“C’mon, honey. Be reasonable.” Buster tickled her, as he often did when he wanted to get her off a subject he didn’t like.
“Don’t!” Mae pushed his hands away. She was pleased he wanted her to stay, but she was aggravated that what he wanted was more important than what she wanted.
“Oh, baby, don’t be that way.”
“I don’t want to go to stupid old Gainesville Junior College. It’s not even a real college. I want to go to Centenary. I am going to Centenary. Daddy’s already paid the tuition.” This was a lie, but Buster didn’t know.
Mae couldn’t tell Buster her real dreams, which had less to do with sitting in classrooms than getting out of Whitesboro for a while. That revelation would only hurt his feelings. Buster didn’t know Mae’s dreams pulsed to the rhythm of railcars. She had ridden trains all her life, all over Texas and Louisiana, to Fort Worth, Texarkana, Shreveport, Alexandria, and New Orleans. Buster had never been with Mae when conductors tipped their hats and greeted her by name, took her bags, and showed her to the best seat. When they asked after the well-being of her sister, her mother, and her father, the Road Master.
Mae imagined herself working for the railroad in a big job like her father’s. She imagined a future of travel that ranged farther and farther, until she bumped up against one coast or the other, one border or the other. She would come home from her journeys enveloped in the very air of the cities she had visited—spiced delicacies and French perfumes—aromas she never caught a whiff of in a one-horse town like Whitesboro.
Mae would have a fedora of her own—brown or black, she hadn’t decided—banded with a crimson silk ribbon. She would sweep it off as she rushed through the door to greet her future children, her voluminous curls exploding from their forced confinement. In her valise, she would bring exotic treats that were not to be had around here. When they were old enough, Mae’s children would ride the train as she had done, and their lives would spill out into the world.
But Mae couldn’t get a job with the Texas Pacific Railway. She had no way to qualify, and her father wouldn’t lift a finger to set her up with a railroad job out of town, completely on her own. No way. But going to Shreveport to attend Centenary, that was an idea she could sell.
On Decoration Day—the eve of Mae’s departure—Buster proposed in the sanctuary of the Academy. The Academy! That old-time circuit preacher depot, whose walls now waited out the long silences between occasional sing-alongs and family reunions. Buster liked grand, sweeping gestures and an audience. When he led her down the aisle of the deserted little church, took both her hands in his, and knelt in front of the pulpit, Mae knew he was unsure what her answer would be.
He bent his face toward the old plank floor for a long time and then looked up. Without a trace of a smile, he asked, “Miss Mae Compton, will you marry me?”
She looked at him solemnly, her Buster Bear all shaved and trimmed. His dark hair was slicked down and smelled clean. His meaty hands held hers as if they were bone china rather than flesh the same as his, as if they were as fragile as his pride.
“Mr. Buster Meade . . .” She paused for effect. “Yes. Yes sir, I will.”
“You will?”
“Well of course, silly. Don’t be a dope.”
He whooped then, swept her up, and spun her around. He set her down, fished in his pants pocket, and brought out a ring. “My mother’s ring,” he said. He slipped the delicate band with its tiny, solitary diamond onto her finger. “She wanted you to have it.”
“Oh Buster, it’s beautiful. I didn’t expect a ring.” Mae really hadn’t, not in these times.
He picked her up again and carried her down the steps, shouting, “We’re gettin’ married!” at the top of his lungs.
There it was—Buster’s big finish.
When Mae arrived in Shreveport, she realized immediately how little she knew her aunt and uncle. Her exposure to them had been limited to brief visits, during which they never exchanged more than banal pleasantries. Mae soon discovered Aunt Vida was the silliest woman she had ever met, and that was saying something.
Vida had two tiny Pomeranians, Puffy and Fluffy. What the names lacked in originality they made up for in dead-on descriptiveness. The creatures, no larger than rats, were crowded with dense white undercoats and silken apricot topcoats more luxurious than the expensive puff in Mae’s dusting powder. On hot afternoons, the Poms lay on their backs, legs splayed, on the kitchen linoleum under an electric fan. They panted desperately while Vida hovered over them and showered their bellies with cool water from a Coca-Cola bottle corked with a tin sprinkle head. Mae’s mother had one just like it she used for ironing, but Aunt Vida did not iron. She sent everything—absolutely everything!—to the store with Uncle Bill to be laundered or dry cleaned and pressed.
“Aunt Vida!” Mae said. “Why don’t you shave the poor things?”
“It embarrasses them,” answered Vida. “They cain’t hardly hold up their heads without their fur. I just cain’t do ‘em that way.”
What a dope, thought Mae. She put her hands on her hips. The Pomeranians cocked their heads, their sharp little ears flat against the floor. They regarded Mae with quick black eyes, as if she were something the cat had dragged in.
Vida took Mae shopping, but they only went to musty little dress shops where the old clerks made over them. The dresses were sized too large for Mae, and she didn’t want them anyway. They were yesterday’s fashion. She was dying to go to Rubenstein’s and Selber Brothers, but it would only be frustrating to go with her aunt.
Mae was mad with boredom by the end of the first week. She began getting up early to go to the store with Uncle Bill. It was boring there too, but at least she could read her magazines without listening to Aunt Vida prattle and Fluffy and Puffy pant their little lungs out. Besides, the dry cleaners was only a few blocks from Centenary, where she could wander around the deserted campus and imagine how classes would be in the fall.
Mae wrote to all her friends and cousins to please, please, please! come and visit, but everyone had made their summer plans already. Her best friend, Sissy Gaines, was the very busiest of all getting ready for her own wedding at the end of June, but Sissy wrote back and said she would make time to come. Three days was all she could spare, but she would be there.
Mae came out of the bedroom, Sissy’s letter in hand. “Aunt Vida! I need to make a long-distance call.”
She followed her aunt’s voice and found her yapping on the telephone. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t getting a word in edgewise. Vida usually talked in first or second gear, taking her time about it. But if the other person tried to jump onboard and make it a two-way conversation, Vida upshifted, talking faster and louder until they gave up and she left them reeling in a cloud of chatter. “Vida was vaccinated with a Victrola needle,” Mae’s mother had said more than once, along with a lot of other things Mae should have paid more attention to.
Vida broke down and let Mae take her Cadillac LaSalle to the train station to pick up Sissy, only because there wasn’t a choice. She was tied up hosting her bridge game, which wasn’t as big a coincidence as she believed, and it would have been too difficult for the girls to manage Sissy’s luggage on the streetcar. Sissy had brought extra suitcases for all the shopping she planned to do.
“I have to hear everything about the wedding plans—simply everything!“ Mae said as soon as Sissy stepped onto the train platform.
“Oh my goodness, you can’t believe how much there is to do to get ready,” Sissy said, hugging her. “But, first things first. Buster is beside himself. He’s working overtime every weekend, so I only ever see him at church, but it’s just so sad! He mopes around like a lost puppy. He pleaded with me to try and talk you into coming home.”
“I know, I know. It’s so hard. His letters are pitiful.”
“I don’t think I could do it. I mean, I couldn’t be away from Joe for this long.”
“It’s very hard.”
They walked
to the car in awkward silence.
“Well,” Sissy said finally, “your sense of adventure is one of the things we all love.”
Mae smiled, relieved. It would be a good visit after all.
The girls drove to the house to drop off Sissy’s things and freshen up. The bridge club was going full tilt in the front parlor. Vida would not let Mae take the LaSalle downtown, so they caught the streetcar to Selber Brothers for a late lunch in the café. Sissy said the shopping in Shreveport gave Chicago a run for its money.
When Sissy and Mae finally went home, Uncle Bill and Aunt Vida were in the kitchen, cleaning up after supper.
“Can we help?” Sissy asked.
“Oh no, we’ve got it,” said Uncle Bill.
“You can dry these dishes,” Aunt Vida said. “I’ve been washing and drying dishes all afternoon because of bridge club.”
Mae helped Uncle Bill arrange plates and bowls of leftovers in the icebox, and Sissy dried the dishes and carried them to the cupboard, where she came upon Fluffy and Puffy, stretched out with their bellies against the cool linoleum, their electric fan humming. “Oh, look at the puppies!” Sissy cried. “They are just precious!” She cooed and sweet-talked the little goblins until they softened up and permitted her to scratch their tiny heads.
“Will you look at that?” Uncle Bill said. “Those two snap at everybody.”
“No, they don’t,” said Aunt Vida.
“Seems like they do,” said Uncle Bill.
“They’re discriminating, is all. They’re good judges of character.” Aunt Vida gave a nod of approval and finality.
“Well, they’re darling,” said Sissy. To the dogs she said, “You better watch out or I’m going to take you home with me! Yes, I am. Yes, I am!“ Puffy and Fluffy rolled over and presented their lovely pink bellies, and Mae rolled her eyes. Sissy sure could lay it on, and Aunt Vida was lapping it up.
The girls finished the evening by trying on all the clothes and shoes they bought—mostly the clothes and shoes Sissy bought. They sampled each other’s makeup, cleansing creams, and moisturizers. Mae was messy—she always had been—and she had spent a long time the night before cleaning jar lids and wiping screw tops to make her concoctions presentable.
When the time came to hang the new clothes in the closet, Sissy saw Uncle Bill’s clothes pushed to the side. “Well, that’s inconvenient,” she said. “Is your aunt taking up the whole closet in their bedroom?”
“I’m pretty sure Uncle Bill was sleeping in here until I came.” Mae said.
“Why would he do that?”
Mae lowered her voice. “When I got here Aunt Vida told me to lock the door every night before I went to bed because Uncle Bill sleepwalks. I asked her if he just got up and walked around, or what? She said he has nightmares from the war, and they make him do things.”
“What things?”
“Aunt Vida said the nightmares make him think he’s still fighting the Germans. She said he fights her sometimes because he thinks he’s still over there.”
“Your uncle is as gentle as a kitten.”
“I remember Mama and Daddy talking about Uncle Bill having shell shock. I know I heard them say that before, so—”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know . . . exactly.”
“C’mon.” Sissy took Mae’s hand and pulled her into the hallway outside Aunt Vida’s bedroom door. Sissy put her hand on the doorknob.
“Don’t!” Mae whispered. “What are you doing?”
Sissy put her finger to her lips and turned the knob until the latch clicked and the door opened slightly. Vida’s snoring did not miss a beat, but one of the Poms growled. Sissy gently pulled the door closed and let the latch click softly. “Why isn’t her door locked?” she whispered.
The girls tiptoed back to their bedroom.
“I’m treating you and Vida to lunch tomorrow,” Sissy said, “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this before I leave.”
Before they went to sleep, Mae took the skeleton key and locked their bedroom door.
Just in case.
Vida ruffled her feathers like a fat hen, she was so full of herself driving the girls to lunch in her LaSalle. She really put on a show for Sissy, who had told Vida she simply must repay her hospitality by buying her lunch at the Washington Youree Hotel. Vida rubbernecked all through the meal, on the lookout for anyone she knew who might recognize her with a class act like Sissy Gaines, of the Gainesville Gaineses.
Sissy chatted about nothing and everything through the salad course, then got down to business when the entrees were served. “I couldn’t help noticing a uniform in the closet of the bedroom where we’re staying,” Sissy said. “Was Mr. Cole in the army?”
“I wish he’d get rid of that old thing,” Vida said. “It’s an awful reminder for him, what with everything he went through.”
“Oh?”
“Well, he was in the very worst of it, really. In France. He was a hero over there.” Vida shook her head sadly. “Of course, I didn’t meet Bill until after the war, and I had no idea. If I had . . . well . . . you cain’t go back. What do they say? Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I had other suitors, lots of them. But I love my husband, and that’s that.”
“Oh, my goodness,” said Sissy. “Has it been just terrible?”
Vida pursed her lips. She leaned toward the girls and lowered her voice, even though Mae was certain she was not going to say one thing she had not said before to everyone she knew. “Sissy, there have been times I feared for my life.”
“No!”
“One night—Oh Mae, I don’t want you to feel different about your Uncle Bill. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything more.”
“Don’t worry, Aunt Vida. I love Uncle Bill.”
“Well then, one night I woke up with his hands around my throat—my throat! And him calling me by a German name. Let me tell you something, you cain’t know fear until you wake up from a dead sleep in the clutches of a soldier who’s gone out of his mind. Altogether out of his mind!”
“What German name?” asked Sissy.
“What?”
Mae smiled.
“There are scads of Germans where I live,” Sissy said. “I just wondered if it’s a name I know.”
“Oh, well, the whole business was so awful that I tried to forget. It was German, though, is all I’m saying.”
“Oh, I understand. Does it still happen?”
“Well, it would if I didn’t lock my door every night of my life. And I told Mae to do the same, didn’t I, Mae?”
“Yes, Aunt Vida.”
“You poor thing,” said Sissy. She reached across the table and took Vida’s hand. “I wish there was something we could do.”
“So do I, dear, but we all have our crosses to bear.”
“Yes we do.” Sissy glanced at Mae. “Yes ma’am, we surely do.”
They got home midafternoon. Vida lay down for her nap, and the girls took off for downtown again, where they planned to see Anna Christie at the Strand Theater. “What did you think of Aunt Vida’s story?” Mae asked as they walked to the streetcar stop.
“I think your aunt doesn’t want to sleep with her husband.”
“Poor Uncle Bill. He deserves better.”
“Yes ma’am. She’s something. If the truth were known, your uncle probably doesn’t want to sleep with her either.”
Every night after that, for as long as Mae stayed with Uncle Bill and Aunt Vida, she tiptoed down the hall to check her aunt’s door. Never once was it locked.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jackson Carthage Addington knew the Fates were smiling on him again when he walked into Cole’s Dry Cleaning and Laundry, where he was supposed to work off a gambling debt he had acquired in New Orleans, a debt his father had paid. Jax’s best friend, Hollister, had introduced him to a speakeasy called Dante’s on Ursulines Avenue. Not that Jax cared one iota for drinking. His weak stomach couldn’t stand up to it. But Dante’s—so named for the Ita
lian gangster who owned it—had style in spades.
The speakeasy had a roulette table that was so beautiful it looked as if it belonged in Monte Carlo. A croupier named Henri with a French accent and a black tuxedo spun the wheel, and Jax felt like a million bucks every time he laid down a bet. He hung around the roulette all night, hoping for a glimpse of the speakeasy’s elusive owner.
A friendly blonde in a tight red dress—she said her name was Teresa—snuggled up close to Jax and tucked her arm inside his. The odds were as friendly as the blonde, and Jax watched his stacks of chips sprout like weeds after a rain. Every time his number came in, the crowd who had gathered around the table clapped and Henri said, “Félicitations, monsieur.”
When Jax had amassed a small fortune—hundreds of dollars—he handed Henri two twenty-dollar chips for a tip.
“Merci!” said Henri.
Jax straightened his back. His chest swelled with pride and generosity. “Henri,” he said, “tell the bartender the next round is on me. Everybody in the house.”
The spectators around the table murmured approvingly.
“What’ll you have, doll?” Jax asked Teresa.
“Absinthe.”
“Isn’t that stuff illegal?”
Teresa laughed. “It’s Prohibition, honey. Everything’s illegal.”
Jax laughed too. “Ain’t it the truth? Absinthe for the lady.”
Eventually, the roulette wheel became less friendly, and the chips in front of Jax dwindled. They were too few to cover the bar tab before he noticed. “Got a lucky number for me?” he asked Teresa.
“Eleven,” she said without hesitation, and Jax slid the remaining chips onto eleven.
“Good luck, sir,” Henri said. He spun the wheel, and the ball landed on thirty-six.
“Sorry, doll,” Jax said. “I would’ve taken you to Arnaud’s if the luck had held.”
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