by Connie Lacy
I’d met her husband and he seemed to adore her. He was pushing fifty, a little paunch, but not bad, greying hair at the temples and a handsome face. He was a high school math teacher. I don’t know why I found that odd, but I did. Of course, appearances can be deceiving. Who knew? Maybe he cheated too.
“Whatcha doin’?” Judy whispered behind me.
“Just wanted to see if we’re sold out for opening night.”
“Lord, yes. Barbara’s been braggin’ all week,” she said, chuckling softly.
We still had a few minutes before Barbara took center stage to give her welcome speech. Sam warned me she stretched it out a bit longer than necessary because she missed the limelight and the applause. So I headed backstage, Judy right behind me.
“Nervous?” she asked.
“Just going over my lines.”
She took the hint and left me pacing in the wings. I was trying to concentrate but all I could think about was Judy and Sam in bed. I wished I’d never found the damn earring.
Barbara’s speech did drag on but the audience applauded when she was done, probably thankful the show would finally begin. Fortunately, it began with Truvy and Annelle onstage. And then we were zooming through our scenes. The grey-haired ladies and their husbands laughed and cried on cue. They knew the story. They knew I was going to die and they were ready to grieve along with my stage mother, M’lynn. Because I wasn’t in the last scene, I watched from the wings as Judy broke down and wept for her dead daughter. She was totally in character and very believable. And I could hear sniffles from the audience.
There was a standing ovation as we all held hands and took our bows. And when we dashed off stage Judy hugged me close and then hugged all the other actresses and wrapped her arms around Sam and hugged him too. She was flying.
“Strong opening night performance,” Sam said. “I do have a few notes to give everyone, though. I’ll start with you, Truvy.”
The rest of us wandered back to the dressing room while Sam talked with Vera, the plump actress who played the owner of the hair salon. He talked briefly with each of us, saving me for last.
“Any major problems?” I asked as we started for home.
“Your Shelby seemed a little too angry.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, you want the audience to like your character, to be sympathetic with your character.”
I grunted softly.
“Maybe you were just too hung over,” he said.
I wanted to defend myself but bit my tongue. I probably was too hung over. And too distracted. But his criticism stung and I took it to heart, determined to throw myself totally into being Shelby, wanting to have a baby with my wonderful husband, wanting to have a full life even though I needed a kidney transplant from my mother. I would force myself to think of Judy as my mother, my interfering, but well-meaning mother who was trying to save my life.
“You’re an awesome actress,” he whispered, taking my hand in his. “I think that’s one of the reasons you turn me on.”
As soon as we were inside the apartment, he slipped his hands under my shirt and kissed me.
“I’m going to bed,” I said.
“Mm.”
“Alone. I’m beat.”
He looked into my eyes as though trying to gauge whether I was telling the truth. And then he gave me a peck on the lips and let me go.
*
I had no clue until I was leaving the theater the next night that Alex and Tia were in the audience. It was probably a good thing, because if I’d known, I would’ve been nervous. But when I exited the dressing room, there they were standing in the hallway. I was so taken by surprise that I almost looked them in the eye, but caught myself just in time.
“Oh my God,” I said. “I can’t believe you guys drove all the way to Charlotte to see the play.”
“You were, like, wow,” Tia said, giving me a quick hug.
“Yeah, really great,” said Alex, although his level of enthusiasm wasn’t anywhere near what it was the last time he came to see me in a play.
And that’s when Sam arrived to walk me home. So I introduced them. Tia and Alex praised the show again, congratulating Sam as the director. He was charming and gracious and relished the attention.
“Maybe we can go for a drink,” Tia suggested.
Before I could think of a way to politely decline, since they had, after all, driven all the way from Atlanta, Sam agreed heartily and said he knew of a nice bar close by. Tia and Alex exchanged glances as though they were surprised Sam would join us. Of course, I didn’t want them to know Sam and I were living together, especially Alex. But Sam didn’t know that and he reached for my hand as we headed out. I dropped my purse to avoid holding hands, but it was too late. The jig was up.
We took a booth at Barney’s, Sam sitting next to me. Tia ordered red wine and Alex ordered a whiskey sour. Was he mocking me? So when it came my turn I asked for a glass of Chardonnay and Sam ordered sangria and some snacks. It was awkward small talk till the drinks arrived. And then it got worse.
“Didn’t you direct the other play Jenna was in?” Alex asked, nodding his head at Sam.
“Yep. That’s where we met. She’s quite an actress,” he replied, smiling at me a little too warmly.
“You can say that again,” Alex said, gulping his drink down and raising his hand for our waitress to bring him another.
“How’d you get the role here in Charlotte?” Tia asked.
“Sam encouraged me to audition.”
“Where you staying while you’re here?” she asked.
“With me,” Sam said, just as the waitress set Alex’s drink in front of him.
“Anyone else ready for another one?” the waitress asked, looking at each of us in turn. Tia and Sam shook their heads but I nodded and pointed to my wine glass.
Alex took a swig of his drink.
“Yeah,” Sam continued, “I rented a two bedroom apartment so we’re sharing the rent. It’s just a few blocks from here. Easy walking distance.”
Of course, if I’d ever told him anything about my past it might’ve occurred to him not to tell my best friend and my former boyfriend that we were living together. But I’d never told him any of it. He thought they were a couple I’d been friends with back home and it never crossed his mind to keep a secret anyway. Unless it was about the other women he was making it with.
Alex guzzled the rest of his drink and asked for a third when the waitress set my glass of wine on the table.
“You the designated driver?” Sam asked Tia, smiling.
“Guess so,” she said, giving me a meaningful look.
It was all seriously uncomfortable and I was trying to figure out whether there was anything I could say to make it less so, but nothing came to mind. Sam talked about the neighborhood, which he said reminded him a little bit of New York. He talked about the next play he was doing, telling them he’d already encouraged me to audition for one of the parts.
“So, that’s how you get your roles,” Alex said. “On the casting couch.”
His words cut to the bone and I looked into his dark eyes, which were glazed from the alcohol. Dizziness overcame me and I felt like I was falling as swirling images flashed before me: Alex and Tia in bed together; then the two of them having angry words and Tia storming out; Alex and a pretty woman with long, black hair kissing; then she was having a baby and Alex was anchoring the evening news.
When I came to, my wine glass had been knocked over and the liquid was spilling from the table onto my lap. Sam blotted my pants with a cocktail napkin as Alex gulped the last of his drink and nudged Tia to get up. He threw some bills on the table and they were gone.
18.
It took me longer to get from Charlotte to Atlanta than it should have because my car wouldn’t crank after I stopped for a Frappuccino in Greenville. At nine o’clock on a Sunday night, I knew my chances of getting the car fixed were slim to none. But this nice man who reminded me a lot of Tia’s dad said
I had a dead battery and gave me a jump, warning me not to turn off my engine until I got home. So I scooted on down I-85, dropped my car at the battery store and took a cab to the house, figuring Sam might be proud of me for that.
I was relieved when I finally walked through the door. At least I think I was relieved. The house felt like a museum compared with the Charlotte duplex. It was big, quiet and empty. I’d come home to sort out my feelings and to get away from Sam for a few days. I left after the Sunday matinee, telling him I had to take care of a few things and I’d be back in time for Wednesday evening’s auditions for End Days. His reaction was matter-of-fact. No objection. All smiles. Never said he’d miss me.
I had a couple of drinks sitting in my shorty pajamas in front of the TV. I chose a sappy romance to watch and fell asleep on the couch, dreaming about a dark-haired man who gazed deeply into my eyes before kissing me.
*
The noise of someone breaking into the house woke me with a terrible start. I grabbed my phone to dial 911. But through the window I noticed a police car in the driveway. And I heard what sounded like a police radio – definitely voices coming from the back of the house. I ran to the kitchen and peered through the window. An officer was standing in the garden, his back to me. He was holding something in his hand, possibly a gun. I threw the door open and he spun around, reaching for his holster.
“Jenna!”
It was Brian, my new yard man. Only he was wearing a dark blue police uniform, a badge on his chest, and a gun and handcuffs on his waist.
“I didn’t know you were home,” he said.
He was watering the tomato plants with the hose. I opened my mouth but couldn’t figure out what to ask first. So I stood there for a moment, squinting in the bright sunshine, my head pounding, realizing I was dressed only in my PJs. Finally, I closed my eyes and shut the door again.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. My hair was a tangled mess. There were dark circles under my eyes. And I think it would be putting it mildly to say I looked a lot older than my age at that moment. So I took a shower, letting the warm water pummel my neck and back.
My car was ready to pick up, but retrieving it seemed like way too much work. So I ordered Chinese take-out. I did have enough energy to get dressed before the delivery guy got there.
I checked my messages and emails while I ate and found one from Brian apologizing for frightening me. He said he’d drop by around seven, if that was convenient, to explain. And precisely at seven o’clock, the doorbell rang. He was standing on my front porch in jeans and a tan tee shirt, looking more like a yard man. In one hand there was a baking dish in an insulated carry bag, in the other, a gallon jug.
“Homemade lasagna and lemonade,” he said, giving me a lop-sided grin.
I nodded for him to come in and he followed me to the kitchen.
“You made lasagna… all by yourself?”
“I like to cook.”
“And lemonade?”
“Fresh squeezed. Perfect with lasagna. You’ll see.”
I filled two glasses with ice and poured the lemonade.
“I’m adding bourbon to mine,” I said. “You want some?”
He shook his head.
“Can we eat on the patio?” he said, scooping lasagna onto the plates.
So we sat in the cushioned chairs at the white table my mother had bought years before. I have to admit, I was a little leery of his lasagna but it was quite good, with spinach, zucchini, mushrooms, onions and lots of cheese.
“Don’t tell me,” I said after my first bite. “You also work as a part-time chef at an Italian restaurant.”
He laughed, pleased by the compliment. So the homemade dinner was an apology for scaring me, but it occurred to me that maybe I should apologize for scaring him. It made me cringe to think of how atrocious I looked when I yanked the door open and found him in my back yard.
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
“I dropped it off when I got into town last night to get a new battery.”
“Your battery died on your way home from Charlotte?”
I nodded.
“You take a lot of chances in your car,” he said, shaking his head.
I was trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about when I had this inkling of understanding.
“So you’re a cop.” I said.
“Yeah. But I have my lawn business on the side. You know, a little extra income.”
“And we met before.”
“I thought you’d recognize me.”
It all came back to me. The night I ran out of gas on my way home from the theater two cops came to my rescue and drove me to the gas station. A shorter one who did all the talking and a taller one I didn’t really notice in my distress. And Tia said a police officer came to her apartment asking if I’d gotten home. And didn’t she say she’d given him my mom’s address?
“You’re the one…” I said.
“Who checked to see if you made it home that night. And then I saw how tall your grass was.” And he chuckled.
I dashed inside to refill our glasses, adding more Jim Beam to mine. We talked about what he’d been doing in the garden. I told him how my mother was into gardening and shared her summer bounty with me. He explained that the cages around the tomato plants kept the squirrels out. I told him they were a lot more elaborate than what my mom used. He asked if I’d like to try one. While I wasn’t exactly a tomato lover, I said sure. So he picked a big one – he called it a beefsteak – and washed it while I fixed myself a third drink. He sliced it and put it on two plates. We got forks and knives and took our places on the patio again.
He took a bite and closed his eyes like he was savoring an exquisite wine, then smiled and gestured for me to follow his lead. So I cut a small bite and popped it in my mouth and was stunned at the vibrant flavor. I nodded in approval. It was so much better than the Roma tomatoes my mother favored. And the difference between this tomato and what you found at the grocery was like the difference between fake trees at the mall and an old growth forest.
“See?” he said. “Nothing like a homegrown, vine-ripened tomato.”
I was very relaxed by then but kept having to slap mosquitoes away from my bare legs, so we moved inside. He was about to leave, I think, until I poured myself another drink. And then he sat down across from me in the living room.
“How’s the play going?” he asked.
“Good. Good.”
“You don’t sound overly enthusiastic.”
“Oh, I’m enthusiastic. I’m playing the daughter who dies. Which is kind of bleak, but it’s a great role.”
“What do you do when you’re not acting?”
“Until recently I was a teacher.”
Suddenly, I had to stop talking.
“But not anymore?”
I shook my head.
“You miss it?” he asked.
I wanted him to stop asking questions because I didn’t have any good answers.
“Why’d you stop teaching?”
“Because I couldn’t stand knowing…” and I sighed in frustration.
“Knowing what?”
Even after four drinks I could see he was studying me, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze was so earnest, so concerned.
I opened my mouth to speak, but caught myself. Why would I reveal my secret to this, this… yard man/cop? I rubbed my eyes and lay down on the couch.
I didn’t hear him tidy up the kitchen. I didn’t feel him cover me with a throw. And I didn’t hear him lock the door on his way out
19.
Messages the next morning from Mrs. Robertson: “I’ll see you at 3:00 in my office;” from Tia: “Why don’t you answer your phone, idiot?” from Dad: “We’re coming to see the Sunday matinee next weekend. Can’t wait;” another one from Tia: “Call me, dammit!” and a text from Brian: “your key is by the tomato plant.”
Oh yeah – Brian.
Maybe coffee would help. I fixe
d myself a cup and tried to remember all the things I’d said the night before. Jesus, he must think I’m a nutcase. But maybe he just thinks I was drunk. Anyway, who cares what he thinks.
It was a little after noon and I still had to get my car. So I showered and dressed and then remembered my house key. I stepped out back and studied the caged tomato plants, noticing the large rocks on a board holding the netting in place. That’s where he’d hidden my key – under the first rock.
There were three big plants laden with fruit in various stages of ripeness. A huge red tomato hung about waist high on the plant nearest me. My mouth watered, remembering the flavor from the night before. That could be my breakfast. I moved the stones and the board so I could lift the screen and reach inside. But the tomato wouldn’t come off the bush. I held the vine firmly in one hand and tugged the tomato with the other, but still, it wouldn’t budge. This must be why Mom kept several pairs of garden clippers handy. I hurried to the storage chest by the back door and found a pair of clippers perfect for the job. I was pleased with myself as I replaced the mesh, the board and the rocks, making sure everything was nice and snug so squirrels couldn’t get inside. And I had to admit three thick slices of that succulent tomato with a little salt and pepper was one of the best meals I’d ever eaten.
I called a cab and picked up my car in time to make it to the genealogist’s office, although I admit I was running on fumes. But I could fill up afterwards.
*
“All righty,” she said. “I’ve done some research on your father’s side but I didn’t find any pattern of medical problems, diseases, mental issues – anything like that. Some lived into very old age, some died in accidents or outbreaks of flu, and so forth. Your father’s great-grandmother on his father’s side died of a heart attack. And several of his ancestors on his mother’s side died from tuberculosis. But a lot of people did back then.”
“What about cancer?”
“Cancer? I didn’t find any specific mention of cancer, although, who knows, some of them might’ve had cancer and been diagnosed with other diseases or died from something else before cancer killed them.”
