“Sometimes, but most of the time old habits die hard.”
“You really don’t believe in romantic love anymore, do you, Aunt Elizabeth?”
“I think in our culture, a good love affair usually lasts about four years, but we drag it out for seven – hence seven year itch – then feel either guilty mad or guilty glad when somebody strays because we find it necessary to hold to the saw that it lasts forever.”
“Why?”
“Because romance is vanity’s fuel, an excuse for a shallow lifestyle. Who was it that said, ‘A woman should be in love forever? It’s good for her skin’?”
“Probably the same one who said, ‘A woman can never be too thin or too rich.’”
“Well, we both know it wasn’t Lillian Carter.”
“Why, what did she say?”
“Let’s give up this foolishness and join the Peace Corps.”
“Hillary Clinton’s like that. No vanity. She’s only interested in the serious work of the world, not in making a career out of shopping.”
“True, but even though she’s a Yankee, she’s still part of that strong, female, Southern tradition. The difference is that she goes undisguised. She refuses to wear the mask.”
“Not entirely. Look at the clothes and the hairdo. She makes concessions, but she doesn’t surrender. That’s the difference. When she first came to Arkansas, you could harvest a wheat crop out of those eyebrows.”
“She had to do that to get her husband Bill elected governor.”
“True, but remember something that Southern women know intuitively. Men are visual creatures, and if a woman doesn’t attend to her appearance, a man may not wander, but his eyes will. Throughout most of western history, women aged faster than men because, like our ancestors, they often bore a dozen children, and their bodies gave out, inside and out. Even today, there’s prejudice against women who “refuse to age gracefully” even though science has given us the tools to hold age back as long as we’re breathing. I tell my patients to use everything in the tool box they can afford if it makes them feel better about themselves. I realize that make up and plastic surgery can be like donuts, too much may not be enough. We live in an easily addicted world, but information is power and so is appearance. If a man leaves you for another woman, and you have developed yourself, inside and out, you can quickly find another if you want one; but if you don’t, you have choice and choice is always empowering. Holly, remember how good that new haircut made you feel?
“Don’t forget about the vegetable pack,” I laughed.
“Most females want male attention and every Southern woman knows, unfortunately, that no other woman envies another her college degrees. Beauty is envied. College degrees are admired. Beauty is never taking a back seat in the world to achievement, not since Cleopatra and Helen of Troy because most men worship it, and most women wish to be worshiped for it.”
“So the modern woman with the edge is the one who works out every day at the gym, watches her diet, leaves off the smokes and other deadly chemicals that cause slow death and early ugly. I know you’re right. I’ve already discovered that the female face does not like cigarettes, refined sugar, hard drugs, or too much alcohol.”
“Holly, you look fine. Men love to be with older women, while they’re looking at the young ones. But, trust me, I know this from places other than books. Men find older women interesting, mysterious, intriguing. Life isn’t over when you leave your twenties if you care about yourself and don’t let others use you up. They will, you know. It is the nature of husbands and children to use their wives and mothers as tools to enhance themselves. Never be a tool. It’s an inanimate object and not a smart one. Never allow others to dehumanize you. Keep yourself and keep your sensuality. Sexy is such a cheap, common term, and in the world of common, you need to be unique. Cultivate your own originality. European women have always known how to beguile. Many American women are too busy growing balls.”
“How can I be unique? A hairdo only gets you in the door.”
“That’s right. The actress Loretta Young once said that you get one opportunity to make a grand entrance. Then you have to open your mouth. Too many girls today put too much stuff on their faces and not enough inside their heads. They want Cleopatra’s eyes but haven’t read enough to know about her brains. They were what almost made her Empress of the Roman Empire.”
“What are you saying? Don’t you have to do both?”
“Of course you do, but it’s the wise woman who owns the future: the crone, the old moss woman will hold the power in the twenty-first Century. She’ll talk sense rather than war, and she’ll do it with charm and grace. You don’t have to look like a hag to be smart. If you’re a woman, it’s difficult to project wisdom without plucking the hairs from your chin. You have to gain attention first and everybody likes to look at pretty.”
“I feel pretty… but back to Grandmother. Why would she remarry Ham?”
“Because he needs her and Victoria doesn’t. If Victoria left, Mother would be alone.”
“You know I’ve always thought of Grandmother as not needing anything except...”
“Peace of mind.”
“Yes.”
“Well, she’s not her stuff, “Aunt Elizabeth smiled, “She’s the least materialistic person I’ve ever known, but Victoria’s lived with her so long. Victoria’s addiction to thrill may be contagious, and Charlotte would be lonely alone now. She left Ham two years before Victoria moved up to the farm with her. If she had remained alone all these years, then I’d say no. Even now as long as your mother is with her, Charlotte won’t come back, but if Victoria leaves, I believe she will.”
“Why do you think Victoria might leave? Where will she go?”
“I don’t know, but I think she’s been in hibernation for the last twelve years. Her molting period is over. She’s getting ready to re-engage with her life.”
“What do you base that on?” I asked.
“Several factors: Our little confrontation at the farm last week finally closed the chapter on most of her guilt. Visible demons cease to haunt. You’re home now, and she lost so many years with you. Besides she lived almost forty years in Delta Ridge. It’s her home; she’s not really a country girl. I predict she’ll be back.”
“What should we do?”
“You shouldn’t do anything. Let her come to her own decision in her own time. She will anyway. You can’t persuade her until she’s ready.”
“What will you do?” I asked.
“Start looking for a house.” We both laughed.
“How about Garland’s house?”
“I’ve thought about it. It’s in good shape. Victorian is not my favorite architectural style, but Garland had some lovely antiques. I could mix my furniture with his very well, I think. Besides, I’d like to live in a family house with my own things, a house that I actually owned.”
“Where are your things?”
“In storage. Since I sold my house in Memphis, I’ve had no place to put them. I think I’ll go over tonight and look at the place. I don’t expect anyone else in the family will want it. If I bought it, then it could be kept in the family rather than sold to strangers. I believe that’s what Garland would have preferred,” Aunt Elizabeth said.
“You know I think even a year ago, I would have been repelled by the thought of living in the house where someone died or just left and never came back.”
“But not anymore?”
“No. Not since I came home and made my peace with this house. I’ve ceased to think that Daddy died here every time I walk through the front door.”
“In the South a house is almost like a family member, especially an old house that’s been in a family for generations.”
“Even when it has lots of ghosts?” I asked.
“Ghosts don’t require much space. They’re probably easier to live with than most relatives. Who knows how many people have died in Ham’s house or Charlotte’s for that matter? Over a hundred years, it
would be hard to get an accurate body count.”
THAT MORNING I felt as if I had never slept. Then I realized I’d had so many dreams I could not have spent much time awake. I must think logically today—leave my feelings on the bed under the crazy quilt. I must think only about my work! That’s good advice to myself, I thought. I grabbed my bathrobe and headed for the shower.
Fortunately, I can avoid the office and both Ham and Michael.
16 Simon Calls
“GUESS WHAT?” FELICIA asked at the breakfast table Saturday morning. “Simon called last night after the two of you went to bed and asked me to go to see the Napoleon exhibit in Memphis tomorrow.”
“Well, how did that come about?” Aunt Elizabeth was surprised.
“He said that he really likes our family, including his new client Holly. He thinks we’re a lot of fun.”
“Are we all invited?” I teased my cousin.
“No, silly. He said he usually doesn’t date his clients, but Delta Ridge is so small, no one else is left. Mother, how would you feel about my marrying our hairdresser?”
“Well, I don’t know. Barbra Streisand did it. Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast considering you haven’t had your first date?”
“One time you said I shouldn’t date anyone I wouldn’t consider marrying.”
Aunt Elizabeth laughed. “That must have been before my third divorce. Now I’d probably say don’t date anyone you’d consider marrying.”
I laughed.
“No, you wouldn’t. Don’t you think Simon’s attractive?” Felicia asked hopefully.
“Well, yes, but what else do you have in common?”
“We’re interested in the same things.” Felicia glanced at me, hoping for help.
“Like what, your hair?” I asked, fueling the fire.
“You two are being cruel. Simon asked if my family would mind if we saw each other. I said no, but I guess I was wrong. He doesn’t have a law degree.”
“Felicia, Holly and I were teasing you. You’re twenty-three. If you’re not old enough to decide who you want to date, you never will be.”
“I’m sorry, Felicia. I like Simon. He’s very charming,” I added. But why was he so quiet last night?”
“Because he was intimidated by all you intellectuals.”
“I don’t think we sounded very intellectual. I found myself enjoying the Brooks’ dinner party, and then I woke up this morning feeling guilty that I did.” I must have looked confused.
“Holly, that’s just Delta Ridge’s group dynamics,” Aunt Elizabeth explained.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Was it Sartre who said, ‘Man in a group is always wrong’? Donna wanted to create a lively party. The rest of us certainly cooperated.”
“Not very tastefully, I’m afraid. Is nothing sacred?” Felicia chimed in.
“Not among Delta Ridge’s social elite. It’s such a small circle. They’re bored with each other, but they can’t admit new people because they wouldn’t be exclusive any longer. So a person has to come to town with pedigree in hand.” Elizabeth shook her head.
“And Simon doesn’t have a pedigree?”
“Don’t you know that good hairdressers are like artists? They’re accepted anywhere,’” Aunt Elizabeth affirmed.
“What about Jack Walker? He seems to be a hot ticket in this town,” I had to say.
“A handsome single doctor gets a free pass anywhere in the Western world. You know socialites have daughters, too.”
“So what about me?”
“Holly, you are of the blood in this town. Committing murder wouldn’t knock you off the Christmas party lists.”
“So good to know that I don’t have to behave.”
“Blueblood never has to. Misbehavior might knock some people off the churches’ bulletin boards, but not where we go.”
“Do you think some of these people are secretly glad when horrible things happen to someone else?” Felicia asked.
“That’s human nature. One way to deal with death is by laughing at it. Of course, no one in this town misses Avon Wallace. She threatened too many people’s ordered lives. The great taboo in this country among the middle classes is adultery, always has been, always will be. What’s the old saw? ‘The upper class does as it chooses, the lower as it must, and only to the middle class do the sins of the flesh matter at all.’”
“So Bootsy Ball was speaking the truth when she said that a serial killer may be loose in this town, but now all the married women will sleep easier at night?” I asked, adding cynically, “Especially if her other half, the good pharmacist Billy Ball, gives them some of his strongest sleeping pills.”
“I’m afraid so. The double standard is alive and well in Delta Ridge. It’s always the devil woman’s fault. And Sam is one of their own. The town will wrap its cape around him,” Elizabeth predicted. They see him as deserving of their protection. Besides he’s a male doctor, the right kind. If Avon had to invade a male-dominated profession, she should have worn arch support shoes.”
“Excuse me for personal reflection, but I’m about to try a popular man for killing a despised woman, and then I’m running for elected office. I haven’t been home two months. What a Catch-22 situation.”
“I don’t envy your position,” Felicia sympathized. “By the way, your mother called this morning. She wants to come by for a visit with you this afternoon around two. I told her you’d call back if the time wasn’t convenient.”
“What does she want to do, inspect her house? I think I’ll take Jigger for a run in the park so everyone can see that I’m not in church. Being the outsider allows certain freedoms,” I said.
“‘The world’s law was no law to her mind,’” Aunt Elizabeth smiled at me.
“I recognize that quote,” Felicia chimed in.
“Hester Prynne, The Scarlet Letter,” Aunt Elizabeth volunteered.
“That would be me.” I bowed. “I’m here to enforce the law, not necessarily to obey it.”
“That’s dangerous talk. My God, you may end up in leg irons,” Felicia laughed.
“It’s still fashionable in this state to be part of the old, rowdy, liberal crowd,” Aunt Elizabeth added. “One cannot be a psychologist without wanting to improve the lives of the masses.”
“And have disdain for the middle class?” I injected.
“Just the smug hypocrisy and the anti-intellectualism. Both the middle South and the deep South are full of that.”
“I never realized that Delta Ridge had such a tight class system until I came back. I thought I was a member in good standing of the middle class. At least I know that in Little Rock I was.”
“You are upper class here.”
“Why would I not know that I was upper class?”
“Because you were born into it, third generation. It’s more than money. It’s a way of looking at the world, hopefully without a provincial attitude.”
“You mean without being common?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. America is mostly a rented tux world.”
“What does that mean? That if someone has to rent a tux, he shouldn’t be wearing it in the first place?” I asked.
“I don’t want to sound heartless. If little boys want to go to high school proms with powder blue coats and clip-on bow ties, it’s okay. In fact, it’s a damn sight better than loose baggy pants and unlaced tennis shoes. Maybe it’s the only way for some to get away from falling down houses and flat old tires in the front yard.”
“You know the Europeans never allowed the peasantry to foul up the landscape and destroy nature like we do in this country. The wretched expose all of us to their special version of ugliness.”
“Like the blubber-fat workman with no shirt on next door building the neighbor’s privacy fence,” I added.
“And the further you go west in this country, the trashier things look,” Felicia sighed, “until you get to California.”
“And Arkansas would be such a be
autiful state if the Snopes hadn’t been allowed to take it over after they finished off Mississippi.”
“We sound like such snobs,” I confessed. “But I do think this country could use some dress codes. You take any kid not yet on drugs, but from the heart of the projects, and put that kid in a uniform at the Delta Ridge Academy, and he will perform better.”
“Some of that is peer pressure, Holly. People, especially kids, like to please the ones they’re with. If it takes tattoos, nose piercings, goth hair, whatever.”
“It’s like let’s drop out and be different from ‘them,’ whoever ‘them’ is, and then uniform up like all the other so called ‘outsiders’ that believe exactly like we do. It’s scary, and race has nothing to do with it. Tribe maybe, but not race.”
“You’re right, Holly. For most people, it’s not really race that’s the problem. It’s class. It’s like Bob Dylan says of the poor whites who always vote against their own self-interest. The rich white man pits them against the black man, makes them feel like they’re superior, happier with their own wretched lives,” Aunt Elizabeth opined.
“Only a pawn in their game,” I added.
“And it’s still as true today as it was when he wrote it back in the Sixties,” Aunt Elizabeth agreed.
“SPEAKING OF RACE, what did you think about Avon’s sister showing up at the office yesterday? Did you meet her?”
“Yes. Michael introduced us. I guess they were on their way to your office. What’s up there?”
“It was stunning to say the least,” I responded. “She has just completed a medical residency in family practice in Michigan, and she’s coming back to Delta Ridge to take over Avon’s practice. She’s kept the office open with Avon’s nurse practitioner, and she’s booking patients in two weeks. Evidently, Avon had a rip-roaring patient list, and they were loyal.”
“Holly, that’s interesting, but the woman I met was black. How is she Avon’s sister, and how will Avon’s patients cotton to that?”
“What she told me was that she was Angelique’s daughter, but that she and Avon had the same father. He never was around much, but he scattered seed whenever he hit town. Remember that Avon had the reputation for passing out more drugs in Carter County than the original Mr. Carter ever had liver pills. Her sister’s name is Cassandra, and she may be the prophetess of doom for Avon’s murderer. She’s ten years younger than Avon, but they were very close. Apparently, Avon told her everything. Avon paid for her education when none of the others in the Anderson family would have anything to do with her.”
Delta Ridge Page 17