Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter

by Lisa Patton

  There was one thing my friends didn’t know about Jeb. Unless someone was watching over him and lighting a fire to his bottom, Jeb Duggar was as slow as a bottle of Heinz ketchup. He was used to taking work at his own pace with frequent breaks. Every time he’d take a seat, one of the girls would lean over him and say, “Can you please help me with this, Jayeb,” or “Jayeb, darlin’, these draperies need hanging over here.”

  Alice reached out her hand when he was sitting on the bottom step resting and pulled him up to be her dance partner when “Brown Sugar” came on. “Jitterbug with me, sugar.”

  When I saw Jeb step on her toe with his big ole foot, and she dropped his grip and boogied away from him, I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Virginia shimmied right on up to him and broke into a twist. Jeb tried as hard as he could to twist along with her, but when he tried squatting down to equal Virginia, the poor thing’s feet spilled right out in front of him. He tottered over backward and, well, that was the end of that.

  That man had never seen anything close to the likes of these three Tennessee girls. And I’d never seen anything like Jeb Duggar’s sudden productivity. Beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks. He was a-heaving and a-hoeing as he carried the Schloygins’ old, tattered furniture upstairs to the junk room, and hauled my antique furniture down to take its place.

  “It’s a good thing you don’t live in Tennessee,” Mary Jule told him, “we’d all be fighting over you.”

  At some point during the morning, Alice slipped out to the hardware store and came back with buckets of peach paint and plenty of drop cloths. The girls had talked Jeb into helping them paint both the parlor and the entrance hall a fabulous shade of pale peach.

  He had to call in a helper though, when Virginia presented him with the new rolls of wallpaper. I caught him grumbling under his breath. Something about not seeing what was wrong with the old stuff, but with my best friends egging him on, he papered anyway. It took all of us two days to transform the dowdy red-checked dining room into a lovely Southern showplace.

  Once the paint was dry, Virginia rearranged all the bookshelves and placed my knickknacks around the room. She could make any room look like it belonged on a page straight out of Veranda.

  “Don’t throw anything out,” I reminded her. “Let’s just repack Helga’s castoffs inside my old boxes and we’ll give it all back to her. Trust me, we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t.”

  After three rigorous days of cosmetic surgery, my inn had a brand-new face. By the time we were finished, the Vermont Haus Inn was cute, cozy, comfy, and definitely Southernized. When you walked in the front door, you couldn’t help but feel you were south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The draperies from my house in Memphis were hanging on the windows in the parlor. Sarah’s and Isabella’s portraits hung in the foyer and the rest of my paintings were scattered all over the place. The red checks on the dining room walls had disappeared and were replaced with parrots and toucans, palm trees and tropical plants on a peach background.

  Antique books from my family’s collection had replaced the twenty-year supply of National Geographics. The dozens of old, half-burned red candles were in the trash, and Helga’s vast collection of gewgaws were finally out of the bookshelves and packed away.

  My cushioned sofas and chintz easy chairs had taken the place of the old torn-up musty Schloygin furniture. My porcelain Herend animals replaced Helga’s hippo collection on the mantel and that, I was sure, would be the final blow.

  All the inn needed now was a fresh coat of peach paint on the outside and a brand-new sign that said PEACH BLOSSOM INN. Whether I would really change the name or not remained to be seen, but I loved the way it looked on the inside. And the new paint certainly helped the fusty smell, let me tell you.

  With only two days left before the reopening, the four of us strolled around the downstairs admiring our feat of excellence. Jeb, still clad in an old one-piece work suit, was so worn out that he dragged behind hardly able to speak. We were pooped, too, but so ready to savor our new creation and revel in our achievement. Seeing my old things again gave me a huge lift and I couldn’t stop smiling. Mary Jule and I ran our hands over the crisp peach walls and I even stuck my nose alongside, just to smell the fumes of the new paint. Jeb complained about the vapors but I told him he was crazy to wish for that rank odor back for even a second.

  Alice, who had probably done the least amount of work, stood in the center of the freshly papered dining room and declared, “We are missing the boat, here, y’all. The Designing Women don’t have a thing on us. I’m ready to start up our own interior design firm and hire Jeb to be our Anthony.”

  “And I’ll be Suzanne Sugarbaker. Lord knows I’ve always wanted to be in a beauty pageant,” Virginia said, and faked like she was fixing a crown on her head.

  “Who’s Anthony?” Jeb asked.

  “The Vee Eye Pee!” Virginia told him, and went up to where he was flaked out in a chair and readjusted his mustache.

  Jeb beamed with delight.

  We had all changed out of our paint clothes—freshly bought from a tag sale just down the street—into jeans and light sweaters. As we lounged around in my comfy furniture in the parlor that now looked like my living room back home, Virginia got a devious look on her face.

  She looked over at Jeb with her notorious impish grin, and upon seeing it I knew we were in trouble. “You look like you could use a drink, Mr. Duggar. How would you like for us to treat you to an ice-cold brewski for all your hard work? Surely, y’all have somewhere up here to get an ice-cold beer.”

  As worn out as he was, Jeb perked up like he had just been told he’d sold his first computer. “We sure do. Gut lots of places around here to get beer. How about the Moose Head? They have about twenty different kinds.” He glanced over at me for assurance.

  “That sounds peachy to me,” Virginia said. (She had never said “that sounds peachy” about anything, but she was trying to act silly for Jeb’s benefit.) “I’ve got another great idea, let’s all go in Jayeb’s car. You wouldn’t mind taking us for a spin in your cute pink car, would you, Jayeb?”

  Virginia Murphey loves an oddity more than anyone I know. And the quirkier the better. The idea of riding in a rusted-out pink Chevy Chevette with JEB’S COMPUTER WORLD on one side and MARY KAY on the other was as exhilarating to her as riding in an eighty-thousand-dollar Mercedes convertible would be to a normal person.

  “I wouldn’t mind at all, but I think you’d like my truck better. It’s a newer model and it’s gut two jump seats in my extended cab.” He thought about it for a second and stroked his beard. “I haven’t had a chance to remove the plow in the front, though.”

  “Oh, no no no,” Virginia said. “We would much rather ride in your Jeb’s Computer World pink car. Right, girls?”

  Everyone nodded with glee. The pièce de résistance of the trip had arrived.

  “Alreet. I’ll go start her up. She seems to be a little slow on the take these days, but once I get her goin’, look out!”

  Before heading out to the Moose Head, the girls just had to tour Jeb’s Computer World and get their pictures made out front. Jeb posed eagerly, arm in arm with each of my friends as I snapped the pictures they desperately wanted as souvenirs and would probably send out for Christmas cards.

  “Can we take a quick peek inside, Jayeb darlin’?” Alice asked him.

  “I suppose. Are you in the market for a computer?”

  “I might be,” Alice lied. “You’ll have to show me your stuff and I’ll call my husband.”

  “In that case, step into my showroom.” Jeb gestured his right arm toward the door. “Only two people at a time, though.”

  We disregarded that last comment and all crammed in at once. I don’t know what I thought I expected, but seeing the inside of Jeb’s Computer World in person was a lifer moment for me. The lone, off-brand computer was set up on top of an old wooden desk. A space heater was in the corner and he couldn’t close the door
all the way because of the big orange extension cord that ran from his mama’s house to the lean-to. A crinkly poster of Peter Fonda in Easy Rider was thumbtacked to one wall and on the back of the door hung a poster of a scantily clad girl in a bikini, which barely covered the girl’s breasts. The only thing in the room related to computers at all was the computer. It looked more like the inside of a teenager’s tree house, to tell you the truth.

  Jeb started to give Alice the big sales pitch and after about a minute or two of that Alice waved her hand and cut him off. “I’m not interested in all that technical stuff, just tell me what colors they come in and I’ll make my decision later.”

  “My computers only come in one color,” he told her, “and you’re looking at it.”

  “I’ll have to think about it and get back with you, sugar. I’m not really a beige person. Hey, I’m ready for a cold one. Outta here, let’s go, y’all,” she said, and scooted us back out the door.

  Once outside, I told everyone to go on to the Moose Head without me. I had work-related phone calls to make and I sure wasn’t going to bring Sarah and Issie to a bar. Mandy had been watching them for me while we decorated but couldn’t stay the evening. I waved good-bye to all of them and crossed the street back to our apartment. They are some kind of crazy, I thought. Although, I’d be doing the same thing, I’m sure, if the situation had been reversed, and I was visiting one of them in a foreign corner of America.

  Toot toot. The horn startled me as I was turning the doorknob to get inside. Pulled right up alongside the picket fence was the pink, weather-rusted Chevy Chevette with Jeb in the driver’s seat, Virginia (wearing his top hat) in the passenger seat, and Alice and Mary Jule in the back.

  “Leelee, what’s the name of the gas station we wanna stop at?” Virginia yelled, and stuck her head way out the window. “We’re gonna fill up Jeb’s Mary Kay—I mean JCW—car for him as a treat.” She shot me an “are you believing this” look.

  “George Clark’s,” I yelled back across the yard. “Jeb knows where it is.”

  “Great,” she said, and ducked back into the front seat. “First stop, George Clark’s, next stop Moose Head.”

  “Toodeloo, Leelee,” Alice hollered from the backseat, and leaned over Jeb’s shoulder to crank up the radio.

  “GUN IT, JAYEB!” Virginia screamed and Jeb Duggar sped off with my three best friends in tow, windows rolled down and the radio blasting.

  A hot flash of terror screamed through my body as soon as I opened my eyes the next morning. It was official. My vacation from Helga was over. I was going to have to face her completely on my own with no more Baker as a barrier between us. I decided to put it out of my mind, for a few minutes anyway, as I huddled in front of the space heater and dressed for the day.

  Alice and Mary Jule found their way down to the apartment about nine, despite their throbbing heads, all dressed up in their jogging suits and ready to explore the neighborhood on foot. When they walked into the apartment, Virginia threw on her tennis shoes to go with them and I soaked bandannas in Skin So Soft. Wanting to prolong my vacation as long as possible, and avoid any accidental collisions with Rolf or Helga, I was happy to stay behind with Issie and Sarah.

  On their way out of the apartment door, all bundled up of course and armed with the toe heaters I had given them, I heard Alice saying hello to someone. When I peeked through the window, I was relieved to learn it was Roberta. She was returning from the backyard, clad in her Sorel snow boots, with a spade in one hand and a brown grocery bag in the other. I joined them outside.

  “You must be Roberta,” Alice said before I could make the introduction, and gave her a hug. “You have saved our Leelee from house work hell. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  I was a little concerned that that might make Roberta feel bad, so I said, “Alice’s just jealous, Roberta.”

  “Glad to be of service! You’ve gut quite a crew there, Leelee.”

  “Now don’t I though? This is Virginia, Mary Jule, and you’ve just met Alice.”

  “Nice to meet all yous.” Roberta smiled her smile, and her natural warmth enveloped us all.

  “What’s in your bag?” Virginia asked.

  Roberta couldn’t wait to show us her haul. “I’ve gut enough dandelion greens here to eat for Sunday lunch and have leftovers, too.”

  “Pardon me?” Mary Jule wanted to be extra polite to her but she was terribly confused all the same. “Are you talking about the kind of dandelions with a thingamajig that you pick, and blow the little fuzzy, fly-away things?”

  “Yuup. Them are dandelions alreet.”

  “And y’all eat them up here?” Mary Jule asked, ever so gingerly.

  “Why, sure. My husband’s a green lover. He’ll be happy tonight, I tell you.”

  Mary Jule looked over at me on the verge of tears. It all came home to her at that very moment. Her dear friend, Leelee Satterfield, was living in a place where people eat weeds.

  Roberta was proud, as usual, to be the Vermont educator. She told each of them that she would be happy to give them any Vermont information they needed to know, all the while tugging on her undies with the spade still in her hand.

  We chatted with her for a while, until she had to start her prep work. With the restaurant opening that night, Roberta had much to do and cordially shooed the girls on their way.

  Once she thought about bumping into Helga or Rolf, Mary Jule decided to stay inside with me, and the other two took off down the lane.

  Alice spotted Peter first. She and Virginia were returning from their walk when she saw him stepping out of his truck. They were beside themselves when they barged back inside the apartment.

  “Who is that guy that just came in the restaurant door before us?” Alice ran right up to me with Virginia at her heels.

  Since Mary Jule, my daughters, and I were hiding from Rolf and Helga in the apartment I wasn’t sure which guy she was talking about. It could have been Pierre, Rolf, or Peter. They hadn’t met any of them yet.

  “Was he young or old?”

  “Youngish,” Alice said.

  “Blond hair, kinda tall?”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy,” Virginia said.

  “Black truck?”

  “Yes, Leelee, yes! Who is he?” Alice demanded to know.

  “My new sous-chef.”

  “That’s Peter. You have got to be kidding. Why didn’t you tell us he was drop-dead gorgeous?”

  “I don’t know. Is he?”

  “Naw, he’s ugly,” Virginia said.

  “I guess he’s cute, but I’ve always been attracted to dark-headed guys. I was just glad to notice he has good hygiene,” I said.

  “I wanna see him,” said Mary Jule. “Come on, Fiery, introduce us.”

  “No, I don’t want to see Rolf ’til I have to and if I take y’all in the kitchen, I’ll have to talk to him. Besides, Helga could show up at any moment and I wanna avoid her as long as possible.”

  “Oh, come on, you scaredy-cat. What are you so afraid of? We’ll be right with you,” Alice said.

  “Okay. But let’s at least wait ’til Rolf has had a chance to get acquainted with Peter. I don’t want to be the one to introduce the two of them.”

  Peter seemed confident to me, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I was sure his self-introduction to Rolf would go well and the two of them would ease on through the transition. They are both professionals, I thought. Ed had already broken the news to the Schloygins so there really was no need for me to say a word.

  Twenty minutes was all my friends would give me. Knowing I had to face the kitchen people eventually, I white-knuckled it and with the other three trailing behind I crept out to the commercial kitchen for introductions.

  “Hi, Peter,” I said, and shyly waved at him from the door. My friends more or less pushed me from behind into the room.

  He looked up from the veal stock he was preparing and smiled. “Well, hello there, Leelee.”

  “Hi, Rolf
,” I said, and waved at him, too.

  “Hello,” Rolf mumbled. No other comment. Thank God.

  “Everyone, these are my best friends from home. Alice, Virginia, and Mary Jule. They’ve come to help me out.”

  All of my friends politely waved and said, “Hi.”

  Peter smiled again and simply said, “Hi, best friends.”

  Rolf was busy at the cutting board, slicing fillets. He said hello but never looked up again.

  Alice went straight up to Peter and started chatting his head off. “Are you married, Peter?” I could have strangled her.

  “Nope, not married.”

  Alice kept on. “Is that right? How about children, do you have any kids?”

  “No children.”

  “That’s good. Do you like children?” What is she doing? I kept thinking. I was dying to tell her to shut up.

  “Sure, I have lots of nieces and nephews.”

  I couldn’t take it any longer. I smashed my big toe on top of her big toe as hard as I could. She would have killed me if I had done that to her. “Excuse me, y’all, I don’t mean to cut this short but I’m sure Peter’s got a lot to do and Isabella is waiting on you to read her that story, remember, Alice?” I lied.

  “Nice meeting you, Peter, hope you enjoy it here,” Alice said, while I dragged her toward the door.

  “Nice meeting you guys,” he responded.

  “Peter, I’m just curious,” Mary Jule asked, right before we left the kitchen. “Where are you from?”

  “Jersey.”

  “I knew it,” she said. “You sound just like Bruce Springsteen.”

  “That’s funny, I’ve been told Bruce sounds just like me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Vhat is going on here?” Helga demanded to know, in her commanding voice, as soon as she appeared in the kitchen after her two-month “holiday” as she called it.

  Rolf looked up from his usual station behind the chef’s line and answered, “Vhat do you mean, Helga? Everything es all right.”