Up the Devil's Belly

by Rhett DeVane

  Wanda closed her eyes and smiled. “These teacakes smell wonderful! My aunt used to make them for us when we were kids. We visited her here every summer from Michigan. She had a house off Morgan Avenue. I haven’t had one of them in, oh, thirty years or so.”

  Maizie brushed a sprig of wiry white hair from her temple. “I can’t eat ’em on account of my blood sugar, but I love to cook ’em. Likes the way my kitchen smells when they’re bakin’. Moses and Tameka love ’em to death, so I keep in practice.”

  Wanda bit into one of the soft teacakes, still warm from the oven. The blended flavors of fresh butter and vanilla teased her tastebuds. “These are incredible! I don’t care how many times I’ve tried to make them, they never come out like this. I’d beg you for your recipe.”

  Maizie waved her hand. “Law, I don’t use no recipe. I throws in a handful a’this and a pinch a’that. Any cook worth a hoot does it by feel.”

  Wanda brushed the crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “Suppose that’s why I’m not a good cook, then.”

  Maizie sat down and propped her feet on an upholstered ottoman. “Don’t fret none. You can learn. Anybody can, if they’ve a mind to.”

  “We brought you something for dinner,” Shug said. “And, no matter what she says about being lousy at it, Wanda cooked it all and did a great job of it. All I contributed was the bread. That’s my passion, though I usually bake bread in the cool weather.”

  “All the recipes I used are special for diabetics, even the mandarin orange dessert,” Wanda said.

  Maizie blew out a breath. “I’m surely obliged to you for it, I’ll tell you. I can hardly hold out anymore to stand over the stove and cook a full meal.”

  “Your legs bother you?” Shug asked.

  She reached down and tugged at the elastic stocking on her left leg. “I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. I knows some folks my age can’t even walk a’tall. I gets along okay. Good Lawd never said it was gonna be easy.”

  Shug nodded. “We sure love having Moses and Tameka at the Day spa. They’re good kids. Hard workers, too.”

  Maizie smiled. “I’m mighty proud of both them kids. I reckon I’ve done better with them than I did with their mama. She was a wild gal from the get-go.”

  Wanda sipped her iced tea. “You ever hear from her?”

  The old woman’s eyes clouded with concern. “Last I knew of, Dorie was down around Miami somewheres. I ’spect a call any day sayin’ she’s turned up dead. She got on the dope, and it’s been a monkey on her back.”

  Wanda reached over and patted Maizie’s arthritic hand. “Well, her kids surely turned out well, thanks to you.”

  Maizie dabbed the sweat from her face with a handkerchief. “I’ve tried to bring ’em up right. Miz Lucille Jackson picks us up every Sunday for church, and the kids walk to the sanctuary once a week for youth events, when they aren’t havin’ to work.” Maizie smiled. “You two are just like I had pictured in my mind. The young’uns are always talkin’ ’bout you. Described you to a ‘T’.”

  “What’d they say?” Jon asked.

  “Well…Moses says you, Mr. Jon, remind him of a fella he saw a couple of years back, when the church took a bunch of ’em to the circus over in Tallahassee.”

  Wanda chuckled. “A clown?”

  Maizie waved her hand. “No, no. One of them fellas who walk on those sticks. I guess ’cause you’re so tall, with your long legs, and all.”

  “How about me?” Wanda asked.

  “Tameka said you were what she always wished her mama to be — kind, pretty —just maybe, with a bit darker skin.” Maizie smiled. “She thinks the world of you, Miz Wanda.”

  Wanda swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. “That’s…nice.” The notion of motherhood stirred in a spot buried deep in a place she’d stuffed it long ago.

  “I’ll bet you miss them bein’ round a lot this summer, with them working at the spa and Mr. Henderson’s,” Shug said.

  “Yes suh. I do at that. They do love workin’ at the mansion. Tameka says she wants to be a hairdresser when she grows up, and Moses, he’s learnin’ new stuff ’bout plants every day. The boy reads everything he can lay his hands on.”

  Wanda seized the opportunity to ask about the kids’ other summer job. “Are they doing okay with Hank Henderson?”

  The old woman shifted in her chair, wincing with the effort. “They don’t neither one talk much ’bout Mr. Hank. I know Moses don’t like him much. He was mighty firm ’bout not lettin’ Tameka clean for him.” Maizie shook her head. “Law, it’s hard to know what to do. Mr. Hank, he pays mighty good. He came over here special to speak to me — ask my permission for Tameka to work for him. He even offered to do some legal services for next to nothin’.”

  Wanda leaned forward. “Legal services?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t have a will made out. Been meanin’ to. Just been tryin’ to get up the money. I don’t have much in the way of worldly goods. Just this house and one old insurance policy that’s just enough to lay me out when I pass. But, I wanted to make sure the kids got whatever’s left…and, that my wishes were clear as to who takes them on, once I’m gone.”

  Jon asked, “And Hank is doing the papers for you?”

  She nodded. “He’s drawin’ them up for twenty dollars. Says he likes to help folks in need.”

  Wanda shot a worried glance Jon’s way. “That’s…umm…nice of him.”

  “He’s not such a bad man, I reckon. Moses don’t like him much, for some reason. I figure he’s just a growin’ boy resentin’ someone tellin’ him what to do. You know, ’round ’bout his age, boys get a bit big-ity. They’s tryin’ to find the way to bein’ a man. James, my son, was much the same at Moses’ age.”

  Wanda’s eyebrow shot up. “You have a son?”

  “Uh-huh.” Maizie stood slowly, shuffled over to the picture gallery wall, and removed a 5 x 7 framed color photograph of a man with his wife and two young sons. “That’s my James,” she said proudly as she handed the picture over to Wanda and Jon. “He lives up in Montgomery, Alabama, with his wife, Alicia, and his two boys, Alfred and Antwoin. This picture’s a couple of years old. My grandsons are eight and ten now — good boys.”

  “I never heard Moses or Tameka mention having an uncle,” Wanda said.

  Maizie shook her head. “James stays busy. We don’t see much of him or the family. He sends money when he can. I don’t reckon we’d get by without my boy’s help.” Maizie slapped her hands on her knees. “No need a’talkin’ ’bout hardships, now. Good Lawd provides for his chil’ren. I want to hear all ’bout both of y’all and the spa. I’m gonna get by there one day and see where my grand youngun’s are workin’.”

  “Maybe, if you want…I could come get you some mornin’,” Wanda said. “I specialize in African-American hairstyles.”

  Maizie brushed absently at the stray gray hairs curling at her temple. “Oh, I could never afford none of that.”

  Wanda tilted her head. “Actually, I was thinkin’ of a trade.”

  “What could I have that you’d need, now?”

  Wanda grinned. “Cookin’ lessons.”

  Maizie returned the smile. “Well, now…we might just be able to work us a swap, after all.”

  After chatting for almost an hour, Jon and Wanda left the modest shotgun house on Wire Road. Miz Maizie issued an open invitation for them to return any time.

  “Well…?” Wanda asked as they turned onto the pavement.

  “Her skin is a bit ashen, and the swelling in her feet is worrisome. Best bet — try to get to know her better. Prompt her to follow up with her doctor — even drive her there if you can.”

  “In other words, get involved.”

  Jon glanced at her. “Wanda’loo, honey, seein’ the way you’ve taken to those kids, you’re already involved.”

  Wanda stared out the passenger side window. “Yeah, suppose I am.” She turned to face him. “And, what about that deal with Hank doing her will for next to
nothing?”

  “Maybe he’s just being charitable.”

  Wanda shook her head. “I don’t know. When I think about that man, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I don’t know him very well, just what I hear around town. But, he just doesn’t seem like the charitable type. He has some agenda. I’m sure of it!”

  “Like my mama used to say, it’ll come out in the wash.”

  “Shug?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

  Jon glanced away from the road for a second to study Wanda. “If it’s about my hair, the answer is yes. It’s my natural color. I can’t help it if it looks like Lady Queer-all’s Boot Black!”

  Wanda chuckled. “That wasn’t my question, though I had wondered. Gee, I don’t know how to put this…”

  “Spit it out, Wanda’loo.”

  She shifted in her seat to face him. “You and Jake are the only two gay people I’ve ever gotten to know well.”

  He smirked. “This isn’t gonna be some kinky sex question, is it? I just hate those. People always asking — what do two men do together? — like it’s any of their business what another person does in the privacy of his own home!”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. I’d never ask, at least not when I’m stone cold sober. I was reading this article the other day about how ten percent of the population’s gay. So…why aren’t there more around here? I mean, we see a lot of people in the salon.”

  Jon shrugged. “That’s why they call us fairies, I reckon.” He reached over and tousled Wanda’s red hair playfully. “We’re all around you, but you can’t see us!”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “That’s not exactly the answer I was looking for.”

  “Hon, if you’re wanting me to point folks out, I won’t do that for you. That’s not my place.”

  Wanda frowned. “But, why all the secrecy? Why do they feel they have to hide?”

  “I find it hard to believe you asked me that. Think about it, sister. Why would they open themselves up to pain and public ridicule, or worse?”

  They rode in silence for a few moments.

  “Shug, I’m sorry for what happened to Jake.”

  “You didn’t do it, Wanda.”

  She sighed. “I’m just as guilty as any other straight person who pokes fun and hates for no good reason. Before I met you and Jake, I wasn’t exactly Mother Teresa.”

  “And you are now?”

  “Of course.”

  Jake reached over and patted her hand. “Well, hon. If getting to know me and Jake turned you into a saint, then I’m proud to the very core of my being.”

  Wanda boxed him on the shoulder.

  “Not to change the subject, but are you going out to the Hill for the big gazebo-warmin’ fish fry?” Jon asked.

  “Surely. I’ve got to work till four on Saturday. After that, Piddie’s marked off the appointment book so all of us can go. I’m gonna whip up a quick three-bean salad — somethin’ I can make the night before and keep in the refrigerator. How about you and Jake?”

  He nodded. “We’ll go, of course. We can all ride out together, if you want. There’s plenty of room for five people in here.”

  “That’ll work. I’ll bring a change of clothes and stick the salad in the fridge at the spa. I’ll talk to Steph and Mandy, too. I’m sure they’d like to carpool.”

  Jon slipped the 4Runner into a parking place beside the Triple C. “Jake’s bringing a little gazebo-warmin’ gift from us — two huge Boston ferns and the hanging hooks to go with them.”

  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet. I’ll think of something. Evelyn’s making a flag she’s designed. I caught her working on it the other day.”

  “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!” Jon’s face lit up. “You’ll never guess in a grillion years who was in Evelyn’s shop the other day…just browsin’ around like who shot Sam!”

  Wanda rolled her eyes. “I positively suck at guessing games. Who?”

  Jon puffed his chest out. “Just the First Lady of Florida herself — in the flesh!”

  Wanda’s mouth hung open. “No way.”

  “Uh-huh. She was so nice…and that wonderful accent of hers! She ordered two gowns from Evelyn’s new formal line — what she calls her evening elf-wear.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  Jon drew across his chest with one finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “What was she doing over here?”

  “She’s one of the dignitaries, or guests of honor — whatever — for the upcoming Twin City golf tournament. She and some of her friends were over here for a kick-off luncheon.”

  Wanda huffed. “How about that!”

  Jon opened the door and uncoiled his long legs. “Between the expansion of the gardens and the growing popularity of Evelyn’s designer duds, Jake’s convinced the Triple C’s gonna end up in Southern Living Magazine some day.”

  “Be sure to let me know. I’ll have to buy a new outfit.”

  “One good thing about living in such a small town – if I forget something I’ve done or said, and that happens more and more the older I get – there’s always someone there to remember it for me. Sure as I’m sittin’ here, that’s true, and especially as long as Elvina Houston draws a breath.”

  Piddie Davis Longman

  Chapter Ten

  The Hill

  In the South, food is the tie that binds. Any occasion can be parlayed into a reason to eat. Shaded by an old pecan tree, two seven-foot-long picnic tables, made by my father several years before he died, were draped with red-checkered cloths. Two smaller folding tables held red plastic plates, matching napkins and cups, utensils, condiments, an ice bucket, and three gallon-sized containers of tea. Two glass bowls held sprigs of freshly cut spearmint and lemon wedges.

  Bobby’s deep-fryer fish cooker stood ready on the cement patio by the pool.

  “I need a brown paper grocery bag, some flour, and a big bowl to mix the beer batter in!” Bobby called from the kitchen door.

  Leigh grabbed the bag and bowl from the pantry. “You already have everything else out there?”

  “Yep. I got Holston beatin’ the eggs. I’m teaching him how to make daddy’s beer batter. I’m gonna make a Florida Cracker outta that Yankee, yet!” He slammed the screened door behind him as he left.

  Leigh shook her head. “Men are just overgrown little boys. Bobby doesn’t like to cook unless there’s an element of danger involved. What makes it manlier to cook fish outside over a propane flame is a mystery to me.”

  I added a generous glob of mayonnaise to the shredded cabbage and carrot cole slaw. “Beats me. My daddy was the same way. He lived for the weekend when he could fire up the grill — ours was charcoal. I guess the danger came from splashing on the lighter fluid and watchin’ the coals erupt into a towering pillar of fire.”

  “We doin’ the fries inside?” Leigh pointed to the deep iron Dutch oven filled with cooking oil on the stove.

  “Yeah. That way, everything’s hot at one time. Bobby’ll fry the catfish and hushpuppies outside.” Remembering past family fish fries, I smiled. “The same system always worked for my parents. Mom’d stay in the house making the potato salad and cole slaw and the menfolk would be out frying the fish. Dad would give her a signal to start the fries when he finished the fish and was starting on the hushpuppies.”

  The crew from the spa arrived in Jon’s 4Runner simultaneously with Evelyn, Joe, and Piddie following in the Lincoln. Leigh and I grabbed the babies and left the kitchen to greet them. While Joe and Jon helped Aunt Piddie settle into her wheelchair, Evelyn, Wanda, Stephanie, and Mandy unloaded the food. Jake carried Elvis in one arm.

  “Party’s arrived, Sister-girl!” Jake said as he kissed me on the cheek.

  I tousled the Pomeranian’s silky hair. “Why don’t you let Elvis run around and be a real dog? Spackle gets along great with him.”

  Jake glanced over his shoulder. “Jon
’ll pitch a hissy-fit if Elvis gets a speck of dirt on him. But…I’m with you. Elvis deserves a break from being the dog-centerfold God.” He placed the Pomeranian on the grass. Elvis cowered timidly by Jake’s feet for a few moments until Spackle’s playful bouncing enticed him away.

  “Jake!” Jon yelled. “It’ll take me hours to get him clean!”

  Jake swatted the air with his cane. “I’ll bathe him when we get home. He deserves to have a little fun, too.” Jake grabbed my arm. “I made some cocktail sauce. You never put enough horseradish in yours for my likin’.”

  “I need my sinuses opened up, anyway.”

  Jake smirked. “You’ll never admit mine’s better than yours, will you?”

  “Not in a month of Sundays. That hellish stuff you make’ll put hair on your chest.”

  One of his eyebrows shot up. “Perhaps, Sister-girl, if you eat enough to sprout hairs on your chest, you’ll quit sproutin’ them out of your chin.”

  I boxed him on the arm. “You’re just downright mean, sometimes. You know?”

  Jake curled his arm around my shoulders. “You love me madly, in spite of it all. To make up for my insult to your culinary skills, let me tell you, I brought one of my homemade red velvet cakes.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  Jake’s twin dimples showed when he smiled. “You are so easy.”

  “Goo-gah!” Sarah shouted when she spotted Aunt Piddie. The baby held out her stubby little arms and bounced up and down.

  “Hand her here.” Piddie settled Sarah into her lap and motioned for Joe to push the wheelchair over to the shade of the pecan tree.

  “I’ll take Josh for you,” Evelyn offered.

  “That’d be a big help, Evelyn. He’s into everything.” Leigh handed her son over with a grunt.

  “Whew! He’s gettin’ heavy. I’ll just stay out here with Mama and the babies. If y’all need me in the kitchen, just call.”

  Leigh and I exchanged glances. I knew she was thinking the same thing. Could it be, with her new passion for clothing design, my cousin had finally given up on cooking? Local sales of indigestion relief medication would plummet.