstorm. It just takes a little practice.” Jessica walked backward into the entryway to the living room and cast her eyes about. Suddenly, a look of excitement leaped across her face. “What if we could find an area rug that had all the right colors and we moved the furniture off the walls a bit, drawing everything into kind of a conversation pit? I saw something like that in a House Beautiful at the checkout line at Your Store.”

  “Oh, I don’t think we could ever…”

  “NO, no, no! The first rule of brainstorming is that you don’t ever say, ‘I don’t think that will work’ or that ‘we could never.’ All ideas are bounced around. Hear me out, now.” Jessica had come alive with her idea. Katie marveled at her uncontained enthusiasm. “It just struck me that African décor and homey farm colors are very similar in tones,” she said almost breathlessly. “Earthy. I think the right rug…one that had a little red in it…YES ! That’s IT! A rug with a little red, and then a few red accents here and there…”

  “Jessica, I think you’ve been brainwashed by Dorothy’s kitchen.”

  “No, I’m sure I’m right. Stare hard, Katie, and try to imagine.” Jessica crossed the room and scooted the side chairs away from the wall. “Grab the other end of the couch. You’ll see what I’m talking about.” Together they grunted, pushed and arranged the furniture into Jessica’s vision. Then in a flurry of activity Jessica began rearranging end tables and accent pieces, moving them from here to there, once again rearranging the side chairs, standing back and squinting, then moving things just a tad more.

  “THERE! THERE IT IS, Katie! If you had the right rug and some throw pillows that picked up the reds and browns, it would be PERFECT! The next time I’m at Now and Again, I’m going to check their fabric roll ends.” Katie stood staring at Jessica, thinking about how much her couch and chairs, artifacts and collector’s items, had cost her. To even imagine the finishing touches would come from a resale shop was nearly beyond her comprehension.

  “I know!” Jessica exclaimed. “Where are the baskets I made for you?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  “Run, get me one!” Although Katie loved the baskets Jessica had made for her motel room, then insisted she take for a house-warming gift, Katie was sure of one thing, and that’s that they certainly wouldn’t go with her living room. “Go on now, go get me one!” Jessica all but demanded. “I can see what you’re thinking already, and that is against the rules of brainstorming.” It was beginning to get scary how transparent Katie had become in the company of her new best friend.

  When Katie returned, Jessica began tugging at the fabric of the basket until she’d removed it. She all but ran to one of the side chairs and laid the wadded fabric down on the floor, setting the legs of the chair on the edge of it, smoothing the wrinkled, foot-square bulk of it toward the center of the room. “SEE! Oh, Katie, these colors would be PERFECT in a rug! Squint, Katie. Look at it through squinted eyes and you’ll be able to drown out the pattern and just see the colors.”

  Katie tried Jessica’s squinting method and sure enough, after a few seconds, she caught Jessica’s vision. “You, Jessica Joy, are a marvel! How on earth do you do that?”

  “Gift. It’s a gift.”

  “Are you sure you’ve never been to design school? Maybe in your previous life?” The two of them chuckled, and Jessica assured Katie she’d barely made it through high school. “Well, you have it, lady,” Katie assured her. “You absolutely have it. I was going to have my Chicago decorator head down here for a weekend, but I’d much rather pay you.”

  “Oh, Katie! Don’t talk crazy like that.” Jessica’s face turned bright red. “I don’t know what I was thinking, acting like I’d know more than a decorator.” Jessica appeared to be shrinking in stature as she spoke. “Please, have her come. I’m embarrassed I’ve been acting like I know what I’m doing when you have a personal decorator you’ve already worked with. Really, Katie, please forgive my country ignorance.” Jessica started to remove the fabric from under the legs of the chair, her face still crimson and her eyes tearing up with humiliation.

  “If you remove that, I’ll…I’ll…well, I’ll never brainstorm with you again. Honestly, Jessica. I wouldn’t compliment you if I didn’t mean it. You have more natural talent in one bolt of enthusiasm than I have in my entire being. Trust me on this—I don’t say things like that unless I mean them. I’d much rather work with you anyway. You’re…FUN!” A few seconds of silence lingered in the air. “And the truth is”—Katie sighed a huge sigh—“my decorator’s really a snob.” Katie stared hard at Jessica, who had reseated herself on the couch, shoulders still slumped and hands folded in her lap. An odd look crossed Katie’s face, then she spoke very quietly. “In fact, it’s time I faced facts. I’m a snob, too.”

  “Katie! What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, since way before my aunt died, I had an attitude about Pardon Me Ville, and it wasn’t pretty. I think I’ve judged just about everybody in this town.” Katie stared at her interlocked fingers.

  “Don’t be silly, Katie!”

  “Hear me out, now, before I shrink back from the truth.” She lifted her eyes and looked straight into Jessica’s. “I have always, way before my mom died, been embarrassed to think my roots were in a place like Partonville. I bet I broke my mom’s heart on more than one occasion, making snide comments about it…My heart aches to think how I must have wounded her. And now that I know…How does one ever make up for such unkind behavior and judgments?”

  “Oh, Katie.” Jessica rose and took a few steps toward her friend. “We all get some thick ideas in our heads. But
now that you’ve been here, you can see how the place kind of grows on you. Be kind to yourself, Katie. I’m sure your mom understood. There’ve been times I’ve even wished I’d moved away, lived in a place with more excitement, more opportunities. But then I think about my husband and Sarah Sue, our friends, our church…and now you…”

  Before they knew it, the two women were standing in the middle of the living room hugging. The Good-bye/Hello evening that had taken place less than two weeks ago suddenly popped into Katie’s mind. Dorothy had thanked this very room for the memories it would impart to her. Surely this would be one that would last forever, for it was the night Katie Mabel Carol Durbin admitted she’d been a snob and Jessica Joy became someone’s personal interior decorator.

  Earl stood on a chair, carefully maneuvering into position to make sure he put the thumbtack exactly where Dorothy was pointing. He gently stretched the faded blue fabric toward himself until Dorothy said, “STOP! Right there, Earl, honey.” He didn’t want to harm the deteriorating fabric, and twice she had to coax him into believing that it was okay to stick the pin clear through until it stuck to the wall just like the others. “Now be careful getting down off that chair, Earl,” she warned.

  When he was back down on the floor, Dorothy and May Belle backed to the opposite side of the room to admire their cleverness. “Oh, Dorothy, it’s just perfect in here,” May Belle said. “I remember your mom in that apron, too. The minute I saw it, you didn’t even have to tell me where it came from. But then to think what all you went through that day at the auction over it! It’s just a miracle, I tell you.” Earl stared at the apron up on the wall above the computer, trying to see whatever it was that made them so happy.

  “If you think this is good, now I’ll really show you two something,” Dorothy said. “Follow me.” She headed for the spare bedroom, waiting until May Belle and Earl were in position before she turned on the light. “Voilà!”

  “For goodness sakes, Dorothy,” May Belle said, staring at the beautiful four-poster bed. “Don’t tell me those are table legs!”

  “I’m here to tell you they are,” Dorothy said. “Arthur picked them up for me, and then Edward Showalter made the simple frame and attached it all together. I’ll tell you, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything that man can’t do! The mattress was just delivered yesterday. Then it occurred to me my old dining room tablecloth would make the prettiest bedspread…Can you hardly believe it? I’m so excited about the way the whole thing looks that I could just bust wide open!”

  “It’s beautiful, Dorothy. You’d just never guess those were table legs.”

  “Where’s the table, Dearest Dorothy?” Earl asked. “I don’t see a table.”

  “Oh, I don’t see a table either, Earl. Let’s go look in the bathroom and see if we can’t find something more fun in there.” Dorothy flipped off the light and motioned for them to follow her. “Just get a gander at that, Earl!” Even though the walls were white, it was the brilliant accent colors that caught the eye. The wooden trim to the vanity mirror had been painted cobalt blue, and a one-inch border of sunshine yellow zinged mid-wall high around the middle of the room. The towel bar was blue to match the mirror trim, and a basketball-sized sun was painted up in the corner over the tub.

  May Belle’s mouth flew open, and she looked at Dorothy. Before she could speak, Dorothy said, “Edward Showalter, paint and three hours. That was that. In one day that man can accomplish more than you can shake a stick at.” It did not pass by May Belle that the last time Dorothy said the name Edward Showalter, she did so with a girlish lilt to her voice.

  Even in the midst of all the decorating, Joshua Matthew Kinney had managed to get his driver’s license. He’d logged plenty of hours since he received his permit before they left Chicago, and he had logged many more during two weeks’ worth of back-and-forths to Hethrow High before they officially got moved into the farm. Katie finally ran out of excuses to keep him from getting his license, other than “I just can’t be old enough to have a son who drives.” After he proved himself numerous times driving around Hethrow during thus far fruitless scouting trips for rugs and window treatments, and managed to demonstrate his behind-the-wheel prowess on the gravel roads as well, she finally conceded he was ready.

  The day he got his license, after much nagging, Katie broke down and let him take the Lexus for his first solo trip. Although he wanted to go pick up Shelby and take her for a ride, Katie vetoed the idea, saying he needed to concentrate on his first expedition alone, and she was afraid he just wouldn’t be able to do that around Shelby. She did, however, let him talk her into going to Dorothy’s to take her and Sheba for a ride. When he pulled up in front of Dorothy’s house, they were waiting on the front porch.

  After Dorothy got all seat-belted in and Sheba finally perched herself on the backseat, head hanging out the window, Dorothy said, “Show me your stuff, kid. You can’t go too fast for me!”

  “You trying to get us grounded, Dorothy?” Josh said with a laugh.

  “Okay, don’t floor it. But let’s at least go fast enough for me to feel that breeze blowing through my pink scalp, okay? And what do you say we take a spin by Shelby’s and at least just toot the horn and wave.”

  She received not a word of argument.

  26

  Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the last event of the season!” The announcer’s voice boomed out of the loudspeakers, causing Earl to cover his ears. He and May Belle had ridden with Ben and Maggie to the fairgrounds, where they hooked up with all their kids, grand-kids and great-grandkids, who’d been saving seats for them by laying blankets along the bleachers. Lester, Harold, Nellie Ruth, Gladys, Pastor Carol, Pastor’s two kids and Jessie sat in the row behind them. Harold’s wife hadn’t come because she didn’t like automobile racing, and try as he might, he could not convince her that demolition derby was not racing but “a test of metal against metal, strength against will and guts against brains. A fight to the death,” he’d said. “Oh, Harold, you’re so cute when you’re dramatic. But I’m still not going.”

  Another row up, Cora Davis sat next to Jessica and Paul Joy, who had, for the first time, left their baby with a sitter, not wanting to expose her little ears to the loud roar of engines. Pastor’s wife had volunteered to baby-sit, and Paul convinced Jessica it was time the two of them had a night out alone. Sarah Sue had gotten plenty used to a fill-in bottle by now, and Pastor’s wife, who’d even come to their home, could certainly be trusted. Jessica looked at her watch every three minutes and fretted a bit, but once the announcer began his warm-up, she decided to grab hold of her husband’s hand and for one night just try to remember she was a woman as well as a mom.

  Lawyer Rick Lawson, his secretary and nearly thirty other Partonville folks were seated around everyone else, forming a mighty rooting section for their hometown’s favorite. Once Harold’s little tidbit appeared in the Partonville Press announcing “The Tank’s Last Hurrah,” nobody wanted to miss it, especially since the driver was listed as Mystery Person. Some were there rooting to pay their last respects to The Tank while others came to cheer because The Tank would never again terrorize their streets.

  Since the county fairground stadium was quite large, the Partonvillers were outnumbered by fans from other areas. It was clear from the program listing statistics that most other cars and/or drivers had been racing at the monthly meets throughout the summer. Lester leaned over to Harold and said, “I’ve always heard that the old station wagons have the best chance since the vehicles do most of their smashing with their rear ends to protect their engines.”

  “That is correct, Lester. But you are forgetting one thing: The Tank’s not called The Tank for nothing! No sir. Those 1976 Lincoln Continentals, back and front, were made like brick barges. If they hadn’t been, Dorothy would have surely done her in by now!” Everyone sitting around who’d heard the exchange quite agreed.

  Arthur was down in the pit area. He’d had to come early to
have The Tank checked in an hour before the derby began. “Well, old gal,” he said when he hooked her up to the tow bar at his place, “enjoy this ride headin’ in the right direction, because fer your last ride—and I do mean yer last—you’ll likely be a-goin’ in reverse. I reckon you can do that ’bout as well as everything else you’ve done in your lifetime. Just give ’em yer best stuff, honey,” he’d said.

  The pit area, visible to the crowds, was just off to the right of the derby arena. Every once in a while the Partonvillers would see Arthur raise the hood and tinker around, then he would close the hood and everyone could tell his jaw was still working as he talked her through whatever was to come. What everyone was really looking for, however, was not Arthur but the driver—who still had not been identified, not even on the evening’s one-sheet racing form. Although the entry was credited to Dorothy Jean Wetstra of Pardonville (a typo that did not escape Harold Crabb), the driver was listed as TBA, to be announced.

  The next time the voice boomed over the loudspeakers, the announcement was made that there was to be a mandatory drivers’ meeting behind the judge’s stand, which was across from the bleachers and roped off and invisible to the public. Any driver not in attendance, they were told, would be disqualified since rules were rules, and they didn’t want anyone to be endangered. Although the Partonville cheering gallery craned their necks to see if anyone they recognized—and hopefully it wasn’t Dorothy—headed toward the designated meeting area, they didn’t see a person they knew aside from Arthur, who’d just taken to whapping the front fender with a sledgehammer, making sure no metal was left within rubbing distance of the tires from her garbage truck escapade. Right after the announcement, he tossed the hammer down in disgust and disappeared behind the judge’s stand, causing Jessie’s heart to skip a bit. “SURELY he’s NOT!” she said to the universe.