Hot Fudge Sundae Blues

by Bev Marshall

  By August, Mama was well enough to go back to work. She slept late on Sundays again, but Wallace didn’t seem to care whether either of us attended New Hope with him.They were getting drunk three or four nights of every week, and although Mama couldn’t dance as good as she had prior to her accident, she played all the old records she had boogied to on the hi-fi set. I wasn’t happy about the drinking, but I liked the fun-loving Mama much better than the pious one, except that it was mostly “Wally” who she told her stories to, not me. I had feared the sober Wallace, but the drunk Wally terrified me. I could feel his eyes following me everywhere around the house, and I stayed in my room more and more. Twice on nights when Mama went to bed drunk, I had heard Wallace turning the knob on the bathroom door when I was taking a bath. I never forgot to lock it.

  I stayed away from the house as often as possible, and I couldn’t help comparing Mama to Mrs. McCormick. I preferred the tailored suits in conservative colors in Mrs. McCormick’s closet to the brightly colored tight skirts and low-cut blouses Mama wore. Mrs. Mac’s closet was more interesting than June’s. Far back on the shelf there was a box of old love letters tied with a pink ribbon and some of them were from a boy named Shawn. He lived in Ireland, where Mrs. Mac had traveled in search of her ancestors. Evidently, “Delia, my daffodil” and this Shawn had fallen in love, but obviously nothing had come of it. He wrote that he wished she’d return, and she must have written that she wanted him to come to the United States instead because in the last letter in the box, Shawn wrote, “Ah, my daffodil, what might have been.”

  Mrs. McCormick also owned six evening dresses, which I tried on, but they were all too big, except in the bodice. They smelled heavenly, even the ones wrapped in heavy plastic bags held a soft scent of lavender, and when I discovered the tiny sachets lining the bottom of the bags, I saw why this was so. I especially liked the full-skirted silver gown that felt like soft hands caressing my body when I stepped into it and wiggled it up my legs. I wore her pearls with it and then tried the ruby choker she kept in a velvet box. I decided the plumbing business must be a good one to go into to afford such things and then remembered Mrs. Mac’s family lived in a big antebellum-style home on Delaware. Delia had probably been wearing real jewelry since she was a baby.

  She kept her fur stole in the hall closet.The fur was so silky and luminous, it rippled like waves when I brushed my palms against it. I figured it must be mink, and I pretended to drink a glass of wine from one of the crystal glasses in their china cabinet as I strolled around the house with the soft fur against my face. I took the stole’s padded coat hanger but left the mink with her initials embroidered in the lining on a wooden hanger.We didn’t have any nice coat hangers in our house, and I decided I would give the padded one to Mama. She didn’t have a mink or even a fake fur coat, but she did own a black-and-white cape that would benefit from the hanger.

  When I gave it to Mama, she looked puzzled. “Why in the world would you give me this, Layla Jay?”

  “It’s for your cape,” I said.“It won’t get those lumps on the shoulders if you hang it on this.”

  Mama sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes. She’d just come home from work and her poor feet were swollen with red stripes beneath her toes. “But where did you get it?”

  “Found it. I was walking to the library and saw it hanging out of a trash can on the street. It doesn’t smell or anything.”

  Mama pulled her striped knit top over her head, stood, and unzipped her olive green skirt. “Well, thank you for thinking of my cape,” she said, as she tossed her skirt on top of the hanger. “You’re not going back to the pool then?”

  I shook my head from side to side.“No way. I’ve had enough swimming to last me a lifetime.”

  Mama wiggled out of her half slip. “Well, at least we don’t have to lie to Wallace anymore. And that’s good, huh?”

  She walked to her dresser in her panties and bra and I noticed that the scars on her stomach had faded to light pink. Mama had gotten her waistline back and her legs were shapely and long. “Yeah. I guess, but I don’t really care about lying to Wallace.”

  Mama was silent as she zipped her shorts and buttoned her blouse, then pinning my arms to my sides, she looked straight at me. “Layla Jay, why do you hate Wallace so much?”

  I stared back.“I don’t hate him.” Of course you do, a voice inside my head said. He’s Humbert Humbert and Roland and every man who wants what he wants from a girl whether she wants him or not.

  I tried to back away, but Mama held me firmly and said, “Don’t lie to me, too. I’ve seen the way you look at him from across the table. I know you try to avoid being around him as much as possible. Are you still mad because he didn’t want you to date or wear makeup? Is that the only reason?”

  I didn’t answer her. She wasn’t going to believe me if I said yes, that was the reason, and I was terrified of what she’d do if I told her the real one.

  She shook me. “Is it? What’s wrong with you? Ever since that night you went to the ball game with Jehu you’ve been different, and ...” She was shouting. “I don’t like who you are.”

  I wouldn’t cry. I hated her now. “I don’t like you either,” I said. “I hate you.”

  She slapped me. “I hate you and Wallace both,” I yelled.

  Mama slapped me again and then burst into tears. “Oh, Layla Jay, I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated with you. I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to help you. Something’s terribly wrong. I don’t know where you are most of the time. I don’t know why you’re mad at June, why you never went out with Jehu again.Why why why?”

  I stood silently staring at her as she sank down onto the bed and shook her head back and forth. My heart was empty; I felt nothing for her at that moment. If she wanted to help me, she shouldn’t be Miss Pious one day, Miss Party Girl the next. C’est la vie, Layla Jay, on Monday, and pray for your soul, Layla Jay, on Sunday. Mama was the one who needed help, not me. She didn’t know who in the hell she was. Compared to her, I was just fine.

  I wheeled around and fled to my room, slammed the door and locked it. I didn’t cry, but I threw myself on my bed and kicked the mattress until my legs ached. I felt so tired, so empty. I couldn’t think properly, and I was scared.Was this Tuesday? Had I gone to the McCormicks’ already? Yes, the coat hanger. It was Wednesday though because it was trash pickup day. I said I had gotten the coat hanger out of a trash can. I didn’t hate Wallace. I wasn’t a lesbian. I wasn’t used goods. I wasn’t anything but the girl with the stiffened body and clenched fists that lay on this bed staring up at a white ceiling that needed a coat of paint.

  Hours later when Mama pounded on my door, I heard Wallace’s voice. “Leave her alone, Frieda. She’ll come out when she gets hungry. Let her blow off some steam in there alone.”

  “But she’s so upset.” Mama’s voice was wavy sounding as though she might still be crying a little.

  Wallace’s voice was cajoling. “C’mon, I’ll fix you a gin and tonic. You’ll feel better after a while.”

  I wasn’t hungry. I had eaten a slice of German chocolate cake at the McCormicks’ and now I thought of Grandma’s red velvet, her tea cakes, and I traveled back to Grandma’s sweet-smelling kitchen where we stood at the wooden table cutting dough into circles with jar lids. I remembered that Grandma was humming the chorus of “In the Garden.”

  “Annnd, He walks with me and He talks with me,” I sang along.

  When we came to the last line, Grandma hugged me against her side. “I’m so happy you got saved, Layla Jay. Now you’re in God’s arms forever.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The spirit finally landed on me, and now I’m going to heaven when I die.”

  But I wasn’t going to join Grandma in heaven because I had faked salvation, and of all the sins I had committed, that was by far the worst of them. I had fornicated, been a lesbian, broken the commandment “Honor
thy father and mother.” I saw myself unlocking the door to the McCormicks’ house. I was a burglar and a thief, too. But the worst sin, the one that had started it all, was that I had lied to Grandma and the entire congregation of Pisgah Methodist Church. That lie was definitely going to mean I would burn in hell for all eternity.

  I lifted the photograph of Daddy and held it against my heart. Surely, he was in heaven with Grandma, and now I would never get to meet him. I bowed my head.“Please God, don’t throw me into hell. Save me!”

  Mama came to the door again and this time she only tapped on it. “Layla Jay, honey, don’t you want something to eat? It’s getting late.” She’d had a few drinks now. I could tell by the slowed rhythm of her speech.“Wallace wants to go out for a while.We’re going to the store for a few things in a minute.”

  I knew a few things meant they were out of gin or whiskey or both. I lifted my head and shouted, “Not hungry. Go!”

  Mama was angry again. “All right! If that’s the way you’re going to talk to me, we’re leaving, and you can starve yourself to death in there.”

  I guess I fell asleep for a while because Grandma came into my room and sat beside me on the bed. She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I love you, Layla Jay. God sent me. He wants you to know that He forgives you for what you’ve done. He knows you’re sorry, and when you die, you’ll go to heaven.Your daddy and I are waiting for you. Come to us,” she said.

  I sat up and snuggled against her. Her arms were soft and comforting and she rocked me like she had when I was small. My tears fell on her light blue gown and then disappeared instantly. Suddenly, she, too, vanished and I fell forward onto the foot of the bed.“Grandma,” I called, waking up on my damp sheet. My tears had been real; maybe I hadn’t been dreaming. Maybe God had sent Grandma to save me. Maybe God was answering my prayer. Grandma and Daddy really were waiting for me, and if I were up there with them, I wouldn’t have to live with Wallace anymore. I wouldn’t have to face June when she returned. I wouldn’t have to face all the kids at school who thought I’d tried to commit suicide.They thought killing yourself meant you were crazy, but now I thought that maybe they were the crazy ones, believing that life on earth was better than life in heaven. Who wanted to walk on streets of asphalt when you could be walking on streets of gold?

  I got up and went to my closet and dug out all the items I had taken from the McCormicks’ house. I laid them in neat rows on my bed and then tore a sheet of paper from my notebook. I wrote, “All of these things belong to the McCormicks. Please return.” Then I sat at my desk and wrote a letter to Mama.“Dear Mama, I have gone to be with Daddy and Grandma in heaven. God has called me, and someday I hope He will call you, too.” But not Wallace, I thought, but I left that off the note and signed it, “I’m sorry about yelling at you. I do love you, Layla Jay.”

  I put on my band uniform that Grandma had loved and got out my flute. I would probably get a harp in heaven, but just in case I’d have my flute nearby. Now I sat on my desk chair to consider the best way to get to heaven.We didn’t have a gun. Papaw had several, but I had no way of getting one of his. I couldn’t stand the sight of blood, so knives and razor blades were out. I looked around the room; I didn’t have any rope or a really good place for hanging anyway. So what was left? Charlotte, Lolita’s mother, had been hit by a car, but that was just a lucky event for Humbert. Nobody in Zebulon would run over me.The police gave out speeding tickets like Mama gave out sample perfumes to her customers.

  I took off my band uniform and put my flute back in its case. I needed more time to figure out how to get to heaven. I would pray for Grandma to come back and give me a few good tips on suicide. After tucking the notes in the box with the McCormicks’ possessions, I stowed it back in my closet and went in search of something to eat. I stood over the sink eating cold leftover tuna casserole and washed out the dish before I went to my room to pray.

  Chapter 18

  I AWOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE SUN STREAMING across my bed. I had forgotten to close the blinds, and looking out onto the backyard, I saw a cardinal enjoying breakfast at the bird feeder. Across the lawn a gray squirrel chased an identical one up the oak tree and they leapt from branch to branch higher and higher until they were hidden from my view. It was a beautiful day, a catfish jumping day, and I thought of Papaw with the fancy new rod and reel he’d gotten for his birthday the week before. Mama told me that he’d gone down to his pond with it and caught a big catfish. But when he’d tried to get the wriggler out of the fish’s mouth, he’d somehow gotten tangled in the line, tripped and fell into the water, snapping his line as the new rod and reel sailed over his head out into the pond. This time he hadn’t sustained much injury though, just a twisted ankle that swelled up so that he limped around on one shoe for a few days.

  As I pulled a pair of shorts out of my dresser, I realized that I hadn’t dreamed of Grandma all night. In fact, I couldn’t remember a thing I’d dreamed. Apparently, God was going to take His time answering my request, and I would have to postpone my suicide until He was ready to help me.

  After I finished dressing, I found Mama in the den about to leave for work. She didn’t welcome me with a smile, so I figured she was still mad at me, but she thanked me for washing the casserole bowl. Before she left for the Elizabeth Arden counter, she topped all the bad news I’d gotten all summer.“Wally is still in bed. He has a cold and isn’t going to work.You’re to take care of him. See that he drinks plenty of water or 7-Up. And give him an aspirin if his fever goes up. I left the thermometer on the table beside the bed.” She swiped her purse off the arm of the couch and then gave me a mean look. “Be nice, Layla Jay.Wallace is really sick.”

  After she left, I crept down the hall and saw that the door to their bedroom was open, so I sidled down the wall and craned my neck around the door facing.The blinds and curtains were closed, and in the dark room I could barely make out the mound of Wallace on the far side of the bed. He was lying on his right side with his back to me, so I couldn’t tell if he was awake or not, but I crossed my fingers that he’d sleep all day.

  Back in my room, I got out my Spanish dictionary and looked up the word for hate.We hadn’t used it in any of our translations.The verb was odiar or destestar. “Te odiao tu’?” I said out loud. “Te destesto tu’, Wallace.” Suicide was suicidio. Mi suicidio was definitely postponed now.

  “Layla Jay?”Wallace hadn’t been sleeping.

  “What?” I yelled.

  “I want something to drink. So thirsty.” His voice was weak, and I grinned. Maybe he was really suffering and this cold would turn into pneumonia and his lungs would fill with pus and he’d die.

  “Coming,” I called.

  When I brought him a glass of water, my heart sank. He didn’t look all that sick after all.With the sheet drawn down to his waist, I saw that he was wearing an undershirt exposing a slight sheen of perspiration on his shoulders and arms. His face was a bit flushed, but he sat up and held the glass firmly as he gulped all of it down. “Thanks,” he said, handing the glass back.“Turn out the light, would you? It hurts my eyes and my head aches.” He lay back on the pillows and I flipped the switch. “Layla Jay?”

  I waited by the door. “Huh?”

  “Nothing.You can go,” he said.

  This was the longest day of my life it seemed. My life that was nearly over. I thought that I should be out admiring the beauty of the world before I left it and here I was stuck in the house watching stupid game shows and a soap opera about a dying woman who had a secret to tell before she croaked, but no one could understand her. Then just when she was about to take her last gasp, a good-looking doctor rushed in the room holding up a big hypodermic needle saying he’d found the serum that would save her life. I didn’t want to be saved at the last minute though. God would make sure there wasn’t a remedy for whatever He decided I was going to die of.

  Wallace had taken a t
hree-hour nap, but when I heard the toilet flush, I knew he was awake and would be calling me any minute. “Layla Jay, is there any soup left? I’m hungry.”

  I glanced over at the sink where I’d left the pot of chicken noodle soup.There was enough for half a bowl. “No.”

  “Oh, well, then bring me a Seven-Up and some crackers.”

  I wrapped a few crackers in a napkin and grabbed a 7-Up bottle from the fridge and headed for the sick room. Wallace was lying on his back. “Don’t turn on the light,” he said, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

  Standing by the bed, I waited for him to finish the crackers, then balled the napkin up in my fist.“Anything else,” I said, using the tone I’d heard the nurse use on the soap opera.

  Wallace set the 7-Up bottle on the bedside table and lay back down. He looked up at me. “No,” then, “Yes, could you fluff my pillow up like you did for Frieda when she was sick?”

  Wallace wasn’t Mama, and I sure as hell didn’t care if his big head was comfortable on his pillow or not, but I figured the quicker I did what he wanted, the sooner I could get away from him. “Okay,” I said, leaning forward, trying to fluff from only one side. But I wound up having to put my arms on either side of his head to do it right. My chest was nearly brushing his face and suddenly, my arms were jerked out and I was lying on top of him with my feet dangling off the bed. Wallace’s arms were tight around my back and he pushed his head between my breasts. “Let me go,” I yelled, stupidly thinking he would obey me.