Sonny got up, but I lingered.
“Was there something else, Jill?” Reverend Mixon said.
What do you think our chances are? I wanted to ask, hoping for his seal of approval. Had he ever refused to do a wedding because he thought a couple was too mismatched?
“Nothing,” I said, picking up my pocketbook.
As we strolled to Sonny’s Buick in the church parking lot, he asked, “When did you say those friends of yours, the Sweet Peas, were arriving?”
“They’re the Sweet Potato Queens,” I said, sliding in after Sonny opened the door. He had painstakingly covered the seats with clear plastic. It was stiff and yellowing from months of Mississippi heat.
He turned the key in the ignition and stretched his arm across the back of the seat as he backed out of the parking lot. My daddy used to do the same thing when he drove me to school, and the heaviness of his arm behind me always made me feel safe.
“I still don’t understand about this Gerald person,” he said. “Are you sure he’s not an old flame?”
It made me smile to think of Gerald as being an old boyfriend of anyone’s, and I suppressed a chuckle at the word “flame,” thinking of another meaning entirely.
“No. Gerald and I never dated. We’re just very good friends.”
“What sort of guy spends his high school years around a bunch of girls?” Sonny said, puffing up his chest. “That’s what I want to know.”
“You’ll like him,” I said. Truthfully, Gerald would probably give Sonny the creeps and Gerald wouldn’t have two words to say to Sonny. Gerald had always hung out with us—there weren’t any guy-type buddies in the picture, no hunting trips, bar fights, or hot cars to talk about.
“So there’s Tammy…,” Sonny said, frowning. He sorely disapproved of Tammy’s affair with Dr. Day. “And there’s Patsy, an artist in Atlanta, and Gerald, who dropped out of medical school to move to San Francisco—what’s that about? And who’s the other one?”
“Mary Bennett. She’s an actress in New York,” I said, twisting my engagement ring. “She can be kinda—ahh—flamboyant.”
I could easily imagine Mary Bennett sidling up to Sonny and saying, “So, you gettin’ much, Sonny-boy?”—just to see the look on his face.
And it wasn’t like I could ask her to tone herself down. Hell, no! You did not try to muzzle Mary Bennett—not unless you wanted her to be ten times more brazen than usual.
“An actress,” Sonny said in a disapproving tone. “All your friends sound a bit odd. I hope they’re not too weird at the wedding. Clients will be there. And my folks.”
“They’ll be fine,” I assured him. After all, the Queens weren’t in high school anymore. Surely everyone had matured over the last few years. Life couldn’t be moonshine and Fritos forever.
“There she is!” Mary Bennett said, grabbing at least two inches of cheek flesh from my face and squeezing hard. When she let go, I stepped back to take her in.
She wore a geometric-patterned dress and tights. Her hair was cut boyishly short, like Twiggy’s, which brought all kinds of interesting angles to her face.
“You look fabulous!”
“And you look”—she paused as if she were trying to conjure up a compliment—“like someone’s wife.” Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly when she said the word “wife.”
I looked down at my clothing. I was wearing a pink cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a khaki dirndl skirt (Sonny didn’t like women in pants—“only ‘hippie scum’” wore blue jeans), and canvas shoes. Instead of wearing my hair in its customary messy bun, I had it pulled back from my face with a black hair band.
“Of course she looks like a wife,” Tammy said, who was standing on the steps behind me. “She’s gettin’ married in two days.”
“Tammy!” Mary Bennett said. “I didn’t even see you there. And get a load of you, hunny.” She took in Tammy’s familiar teased hair, heavy makeup, and tight dress. “You’re exactly the same.”
“Why, thank you,” Tammy said, patting her hair, basking in Mary Bennett’s attentions and obviously taking it as a compliment. “You look like a fashion model,” Tammy gushed.
“Wait until y’all see Geraldine,” Mary Bennett said, motioning us inside. “You’re goin’ to flip out! Come on in.”
She led us into the kitchen, where an unfamiliar bearded man sat at the table. He had long, bushy dark hair tied back with a piece of leather and wore purple-tinted John Lennon–style glasses. He wore a tight, faded Iron Butterfly T-shirt that showed off his toned pecs and biceps.
“That cannot be—” I began.
“It is!” Mary Bennett said, whipping off the stranger’s shades. There was Gerald, blinking back at me, his eyelashes as long as ever.
Tammy gasped, and I slapped my cheeks. “Oh, my God!”
“Pretty wild, huh?” His voice was huskier than I remembered.
“What’s with the hair?” I asked. “It used to grow straight out, like an Afro.”
“When it grows long enough, it falls down into big, fat, hippie hair,” Gerald said, fingering his ponytail.
What if he had so much hair he wouldn’t be able to tuck it into his Queen wig? But we were too old for all that. Come to think of it, I wasn’t even sure where my wig was.
I gave him a hug and got a snoot full of patchouli oil.
“Are you holding, Geraldine?” Mary Bennett demanded, hand on hip.
“Maybe,” he said from behind his beard.
“Give it up,” Mary Bennett said, thrusting out her palm and tapping her foot impatiently.
Tammy and I exchanged a glance. We had no idea what they were talking about.
Gerald rifled through a fringed pouch hanging from his shoulder.
“Is that a pocketbook?” Tammy asked with a laugh.
“It’s a bag,” Gerald said, as if it was completely obvious. “Everyone in the Haight has one. We all need a bag”—he withdrew a rolled-up plastic baggie and held it up triumphantly—“to hold our bags.”
“Colombian Gold?” Mary Bennett said, watching Gerald hungrily.
“Better,” Gerald said, unrolling the baggie on the table and looking up at her with a smug smile. “Maui Wowie.”
“Is that marijuana?” Tammy asked with alarm.
“The very best. Roll us a fatty, Gerald.” Mary Bennett slapped a package of strawberry rolling papers on the table, and Gerald took out a thin, pink square and licked it along the top.
“Y’all do get high, don’t ya?” she said.
“Every once in a blue moon,” I lied, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Tammy, who knew I’d never even seen the stuff. “Aren’t you worried about your father catching us?”
“He’s in Paris stuffing his face with croissants and wooing his latest conquest,” Mary Bennett said, idly flicking a Bic lighter with her thumb. She was sitting forward in her chair, her elbows planted on the table.
“I see,” I said with a nod, watching Gerald spread a large portion of marijuana on the rolling paper, and then with one hand, dexterously rolling it up into a fat-bellied joint.
“Show-off,” Mary Bennett said, plucking it from Gerald’s hands and waving it under her nostrils. “Mmmmmm, baby, come to mama.”
“Where’s Patsy?” I said. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the joint. This was a first for me.
“She called. Her plane’s late. She won’t be here for another half hour or so,” Mary Bennett said quickly. She lit the joint and inhaled deeply. “Primo weed,” she said with a cough as she passed it to Gerald, who made a loud sucking sound as he inhaled. Then Gerald wagged it at Tammy and me. “You two want a toke?” he asked.
“Sonny and I are planning on having children,” I said, quickly. “So I better not.”
“I’m with Jill,” Tammy said with her arms folded across her chest. “I’m involved with a doctor, and he wouldn’t approve.”
Great clouds of smoke billowed out of their mouths as they both burst into laughter.
�
��God, when did y’all get so uptight?” Mary Bennett said.
When did you and Gerald turn into hippie scum? I thought, but a small voice inside my head wanted to know when I turned into Sonny, so I said nothing.
“All right, chickadees,” Mary Bennett said with a sigh. “I can see this is making y’all uncomfortable so we’ll hold off.”
Gerald stubbed out the joint and tucked the pot back into his pouch. The room fell into an awkward silence. I couldn’t recall a time when four Queens were in the same place and the noise and laughter wasn’t deafening.
“So why don’t you tell us about your commercial, Mary Bennett,” I asked. “Sounds so exciting.”
“The only reason I’m doing it is to pay the bills,” Mary Bennett said in a weary voice. “It’s for Dainty and Dry deodorant. What a crap product!”
“I use Dainty and Dry,” Tammy said brightly. “It’s effective, and has a very nice fragrance.”
“Maybe you should do the stupid commercial,” Mary Bennett said. Her eyes were lazy red slits.
“I think Mary Bennett is trying to say that deodorant is a completely unnecessary product,” Gerald said. “What’s wrong with a person’s natural scent? Why do we have to cover it up?”
“’Cause it’s stinky?” Tammy said, holding her nose.
“I don’t wear deodorant,” Gerald said. “Haven’t for years.”
“Remind me not to sit next to you at the rehearsal dinner,” I said, hoping to lighten things up.
“Ha, ha,” Gerald said, but there was no levity in his tone.
Mary Bennett leaned back, clasped her fingers on her flat stomach, and said, “Why don’t you tell us about your old man, Jill?”
I was grateful for the change in subject, so I forged ahead. “His name is Norman, but everybody calls him Sonny, and he’s an accountant. We just bought a house in Oasis Flats. He wants me to go back to school to be a health teacher, because—”
“Another Pleasant Valley Sunday, down in status-symbol land,” Gerald sang softly.
“I have that album. It’s the Monkees,” Tammy said. She looked at Mary Bennett and Gerald with triumph in her eyes. “See, I’m not completely ignorant about this counterculture stuff.”
“The Monkees are far from counterculture,” Gerald said. “They’re a creation of Madison Avenue—a vehicle for selling sugary breakfast cereals to the masses.”
“Then why are you singing their song?” I said.
He gave me a pointed glance. “I thought it was apt.”
“Instead of singing, why don’t you say what you mean, Gerald?” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Give it a break, Gerald.” Mary Bennett stifled a yawn. “Jill can’t help it. Jackson’s twenty years behind the times. I was trying to find a decent radio station ’round here and all I could pick up was gospel, country-western, and Burt fuckin’ Bacharach.”
“What’s wrong with Burt Bacharach?” Tammy demanded. “His songs are piped into the doctor’s office.”
“Egg-zactly,” Mary Bennett said with a nod of her head.
“I don’t see what Burt Bacharach has to do with anything,” I said.
Gerald looked me square in the eye. “Your life is Burt Bacharach, Jill.”
“What he means is that your life sounds sorta bland. Establishment,” Mary Bennett said.
“I know what he’s saying,” I said, roughly. “And I’m with Tammy. I don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with Burt Bacharach. Do you think everybody’s life is supposed to be like Jefferson Airport?”
“That’s ‘Airplane,’” Mary Bennett said, sniggering.
“Who cares?” I said, pushing my chair away from the table. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting married, buying a house, and planning a future. That’s what people do. You can’t sit around smoking pot the rest of your lives. Who are you to judge me?”
“Damn. Y’all are killin’ my buzz,” Mary Bennett said with a groan.
“But the question is, whose future are you buying into, man?” Gerald asked, leaning back in his chair. “Yours, or the one society is dictating for you? Women don’t have to be baby factories anymore. They can have their own identities and lives.”
“I personally don’t understand what’s up with Gloria Steinem.” Tammy dabbed on lip gloss. “She’s way too pretty to be one of them libbers. They don’t even shave their pits.”
“Look,” I said. “I have my own identity, and I don’t know what you’re trying to prove—”
“I’m just trying to save you from a lifetime of oppression,” Gerald said.
“Oh, Queens!” came a voice from the hall. We all turned to see Patsy sauntering into the kitchen, wearing a red wig and cat’s-eye sunglasses and carrying a big greasy sack. “Oh, my goodness! It’s so great to see all of you! And look what I brought!” She plunked the bag in front of Mary Bennett.
“More pot, I hope,” Mary Bennett said. She eagerly peered inside and then dropped it on the table as if it were hot. “Oh, Gawd! Get this away from me or I’ll puke.”
“What’s wrong?” Patsy said, a puzzled look on her face. “It’s your favorite, Pig Candy. I know it’s cold, but—”
“Mary Bennett’s a vegetarian, and so am I,” Gerald explained. “We refuse to eat the flesh of innocent animals. It turns our stomachs.”
The room fell silent. We surveyed each other with uneasy glances as if we were strangers.
“Well,” I said, after a moment. “I can tell my rehearsal dinner is going to be a real hoot, seeing how it’s being held at the Sizzlin’ Steakhouse.”
Chapter
9
How in the world did you get tied up with such a bunch of wackaloons?” Sonny demanded. I was curled up in a corner of my couch, watching him wear a groove into the carpet.
“They’re not all like that. What about Patsy? She’s perfectly—”
“One out of four,” he said. “That’s nothing to brag about, and I can hardly understand her. Obviously, she has some sort of speech impediment.”
“She doesn’t have a speech impediment. Her mama’s from Minnesota, and the Southern accent just never really took hold for her.”
He stopped his pacing, and glared down at me. “You’re missing the point. That Mary Bennett was bad enough. Her skirt barely covered her be-hind, and she’s crude.”
“Crude?” I said with a puzzled tone. I’d actually been surprised at Mary Bennett’s uncharacteristically subdued behavior during the rehearsal dinner.
“She said ‘blow job’ within earshot of my mama. Mama graciously pretended not to hear, but it was obvious from the appalled look on her face that she had.”
Sonny’s daddy cussed like a sailor, so it was hard to imagine that one little “blow job” from Mary Bennett would make his mama’s precious ears wither, but I held my tongue.
“But nothing could prepare me for Gerald,” Norman said, holding his middle as if the thought of Gerald made him physically ill. “As if his freakish appearance wasn’t bad enough.”
Gerald, bless his heart, had made an effort to dress appropriately. He’d worn a navy blue blazer, a white button-down shirt, and khakis, but nothing could be done to make his long, unruly hair look conservative.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it. Not nearly,” Norman said with a shudder.
This is where Sonny calls Gerald a pansy, a mama’s boy, or a sissy, I thought with a sigh. Homophobes are so predictable.
“He quits Baylor Med School to study philosophy at Berkeley,” Sonny said, his face awash in color. “And you know what that means.”
“Enlighten me,” I said wearily.
Norman’s voice lowered a pitch. “Drugs. Everyone knows that all those swamis and yogis are heavy LSD users. That’s how the Beatles got hooked on the stuff. I read about it in a magazine. And Berkeley, well…”
I sorely doubted Sonny had his facts straight, but I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Suddenly I was extremely tired.
“Sonny, liste
n I—”
“Bottom line is this,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “I don’t want that commie-pinko fag at my wedding. My boss and colleagues will be there. His presence will reflect poorly on me, on both of us. Let that gutter-mouthed Mary Bennett attend if you must, but I’m putting my foot down when it comes to that freak Gerald.”
His cheek muscle and right shoulder were jumping. Whenever he was wound up, Sonny jerked like a string puppet.
“You want to bar one of my oldest friends from our wedding?” The thought of feet being put down was disquieting to me.
Sonny sat down beside me and gently clasped my hand. “Be honest with yourself. Gerald may have been a buddy of yours a long time ago, but he’s not anymore. You’ve even said how different he is now.”
“Yes, but—”
“Sometimes we grow apart,” he said. “You and Gerald have completely different values. Y’all have nothing in common anymore.”
The last few things Sonny had said made sense, but as disconnected as I felt from Gerald, I still couldn’t imagine uninviting him to the wedding. He’d flown in from San Francisco just for me.
“I’ll call him for you if you’d like, sweetie,” Sonny said, obviously sensing I was close to caving in. “Just give me his number.”
If Gerald didn’t come, Mary Bennett probably wouldn’t either. I’d seen them whispering and rolling their eyes at the rehearsal dinner and I was almost certain they’d been talking about me. Did I really want to exchange sacred vows in front of them, knowing they thought my life was all a big, boring joke? It would be much simpler to let Sonny take care of this problem, the way he already handled most other things in my life.
But out of the blue came a mental image of Gerald as he was in high school—with frizzy hair and that blue outfit he wore in our first parade. Maybe the Gerald I’d known and loved didn’t exist anymore, but if I didn’t want him at my wedding, I should have the guts to tell him myself.
“I’ll speak to him.”
“You promise?”
“I said I would,” I said quickly. “You should go home. I need my rest. You don’t want a bride with big dark circles under her eyes.”
The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel Page 7