Miss Julia Paints the Town

by Ann B. Ross

  “Oh, I think you’re right about that. Arthur Kessler wants that property, but Charlie Outz is your typical politician trying to make sure there’s no slip betwixt cup and lip.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “What I’m saying is, the mayor is holding his breath between now and next Tuesday when the commissioners will vote on selling the courthouse down the river. He wants to ensure Mr. Kessler’s interest and, at the same time, I have no doubt he’s working the commissioners to get their votes. The thing is, Etta Mae,” I said, turning to her, “we could aim our campaign at the county commissioners and try to get them to vote against it, but I don’t trust a one of them. They could swear on a stack of Bibles, but when it came down to it, who knows what they’d do. So my plan is to aim at disengaging Mr. Kessler’s interest in buying it. That way, it won’t matter how easily swayed the members are. They can vote to sell it all they want, but if there’s no buyer, why, it won’t matter.”

  “So we have till next Tuesday?”

  I nodded. “Yes, a week from now. And Arthur Kessler will be here until then, making his plans, suborning commissioners with promises of buying locally and making sure there’re dollar signs in everybody’s eyes. And when he gets their votes, he’s free to tear down the courthouse and put up anything he wants. You know, Etta Mae, the town doesn’t have any restrictions on what an owner can do with his property. Once he gets that site, Arthur Kessler can throw up the worst-looking building in the world. Why, he could put up a pool hall or a bowling alley, if he wanted to.” I sighed and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. “We missed our chance several years ago when some of us wanted to have Main Street designated a historic district. It didn’t go anywhere because some of the downtown merchants didn’t want anybody telling them what they could and could not do, and the courthouse, itself, got us bogged down, too. Some of us thought it should count as an antique, but it’s a little less than a hundred years old. At least, that was the argument, which I never thought should have applied. Anyway,” I said, cranking the car, “we might as well go on home.”

  Driving slowly along the streets toward my house, I returned to the subject. “Did you know that the mayor wanted me to have Mr. Kessler as a houseguest?”

  “Really?”

  I nodded, leaning forward to check for oncoming traffic at Pine Street. “Yes, that’s how I learned that the town is paying his expenses. Charlie Outz said the town would pay a per diem if I’d put him up. I told him ‘No, thank you, I don’t take in paying customers.’ He probably wanted me to have him for nothing, but I didn’t offer. So they ended up putting him at the Mary Grace Haddington House. In their best room, too, the only one with an adjoining bath. No telling how much it costs. And,” I went on, stomping on the gas, “Arthur Kessler is a millionaire many times over. Why in the world should a town that can’t afford to build adequate schools pay that man’s room and board? It beats all I ever heard. And Arthur Kessler accepts it as his due.”

  “That’s bad,” she said. “You’d think, if they had to do it at all, they’d put him at the Days Inn out on the interstate. That’s ever so nice, and you can get a room for around forty dollars a night. Thirty-nine ninety-five, I think, in the off-season. I’d take that over a room in somebody’s house any day.”

  Wondering how she knew the cost of a motel room, I pulled into my driveway without asking for clarification, not really wanting to know. Etta Mae’s new red Camry was parked at the curb. I started to compliment her on it, then reconsidered. The less said about how she had been able to get it, the better.

  “Let’s sit here a minute, Etta Mae,” I said, as I switched off the engine. “We need to come up with something cultural, and the only thing I can think of is my book club. What do you think of that?”

  “No offense, but not much.”

  “Good!” I smiled at her. “That means it won’t impress Mr. Kessler, either. The only problem is, it doesn’t meet for another two weeks. Of course, with Helen Stroud, who’s our president, being a recluse these days, it might be longer than that.” I thought for a minute, then said, “I guess I could see if everybody else wanted to have an extra meeting at my house and have you and Mr. Kessler as guests.”

  “Um, well, what do you do at a book club?”

  “Oh, we all read the same book beforehand and then discuss it. Don’t worry about it, as a guest you wouldn’t be expected to contribute anything. Unless you wanted to, of course. This year we’re not reading any current books, just some good, old ones. The next one on our list is The Great Gatsby. I’ll loan you my copy if we decide to meet early. It’s short, so it won’t take long.” I gathered my pocketbook and opened the car door. “Come to think of it, though, I haven’t quite finished it myself. Got hung up on that green light on the pier, for one thing. It’s got to be a symbol of something, but I can’t figure out what. Come on in, Etta Mae, we can plan better inside.”

  As we walked toward the back door, the family’s usual entrance, I realized how easily Etta Mae seemed to fit in. I hadn’t even considered taking her in the front door.

  “Hey, Miss Etta Mae,” Lillian said, smiling as she always did whenever Etta Mae showed up. “Miss Julia, Mrs. Allen say for you to call her when you get home.”

  I put my pocketbook on the counter and asked, “Is it news about Horace?”

  “She don’t say what it is. Y’all want some coffee?”

  “That’d be nice. I’ll call Mildred in a little while. Have a seat, Etta Mae. We’ll sit here in the kitchen, if you don’t mind. As you see, I’m treating you like family.”

  Etta Mae was pleased at that. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “It sure is nice not to have to be somewhere every hour of the day. I don’t know when I’ve had the time just to do whatever comes along.”

  “All right,” I said, sitting across from her, “we need to think culture. What else can we show Mr. Kessler?”

  Lillian stopped in midpour, the coffeepot suspended over the cups. “What you mean, culture?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’ve always considered myself a cultured person, but I’m not sure why. We’re assuming that Mr. Kessler is referring to art and music and plays and the like, of which there’s a complete lack in Abbotsville, except for the senior play at the high school. They put that on a couple of weeks ago, so that’s out.”

  Etta Mae sat up with a sudden light in her eyes. “But won’t that work? I mean, if Abbotsville doesn’t have any culture, won’t that do what we want?”

  “It could,” I said, musing over the possibilities. “But I think it’d have more impact if we could show him something that he thought we thought was culture, but it’s really not. See, I want him to meet people who don’t think like he does. He’s so wrapped up in showcasing this quaint little town with all its warm and welcoming neighbors. He intends for that to be a big selling point to prospective buyers of his condos. So I want him to meet some of the people who’ll be their neighbors.”

  Lillian put a plate of brownies on the table. “Y’all could have a party an’ let him meet people that way.”

  “Well, we could,” I said with little enthusiasm. Then, struck with another thought, I said, “I know! Why don’t we have a soiree?”

  “Okay, but what’s a soiree?” Etta Mae asked.

  “It’s just a party, but soiree will sound more cultural to Mr. Kessler. Let’s make it an afternoon affair and everybody can dress up in garden hats and filmy dresses and such. What do you think?”

  “I don’t think I have anything filmy. Or a hat, either.”

  I waved my hand. “Hazel Marie’ll have something you can wear. Now, how about this? Why don’t we have some entertainment to make it a little special? That would really make it a cultural affair. You know, like a musical afternoon.”

  Lillian shook her head. “I think you gettin’ ahead of yo’self. Who you know can entertain with any kind of music?”

  That stopped me, because if there was one area in which I was sadly lacking, it was in
musical aesthetics. But Etta Mae had the answer.

  “Tina Doland!” she said. “She’s the soloist at First Baptist, and I heard her one time at their Christmas concert. Sent shivers all down my back.”

  “Because she was good or because she was terrible?”

  “Um, well, she sounded kinda high and churchified, I guess. Real different from Faith Hill, anyway.”

  “Well, I declare,” I said, not exactly sure who Faith Hill was. “I didn’t know Tina could sing, but that brings up another problem. We don’t have a piano, which she would surely need. Lillian, remember when I wanted Lloyd to take piano lessons and almost bought a baby grand?”

  “Yessum, an’ I ’member you don’t have enough room for one of them things an’ you was about to build a music room onto the house ’til Lloyd, he say he want to play the drums instead, which take up a lot of room, too, but not as much as a piano.”

  “Lord, yes, I was thrilled when he wanted to be in the band, but who would’ve thought he’d want a drum set? Anyway, it turned out that he had to take piano lessons, anyway, but not so many as to make it worth adding on to the house. Well,” I said, deflating slightly, “I guess that takes care of our musical afternoon.”

  “Miz Allen,” Lillian said, “she got a big piano in her living room. Maybe she have yo’ party there.”

  “So she does!” I jumped up and headed for the phone. “And it’s just what she needs to get her mind off Horace. I’ll call her right now.”

  Lillian started shaking her head again. “You better hope she don’t have to have Mr. Horace’s casket in the living room same time as yo’ party. Miss Tina be singin’ a different tune then.”

  Chapter 26

  “Mildred?” I said when Ida Lee got her to the telephone. “I’m glad to hear how well Ida Lee sounds. I hope there’re no lingering effects from her hospital stay.”

  “No,” Mildred said with a long-suffering sigh. “The doctor said all she needs is rest and good nutrition, of all things. I told Ida Lee it would’ve been so much easier on me if she’d had an actual disease that could have been treated and cured. Instead, she has to have some nebulous condition that’ll take months to correct. But I missed seeing you today, Julia. The reason I called is to remind you that Horace is still missing and to tell you how hurt I am that everybody seems to have forgotten me.”

  “You mean to tell me that Lieutenant Peavey and all those deputies he’s got out looking still haven’t come up with anything? Mildred, that is the strangest thing. No wonder you’re feeling neglected. Hasn’t he told you anything?”

  “Well, yes, he came around early this morning and, I’ll tell you, Julia, that man needs some training in compassion and empathy. He just flat out told me that they now consider Horace a missing person, not a victim of a car wreck. And then,” she stopped to take a rasping breath, “he had the nerve to ask if I was sure I hadn’t heard from him. And the worst thing of all, he said they were calling off the search party because they believe Horace disappeared of his own volition.”

  “Oh, my word.”

  “Yes, and I had to go back to bed for the entire morning. But, you know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Lieutenant Peavey isn’t right. If Horace was having financial problems, which he always was, and if I refused any more advances, which I did, then the poor man had no recourse but to disappear. Except he certainly didn’t give any thought to me when he did it. Here, I’ve been worried sick about him, spending these wretched days with my mind filled with all the terrible things that could’ve happened, only to learn that he just took off and left without any concern for what I would suffer. So, I decided that I’m not going to ruin my health by mourning a man who’s probably sunning himself on a South Sea island somewhere.”

  A South Sea island? Those words rang a bell, but she didn’t give me time to pursue them.

  “So,” Mildred went on, “I got up about noon, determined to take a new lease on life. And to make the point, I put on the new coral silk dress with matching sweater I ordered from Neiman Marcus. The sweater has gold embroidery on it.”

  The thought of all that coral silk made me shudder because Mildred was a big-boned woman with a thyroid condition. I put the thought aside and said, “I’m so glad to hear it, Mildred. I’ve been worried about you, and I think you’re right to take care of yourself and look to your own well-being. But let me tell you what’s been going on while you were in mourning.” And I started in telling her about Arthur Kessler and the courthouse and the mayor and the county commissioners, but I stopped short of revealing my plans to undermine them all. “Now, I know that you expressed some interest in buying one of those condominiums, but, Mildred, I hope you’ll reconsider. For one thing, have you ever been downtown on a Saturday night? You wouldn’t believe the racket all those souped-up trucks and cars make as they cruise Main Street. And during the summer they have street dances every week and parades for every holiday. They’d be right outside your windows, and you wouldn’t have a minute’s peace, living down there. And have you noticed all the men who hang around downtown looking for handouts? You wouldn’t like it, Mildred, and consider this, there could be other condominiums built by other people in a more congenial area. You’re accustomed to peace and quiet, and believe me, a serene atmosphere is the last thing you’d get in Arthur Kessler’s courthouse replacement.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “I hadn’t thought of that. And you’re right, I do have to have my peace and quiet. It’s my nerves, you know. I’m glad you reminded me, Julia, because that decides it. I wouldn’t buy one of his condominiums for anything.”

  “Well, see, Mildred, we want to fix it so nobody will buy one. In fact, we don’t even want the thing built. That courthouse is an architectural treasure and some of us are trying to save it.”

  “Oh, that sounds like a good cause. How much do you need?”

  “No, I’m not looking for donations, at least not yet. What I want to know is how would you feel about helping me discourage Mr. Kessler? You see, he wants to know how cultural we are, so I’m thinking of having a musical soiree—something tasteful yet boring. Since your house is so much better suited for such things, would you mind being the hostess? I mean, now that you’re out of mourning.”

  “Well, why not?” she said with a gaiety that made me wonder at her state of mind. “I’m not one to sit around moping about a husband who’s flown the coop of his own volition. Let him go, I say. And good riddance, too.”

  “My goodness, Mildred, you sound just like LuAnne. That’s exactly what she said about Leonard.”

  “Don’t bring LuAnne Conover up to me! Our situations are not at all the same. She ran her husband off herself. Julia, that woman talks all the time. I’m surprised he stood it as long as he did, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he never comes back. But wait a minute,” she went on, “I don’t get it. How would a musical soiree discourage Mr. Kessler from putting up his building?”

  Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to explain it to her, because you never knew how much she took in or how much would end up spread around town. I always watched what I said around Mildred for fear it would come back at me. She had a good heart, though, so I tried not to hold it against her.

  “Well, it’s like this,” I started, choosing my words carefully. “The mayor asked me to show Mr. Kessler around town, which I’m doing with Miss Wiggins’s help. And Mr. Kessler wants to see what Abbotsville has to offer, culturally speaking. I was at my wit’s end until I thought of you and Tonya. You two are the most cultured of all of us—so well traveled and all of that. And Tonya has lived in New York and seen all the plays and concerts, so I’m hoping your cultural experiences will sort of rub off on the rest of us.” I stopped for a minute, then added, “Besides, you have a piano.”

  I rubbed my forehead, thinking that was the weakest excuse for an explanation I’d ever given anybody. “And,” I went on, “I guess I want to show Mr. Kessler tha
t we small-town southerners are sort of a closed society. We’re not going to welcome with open arms any incursion of retired outsiders, no matter how wealthy they happen to be. That’s not exactly true, of course, but he has this idea of using us as a selling point to upscale buyers. Which, I don’t mind telling you, I heartily resent.”

  “Well, put that way, I do, too. I’m not interested in being put on display. And you know something else, Julia? Those people’ll come in here and be so high and mighty we won’t be able to stand them. Yes, let’s do have a soiree, and I’ll make it so grand that his condo owners will be too intimidated to want to join us. Upscale, my foot. I’ll show him upscale!”

  “Well, good,” I said, hoping I’d explained enough. “But, Mildred, we don’t want him to think we’re too grand. He’ll put us in a brochure or something. Now as for who to invite, I thought the book club and the garden club. And some from our Sunday school class. Of course there’ll be a lot of overlap, but it can’t be helped. We’ll just have an intimate gathering of good friends to hear entertainment by Tina Doland, who I’m hoping can’t sing too well. We’ll invite Mr. Kessler and try to bore him to death.”

  “For goodness’ sakes, Julia, you’re thinking too small. Let’s have a big group, the more the merrier, I always say. You know the garden club wanted to put my house on the tour this year, but I just wasn’t up to it then. But I am now. I’m going to open my house to anybody who wants to come. Put an invitation in the newspaper and everything.”

  I backed away from the telephone, frowning at it, then pressed it close. “Are you sure you want to do that? No telling who you’ll get.”

  “Let ’em come! Let ’em all come, I don’t care. Listen, Julia, everybody in this town knows about Horace and what he’s done to me, and I want them to know that I’m not sitting here grieving my life away. What better way to do that than to have a big blowout? And I know you want to have a dainty little garden party type of thing, but since it’s at my house, I’m going to have a pig pickin’. I’ll have Robert dig a pit in the backyard, so he can smoke that pig all night and half the day. We’ll set up tents and tables around the pool so people can eat outside. We’ll have beer and soft drinks and a bluegrass band. That’ll be fun, won’t it?”