Now Is the Hour

by Tom Spanbauer

  It just confirms, Sis said, that your fucking girlfriend is a bitch.

  Sis had met Billie just that one time, if you remember, not in the best of circumstances.

  She’s not a bitch, I said. She’s a cunt.

  Sis was in her bedroom trying to get her veil on straight.

  Oh! Sis said. I hate that word. Don’t ever say that word.

  You said fuck, I said.

  That’s differnt, Sis said.

  No it’s not, I said.

  Yes it is, she said.

  No it’s not.

  Yes, it is.

  They’re words, I said, just like any other words.

  Four-letter words, Sis said.

  Like love? I said.

  That shut her up.

  Monsignor Cody said: I now pronounce you man and wife.

  Sis lifted the veil and looked up into Gene’s eyes. Actually, Sis looked straight across into Gene’s eyes because Sis was almost as tall as Gene, and she was wearing low heels.

  When they kissed, the organ started in, and all of us heard the organ, and I guess we expected the song to be some Catholic song. But then when our ears finally heard, we heard something we didn’t expect to hear.

  It was Mom. Mom was singing soprano, and she was singing alone.

  Sis looked up at Mom, and so did Gene, and then everybody in the congregation looked up. There was Mom in her yellow shiny dress and her big swooping bonnet with daisies on it, both hands folded into a bouquet of white daisies. Mom was standing alone right up against the choir railing.

  For a moment there, I thought she was going to jump.

  What she was singing — none of us, not Sis, not Gene, not Dad, not nobody, let alone Monsignor Cody, had any idea Mom was going to sing:

  Going to the chapel and we’re gonna get married.

  Going to the chapel of love.

  Sis’s favorite song. Oh my heavens pretty woman so far. I got to tell you. My mother up there in the silly swooped daisy hat, the shiny yellow dress that made her arms look fat, her penciled-on eyebrows, her rough, red farm hands, her cut-to-the-quick fingernails, clutching not a black Vatican full-length rosary but a bouquet of fresh white daisies, singing not “’Tis the Month of Our Mother,” not “Tantum Ergo,” not “Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus,” but “Chapel of Love.”

  Really, you had to be there.

  Bela Lugosi singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

  Then Sis.

  Sis at the altar, dressed up in a beautiful white wedding dress, her long white veil, finally Sis like in The Wizard of Oz when everything went to color, the world smelling of Eiffel Tower in the old dress-up trunk, scintillatingly gorgeous, smiling, smiling, my big sis, finally pretty, walking down the aisle with her husband, Gene Kelso, Mrs. Gene Kelso, Here she is, Mrs. America.

  What a trip.

  Then Dad.

  At the back of the church, next to the confessional, just under Mom up in the choir loft and to the left, standing at parade rest in his new black suit, Dad saw me look over at him, and he quick looked away.

  My father was going to cry if he looked at me, so my father looked away.

  It was later, at the reception dance at the Green Triangle, things started heating up. Technically speaking, Mom had ended the war by singing Sis’s favorite song, but soon it got pretty clear Mom was going to do more than make a truce. She was going to break an unspoken rule between her and Dad. Mom was going to let loose and get a little drunk.

  Then there was Billie. Who knows with all that happened next how much of it Billie planned. The way it turned out, though, when Billie walked in the Green Triangle, the chemistry of the night changed. Sex hung in the air, and the war started all over again, but on a differnt battlefield.

  Wild and weird this night. Dancing and singing and drinking. Liberation for Mom, at least for a night. A rite of passage for Sis. A chance for Billie to step into her body.

  All bad things as far as Dad was concerned and maybe for me too.

  The Green Triangle Bar and Grill is a bunch of old army barracks tacked together and painted green. There’s a café part, a restaurant part, two banquet rooms, and a bar.

  It was always a big deal for my family to go eat at the Green Triangle. It was a big deal to go out anywhere, but especially a big deal to the Green Triangle because they served shrimp cocktails and fried shrimp dinners. Plus Dad didn’t like bars, even though the restaurant and the café were separate from the bar. Plus we never had the money, and there was always the goddamn work to do.

  The Klusener-Kelso party was in banquet room number one, the banquet room closest to the bar. Between the banquet room and the bar was a big beige folding door that was one whole wall. After dinner, the folding door was opened so that the adults could go dance to the band playing in the bar, Rob Roy and the Cougar Mountain Four.

  It was a weird feeling, in the parking lot of Saint Joseph’s Church, to get into the back seat of the Buick with Mom and Dad up front, and then look out the window to see Sis getting into Gene Kelso’s ’56 Mercury.

  Sis was mostly a pain in the ass, but that day when she was pulling the folds of her big white skirt into the red Mercury, her and Gene laughing in a way that didn’t mean anybody else, deep down inside me something wanted to cry.

  Then driving over to the Green Triangle, something else hit me like a ton of bricks.

  Now it was just me and them.

  As Mom and Dad and I were going in the Green Triangle’s double doors, three Indians, two men and a woman, were coming out. The Indians were laughing and the woman was tall and had one tiny braid in her hair tied with a red ribbon. The men both had long hair and wore big black hats with silver headbands. They were real polite and said good evening and how are you tonight? but Mom just held on to her purse. Her teeth were grinding. Dad got the drut cow look on his face and quick stepped between the Indians and Mom and me and ushered us in.

  First off what hit you was the smoke and the smell of liquor and fried food and sweat and how all those smells were in the red carpet and the red drapes and the flocked red wallpaper on the walls.

  A quick scan of the room told me Billie wasn’t there yet.

  Dad walked up to the blond-hair-piled-up hostess just like he was still the usher at Saint Joseph’s. Mom stood next to me, stiff as a board in her swoopy daisy bonnet, her shiny yellow dress, her yellow-dyed high heels, and the brown purse because she wouldn’t buy a new purse just for the daisies. Mom’s big arms, her leathery hands, her fingernails. Her eyebrows and her almond-shaped hazel eyes underneath her big gray plastic glasses.

  In a public place wearing that hat, that yellow dress, those dyed-yellow shoes, Mom made herself disappear. When her eyes glazed over like that, she was a goner. Nobody could get through to her.

  Only I knew how to get through to her.

  I curled up my upper lip, crossed my eyes, made like I was going to scratch my butt. In nothing flat, there was Mom, her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her gums because she was laughing so hard.

  You big dumb lug, she said, and slammed me with her purse. Quit acting like a hick. We’re in public.

  Mom’s voice was serious, but she couldn’t keep a straight face.

  I liked the song you sang, Mom, I said. You made Sis real happy.

  Just like that, Mom’s face went serious, then she smiled a little bit but not much and not for long.

  The banquet room’s this way, Dad said, and stuck his arm out, showing which way to go.

  About then, Sis and Gene came through the door. Sis in her big white dress, making a spectacle of herself. The people in the dining room, air jumped up in their throats and the whole room let out a big sigh. Then everybody started clapping. I’ve never seen Sis look so beautiful. With all that attention on her, it was like sun on a rose, a daisy, the way Sis bloomed.

  Mom quick pulled her brown purse in close to her and ducked behind Dad. Sis walked over to Dad, her Roosky eyes into his Roosky eyes, grabbed Dad’s arm, grabbed her husband’
s arm, and stood there in the middle of her men, smiling, proud, and tall, and a whole lot pregnant for all the world to see.

  The tables were set in a T-shape. At the head table, from left to right, it was Mr. Kelso and Mrs. Kelso and Chuck diPietro and Gene, then Sis, Francie, Mom, and Dad. I sat just where the vertical part of the T goes into the horizontal head table part. The chair next to me empty.

  Still no Billie.

  Everyone was seated and the waitresses had served the dinner salads and set down the trays of Thousand Island, blue cheese, Italian, and French dressings on the table. I was halfway through my salad with a mixture of French and blue cheese when Billie Cody walked in the banquet room.

  Holy Shit. Billie the Cunt Cody.

  Her hennaed-red ratted high hair, big gold loops in her ears, her black eyeliner and red, red lips, in a low scooped black sequined top and black velvet miniskirt and knee-high black leather boots.

  Every eye in that place on Billie.

  Every eye in that place on Billie’s tits.

  The universe has always conspired to fuck me up.

  The look on Sis’s face, the look on Mom’s face. I’d never thought Sis and Mom looked alike, but at that moment Mom and Sis were the same face.

  And Dad. A snarl in his upper lip and his Roosky eyes pitch-black.

  The scrape of my chair against the fake hardwood floor was the only sound in the room. I slapped a big smile across my face, stood up, walked the mile across the banquet room to meet Billie. Say cheese. A big block of Swiss cheese, big holes shot through.

  Billie was a black hole in the bright Green Triangle fluorescence.

  Some guy whistled, and people laughed.

  I was a big smiling gawky big nose stupid ears Pinocchio. Somebody pulling my strings, making my arms and legs, making my body, flail around like a spineless asshole. Not authentic at all.

  Really, I was trying hard to find my friend, but the Billie, the Mount Moriah–soft Billie parked in the pickup listening to the radio, the girl who held my face and said, The way you are is just fine, where was she? I knew she was in there somewhere inside the shiny black and red and gold package standing in front of me, and in my heart of hearts, I trusted I would find her. But meanwhile, I was all arms and legs, shits and giggles.

  I grabbed Billie’s hand and held her hand tight. Billie’s blue eyes were looking in my eyes. But my eyes couldn’t look her back. The sex of her was too strong.

  Sticking out above Billie’s low scooped neckline was three inches of cleavage.

  I leaned down to her and whispered, Hi, Billie, in her ear. Then my arm was around Billie, and together we about-faced, and Billie and I, arm in arm, started the long trek back to the table.

  The cocktail waitress in her Green Triangle short green skirt and halter top ensemble was at the head table getting drink orders. I heard Dad say, Just a Coke please. The cocktail waitress and Billie and I arrived at Mom about the same time.

  With that big swoopy bonnet on, all you could see of Mom was daisies.

  What would you like to drink? the waitress asked.

  Mom, I said, I’d like you to meet Billie Cody.

  When Mom turned her head, Billie’s black sequined boobs were eye level to Mom’s almond-shaped hazel eyes. Mom’s big plastic glasses slipped down her nose. She pushed the glasses up with her index finger.

  Rum and Coke, please, Mom said. Make that a double.

  Dad quick looked over to Mom with that look of his. Mom pulled the daisy bonnet down on that side of her so Dad was out of the picture.

  Billie, I said. This is my mother.

  Mom put her hand on the daisy bonnet and turned her face up and around. The grim line that was my mother’s mouth broke out into a smile that was way too big.

  The Klusener smile. You can be sure if our gums are showing, we either love you or hate you.

  With Billie it was not love.

  So nice to meet you, Mom said.

  Mom’s rough, red farm hands stayed in her lap holding her brown purse.

  Billie’s hand in my hand, one of us was sweating or both. I don’t know who was holding on tighter.

  The bald spot on Dad’s head. He was drumming his big hairy fingers on the table.

  Dad, I said. This is Billie.

  Dad didn’t look up.

  That’s quite a getup she’s wearing, Dad said.

  Billie’s hand, my hand, squeezed tighter.

  Then Sis — lots of gum showing — Sis said: Hi, Billie! So nice you could come to our wedding!

  Sis stood up and acted cute and made a big show of hugging Billie. Big white pregnant dress hugging the shiny black slut dress. Sis should never act cute. Especially pregnant.

  This is my husband, Gene! Sis said. Her voice sounded like it was full of bubbles. And this is my maid of honor, Francie Lutz!

  Francie was still gripping the wedding bouquet she’d caught at church.

  Gene and Chuck diPietro stood up so fast their chairs collided.

  Gene’s eyes, Chuck’s eyes, started at Billie’s chest and worked their way up.

  Yah, I know Billie, Gene said. Man, you look great tonight.

  Pleased to meet you, Chuck said. Nice dress.

  I stuck my hand out to introduce myself to Chuck, but Chuck didn’t see my hand so I let my hand drop.

  Chuck’s eyes looked at Billie the way men are supposed to look at women.

  You going to be dancing later? Chuck said.

  Billie’s black eyeliner eyes looked up at me. If I looked anything like Billie right then, the way I looked was, Where the fuck am I?

  Sis, still cute, still full of bubbles, said: The folding door opens at eight o’clock!

  Sis laid a hand on Chuck’s shoulder, one on Billie’s.

  Sure she’ll dance with you, Chuck, Sis said. Won’t you, Billie?!

  Will someone please turn off the fucking bubble machine?

  Then: I’m Gene’s father, Gene’s father said. Kelso, Jim Kelso.

  I stuck my hand out to greet Mr. Kelso, but his hand was already headed for Billie.

  Mr. Kelso gave Billie’s hand a big Howdy Doody shake.

  Mr. Kelso had a Wyatt Earp tie and turquoise belt buckle so big it looked like a dinner plate.

  Mrs. Kelso stuck her blue hair around Mr. Kelso’s potbelly.

  In a voice that sounded like a baby kitten, Mrs. Kelso said: Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.

  My oh my, Mr. Kelso said. You sure enough are an attractive young lady, isn’t she, Pickles?

  Mrs. Kelso’s blue hair around Mr. Kelso’s belly again.

  Yes, dear, she said. She’s a very pretty young lady.

  I stepped around Mr. Kelso to shake Pickles’s hand, but she was embroidering a blue bunny onto the end of a pillowcase.

  Standing there at the head table in the bright Green Triangle fluorescence in a mess of people I didn’t know, I brought my hand up close to my face.

  Looked like nobody wanted to shake it.

  But in my other hand, holding on tight and true, her fingers and her little blue fingernails wrapped inside mine, was the hand of Billie Cody.

  There she was, my friend. I knew I’d find her.

  I pulled Billie’s hand up to my heart.

  You do look great, I said. When I first saw you, I didn’t know what to think.

  Oh shit, Billie said. Do I look too?

  No, I said. No. It’s just that you look so.

  Sexy, Billie said.

  Yes, I said, sexy.

  My breath wanted a cigarette.

  It scared me a little, I said.

  If Billie had a cigarette right then, it would be a whirlwind around her right ear. Yah, Billie said.

  Me too, Billie said. Tonight, when I looked in the mirror, it scared me too.

  Sure enough, at eight o’clock the beige folding wall opened. The spotlight went on Rob Roy and the Cougar Mountain Four. Rob Roy was in a blue Elvis jumpsuit, and the Cougar Mountain Four in white jumpsuits.

  Ever
ybody under twenty-one had to stay on the wedding side of the beige folding door — which meant everybody in the wedding party but the parents and the aunts and uncles.

  By nine o’clock, though, nobody gave a shit.

  It was so crowded in banquet room number one, you couldn’t tell the banquet room from the bar, the wedding crowd from the bar crowd, one side of the beige folding wall from the other, your ass from a hole in the ground. Billie and I were undercover where the beige folding wall came together with a green wall, leaning together in the corner holding hands and sharing the bottomless glass of beer the cocktail waitress kept filling up and setting on the end of the banquet table. The band was on a break, but it was still real noisy. People all around us laughing and talking and smoking. Everyone having fun except Mom and Dad.

  Dad was off in the corner by the bus tubs, talking farm stuff to Clyde Schoonover, who had a place over on Rio Vista. Mom was sitting alone at the banquet table, still in the daisy bonnet, sipping on her double rum and Coke.

  Sis had drunk about twenty bottles of champagne by then. She was standing in the middle of the dance floor with Gene and Chuck diPietro, and Francie. Sis wasn’t really standing, Sis was trying to stand. Sis reached inside Gene’s jacket pocket and pulled a pack of Marlboros out of Gene’s inside pocket, tapped a cigarette out, and lit it. Sis spent a lot of time clearing away the netting of her veil so she wouldn’t set the damn thing on fire.

  The next thing you know, Sis in her big white dress is weaving across the dance floor, the pack of Marlboros in her hand, headed straight for Mom

  Billie scored a cigarette about then, and Billie and I were puffing like mad on that cigarette. When Sis gets to Mom, Sis clears away a bunch of chairs so she can sit down. Sis lays the Marlboros down on the table, takes a big drag on the cigarette, her head and headdress bobbing around, leans in, and says something very particular to Mom.

  Mom’s almond-shaped hazel eyes all the way across the room. Even Billie saw Mom’s eyes light up. In no time at all, Mom’s lighting a cigarette, and there they were, the two of them, Mom and Sis, those females, smoking.

  That’s when the cocktail waitress in her Green Triangle short skirt and halter top ensemble comes by with two shot glasses filled with something clear and sets the shot glasses down in front of Mom and Sis. Sis reaches down, smells the shot glass, smiles, then holds the shot glass up to Mom. Mom doesn’t hesitate. She takes her shot glass, and then, there they were, Mom and Sis, here’s mud in your eye. Mom had to hold on to her hat; Sis, her veil. They tipped their shot glasses up.