Jack Loves Callie Tender

by Peggy Webb

  Jack

  I knew the first time I kissed her I was a goner. Even if she had let me haul her off to a motel, I couldn’t have gotten her out of my system. That woman might as well have been boxed up and presented to me with a gift card that said Jack Jones.

  And so I did what any man in my position would do. I figured out how much time I had to woo her and win her. I even figured in the time I had for a honeymoon and where I’d take her before I ever popped the question. I had four weeks till I was back on the job and I didn’t intend to leave Mooreville, Mississippi, till Callie Valentine was mine.

  Before all that, though, I went to see Charlie. I’m not a cad. I know a man in my position has no business with a woman, not of the permanent sort, anyhow. If Charlie Valentine said no, I’d take the nearest road out of town.

  “Charlie,” I said to him over coffee in his apartment over the funeral home – Eternal Rest. Thank God there were no bodies downstairs. I see enough bodies in my work. I didn’t cotton to the idea of asking for a woman’s hand in marriage while the dead lay waiting for a decent burial. “I want to marry your niece.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing would make me happier.”

  Charlie’s position took me by surprise. He knows the dangers as well as I do. He knows that I would have to keep secrets from Callie. I couldn’t tell her where I was going or what I was doing. I couldn’t even tell her when I would come back. Fact is, every time I leave, I don’t know if I’ll come back alive or in a body bag.

  “You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

  “Why should I?”

  “A Company man shouldn’t have a wife.”

  “Why not? I did.”

  “I’m not family material.”

  Charlie knows this as well as I do. I grew up in an orphanage. Several as a matter of fact. I was such a troublemaker, I got sent from one to the other till I finally got old enough to go out and find trouble all on my own. When people ask my family history, I invent one. It makes them feel more comfortable if I say I grew up with two parents in a normal household.

  Charlie clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re as much a son to me as if you were my own. And if ever there was a woman with the strength of character to be the wife of a Company man, it’s my niece.”

  “You’re giving me your blessing?”

  “Yes. And telling you to hustle before you get sent to the other side of the world.”

  “You know where I’m going next?”

  “I’ve heard rumors.”

  I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. It’s always best to go out to fight the bad guys on an adrenaline high.

  I left Charlie with the promise that I would never break Callie’s heart. Then I set out to propose to the woman in a way that made it impossible for her to say no.

  Callie’s cautious. Where Lovie would have jumped at the chance to be spontaneous, Callie was going to say she needed at least six months to get to know me and another year and half to get ready for a wedding.

  In two years, I could be dead. That’s exaggerating a bit, but not much. Men all over the world have tried to take me out, but they’ll have to up their game if they intend to catch the Black Panther. A code name I earned because I have the knack of blending into the darkness so well I’m invisible.

  Besides all that, the jackals were closing in.

  Don’t think I hadn’t seen Laura Swenson stalking Cal and me. Impossible to miss all that dyed blond hair, the forty-inch rack, the fake accent. We’d had a brief fling a couple of years back, down in New Orleans at the Mardi Gras, and Laura had made some rash statement about never letting me go. I hadn’t believed her then, but she had a nasty habit of turning up every time I take a vacation. Made me wonder if her accent is fake, after all.

  The brunette was a Company operative whose interest in me got a little too personal on a job we did last year in Mexico City.

  Who the Sumo wrestler-looking dude was, I didn’t have as clue. But I intended to find out. After I proposed to Callie.

  It took some fast talking and a few bribes, but I pulled it all together in two days. Then I set out to win my woman.

  She was wearing that pretty yellow sundress that I like so much and matching yellow shoes. Callie’s a shoe hound. I found that out right away. While an obsession with footwear would look silly on most women, on Cal it looked cute.

  I had told her we were going on a picnic. When I picked her up at the door, she had a basket all packed that smelled like Heaven. And so did she.

  “Something smells good.”

  “Lovie fried chicken for us. And made fried apple pies. I made the potato salad.”

  I grabbed the basket and escorted her out the door. I didn’t dare kiss her. If I started, I wouldn’t stop. In spite of what my enemies say, I’m only human. I had never had to wait this long for a woman. Don’t get me wrong. That’s not the reason I wanted to marry her. I loved her. Love her still.

  There’s not a manipulative bone in her body. She wasn’t playing hard to get. Callie Valentine was just being herself. And she had no idea the power she had over me.

  But my time in Mooreville was running out. And once I made up my mind, nothing could slow me, sidetrack me, bamboozle me or deter me.

  I had timed it just right. I drove the silver Jag to an overlook on the Natchez Trace Parkway. It’s a beautiful, bucolic setting, federally protected and maintained, limited access, 50-mile-an-hour speed limit, very little traffic and very many unimpeded views of the sunset.

  It was quiet when we got there. Nothing out of the ordinary to give away my plans. Just a grassy hillside, a perfect breeze, and the evening sun turning the sky, the farmland beyond, and even a few cows pink and gold.

  We spread a quilt then sat cross legged eating the best fried chicken I’d ever put in my mouth and a passable potato salad. This wasn’t the first time I’d found out the woman of my dreams was no cook. Which was fine by me. I could live on hot dogs for weeks at a time. And have.

  We ate the fried chicken and started on the pies. The sky had gone from rainbow colored to a deep shade of purple when three cars pulled up. Right on time.

  “Oh, dear.” I loved that Cal was disappointed to have company. I loved the way she hid her disappointment and smiled at them when the four guys walked up. “You just missed the sunset,” she said.

  “That’s all right, ma’am,” the tallest one said. Hank Gruber, leader of band he called the Black-eyed Peas and Ham. Nothing makes sense anymore. Whatever happened to names like The Beatles?

  Three of them pulled guitars and harmonicas out of cases, and the fourth pulled out fireworks.

  With the sky lit up by sparkling hearts and showers of stars, with the strings and mouth harp playing romantic ballads, I got down on my knees and offered up a marquis cut diamond ring.

  “Will you marry me, Callie?”

  My question was redundant. She’d already said, “Yes.” More than once if I recall. And with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  While I had the advantage, I did the smart thing and pressed for a quick wedding. I had to tell another lie to get it to happen, but it was all for a good cause.

  The lie? I told her that my parents would be flying over from Paris, and it seemed a foolish waste not to go ahead and get married while they were here.

  o0o

  Now before you start getting your nose all out of joint about Jack telling his little fib, put yourself in his shoes. He was right about Cal. She’s not spontaneous. She’s a planner, a perfectionist. She’d have wanted a two year-wait. And he didn’t have the luxury of time.

  You’d have to know Jack the way I do to understand why he made up a family in Paris. He’d as soon cut off his right hand as have anybody feel sorry for him, especially Callie. He wanted his future wife to view him as normal.

  Of course, he couldn’t jeopardize her safety by telling her about his job. If you work for somebody like The Company or the CIA,
you can’t go around blurting out, “Honey, I’ve got to fly halfway around the world and go undercover where I could get shot at, captured, tortured and possibly killed. If the bad guys come to the door looking for me, act like you don’t know me.”

  He told her he was an international businessman.

  He told her the truth about his family soon enough. And she laughed about it.

  It wasn’t till years later that she accidentally learned his true profession.

  Chapter Four

  But back to the wedding. I know for a fact that everybody in Mooreville and half of Tupelo were there. I’ve seen the guest book.

  You might think a wedding done on the fly would be small, family only. But you don’t know the Valentines. They’re Mooreville’s answer to royalty. What with Charlie’s Eternal Rest Funeral Home over in Tupelo, Lovie’s Luscious Eats (a catering service known all over Mississippi and the one always requested for the best wedding and funeral receptions), Ruby Nell’s popular Everlasting Monuments, and Callie’s beauty shop where she not only keeps Mooreville’s glitterati beautiful but also fixes up the dearly departed at Eternal Rest, the Valentines know everybody in Lee County and the surrounding area. Leaving somebody off the guest list would be bad manners, not to mention bad business.

  Callie and Jack didn’t send out invitations. They put an announcement in the paper inviting anybody who wanted to come. For good measure, Fayrene put a flyer in the window at Gas, Grits and Guts.

  The way Fayrene tells it, she was the main reason everybody who was anybody attended the wedding.

  o0o

  Fayrene

  I was the first one to point out the business advantage of posting flyers.

  Ruby Nell and I were sitting on my sexual sofa having a cup of tea with just a touch of something stronger. After a hard day dispensing hostility at Gas, Grits and Guts, that little something extra was just what I needed.

  “We ought to put wedding flyers in our places of business, Ruby Nell.”

  “Flitter, Fayrene. They’ll read it in the paper.”

  “Some of my customers don’t even get the paper. And they’ll have their feelings hurt if they don’t get invited to the society wedding of the year.”

  “Put that way, it makes good business sense. But I think Callie will balk at the idea of putting a wedding invitation in a place that sells tombstones.”

  “You’ve got a point. But what’s to stop me from putting one at Gas, Grits and Guts?”

  When Ruby Nell clicked her cup against mine, I knew I’d won my point. We agreed not to tell Callie and just let her find out all by herself. Which is nothing new for us. If we told that girl everything we do, she’d have a Cadillac arrest.

  Anyhow, I designed these cute little flyers with red hearts and white love birds, then used a whole box of silver glitter spiffying them up so they’d stand out from the display of pickled pigs lips. That’s our specialty and it’s my bright idea to highlight the fact with a fateful display in the window.

  The first person to notice the wedding flyer was Mayor Earl Getty. He’s a common sewer of my pickled pigs lips, and drives all the way from Tupelo for his weekly supply. Of course, he always fills up with gas, too, which accounts for his great popularity around here.

  “Did you see the wedding flyers, Mayor?”

  “I did. Callie is a great favorite with Junie Mae.” That’s the mayor’s wife, who won’t let anybody but Callie do her color. “She’ll be there will bells on.”

  “Well, Callie will never get over it if you don’t come, too.”

  I could tell he was fixing to come up with some excuse. But Mayor Getty is known for caving in when you put him in the hot seat, and if that’s what it took to get him to celibate Callie’s nuptials, than I wasn’t above supplying the fire.

  It didn’t take him half a second to say, “Of course. I’ll be there.”

  See. That’s what I’m talking about.

  The next bigwig to cave in to my special brand of hostility was Sheriff Trice. He’s a big favorite among the topless, and I knew Callie’s wedding would not be complete without him.

  With the help of my glitter wedding poster, I lit more than a few fires under the seats of my customers. I’m the main reason that wedding chapel was packed with Tupelo’s glum and beautiful.

  o0o

  If anybody qualifies as one of Tupelo’s glam and beautiful, it’s yours truly. I wish I could have been at the wedding. Of course, that was before my time. I didn’t come into the picture until I entered the Valentine-Jones household as the best gift Callie ever got. Just ask her.

  Anyhow, all was not going as smoothly on the wedding front as Fayrene’s story would indicate. Over in Tupelo, Lovie was having some trouble.

  o0o

  Lovie

  I’d give away my recipe for Prohibition Punch before I’d let Callie know it, but for a while there, it looked like my cousin would have to have a wedding without a reception.

  It started with the cheese. I could have sworn that I bought twenty pounds of goat cheese, but when I got ready to start making the watermelon/goat cheese crumble salad, every bit of the cheese was missing.

  Normally, I’m more organized than a five-star general laying plans to quell an uprising, but this was not just any old wedding. I wanted everything to be perfect for Cal, who is my best friend forever, so I guess I was a little rattled. For all I knew I could have left the goat cheese sitting on the counter at the grocery store.

  After I’d torn my kitchen apart searching, I said a few words that would have made Callie faint; then I ponied up for some more without telling her a thing. But you can bet your wedding garters I wrote down which refrigerator shelf I put it on, just in case.

  With the goat cheese safe, I set in to getting just the right shade of pink for the cake icing. This a pure art. Counting all those little drops of red food coloring, knowing just how much powered sugar and butter to mix to ice the cake and all the petit fours.

  I was in the midst of counting red drops when the next door neighbor’s dog set up a commotion. Glancing out my window, I saw a figure rise up out of the hydrangeas under my kitchen window and race across my back yard. I grabbed the nearest weapon handy, which just so happened to be my filleting knife. Armed and dangerous, I streaked out the back door.

  “Stop right there!”

  The culprit hung onto his baseball hat and ducked behind my tea olive, which I’ve let grow so big it looks like it belongs in a jungle. All I could see was a glimpse of blue jeans and sneakers as he scrambled over the back fence. For good measure, I yelled, “If you come back I’m calling the cops.”

  I probably wouldn’t, though. The neighborhood kids love to play pranks, sneaking into back yards and dumping the garbage or winding toilet paper around the trees. They’re more nuisance than threat. Though something about that particular prankster gave me shivers.

  For one thing, he was the biggest kid I’d ever seen. Or maybe the intruder was a girl. Under that cap, who could tell?

  Anyhow, I thought nothing more of it until that evening when I went onto my front porch. I like to sit out there with a glass of lemonade and watch the stars. That night, though, it wasn’t stars that captured my attention: it was the package on my doorstep.

  The note on top of the box read: “Something blue.” And inside was a pound of goat cheese, covered in blue mold.

  Looking back, maybe I should have told Daddy, at the very least. But I just said a word that would have made Callie blush and then chalked it up to another prank.

  Besides, I had more pressing matters on my mind. While I was dumping the molded goat cheese into the garbage, Callie called with a case of cold feet.

  The first words out of her mouth were, “I can’t marry Jack.”

  I’ve had more boyfriends than Elvis had hit records, and more than my share of proposals. Not a single one even got me within spitting distance of the altar, so you could safely say I’m not the best person to consult about true love. You mi
ght even say I’m not the marrying kind.

  A part of me wanted to shout Hallelujah when Callie said she was backing out of the wedding. Though I was crazy about Jack and could see how much he loved Callie, I couldn’t imagine him fitting into our friendship without causing problems. I was scared of losing Callie. Selfish of me, I know, but I never claimed to be a saint.

  Still, I wasn’t about to stoop low enough to ruin Callie’s future for my own advantage.

  “Do you love him, Cal?”

  “Yes. He’s amazing in every way.”

  More than one of my ex-boyfriends was amazing, but not in the dreamy-voiced way Callie was talking about. If you want to know the truth, I got a little teary-eyed when she said that.

  “Trust me. You just have pre-wedding jitters. Marry him, Callie.”“

  “What’s he going to do when I announce on our honeymoon that I want to start trying to have a baby?”

  I said a word that would frizzle hair. “You don’t have to announce that on your honeymoon! For Pete sake, give the man six weeks to adjust to matrimony before you scare the shit out him.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. I ought to tell him before the wedding so he has a chance to back out.”

  Now, I’d gone and done it. My cousin was going to back out of the wedding, Aunt Ruby Nell would never speak to me again, Callie would never forgive me for losing Jack, and I’d have to find somebody else to do my hair. Since Fayrene was neck deep in the nuptials, I’d even have to find somewhere else to buy my gas.

  “Are you at home, Cal?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m coming right over. We’ll straighten this out. Don’t you dare do a thing till I get there. Promise?”

  “Okay.”

  I grabbed a boxed set of “I Love Lucy” reruns, a six pack of Hersheys, and a bag of popcorn in case Callie was out. Then I lit out for Mooreville as if Brad Pitt were hot on my tail and I was searching for the nearest bedroom.

  Here’s my motto: The best way to get through a crisis is with buttered popcorn, a few belly laughs and lots of chocolate.

  We ended up sitting in the middle of Callie’s bed, talking and laughing till two in the morning. When I was finally convinced I’d talked Callie into the notion that telling everything she knows does nothing but spoil the fun, I put on one of my plus-sized nightshirts I keep in her closet because most of our gab sessions end as spend-the-night parties. This one was pink with red lettering across the front: Red Hot Diva.