“But still, it’s culture.” Frankie shuffled the cards and dealt another hand of solitaire. “It beats lunch at the Tammy and going to the movies. This town is so boring. When me and Skeet move to New York, we are going to do that fancy stuff all of the time.”
“Well, we better find us a couple of sugar daddies if we’re going to do that stuff. It ain’t cheap. Right, Marcus?”
Marcus blushed and slipped into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pretended to look for something.
“Ugh, a sugar daddy?” Frankie asked. “How can anyone do that?”
“Lots of people marry for money. Hell, Franks, your mama did it.”
“That is not true. Her first husband didn’t have two cents to his name. She married him because his name was George Jones.”
Marcus stood and spun around to face the couch. “What?”
“Don’t you know? Frankie’s mama is our version of Liz Taylor. Well, Liz had eight husbands and Miss Francine only had three, but she’s got getting married down to an art.”
“Skeet, that’s my mama you’re talking about.”
“But did you say she married a man because his name was George Jones?”
“Yeah. That’s my sister Georgette’s daddy. You know Tammy Wynette was married to George Jones, right? Well, when Mama met her George Jones at a bar, she thought it was a sign. So she married him and named my sister after him and Tammy Wynette. But he left her about a year later, which Mama was okay with because it let her sing that Tammy song about divorce more often.”
“Then she married Paulette’s daddy.”
“Right, Paul. But he wasn’t for the money, either. She married him because his last name was Jones and she didn’t want to have to change her license.”
“Yeah, Miss Helen told me about him. He died?”
“Right. Then she married my daddy, Frank Jones. That’s why I’m Frankette. Which I hate. I’m changing it when we move to New York.”
“And she married him for the Jones name too? Or was he the money?”
“No. The name was a happy coincidence. She says she married my daddy because he was so good-looking.”
Skeet looked at Marcus and rolled his eyes. “He was thirty years older than Miss Francine. He got better looking when she found out he had money. Men usually do.”
Marcus laughed. “This is like a soap opera.”
“Look, my mama was a single woman with two daughters to raise and no money. My daddy was from New York City. He had run a diner up there in some place galled Astoria. Anyway, he said he got sick of the winters and moved down here to open a new diner. Mama needed a job, and he hired her.”
“And love blossomed right there over a big old pot of grits.”
“Frankie,” Marcus said with a gasp and dropped his jaw in mock shock, “you’re half-Yankee?”
“Shh. We don’t talk about that part. It was a mixed marriage.”
“Oh, shoot, Marcus, look at the time. We better get over to the Tammy or Nonnie will skin our hides.”
“Are you coming too, Frankie?”
“Please. Like I want to go hang out with a bunch of old women. I’d sooner die. No, I’m going home. Y’all can handle that without me.”
Marcus stepped to the piano and checked his reflection in the mirror over it. “Are you sure I look okay?”
Skeet stepped behind him and hooked his chin over Marcus’s shoulder, making eye contact with his reflection. “Not as pretty as me, but it’ll do.”
Marcus shifted his shoulder to knock Skeet off. “Whatever, goofball.”
“All right, let’s go feed you to the lions.”
Chapter Seven
As soon as Marcus walked into the diner, Inez zeroed in on him and dragged him over to the spread of refreshments along the counter. He noticed that the jukebox was playing but that the volume was turned down. The shades on the windows were all drawn low and the lights were dimmed. The tables around the room had lit votive candles, and a few men sat at each table talking. Inez hugged him, shoved a plate into his hand, and began shoveling food on it while she flagged someone down over his shoulder. Skeet grabbed a handful of peanuts from a dish and scampered to a booth in the corner.
Marcus stood with a plateful of food he had no desire to eat being introduced to a man he had no desire to meet. “Nice to meet you.” Marcus shifted the small plate of cheese and crackers from his left hand to his right so he could shake the hand of the man standing in front of him. The man looked to be in his early sixties and wore a powder blue jacket over a powder blue shirt that stretched across his ample belly. His thinning hair, dyed a shade of blond that would never exist in nature, was swept across his head in a tragic comb-over.
“Marcus, this is Martin Prescott.” Inez introduced the man. “He’s the choir director over at the church. He’s a musical genius.”
“Oh, Inez.” The man tittered and ducked his head. “You exaggerate. It’s the talent of you girls in the choir that make me look good.” He raised his head and grinned at Marcus. “So, Inez tells me these girls convinced you to cook up some food for the hoedown?”
“Yeah. Still not really sure how that happened. What are they talking you into doing?”
“Music, of course,” Inez answered for Martin. “Can’t have a dance without music. Marcus, you enjoy music, right?”
“As much as anyone does, I guess.”
“Good. You two can talk about that. I need to go check on the punch bowl. Excuse me.” She flittered away, leaving the two men standing in silence.
The man stood staring at Marcus and smiling. Marcus looked at a booth across the room where Skeet sat watching him. Marcus shrugged at him and turned back to the silent man, “So…”
“Marcus, do you like big organs?”
“Excuse me?”
“Maybe I could show you my organ sometime.”
“Um…”
“It’s a little old, I guess, but it brings everyone so much pleasure that I just can’t give up using it.”
“I just met you.”
“Why should that matter…oh! Oh, my!” The man’s face turned bright red, making his hair look brassier in contrast. “No, silly, I didn’t mean….” Martin giggled uncomfortably. “A musical organ. At the church. It’s an antique with big old pipes. Maybe you could come by the church and let me play you something.”
“Um, I guess I could—”
“Marcus,” Helen interrupted as she walked up escorting another man on her arm. “So glad you could make it.”
“Perfect timing,” Marcus said as he looked at Helen in relief. “And I wasn’t really given a choice about coming.”
“Well, you look nice,” Helen said as she looked him up and down. “So glad you dressed up a bit.”
“And you look as stylish as always, Miss Helen,” Martin said through a toothy grin.
“Oh, Helen Warner is dressed to the nines every day,” the man next to Helen drawled. “Like she’s got a job to go to or something. Don’t see why. All she does is flit around all day being seen.”
“Golly, being seen around town is my job. And I believe you should dress for success.” Helen turned to Martin and smiled. “Pardon me for interrupting, Martin, I wanted to introduce Marcus to Golly.” Helen gestured at the splinter-thin man standing beside her. “Marcus, this is Golly Dorney. Golly, this is Marcus Sumter, Eloise’s grandson.”
“Golly? That’s an interesting name.” Marcus stuck out his hand to the man, who looked at it with a slight sneer before looking at Marcus and raising an eyebrow. The man wore a tight black polo shirt that had Flowers, by Golly embroidered over the chest pocket in bright pink stitching. His long black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and he wore a thin mustache over his lip that looked as if he had drawn it on with an eyebrow pencil. He appeared to be in his late fifties.
“It�
��s a family name.” The man sniffed and turned up his nose before turning to Helen with a glare. “He’s a redhead.”
“Yes, Golly. All the Sumters are redheads. You know that.”
“Well, you know how I feel about—”
“Marcus,” Helen continued, ignoring the man’s comments, “Golly is going to help us with the flowers for the dance. I thought maybe you had seen something fancy up in Atlanta that you could tell him about.”
“Helen, I have been arranging flowers in this town for thirty years and have never needed some city boy to tell me how—”
“Now, don’t get upset, Golly. I was just trying to—”
“Shoe Button!” Francine swept up to the assembled group, dragging a man behind her with each hand. Both men wore plaid shirts and camouflage trucker caps. The two men favored one another, but one had a thick beard. “Helen, you’re hogging the new boy. I haven’t had a chance to introduce him to anyone at all. Why don’t you go help Inez with the punch bowl?” Francine gently shoved Helen and Golly to the side. “Marcus, this is Jerry Dobbins and his brother, Larry. They run the feed store and are going to give us some hay bales to use for decorations. Boys, tell Marcus about your little store while I go fetch Jim and Dale from the butcher shop and bring them over. Or maybe Randall?”
Francine hurried across the room to a group of four men gathered around the punch bowl, some of whom Marcus recognized as regulars from the diner. She snatched a crystal cup from the table and began ladling the bright pink punch into it before handing it to one of the men and pointing toward Marcus. She put her hand on the man’s back and shoved him. The dumpy young man in a police uniform stumbled as he lurched toward Marcus and spilled the punch onto the floor. Helen gasped and hurried over to the man.
“Randall, dear, you’ve made a little mess here, haven’t you?”
“Sorry, Miss Helen,” the cop said as he dropped to his knees and began mopping at the spilled punch with the napkin he held. “I was just trying to bring the redheaded guy some punch like Miss Francine asked me to.”
“Oh, jeez,” Marcus muttered. He turned back to the men standing around him and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I’m a little thirsty and I think he just spilled my punch all over the floor. If you’ll excuse me.” Marcus stepped away from the men and waved his hand at Skeet to call him over. The boy bounded out of the booth and skipped over to Marcus’s side with a smirk.
“This is the weirdest freaking night,” Marcus whispered to Skeet. “Come with me to get some punch.” Marcus walked toward the table with the punch bowl until Skeet caught his elbow and stopped him.
“You really don’t know what’s going on here?” Skeet asked.
“What are you talking about? We’re supposed to be planning the hoedown, but at the rate we’re going it’ll be midnight before we start planning anything. These women seem to prefer socializing to actually planning anything. And I need to go to bed early if I’m going to be back here to make breakfast tomorrow morning. I mean it’s nice they want me to meet the other men that are helping—”
“Jeezumpete, you’re dense.”
Marcus tilted his head to one side and looked at Skeet with his eyebrows up. “What?”
“These women are trying to set you up with these men.”
“Oh, come on. They are not.”
“Marcus, every man in this town who is possibly gay, including me and you, are currently in this room.” Skeet scanned the room and laughed. “Well, there are a few here that clearly aren’t gay, but I’m not sure what that is about.”
Marcus looked around the room at the men gathered in small groups chatting. In each group, he noticed at least one man glancing at him and smiling. “Why do I suddenly feel as though this is a museum and I’m the statue of David?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. But, yeah, you’re definitely the center of attention for a few of these guys.”
“Okay, but that’s just a coincidence. I mean, they wouldn’t actually be trying to—”
“Shoe Button,” Francine interrupted him as she walked up with another older man in tow, “this is Mickey Fletcher. He owns the antique store, and I ran into him at the liquor store. I was picking up a little something to slip into the punch since Priss isn’t going to be here, and I just thought it might be nice for him to meet you. Why don’t you two run out to the kitchen, fetch us some more ice for the punch bowl, and get a little better acquainted?”
Marcus’s chin dropped, and his eyes widened as he turned to Skeet. “Oh. My. God.”
“Told you.”
Marcus’s face grew hot, and his eyes flashed as his heartbeat grew faster. “That’s enough of this.” Marcus raised his voice, causing Francine to step back. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Can I have your attention?”
The men in the room all turned to face Marcus.
“Marcus, honey, what are you doing?” Helen rushed to his side, her face darkened.
“Guys, I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this meeting a little short. I don’t think you’re all aware of exactly why you were asked here. While the ladies and I appreciate your willingness to help with the hoedown, I think we can all coordinate on our own between now and then. Sorry you had to give up your evening for no reason, but I’m going to need you all to please leave.”
“Excuse me, you aren’t the hostess here. I will be the one to decide when we are—”
“Helen, hush,” Inez chastised her. “He’s on to us.”
“Gentlemen, thank you for your time, but I think you all need to be going along.” Marcus put his hands on Martin’s back and pointed him toward the front door. “I need to speak with the ladies privately, so if you could all just go.” He took the young policeman by the wrist and handed his arm over to Skeet. “Could you please take Officer Randall out with you?” As he turned back to the women in the room, he added, “I don’t need him here to witness when I murder three old women.”
“God, I have never been so humiliated in my life,” Marcus shouted as he dropped onto a stool at the counter and buried his face in his hands.
“Well, imagine how I feel!” Helen said as she crossed her arms and pouted. “I have a reputation in this town that you have seriously damaged. That was just rude to run everyone off.”
“Really, Helen? You want to make this about you? For god’s sake, I felt like I was being auctioned off tonight! What in the hell were you women thinking?”
“Shoe Button,” Francine said, “we just wanted to introduce you to some people you might have something in common with to make your life here a little more enjoyable.”
“How many times do I have to tell you this? I’m not going to have a life here! As soon as I get all of this settled, I am moving on. Okay? There is nothing for me in this little Podunk town.”
“Well, there is no need to insult our town, darling.” Inez placed her hand on her chest in offense.
“Not the point, Inez. I just don’t want you meddling in my personal life. Did those men all know why you brought them here?”
“Well, Martin knew,” Inez said and stared at her shoes. “He’s a really nice man, Marcus. Couldn’t you at least try—”
“Inez, Martin Prescott is old enough to be his grandfather.” Helen clucked her tongue and shook her head. “And that comb-over. I mean, honestly.”
“Well, he is better than Golly Dorney. That man is just a b-i-t-c-you know what.”
“Inez, you take that back. Golly is a perfectly nice—”
“Oh, Helen, give it up. She’s just mad that Marcus clearly preferred my choice of Mickey.” Francine looked over at the frowning Inez. “Inez, don’t frown. You’ll get more wrinkles. Smile! It will improve your face value.”
“Francine, shut up! It will improve your life expectancy.”
“Girls, girls!” Helen pleaded as she stepped between Inez and Francine.
�
��Inez,” Francine said and walked away from the other women, “there is no need to get ugly about this. If anyone should be mad it’s me. I didn’t get to introduce him to half of my choices.”
“Yes, Francine, what was the deal with that?” Inez’s eyes flashed as she spun to face the other woman. “We agreed we would each bring one suitable person for Marcus to meet. Why in the heck did you bring ten? And most of them were straight. Those Dobbins boys both run around with Paulette all the time.”
“Well, what do I know from gay? I’ve always heard that one in ten men is gay so I figured if I just brought ten single men, then by the law of averages—”
“Ladies!” Marcus yelled to silence the bickering women. “This is all beside the point! I don’t want you trying to set me up with anyone, okay? I mean, what made you think you had the right to go behind my back and do that?”
“As I said,” Helen said meekly, “we were just trying to help. I didn’t expect you to pitch a fit and fall in it.”
“Help? I don’t need your help. I’m fine on my own!”
“Helen, tell him the truth.” Francine backed away from the group and sat at a table.
“Now is not the time.”
“Yes, it is. Just tell him,” Francine encouraged.
“Tell me what?”
“No,” Helen said, “you’re clearly upset. I think it would be best if everyone just went home and—”
“Spill it, old lady.” Marcus glared at Helen and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Fine. But I still think it would be better if you were calmer when I told you this.”
Marcus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Helen, this is as calm as I’m going to get tonight.”
“Fine. Let’s sit down.” The group meandered to a table and each took a seat. “It’s about your grandmother.”
“What does she have to do with any of this?” Marcus asked.
“Well, at the end she was really struggling at the hospital. The doctors told her there wasn’t much else they could do for her. She called me that night and told me if she was going to die, she was going to do it in her home.” Helen lowered her head and took a deep breath. “I called the girls and the next day we went to her house and got it all set up for her.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 9
