by Fannie Flagg
Maggie looked over to stage right and saw seven or eight men in white shirts and shiny black pants waiting in the wings; then, with no fanfare whatsoever, they just unceremoniously walked out onstage and, without a smile or even a nod to the audience, sat down and started playing odd-sounding flutes and some kind of stringed musical instruments. They played one strange number after another, each one sounding exactly like the last one. After at least an hour (or so it seemed), again without a smile, they all stood up and left the stage as unceremoniously as they had entered, and it was intermission.
Maggie already had a stiff neck from looking up, and she had not seen a Dervish whirling yet. After a long twenty-minute intermission, the same men came back out, sat down, and started playing again. Oh, Lord, she thought. The audience was at a loss for what to do, too polite to whistle and stomp their feet and scream, “Where are the Dervishes?” but restless nonetheless. Thankfully, after four or five more musical numbers, Brenda poked Maggie in the ribs again, and again pointed to stage right. Maggie looked over and, this time, saw several men in long black capes and big tall cone hats slowly gathering around. After another endless musical number, one of the men came out and walked across to the other side of the stage and laid down what looked to be two very large bath mats and then left again.
No question about it, this was the strangest show Maggie had ever seen in her life. But at least something was happening. After a while, two older men in tall cone hats and capes came out and knelt down on the bath mats for a while, and then finally, one by one, younger Whirling Dervishes in long black capes and at least two-foot-tall black cone hats entered the stage and, without a smile, went over and knelt down in a row. Everyone was so excited to see them at long last and wanted to applaud, but the men looked so serious, they didn’t dare. After another long time of doing whatever it was they were doing, they suddenly stood up and dropped their capes to the ground to reveal their outfits: white shirts with little white vests, flowing white skirts, and little soft brown leather boots on their feet. Then very slowly, one by one, they began turning around in a circle, and soon they were all whirling around and around, faster and faster, all over the stage.
At first, Maggie could tell this must have been a beautiful sight: all these tall, handsome, graceful men twirling all at once with their skirts flaring in and out, like waves in the ocean. Unfortunately, all Brenda and Maggie could see as they twirled by was straight up their skirts: the loose white pants and leather boots; and as they twirled faster, the wind from their skirts blew dirt and dust from the stage all over the people in the first row. But even the little bit that they could see of the twirling was terribly beautiful and exciting. For a while however as the twirling went on and on, after waiting so long see them whirl, Maggie now couldn’t wait for them to stop. Her neck was killing her, and her eyes were burning from looking straight up into the lights, and she was getting a headache and a sore throat from all the dust and dirt blowing in her face. Maggie calculated that if they had twirled in a straight line instead of a circle, they could be all the way to Atlanta by now. As she sat hoping that this would be their last twirl, she began to notice a pattern. As they twirled, they always wound up right back at the same spot where they had started. In a way, it reminded her of her own life. All that twirling, and in the end, she hadn’t gone anywhere at all.
After another painful forty minutes, the twirling finally ended, and the Dervishes put their capes back on and left as slowly and as quietly as they had come on, followed by the musicians, leaving nothing but a row of empty wooden chairs and a grateful, but confused, audience. They wanted to applaud, but were afraid it would not be fitting. It was clearly a somber religious event, not what most had expected.
Brenda was deeply disappointed. “I thought it was going to be fun,” she whispered. Maggie nodded with a stiff neck. “Me, too. Oh well, who knew?” But Brenda was still hopeful. In the lobby, when she saw Cathy Gilmore, she asked, “Is there a cast party?”
“No. They have to leave right after the show.”
“Oh shoot, what a bummer. Did you get a chance to meet them before the show?”
“I met the bus when they arrived.”
“What were they wearing?” asked Brenda.
“Wearing? Oh, just regular clothes. Why?”
Brenda looked at Maggie. “We just wondered.”
AS THEY DROVE home, Maggie quietly opened Brenda’s purse and slipped Hazel’s lucky penny inside as a sort of private going-away present. When they pulled up to Maggie’s door, Brenda laughed and said, “Yeah, thanks to Cecil we sure didn’t need those binoculars tonight, did we?”
“No, we didn’t.”
“It was different, I’ll say that.”
“It was … Anyhow, I’m so glad we went.”
“Me, too; at least now we don’t have to go to Turkey.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Well, see you in the morning.”
“Well, actually, no. I’m taking tomorrow off, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot … and what is it you’re doing tomorrow?”
“Just a few things I need to take care of.”
“Ah … well, have fun. See you on Tuesday then.”
Brenda started to drive away, but Maggie said, “Wait—wait a minute.”
Brenda stopped. “What is it?”
Maggie stood there and looked at her for a moment and then said, “Oh nothing, I guess I just wanted to say … good night again.”
Brenda smiled. “Well, good night, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she said as she drove away.
Maggie stood there and watched her until she was out of sight. Sadly, the show had not been quite as exciting as she had hoped for, but still, she was glad she had spent her last evening with Brenda.
Inside, she got undressed and packed her dress and shoes in the box and looked over her last list for tomorrow morning.
Things to Do, Morning of November 3
Cancel Birmingham News
Empty refrigerator and freezer
Take out garbage
Call Dottie Figge about unit
Call phone company and have phone disconnected
Leave money and watch for Lupe
Make bed and do laundry
Check under sink for ants
Sweep off back patio and clean out bird feeder
Don’t forget to leave note on counter
Leave spare key under mat when you go
When she got into bed, she wondered why she was suddenly feeling so good. It seemed so wrong. My Lord. To wind up this way, she should be feeling just terrible around about now, but she wasn’t. She’d noticed that as the day had gotten closer, she had begun to feel better and better. Was it because she wasn’t watching the news anymore? She was certainly sleeping better than she had in years. It was amazing how nice it was to not have to worry about the future. Wouldn’t you know it, just as she was getting ready to leave, she felt better than she had in years.
Oh, well.
D-Day
Monday, November 3, 2008
MAGGIE WOKE UP EARLY AND STRIPPED THE BED AND THREW everything in the washing machine and was about to get in the shower, but realized it would be a needless waste of water. She put on her coffee, threw two pop-up waffles in the toaster, and made her first phone call to Dottie and left a message on her voice mail telling her that a two-bedroom unit would be coming up for sale soon. She didn’t want Babs to grab that listing before Dottie had a chance to show it to her clients. Afterward, she made a call to the Birmingham News and canceled her subscription. Then she called the phone company to have her phone permanently turned off. The lady sounded like it had hurt her feelings, but what could Maggie do? She then washed out her dishes and coffee pot and put them in the dishwasher.
As she waited for her sheets to dry, she put her goodbye letter on the counter, along with her watch and Lupe’s envelope, cleaned out the refrigerator and brought out the garbage, and at nine-thirty on the dot,
two boys from Boots’s theater rang her bell and took the boxes. So far, everything was on schedule. She ran out and swept off the back patio, pulled the sheets out of the dryer, and made the bed.
She walked around and did a last-minute check. Everything looked in order. Just as she was ready to leave, the phone in the kitchen started to ring. She figured it was the phone company calling back, checking the number, so she just let it ring. She locked the kitchen door, put on a scarf and her sunglasses, grabbed her purse, and walked out the front door. She placed the extra key under the doormat and headed down the block to wait for the cab, hoping that she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. Thankfully, the car was already there waiting for Doris Day, and she quickly jumped into the backseat and slammed the door. What a relief. Nobody had seen her. Safe at the plate! After she informed the driver which way to go, she settled back in the seat and was just starting to relax a little when the cell phone in her purse rang. Oh Lord, she was taking the stupid thing to throw in the river, but had forgotten to turn it off. She didn’t want to talk to anyone now, much less Brenda or Ethel, so she just let it ring. But then, she suddenly wondered if it could be Dottie calling with some question about the unit at Avon Terrace. Maybe it had been Dottie calling her earlier at the house. She pulled the phone out and looked at the number calling, but she had just thrown all her reading glasses out in the garbage, and the number was a big blur. She punched Redial, expecting Dottie to pick up, but to her surprise, a man in New York answered.
“Hello,” she said.
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Maggie had the driver turn the car around and take her back home. She hated to let go of her river plans for now, especially after all of her hard work coordinating everything so perfectly. But Alex, the lawyer who worked for David’s company and handled Mrs. Dalton’s properties, had been quite insistent. Maggie had tried to suggest that he work with Brenda, but he had said no, that in order for Red Mountain Realty to get the listing, he had specific instructions that she must handle the sale of Crestview personally. So really, what else could she do? If she didn’t take it, the listing would certainly go to Babs, and after all, she had called David asking about the listing, so she couldn’t very well say no now. Of course, this meant another delay on her river plans, but she couldn’t be selfish about it. As really inconvenient as the timing was, she realized that just like Humphrey Bogart said at the end of the movie Casablanca, her plans didn’t mean a hill of beans in the big scheme of things. This was something bigger than she was. Birmingham had lost so many landmarks in the past, and if she could just find the right buyer, the delay would be well worth it. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel a little excited. This was Crestview.
Right now, she was just thankful she had left an extra key and could get back into her house. Once inside, the first thing she did was go to the kitchen and take her “To Whom It May Concern” letter back to the desk in the den. She sat down and opened it and reluctantly put Wite-Out over today’s date. She decided to leave it blank for now and redate it after she sold Crestview.
Maggie had been so surprised by the phone call; it wasn’t until now that she began to realize that she had a major problem. She had just given away all her nice clothes to the theater, and she couldn’t very well ask for them back. Oh Lord, she had even thrown away all of her makeup. Luckily, she could run out and at least retrieve most of her makeup and all her glasses out of the garbage can.
A few minutes later, Maggie was happy she had found her makeup and glasses, but that was the least of her problems now. The lawyer in New York had called and arranged a meeting with Mrs. Dalton for eight tomorrow morning—and she had absolutely nothing to wear! Oh, God! Why had she canceled all her credit cards and closed out her bank account? Now, after sending what money she’d had left over to her two charities, she was flat broke.
Then she remembered that she had put five hundred dollars in cash in the envelope with the gold watch she was leaving for Lupe as a bonus. She went into the kitchen, opened it up, took the money, and put her watch back on. She hated to do it, but when you were selling high-end properties, you had to look your very best.
Maggie was so relieved that she had some cash to go shopping with, but then she suddenly realized that she couldn’t very well go shopping in her FISHERMEN DO IT WITH A BIG POLE shirt. Most everyone she could think of here at the complex, except Mrs. Sullencroft, was already at work, so she turned her fishing shirt inside out, ran to the end unit, and knocked on her door. When she answered, Maggie said, “I hate to bother you, but I wonder if you have a coat of some kind that I could borrow for just a little while?”
“Oh sure, honey, let me go find something for you.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Sullencroft came back and handed her a large, bright pink, fuzzy wool coat. “Here you go. Keep it as long as you like. I think that color will look good on you, honey,” she said.
Maggie thanked her profusely and got in the car and headed out to the mall. When she got there, she put the pink coat on and walked into the Armani outlet store. She was horribly embarrassed to be seen in such an outfit, especially the men’s boots, but luckily, right away she was able to find a simple black suit. Then she went next door to the Saks outlet and picked up earrings, a pair of nice Ferragamo shoes, and a lovely scarf. And she got everything all within her somewhat limited budget.
Maggie may not have known how to Twitter, but she did know how to shop.
AT THE LAW firm in New York, Alex had just informed his boss, David Lee, that per his instructions, Maggie Fortenberry had been hired and the first Birmingham realtor had been informed that she was not getting the listing. David was very pleased. But Alex was still a little shaky. Just as he had suspected, Babs had not been happy. He had not heard language like that since the men’s locker room at college.
AT FIRST, Babs Bingington couldn’t understand why the Dalton lawyer had had such an abrupt change of mind. “We have decided to go with someone else” was all he would say. The little prick—and after all she had promised him.
It took her twenty-four hours to find out just who the Crestview listing had gone to, but when she did, she went into a dark green rage. She should have known it. That damned “over the mountain” bunch had shut her out again. It never failed. No matter how hard she worked, when push came to shove, they always stuck together in the end. She wasn’t good enough to handle their precious Crestview. But if they thought for one minute that she was going to let them get away with it, they were sadly mistaken.
Meeting Mrs. Dalton
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, MAGGIE WAS SITTING IN the grand library at St. Martin’s in the Pines, waiting to meet with Mrs. Dalton and sign papers and pick up the keys to Crestview. There was a saying that no matter how far away Birminghamians moved, they always came back home in the end, and Dee Dee Dalton was no exception. She was from one of the old-guard iron, coal, and steel families and, at eighty-eight, had outlived four husbands and lived all over the world, but when she had returned to Birmingham for good, she’d moved back to her family home and had gone back to using her maiden name. It was easier for her friends. To them, she would always be Dee Dee Dalton, no matter how many husbands she had married along the way.
As she sat waiting, Maggie couldn’t help thinking how really odd life was. A few days ago, she had been so upset, and now she was glad she had gone to the beauty shop and had her hair done. Then suddenly, something else dawned on her. Since she had made that phone call to David asking about Crestview, she realized that she had actually stolen the listing right out from under Babs Bingington’s nose. She had never stolen a listing in her life, and it was a total violation of her code of real estate ethics, but … oh well. Too late now. The deed was done. And to her surprise, she didn’t feel bad about it at all.
Maggie had dressed in such a hurry, she was busy checking to see if she had left any tags on the clothes when Mrs. Dalton, still a handsome woman with bright blue e
yes, walked into the library. Maggie stood to greet her, and Mrs. Dalton couldn’t have been nicer. After she signed all the necessary papers, she handed Maggie the keys to Crestview and said, “Here you are, dear. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to clear everything out of the house, but if there’s anything you want—dishes, paintings, furniture—just take it or else give it away. I have no room for anything here.”
When Maggie asked if she had an asking price in mind, she said, “Oh my, no, I haven’t any idea; I suppose you need to tell me what the market can bear.”
“All right, let me check the comparables in the area, and I’ll get back to you.”
“I hate to sell it, but all my children are dead—can you imagine? Of course, at one time, I had planned to leave it to the city, but now I don’t trust them to keep it up like it should be, so I’m hoping you’ll find someone who won’t knock it down to the ground, at least while I’m alive.”
Maggie said, “Mrs. Dalton, I promise you I will do my very best to find the perfect buyer.”
“Oh, thank you, dear, I’m sure you will; I have such happy memories of growing up there.” Mrs. Dalton’s eyes looked wistful as she continued: “We moved there right after word came from England that poor Mr. Crocker had been lost at sea. He had no family, except for one sister who lived in London, but she never came to Birmingham. So after he died, the house was left to my father, who was a partner in one of Mr. Crocker’s companies.” She smiled. “Of course, Mr. Crocker was especially fond of Mother, and I suspect it was really Mother he had left it to. He and Mother had been grand friends. Mr. Crocker was a confirmed bachelor. Over the years, she had helped him plan entertainments and with the gardens and such, so he trusted that she would continue to take care of it, I guess. And he was right. I think Mother loved Crestview as much as the Crockers had. Of course, I never knew Edward’s father, Angus Crocker, who had built Crestview, but Mother said that father and son were as different as night and day.” She looked back at Maggie, “Tell me, are you at all familiar with the house?”
