The name “Dr. Toni Mason” was printed at the bottom of the screen.
“Yes, Dr. Mason,” the host confirmed her request.
“Women of today who have been left after years of love and loyalty must reach deep within themselves and see their inner worth. That’s why the audience clapped for what Naomi just said. It’s important that women see their own worth because they are valuable not only as human beings but as human beings capable of being loved and being able to give love.”
I made a face. What in the world did that woman just say, and why did it take a degree in psychology to say it? Shoot, I could have evangeline said that and probably done it even better. What did she know, anyway, about loving someone since she was twelve years old only to have to give him away not once but three times to a woman like Doreen Roberts?
As if on cue, the cordless phone perched on the nearby end table rang. I pulled off my reading glasses and reached for it. “Hello,” I said.
“Don’t hang up.”
I sighed. “Vernon. Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep calling me … hounding me? Don’t you think I see you driving by my house at all hours of the day and night? You know what I’m going to have to do, don’t you? I’m going to have to get that caller ID service for my phone. Or move. That’s what I’m going to have to do. I’m going to be forced to move, and it’ll be all your fault.”
Vernon remained quiet during my tirade. “Are you done?” he asked. “Because if you’ll just talk to me, listen to me, I’ll be glad to let you carry on from now until noon, so you just rant and rave all you want, Evie-girl.”
“Don’t call me that. I told you before, do not call me that.”
“Come on, Evangeline,” he practically whined. “Can’t you just listen to what I have to say?”
“No.”
“Why not? Give me one good reason why not.”
“Because I am a human being who deserves to love and be loved.” I nodded my chin in appreciation for what I’d just learned from Talk TV.
“What? What the tarnation does that mean?”
I pursed my lips. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand simple psychology.”
I listened to what sounded like traffic on the other end of the line. “Where are you, Vernon Vesey?”
“I’m sitting outside in your driveway. I want to come in … to talk to you.”
I looked down at myself. I hadn’t taken my shower, hadn’t gotten out of my old pajamas and the ratty robe I wore when I wanted and needed comfort. My mouth held the lingering stench of morning A little Tart breath and strong coffee, and my hair hadn’t seen a comb or brush since earlier the day before. “I don’t hardly think so,” I said, rising from my chair and darting through the house toward the front windows whose blinds were, blessedly, closed.
“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to get up on the front porch and bang on the door? Do you want me to stand out in the middle of the yard and sing love songs? Evangeline, you’ve got to listen to me on this.”
I pried open two slats of the front window blinds and peered out. There he was, sitting in one of the county Broncos, looking so handsome in his uniform I could have eaten him with a spoon.
“I see you, Evangeline.”
I jumped back. “Well, so what if you did?” Inwardly, I chided myself for having admired him, even for an instant. “And, for your information, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, Vernon Vesey. Now I’ll thank you kindly to leave my property, or I’ll … I’ll …”
“What? Call the law? It’s sitting here, right here, in your driveway.”
I crossed the room and sat in a chair. “Vernon, say your piece from the car. I’m listening.”
“I want to come in.”
“Not now,” I answered. “I’m not exactly presentable for company.”
“Look, Evie. I’m tired—real tired; I had a long night last night, and I’ve still got something important to handle today. Something very important. And, after that, I promise you, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Deal? I’ll come pick you up at 7:00, we’ll have dinner, and we’ll talk. I know we can get this thing rectified if you’ll just listen.”
I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t that I had any plans—in fact, it was one of the first nights I didn’t have plans to go out with Bob since our first date at Apple’s. I wanted so badly to hear what Vernon had to say—to believe what he had to say—because I loved him so strongly. But, the problem was, I wasn’t evangeline sure if I could believe him, no matter what he had to say, no matter how he tried to defend his actions from a couple of weeks ago.
And, darn it all, Bob Burnett was actually starting to grow on me. “If you can’t marry the one you love,” Mama used to say, “at least marry the one who loves you.” From all indications, Bob Burnett was in love with me. He’d pampered me with dinners and flowers delivered from florists for no apparent reason except to say that he was thinking of me. He’d even surprised me during one date with a bottle of perfume. A real expensive one too. If I said yes to Vernon’s request, would I betray what I was building with Bob?
“Evie?”
“What? Oh. Sorry. I was thinking.”
I heard him chuckle. “Well, that’s better than a downright no.”
“I’ll meet you at Higher Grounds at 5:00. Not Apple’s at 7:00.”
“But—”
“No, Vernon. I’ll hear what you have to say, but on my own terms. Besides, I already have dinner plans.” That was sort of a lie. My plans were to eat the last of Goldie’s asparagus casserole she’d brought with her on Saturday.
I listened for a moment to the rhythm of his breathing before he answered. “Have it your way. I’ll see you at 5:00.”
I pushed the “end call” button on my phone, then took it back into the family room to replace it in its cradle. A quick glance at the television showed the studio audience of the talk show to be in an all-out war, each individual screaming and yelling at the others who were vying for the chance to share their opinion.
I picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. The television hummed to silence. As I laid the remote back on the coffee table, I pondered the similarities of the talk show’s audience to the war within my own heart.
As the day dragged on, I found myself a little more excited about meeting Vernon at the café than I’d anticipated. I spent extra time in my bath, primping over my hair and dabbing a little extra eye A little Tart cream onto the fine lines that my niece, Leigh, had said gave me character.
What does a twentysomething know about crow’s feet and character? I wondered, leaning over the vanity and studying my face. My shoulders drooped. I’d read an article recently about some Botox alternative. I made a quick decision to look into it further.
A glance into my closet revealed that I had nothing new to wear—at least nothing new to Vernon. He’d seen me in all my new clothes, and I wanted to impress him. This afternoon would mean either the new start of our relationship or the absolute end of it. One way or the other, I needed a new outfit. He’d be pleased at what he was getting back or he’d kick himself all the way home at what he was losing.
I slipped into an old pair of navy blue slacks and an outdated sweater, pulled on a pair of thick socks, and then pulled on my snow boots. I studied the face of my watch as I hooked it around my wrist.
If I didn’t dawdle, I could drive up to Main Street Fashions, pick out something perfect for the meeting, be home in time for a little extra attention to myself, and make it to the café before 5:00. Minutes later I was rolling my car down snow-plowed streets, turning onto a side street parking space, and darting into the small boutique.
“Evangeline,” Lindy Follett greeted me from behind the counter, where displays of cashmere scarves were draped through brass towel rings. “What brings you in here on such a cold afternoon?”
I lingered over the scarves as I pulled my gloves from my hands, then lightly touched a chart
reuse one trimmed with little beads tied into the fringes. “Pretty,” I said, then looked up. “I’m just looking for a little something new. Nothing important.”
Lindy lifted her multicolored reading glasses from the bridge of her nose and pushed them on top of her head, where they nestled in her curly, shoulder-length gray hair. “If you like that scarf, I have a sweater and pantsuit that goes with it very nicely.” She walked from around the counter and led me to the clothes rack. Removing the set from the bar, she asked, “What do you think?”
“I like that. Not too fancy, not too informal.”
“It’s sharp,” she said, extending it to me with a wink. “And a little more up-to-date than what you’ve got on. Why don’t you try it on and see?”
I took the clothes and started toward the curtained-off dressing room. As I was stepping into the slacks I heard Lindy call from the other side, “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Evangeline?”
“Not at all,” I answered, pulling the slacks over my hips and zipping them at the side.
“I’ve seen you sitting with Bob Burnett the past two Sundays at Grace. Are you two dating?”
I looked at myself in the mirror before me, half dressed in my bra and a sharp pair of lined gray wool slacks. My face turned crimson in spite of the fact I was basically alone. It felt as though my private life were exposed for the world to see. “I guess you could say that,” I said.
“I was just surprised to see the two of you sitting together,” she continued as I slipped the sweater from its hanger and pulled it over my head. “I thought you and the sheriff were dating and—”
I jerked the curtain back and stepped out. “What do you think?” I asked her, eager to change the subject.
“Oh, Evangeline. Well, honey, that’s the color for you; that much is for sure. If you’re trying to impress the new man in your life, this ought to do it.”
What I was trying to do was impress the old man in my life. Not that Lindy Follett needed to know that, of course. “I’ll take it,” I said, turning to look at myself in the outside mirror. I had to admit, I did look sharp.
Lindy held the scarf in her hand and draped it over my shoulder. “You can wear it like this, or—”
“I’ll take the scarf too,” I said. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll bring these to the counter.” I looked down at my watch. “I have somewhere I have to be in a couple of hours, so …”
Lindy nodded. “I see. Okay.”
I paid for my purchases—even adding a new pair of earrings to the ensemble—and headed back home. As soon as I turned on the car, my “low fuel” indicator light came on. I checked my watch again. If I hurried, I could drive down to the Pump ’N Go just outside A little Tart the city limits where the gas was a few cents cheaper than in town and still make it home with plenty of time to spare.
I’m not real big on going to the Pump ’N Go except that the gas is less expensive. The problem I have is that it’s in a less desirable part of town, an area where the tavern is and a few of Bob’s whitetrash trailer rentals. It’s not that I think I’m better than anybody else, I’m just not comfortable outside of my element. But to save a few dollars—and with the price of gasoline these days—I was willing to risk my reputation.
I pulled up to one of the gas pump islands, popped the lever for my gas cap, and began the process of pumping gasoline into my car, careful not to get any on my hands. I looked around, checking things out, wanting to stay alert lest any of the lowlifes around here should try to abduct me or steal my car. That’s when I noticed the sheriff ’s Bronco parked at the side of the tavern. I strained to see the license plate but couldn’t. If it read Summit 2, it was Donna. But if it read Summit 1, it was Vernon.
My money was on Donna, but I knew it could be her father. But if Vernon said he had something very important to do today, what was he doing in the tavern now? Drinking? Had it come to that? Had my breaking up with him led to alcoholism? Or perhaps the arms of one of the floozies who worked there? I could certainly see it happening, Vernon not being a fully religious man. Maybe, I pondered, God had led me here on purpose … to find out the truth about the man who professed to love me so much.
The pump lever I was squeezing in my hand snapped off and spilled gasoline over the side of my car. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said. I replaced the handle, then reached for the squeegee so I could wipe off the spillage, careful the entire time to keep my eyes on the tavern, lest Donna or Vernon came out.
They didn’t.
What happened next is the kind of thing you only see in movies. I turned the key in the ignition of my car and drove right next to the Bronco, which by now I could see read Summit 1.
Vernon was in there. Vernon was in there, and I was about to find out why. Or, with whom.
I’d never been in the tavern before, not even in my younger years, but I pulled open the door like I’d been doing it all my life, then stood in the doorway gaping. Even in the middle of the afternoon it was filled with people, though certainly not my kind of people. Smoke permeated the room. Music—loud and raunchy from the sound of it—blasted from overhead. It took me a minute to focus my eyes in the dimly lit room, but when I did, I immediately spotted the sheriff sitting at a back table, deep in conversation with a woman who sported bleached blond hair worn dirty and long and tied back in a tight ponytail. She was smoking a cigarette, dragging on it so hard I was shocked she didn’t choke to death right there.
Whatever the two of them were talking about, it seemed almost violent in nature. The crimson in Vernon’s face was visible even from where I stood. I took a step forward, and almost as if on cue, Vernon turned to face me. The red in his face drained out, replaced by ashen gray. “Evie,” I saw him mouth, though I couldn’t hear a thing over the cacophony of the music and patron conversation.
The woman sitting across from him snapped her neck to face me then. I squinted my eyes, aware of Vernon standing, though it seemed to be in slow motion. Somehow my feet found their purpose, and I crossed the room, keeping my eyes on the blonde, who smiled wickedly as she drew on her cigarette once more. As I moved closer, I saw that she was wearing the tavern’s work shirt, a long-sleeved black polo with an imprinted frothy glass of beer, and a name tag that read “Dee Dee.”
“Evangeline, what are you doing here?” I heard Vernon saying, though I didn’t bother to turn to look at him. I was more focused on the woman who smirked as she looked up at me.
Dee Dee McGurk, Bob had called her. Donna had described her as “washed up,” but I saw something else … something more. Something that looked like my past sitting right smack in the middle of my present, ripping apart my future.
“Evie,” she said, speaking at last. She eyed me up and down as I stood before them in my old clothes. “I see some things haven’t changed about you.” Her voice was hard and raspy; her face lined with years of hard living. But her eyes … I knew those eyes. Tired A little Tart and haggard as they were, they couldn’t fool me. These were the eyes of my enemy.
“Doreen Roberts,” I said. “I see some things haven’t changed about you either.”
I looked at Vernon, who wore a pair of dress pants, a long-sleeved cotton shirt and tie, and a leather jacket that shone in the overhead light. He smelled of aftershave. “Don’t even bother,” I ordered. “There’s absolutely nothing you can say to me now.”
I don’t remember what happened next. I don’t know how I got to my car or even how I managed to drive out of the parking lot. Somehow, I found myself at Bob’s bungalow office, located near Donna’s home. I walked in on rubbery legs, looking through eyes that were blurred with both rage and confusion.
Bob was sitting at his desk, smoking a thick cigar, poring over what appeared to be a local tourist magazine. When he saw me, he stood. “Evangeline,” he said. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
I crossed the room as he came around to meet me. When we were practically nose to nose, I said, “I have a question for you, Bob Burnett, and I want an answe
r right now. Yes or no. No thinking about it. No pondering it.”
“What is it, Evangeline? You look ill. Do you need to sit down? A cup of tea, maybe?”
“I don’t need a cup of tea, Bob Burnett. I need an answer.”
He smiled, showing nearly every one of his crooked teeth. His thick brow arched over his deep-set eyes as he said, “Well, then, I guess I need a question.”
I placed my hands on my hips and squared my shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I then exhaled and said, “Yes or no. Do you want to marry me or not?”
“Marry you?” Bob took a step back. “Evie, have you been drinking?”
My face fell, and my shoulders drooped. I turned to leave, too humiliated to remain. Before I made it to the door, he caught me and spun me around. “Wait up, there. You caught me off guard, is all. Question is, do you want to marry me?”
I felt my stomach lurch as my heart turned inside out. “Would I have asked if I didn’t?”
He jutted his neck forward a bit. “Isn’t this supposed to be the man’s job? The asking?”
I started for the door again, and again he stopped me. “All right, Evangeline. Yeah, I want to marry you. If you’re game to marry an old man like me, then I guess I’m game to marry an old—”
“Watch it, Bob,” I warned, then forced myself to smile.
I stood motionless as he put his hand on my waist and pulled me to him. “You know, I’ve never even kissed you, Evie. Never even held you tight.”
I leaned my head back enough to say what I had to say. “Well, then. I guess now’s as good a start as any for the first time.”
As he pressed his lips against mine, a wild thought skipped through my mind. Two can play this game, Vernon Vesey. And one of us might even win. You’ll see.
31
Two-Finger Tango
Clay Whitefield nearly bounced up and down in the chair positioned at the center of the desk in his apartment. He typed as fast as his two index fingers would allow. Behind the laptop, Woodward and Bernstein wrestled with each other like two sumo wrestlers, spewing wood shavings and pushing them into small hills along the cage’s edge.
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