The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club

by Duncan Whitehead

  There was hardly a dry eye in the cathedral as Thelma’s coffin was led out to the sound of Bette Midler warbling “Wind Beneath My Wings,” Thelma’s own selection and favorite song. The service, bar Elliott’s eulogy, and the subsequent burial were sedate, dignified affairs, and though the mood of those present was somber, there was an underlying sense of relief that at last Thelma’s suffering was over. The grief felt by her widowed husband and two grown sons was shared by her friends and relatives, and among the floral tributes was a special wreath from her fellow members of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club, who were at the graveside and in the cathedral with the other mourners. Both Cindy and Carla sobbed gently during the service and burial, whereas Heidi was more composed, wearing a stern and somber look that she had maintained throughout the day, in contrast to the overall theme of Thelma’s final farewell.

  Heidi had decided not to splurge for a new outfit for her friend’s funeral, but instead wore the same mourning outfit she had worn twenty years earlier at her husband’s funeral. Carla and Cindy, however, had arrived at the cathedral dressed elegantly, and some would even say, provocatively. Carla’s figure-hugging dark trouser suit had received a lot of attention, especially the trousers, which were so tight that you could have been forgiven for thinking they had been painted onto her behind. Cindy’s outfit had also gotten comment and attention, and though the plunging neckline and the raised hemline of her skirt were not totally inappropriate, they were a little risqué. The fact that both women wore five-inch heels, which obliged both of them to clutch the arm of a nearby gentleman mourner as they teetered their way across the treacherous gravel-and-seashell path to Thelma’s grave, did raise a few eyebrows from those congregated at both cathedral and cemetery.

  The wake quickly became a party and was anything but sedate. As promised, a jazz band was in attendance, and the musicians played continuously through what only could be described as the festivities, the drink flowing nonstop until even the most exuberant mourner could drink no more. An outsider would have been forgiven for thinking that those inside the big white house overlooking the park were celebrating a wedding or a birthday, not mourning a death. Laughter spilled out into the usually tranquil Gordonston evening as the party lasted through the night and into the following morning. Practically every homeowner in the Gordonston neighborhood arrived at the Miller home at some point during the evening, and twice the party ran out of beer, resulting in two emergency deliveries from Johnnie Ganem’s downtown liquor store.

  The caterers had done an excellent job with the food, providing all the local favorites: fried chicken, Brunswick stew, Tybee shrimp, and individual pecan pies. For some revelers it would be rated the highlight of their social year, and many lapsed acquaintances were renewed. Elliott had, as expected, been the perfect host. He didn’t appear down or morose, but he provided an air of decorum while respecting his wife’s wishes for a lavish and fun-filled send-off, without diminishing her memory and his love for her by partying on with the rest of the crowd. Though he had danced with several ladies throughout the evening, he had made sure that none were single and all were chaperoned by either husbands or lovers. This had caused a minor incident that didn’t go unnoticed by Heidi Launer. Carla Zipp and Cindy Mopper had left the festivities early, and some would gossip that they both left in a huff, after watching Elliott ask several other ladies to join him on the dance floor. At one stage both Cindy and Carla had physically shoved aside an assortment of women who either encircled Elliott or blocked the ladies’ line of vision of their party host. Heidi shook her head in despair at the antics of her two friends.

  The main event of the evening, though, was Elliott’s announcement that he would be running for mayor in the next election. Cheers and congratulatory whistles met his announcement, as well as handshakes and pats on the back from his neighbors. Spencer and Gordon uncorked a crate of champagne that they had secretly ordered, and they toasted their stepfather; those still present raised a glass to a successful campaign. Though it would mean that the district would lose him as alderman, if he were elected, Elliott promised that should he become mayor, he would ensure that a watchful eye be kept on the neighborhood, and promised his neighbors continued support for all of Gordonston’s committees, clubs, and associations.

  Doug and Veronica Partridge left the festivities early, just before Elliott’s announcement. But they would hear about his intentions the following morning through the neighborhood grapevine. Katie, who had accompanied them, had done well for the first hour, but meltdown had occurred just after the band played “When the Saints Go Marching In” for the third time. Elliott thanked the couple for attending, and kissed Veronica on the cheek and Katie on the forehead, which didn’t help her mood. Doug shook Elliott’s hand and offered to take Biscuit and Grits on walks around the park, should Elliott find himself needing a hand. Elliott thanked the Englishman and said that he appreciated the offer, but both Carla and Cindy had already both offered to dog-sit whenever they were needed.

  Tom and Kelly Hudd also missed Elliott’s announcement that he would be running for mayor. Because of their regular gym class, they had arrived late and learned of Elliott’s mayoral ambitions from Heidi, who had no intention of leaving Thelma’s wake just yet. Kelly and Tom enjoyed some food and danced to the jazz music, provoking admiring glances from many guests. Tom especially enjoyed the undivided attention of both Spencer and Gordon, who told the young firefighter that he really should think about a modeling career and that if he were ever in Los Angeles, he should look them up. Kelly, who didn’t usually drink, became tipsy just before midnight, compelling Tom to make their excuses and take her home. As they left, an old, colored gentleman, taking his aging Cairn terrier for a late-night stroll, passed the Miller house and delivered a card of condolence into Elliott’s mailbox, before returning to his home just across the park.

  Heidi Launer had surprised even herself by her ability to last the night. She remained at Thelma’s wake until the small hours of the morning, partaking of cocktails, catching up with seldom seen neighbors, and at one stage even dancing to the strains of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” played for the eighth time that evening. But she had spent most of the evening as if she were looking for something or someone in the big house. Both Gordon and Spencer had taken the time to share childhood memories with their former neighbor, and she had insisted on a tour of the house and the chance to relive memories by having Thelma’s sons produce many old photo albums, so she could peruse them at her leisure. Spencer had the distinct feeling that Heidi was searching for something by the way she scanned through the albums and inspected every nook and cranny of the house, but dismissed the thought as the evening progressed and the old lady seemed to relax.

  Elliott felt it had been a successful evening, and as he took a draw on the cigar Gordon had given him, he reflected on the day’s events. Thelma would have been pleased with her send-off and would have enjoyed knowing that so many had turned out to bid her a final farewell. As Elliott stood at the front door to his home, blowing cigar smoke into the early morning air, he collected the letters from his mailbox. He opened and read the old man’s recently deposited card of condolence and reminded himself to personally thank his neighbor for his kind words. Gordon and Spencer were both leaving the following day, again on a privately chartered jet, and he marveled at just how successful his stepsons had become. He was proud of them, as Thelma had been, and was pleased that his writing efforts had helped enable them to pursue such lucrative careers. It was funny, he thought, how things turn out, and as he stared into the park, he wondered just what fate would have in store for him next.

  Elliott broke away from his thoughts and turned his attention to more mundane matters. He had organized a team of cleaners for the following afternoon to assist with the clearing of the evening’s festivities, and he must remember to call Spencer and Gordon at their hotel in the morning to say goodbye. Actually, he thought, the house was
n’t in too much of a state anyway. He’d had a thorough cleaning done before the wake, and he’d put most of his personal items in the cellar, including his collection of books. And among these were his own three books and his rare, signed copy of the book he had received over thirty years before.

  Chapter 6

  Exactly one week after Thelma Miller’s funeral, Kelly Hudd decided to take a well-deserved day off and spend it pampering herself and generally relaxing. She was due vacation time anyway, and as she had worked six days a week for the last month, her department manager was very happy to accommodate his pretty sales assistant and consultant.

  After a lengthy lie-in, during which Tom had brought her breakfast in bed of strawberries and melon, freshly squeezed orange juice, and whole-grain toast, Kelly indulged herself in a long, luxurious bath. She had soaked herself for just under an hour, experimenting with the various free samples, courtesy of her profession, which she often tried out at home. Shmitty, who had crept into the bathroom, was lying on the floor next to where his mistress soaked, and if dogs could smile, he would have probably been doing so.

  Kelly had no plans for the day apart from maybe catching up on a few of her favorite daytime soap operas. Maybe that afternoon, once the heat had abated, she would consider a stroll in the park with Shmitty. She was not quite ready to join the three women who congregated around the picnic table, and as she was not a drinker—in fact she never touched hard liquor—the cocktail hour was not of any interest to her. She was still getting over Thelma’s recent wake anyhow, where she had drunk too much of the red wine served by the bow-tied waiters. She had become tipsy and at one stage during the evening had become jealous of the attention Tom was receiving from Thelma’s sons. Luckily, though, Heidi had cornered her, rambling on about some books or something. Kelly really had a hazy recollection of the evening and was glad that Tom had taken her home when he had, before she was able to get the chance to embarrass herself or him. She wished she could remember what Heidi had been talking about, but like Kelly, the older lady had drunk far too much, and by the end of the evening was incoherent.

  Kelly daydreamed as she lay in the tub, and her thoughts turned to her favorite fantasy, modeling. Kelly had always aspired to being a model. She knew she had the body and the looks for it, and in her younger days she had toyed with the idea. She had never pursued her dream, though; somehow she had thought that her career as a beautician and sales assistant would only be temporary and that one day she would be discovered.

  That discovery never came, and although she had no regrets about her life, she often wondered what it would have been like had she fulfilled her fanciful teenage aspirations. As she lay in the relaxing water, she imagined herself walking catwalks, lounging on exotic beaches, attending movie premieres and other celebrity functions. She saw herself on magazine covers and blazoned across billboards; this was a recurring fantasy that she played out in her head repeatedly. Of course, Tom was at her side in all of these fantasies. She didn’t substitute Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise for the man of her dreams. She had her own hunk, and as far as Kelly was concerned, he was better than any Hollywood superstar.

  After her extended and relaxing bath, Kelly switched on the TV in her bedroom and inspected the garments hanging in her closet. She liked to keep up with the latest fashion, and working in a department store meant she usually had the first pick when it came to new stock. Though Kelly and Tom were not top-end salary earners, between them they made enough to afford their small house, run two cars, and indulge themselves in designer-label clothing. Not that it really mattered, as both of them could look good in anything. Even the simplest of outfits on Kelly looked like it had originated from an Italian or French fashion house.

  As always during summer months in Savannah, it was a glorious day, and Kelly, once she had dressed, took a seat in her small garden with a copy of Vogue—her favorite magazine—and a glass of iced tea, sweetened artificially. Cindy called sweet tea the “house wine of Savannah,” and Kelly liked the phrase. It was true, she thought, and she smiled as she took a sip of the refreshing drink. Shmitty had followed her into the garden, and after sniffing the azaleas that grew against the side of the fence that separated the Hudds’s garden from Cindy’s neatly trimmed and manicured lawn, he joined his mistress under the sun-screened porch.

  The magazine engrossed her, as it always did. Kelly was fascinated by the articles she found there and would spend hours thumbing its pages each month. Her concentration, though, was broken by the siren of an emergency vehicle. Kelly rested the magazine on her lap and looked up. The siren was not close, but belonged to a vehicle traversing Pennsylvania Avenue, which bordered the Gordonston neighborhood. Kelly wondered if she had ever seen an emergency vehicle, police car, fire truck, or ambulance in her neighborhood and decided that she had not. That wasn’t because the police didn’t keep up regular patrols in the area—far from it. Elliott had ensured a constant and regular police patrol of Gordonston, day and night. It was just that nothing much ever happened to warrant the need for such. There had not been a fire in the neighborhood since 1978, when the old Carter house was gutted due to an electrical wiring fault, and the last time an ambulance had been seen in the streets of Gordonston was when young Sam Cooper fell off the swings in the park and cut his head open.

  The siren, though, reminded Kelly that her husband was constantly in danger. She worried about her husband working as a firefighter, and the sound of the siren sent shivers down her spine. Despite this constant concern, Kelly loved her life. Yes, of course, she would have liked more money—who wouldn’t? Nevertheless, she enjoyed her work, loved her neighborhood, couldn’t have wished for a better husband, and her pastimes of sex, exercise, sex, and competition entries were harmless and gave her immeasurable pleasure.

  Kelly’s only real regret in life was that she had not pursued a modeling career, but so what? She didn’t care. Maybe another regret would have been not attending college and very nearly flunking high school. It wasn’t that she was dumb. It was just that she had other priorities. Looking good was one of them; the other was snaring the man of her dreams, the high school quarterback, Tom Hudd. She had succeeded in both.

  Kelly returned to the glossy pages of her magazine. She was currently absorbed in an article discussing the love lives of several Hollywood stars. It seemed to Kelly that even the most apparently stable Hollywood marriage ended in divorce, and she couldn’t understand the way these beautiful people squandered their marriages. Maybe she and Tom were just lucky; maybe they had something other couples didn’t have. She certainly didn’t envy the couple on Kinzie Avenue with the baby. They always looked tired, especially the husband. Not that she cared. She didn’t really like him anyway, He was foreign and spoke funny, and once he had been rude to her. No, for the moment, children were not on the Hudds’s immediate agenda; it would play havoc with her figure, and she couldn’t see Tom pushing a stroller around the neighborhood.

  The midday sun forced Kelly indoors, and she called Shmitty to follow her into the air-conditioned house. It was a good time to catch up on her soaps, she thought, and she picked up the TV Guide to see what shows were airing and on what channel. She also took the opportunity to text-message Tom, who, she expected, was at the fire station doing whatever firemen did when not putting out fires.

  “I Luv U,” Kelly typed out on her cell-phone keypad, and she sent the message to her husband’s phone. Beep-beep. Her cell phone shook and lit up two seconds later.

  “I Luv U 2” came the reply from Tom’s cell phone.

  She grabbed her phone and entered quickly ‘C U L8R,’ and then pressed send.

  Beep-beep. “OK 2 Nite xx”

  Kelly smiled and held her cell phone tightly to her chest. She had been with Tom for over fourteen years, including the time they’d dated in high school, and every day felt like it was the first day they had met. Kelly could not imagine being happier than she was now. She selected
a television channel and slid onto the sofa, with Shmitty at her feet. She had found a show she liked and was soon engrossed in the simple plot and exaggerated story line. Within twenty-five minutes both Kelly and Shmitty were sleeping soundly in the den, with the TV providing accompaniment to both the woman’s and the dog’s gentle, contented snoring.

  It was Shmitty’s barking that woke her. For an instant she wasn’t actually sure where she was, but as her eyes adjusted to the daylight, she remembered she had fallen asleep watching TV. Kelly sat upright and looked at Shmitty, before patting the Labrador gently on the head. “It’s only the mailman, silly dog.” She patted Shmitty’s head once more and rose from the sofa. She stretched and yawned, tousled her hair, and with Shmitty at her heels, slowly walked to the front door, collecting, on her way, an empty glass that she had set on a side table.

  The weather was still glorious; the mid-afternoon heat was a little less torrid than at midday, and a gentle breeze cooled the air. Kelly checked the time on the clock in the hallway leading to the front door and saw that it was just after three. She had slept for two hours and felt good for the rest. She opened the door and delved into her mailbox. The mailman who had just delivered the lone letter turned and waved at Kelly, who waved back.