by Fannie Flagg
As Sookie drove home from the bank, she suddenly remembered it was Monday and ducked down in her seat and hid as she drove past the cemetery. Her mother’s car was there, but thank heavens, she hadn’t spotted Sookie’s car. That was another thing Lenore had put her through. It was so irritating to think that she had gone to all that hassle and trouble to move her great-grandfather there, and now it turns out she wasn’t even related to him. The man was a complete stranger!
She felt like such a fool. Lenore had made her do all that stuff, knowing full well she wasn’t a Simmons. Honestly!
And it wouldn’t be so bad if the woman had ever once said thank you or even appreciated it. Lenore didn’t even seem to have a clue or notice what all she had put her through.
Last year, after the mayor’s lawsuit, when she was driving her mother home from the courthouse, Sookie had asked, “Mother, do you have any idea how hard it is to be your daughter?”
Lenore had looked at her completely puzzled. “Why, what an odd question. Hard? In what way, hard? I think I have been a wonderful mother. I would have loved to have been my daughter. Haven’t I done everything humanly possible to see that you have every advantage?”
“Yes, Mother, you have. It’s just that you come with an awful lot of drama, and you are never quiet.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not some dull and boring Sally-sit-by-the-fire. Yes, I talk a lot, but I happen to excel in the art of conversation.”
“It’s not just talking, Mother. It’s just that you always have an opinion.”
“Well, I should hope so.”
“But it’s always such a strong opinion.”
“How can you expect me to have a weak opinion? Would you go into a restaurant and order a weak cup of coffee?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I would.”
“You know what I mean, Sookie. Why have an opinion, if it’s not a strong opinion? Oh, I know the Good Book says the meek shall inherit the earth, but I don’t believe it for one minute.”
“But, Mother, surely there is something in between meek and overpowering. Like … just normal.” Sookie knew the minute she said it, she had said the wrong word.
Lenore’s eyes suddenly got very big. “Are you suggesting that I am not normal? Granted, your Uncle Baby and Aunt Lily have their little quirks, but I’m as normal as they come. Really, Sookie, you hurt me to the quick.”
If Lenore thought shooting at the paperboy was just “a little quirk,” then there was no point in expecting her to ever think anything was wrong with her. Lenore had never been normal in her life. She certainly hadn’t been a normal mother or a normal grandmother, either.
One Christmas Eve, when the children had been quite young, she and Earle had left them with Lenore while they ran out and did a little last-minute shopping, and Lenore had served each child several cups of the Simmons eggnog, which was 75 percent rum and 25 percent nog. When they came to pick the children up, all four were stumbling around her living room in a drunken stupor. “I don’t know why you’re so upset, Sookie,” Lenore had said. “My word, a little eggnog never hurt anybody, and if we can’t celebrate the birth of our Lord on Christmas Eve, then I don’t know what the world is coming to.”
That year, they had been the only children in town who had opened their presents on Christmas morning with a hangover. And, of course, no matter what Lenore did, the children just adored her. Especially Dee Dee. Whenever she was punished for doing something at home, she would exclaim, “I’m going to live with Grandmother. She understands me!”
Lenore had been so hard on her own children, but to Sookie’s great surprise, with her grandchildren, she thought whatever they did or said was “Just darling! Just precious!” or “The cutest thing in the world!” She had given them all the candy they wanted, even though Earle, being a dentist, had asked her not to. So, of course, the children loved being with her. Why not?
But then, they hadn’t been raised by a woman who thought that Sookie and Buck were the only two things that had stood between her and winning an Oscar. She had said, “Oh, Sookie, when I saw Barbara Stanwyck in the movie Stella Dallas, I just cried my eyes out. I could have played that part to a T. Oh, well,” she sighed. “Barbara Stanwyck had the career I should have, but it’s all water under the bridge now.” Oh, brother.
MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN
1938
FRITZI DIDN’T LET ON, BUT SHE HAD ACTUALLY BEEN TERRIFIED AS Billy taxied the plane over to the edge of the field. She had never been in an airplane in her life, and when he revved the motor, ready for takeoff, she shut her eyes and held on to her hat for dear life. As the plane started rumbling down the field, her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly breathe, but if this is what it took to impress Billy, she would do it. She had been dazzled by Billy at first sight, the way he had jumped down out of the plane and sauntered through the crowd. Besides, she wanted to see something of the world before she settled down. She didn’t want to marry one of the hometown boys and have five or six children before she was twenty-five. A lot of her friends had dropped out of high school, married, and already had a baby on the way. So when Billy had flown into her life, it seemed to her that she was to be rescued, not by a man on a white horse, but by one in a bright yellow plane.
AFTER A BUMPY RIDE, the plane lifted off the ground, and, suddenly, Fritzi felt the most amazing sensation. The loud roar of the engine became more of a hum, and she felt as if she were floating. When she opened her eyes, she was way up in the air and looking down at the small world below. Her family, still standing by the fence waving, became smaller and smaller as she and Billy flew up way above the town, headed over to Milwaukee.
Flying to Milwaukee was a revelation to Fritzi. Billy followed the railroad tracks all the way, and from up above looking down, the silos and water towers looked like some of Wink’s old toys sitting on top of a patchwork quilt. Tiny tractors moved slowly through rows of corn and wheat, and the lakes that spotted the countryside looked like little round mirrors. The farmhouses, with sheets and overalls hanging from the clotheslines in the backyard, looked no bigger than the little wooden house pieces on a Monopoly set.
FRITZI DIDN’T WANT BILLY to know, but she had never been more than a few miles away from home before. When they landed in Milwaukee, they picked up Billy’s car, and he drove her downtown for an evening of dining and dancing at the Oriental Room atop the Hotel Ambassador. Fritzi had never been in such a big city before, and as streetcars, taxis, and cars whizzed by, she felt as excited as she had ever been in her entire life.
Pulaski had pretty much shut down after dark, except for the roller rink and Friday night bingo at the church and an occasional polka night out at Zielinski’s Ballroom. But here, everybody was wide awake and going somewhere. All the department stores, some a block long, were still open, and the windows were filled with smartly dressed mannequins wearing fancy clothes. Fritzi was amazed as they drove past flower shops, candy shops with little pink neon signs, and at least six or seven movie theaters with huge marquees.
Geez … if this was Milwaukee, what must Chicago or New York be like? She couldn’t imagine, but she knew one thing: After this, she could never be happy just staying home and working at the pickle factory.
ONCE THEY ENTERED THE hotel, she did get a little nervous. This was the first time she had ever been to a hotel with a man. She hoped there really was a supper club, and she was not going to wind up in a hotel room. But she needn’t have worried. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the twenty-second floor, they heard the music. And when they walked into the Oriental Room, Fritzi was overwhelmed. She felt as if she had just stepped inside a movie set, and she half-expected to see Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers at any minute. She had never seen anything so glamorous. The room was lined with lime green leather booths. Little oriental red and green lanterns hung over the dance floor, and waiters dressed in yellow and black silk Chinese pajamas scurried around, serving drinks with tiny paper umbrellas. The dance floor was pa
cked with people dancing to the Speed Hooper Orchestra. Fritzi noticed that there was not one accordion player. The girl singer, dressed in a long white sequined gown, wore a gardenia in her hair and just oozed sophistication.
As they were escorted to their booth and made their way through the crowd, everybody seemed to know Billy and would call out, “Hiya, Billy!” and he would say, “Hiya, pals!” Fritzi suddenly felt like a rube among all the beautifully dressed women in the room. When they sat down, Billy ordered her a champagne cocktail and a double scotch for himself.
Later, after Billy and Fritzi came back from the dance floor, a cute girl in a short skirt carrying a camera came up and asked Billy if he wanted a picture of the two of them. Another had a tray full of cigarettes and cigars and corsages for sale. Billy bought her a wrist corsage. All through the evening, Fritzi remained calm and pretended she had done this kind of thing before. She tried not to let Billy see it, but inside, she was impressed out of her mind. It was true. Once she had seen Milwaukee, she knew she would never be the same again.
THAT NIGHT, WHEN BILLY flew her back home to Pulaski, Fritzi looked down and saw the lights of the filling station below, and she was sorry the date was over. She wished it could have gone on forever. Long after they had landed and Billy was already back in Grand Rapids, Fritzi Jurdabralinski was still up in the air, in more ways than one. Somewhere along the way, she had lost her hat, but she didn’t care. She had lost more than her hat; she had lost her heart. That night, Fritzi had fallen hopelessly in love with flying … and with Billy Bevins.
WHERE DID I GET MY TRAITS?
POINT CLEAR, ALABAMA
WHEN SHE WOKE UP THAT MORNING, SOOKIE REALIZED SHE REALLY needed to find out more about her ethnic background. She had always assumed that she had inherited either the Simmons or the Krackenberry traits. Now she wanted to try and figure out what behavior was from her Polish DNA and what was learned behavior. She wished she had paid more attention to world geography. She wasn’t even sure exactly where Poland was. She knew it was in Europe somewhere, close to Russia or France, maybe? And she didn’t know a thing about Polish people. As far as she knew, her only encounter with anything remotely Polish was eating those little Polish sausages they served at the Waffle House. And so after her bath, she fed Peek-a-Boo and turned on the computer. She typed up the words “Polish Traits,” and clicked.
“The Poles are generally a fun-loving and hardworking people.” Well, that was good so far, but she was curious about what they looked like, so she typed in “Famous Polish People.” The first two names that came up were Frédéric Chopin and Liberace, both piano players. And she could see from Liberace’s picture that they had similar noses. When she read on and saw that Martha Stewart was also Polish, she began to cheer up just a tiny bit.
LATER, SOOKIE WAITED UNTIL she knew Lenore was in water therapy and went outside and walked around her yard for the first time in days. When she saw Netta out in her front yard, pruning her azaleas, she wandered over and said, “Hi, Netta.”
Netta looked up. “Well, hey there, gal … feeling any better?”
“Yes, I am. But don’t tell Mother, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“Thanks, Netta. And thanks so much for feeding my birds.”
“No problem, hon. Happy to do it anytime.”
“Netta, let me ask you something. What do you know about Polish people?”
“Polish people?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, well … let me think,” Netta said, snapping off a dead branch in one of her bushes. “I know they like sauerkraut. And they love to sing, but they are not very good singers.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I heard that somewhere, but I’ve forgotten where. And, oh, they like their accordions and like to do the polka.”
“Have you ever met any Polish people in person?”
“Not that I recall, no … or if I did, I didn’t know it. Why?”
“Oh, no reason, I was just wondering. Well, I’ll see you later.”
Netta watched as Sookie slowly wandered back over to her house like she was in some kind of a daze. Between the pink sneakers and now this, she was getting worried. Maybe it was the flu, but Sookie just didn’t seem like herself.
A FINE ROMANCE
PULASKI, WISCONSIN
BILLY BEVINS THOUGHT FRITZI WAS A GREAT GAL. BUT AS IT TURNED out, he had had motives other than romance for taking her out. He hadn’t told her yet, but he was really just looking for a new gal to join him in his flying act. The big draw at air shows were the female wing walkers, and Fritzi filled the bill. She had a terrific figure, a great smile, and a lot of confidence.
After they had gone out a few more times, and he had flown her over to see a performance of the Billy Bevins Flying Circus, he asked Fritzi whether she would ever be interested in joining his flying act if he trained her to do a few stunts. She answered with an emphatic “Yes!”
“Great!” he said, patting her on the back, then added, “Fritzi, gal, I’m going to show you how to do things in a plane you never dreamed about.”
Fritzi shot him a look and said, “Yeah, I’ll just bet you will!”
He had laughed when she said it, but to Fritzi’s disappointment, and as much as she wished he would, he never so much as kissed her good night.
As time went by, Fritzi felt baffled. She knew he liked her, but something was wrong. She had never had a guy not try and get fresh with her. Maybe he thought she was too young or not worldly enough for him. So Fritzi tried acting a little older and tougher. She even plucked her eyebrows like Jean Harlow, but so far, nothing. She ordered a pair of tan jodhpurs, a white silk shirt, a leather cap, and a long white scarf. She put them on and strolled around town looking very much like a real pilot. Or so people in Pulaski said.
EVERY MONDAY, BILLY WOULD fly over to Pulaski and give Fritzi a flying lesson. He needed his wing walkers to be trained pilots, and as a favor to Fritzi, he threw in a few lessons for Wink as well.
Wink hero-worshipped Billy and started to walk like him and follow him around like a puppy. Wink did very well with his lessons, but Fritzi was the one whose progress Billy was interested in, and she didn’t disappoint him. She was strong, athletic, coordinated, and—most important of all—as he had found on their first date, she was a damn good dancer. Before he trained any girl, he always took them dancing first.
Billy knew from experience, people with no rhythm made lousy pilots. Not only was Fritzi a good student and a fast learner, unlike a lot of girls, she was not afraid to get her hands dirty. After having watched her father work at the filling station all those years, Fritzi could take a motor apart and put it back together and change a tire in three minutes flat.
A FEW MONTHS LATER, when Billy flew in, Fritzi came running out, ready for another lesson, and he started off with his usual drill. “So, pal … what’s your first rule?”
“Safety.”
“Who’s your best friend?”
“My mechanic.”
“What do you do before you take off?”
“Check everything.”
“How many times?”
“Twice.”
“Right!” Billy was a highly skilled pilot, but he was also a real stickler on safety. That day, after they had landed, Billy turned to her and said, “Okay, kid. You’re ready to solo. She’s all yours. Take her up, do your stuff, then bring her on in. See you later,” and he walked away and left her standing there.
Fritzi had no idea this was going to happen so soon, and she panicked, but she knew that if she didn’t do it, she might not ever see Billy again. She walked around the plane with her heart pounding and did her safety check, twice. When she finally got in the plane, she was so nervous that her legs started to shake, and she wanted to jump out and run, but she took a deep breath and started the motor and taxied out, with her mind full of all the things Billy had taught her. To her amazement, before she knew it, she was up in the air, looking down at Billy, wh
o gave her a thumbs-up. She stayed up in the air for about twenty-five minutes, flying in circles, and practiced landing in the air ten times, like Billy had taught her. “Go up and give yourself plenty of altitude, and envision that your runway is laid right out in front of you. Then, go through all your landing procedures, so when you do land, you’ve already done it so many times, landing for real will be a piece of cake.”
And, sure enough, on her first solo landing, she did pretty well. The next week, Poppa drove her up to Grand Rapids to get her pilot’s license. Poppa was so proud and showed it to everyone who came in the station. Fritzi was happy to have her license, but privately, her heart was broken. When she had gone to Grand Rapids, after she had gotten her license, she made Poppa drive her over to the hotel where Billy lived and had knocked on Billy’s door to surprise him. A tough-looking woman with frizzy red hair had come to the door in her nightgown. She found out that the whole time she had known him, Billy had been living with Gussie Mintz, his second-string wing walker from Altoona.
What a fool she had been. He had never been the slightest bit interested in her and probably never would be. It was hard being around him after that, but Billy had never led her on, nor had he made any promises, so what could she do?
After that Fritzi started doing a few shows now and then. Billy would call her whenever Lillian Bass, his first-string wing walker, was not available and Gussie was too drunk to go on.
Soon, Billy began to see that not only had Fritzi taken to flying and performing stunts, she’d invented a few of her own. She didn’t do the usual girl stunts. She went out on the wing and stood on her head, jumped through hoops, and did the jitterbug five hundred feet up in the air. As Billy told his mechanic one night at the hotel bar, “That crazy kid has more guts than brains. Damn,” he said. “She reminds me of me at that age, and that ain’t good.” Billy took a swig of his drink, then said, “Now if I was a nice guy, I would send her packing, but I ain’t a nice guy, I guess.”
