Chenille sighed contentedly. “I have a new job, a wonderful boyfriend, and that awful Drake Dupree is going back to Canada. Everything would be perfect, if only...” She stopped in mid-sentence.
“If only your sister wasn’t back with Lonnie,” Garnell said. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
She nodded sadly. “You already know me so well.”
Turning her head, she saw a cloud of kicked-up dust on the dirt road leading up to Garnell’s house. A car’s engine roared in the distance.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Chenille asked.
Garnell shook his head and walked to the edge of the porch, squinting to see who was tearing up the drive.
“I’ll be darned,” he said. “It’s your sister.”
Moments later, Chiffon’s Firebird came into view and screeched to a stop. She slammed the door of her car and strode toward them. She wore an askew tiara, and a smile so wide you could see the silver fillings of her molars.
“I did it!” she hollered. “I told that good-for-nothing, two-timing tomcat to hit the road. I’m a free woman.” She galloped toward her sister and threw her arms around her.
“You told Lonnie to leave?” Chenille asked.
“I sure as heck did. Stood over him while he packed his things. When he walked out that door, I didn’t feel a smidgen of regret. ‘Course, I know the kids will be upset,” she said, cutting her eyes toward the car, “but Lonnie won’t win any father-of-the-year awards. He didn’t call them once while he was gone away to California. Sometimes I think no father is better than a poor one. Plus, I’m a much better mama when Lonnie’s not around.”
Garnell extended his hand. “Congratulations, Chiffon. I know that took a lot of strength. All the time you were married to him, I never thought that fellow was good enough for you.”
“It took me over ten years and a whole lot of tears to find that out for myself,” Chiffon said. She squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “Plus, I give Chenille a lot of credit for helping me.”
“Me?” Chenille said.
“Yeah. You’ve said so many great things about me. I wanted to live up to the person I saw reflected in your eyes.”
Chenille hugged her sister and whispered in her ear, “I’m so proud of you. Tiara or no tiara, I’ll always see a queen.”
A few days after Chiffon had shown Lonnie the door, the two sisters went to pick up Wanda from the airport.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to land on American soil,” Wanda said after she came out of the gate and air-kissed Chiffon’s cheek. “Those Europeans are savages. The public toilets in France are black holes in the ground you’re expected to squat over. And just try and find a restaurant in Europe serving bacon and scrambled eggs for breakfast. I did not see a single Cracker Barrel the whole time I was there.”
“No Cracker Barrel,” Chiffon said, suppressing a chortle. “Mama, how did you ever stand it?”
“Thankfully, there was a McDonald’s on almost every street corner. Otherwise, I might have starved,” Wanda said as she checked her appearance in a compact mirror. “Where’s your sister? She didn’t come with you?”
“She made a run to the powder room,” Chiffon said, taking Wanda’s carry-on bag. “She’ll meet us in the baggage area.”
“Chenille could have knocked me over with a feather when she told me she was getting married,” Wanda said as she strode beside Chiffon. “Frankly, I’d convinced myself that she’d always be a spinster. Either that or I thought she might be funny.”
“Funny?”
“Not ha-ha funny, but funny,” Wanda said with a wrinkle of her nose. “Like Rosie O’Donnell and that Ellen person. If you recall, Chenille played an awful lot of field hockey when she was in high school.”
“No, Mama. Chenille is definitely not funny.”
“But then she calls me and tells me the wedding is off. My heart snapped in two. Now I have one daughter married to a rapscallion and another daughter who’s more likely to be kidnapped by cannibals than find a husband.”
“She’s met someone else,” Chiffon said, stopping at the baggage carrel. “And it’s a match made in heaven. And as far as my rapscallion of a husband—”
“Chenille!” Wanda cried out as she spotted her elder daughter coming down the hall from the restroom. “There you are. Chiffon tells me you’re tearing through men like they were tissue paper.”
“I said no such thing—” Chiffon began.
“I’m on the ground for five minutes and already you’re sassing me,” Wanda snapped.
“You’re looking well, Mama,” Chenille said, pecking her cheek.
Wanda stood back and eyed her daughter. “There’s something different about you. It looks like you’ve finally taken my advice and started using Mary Kay’s signature blush line. What color are you wearing? Desert Bloom or Pink Meringue?”
“It’s not blush, Mama,” Chenille said with a shy smile. “It’s love.”
“Hummph. Love’s never been any good for my skin,” Wanda said.
“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Chenille said. “His name’s Garnell, and he’s a foreman—”
“Enough,” Wanda said, holding up a hand. “Last week you were marrying a veterinarian named Drake. I’m not interested in hearing about your latest fly-by-night fellow.”
She turned away from Chenille and gave Chiffon an up-and-down glance. “I see you’ve been busy since I’ve been gone.”
“Well, Mama, there have been some changes in my life—” Chiffon began, her chest swelling with pride.
“I’ll say,” Wanda said. “It looks like you’ve ballooned from a size ten to a size twelve. Honestly, Chiffon, do I need to get one of those oink-oink alarms to attach to your refrigerator?”
“Mama—” Chiffon started.
“Chiffon, I hear a whine in your voice, and I’m in no mood. My flight was bumpy, the movie was trash, and they served me a steak as tough as an old wallet.” Wanda pointed to the turnstile. “There’s my bag. The one with the yellow ribbon tied to it. Chenille, be a peach and fetch it for me. My sciatica’s flaring up.”
Chenille complied, and the three of them trudged to the car with Wanda’s things.
“That husband of yours should be here to help with heavy lifting. I’m sure his little tryst with that movie star is over by now,” Wanda remarked. “But I suppose he’s too busy lifting beer mugs or hunting down defenseless animals.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Chiffon said. “I kicked Lonnie out of the house. We’re going to get a divorce.”
Wanda stopped in her tracks and dramatically flung her hand to her forehead. “God Almighty, Chiffon!” she said. “Would you not dump all of your problems at my feet the second I get back home?”
Chiffon shrunk back. “I don’t understand. You’ve always complained about Lonnie. I thought you would be pleased that—”
“Pleased?” Wanda said in a dumbfounded voice. “What’s pleasing about a daughter who’s managed to lose a job and a husband in the course of a couple of months? Lonnie might have been a loser, but at least he kept a roof over your head.”
“Mama, Chiffon has a job,” Chenille interjected. “She’s going to be a photographer for the Crier.”
“Photographer. Sounds more like a hobby than a job. Listen, girls, why don’t the two of you just quit chattering. It’s been a long day, and I need peace and quiet.”
“Okay, Mama,” Chiffon said. “You’ll have all the peace and quiet you need.” She dropped Wanda’s carry-on bag on the sidewalk.
“What now?” Wanda snapped.
“Chenille, put down Mama’s suitcase,” Chiffon said. Chenille shot her sister a perplexed look but did as she was told.
“Mama, you can catch yourself a cab home,” Chi
ffon said. “Cabbies are generally very quiet, ’specially the ones who don’t speak English.”
“You’re just going to leave me here?” Wanda said in disbelief.
“Yes, Mama, I am,” Chiffon said.
“What about you, Chenille? Surely you’re not going to abandon your mama?” Wanda asked.
Chenille nodded. “I stick with my baby sister.”
Wanda’s face turned red with outrage. “I cannot believe this. What wicked daughters I’ve spawned! If you leave me here alone, I’ll never speak to either of you again.”
“That’s fine,” Chiffon said calmly. “Because we don’t want to talk with you unless you can give us the respect we deserve. Right, Chenille?”
“That’s right,” Chenille said with a definitive nod.
Wanda stood in openmouthed shock. It was the first time Chiffon could ever remember her mother at a loss for words.
The two sisters hurried off to Chiffon’s car before Wanda had the chance to recover her venom.
“You did it, Chiffon.” Chenille grasped her sister’s wrist. “You stood up to Mama.”
“I know,” Chiffon said with a smile. “She’s had it coming for a long while.” She put a hand to her mouth to suppress a snigger. “This time I didn’t even need the tiara.”
Thirty-Five
People in glass houses shouldn’t walk around naked.
~ Quote of the day in the Cayboo Creek Crier
Birdie shuffled her index cards on the podium at the Senior Center and looked out at the sea of people milling about the room. Reverend Hozey was curiously absent, but many of his congregation were among the crowd. It was standing room only for the unveiling of the calendar, and Attalee, who was working the door, had to turn some folks away.
Birdie tapped the microphone with her index finger. “Test, test,” she said quietly, until it quit squealing.
Mavis, who was in charge of the P.A. system, gave her a thumbs-up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please,” Birdie said. The room gradually settled down into a soft murmur.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hope you’ve enjoyed tonight’s refreshments. I’d like to thank Boomer’s Butcher Shop for providing the pigs-in-a-blanket and meatball appetizers, as well as Jewel Turner at the Chat ‘N’ Chew for the lemonade and cookies. Thanks also to Dun Woo of the House of Noodles for being our deejay for the evening’s event.”
Dun Woo, who was in the back of the room, bowed nattily at the waist. He’d been playing teaser songs for the last hour, such as “Ladies Night” and “Baby Got Back.”
“And now the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Birdie said, pausing dramatically. “Tonight is a very special night in the history of the Senior Center. The fundraising committee has come up with an unusual and, some might say, daring—”
Darla Garvey, the Baptist choir leader, popped up from her chair and plucked a tuning fork. A low hum vibrated throughout the room.
“Darla, what in the world —?” Birdie began.
A chorus of voices interrupted her. They started softly and gradually gained momentum.
“Your calendar is scum. Your calendar is scum,” the voices sang to the tune of “We Shall Overcome.”
“Stop this singing at once,” Birdie pleaded. “We need to get on with our program.”
At that moment, Reverend Hozey, wearing his usual uniform of a dark pin-striped suit and a homburg hat, burst through the door. Attalee tried to stop him, but he barreled past her.
“Brothers and sisters,” he bellowed as he planted himself in the front of the room. “A blight has infected our fair town. A moral turpitude of smut and filth. One that threatens our young, our old, and our sense of decency. This obscenity is masquerading as an act of charity, a way to raise money for the elderly members of our community. But do not be fooled, this so-called fundraiser has Satan’s fingerprints all over it.”
“Hold your tater, preacher,” Attalee said as she took a step in his direction. “You got it all wrong. There ain’t nothing—”
“Hush, harlot!” Reverend Hozey snapped. He continued to address the crowd. “Brothers and sisters, if you support this vileness, you’ll be aligning yourself with Beelzebub. I urge you to turn your backs—”
“Listen here, smarty-pants, you’re making a big mistake,” Attalee said, standing nose-to-nose with him. “Our calendar is pure as freshly fallen snow.”
Reverend Hozey leveled a finger at her. “Do not listen to this woman. She’s in cahoots with the devil.”
“All right, now,” Attalee said. “You asked for it.” She started unbuttoning the front of her dress.
Reverend Hozey stared at her in horror. “What are you doing?” he sputtered.
She undid the last button and held the dress together with her fingers.
“Are you ready for an eyeful, Preacher?” she challenged.
Reverend Hozey covered his face with his hands and shrank back from Attalee. “This is an abomination. Clothe yourself, sister, or face the wrath of God.”
“I’ve been on God’s bad side before,” Attalee said. “Go on, take a gander.”
The audience held its breath as Attalee flung open her dress for all to see.
A titter of nervous laughter filled the room, reaching a crescendo and exploding with full-force hilarity.
Reverend Hozey parted his fingers to peek at Attalee. She wore a bright red union suit.
His jaw dropped open. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“I would have told you if you’d gotten your head out of Hades and listened for a minute,” Attalee said. “This is what me and the other Bottom Dollar Girls are wearing in the calendar. We didn’t have the gumption to strip to our birthday suits, so we all wore long Johns instead. Mavis stocks a heap of them at the Bottom Dollar Emporium.”
She twitched her hips through the room as if strutting down a catwalk. “For you fellows who are interested, I’m featured in January, May, and October. And, by gum, I still have some snap in my garter belt.”
Dooley, who was sitting in the front row, let loose with an appreciative whistle. “I’m getting a calendar for every room in my house,” he said with a flash of his dentures.
Attalee winked at him and continued, “The calendar is only ten bucks, so get your wallets out. The money goes to the Senior Center, so they can quit watering down the Metamucil.”
“Actually, we have brochures outlining the proposed plans for the Senior Center,” Birdie said over the microphone. “And there are people posted throughout the room with calendars and change boxes. We’re pleased to take cash or a personal check.”
Reverend Hozey picked up one of the calendars from the podium and leafed through it.
“I was wrong,” he said, blushing deeply. “This calendar is about as racy as the Farmer’s Almanac.” He pulled out his wallet and opened it. “I’ll take two. One for me and one for the missus.”
“Thank you, Reverend Hozey,” Birdie said, clapping her hands.
An hour later, after everyone but the Bottom Dollar Girls had left, Mrs. Tobias counted the bills they’d received while Elizabeth added up the checks with a calculator.
“I think by the time we’re done, we’ll have taken in almost three thousand dollars,” Elizabeth said triumphantly. “That’s ten times the amount we would have gotten at a bake sale. And that’s just the beginning. We’re selling the calendar all around town.”
“Beats the heck out of peddling brownies,” Attalee said as she fanned herself with a twenty-dollar bill.
Chenille and Chiffon were clearing the tables of discarded cups and paper plates.
“I think that’s the last of it,” Chenille said as she dropped a stack of debris into a large plastic trash can.
“I saw Lonnie here t
his evening,” Mavis said. “He bought a calendar.”
“I know,” Chiffon said, wearily parking her bottom into a chair. “He calls the house constantly and follows me all around town. Yesterday I photographed the mayor in front of City Hall, and who did I see but Lonnie, rustling in the bushes.”
“Did you notice the photo in this morning’s Crier?” Birdie asked. “Hizzonor looked like a true statesman.”
“The mayor liked his picture so much, he wants me to take photos of his family,” Chiffon said. “I bought some top-of-the-line photography equipment after I took back Lonnie’s pool table, so I’m ready to start my sideline business.”
“I’m so proud of you!” Chenille said, slipping an arm around her sister’s waist. “You’re doing work you love, and you’ve left behind that poor excuse of a husband.”
“We’re all proud of you, Chiffon,” Elizabeth said, lifting her cup of lemonade in a toast. Those who still had drinks raised their cups and made murmurs of agreement.
“Thank you,” Chiffon said gratefully. Although she was exhausted from the day’s activities, it was a pleasant sort of fatigue, born from work that she’d truly enjoyed.
Later the two sisters drove back to Chiffon’s house to relieve the babysitter.
“Everyone’s asleep and I just took the dog out in the yard,” said Brittany, a freckle-faced fourteen-year-old who lived two doors down from Chiffon. “Did you know the Oscars are on tonight? I was watching it on TV. Nicolas Cage just won for Best Supporting Actor. I’m going to rush home for the Best Actress award.”
“I’d forgotten that,” Chiffon said, counting out some bills in the girl’s upturned palm. “Did you let the answering machine get the calls?”
“Sure did, Mrs. Butrell,” Brittany said with a shake of her auburn ponytail. “I followed your instructions to the letter.”
“I was afraid my ex-husband might call and make a nuisance of himself,” Chiffon said. “Turned out he decided to do it in person. Thanks so much, Brittany. Oh, and by the way, from now on, instead of calling me Mrs. Butrell, call me Ms. Grace.”
A Dollar Short (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 2) Page 24
