The Ladies' Room

by Carolyn Brown

  "Much, much better."

  "Good. I'd hoped everything about Drew would go away and never bother you again, but that's unrealistic. You two share a child, so there'll always be that"

  "I suppose so. What time is it?"

  "Eleven thirty. Another half an hour and this year will be finished. What's been the good, the bad, and the ugly for you this year?" he asked.

  I had to think about it for a while, but he waited patiently for my answers.

  "The biggest ugly was the episode in the ladies' room at Gert's funeral, for sure."

  "And that was?" he asked.

  What is said in the ladies' room generally stays in the ladies' room. A guy would never understand. Still, I told Billy Lee the whole story, even about wiggling at the funeral and putting a hole into my panty hose.

  "And you let them live and even invited them to Christmas dinner? I always pictured you as a take-charge, don't-messwith-me woman"

  "Billy Lee, you've pictured me all wrong. I'm a wimp."

  "A wimp wouldn't have cut her ties as cleanly as you did. So you didn't want to know what was going on. At least when you found out for sure, you didn't sit around moping and feeling sorry for yourself. You walked out and started all over."

  "But Gert made that easy to do," I answered.

  "You'd have pitched a tent alongside Pennington Creek and used a public restroom before you'd have lived with Drew Williams after you found out he was cheating."

  How had this man come to know me so well?

  "The good?" he prompted.

  There had been so many good things. To list them would take more than the time I had left in this topsy-turvy world that had spun my life in a hundred-eighty-degree turnaround.

  "Good would be that Crystal and I are forming some kind of adult relationship. That Momma has had a few good days and that we got to celebrate the holidays with her. That I've got a house full of gorgeous things built by a new friend I cherish. Good would also be the mornings when I smell bacon and coffee as I stumble half asleep toward the kitchen. It's finding baby kittens and feeling safe. The good outweighs the ugly by far."

  He smiled. "The bad?"

  "Today," I answered honestly. "I hate confrontation. I still don't know how I had the courage or the anger to have that showdown with the Williams bunch. Dealing with Marty and Betsy was easier than that"

  "If you could go back and redo any of it, would you?"

  "No."

  We sat there a few more minutes before I realized I'd just bared my soul. "Aunt Gert used to say that turnabout was fair play. So it's your turn, Billy Lee. The good, the bad, and the ugly of the whole year."

  "The ugly. The way people acted at Gert's funeral. She was a fine lady, and she deserved to be mourned properly. You were the only one who was sad.

  "The good. Gert leaving you the house so the hole in my heart was filled up again"

  I was amazed beyond words. That was good in his eyes. He'd worked his fingers to the bone, and there was still work to do.

  "The bad. Today."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why was today bad for you?"

  "Because when Crystal and I came into the house and found you'd left without even touching your breakfast, I was afraid you'd gone back to Drew. It was a long day for me, until Crystal brought the truck home and told me what had happened"

  He looked at his watch. "Ten, nine . .

  He tossed off his blanket and held out a hand. I pushed aside my own quilt and took his hand to go inside. We'd watched the old year ebb out into history as the birth of a brand-new one came sliding into home base.

  He kept my hand in his and nodded toward the other side of the lake, where fireworks lit up the dark sky. "Seven, six ..

  "Five, four, three, two .. " He pulled me close and looked deeply into my eyes, a faint smile on his face.

  The man was going to kiss me. My thoughts were jumbled and my mind frantic.

  "One...

  The kiss caused as many fireworks inside me as the ones showing their glory across the lake. Then he hugged me tightly and said, "Happy New Year, Trudy."

  My ears were ringing so loudly, I wouldn't ever be completely sure what I said, or if I said anything. He kept my hand in his-surprisingly, it fit there as if it had been formed especially for that purpose-and led me through the glass doors into the living room.

  "Good night. Sleep well." He leaned forward and brushed a sweet kiss across my forehead that was as passionate as the one on my lips.

  I closed the door to the bedroom, sank down onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling, looking for answers to questions I couldn't even form. I began to rationalize. Billy Lee had wanted the day to end on a nice note and had felt obligated to give me the traditional New Year's kiss. There were just the two of us at the house, and I'd had a bad day. He was a good man and an almighty fine kisser.

  I fanned my glowing face with the back of one hand. He'd made my toes, my lips, and everything in between tingle in ways it never had before. I wanted to kiss him again so badly, it was a chore to keep the bedroom door shut.

  The next morning I awoke to the aroma of coffee and bacon but dreaded leaving the bedroom. I dressed slowly, made the bed, and invented a dozen things to keep me from going out into the kitchen to avoid the awkwardness that was sure to hang in the air like cigarette smoke in a cheap bar. Finally I opened the bedroom door and took a step out into the living room.

  Billy Lee was the same as always. "Good morning. I thought I heard you up and around. Temperature is forty degrees, and the sun is rising, so we'll have a lovely day. What would you like to do with it?"

  "Can we take the boat out and putter around the lake?" My voice came out sounding normal. Maybe I'd only imagined that he'd kissed me so passionately last night. Perhaps it was just a dream and hadn't really happened at all. No, not even my most vivid dream was that real.

  "Sounds like a plan to me. I'll leave black-eyed peas cooking in the Crock-Pot, and we'll have them for supper. Have to eat our peas and greens today if we're going to have good luck all year. Did you bring a warm jacket? The wind can get cold out there on the water."

  "I did," I said.

  "I'll take along a quilt just in case you get cold," he said.

  That was my Billy Lee, always thinking about me, and I loved it.

  I set the table for two and found butter and jam in the refrigerator. Billy Lee had already whipped eggs for scrambling, and biscuits were in the oven.

  "I'd better eat a double portion of peas and greens," I mumbled.

  "How many did you eat last year?"

  "Not a single bite, but I'm not jinxing what w h a t . I stopped. I'd almost said, "what we have"

  I cleared my throat. "I'm not about to jinx any good luck coming my way"

  We had breakfast just as if we were at home in Tishomingo. We talked about the cabinets Billy Lee was finishing for the kitchen and the stain we planned to use. A rich cherry finish. Not as red as mahogany, but something that would enhance the grain and go with the white marble countertops. I could already see starched white curtains on the windows and pots of herbs on the sills.

  It was as if we were two old, settled married people. Only we weren't, and if that kiss from the night before was any indication of what being married to Billy Lee would be like, it would be far from "settled," and there wouldn't be any dull moments.

  I wore a pair of jeans, a red turtleneck, and a zippered sweatshirt with a hood. The sun was warm, and Billy Lee tucked a quilt around my legs so I was cozy as I propped myself up on pillows and read an old LaVyrle Spencer romance book. I'd read it at least a dozen times before, but it was like having tea with an old friend: same friend, same tea, still good.

  I sneaked peeks at Billy Lee all day. His blue eyes were piercing, and I wanted to touch his hair. At that thought, high color flooded my cheeks. I felt like I was too close to an open fire. I went back to fiction; it was much safer than reality.

  "You want the new baby to be a boy or girl?" he asked o
ut of the clear blue.

  "I don't care which or one of each. It's been a long time since I've been around a baby. I'm looking forward to being a grandma."

  "You sure don't look old enough for that title," he said.

  "You are blind."

  "I wear contacts, and they make my sight perfect. I'm excited about the baby. I looked at plans for building cribs this past week."

  "You do too much"

  He gave me another crooked grin and said, "I'll be the judge of that, Trudy."

  "Today, I'll let you be the judge," I said.

  "Be careful. What happens on New Year's is what happens all year long."

  The kiss came to my mind immediately. I sure hoped he was right.

  By the time we ate supper and got back to Tishomingo, it was fully dark. Crystal had left a note on the refrigerator that she'd gone to the nursing home to visit Momma. With luck she wouldn't be the cleaning lady that day or, worse yet, Marty or Betsy. Billy Lee said he had to check on his cat and headed out, leaving me to ponder the past two days over a cup of hot chocolate.

  Men are so frustrating; sometimes I think they really do come from Mars. That's the planet where they take boy babies' souls at birth to raise them with no feminine influence of any kind. They use John Wayne as the primary role model and make them mean and tough. Then they return their souls to them when they start puberty. That's why they are so obsessed with the female species at that time. After all, they've been living on Mars, where no such things exist.

  For a whole month we went on with our routine. Billy Lee started breakfast every morning. Crystal and I meandered in when the aroma of coffee and bacon wafted up the stairs and into our bedrooms. She set the table for three. I helped Billy Lee finish cooking, and we ate together. He never mentioned that earth-shattering kiss on New Year's Day, so it must not have affected him the way it did me. I wasn't about to tell anyone that I dreamed every night of him kissing me again, or that when we were working side by side, I stared at his lips.

  On the first day of February I awoke to nothing. No coffee. No rattle of pots and pans. I sat straight up in bed, my eyes open so wide, my face hurt.

  Billy Lee was dead. I was sure of it.

  Tears welled up behind my eyes and spilled over the dam into rivers down my cheeks. I brushed them away with the edge of the bedsheet. What would I do without him, and why hadn't I told him how much that kiss meant to me? I sniffed the air. Maybe I was getting a cold and couldn't smell the coffee or the breakfast.

  Nothing.

  Not one thing could keep Billy Lee out of the kitchen other than death, so that was proof of my suspicion. I grabbed a chenille robe from the closet. The only socks I could find were two mismatched ones: a blue with navy stripes and a black with red hearts. I grabbed two house shoes from the floor of the closet: a Clifford the Big Red Dog and a Minnie Mouse.

  Peter, Paul, and Mary were all meowing in the utility room: further proof that Billy Lee was in his shop, graveyard dead. He always fed them first thing in the morning. I ran across the yard, through the hedge, and to the workshop. It was locked uptight.

  I'd lived next door to him for months, and not once had I been in his house, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If he didn't answer the back door, I had every intention of breaking and entering. If he pressed charges against me, I'd pay the fine or sit it out in jail. Surely they'd seen women in worse attire than mine down at that place.

  I knocked.

  No answer.

  I tried the knob.

  It was locked.

  The windows were covered on the inside with miniblinds and curtains, so I couldn't see a thing. That didn't keep me from trying. Concerned neighbor? Peeping Tom-ette? Who cared what they called it when they came to haul me down to the slammer?

  I leaned on the front doorbell until the cat set up a howl, and still not a human sound came from within. I tried the storm door, and it opened, but the main door was locked. It was either kick it in, or the cat would begin eating Billy Lee by nightfall. Clifford the Big Red Dog was on the way to the first attempt when the door opened suddenly. I overbalanced, fell into the living room, and looked up at Billy Lee Tucker, alive and in the flesh.

  His voice came out nasal and almost whiny. "What are you doing?"

  He wore faded red flannel pajama bottoms and a long sleeved gray shirt. His face was flushed, his nose red, and his eyes bleary. He might not be dead yet, but the devil was knocking on-the- door.

  I pulled the robe around my naked legs and stood up, tightening the makeshift sash. "You look like the devil."

  "So do you," he said right back at me.

  "Yes, but I could get dressed and look better. You could put on a tux and still look horrid."

  He headed toward what I assumed was his bedroom. "Go away. I'm sick, and I don't want you to catch it."

  He slammed the door.

  I heard a moan and bedsprings.

  Standing just inside the living room, I took stock of the house. The living room was long and rectangular-with outdated furniture. The orange floral sofa with a coffee table and end tables were definitely not of Billy Lee Tucker quality. A matching chair with a side table and lamp seemed to date from the sixties. The only redeeming piece in the room was a nice, big, leather recliner facing a small television set.

  Meandering toward the back of the house, I found a kitchen with a U of cabinets-still not made or produced by Billy Lee-an old chrome table with a yellow top, and four matching chairs. The window above the sink looked out over the sidewalk to his shop.

  When I went back through the living room, I discovered a short hallway with a bathroom and two bedrooms opening from it. The bathroom door was open, and I love to snoop, so I stepped inside to find light green fixtures, a wall-hung sink, and curling, green-flecked linoleum on the floor. The spare bedroom invited me right in, where I found a bed covered with a white chenille bedspread, every inch of a dresser crammed with family pictures, chest of drawers with a brush and comb set, and nightstands with a Bible on each. Billy Lee's grandparents had slept in this room, no doubt.

  I slung open his bedroom door without even knocking. "When did you get sick?"

  He pulled the covers over his head. "I told you to go away. I thought you'd left."

  "Humph," I snorted. "I was snooping around your house. Now I'm going to make you some toast and hot tea. I'm not ready for you to die."

  "Trudy, trust me, you don't want to catch this. It's miserable, and it comes on fast" His voice came out muffled from beneath the quilt.

  I jerked the covers back and touched his forehead. "If I get it, you can take care of me. What have you taken? Tylenol? Advil?"

  "Not a thing. I hate medicine. As it is, one minute I'm burning up, and the next I'm freezing. Add a bunch of medicine to that, and I'll be dizzy and disoriented too."

  "Stop acting like a baby, Billy Lee"

  "Please, Trudy," he said.

  "No. Even `please' won't work. I'm staying and taking care of you"

  I called Crystal, who was in the kitchen wondering where we were. I told her to look in the medicine cabinet and bring me a bottle of Tylenol and the vitamin C and leave both on the front porch. Then I told her to pack me a bag and to toss in a couple of books from the pile on my dresser.

  "Keep those germs there," she agreed. "I don't think I could bear to be sick now that the morning sickness has passed. Whatever you need, you just call, and I'll put it on the porch," she said.

  Need? What I needed was to bare my aching soul to Billy Lee. But he had to be well first. Hearing what I had to say might shove him right over the edge into eternity.

  While I waited, I set about making a cup of my famous healing tea. Eight ounces of boiling water, a tablespoon of honey, and a fine dusting of ginger over the top. That and two pieces of cinnamon toast would be his breakfast. After he ate every bite and drank every drop, he'd have a Tylenol and a thousand milligrams of vitamin C. For lunch he'd get homemade chicken noodle soup and mor
e pills. For supper it would be more of the same, and at bedtime a cup of very sweet hot lemonade.

  The doorbell rang. The ordered items had arrived with a note. I was to call after breakfast, and Crystal would make a run to the grocery store and check in on Momma. I changed clothes, and ten minutes later I was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, arguing over every bite or sip. I didn't care if he didn't like the taste of ginger or if the toast had too much sugar on it.

  "You don't listen," he muttered.

  "And you are not a good patient. That tea and toast will keep you out of the undertaker's hearse."

  He sniffled. "I am not dying. I just want to be left alone, not badgered into eating and taking those stupid pills."

  I handed him a tissue from the box beside the bed. "Blow your nose, and stop whining. I'm protecting my interests; if you die, I don't get my new cabinets." I didn't tell him my interest involved more than cherry stain and a new sink.

  He huffed and puffed, but he ate the toast and drank the tea. If this was what they taught them on Mars, I hoped my grandchild was a girl.

  "Now get up and go take a shower, put on some lounging clothes, and meet me in the living room," I said.

  "I can't. I'll pass out in the shower," he groaned.

  "If you do, I'll come in there and revive you," I threatened.

  He almost grinned. You are a drill sergeant."

  "You've got that right. You'll get sore and weaker lying around all day. You need to sit up. We'll read or watch television or even work the crossword puzzle in the newspaper, but you are going to get well"

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "Don't you touch my crossword puzzle. I'll take a lot of bossing, but don't you touch my puzzle."

  "I'll do the whole thing in pen and cross out errors and make a big mess of it if you don't get out of bed."

  He took a shower, shaved, and put on a pair of flannel bottoms and a shirt. He didn't faint dead away or even throw up the abominable ginger. He wasn't real perky when he plopped down on the sofa, but at least he wasn't kissing Saint Peter's ring or having a discussion with Lucifer about air-conditioning Hades, either.