Miss Julia Raises the Roof

by Ann B. Ross

  “This!” I said, thrusting the card at her. “This . . . this invitation!” I patted my chest, trying to calm myself in the face of Madge’s outrageous assumption that we—I—would want to celebrate the opening of what we—I—so desperately wanted to shut down.

  It took me fifteen minutes to get it all off my bursting chest to Lillian. She knew a little of it—how could she not with my outrage bubbling over every day?

  “Well,” she said, “why don’t you jus’ not go?”

  “I most certainly won’t. But there has to be something more I can do to register my extreme disapproval.” I finally sat down at the table, nearly overcome by my powerlessness.

  “And look, Lillian, just look at it!” I waved the card in front of her. “Have you ever seen anything like this—Homes 4 Teens or H4T? How cute! How clever! How silly!”

  Lillian set a cup of coffee on the table. “You better calm yourself down. You be havin’ a stroke ’fore Mr. Sam get back with all that carryin’ on.” She stood for a minute looking down at me. Then she said, “I ’spect Miss Hazel Marie won’t wanta go, neither.”

  “You’re right, she won’t. And,” I went on, sitting up straight, “neither will the Pickerells or Ms. Osborne or Mildred or Helen or anybody else within blocks of that house. It’ll be a public shunning, that’s what it’ll be, and I hope they get the message.”

  Lillian twisted her mouth as she thought about it. “They might be some folks that’ll wanta see what’s been done to that house. They might show up jus’ to see what they gonna have to put up with.”

  “That is true,” I said, sadly conceding the possibility. “We’ve tried to keep everybody in opposition to it on the same page, but, you’re right, there’ll probably be some who’ll go out of curiosity. And there’ll certainly be a contingent of pastors and church members who’ve had the wool pulled over their eyes. They’ll want to see where the money wheedled out of them went. Well,” I said, rubbing my hand over my face, “we’ll just have to contact the neighbors and tell them not to let those Homes for Teens people have the satisfaction of crowing over us. Because we’re not through yet! I’m letting Binkie know, and I’m calling the city attorney and the zoning board and whoever else I can think of and telling them that those people are about to open for business and it’s time to evict them from Jackson Street.

  “And,” I said, springing to my feet so fast that Lillian had to jump back, “I know what else I can do! Polish the silver, Lillian! I’m going to have a Christmas tea to beat all other teas on November the twenty-sixth from two to four o’clock and I’m going to invite everybody who’s had anything to do with that house—whether for or against—and I’m going to take note of anyone who doesn’t come or who tries to attend both. I’m not going to sit home holed up while those people celebrate getting their way. I am not taking this insolence lying down. Lines shall be drawn and names taken!”

  Chapter 22

  “Mildred?” I said when Ida Lee called her to the phone. “I’m coming over.” Then, pulling myself together and recalling my manners, I asked, “Are you busy? I really need to talk to you.”

  “Well, come on. I’m so bored that I’m thinking of redoing the whole house. I’m tired of having everything Louis the something-or-other. What do you think of midcentury modern?”

  “Not much, and certainly not for your house. But get ready, I’m going to cure your boredom by giving you something to really think about. See you in a few minutes.”

  * * *

  —

  “I got one, too,” Mildred said, glancing at the invitation I’d brought with me. She waved the wrinkled, kitten-embellished invitation away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. We were sitting in her chintz-filled sunroom—she in a large, cushioned wicker chair and I on the edge of another one. “Already threw it away, too,” she said, “without RSVPing. A big no-no, I know, but their arrogance doesn’t deserve a response.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t agree more. But, listen, Mildred, I’m thinking of having a tea on the same day at the same time and inviting everybody I can think of. They’ll all think I’m doing it out of spite, and they’ll be right. But I don’t care.

  “The problem is,” I went on, “how can I keep people from attending both—you know, dropping in for a little while at both parties?”

  “Well-l,” Mildred said, her eyes lighting up as ideas began to pop into her head. “First of all, why don’t you have it here? My house is bigger, what with that huge foyer, my double living rooms, and so on. We could invite twice as many if you would. And as far as making sure that everybody comes—and stays—for the full two hours, we could call it a soiree.”

  “But it has to be from two till four, when they’re having theirs. It won’t accomplish anything if we do it at a different time, and soirees are evening affairs.”

  “Who cares?” Mildred said with another wave of her hand. “If you and I call it a soiree, then that’s what it’ll be. I mean, who would question it? We’re the social arbiters in this town, or haven’t you noticed? And what we say goes. But soiree does imply something special, so the way to keep everybody here for the full two hours is to give them something special. Start thinking what it can be.”

  “Well, the end of November is a little early for Christmas, but—”

  “No, it isn’t. Get that pad and pencil on the desk over there if you will, and let’s make some notes.”

  I did, and sat poised to write whatever she came up with, because when Mildred gets on a roll, she can really throw a party.

  “Here goes,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “First, I’ll have the house decorated for Christmas—a huge tree in the foyer and greenery everywhere. Write that down, Julia. I’ll call a couple of florists to do all that. Also, food. No problem with that. Between Ida Lee and Lillian and a couple of bakeries, we’ll have a feast. Don’t worry, Ida Lee will see to the menu. Now,” she said, leaning forward as far as she could bend, “we have to have something for our guests to look forward to—something for them to come early and stay late for. What about putting on the invitations something like ‘Two o’clock sharp, doors close at two-fifteen’? Or maybe ‘No admittance after two-fifteen.’ What do you think?”

  “I think,” I said, laughing, “that it’s a good thing we’re not inviting Emily Post or Amy Vanderbilt. Nothing like that has ever been done.”

  “But that’s the beauty part of it,” Mildred said. “It’ll put the guests on notice that something special is going on and they have to be here for it. Let’s think what it could be.”

  “Well, music, for one thing.”

  “Yes! But not some tinkling piano or sleep-inducing harp, though. Let’s have a trio or a combo or something that’ll play a few Christmas carols—for the spirit of the season, you know—but also some good dancing music. It should be fast, toe-tapping music that’ll get people moving. The foyer will be cleared out except for a huge Christmas tree, and it’s a wonderful place to dance.

  “The thing to do, Julia,” Mildred went on as if in confidence, “is to designate a few couples beforehand to start the dancing. Hazel Marie and that handsome man of hers, for one. And Binkie and Coleman, and Sue and Dr. Hargrove—couples like that who’ll encourage others to dance.”

  “Oh,” I said, excitement beginning to build, “I can see it now. This is going to be fun, Mildred. But wait, there’ll be some who won’t dance—they could get bored and want to leave early.”

  “Well, hold on, I’m getting an idea. What do you think of having a drawing?”

  I frowned. “A drawing? Like a picture?”

  “No, like a drawing for prizes.”

  I frowned. “You mean a raffle?”

  “No, not a raffle, for goodness’ sake. We won’t be selling chances. What we’ll be doing is giving away prizes! And the guests have to be present to win. See, we can have a drawing, say, every thirty minutes, and the prizes
should be worth waiting for. And,” she said, her face lighting up, “we’ll save the best and last prize for five minutes to four! But they have to be here to win, and anybody who’s already won something will be eligible for that one, too!” Mildred sat back in her chair as if to rest after the exertion of party planning. “If that won’t keep them here and away from that other party, I don’t know what will.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” I said, but somewhat doubtfully by this time. “That other party—that abominable tea—will expect gifts—money—from the guests, not the other way around. But, Mildred, I don’t know about all this. There’s never been a party like it. I mean, do you think it’s, well, appropriate?”

  Mildred gave me a direct stare. “Listen to me. Why are you thinking of having a party in the first place? What’re you hoping to accomplish?”

  “Well, I want the Homes for Teens people to have a party where nobody shows up. And, by that, to show them they’re not wanted where they are.”

  “Well, then,” she said right back at me, “what we’re planning is perfectly appropriate to what both of us want to accomplish. Get over your concern about the proprieties, Julia. We’re dealing with people who have no compunction about running roughshod over anybody in their way, and I intend to give them a taste of their own medicine. So if you’re getting cold feet, I’ll do it by myself.”

  “Oh, no, I can’t let you do that. It was my idea to have a competing party in the first place. I just need to think it through for your sake as well as mine.” I twisted my mouth in thought, then went on. “We’ll have to be prepared to have half the town or more thinking that we’re heathens who’re trying to turn homeless boys out on the street. Think of letters to the editor and prayer meetings and such like.”

  Mildred’s eyes rolled back in her head. “You, of all people—worried about what people will think! Let me remind you, Julia Springer Murdoch, that you’re the one who opened the door to your husband’s mistress and illegitimate child, paraded them around town, marched them to one of the front pews in church, blackmailed people into inviting them to their homes, and dared anybody to say a word against them. You turned this town upside down and made the town like it.” Mildred leaned back after that diatribe and smiled at me. “I’ve admired you ever since.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.” I handed her the notepad with our list of plans, stood to get my coat, and, with renewed backbone, said, “I’d better go—it’s getting dark. I’ll be thinking about the kind of enticing prizes we can give away.”

  Chapter 23

  Just how much money, effort, and social repute did Mildred and I want to expend on an alternative party? I considered that as I walked across her lawn and into my side yard, pulling my coat close as the late afternoon chilled. It didn’t matter, I concluded, if it accomplished what we wanted. We’d be the talk of the town no matter what we did, so we might as well make it worth talking about.

  I pushed down a few tiny qualms that kept trying to get my attention about the wisdom of publicly airing our opposition to the invasion of a stable neighborhood. Yet to simply give up and give in to zoning lawbreakers went against my nature. I obeyed the laws, why shouldn’t everybody else? And hadn’t those Homes for Teens people done their level best to advertise what they were doing? Asking for help? For money? For prayers? All done as if they had every right to be where they were and do what they were doing. And there was no doubt that the very people they were soliciting assumed everything was on the up-and-up. It was high time that assumption was put to rest and generous people were told in no uncertain terms that their money, time, and efforts were going to support an illegal undertaking.

  “Lillian,” I said, entering the kitchen and sliding out of my coat, “Mildred and I are planning a party to end all parties.” I went on to tell her that it would be at Mildred’s house, relieving us—well, her—of a lot of housecleaning and preparation for a large number of guests. “You and Ida Lee will be in charge of the food, but we’ll purchase as much as we can ready-made. We want it to be substantial and beautifully displayed, so be thinking of what we can have.

  “And be thinking also of what we can offer as prizes.”

  “What kinda prizes you talkin’ about?”

  So then I told her of our plan to keep all the guests at Mildred’s house until four o’clock came and went, thus preventing any of them from showing up at the Homes for Teens.

  Lillian looked at me from under a lowered brow. “You sure you know what you doin’?”

  “As sure as I can be. We’ve tried fighting those people with attorney’s letters and they ignored them. We’ve gone to the zoning board and spoken with the city attorney, and they can do nothing until the house is operating. Mr. Pickens has built a wall on three sides of that house and set Ronnie on them, and still, Lillian, they go blithely on their way as if they have a mission from on high.”

  “Maybe that’s what they think.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, they need to be reminded to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s—which means obey the laws.” And with that, I changed the subject slightly.

  “If you were to win a prize, Lillian, what would you want it to be?”

  “I sure could use a little Christmas money,” she said. “Latisha wantin’ some kinda pad or notebook or something that cost a arm and a leg.”

  “We’ll think about that a little later on. But for now, think of something besides money. What would thrill you if your name was drawn to win a prize?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a gift card to Walmart.”

  I rolled my eyes just a little, thinking of how that would go over with the tea-attending ladies of Abbotsville.

  On second thought, though, I decided not to discount it.

  * * *

  —

  In fact, I had a lot of second thoughts throughout the evening, and gradually came to the conclusion that Mildred’s elaborate plans for a competing party would not work. For one thing, we had no idea of the length and makeup of the Homes for Teens invitation list. For all we knew, they would put an open invitation in the bulletins of every one of those seven praying churches, and we couldn’t compete with that. Nor, I thought, would we want to. Why, we could end up with several thousand churchgoers showing up at Mildred’s door.

  So, of course, could the Homes for Teens, and there was no way that the Cochran house could accommodate such a crowd. That being the case, I decided that invitations to their tacky tea would’ve been limited to their own board members, the preachers of the seven churches they were courting, the most influential and well-heeled ladies in town, and, of course, the affected neighbors—to demonstrate their benign presence among them.

  I briefly considered that they might’ve invited the zoning board administrator, the city attorney, and the city commissioners, then quickly decided that they hadn’t. They would’ve taken no chances that would appear to dare the powers-that-be to exercise their authority to shut them down. They intended, I surmised, to keep a low profile until they were fully entrenched in the neighborhood.

  So, I concluded, there was no need for Mildred and me to go all out with our guest list or to bribe guests with high-value prizes at an ill-named soiree. All we had to do was have an elegant tea, and invite people who would’ve obviously also received invitations to the tacky one. Those guests would know what we were doing, and they would know better than to attend both. And to that end, I would have Lloyd and Ronnie sit on Hazel Marie’s front porch and keep a list of anyone who rang the Cochran house doorbell during the hours of two till four on Sunday, November 26. Ronnie would make sure that Lloyd didn’t miss anyone.

  And the word would go out that those individuals who rang the Cochran doorbell would be off my and Mildred’s guest lists for the foreseeable future. I would see to that.

  I was feeling much more comfortable with the idea of having a more circu
mspect party than the one that Mildred had envisioned, which, to tell the truth, had all the aspects of a carnival rather than of a ladies’ tea.

  With that settled to my satisfaction, my next step would be to get Mildred to agree to tone down her exuberant plans and have, instead, a sedate, exclusive, and envy-inducing tea.

  * * *

  —

  “Mildred?” I said when she answered the phone. “I think I’m having second thoughts.”

  “Well,” she said, “I think I am, too. We could have half the town show up, and just think of the parking. We could be biting off more than we can chew.”

  “I’m in full agreement,” I said, considerably relieved that she was so amenable. “I think I’ll go back to my original plan and have a tea—maybe a high tea, even though it might be a little early in the day for that. I’ll just invite our usual guests plus the Cochran house neighbors, and let it go at that.”

  “And, Julia,” Mildred responded, “that’s exactly who Madge and her cohorts have invited because they’d have the same problem we’d have if they invited half the town. I think you’ll accomplish what you want by doing it that way.”

  “Yes, and if any of my guests want to drop in here, then go to the Cochran house, there’s no way to stop them. But I’ll know who they are, and I won’t forget it.”

  “Nor will I,” Mildred said. Then, with a sudden intake of breath, she went on. “Wait! Wait a minute, I’m having a wonderful idea.”

  “No prizes, Mildred. I’m just not up for bribing guests to honor me with their presence.”

  “Well, me, either, but that’s not what I’m thinking. Listen and tell me what you think. You have your tea from two till four, and I’ll have a supper party from four till six. Husbands can join us for that, and it won’t be too early for supper since it gets dark by four-thirty. What do you think of that? We’ll have the best of the best totally occupied from two o’clock until six, or until whenever they want to leave.”