“Thanks for taking over my job.”
“I could see you were a little busy.” His grin told her he was referring to the woman in the polka-dot dress. “She didn’t crush you, did she?”
“Not quite. Did she leave any makeup on my dress?”
He took advantage of her question to touch her for the first time: his fingertips brushed the blue silk at her collarbone. “None that I can see.”
“Who is she anyway?”
“Lenore Jeeters. She’s on the city council.”
From the backseat Mary spoke up, “A loud-mouthed sow who could do the play-by-play at the Super Bowl without a microphone. She’s always trying to get me to talk you into coming back home for fund-raisers, Tess. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, even if I thought you’d say yes, which I know you wouldn’t.”
Tess leaned down and smiled into the car. “Thanks, Momma. I owe you one. How you doing? You getting tired?”
“Doing just fine, but I sure could use some supper. Wouldn’t mind if you’d get me to that reception before I faint dead away.”
Kenny slammed the car door and for the moment he and Tess became an island again, cut off from Mary, feeling that surflike push-pull of an attraction that was inadvisable. “I mean it, Kenny. Thanks for seeing after Momma … again and again and again.” She took her turn at touching him … on the sleeve, letting her hand trail down as she moved away. Their fingers joined in passing—a quick, private pressing of flesh, then Tess continued around the car.
The reception was held out in the country at a place called Current River Cove, which years ago had been a roller rink, then an onion-storage shed before someone had bought it and knocked four long windows in the wall, hung a wide deck on the side facing the river, installed a kitchen and turned it into the most roomy reception hall in Ripley County. It was carpeted in ghastly indoor/outdoor olefin with more colors than an oil slick, furnished with Formica tables and stackable chairs, and it smelled like a generic school lunchroom when the wedding party arrived. A band was setting up in one corner and their filler tape amplified a mixed bag of country music across the hall.
Over two hundred guests milled and mingled, waiting for the arrival of the bride and groom. Though they had for the most part kept their distance from Tess on the church steps, the presence of cocktails seemed to signal that it was now all right to approach her and make small talk. It seemed to Tess as if she spoke to every one of them during the half hour before dinner was served. All except Kenny Kronek, who visited with everybody else in the place and must have decided once again to keep some distance between himself and Tess. But Tess seemed to have developed some sensory radar that kept her aware of where he was every minute.
Nearly every person asked her why she hadn’t sung at the wedding and if she was going to do so at the dance.
“No,” she replied again and again. “I’m a guest here today. The bride and the groom are the stars.” There had been hundreds of similar situations during the course of her career, and she had learned well how to avoid upstaging the guests of honor without alienating her fans.
When the bride and groom arrived and dinner was served, Tess and Mary sat at a round table for eight, joined by Judy and Ed, and Tricia, who was done tending the punch bowl. No sooner were they seated than Faith Oxbury approached, and asked, “Are these seats taken?”
“No,” Judy answered. “Sit down. My other two kids were ushers so they’re seated at the head table.”
“Do you mind?” Faith asked Tess politely.
Mind? Sharing a table with Kenny? Unwise, perhaps, but what else could Tess answer? “No. Not at all. I wanted to talk to Casey anyway.”
“Oh, good. I’ll go get Kenny.” While she was gone Casey arrived, breathless, and took the chair right next to Tess. “Boy, I’ve been talking to some of the members of the band. Are they gonna be good!”
“Do you know them?”
“Two of them. We used to do a little messing around together with guitars.”
While they visited, Faith returned with Kenny in tow, and the two of them took the remaining chairs directly across from Tess, filling out the table. With everybody knowing everybody else, the conversation bounced around and changed subjects often.
Dinner turned out to be a tasty combination of chicken and herbed cheese rolled around asparagus and baked in puff pastry with a light tarragon cream sauce. The wines were excellent—a peppery pinot noir and a fruity zinfandel that were passed around and poured and toasted with and laughed over. And in the case of Tess and Kenny, used as a shield to deflect gazes that tended to get tangled up a little too often.
It was Faith who mentioned Mary’s earrings and peered at them more closely.
Mary touched one and divulged, “They’re real. Tess gave them to me this afternoon.” Six people admired them and yodeled praise. The seventh pursed her lips and nudged her husband’s elbow. “Give me some more of that wine, Ed.”
Mary said, “Yeah, give me some more, too, Ed.”
“You’re on medication, Momma,” Judy chided. “You’re not supposed to be drinking alcohol.”
“Tell you what, Judy. You get two new hips and sit at your granddaughter’s wedding and see if you don’t want to celebrate a little bit. I didn’t take my pills this morning, and a couple of glasses of wine aren’t going to kill me. Fill ‘er up, Ed.”
Everyone became more jovial except Judy.
In the middle of the meal Tricia brought up the fact that Tess was taking Casey to Nashville and that everyone in town was buzzing about it.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” Casey beamed at Tess, dazzled and slightly giddy: she’d been sneaking sips of wine. “She’s making all my dreams come true.”
Tess said, “It’s not a record contract, Casey, it’s only singing backup on a single cut.”
“I know, but Nashville, Mac! It’s what I’ve dreamed about my whole life long!”
Mary had finished her second glass of wine and was looking well pleased with everything. Ed, also under some alcoholic influence, grinned and said, “Nice going, Casey. You’ve got a class act to follow in Tess here.”
Faith said, “I think it would be appropriate to make a toast to our up-and-coming star.” They all raised their glasses, Judy, too, unable to do otherwise without looking like a jerk. But the moment the toast ended she slipped from her chair and escaped to the ladies’ room.
Tess watched her go, laid down her napkin and said calmly, “Excuse me, please. I have to talk to Judy.”
Once inside the ladies’ bathroom she locked the door. The room had three gray-painted stalls and a vanity with two sinks. Judy had thrown her handbag on a counter between them and was stabbing at her hair. Tess set down her own beaded handbag and faced Judy’s profile rather than her reflection in the mirror.
“All right, Judy, let’s talk about it.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No. Because I can’t stand this anymore.”
“Stand what?”
“Your jealousy. I’ve been home for three weeks and every single time I’ve seen you, something has managed to get your goat. Either it’s somebody asking for my autograph, or somebody asking me to perform, or something I gave Momma.”
“You love to throw it in our faces, don’t you?” Judy accused. Abruptly her voice became mimicking. “Look at me, the rich, famous star coming back home to show the peons just how drudging their lives are!”
“Damn it, Judy, that’s not fair! I have never flaunted my fame or my money around you and you know it!”
“Start with your car, and those clothes you’re wearing today, and your mobile phone.” She made the words sound reprehensible. “Yuppie country star cruises into town talking on her phone, impressing young girls who have dreams of being a star, too.”
“I do my business by long distance. And you bought new clothes for the wedding, didn’t you?” Judy refused to answer. “All right, then, so did I. And as for Casey, I wouldn’t have paid her two cents’ worth of attention
if she didn’t have talent. But she does, and if I can help her develop it, why shouldn’t I?”
“You made sure you announced it where everyone would know how magnanimous you are, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t announce it. I told Casey a week ago at her own house, in private. Somebody else brought it up tonight, and somebody else made the toast. But you could barely stand to lift your glass with the others, could you? You can’t even be happy for Casey. And at Momma’s house the day she came home from the hospital, when everybody asked us to sing, what should I have said? No? Because my sister Judy can’t stand it? She’s going to go in the kitchen and sulk? That’s what you did, Judy, and it hurt me. It always hurts me when you treat me as if what I do for a living is something I should be apologizing for. Do you know that you’ve never once said, ‘Congratulations, Tess’ or ‘Nice song, Tess,’ or ‘Bought your tape, Tess’? Nothing. As if what I do doesn’t even exist. Instead, when anybody else offers me any kind of attention you just curdle up inside. But this is what I do, Judy.” She leaned forward earnestly, one hand on the vanity top. “I sing. I sign autographs. I wear glitzy clothes and get photographed for magazine covers because it’s part of my work. And when I have the chance to discover new talent and bring it to Nashville, I’m going to do it. Should I pretend none of that is true whenever I’m around you? And should I drive a rusted-out used car for you, too? And not give Momma nice things because it pisses you off? Look, she isn’t going to be around forever, and if I want to buy her emeralds, I will! And if I want to take Casey to Nashville, I will! And if you can’t accept that, then I pity you. Because the people who really love me are glad for me, and for my success, and for my fame, because they know I worked damned hard for it.”
Someone tried the door.
Judy picked up her purse, but Tess grabbed her arm.
“Let me go.” Judy tried to pull away, refusing to meet Tess’s eyes.
“In a minute. I’m going to tell you something first. If you were happier with yourself you’d be happier with others as well. Think about it.”
The woman outside banged on the door. “Hey, who’s in there?”
Judy yanked her arm free and glared at her younger sister. “Why don’t you just go back where you came from?” she said venomously. “The rest of us can take care of Momma and do a lot better job of it, too.”
The lock clacked open and the door slammed against the tile wall as Judy stormed out.
Tess stayed behind, struggling to compose herself. Though she was trembling and tears were threatening, she smiled falsely at the pair of women who came in looking curiously at her. When they saw who it was they decided not to go into the stalls, but to fuss first at the mirror. Tess withdrew a lipstick and powder from her bag and put them to use. Her cheeks held blotches of bright pink while an unflattering flush had mottled her neck.
“I really like your shoes,” one of the women said.
“Thank you.”
“Are you going to sing with the band tonight?” the other asked.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m not.”
“Oh, shoot.”
She tucked away her makeup, snapped her handbag shut and hid anything personal from these strangers. Her smile said Sorry to disappoint you, while she offered her customary response to this common request. “You can hear me anytime on the MCA label.”
By the time Tess returned to the table the band had started playing and Judy and Ed were gone. So was everyone else except Mary, who inquired, “What went on in the ladies’ room anyway? Judy nearly pulled Ed’s arm out of his socket getting him out of here.”
“I told her what I thought of her jealousy, and Momma, so help me, if you claim one more time that Judy isn’t jealous, I’m going to take your wine away, which is probably what I should do anyway!”
“You’re too late. Kenny and Faith already cut me off.”
“Where are they?”
“Dancing. Everybody is. They all suddenly decided to get up and go out on the dance floor when Judy came roaring out of that bathroom like a wounded rhinoceros and hauled her family home. What is it about weddings that starts so many family feuds?”
Angry tears sprouted in Tess’s eyes. “Momma, I just wasn’t going to take any more of Judy’s shit. She’s your daughter, too, and I know you love her, and I’m not asking you to do anything else, but I’ve been hurt by her so many times, and it’s all because she’s got such low self-esteem that she can’t handle any aspect of my success. It’s all right for Judy to get up and leave the room when anybody treats me like a star, but it’s not all right for me to call her on it, because that makes me egotistical! Well, I took it, Momma, without saying a word, but no more! Tonight she cut you off when you were excited about your earrings, then she did the same thing to Casey when she was excited about going to Nashville. Now, I ask you, who is small and who isn’t?”
Mary sighed and rubbed the back of Tess’s fist on the tabletop. “I’ve been thinking about it since the first Sunday you were home when all you kids were at the house together, and I know you’re right. She left the living room as soon as you and Casey started singing. And I’ve seen other evidence that I just didn’t want to believe. Judy’s awful good to me, you know.”
“Of course she is, Momma, but this isn’t about whether or not she’s good to you.”
“No … no, it isn’t.”
“You know what would help her a lot? If she got on a good weight-loss program and started taking more pride in her appearance.”
“I know, but who’s going to tell her so?”
“Not me.”
“Not me, either.”
“I came as close to telling her as I ever will, five minutes ago in the bathroom.”
“She looked nice tonight,” Mary said wistfully.
“She looked very nice tonight. But she’d look better if she lost some weight.”
Renee interrupted at that moment, arriving breathless from the dance floor and bracing both hands on the table-top. She looked particularly radiant in an apricot dress with a lace bodice and a sheer skirt. “What happened to Judy and Ed?” she inquired.
Tess confessed, “My fault. I got into it with Judy in the bathroom about you know what.”
“So she stomped off home?”
“And took Ed and Tricia, too. I’m sorry, Renee.”
Renee straightened up, lifted the hair off her hot neck, and said, “Hey, you know what? It’s Judy’s problem, not ours. And I’m not going to let her spoil my daughter’s wedding for me. Now, listen … the bride and groom sent me over to talk to you. They’re getting so many requests from their guests that they told me to ask if you’ll sing just one song with the band. They said to tell you that if you say yes they’ll give you their firstborn.”
“Just what I need is a firstborn.”
“What do you say?”
“I’ve been telling everyone all night long that I’m not singing.”
“Not even at the bride and groom’s request? It would mean so much to them, Tess. Come on,” she cajoled.
Tess glanced at the dance floor. Rachel and Brent were half dancing, watching Tess with hopeful expressions on their faces. Tess knew that if she sang it would make their wedding the talk of the very limited social season in Ripley County.
Renee said, “I suspect part of the reason you didn’t want to sing was Judy. Now that she’s out of the way, what other excuse have you got?”
“You sure it’s all right with the band?”
“Are you kidding? What band wouldn’t want to say they backed up Tess McPhail?”
“All right. Just one song.”
Renee gave the bride and groom a thumbs-up, and they hugged in jubilation, then Rachel blew Tess a kiss and went to the foot of the stage and spoke to the lead guitarist while he continued to play.
At the next song break the band immediately announced, “Everyone knows we have a famous Nashville star with us tonight. She’s the bride’s aunt, and she’s agreed to come up and
do a song with us. Hey, everybody, let’s make her welcome … Tess McPhail!”
The crowd parted for her, and she went up on the stage with a confident stride, cueing the band on the way. “Can you give me ‘Cattin’ ’ in G?”
The drummer said, “You got it, Mac,” and gave them a four-beat cue on the rim of his snare.
When the rhythm broke and she grabbed the mike she took two hundred hearts captive on the spot. They applauded so loudly they drowned out the first twelve bars of the music, then spontaneously resumed dancing, their faces lifted to her all the while.
She gave Wintergreen something to talk about for the next ten years, planting her glittering high heels as far apart as her straight dress would allow, keeping rhythm with her right knee and sending blue jets shooting from her rhine-stones. She forgot about Judy and became one with her audience, giving them a performance filled with energy and rhythm. “Cattin’ “ had a rock beat and slightly naughty words. She used her hands and long flashing nails like a sorcerer to put her audience under her spell. She had an innate sense of drama and played the crowd like an actress, using eye contact and a hint of flirtatiousness to make each listener believe she was singing exclusively for her or him.
Suddenly Kenny was below her, dancing with Casey, both of them smiling up at her, having fun.
She pointed at Casey. “ … gonna dress in satin …”
And at Kenny. “ … gonna go out cattin’ with youuuuu.”
She winked and he laughed, then her attention shifted smoothly to others in the crowd. She knew how to make her eyes glitter with promise and how to hold a hand mike so that the men imagined it was they, close to her lips, and the women imagined they were as alluring and confident as Tess McPhail. There were songs she sang to women; this was not one of them, but the women in the audience didn’t seem to care. When the song ended they applauded as enthusiastically as the men. Casey stuck her fingers between her teeth and whistled like a cattle drover. Renee yelled, “All right, sis!” The bride and groom clapped and accepted remarks from those around them while a general chant went up.
“Mac! Mac! Mac!”
It pulsed through the room.
Small Town Girl Page 23