by Lisa Patton
The Peach Blossom Inn might just have a chance. For the first time thoughts of home didn’t engulf my mind before I fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Best friends can and should be counted on for all kinds of things. Especially revenge. Most particularly in predicaments where a grief-stricken wife is incapable of eyeing her way through the dense amount of stuff that tends to clutter the mind—and the closet. In that case a best friend should have twenty-twenty vision.
“I can’t look at this another minute,” Virginia said as soon as she opened her eyes and caught another glimpse of my closet. “We’re getting his crap out of here today.” She jumped out of bed with far too much oomph for someone who had been drinking champagne the night before.
“I never doubted for a second that you would let it rest.” I grabbed my head but never opened my eyes. “I have a horrible headache, Virginia. How can you be so gung ho this early?”
“Because, today’s the day you are gonna finally wash Baker Satterfield out of your life altogether. Get up right this minute and let’s go upstairs and wake up Alice and Mary Jule.” She banged her toe trying to get around the bed, and yelled, “Ouch!”
“Uhhhhh. I hate this room.” Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of bed and wearily pulled on my jeans and a sweater. After grabbing the baby monitor, Virginia and I headed up the stairs.
Once we had the other two awake, Virginia detailed for all of us her plan to get back at Baker. Mary Jule loved it. Alice really loved it and I—the new I—even thought it was Virginia’s finest to date. Despite their throbbing heads, Alice and Mary Jule got so excited they sprung out of their beds.
“Coffee,” Alice said, “I need, I need.”
“What I need is at least three Cokes. And there better be plenty of cold ones,” Virginia said, looking straight at me.
“You’re wondering if I have cold Coca-Colas? Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Maybe Helga snuck in during the night and stole them from you, Fiery. I don’t know,” Virginia said. “Plus I’m starving. What’s for breakfast?”
“Breakfast! Aaaahhhhh, I forgot all about breakfast. I fired Helga last night.” Rolf was the breakfast chef, and it didn’t take much to figure out that he probably wasn’t in the kitchen flipping pancakes.
We all ran down the stairs and found Pierre behind the cooking line in the kitchen, frantically beating eggs for omelets. Little droplets of sweat made his upper lip glisten and his crimson face glowed next to the heat of the stove. I could only imagine the beating his head must have taken after all the alcohol he had consumed the night before. His smile let me know he was relieved to see us.
Here we had a house full of guests who had paid for bed and breakfast and the maître d’ was cooking the food and delivering it to the tables. Pierre instructed Mary Jule to have us help with the orders out front and she could assist him with the cooking. So while the Frenchies held it together in the back, Virginia, Alice, and I took care of the front—without Helga breathing down our backs. For the first time since moving there, I actually enjoyed working at the inn.
Right after the breakfast rush was over and the kitchen was tidied up, Virginia enlisted Jeb, Pierre, and Roberta as temporary detectives of the GK Agency. She had all of us follow her into my apartment.
“Okay, everyone, here’s the deal,” Virginia said, gathering us around in the sitting room. “Baker’s rotten clothes have been stinking up Leelee’s closet long enough. I want everyone to grab as much as you can hold in your arms and head on out to Jeb’s truck. We’re gonna deliver this junk to Baker personally at his new job, which he obviously thinks is far more important than anything or anyone here.” (It didn’t take much for Virginia to sweet-talk Jeb into using his truck. I’m sure he’d have moved to Tennessee to become her personal houseboy if she’d have only asked.)
We loaded as much of Baker’s junk as could fit into Jeb’s truck and the girls’ rental car. Both vehicles were filled to the brim with all of his clothes, shoes, UT stuff, trophies, fishing equipment, Bill Dance videos, yearbooks, old toiletries, and every bit of his stupid sports paraphernalia.
Powder Mountain was a forty-five-minute drive from Willingham. Jeb knew exactly how to get there so with Alice and Virginia seated right next to him, he led the way to the resort. Mary Jule, Roberta, Pierre, and I followed behind in the rental car with me at the wheel. For the first time, Pierre knew exactly what was going on, thanks to Mary Jule. It certainly felt nice to have an interpreter.
When we drove into Powder Resort, I saw immediately that it was by no means a Sugartree, or a Dannon Mountain for that matter. It was okay looking, but the 1960s, semi-modern exterior eluded the charm of most ski resorts. I was not impressed. Although snow could only be seen in patches on the mountain, the chairlifts were operating for sight-seeing.
As we pulled up in front of the base lodge, Virginia jumped out and dashed back to our car, motioning for me to roll down the window.
“Turn on your hazard lights. Let’s leave the cars here while we unload.” She tapped the door with her hand. “Hop out.” Virginia hurried back to Jeb’s truck and let down the tailgate. She jumped up and stood in the middle of the truck bed. Keeping her voice down she instructed all of us, “Pile up as much as you possibly can.” She started scooping up Baker’s clothes and dumping them, pile by pile, into everyone’s arms. “Leelee, you carry the tackle box, and this big trash bag of his shoes.”
When we were all loaded down in garb and barely able to see over the top, Virginia scooped up as much as she could hold herself and jumped down. Leading the way, she headed for the front door of the base lodge. Virginia turned around backward once she got to the door, pushed it open with her butt, and held the door as the rest of us walked past her to the lobby inside.
“Which way to the chairlift, please?” Virginia stopped to ask someone wearing a green Powder Mountain T-shirt.
“Straight out that door,” the young guy told us and pointed toward two heavy side-by-side metal doors. The bewildered look on his face was priceless.
“Thank you, darlin’,” she said.
We passed tourists taking pictures, others simply strolling around enjoying the scenery, and several kids on skateboards. We passed all kinds of people who were staring us up and down. Virginia just pushed ahead, like she owned the joint.
Undaunted, she marched right up to the chairlift. “ ’Scuse us, ’scuse us.” The few people standing in line to board obediently stepped back to let all from the GK Agency on through. She pushed her way right alongside where the next four-seater would pause, and as it rounded the base of the mountain she looked over at the rest of us and said, “Okay, y’all—one, two, three!” Then she leaned over and flung Baker’s clothes into a big messy pile all over the seats. Proud as punch, she turned around to the rest of us and gestured back toward the lift. “Everybody, let loose!”
Everyone tossed the clothes they had been carrying onto the next few chairlifts and I dumped out the trash bag of shoes on one chair and placed Baker’s tackle box on the next. Right beside it I placed my brand-new Christmas present from Baker. They’re all yours, Barb Thurmond. All of us watched in triumph as the four chairs containing Baker’s expensive suits, Brooks Brothers shirts, shoes, jeans, underwear, T-shirts, and my big ugly boots rode the incline up the mountain.
Items began to fall off as the chairs traveled all the way up. We stood there gloating in the thrill of it all as the first few T-shirts floated to the ground. Some of the hangers caught on the chair handles and Baker’s clothes looked like they were hung out to dry. His freshly starched oxford cloth dress shirts blew in the wind before a few slowly cascaded down onto the muddy ground below.
“Just look at ’em go, woohoo,” Virginia yelled. She shuffled her feet and snapped her fingers like she was doing a little jig. “Bet you wish you’d never left this stuff behind, don’t you, Baker Satterfield?”
I had opened the top to Baker’s new tackle box before pla
cing it on the chairlift. One by one, Baker’s beloved flies soared out. Caught by the wind, they floated through the air before disappearing altogether. I was caught up in the moment and excited along with everyone, but somewhere deep inside my heart zinged.
The other folks in line stopped getting on the lift. I suppose our show was much more exciting than the view atop Powder Mountain.
“Ooops. Guess you and your old lady will have to walk around picking all this stuff up. What’s wrong, Baker? Embarrassed your underwear is flying through the air? I sure hope it’s clean,” Virginia yelled, having the time of her life.
“Hope your new Yankee life is worth every minute of it, Baker,” Mary Jule said, and laughed out loud.
We all giggled hysterically, relishing the thrill of naughty revenge. Jeb just laughed and laughed right along with us, so incredibly happy to be “in” with our group.
“Payback’s hell, idn’t it, Baker Satterfield,” Alice yelled, cupping her hands on the sides of her mouth.
Roberta even got into it and hollered, “Maybe this’ll teach you!” After she said it she looked around at all of us for approval.
“Yeah! Oooooh, Roberta, I like your style.” Alice reached over and took ahold of Roberta’s hand and lifted both their arms up over their heads. “Go, Roberta.”
By this time we had drawn a crowd. I saw one lady run up and start taking pictures of Baker’s clothes riding up the mountain. I suppose the young employees running the chairlift were intimidated by us, because they never challenged our right to be there. It’s not like we were destroying the property or anything. I suppose we were littering if you want to get technical about it, but we never actually defaced ol’ fake face’s property at all.
Once the last chair holding Baker’s clothes disappeared from sight, we all turned around to leave. Just as we started to walk away, the crowd that had gathered to observe us broke into applause. Jeb soaked up the attention and held his arms up in a “check out my muscles” kind of way and bowed to the crowd. I overheard this one lady turn to her husband and say, “Now that’s what I call payback, and don’t think I wouldn’t do the same thing to you, mister, if you ever try something stupid.”
When we got back to our vehicles, we still had boxes, all the fishing gear, and other odds and ends left in the bed of Jeb’s truck. Virginia’s plan didn’t stop at the chairlift, though. Oh no, there was plenty more up the girl’s sleeve. She told us to get back in and move our cars over to the Powder Mountain welcome sign. Once again we followed Virginia’s lead and started stacking the rest of Baker’s junk up in front of the sign. Pierre jammed the handles of the fishing poles into the muddy ground so they all stood straight up. Jeb stacked all the boxes as high as he could stack them.
Once we had finished decorating with the new operations manager’s stuff and what was left of his clothing, Virginia jumped in Jeb’s truck and pulled out an old megaphone from Jeb’s Computer World that she had spied during the tour.
“Baker Satterfield,” she yelled through the megaphone, beginning to cackle all over again. “Ba-ker Sat-ter-field. You have a special delivery out front. Has anyone seen Ba-ker Sat-ter-field? Please tell him that he has a special de-li-ver-y.” She could hardly get the words out she was laughing so hard. Of course Virginia’s contagious laugh got the rest of us going again.
Alice had to have a turn and grabbed the megaphone away from Virginia. “Baker,” she yelled, kind of sweet and singsongy, “you have company.”
No one would have ever noticed the movement in a far-left upstairs window, if it hadn’t been for that blessed, wandering eye of Roberta’s. As all of the rest of us were staring toward the front door of the base lodge, waiting for Baker and the fifty-year-old to show their faces, Roberta’s eye caught sight of someone’s hand pushing down on the blind. “I’m happy to report that your master scheme is a success, Virginia. I would bet my soul Baker’s the one peeking through them blinds upstairs there.”
We all turned in the direction of Roberta’s pointed finger.
“That’s him, that’s him,” Alice said, getting excited and yelling through the megaphone again. “Come on down, Baker, and give us a huug. It’s been too long.”
Mary Jule leaned over and shouted through the megaphone, “Yeah, show us a little Yankee hospitality, why don’t ya?”
Do you know that yellow sissy never had the guts to greet us face-to-face? We waited about fifteen minutes longer before finally giving up. “I’m not surprised,” Alice said, as she stepped into Jeb’s truck. “He walked out on you like a coward. He wasn’t gonna meet us in person . . . the little chickenshit.”
Maybe it wasn’t him up there. After all, it was a Saturday and as rich as his new girlfriend was, they could have taken the holiday weekend off to travel. But then again who else would have peeked through the window?
On the way out of the resort, Jeb’s truck slowed down in front of the window where Roberta had spied Baker. Next thing I knew, Virginia and Alice were climbing out of the passenger window. Virginia crawled up on the top of the truck. Alice handed her a large plastic cup before climbing up top herself.
I turned to Mary Jule, who had stopped her rental car behind them. “What in God’s name are they doing?”
“I’m not sure, but this oughta be good.”
“Pull the car up,” I told her, “right alongside of Jeb’s.” I rolled my window down and motioned for Jeb to do the same. But he was all the way over on the passenger side holding something. “What are y’all doing up there?” I called to the girls.
“What does it look like we’re doing?” Virginia answered. “We’re poonin’ him. Hand me another Tampax, Jayeb.”
(Pooning is the act of ornamenting a glass surface with a surprise tampon. Instructions: Unwrap a super Tampax and dip in water. Once the tampon is bloated, hold it by the string and twirl, midair, in lasso rope fashion. Rear arm back and hurl at target. Optimum targets are large plate-glass windows, i.e., Waffle Houses or Krystal restaurants near college campuses at 2:00 A.M. when packed full of unsuspecting late-night diners. Element of surprise is crucial. College age–appropriate.)
Pooning on school nights provided the best entertainment for Virginia and me back at Ole Miss. Along with Genie and Mary Gaston, two more of our Chi Omega sisters, we’d drive through the Krystal, or the Greasetal as we called it, and order a sack of burgers. Just after the clerk handed over the bag, we’d pull the car up a little, have the poon dipped and ready, and the driver would slam it against the big plate-glass window. We’d watch the poon slide, slowly, down the glass. The surprise on the faces of the bookworms, who had been studying all night, was enough to make you wet your pants.
Jeb stuck a super out the window and handed it up to Virginia. She dipped and flung that thing as hard as she could. We all watched as it sailed through the air and missed the upstairs window completely. Alice had the second one already dipped and hers flew through the air and hit the window underneath.
“Aw, hell,” Alice said. “You try it, Jayeb; you’ll prob’ly have better luck.”
Jeb opened his door and pompously stood up on the edge of the truck, holding a tampon. “Might as well take a shot.”
Lying on her stomach, Virginia bent down from the roof with the cup of water and held it for Jeb. Just as if he was a veteran pooner, Jeb dipped the tampon in the cup, twirled it in the air, and flung it with all his might. He nailed the flying white mouse right in the middle of the upstairs window. It splattered on the pane and then slid down slowly before wedging into a groove on the window ledge.
“Throw another one, Jayeb. Get him good!” Virginia cried, and handed him a fresh Tampax.
Jeb took another shot and . . . splat, the second one hit the bull’s-eye, too. (Knowing Baker, he was absolutely furious. He always said our shenanigans were so annoying and juvenile.)
“Way to go, Mr. JCW!” Alice squealed. The girls took a few more shots each before some guy came out the front of the lodge and walked briskly toward us.
“Get your butts down,” I yelled. “Someone’s coming.”
Alice took one look at the guy and hollered, “What’s your hurry, shoog?”
Virginia yanked Alice’s jacket and they both scurried back down into the truck. “Haul ass, Jayeb,” Virginia yelled. “Let’s get the hell outta Dodge.”
Jeb screeched out of Powder Mountain on two left wheels with Mary Jule flooring it right behind him.
Exception to pooning age-appropriate rule: Although originally intended as a college prank, sometimes life deems pooning necessary later in life. As in the case where estranged husband runs off with older (or more often younger) woman. In that instance one is never too old for pooning.
When we got back to the Peach Blossom Inn Roberta and Jeb went straight to work. Pierre disappeared into his cottage and the girls and I returned to my apartment. Once inside, all four of us climbed back up on Great-grandmother’s bed.
Right then, eyeing the closet without Baker’s clothes on one half, was the first time I had had to admit to myself that he was really gone. I’d cried so much about it, but I never thought about it being final. I knew he was gone on a subconscious level, but I think consciously I never believed for a second that he wouldn’t have come back home by now. Somewhere in my mind I always thought he’d be back for Memorial Day weekend, and this nightmare would finally be over. But here I was staring into my closet, Baker-bare.
“All I can think about is the look that must have been on Baker’s face when he saw his clothes riding up that mountain,” Virginia said. “Wonder if he’ll be the one to pick it all up.”
“I doubt it,” said Mary Jule.
Virginia stretched her legs out on top of Alice’s. “I bet he is some kind of mortified about now.”
