Miss Julia Hits the Road

by Ann B. Ross

  “It’s not my intention to interfere with the Lord’s work,” I said, heading for the door. “All I’m asking is for him to help me with mine.”

  As I walked back across the street, I was pleased that the pastor had not raised my blood pressure all that much. I’d pretty much suspected all along what his response was likely to be, and I hadn’t been wrong. Still, I’d felt led to give the church an opportunity to help with our fund-raising. So it was done, and now I wouldn’t have to put up with Pastor Ledbetter trying to run everything, which was a considerable compensation for his refusal to get the church officially involved.

  Chapter 15

  Lillian turned from the stove and looked at me as I entered the kitchen. “Miss Julia,” she said, as she took a deep breath. “I been thinkin’ ’bout all this, an’ I never take charity before, nor nobody else on Willow Lane. We always take care of ourselves, an’ that’s what we ought to do now.”

  “For goodness’ sakes, Lillian, what we’re doing is not charity. If we can figure out what to do, you’ll be paying rent just like you’ve always done. And, besides, you’re all going to be helping with the fund-raising, aren’t you? And speaking of that,” I said, not giving her a chance to discuss it any further, “I need your help with something I may have to do.”

  “I don’t know I want to hear what. But what?”

  “Let me think about it a little longer. I’ll let you know. Now, have you heard from anybody about tonight?”

  “Yessum. Mr. Sam comin’ an’ Mr. Pickens. Coleman, he call an’ say Miss Binkie still got the twinges an’ they better not come.”

  “My land,” I said, “she seemed fine just this afternoon. I tell you, Lillian, this is not a good time for her to be out of commission having that baby. I might need her again at any minute.”

  “I ’spect that baby not worriet ’bout what you need.”

  I had to laugh at myself. “I expect you’re right.”

  We both looked up as we heard Hazel Marie’s car pull into the driveway and her footsteps on the back stoop. She came barreling into the kitchen, her face as red as fire. She kicked the door shut behind her and announced, “I’m so mad I could spit.”

  She dropped the packages she’d exchanged for Lillian onto the table, ignoring the one that fell to the floor. We couldn’t do anything but stare at her as she threw her pocketbook on top of the packages.

  “Whatever is the matter, Hazel Marie?” I asked, ready to take cover if she continued to throw things around.

  “You won’t believe what I saw downtown,” she stormed. “Just guess, Miss Julia. Take a guess, Lillian.” Then she threw herself into a chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Before Lillian or I could venture a guess, Hazel Marie told us. “J. D. and Tammi, that second wife of his!”

  “Law!” Lillian yelled, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t tell me that man be married!”

  “Now, Lillian,” I cautioned, “she didn’t mean it that way. He was married once, I mean, twice, but he’s not now. Hazel Marie,” I went on, turning to her, “where did you see them?”

  “In the tea shop, that’s where!”

  I frowned, thinking how unlikely it was that Mr. Pickens would be in the tea shop. Somehow the two concepts didn’t go together. But then, if you wanted a cup of coffee downtown, it was either that or something in a styrofoam cup at a filling station.

  “Maybe they just happened to run into each other,” I suggested, trying to put a better face on it than the one Hazel Marie had in mind.

  “No, ma’am,” she said, huffing up even more. “You wouldn’t think that if you’d seen them. There I was,” she said, standing up and stomping around her chair, “minding my own business and dropped in for a minute, and there they were, leaning over a table with their heads practically on top of each other.”

  “What did you do?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. When Hazel Marie got hot, she could evermore cut a wide swath.

  “I turned right around and left,” she said, and I sighed with relief that the tea shop had suffered no damage.

  Lillian had been following this, her eyes going back and forth, and finally she said, “Did they see you?”

  “J. D. did,” she said with some satisfaction. “I walked down the sidewalk right past the window where they were sitting. When he looked up and saw me going by, he jumped up so quick he spilled coffee on himself.” She managed a vengeful smile. “Served him right, too. I hope it scalded him.”

  Well, this was certainly a pretty come-off. I couldn’t imagine that Mr. Pickens would continue to pursue Tammi with an i after his last contact with her had resulted in Hazel Marie’s leaving him flat. Unless, that is, he wanted Tammi back, just as she seemed to want him.

  I wasn’t about to suggest such a thing to Hazel Marie, though. There could still be a perfectly understandable reason for the two of them to be together, although for the life of me I couldn’t figure what it could be.

  And here I’d been thinking that Mr. Pickens knew women backward and forward. But if he thought he could juggle two women and keep both of them happy, he certainly didn’t know Hazel Marie. I knew she’d had her fill of sharing a man.

  “Now, Hazel Marie,” I started, but was interrupted by the doorbell. “Who in the world is that? We don’t have time for visitors.”

  “I get it,” Lillian said, pushing through the dining room door.

  “Hazel Marie,” I began again. “I think you ought to talk to Mr. Pickens before you go off half-cocked. There might be a legitimate reason for the two of them to be together. The thing to do is give him a chance to tell you what it is.”

  She frowned and screwed up her mouth. “You wouldn’t think that if you’d seen the way she looked at him. She’s after him, Miss Julia, and I’m not going to sit around and wait for him to decide between the two of us.”

  “Well, now listen. . . .”

  Lillian came to the kitchen door and poked her head inside. “Miss Hazel Marie, you got comp’ny.”

  “The nerve of him!” Hazel Marie stormed. “Showing up here like nothing’s happened. Tell him I don’t want to see him.”

  Lillian frowned and said, “It not Mr. Pickens, if that who you talkin’ ’bout. It some red-headed lady I never seen.”

  Hazel Marie looked as if she’d been slapped in the face. She went white as a sheet, her hands knotted up into fists, and her whole body began to shake. Gritting her teeth, she stomped out of the kitchen, her shoulders hunched up like she was ready to take on the world.

  “Come on, Lillian,” I said. “We’d better not leave those two alone.”

  Taking her arm, I led Lillian after Hazel Marie. I wanted to see this famous red-headed Tammi with an i, and I certainly got an eyeful.

  So this had been one of Mr. Pickens’s unfortunate marital choices, I thought as I stared at the woman. I couldn’t say much for his taste. She looked only an inch or two taller than Hazel Marie, although she had so much teased and tousled orange hair that she might well have been an inch or two shorter. It must’ve taken her hours to get that hair in such a state, and I am talking big hair. She was of a firm and athletic build, making Hazel Marie, who stood glowering at her, look fragile beside her.

  “What’re you doing here?” Hazel Marie said through clenched teeth. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Oh,” Tammi said, “I asked around. Look, I just came by to tell you that J. D. and I have a history together, which I thought you ought to know about so you won’t keep on embarrassing yourself. No hard feelings, okay?” The woman smiled in such a smug way that—even as even-tempered as I am—made me want to smack her good.

  Hazel Marie was breathing so deep that I could see her chest rise and fall. She was doing her best to hold her temper, and I admired her for it. Although I must say that Hazel Marie had not extended the courtesy of inviting Tammi in, for both of them were still standing by the door.

  “No hard feelings?” Hazel Marie repeated in a tone t
hat made me want to find a place to hide.

  “No,” Tammi said. “We could even be friends. Compare notes, so to speak.”

  Oh, Lord, I thought, Hazel Marie’s going to blow sky high. “Uh,” I said, thinking to avert a catastrophe, “won’t you have a seat, Miss . . . Ms. . . . ?” For the life of me, I couldn’t call her Mrs. Pickens.

  It didn’t matter, for neither of them paid me any mind. Hazel Marie was strung so tight that I could almost hear her thrum. Lillian picked at my sleeve, feeling the tension and wondering what we should do.

  “Friends!” Hazel Marie screeched. “Compare notes! You get out of this house and don’t you ever come back, you, you home-wrecker, you!”

  “All right, honey,” Tammi said, sneering right in Hazel Marie’s face. “I’ve tried to be nice about it, but you just keep your sticky hands off J. D. Pickens or you’ll live to regret it.”

  “I’ll show you sticky hands!” Hazel Marie cried. She reached up and grabbed the top of Tammi’s head. Then, giving a yank, she came away with a handful of orange hair. Hazel Marie stared at it, as shocked as the rest of us.

  Tammi screamed, Lillian yelled, and I lost my breath.

  Lord, Hazel Marie’d snatched Tammi bald-headed, just as she’d said she would.

  “Law,” Lillian shrieked, throwing up her hands. “She done scalped that woman!”

  I dashed to get between Hazel Marie and Tammi, expecting the stronger-looking woman to retaliate with a cat fight to end all cat fights. And in my living room, too. But Tammi was clutching the top of her head, cowering behind her hands, realizing that her Texas-sized coiffure had been mangled beyond repair.

  Lillian, still shrieking, ran over and put her arms around Hazel Marie. “Oh, Miss Hazel Marie! They put you in jail, you pull out that woman’s hair!”

  “Lillian!” I called. “It’s just a hairpiece!”

  Hazel Marie looked again at the clump of hair in her hand, then threw it back at Tammi. “Take it and get out.”

  And Tammi did, calling out, “You’ll regret this, see if you don’t.” She scrambled out onto the porch and down the steps, trying to mash the hairpiece back on her head as she went. It kept sliding around as she ran to her car, slammed the door, and pulled away from the curb with a chirp of the tires.

  “Law, Miss Hazel Marie,” Lillian said, looking at her with awe. “You fix her wagon good.”

  “Yes, and I’ll do it again if she messes with me.”

  I had no doubt that she would, but the thing to do was to get her calmed down. “Hazel Marie,” I said, “why don’t you go lie down? All this upset is not good for your system. You run along and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea.”

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I can’t calm down until I fix somebody else’s wagon.” She whirled on me, and went on. “Have you ever seen the like, Miss Julia? Didn’t she have a nerve, coming here and telling me to leave J. D. alone? And then saying we could be friends!”

  Hazel Marie suddenly stopped, her eyes widening as a new thought came to her. “Did J. D. suggest that? Did he send her over here to give me the news? He didn’t have the courage to tell me to my face, did he? That was it, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Hazel Marie,” I said soothingly. “But I doubt he’d do a thing like that. Mr. Pickens always seems to be able to handle his own business. I don’t think he’d send in a substitute.”

  Hazel Marie barely heard me. She’d taken to pacing back and forth across the living room, muttering to herself about that low-down, two-timing, double-dealing, sneaking, no-good rat who couldn’t be trusted as far as she could throw him.

  As she passed the front window, she came to a dead stop. Then she ran to move aside the lace undercurtain and stared outside. With a gasp and an ugly word I won’t repeat, she dashed to the door, flung it open, and ran out onto the porch.

  Lillian and I looked at each other, then hurried out after her. Coming down the front walk was Mr. Pickens himself, sauntering along with one hand in his pocket. I couldn’t help but notice a large wet spot down the front of his trousers. It would’ve looked mighty suspicious if Hazel Marie hadn’t told us he’d spilled coffee on himself.

  When he saw Hazel Marie running out to meet him, he stopped and opened his arms to receive her. A smile of greeting lit up his face as she ran toward him.

  Before he could clasp her in his arms, she wound up her arm like a softball pitcher. Then she hauled off and socked him across the chin as hard as she could. He was so surprised that he had to take a step back to keep his balance.

  Then she turned on her heel and, without a word, stomped back into the house, passing Lillian and me on her way.

  Mr. Pickens blinked a couple of times and worked his jaw back and forth. “What brought that on?” he asked, somewhat pitifully, I thought.

  “She just had a visitor,” I told him. “One of the ex-Mrs. Pickenses. And she’s not in the best of moods.”

  “Man,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I guess she’s not.”

  “I declare, Mr. Pickens,” I said, “you need to get your personal business straightened out. Hazel Marie’s mad as thunder, and you’re not doing a thing to help matters by huddling up all over town with another woman.”

  “She’s pretty upset, huh?”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “If you didn’t get the message when she up and moved out on you, then I have nothing but pity for you.”

  “Well, she never gives me a chance to explain,” he said, feeling sorry for himself. “Tammi still owns half of my house and she wants me to buy her out. That’s all that’s going on.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not,” I said, and right strongly too. “Tammi came here not ten minutes ago and told Hazel Marie that the two of you were getting back together. And Hazel Marie’s supposed to bow out gracefully, so she and Tammi can be friends. Do you understand now, Mr. Pickens, the gall of that woman and why Hazel Marie’s so upset?”

  He held his head in his hand and moaned. Then I learned where Hazel Marie’d picked up her store of ugly words, for he said one under his breath. “What am I going to do?” he said, but I don’t really think he was asking me.

  I answered him anyway. “Get rid of Tammi, for starters. Then you’d better do some heavy-duty courting, and if I have to tell you how to do that, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

  He grinned then, that same white flash under his mustache that captivated women, young and old. “Think she’d talk to me now?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t recommend trying. I’d stay out of her way, if I were you. You’re invited to dinner tonight, though, so we can discuss ways of raising money for the Willow Lane folks. I’ll tell her that we need your help, and she has to at least be courteous to you. The rest is up to you.”

  “Think I’ll be safe?” And he laughed outright, shaking his head at the thought of it.

  “Maybe she’ll be calmed down by then,” I said, turning to go inside. Then I stopped and looked back at him. “Far be it from me, Mr. Pickens, to comment unfavorably on a person’s clothing. But, if I were you, I’d change trousers before parading around in public. The location of that stain might well give pause to whoever sees it.”

  Chapter 16

  That evening, we all—except for Binkie and Coleman, who decided to stay home with a stopwatch—sat around the table trying to get ourselves and the fund drive organized. I told them about my meeting with Clarence Gibbs that afternoon, and the sky-high price he’d put on Willow Lane, leaving out his proposition concerning my house. That amount of money put a sudden damper on the conversation, as we all considered what we faced.

  I sat there, my nerves getting more and more strung out, knowing that I had the solution at hand if I could bring myself to put my home at risk.

  All I wanted was for someone, Binkie or Sam in particular, to tell me it was a good idea. But I held my peace, knowing that they’d tell me I was foolish and rash and lacking any business sense whatsoever.

&
nbsp; Nobody was saying anything, just sitting there playing with the silverware and turning coffee cups in their saucers.

  “All right,” I said, breaking the silence. “So I shouldn’t have let him know we were interested. It’s all your fault, Sam, for not being home when I needed you. And Binkie’s, too, for being practically out of commission.” Then I leaned my head on my arm, which was propped on the dining room table. “No, the plain truth is that it’s my fault. I jumped the gun and just pushed too hard.”

  I looked around at Sam, Mr. Pickens, Hazel Marie, Little Lloyd, and Lillian, hoping that one of them would disagree with me.

  “He’s a hard man to deal with,” Sam said, “and I doubt anybody else could’ve done any better.”

  I wasn’t sure of that, but I appreciated Sam’s support.

  “I better clear off this table,” Lillian said, reaching for my plate. I’d insisted she join us while we ate all the desserts she’d spent the day making. She’d made so many, in fact, that she’d forgotten to cook a meal. The table was cluttered with the remains of take-out pizza, my least favorite attempt at a meal in the world, and the remnants of seven-layer cake and the last sliver of apple pie, which Mr. Pickens had been eyeing. And I kept eyeing him, his various marital escapades tumbling about in my mind. He and Hazel Marie had had a long talk in the living room before we ate, but from Hazel Marie’s stony silence I guessed he’d not made much headway.

  “Sit down, Miss Lillian,” Mr. Pickens said, “and let those dishes alone. We need to come up with something here.”

  Lillian eased back into her chair and left the dishes alone. It surprised me that she hadn’t taken a leaf from Hazel Marie’s book and stopped talking or listening to Mr. Pickens after the way he’d gaped at her when he first came in that evening. He’d stood in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes wide and his mouth open, staring at her swishing nylon getup and huge running shoes, while she grinned at his foolishness.