The Big Door Prize

by M. O. Walsh

  It was already past ten o’clock and Cherilyn noticed another thing about her day. She didn’t feel too bad. Not nauseated, no headache, no cramping. She felt like she could run a mile if you asked her to. Maybe this little adventure was exactly what she needed. Maybe it was all she needed? So, she took a shower and put on a T-­shirt and jeans and got into Douglas’s car. She missed her own car and could go for a cigarette about now. She could also go for holding her readouts again, just reminding herself of what they said, that they actually existed, that she wasn’t crazy.

  She pulled out of her driveway and was soon overwhelmed by the activity on the street. Look at Justin Ashbaugh shooting hoops! And Nan Shepard over there, as well. Now, who would have thought to play tennis in a driveway? So proud of all my little subjects and their inventiveness, she thought. So proud! She had the urge to roll down her window and say, It’s a new day, people! Frolic! Play! Live!

  Oh, Lord, she thought. I am going insane.

  Cherilyn got to the end of her neighborhood and passed Ben Shields, who looked to be ­chain-­sawing some sort of a sculpture out of a tree trunk. It was a Shetland pony, maybe, a ­pot-­bellied pig, and isn’t that awfully clever, she thought. She then took a right and headed out toward Alice’s Costume Shop to see if what Tipsy had told her was true, to see if she might have something for her to wear. And so much bustle on the way! She drove past a work crew hanging a banner that read “Welcome to Deerfield!! Two Hundred Years of Peace and Quiet!!” She passed a group of police parked in a circle at Tony’s Donut Shop, all of them standing outside of their cruisers and joking around. One of them held out his arms like he was carrying an enormous and invisible ball, and Cherilyn smiled. She passed through the town square and saw the wooden bleachers, people hammering down signs that pointed to the Crane Lane, and Cherilyn felt like she hadn’t been to town in years, although this was obviously not true.

  When was the last time she had been out? Besides to her mother’s place? It was when she went to Johnson’s and got those readouts. That was a sort of fateful day, she now realized, and so maybe the town hadn’t changed, but she had. This idea became hard for her to ignore.

  “Good gracious,” she said, and pulled into the grassy field beside Alice’s Costume Shop. The regular lot was ­jam-­packed and now three rows of cars sat in the grass. So, it was all true, the booming business. It was all positive. And good for Alice. The shop itself wasn’t much to look at, just a big metal warehouse, really, still the same light blue color it was from when it used to be a tire shop. Today, though, people stood outside of it, sweating like crazy, where Alice had put out a series of racks. Cherilyn got out and walked over the grass lot between two rows of cars, shading her eyes from the sun.

  A man stepped in front of her and held out his palm. He said, “Halt, Earthling!”

  The man wore a space helmet, the kind with a golden sheen to the mask, and Cherilyn couldn’t see who it was. He then pressed a button that flipped open the visor and Cherilyn saw that it was Mel Beacher, a taxidermist she knew from church.

  “Let me guess, Mel,” Cherilyn said. “You’re an astronaut!”

  “I will be,” he said. “I signed up for space camp over in Huntsville this morning. I had to tell them I was fourteen but I’ll just explain it when I get there, I imagine.”

  “To infinity and beyond,” Cherilyn said.

  “The final frontier!” he said.

  Cherilyn smiled and walked past him and looked at the racks of clothes. There were Confederate general outfits, Union soldier outfits, a uniform for the Harlem Globetrotters. Was that Chewbacca? Two small children scurried out from beneath one of the racks and bumped into her. The girl said sorry and then chased after the boy. She had a stethoscope in her hand.

  “I ain’t finished yet, Luke!” she yelled.

  Cherilyn nodded and said hey to a few people she recognized and they all smiled back at her and this seemed to Cherilyn like maybe the happiest place on earth. When she walked into the shop, it was more of the same. Long rows of clothes and costumes, cases of jewelry, and three women she’d never seen before working a cash register.

  She then saw her friend Alice coming up one of the aisles.

  “Look who has finally graced us with her presence!” she said. “If it isn’t Cherilyn Hubbard.”

  Alice gave her a tremendous hug. “I am so glad to see you,” she said.

  Alice was one of the most energetic people Cherilyn had ever known. She had a voice that seemed two octaves too high, as if everything she said was excruciatingly exciting. If you met her only once, you might think she was being sarcastic, such was the volume of her pleasure. But she was not.

  “Alice,” Cherilyn said. “This place looks incredible.”

  “I know!” she said. “I bought out two thrift stores in Jackson and one in New Orleans. I said, just send me everything you’ve got. I can hardly keep anything stocked.”

  “That’s great,” Cherilyn said.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Alice told her. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

  “You have?”

  “I told Marian the other day, just you wait. Cherilyn Hubbard is going to come in here.”

  Alice called over to one of the girls.

  “Marian,” she said, “this is Cherilyn. Didn’t I tell you, Cherilyn Hubbard is going to come in here with some fantastic readout?”

  Marian had three clothespins in her mouth. She took them out and said, “It’s true. She did.”

  “So, cough it up,” Alice said. “What is it?”

  “I’m just here to browse.”

  “Stop it,” Alice said. “What did it say? Your readout. I’m hoping it said Co-­owner of Costume and Crafts Shop. This whole place was really your idea. I haven’t forgotten that. I still don’t know why you didn’t join me.”

  “It was both our ideas.”

  “Well, the offer still stands, you know. ­Fifty-­fifty. We’ll sell your crafts and my costumes. Hell, you’re the one with the talent. I just order shit from other people.”

  “Thank you,” Cherilyn said. “That’s not true but thank you.”

  “So, what did it say? What are you just browsing for?”

  Cherilyn looked around. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “Do you have anything sort of, maybe, foreign? Kind of exotic?”

  “Oh, God,” Alice said, “don’t tell me you’re a Geisha. I wouldn’t believe that for a second. You’ve always had the men following you, not the other way around.”

  Cherilyn felt herself blush in front of the other women. They were looking at her in a new way, it seemed, and Cherilyn delighted in the fact that Alice had mentioned her to them. She smiled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “Marian,” Alice said. “Look at how beautiful this woman is. Look at those gorgeous green eyes. That red hair is her natural color, too! Would you just look at her? And not only is she beautiful and kind, but of course has the most precious husband with this fluffy sort of mustache. Nicest guy you’d ever meet. But she is also so talented. What are you bringing to the bicentennial, anyway? You doing those pens again? I could sell a hundred of those today just by putting them at the register.”

  “Birdhouses,” Cherilyn said. “That’s all.”

  “Well,” Alice said. “I bet they are fucking awesome birdhouses.”

  “Actually,” Cherilyn said. “I’ve been thinking about this particular dress. A sort of flowing one with a head scarf.”

  “That’s it!” Alice said. “You’re a Genie, aren’t you? That would make sense. As long as I’ve known you, your every wish has come true.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Cherilyn said. “I still feel full of unfulfilled wishes.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Alice said, and put her hand on Cherilyn’s shoulder. “Because we’re not done l
iving yet, are we?”

  “No,” Cherilyn said. “As a matter of fact, we’re not.”

  Alice took Cherilyn by the hand and led her to the register. “Marian, can you please show Mrs. Hubbard our nicest saris? I have to go tell Mr. Lowry that we are out of stiletto heels and, by the look of him, he’s not going to take the news well.”

  “Come on,” Marian said, and led Cherilyn down one of the aisles. “We have something in the back you might like. Are you thinking like full-on headdress or just some sort of scarf?”

  “Something that can flow in the wind, is what I’m thinking.”

  “Are you thinking, like, Princess Diana or Princess Jasmine?”

  “Which one is that again?” Cherilyn said.

  “Disney,” Marian said. “Aladdin.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Cherilyn said. “Would it be weird if I said yes?”

  “On the Richter scale of weird I’ve seen in here the last two weeks, honey,” Marian said, “you are barely moving the needle.”

  Marian led her to a big pile of dresses near the back of the store. They were layered on top of one another, just about every color Cherilyn could imagine. “Take your pick,” she said. “Haven’t had a chance to hang these up yet. I’ll go grab some head scarfs.”

  “Okay,” Cherilyn said. “Thank you.”

  Cherilyn stared at the pile of clothes and knew, without a doubt, that she would find what she was looking for. She bent down and fingered the fabric and each flowing dress she turned over made her nervous for the next one, such was their delight in her hands. Then, Cherilyn found it.

  She stood up and held the dress to her chest. It was red and light with gold trim and draped over the floor. She could feel the cool fabric all over her.

  Marian returned with her hands full. “That’s gorgeous,” she said. “Alice was right. You’re beautiful.”

  “I’ve never worn anything like this,” Cherilyn said.

  “Want to try it on? There’s a dressing room right back there.”

  “I do.”

  “Here,” Marian told her. “I got you a scarf.” She riffled through the scarves in her hand until she found a red one to match.

  Cherilyn took them both and headed toward the dressing room.

  “Wait,” Marian said. “You want to kick it up a notch?”

  “Yes,” Cherilyn said, and turned. “I think I do.”

  Marian smiled.

  “Have you ever heard of henna?”

  20

  Practically Everyone Was There

  Listen. Can we get this meeting started?

  Is everybody here that is going to be here?

  I believe we can. Shoot.

  Listen. This is how it goes.

  Throwing a party this size is a form of Art, Hank. You understand.

  Yes, Hank says, he understands, and rubs his temples, which is why they’ve been planning for a year. It takes more than just a few invites, as Francine Benoit tells him, more than a couple news articles. And, as Leo Blitch points out, you can’t just throw up some hot dog stands and think you’ve done enough. Remember that Little League fiasco in ’08? Yes, of course, they all remembered that. Listeria, was it? Food trucks is what Jim Bennett suggests, because they are really hot right now in real cities. You can get genuine Mexican tacos, the kind with pork in them instead of ground meat, with corn tortillas instead of flour, real street tacos, out of a truck in Charlotte, North Carolina, of all places, and that ain’t even close to Mexico. Jim has been to North Carolina and so he knows and is it too late to get some of them for the weekend? There’s even a show about them on the Food Network, Betty Retz says, as her way of agreeing. She ­binge-­watches shows like that when she’s in one of her moods, she says, and is always open to suggestion if anybody knows any other good shows because she has Netflix now. And Kent Williams says it’s telling about the pitiful state of our culture that there is an entire show dedicated to tacos, but it turns out that the show being referred to is about food trucks, not tacos. Rachel Anne checks the minutes and that’s right. And that’s what we need, Jim says, food trucks, not just tacos, because the young folks from other cities like New Orleans or Jackson might expect something like food trucks and if we aren’t even meeting the standards of children, then what the hell are we doing? Hank also wonders, but does not say, this very same thing.

  You also need to have good security, Hank. That’s true.

  People don’t have any respect anymore and nowadays you have psychopaths running around with machine guns at Bible schools, just because they are so evil. Not that people shouldn’t be allowed to have guns, of course. Don’t get Willy Trudeau started on that. You give up your guns and the next thing you know the country might be overrun by some tyrant who doesn’t respect the Constitution at all. Well, there might be some irony there, Hester Evans says, but, you’re right, let’s not get started on that. And don’t forget, Celia Starnes points out, that you can get your head chopped off by one of those terrorists, too. That’s why it’s good to live in a little town like Deerfield that’s full of good people who don’t go around chopping people’s heads off. That’s true. A lot of people don’t even fly anymore. Did you know that? Ned Herchel won’t fly because there is so much beauty to see in the United States. Why would he ever need to go to another country, he wonders, when there is so much America to be explored? But Hank reminds them Sheriff Bates has already called in some extra officers from the parish over, and they’ve hired one of those security companies that stand around in yellow shirts and smoke cigarettes, so everything will be fine. The whole square will have security and even the school has cops for the concert tonight, not that anyone expects any trouble. And did you know that Phyllis Vernon quit, by the way? Quit what? Smoking. Check the record. Didn’t somebody mention cigarettes? She quit? Cold turkey. Who mentioned cigarettes? She’s got a whole new attitude. Got herself some fancy bicycle. Well, good for her.

  You also need a main event.

  A bicentennial is one thing, and something to be proud of, for sure, but even a birthday party has a cake. We will have fireworks. That’s true. We will have a parade. That’s true. You have to have a parade. This is Louisiana, after all. But how do we not have a king and queen, Sarah Centola wants to know. Because it doesn’t seem right, does it, Hester Evans reminds her, to put a couple of people above everyone else? This is still a democracy, after all, last time she checked. Some parades invite celebrities. That is true. We don’t have the money for that. Plus, something about that doesn’t seem right, either, does it, Hester Evans points out, to put people who aren’t even from Deerfield above those of us who are? That’s true, too. And what celebrities are from Deerfield, anyway? None, of course. But have you heard that Britney Spears is opening up a new restaurant? Everybody’s talking about it. We will have a live band. That’s true. And the kids from the school choir are doing something tonight, don’t forget. I hope everyone can go. A lack of programming is not the issue, Hank says. But isn’t what everyone is really forgetting, Deuce Newman wants to know, is that they will have a main event? We’re talking about twelve thousand pictures, here, Deuce reminds them, all forming one image, as big as a wall. He’s not sure they understand what all goes into something like that. Plus, the water and light they need to make it really spectacular, which, he points out, will require more help from the mayor than he’s been willing to give. And has anyone else noticed that the mayor has been a bit absent lately? How many phone calls have gone unanswered? This week of all weeks, to boot. There’s maybe some truth to that, Hank admits, and apologizes, but then reminds them that he is not absent now. Debby Harris would prefer a book to a mosaic, she says, sort of like a yearbook for the whole town. Frank Casiddy tells her what she is thinking about is a newspaper and they already have one of those. But Debby means a nice ­leather-­bound book like they got back in high school. Maybe they could throw them out of the floats
along with tossing beads so everyone could get one. The party is tomorrow, Hank reminds her, and many agree, although they don’t say so now, that Debby Harris unfailingly offers up the worst ideas at these types of events and so, later, as they summarize the meeting for their friends and families, will say, “Throwing books at people. Can you believe it? That’s what she wanted us to do.”

  You have to allow for some spontaneity. Lord knows.

  If you plan everything down to the minute, you can’t have any fun. And Jeannie Crisp wonders if she could set up a booth to do palm readings because she recently found out that she would be very good at that. Well, then, she should just register and pay her goddamn fee for the booth like everyone else and she can do whatever she damn well pleases, Ted Crisp tells her. And it is hard to have two divorced people like Jeannie and Ted at the same meeting, many of them think. So many divorces, too. Have they heard about Joe and Barbara? About Donald and Lydia? Yes, but who didn’t see that coming? And maybe the deer will show up at Parker Field, Libby Jones suggests, and so people can see how the town got its name. We can at least hope they will, right? We are leaving Parker Field open, Hank reminds them, just in case, but I wouldn’t plan on it. Arnie Gilder says they could always just truck some deer in. Says he saw a company on the Internet that does that. Let them loose for a while. And who wouldn’t love that, Greg Berdon says, as it would just provide them with more deer come hunting season? And did you see that ­twelve-­point he bagged last year? Mainly deer sausage. A nice roast of the backstrap. Jeannie Crisp says she has a bunch of plastic deer that she used to use for Christmas decorations, back when certain people still cared about holidays and relationships. And Ted says that they are not putting goddamned Rudolph in the middle of the bicentennial, and this, everyone agrees, although they rarely agreed with Ted and thought he was to blame for everything that happened between he and Jeannie, would not make the town look very good. But, if Jeannie was wanting to get rid of them, Wendy Peterson says her kids would really love something like that and can they text each other later to talk about it?