by James Villas
As the years passed, going to the Priscilla evolved into a summer ritual for the Dubose family—especially after Ella hired Goldie and had someone she could trust to watch over the house. And even after the children, one by one, left home to pursue their own lives and Ella and Earl were free to board other ocean liners and tour the capitals of Europe, nothing remained so special to them both as returning time and again either alone or with friends from Charlotte to the Priscilla for a week or two of total relaxation, good fishing and golf and eating, and maybe roaming about a few of the old, deserted rice plantations hidden amongst giant moss-covered oaks on or around the Waccamaw River. While they still had parents alive in Charleston, they sometimes drove down to spend part of a day, but once most of the close relatives were gone, they no longer had much reason to make the trip.
Jay Rutherford died of cancer in the late sixties, but not before Creative Graphics had become the largest and most successful printing and engraving operation not only in Charlotte but in the Carolinas. Ella had hoped, of course, that Earl would gradually slow down and delegate more responsibility to his office manager and plant foreman, but even after Little Earl joined the company and was being trained to one day take over from his father, Big Earl continued to work at the same compulsive pace he’d maintained since the beginning. As a result, it was really no great surprise to anyone when, on his way out to the car one day with a buddy to play a few holes of golf at the club, he complained of dizziness for a few moments, then collapsed on the pavement. Ella was called immediately to meet the ambulance at Mercy Hospital, but when she and Goldie arrived, she was told that her husband had apparently died instantly of a massive brain aneurysm. Goldie went all to pieces, but, as always in times of crisis, Ella maintained the composure and strength of the proverbial steel magnolia till decisions had been made and she was left to grieve in private. The sorrow and heartbreak she felt over losing Earl couldn’t have been more absolute, but what disturbed her most, and weighed strangely on her conscience, was how vividly the tragedy evoked that terrible evening in Charleston long ago when everybody learned that Jonathan Green had shot himself.
Chapter 13
FEEDIN’ THE CRABS
“Ty,” Little Earl was saying to his older brother on the phone, “she just took off, took off like a shot with Goldie like some mad woman. And when the police finally tracked ’em down at Myrtle Beach, she acted as if nothing had happened—nothing at all.”
“Well, you know Mama,” Tyler said dispassionately, pretending that he was unaware of any shenanigan but a bit surprised that they’d already caught up with her. “If she’s anything, she’s a maverick with her mind set. We all know that.”
“Is that all you gotta say?” Earl drawled impatiently, taking a defiant stance. “I don’t think you got any idea what she’s been puttin’ us all through lately, and there for a while we didn’t know whether the woman was dead or alive. I mean, Ty, I got a big business to run down here, and things like the church, and Little League, and obligations at the club, and I sho don’t have time to go chasing round two states for Mama and Goldie.”
“So what do you expect me to do?” Tyler asked calmly, sitting on the deck of his beach house with some medical papers spread out on a table and refusing to reveal that he knew about their mother’s spree and actually would be seeing her in a few days.
“Well, the first thing you might do is try to convince Mama to see the doctor, which she refuses to do even though we’ve already made an appointment for her. You know she’s got that heart condition, and all we need down here is for her to have something like a bad stroke. As a matter of fact, we sometimes wonder if her sick spells are nothing but little strokes. And I gotta tell you, Ty, she’s really been acting weird lately, like she’s confused, or has something bad on her mind that’s driving her crazy, or is on the verge of Alzheimer’s.”
“I can’t force Mama to do anything,” Tyler said nonchalantly, frowning at the lab reports before him, “and don’t you think you’re maybe overreacting? Mama has her own strange reasons for doing things, and it doesn’t mean she’s having strokes or losing her mind. I talked with her right after Barry and I returned from Europe, and she sounded pretty healthy and normal to me.”
“Normal? You call gettin’ in the car with that squaw and driving all the way to Myrtle Beach without telling anybody normal?”
“Believe me, Earl, Mama has her reasons. And you have no right to talk about Goldie like that. We’re lucky Mama has her.”
“Yeah, it’s easy for you to say that sittin’ up there seven hundred miles away while we have to suffer the consequences for everything down here.”
“I don’t appreciate that insinuation, Earl,” he snapped, pressing lightly on what he suddenly detected as a mild pain in his lower abdomen.
“Listen, ole buddy, I know there’s no love lost between the two of us, and this sho ain’t no social call. All I’m asking is that you talk with Mama and get her to see Dr. Singer. Is that too much to ask? I mean, let’s not beat around the bush, Ty. We know you’ve always been Mama’s favorite, so maybe she’ll listen to you and make life a little easier for us.”
“Earl,” Tyler finally said caustically, looking up from the disturbing figures on one report, “I don’t see any need for spite and sarcasm, so let’s try to remain civil, if that’s okay with you.”
“I’m always civil, so stop trying to give me bullshit,” Earl almost exploded, panting the same way he did when he spoke with his mother at the inn.
“I won’t continue this conversation till you calm down.”
“Goddammit, Ty, don’t tell me what to do.”
“Then stop raving like some maniac, dear boy, and let’s try to have an intelligent conversation.”
“And don’t call me dear boy. Nobody calls me dear boy.”
Tyler let out a gruff laugh. “Sometimes I think you’re the one who’s got problems, Earl, not Mama.”
“Whatta you mean by that crack?”
“Forget it. Just tell me exactly what y’all expect from me.”
“I just told you. Mama’s as much your responsibility as ours, and the least you can do is talk some sense into her about going to the doctor. Is that too much to ask? And it’s also driving me nuts the way she wheels around in that car by herself, so you could have a few words with her about that. And if she won’t listen to you…Well, we might have to take some drastic steps.”
Tyler remained silent for a moment as he continued to press on his gut, then uttered a sigh of frustration. “Okay, Earl, I’ll have another talk with Mama, but I’m warning you not to threaten her, not unless you care to bite off more than you can chew. You forget Mama’s a tough gal, and you also forget I wouldn’t do anything in this world to hurt her.”
“Are you implying we would?” Earl grumbled.
While her two sons were sparring about their mother’s future, Ella’s mind couldn’t have been further distracted from the subject as she excitedly surveyed the fishing pier while waiting on the Marianis and Goldie to rent poles and buy bait. Although it was still early, at least half the rickety, wooden benches were already occupied, and as she meandered farther out with rod in hand, observing the mostly rugged, silent, stone-faced men and women with lines in the water, she hoped that all the empty buckets and chests were not an indication of how the fish were, as Big Earl used to say, “cooperating.” Sighting an empty bench facing north, she balanced her rod against the railing, sat down, adjusted her floppy red hat, and unzipped the front of her cotton jacket.
“Don’t waste yo time, little lady,” she heard the scruffy, middle-aged man over on her left grouse loudly. “So far, ain’t nothing much out there worth baiting yo hook for.”
“No luck?” she called back, noticing the equally harsh-looking woman seated next to him threading a bloodworm on a hook.
“Naw, nothin’ to speak of. Been here since seven and think we’re just feedin’ the crabs.”
“Maybe when the tide turns
—” Ella began just as he suddenly jerked the rod back very dramatically, waited a second, then began reeling in steadily.
“Ain’t nothin’ but a puny spot, I can tell you that right off the bat.”
And sure enough, what he pulled in was a spot no bigger than a small hairbrush. Still, the woman with a cigarette dangling from her crimson lips put down her rod, quickly unhooked the fish, and tossed it into a plastic bucket.
“Gimme a shrimp,” the man then directed. “Maybe there’s a hungry flounder foolin’ ’round somewhere out there.”
Just hearing the word “shrimp” triggered still another memory for Ella as she pressed both hands down on the rotting bench, gazed blankly at the small whitecaps on the water, and was forced to remember the one and only time she was ever disloyal to Big Earl, back in the fifties. The episode occurred not long after the family had moved into the big house on Colville, and no doubt nothing would have ever happened if any one of many circumstances had been different. First, since Earl had been working harder and longer than ever building up the company, including some weekends, he was usually so preoccupied and exhausted when he got home that rarely did he even feel up to giving the children much attention or indulging in much of the close intimacy with Ella that had once been so vital to their marriage. Gradually, she had learned to condition herself to this troubling reality, but many were the nights in bed when, hearing Earl begin to snore almost the second his head hit the pillow, she yearned to be held and caressed and made to feel like the attractive, vigorous woman she still was.
Earl had not been really that anxious to attend a dinner dance with two other couples at the club one Saturday evening, but when Ella reminded him that plans had been made weeks in advance and that she had already engaged someone to stay with the children, he, as usual, agreed to do anything that would make her happy. One of the young couples, Dennis and Naomi Chapman, had moved to Charlotte from Atlanta just the previous year when he was made executive vice-president of Wachovia Bank, and while Ella viewed Naomi as a social-climbing snob with little if any notable family roots to justify her pretensions, she genuinely liked Dennis, who was Hollywood handsome and sharp as a tack, utterly down to earth, and almost as good a dancer as Earl. It was, in fact, after the two had executed a stylish tango that had everyone at the table, even Naomi, clapping wildly, that Dennis happened to mention an associate at the bank who’d just returned from Wilmington and brought him a whopping ten pounds of the most beautiful fresh shrimp he’d ever seen—right off the boat. Ella’s only reaction was to criticize the mushy, disgraceful shrimp found in even Charlotte’s best seafood markets and to proclaim how she’d just given up trying to make a decent shrimp remoulade or shrimp bog.
“You want some good shrimp?” asked Dennis, seated next to her at the table.
“Oh, Lord, I wasn’t implying…,” Ella stammered, trying to ignore his leg touching hers.
“Don’t be silly. We’ll never use up ten pounds of shrimp, even freezing most of them in water. Tell you what. I’ll drop off a couple of pounds tomorrow or the next day.”
Sunday passed, but, sure enough, late Monday morning, long after Earl had dropped the kids off at school and taken off for Greensboro to inspect an expensive new press he and Jay were thinking about buying, Dennis showed up at the house with two plastic cartons of large shrimp already frozen in water. Since Ella still hadn’t found a good housekeeper, she was alone and busy arranging spice bottles in a kitchen cabinet while music played quietly on a radio perched on a shelf. He was dressed in the sort of conventional, dark-vested suit and conservative silk necktie expected of most bankers, which contrasted starkly with her casual, open-necked, collared blouse worn outside beige linen slacks. After chatting awhile at the kitchen table about the trick of freezing shrimp in water and her problems fixing up the new house, she finally asked if he’d like a Bloody Mary or a bite of lunch.
“Gotta watch my time,” he said, tapping his wristwatch while gazing intently at her eyes. “Appointment this afternoon with a real-estate developer who’s applying for a whoppin’ loan.”
“Oh, then don’t let me keep you,” Ella said, exchanging provocative glances with him and admiring his long dark eyelashes that seemed to flutter inordinately.
He chuckled quietly. “Well, he’s not due till midafternoon, so…Hell, I could use a good Bloody Mary on a sweltering day like this—if you don’t mind.” He loosened his necktie. “Earl coming home for lunch?”
“Earl’s in Greensboro today, and the kids don’t get home till about three,” she informed him, reaching into the refrigerator for a can of tomato juice, then stepping into the den for a bottle of vodka on the bar. “Mild or spicy?” she asked next, holding up a small bottle of Tabasco.
“Now, whatta you think, honey?” he teased suggestively, pounding his fist in the air and laughing. “Would an expert tango dancer want anything mild?”
They both laughed, and Ella once again admired his handsome face and wide smile when she handed him the drink and sat back down. “You don’t meet many dignified bankers who can do a mean tango, I can tell you that.”
“Honey, banking ain’t got nothing to do with having a little fun from time to time,” he jested, drinking a big gulp and, eyes wide open, exclaiming, “Oh boy, sister, you’re not just a great dancer but really know how to make a damn good drink.”
They made more small talk awhile longer, and when Ella saw that his glass was almost empty, she got up and poured another round from the pitcher.
“Listen,” he said suddenly, pointing to the radio. “Buddy Holly. ‘Peggy Sue.’ You like this rock ’n’ roll?”
“Some of it’s pretty good,” she admitted, noticing now the way his alluring brown eyes seemed to be devouring every inch of her upper body.
“What say we give it a quick twirl?” he then asked, standing up, taking off his jacket, and extending his arms.
“Oh, Dennis, are you crazy?” she whined, observing how stocky he looked in the tight vest.
“Come on,” he insisted, obviously feeling his drinks. “Let’s see if your shag’s as good as your tango.”
“You shag?” she asked excitedly.
“Try me.”
For a second, the proposition frightened Ella, but then she reasoned that Dennis was such a decent gentleman. So, giving in to the alcohol and the urge to indulge in a little innocent frivolity, she uttered, “Why not?”
The problem was that a little innocent frivolity quickly developed into a passionate adventure as the music changed to a romantic Peggy Lee ballad, and he pressed his strong body securely against hers, and she could feel his heavy, warm breathing on the side of her face. At first, she resisted the temptation to allow the dance to continue as they swayed together on the kitchen floor to one of June Christie’s sultry songs, but when he began to nibble on her neck and ever so gradually maneuvered a hand across her firm breast, she was simply unable to control the shiver that raced through her body and the craving to act.
“Let’s don’t let this get out of hand, Dennis,” she muttered, relishing the torrid sensations that had been virtually smothered by Earl for weeks.
“Is there somewhere else more comfortable where we can sit down?” was his only comment as he continued to caress her.
For another instant, she tried to imagine the dangerous consequences of their reckless behavior in the full light of day, but when it dawned on her that what they were indulging in was no more than fervid lust and that, if anything, Dennis had as much or more to lose if the frolic were ever exposed, she broke away from him momentarily, locked the kitchen door, and simply pointed to the entrance to the den. And there on the sofa, while the music played, and without so much as a prolonged deep kiss or any other gesture of amorous affection, and each of them still half-dressed, they made erotic love that left them both panting like exhausted animals. When the escapade was over, Ella did fix him a ham and cheese sandwich, and they both agreed, like any sensible, confident human beings with succes
sful marriages, never to repeat the chancy diversion. And they never did, remaining close friends for many years, till Dennis, after becoming the highly respected president of the bank, died of complications from diabetes. The fact that Ella felt little shame after the wanton encounter did bother her for a couple of weeks, not so much because she had been unfaithful to her neglectful husband but because it reinforced the reality of how much she truly enjoyed just the act of sex itself. But not one to dwell on inconsequential foibles, she never again gave much thought to the incident except when the subject of shrimp came up.
“Ready to catch a shark?” she heard Edmund asking behind her as he squeezed one of her sides, balanced his rented rod on the railing, and pulled a small plastic bag of bloodworms out of the pocket of his Windbreaker.
“So far, things don’t look too promising,” she grumbled as he edged next to her on the bench. “Wouldn’t you know it?”
A few yards away, Sal and Elizabeth claimed the first empty bench they saw, and still farther out on the pier, Tommy and Rex watched Goldie carefully as she baited the hooks on her line, then those on the rods rented for the boys.
“That weight on your line’s too heavy,” Ella told O’Conner, pointing to the small tackle box Goldie had left beside the bench. “Hand me a Number 2 weight, if you would.”
“How can you tell?” he asked, fascinated by her instinctive know-how.
