Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter

by Lisa Patton

  Hearing her words made me shiver and that familiar sinking feeling returned to the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when anything close to this had ever happened to me.

  “Then what did she say?” Alice wanted to know.

  “I’m thinking.” Poor Mary Jule was so shaken up, it pained her to continue.

  “Try and remember everything, Mary Jule, try,” Virginia told her.

  “I’m trying; I’m just so upset that I can hardly think straight. Oh yeah, Helga also said that she is furious about all the changes you made around here while she was gone. I’m sorry, Leelee, that’s our fault.” She glared over at the other two. Virginia and Alice rolled their eyes when Mary Jule tried to pass the buck.

  “Helga wrapped it up by saying something like: ‘She cannot make changes. If she does, there won’t be any customers left and you won’t have any tips.’ Then she said: ‘Trust me, Pierre, she will fail, and I’ll get my inn back and you’ll have your pension back. Then, we’ll be free of her.’ Or something to that effect.”

  Four hundred more collective gasps for air later, Alice spoke up. “It’s a good thing we decided to come here and it was an even better decision to redecorate. It made her mad enough at you to dig her own grave.”

  “I thought Pierre was my friend. It really makes me sad to think he would turn on me like that.”

  “I guess Helga’s his better friend. They must be good friends, Leelee. Why else would she confide in him?” Virginia said.

  “I don’t know, but it looks like you’re right. God, when will this nightmare end? I’m going home with y’all. Can we leave right now?”

  “I would love nothin’ more than to take you home right now, seriously I would. I hate to tell you, friend, but it’s showtime. You have no other choice but to fire the bitch,” Virginia said.

  “Fire her.” I couldn’t even imagine such a thing.

  All three of them, in unison, yelled, “Yes!”

  “I can’t do that.” I closed my eyes and jittered in my seat.

  “Oh yes you can,” Alice insisted.

  “You can and you will. You have to, Leelee. There’s no other way. This woman has not only thwarted everything you’ve tried to do over the last five months, but now she’s responsible for introducing Baker to another woman!” Virginia’s voice climbed ten decibels when she said “woman.”

  Anger started to rumble around in my stomach and I could feel the heat climbing up my insides and to my head. Screw you, Baker, for leaving me to wipe up your nasty mess.

  Virginia leaned in closer to me. “I would do it now. Why would you want her to ever step a toe in your house again?”

  “I don’t ever want her back here. But . . . will you do it for me, Alice?” I said it half kidding, half serious.

  “Yeah, will you do it for her?” Mary Jule asked Alice on my behalf.

  “It’s not that I would mind doing it for you. But that is not gonna work with her. You have to be the one to do it. Now’s the perfect time. We’ll be right there with you,” Alice said. “If you put it off, you might lose your nerve.”

  As much as I dreaded it, I knew somewhere way, way down deep that they were right. “I know you’re right, and I’m gonna do it, I swear. But I just don’t know how to do it.”

  Mary Jule stood up. “Just tell her you won’t be needing her services anymore, thank you very much.”

  “Tell her to get the hell out of your house immediately,” Alice said.

  “You are so full of it, Alice—like you’d really say that to anyone,” Mary Jule teased.

  “Rolf’s gonna quit when I fire her. There’s no way he’ll work here anymore,” I told them.

  “So what? Peter can take over. He can handle it. I’ve been watching him; he’s working much harder than Rolf anyway,” Virginia said.

  “Maybe I ought to warn him first.”

  “Forget it; he’ll be fine,” she said, and rubbed my knee.

  Again, a flash of fury engulfed me and I tensed under its grip. Fear followed and I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. I didn’t want to have to do it. “I am so mad. But even more I’m scared to face her.”

  “I know you’re scared,” Virginia said. “And I don’t blame you, but we’re with you, honey.”

  “The longer you put it off, the harder it’ll be. You can do it.” Alice took my hand and pulled me up out of the love seat.

  “Okay. But can’t we do it tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely not,” Alice said. “We have to do it right now.”

  All four of us took a deep breath and locked hands as we started toward the kitchen. I couldn’t help falling behind as the caboose, relishing the final seconds before I had to face off with Helga. Face off with Helga? I’d never faced off with anyone, much less a six-foot-tall German woman with a strong personality.

  It seemed like a mile-long walk from my apartment to the kitchen. Time slowed to a crawl as everything I had been through these last six months flooded my mind. I never wanted to move to Vermont in the first place. I just packed up my stuff and moved to a remote corner of the world because of a man—a man whom I had loved so long that I couldn’t remember what it was like to kiss another. It struck me that for every time I had ever wondered how my life would’ve played out had I never met Baker Satterfield, nothing could’ve prepared me for this. No matter how much my life to this point was a result of his influence, his desires, his idea of how things should be (including me), it was changed forever in the brief time it took to read his letter.

  I was trying to be a good wife and support my husband—and where did it get me? Absolutely nowhere. He wasn’t supportive of me. He up and left me to run a Vermont inn and take care of our children all by myself while he ran off to ski seven days a week. And this witch of a German bitch, my mortgage holder, was responsible. It was Helga Schloygin who set the whole thing up. And furthermore, she’d been bossing me around in my own home ever since I arrived in Vermont. The more I thought about it all, the more furious I became until I was completely enraged . . . at last!

  Out of nowhere, my anxiety vanished and a new resolve descended upon me, propelling me into the kitchen. Past Alice, past Mary Jule, and past Virginia I paraded—right up to Helga, who was wiping down the liquor bottles with a bar towel. Sensing the swiftness with which I made my beeline toward her, she chose not to look up.

  “Helga Schloygin, who do you think you are?” I demanded to know.

  She still refused to look at me. Her cig hung from the side of her mouth as she turned and feverishly stacked her liquor bottles back on the shelves above her.

  “Did you hear me, Helga? I asked you who do you think you are? How. Dare. You?” I said, without one ounce of fear. (I’d always fantasized saying that to someone.) “How dare you,” I repeated (just to hear myself say it again), “introduce my husband to another woman? What have I ever done to you that would make you stoop so low as to intentionally try and break up my marriage?” I was pointing my finger straight at her, now breaking a cardinal rule of Southern etiquette. “Maybe it never occurred to you, but you’re not the only person here who can speak to Pierre. My dear friend Mary Jule spent a year at the Sorbonne!”

  I didn’t look behind me but that statement may have sent Mary Jule flying back to the apartment.

  Still, Helga tried to ignore me. Once she finished with the liquor bottles she began busying herself on the calculator in an attempt to total the dinner checks. I continued to stare at her in silence.

  Helga suddenly tried to escape but I stepped in her path. “Don’t think for a minute you can walk away from me. What’s wrong, Helga? Do you not want the whole world to know that you’re the cause of my husband leaving? We have two little girls together.”

  At last she spoke, wryly, still not having the decency to look me in the eye. “I am not ze cause. You are your own cause.” Her nasty cigarette still dangled from her lips.

  The old Leelee would have run off in tears right about now
but the new Leelee tore out of the corner of the boxing ring. “No, I am not! I have been a good wife to him. Maybe I’ve had a hard time adjusting to this freezing cold winter wasteland, but I have done nothing to you. Baker Satterfield may be a low-down dirty rotten jerk but you are worse. I’ve wanted to tell you what I think of you for five months and until five minutes ago I never thought I’d get the nerve. But you’ve plopped yourself on my last nerve for the last time, Helga Schloygin. YOU ARE FIRED.” By now I was up on my tippy toes, shrieking like a banshee.

  Absolute silence fell upon the room. Not a sound, not a movement, not a clink of a glass nor a clank of a plate could be heard—nothing except the pounding of my heart. Everyone in the kitchen was perfectly still. Mary Jule, Alice, and Virginia were on one side staring at me in utter disbelief and the people that I’d only known a few months were on the other side, equally shocked. I stood there in the middle, dumbfounded myself.

  The furrow in between Helga’s eyes deepened and because she wore her hair slicked back in a tight bun, her ears were in plain view. They looked as though they could blow steam at any moment, they were so red. Her face became even more crimson and she started shaking, as if she might spontaneously combust. But what could she say? She was caught and she knew it.

  No one noticed Gracie slink into the kitchen. In our haste, one of us must have left the apartment door open by mistake, and upon hearing my voice, she snuck into the room while I was delivering my emancipation speech. She had a payback plan of her own.

  Gracie slipped up to Helga and grabbed ahold of one of her pants legs with her tiny teeth. Breaking the silence, Gracie growled and shook her head from side to side while she tugged on the witch’s navy trousers. That infuriated the Sergeant and she raised her leg and shook it, lifting Princess Grace up off the floor. Pierre, who had been nervously sipping on his coffee cup the whole time I was firing Helga, came to Gracie’s rescue and bent down to get her loose.

  Once he separated Gracie from Helga and put her safely back on the floor, Helga tried to kick her. But Princess Grace Kelly was too quick. She started racing around the kitchen, lickety-split, with Helga right behind her. After darting around, under the cooking line and in and out below the deep chrome sinks, my little Yorkie dashed back out of the kitchen.

  In defeat, Helga grabbed her purse and muttered something in German to Rolf, who stood at the stove, flabbergasted. He tore off his apron, threw it down on the floor, and both of them stormed toward the back exit. Before the screened door had a chance to slam behind them, the Sergeant turned around and charged back inside with a ghastly scowl that would have frightened even her, had there been a mirror in the kitchen.

  This is it, I thought, she’s gonna knock me down. Instead she stormed over to the bar, slightly slipping on something, and bent down to grab her beloved hippos. The box had been pushed far enough under the bar that Helga had to crawl on all fours to scoot it back out. When she bent over it was clear Gracie must have left her a going-away present. The bottom of Helga’s right navy flat had Princess poop smashed all over it. When she stood up she started sniffing the air and lifted each foot to get a look at the soles of her feet.

  “Zat, zat, mutt, I vill kill it!” she yelled, as she took off her shoe. “Vhere is it?”

  “NEVA MIND!” Rolf cried out from the back door in his booming voice. And Helga limped toward him, madder than a hornet, one shoe on and one shoe off.

  When the door finally slammed behind them, the silence returned and hung thick in the air. Once again, all eyes were on me. My fear crept back in like an old demon returning to its roost. Overcome with angst and doubt, I wanted to run away and hide. I wanted to turn around and run as fast as my legs could carry me. I wanted to take my friends, my little girls, and my Gracie and hitchhike if I had to, all the way back to Memphis, Tennessee, right that instant.

  “You fired her,” Jeb said.

  “She’s gone,” Roberta muttered, as though she, too, was in a state of shock.

  Pierre made the sign of the cross on his heart and muttered, “Ay yi yi.”

  Kerri and Jonathan just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Peter stared at the floor and my best friends remained still, silent, stunned.

  Maybe the Vermonters don’t believe me, I thought. Perhaps they think I made the whole thing up. I knew all too well of their loyalty to Rolf and Helga. Pierre, Jeb, and Roberta were twenty-year veterans at the Vermont Haus Inn. They had pension plans and paid vacations. They even had their health insurance covered by the Schloygins.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, as sincerely as I could, turning around to face them. I’d held back my tears long enough, and they sprung forth like a bubbling brook. “But she left me no choice. She introduced Baker to Barb Thurmond on purpose.”

  An awkward moment of silence was followed by a miraculous turn. Everyone standing on the opposing side of the kitchen broke into applause. They cheered and whooped and they hollered—paying homage to me! Each and every person wore a smile that could have lit the inn on fire. Jeb put two fingers up to his mouth and whistled in a high-pitched tone.

  Roberta hooked arms with Jeb and the two began do-si-doing right in front of the Hobart. Pierre, happy to finally have a communicative comrade, grabbed Mary Jule’s arm and waltzed her around the room. Virginia and Alice paired up to do-si-do, Kerri and Jonathan jumped in to jitterbug. And that left Peter and me. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, I’m not sure what just happened here, but smiled and locked arms with me anyway. As we fumbled our way through an extemporaneous two-step, I felt so connected with Peter. He was cheery, easy to get along with, and, above all, fun.

  A hoedown of happiness was going on in the kitchen of the newly named Peach Blossom Inn and I believe I was the happiest person of all.

  Pierre escaped down cellar and emerged a jubilant man with as many bottles of champagne as he could carry. Alice popped open the first bottle and as it spilled onto the floor she exclaimed, “Hey, y’all, ding-dong the bitch is gaawn!” Jeb started right in with a whistling rendition of “Ding-Dong the Witch Is Dead,” and for the first time since I’d first heard him whistle, I could have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him. Corks were popping, glasses were toasting, and the champagne was bubbling.

  ______

  The one and only problem with firing Helga was now I had no head chef. I was hoping Peter would want the position so once the partying died down, I motioned to him to follow me out to the dining room. I didn’t even ask him to sit down, I started right in as soon as we entered the room. “You must be wondering what in the world you’ve gotten yourself into.” By now, and thanks to the alcohol, I felt comfortable around him.

  He got a cute look on his face and smiled. “Well, I won’t need to browse the drama section at the video store any longer. That’s for sure.”

  I reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “Was it that bad? That was not the normal me back there. I swear. But that woman deliberately broke up my marriage.”

  “Hey, I’m not criticizing you. You were great. I just wish I had it on tape to send to that Jerry Springer guy.”

  Right about then the girls rounded the corner, laughing, glowing, and more than just a little tipsy.

  “Leelee Satterfield, I am speechless,” Virginia said, and raised her glass. “You have blown my ever-loving mind.” It would be a million years before Virginia would get over my new personality.

  “I can’t believe that was you talking back there. Honey. You have changed,” Mary Jule said. “I’m so jealous.” She looked over at Peter. “She’s the best.”

  “There is no way in hell I could have ever done that. It was the performance of a lifetime. I am so proud of you.” Alice reached over to hug me and when she did, a little of her drink spilled down my back.

  “Y’all, hush,” I said. “We might scare Peter away and I have something very important to ask him.” I turned toward him. “So, it looks like I’ve got an opening for a head chef. How would you feel abou
t taking over?” When I asked him I kind of openly winced like I was afraid of what he might say. “I can pay you what Rolf was getting. That’s six hundred dollars per week.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m thrilled to have the opportunity.” Peter genuinely seemed thrilled. I could tell by the way his nose flared slightly and the deep breath he took before exhaling what appeared to be a sigh of relief.

  Alice took him by the hand and dragged him all around the downstairs, pointing out all the glorious changes we had made. The rest of us followed right behind while Mary Jule explained our plans to change the name to the Peach Blossom Inn. Virginia told him all about the special peach desserts we wanted to add to the menu and Alice threw in her plan to make peach daiquiris the summer specialty of the house. I floated along with them, not really saying much, but feeling so fabulous and peaceful inside. Even if it were only temporary, my spirit seemed to be at rest.

  “I’ve got a toast,” Peter announced, once we had settled down at the round table in the palm tree dining room. He lifted his champagne glass and extended it right over to me. “To the boss. A real Dixie peach!”

  Brassy cheers exploded from the other Dixie peaches and each clumsily leaned over from where she sat to make sure her own flute tapped Peter’s.

  Me, a boss? Before Peter left that night, we each took turns hugging him. When my turn came, I wanted to really embrace him to let him know how much I appreciated his help, but I gave him a light squeeze instead. Peter is the nicest guy, I thought. God must have surely sent him to rescue me.

  I fell into bed that night going back over, again and again, what had happened in the hours before. Had I actually said “how dare you” to someone, much less Helga? And the hot fudge was I fired her! I really and truly had the nerve, on my own, to fire Helga Schloygin. How great is that? I am not the same person I was five months ago, I thought. I never, ever would have had the nerve to say any of the things I did if my daddy were still alive. He would have done it for me. And after that, Baker kind of did it for me. I knew one thing for sure. I liked the new me.