by Ann B. Ross
“Pass it around, sugar,” Granny said. “I wanta see what people’re sleepin’ in nowadays.”
“She won’t do much sleeping in that thing,” Gladys said. “Wonder what Jimmy would do if I showed up in something like that some night?”
“Have a heart attack,” Lurline said.
“Swaller his tongue, most likely,” Granny chimed in.
A little smile twitched around Mrs. Springer’s mouth. She tried to cover it as she blotted her face with a linen napkin.
“Do mine now,” Jennie said, sliding a notepad and pen out of her pocket, ready to keep a record of who gave what. Somebody always did that at all the showers we went to, for the thank-you notes that hardly anybody got around to writing. “You’re gonna love it.”
As I opened the box and lifted up her gift, I couldn’t believe it. “This is gorgeous!”
“Hold it up higher!”
“Let me see, sugar.”
I stood up and held the gown in front of me. It was navy blue with white lace straps and white embroidery all over the cups of a built-in demi-bra. And it had a long, sheer flyaway skirt and a matching G-string panty.
“That’ll melt that ole man’s wax,” Granny said.
“Just the opposite, more likely,” Gladys told her, giggling.
Mrs. Springer got choked on a swallow of punch. She snorted out a laugh before she could help herself, and Hazel Marie had to thump her on the back.
“Look at this,” I said, grinning so hard I could hardly talk. “It’s got little white flowers on it. Thank you, Jennie, this will get a lot of use, I’ll tell you that.”
“Here’s mine,” Betty Sue said. “I hope you like it.”
“I know I will,” I said, beginning to slip the ribbon off her present.
“Where’s that pitcher?” Granny said. “Lurline, have you emptied that thing all by yourself? Pour Mrs. Springer some, too, while you’re at it. Her cup’s dry as a bone.”
Mrs. Springer held out her empty cup, frowning as she tried to aim it toward whoever had the pitcher.
“Don’t get your drawers in an uproar, Granny,” Lurline said, smiling up at the ceiling. “That colored man, oops, ’scuse me, that gentleman working in the kitchen just filled the punch bowl again. Cindy, why don’t you take the pitcher and get us some more? I need to rest.”
“Oh, Betty Sue!” I cried. “It’s beautiful.” I drew out a long, slinky red satin nightgown with spaghetti straps. “Oh, gosh, I hope it fits.”
“It may be too long,” she said. “And if it is, I’ll hem it for you.”
I held out my empty cup as Cindy came around with the pitcher. “Pour me some more, while you’re at it.” I was feeling flushed and thirsty and no longer caring if Julia Springer got herself bent out of shape. By this time, though, she was sitting over there fanning her bodice and running her fingers through her hair, so that one side was sticking straight out from her head.
“That’s right,” I said to Betty Sue, “if it’s too long, we’ll just cut it off till it fits.” Then got so tickled I almost fell off my chair.
“Tee-hee,” Mrs. Springer said, surprising Hazel Marie so bad that she nearly choked on a cheese straw.
I was so happy and pleased with the gifts my friends had brought that my fingers were tingling. So I had another sip of punch and unwrapped the next one.
“That one’s mine,” Gladys said. “I bought myself one just like it, hoping it’ll stoke Jimmy’s fire a little.”
Everybody whooped when I pulled out a leopard-print teddy. “Gla-a-dys!” I said, my face beginning to burn. “This is too much!”
“It’s not enough, if you ask me,” Granny said, frowning as she looked at it. “How do you keep that back part out of your . . . ?”
“Granny!” I yelled. Betty Sue cracked up, leaning over to hide her red face. Crab salad fell off Mrs. Springer’s fork halfway to her mouth, landing on her lap. She stared at the blob like she couldn’t figure out where it’d come from. Then she scraped it up with her fork and put it on the edge of her plate, where it fell off again. She didn’t notice.
“Open ours next,” Hazel Marie said. “Those two right there.”
I opened Hazel Marie’s store-wrapped box and lifted out a beautiful white gown edged with lace and a matching peignoir, which I was afraid to try to pronounce. “Oh-h,” I breathed, running my hand over the fine material. “Oh, Hazel Marie, it’s gorgeous and so soft. Thank you so much.”
I started the box around the circle and reached for Mrs. Springer’s gift. My hands were a little shaky from all the excitement, wondering what she’d selected, considering the earlier pained look on her face at some of the other things I’d unwrapped. But she didn’t seem to be paying much attention by now, as she sat over there fanning herself with a Day-by-Day devotional book she’d found on a side table.
“Oh,” I said, as I held up a little blue crocheted capelike thing that came about to my waist. “What is it?”
“It’s a bed jacket!” Granny yelled. Then, turning to Mrs. Springer, she said, “Where’d you find that thing? I’ve been looking for one for years and years. Didn’t think they made ’em anymore.”
Mrs. Springer looked around, her eyelids at about half-mast. Squinching up until she located Granny, she said, “I don’t think they do. I have them made by . . . uh, I forget who the woman is. I’ll give you her name, when I can think of it.” She leaned back in her chair, still fanning.
“Let me know when you do,” Granny said, then to me, “Now, sugar, that’s an old-timey thing, but it’s just the ticket to warm your shoulders when you’re wearing some of this skimpy stuff. Just don’t wear it by itself, or that old man’ll croak on you.”
Mrs. Springer said, “It’s hot enough in here for anybody to croak.” She put her head back against the chair, her knees spraddling out, and fanned her skirttail. Hazel Marie reached over and smoothed her skirt back down.
“Oh, Granny!” I said, as everybody laughed at the picture I’d make in nothing but a hand-crocheted bed jacket that would show even the little it tried to cover. Mrs. Springer sat, gazing at the ceiling as the laughter died down. Then a minute or two later, she clamped her hand over her mouth, as she tried to muffle the strangled sounds that were roiling up out of her throat.
“Oh, my,” she said, her face red and her shoulders heaving, “I didn’t think of that. Oh, my goodness, Sam gave me one last Christmas. Hazel Marie, do you reckon . . . ?” She began laughing so hard that Hazel Marie had to rescue her punch cup. It was empty again, so it didn’t matter.
“Mine, now!” Lurline said, handing over the last package. “I guess you’ve figured out that we made a trip to Victoria’s Secret over at the Asheville Mall. We had the most fun. I would say that you ought to get married more often, Etta Mae, but I think you already have.”
I knew they’d give me a hard time sooner or later over my marital history, but we were having such a good time, I didn’t care.
“Etta Mae,” Jennie said, leaning over to me, “you think we ought to put out the candles before they burn down? You could use them again, you know.”
“I don’t think we ought to bother them,” I whispered back. “Emmett will be serving dessert in a few minutes, and he’ll want to keep them burning for that. But thanks for thinking of it, Jennie.
“Oh, Lurline!” I screeched, pretending to be shocked. “I can’t wear this! Look at this, everybody.” I stood, holding up the sheerest pink chiffon babydoll pajamas I’d ever seen. I dangled the matching sheer G-string panty in my other hand. “What if there’s a fire! Can’t you see me running out in the yard with the whole volunteer fire department getting an eyeful! Oh, Lurline, it’s just darling, and I love it.”
“I knew you would,” she said.
“Thank you everybody,” I said, hugging each of them in turn, until I got to Mrs. Springer, who I didn’t
think would appreciate it. She didn’t seem to notice that I’d skipped her, though, since her eyes were so glazed over. “I’ve never had anything so nice before.”
“Ladies,” Emmett said, as he stood in the doorway, carefully keeping his eyes away from the gowns and panties that were being passed around the circle. “Dessert is now being served.”
Chapter 43
We crowded around the dining room table, everybody reaching for the petit fours that Emmett had stacked on a tall silver thingy that had several tiers to it and a silver circle at the top to pick it up with. I made a mental note to ask Emmett what the name of it was.
“Oh, look,” Cindy said, holding up one of the tiny iced cakes that she’d taken a bite out of. “This one’s chocolate, and you’ve got white cake in yours.” She studied the half that Betty Sue had just bitten into. “I just love these things, don’t you? I could eat a dozen.”
“They’re pretty good,” Lurline admitted, “but you have to eat a dozen to get what would be a decent slice of a normal cake.”
I saw Granny eat one while she stood by the table, then she opened a napkin and stacked four cakes on it and wrapped them up. She slipped out to the drawing room and put them in her purse.
“I’ll wash and iron that linen napkin,” she whispered to me when she came back to the dining room, “and get it back to you before anybody knows it’s gone.”
Granny was bad about stuffing her purse with food when she went anywhere to eat. Every time I took her into town for lunch, she’d leave a restaurant with her purse loaded down with sugar packets and saltines, or half a muffin she’d not been able to eat at the time. Denny’s hated to see her coming.
Emmett came out, staggering with another full punch bowl, and we all crowded around for refills. As he started back to the kitchen, I saw him cut his eyes around at us, like he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. I expect the first Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior, had never had a party like this one.
When the door swung behind Emmett, Jennie took out her notepad.
“Okay, everybody,” she called. “Stop your talking and listen to this. I wrote down some of the things Etta Mae said while she was opening our presents.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “don’t do that!”
Everybody groaned with me, laughing and poking one another with their elbows. They knew what was coming.
Ignoring my protest, Jennie said, “Let me set the scene. Now, you have to picture Etta Mae and her new husband on their wedding night. They’re all alone in the bedroom, and getting ready for you-know-what, and here’s what Etta Mae says. I’ve rearranged it a little, but not much. Here we go. The first thing she says is, ‘Good grief, it’s so big. What size is it?’”
Lurline got tickled so bad she sputtered punch all over the floral arrangement. Gladys bent over double, laughing until she was snorting through her nose.
“Okay, now, y’all hold it down,” Jennie said. “I’m gonna read it straight through. Here goes: ‘My Lord, look at this!’ ‘Oh gosh, I hope it fits.’ ‘Well, if it’s too long, we’ll just cut it off till it does.’”
Jennie had to stop while we all laughed.
Then she went on. “‘Oh-h-h, this is too much.’ ‘It’s just darling and I love it.’ ‘It’s gorgeous and so soft; what is it?’ ‘Oh, look, it’s got little white flowers on it.’ ‘I’m gonna burn up.’ ‘I’ve never had anything so nice before.’ And finally to top it off, she says, ‘This is gonna get a lot of use, I’ll tell you that!’”
We were all laughing so hard we could hardly catch our breath, although I was just the tiniest bit embarrassed. But Cindy got choked on a mouthful of cake and Lurline had to beat her on the back. Mrs. Springer leaned her hands on the table, her shoulders shaking so hard that Hazel Marie put an arm around her to hold her upright. Betty Sue blushed dark enough for her face to clash with her turquoise pantsuit, and I wondered if she’d have the nerve to repeat anything to Boyce.
Granny said, “That’s the nastiest stuff I ever heard.”
“Oh, get with it, Granny,” Jennie told her. “You need loosening up.”
“Lord, don’t tell her that,” I said. “She’s had enough punch to keep her loose for a week.”
“Speaking of which,” Granny said, “pour me another cup. Lurline, come back here with that silver dipper. I swear, girl, you’re hoggin’ it all.”
“Let’s not have any hoggin’,” Mrs. Springer sang out, her voice loud enough to override Granny’s. “Let me have that ladle. I’ll do the honors.” She listed to one side, and Hazel Marie hurried over to prop her up. “I don’t know when I’ve been so thirsey. Is that air condishioner on or what?”
Lurline swayed over to her, moving very carefully, handed the ladle to her, and waited for a refill. She had to steady Mrs. Springer’s hand as the ladle passed back and forth over her cup. Lurline’s glazed eyes moved from side to side with the ladle as she tried to track Mrs. Springer’s aim. I knew from Lurline’s loopy smile that she was having a good time, though she’d never in this world admit it.
“Whoop-de-do,” she sang out, swinging her full cup around. Then she grabbed the pitcher for future refills, swung it around, and nearly lost her balance. “Whoa.” She stopped and held on to the table. “Where’s that fancy bathroom at? I got to pee so bad, I’m about to pop.”
Cindy said, “Come on. We’ll find it. I’ve got to go, too.” She took Lurline’s arm and guided her down the hall.
“Come and get it, everybody!” Mrs. Springer called, as she flipped the ladle back and forth, punch streaming down her arm. Hazel Marie reached out to rescue the ladle, but Mrs. Springer popped her hand with it. Then dipped it into the punch bowl and drank from it. Hazel Marie gasped.
A noise in the kitchen took my attention from the sight, and I eased around the first Mrs. Connard’s sideboard toward the door to see what was going on. Nobody else seemed to notice, but I’d heard feet shuffling and more than Emmett’s voice coming from the other room. My first thought was that Valerie and Junior had come back and were raising Cain about me taking over their daddy’s house. My second thought was that, for some reason, Emmett had helped Mr. Howard out of bed and brought him to the kitchen. Which didn’t make sense, but something was going on out there.
Just as I pushed the swinging door, it swung back at me. I jumped back out of the way, and Roy and Harley Puckett crashed into the dining room, the most unlikely pair that’d ever been in it, I didn’t have a doubt in the world.
As the party came to a sudden halt, I sidled away from the door, trying to get to the hall and out of their sight. They were looking for me, and now that Skip had skipped, there was nothing I could tell them. Not that I would’ve anyway.
Jennie said, “What the hell?” and Gladys frowned at the two men, trying to place them, but figuring they didn’t belong where they were. “Who is that?” she asked, but nobody answered.
Mrs. Springer straightened up, stretched out her neck, squinched her eyes at Harley and Roy, and mumbled, “Wonder why she invited them?” Then, after further examination, she said, “Why, they didn’t bring any presents! That’s just so tacky.” And she shook the ladle at them.
Roy paid no attention to the comments. He checked out the room, and Harley grabbed a petit four and stuffed it in his mouth. “Just in time, huh, Roy?” he said. “I thought you biddies was gonna eat ’em all.”
“Shut up, Harley,” Roy said, giving him a backhanded pop on his arm. “We been waitin’ outside long enough, an’ we got bidness to take care of. Where’s the Wiggins woman?”
“Right here,” Granny said, popping up in front of him. “What you want with me, dumbass?”
Roy curled his lip at her, then caught sight of me. “There she is! Git her, Harley, an’ hold on to her this time.”
Forgetting that Harley was as quick as a snake, I turned to run. He grabbed my arm and swung me back into the room.
>
Betty Sue screamed and Jennie looked scared. Wondering about Emmett and what they’d done to him, I said, “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Stop it, you’re hurting my arm! Wait, I don’t know where Skip is, but he’s not here. He left town and that’s all I know.”
“What’s that racket?” Lurline asked, as she and Cindy came back from the bathroom. She was still carrying the punch pitcher as she walked right up to Harley and gazed at him with bleary eyes. “Don’t I know you? I don’t believe you were invited. Etta Mae, if these are friends of yours, tell ’em to take a hike.” She twitched her black, frizzy head of hair practically in Harley’s face, then turned, swaying, toward the table.
“Let’s get outta here,” Roy said, pushing open the kitchen door and motioning Harley, with me in tow, through it.
“I say,” Mrs. Springer bellowed, as she sidled around the table, holding on to it for balance. “Unhand that woman. I have you know thish’s a party!”
They ignored her, but as Harley dragged me toward the kitchen door, he reached over and goosed Lurline. She went straight up in the air, slinging punch up on the ceiling and across the room.
“Who-o-ah! Sonovabitch!” She came down, twisting and turning, and, in the same motion, cracked the silver pitcher against Harley’s head. He sagged, loosening his grip on my arm, and Mrs. Springer conked him with the ladle. It bounced off his head and out of her hand, flipping up in the air. She reached out and snagged it before it hit the floor. Then looked around to see who else had noticed the lucky catch.
“You see that, Hazel Marie!” she yelled, as Hazel Marie tried to get between her and Harley.
Letting Harley look out for himself, Roy reached for me and pulled me through the kitchen door.
That’s when Granny went into action. Snatching up one of the candelabras, with five candles still burning, she jabbed it in Roy’s face, yelling, “Leave my grandbaby alone!” She flailed away at him, as he tried to ward her off with one hand and shove me through the door with the other. “Hold still,” Granny yelled. “I’m gonna tan yore hide!”
