“I hope you’re right.” Aunt Clancy pursed her lips.
I threw the cards in the trash.
“I’m still hungry,” Violet said. “Let’s go to the Square and get some ice cream.”
We hopped into Violet’s Volkswagen and drove downtown, looking for an empty parking spot near the ice cream shop. The radio was blasting out “What’s Going On” by Marvin Gaye. We passed a man who was jogging down the sidewalk. Violet suddenly hit the brake and leaned toward the windshield. “Wow, look at him. He’s cute.”
The man was running past Rexall Drugs wearing shorts and a faded Memphis State T-shirt with the sleeves cut out. He had long, muscled legs and broad shoulders with chiseled biceps. A faded bandanna was tied around his forehead, and perspiration was dripping off his hair, which hung around his face in dark orange ringlets. The wind caught his shirt and it blew up, showing a flat midriff and a hairy chest.
“Why, that’s Dr. Saylor,” I cried.
“Damn, what a body.” Violet whistled. “Gee, he sure doesn’t look dangerous. Even if he is, I can handle him.”
“You?”
“Why not? God, my nipples are getting hard, even with that orange hair. But it’ll blend in perfectly at the U.T. football games.”
“If you can handle him,” I said, “then so can I.”
“Bet you wish you hadn’t torn up that ME card!” Violet laughed, and Dr. Saylor ran around the corner and disappeared.
After supper, while Violet and Aunt Clancy did the dishes, I sat cross-legged on the counter, the phone book in my lap. Walter Saylor Jr. had two numbers, an office and residence. I dialed the home number before I lost my nerve.
“Who are you calling this time of night?” Aunt Clancy asked, dipping a glass into the sudsy water.
“The dentist,” said Violet in a dreamy voice.
“What?” Aunt Clancy whirled around, slinging suds onto the floor.
“I’ll explain later,” said Violet, throwing down her drying rag and hurrying over to me. She hopped up on the counter and pressed her ear against the receiver. When Dr. Saylor answered, I said, “Hi, er, this is Bitsy Wentworth. The one you’ve been sending flowers to?”
“Oh! You got them.”
“Yes, I did,” I said in a bubbly voice, thinking of his legs.
Aunt Clancy set the glass in the plastic drainer and stepped over to the counter. I moved the receiver so we could all hear.
“Can you hold on a second?” he asked. “I’m in the hall, and I’ve just got to drag the phone into the bathroom.”
“Hold on,” he said. “I’m turning on the shower.”
Violet put her hand over her mouth and giggled.
“Maybe I should call you later,” I said.
“No, now is fine. It’s just fine. See, I’m still living with Fiona—but not as man and wife. Fiona’s my soon-to-be-ex? She wouldn’t like it if I was talking on the phone.”
“Oh.” I made a face at Violet.
“Is he still getting a divorce?” Aunt Clancy asked.
“Shhh!” Violet hissed.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” I told him. “I was under the impression that you were separated—”
“I am. It’s a long story. If you meet me for breakfast tomorrow, I’ll explain everything.”
While we decided on time and place, I heard a pounding noise. “What’s that?” I asked him.
“It’s Fiona,” Walter said. “She’s banging on the door.”
In the background, I heard a gravelly voice. “Walter? What are you doing in there? And why do you need the phone? Do you need me?”
“No, Fiona. Just go away,” Walter yelled.
“Walter?” cried Fiona. “If you don’t answer me, I’m picking the lock. Walter?”
“Say something,” I suggested. “Tell her you’re fine.”
“I’m fine,” he called.
There was a moment of silence. It occurred to me that my husband had tried to drown me, and now I was encouraging a wife beater. Why did I attract these types?
In a loud voice, Fiona cried, “But Walter, honey, what’s taking you so long? Are you talking to your mother again?”
“No, Fiona. I’m calling time and temp.”
“I can give you that information,” Fiona yelled. “Honey, if you’re pooping then just say so. Did your diarrhea come back?”
“No!” Walter screeched. “I’m not your honey. I’m divorcing you, Fiona. So go away.”
“I most certainly will NOT!” Fiona screeched. “I’m going to jerk out the phone if you don’t come out.”
I waited for an opening, then said, “Fiona sounds upset. We’d better hang up.”
“Wait, not yet! Meet me tomorrow at the Caney Fork Truck Stop out on Highway 70,” he said. “Is nine o’clock too early?”
“Fine, I’ll be there,” I said.
“Good, good!” Dr. Saylor said.
“What’s good?” Fiona screamed. “What’s going on in there, Walter? Open the door this instant, or you’ll be sorry.”
“I may have to spend the night in here,” said Dr. Saylor. “So don’t leave if I’m a little late.”
After I hung up, Violet made a pitcher of margaritas, and we went outside and sat on the back porch, gazing up at the stars. It hadn’t rained for weeks, and the City of Crystal Falls was threatening to ration water. Aunt Clancy stepped out onto the porch, carrying a portable radio. John Denver was singing “Annie’s Song.” She inched open the screen door, careful not to bump us, then eased down onto the step behind Violet and reached down for the pitcher.
“I wish it would rain,” I said.
“Maybe we should dance,” Violet suggested.
“I think I’ve forgotten how,” said Aunt Clancy.
“It’ll come back to you,” said Violet, grabbing her mother’s hand.
“Come on, Bitsy,” they called. “Get your butt out here.”
While John Denver sang about his lady, the three of us entwined our fingers, then raised our arms and began to sway to the music. Next door, the porch lights blinked on. Dorothy and Jennifer stepped out, followed by Earlene. “Y’all look ridiculous,” Dorothy called.
“It’s a dance,” called Aunt Clancy. “Get over here. We need you.”
“I most certainly will no—”
“Yes!” Jennifer began pulling Dorothy’s hand. “Me dance too.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Dorothy rolled her eyes. But she let Jennifer pull her down the steps and across the yard. I let go of Aunt Clancy’s hand and took my daughter’s. Earlene fit herself between Jennifer and Violet. Then we all turned to look at Dorothy.
Clancy Jane extended her hand. “I won’t bite if you won’t,” she said.
“That’s all right. I’ve had my shots.” Dorothy took her sister’s hand and the six of us began to move in a circle. “Now, dance and fill your minds with watery things,” Aunt Clancy ordered. “Baths, rivers, dew, waterfalls, mermaids, fish, crabs.”
“Frogs,” said Dorothy. “Leeches.”
“Runny noses,” said Violet. “Amniotic fluid. Breast milk. Menstrual blood. Salt. Sweat.”
“Shut up, Violet,” Aunt Clancy told her, laughing.
“Thirst,” I said. “Fountains.”
“Drowning,” said Dorothy.
“Floating,” I said.
“Faster!” Jennifer cried, towing us along. Her laughter rose up into the air, a beautiful sound like a spoon tapping against fine crystal. “Dance, Mama,” she said, tugging on my hand. “Dance.”
It had just stopped raining when I pulled into the parking lot of the Caney Fork Truck Stop, a squatty cement building trimmed in green neon. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I smoothed back my hair. Today I had it swept up into a Grace-like twist and was wearing a blue floral dress with a low sweetheart neckline and puffed sleeves that I’d found at the junk store. On my feet were blue leather shoes with double ankle straps and high, thick heels. We’d all raided Miss Gussie’s attic, finding
a mother lode of vintage fashions—the latest fad for the fall of ’74. But I was a little surprised at myself for going to all this trouble for a man who hid in the bathroom and who may or may not be a wife beater.
When I stepped inside the truck stop, he was leaning against a red
SEAT YOURSELF sign looking crisp and collegiate in dark green corduroy pants and brown tasseled loafers. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, showing a triangle of coppery hair and deathly pale skin. The hair, as always, was shocking. When he saw me, he smiled and placed his hand on my elbow.
“It’s not the International House of Pancakes,” Dr. Saylor said with an aw-shucks shrug. “But it’s the closest thing we’ve got in Crystal Falls.”
A haze drifted over the tables, cigarette smoke and grease, making my eyes water. Two truckers turned around and gaped, their mouths filled with scrambled eggs.
“Is this table okay?” Dr. Saylor asked, gesturing to a window booth, which looked out onto the weedy parking lot. The windows were spotted with raindrops. Instead of curtains or blinds, there was a philodendron growing over them, attached here and there with green thumbtacks.
“Mmmhum,” I said, glancing toward the ominous cloud of smoke drifting from the kitchen toward the dining room. Not a single worker wore a hairnet—Aunt Clancy would croak if she saw this place. I scooted my hips across the booth, and Dr. Saylor sat down across from me. Despite the outrageous hair, he had rather delicate features. Today his eyes looked brown, without any yellow. I looked for his hairlip scar. It was pale and white and curved. Afraid he’d catch me staring, I dropped my gaze to the table. I could see tracks of a recent wiping on the Formica. In our window, the philodendron had been trained to fall in strips. The sun fell in long, slender bars, shining through the heart-shaped leaves.
“What an interesting idea,” I said, reaching up, rubbing my fingers over a glossy leaf. As Dr. Saylor reached out to touch the plant, his hand accidentally bumped into mine. I gingerly traced my finger down the vine, away from his hand. I was relieved to see our waitress appear, her wide hips swaying. Her eyelids were daubed with green iridescent shadow. Minnie was embroidered on her left pocket. She plunked down two menus on the table.
“Coffee?” she asked Dr. Saylor.
He nodded. “Sure, I could use some. How about you, Bitsy?”
I smiled up at Minnie. “Fresca, please.”
Minnie made a note and then drifted off. I lifted the menu, which was two faded mimeographed sheets, each encased in a cracked and yellowed plastic sheath. In ballpoint pen, someone had sketched a crude trout in each corner, its gaping lips about to bite into a hook that looked like Dr. Saylor’s scar. The Green Parrot’s menus featured printed calligraphy and a parrot logo. In addition to the menus, Zach had set up an oversize chalk-board where the daily specials were written out in pink chalk. The café was a perfect blend of cute and classy, trendy and traditional. Customers felt hip when they dined there. For the duration of lunch, they could be part of the counterculture without having to travel any distance or make any permanent changes in their diet, politics, or lifestyle. Not that most people in Crystal Falls actually thought about such things.
Minnie returned, holding a tray. She set down the coffee, a wisp of steam rising up, then my Fresca. With a sigh, she pulled from her pocket the same type of pad that I used at the Green Parrot. “Y’all decided yet,” she drawled, “or do you need more time?”
“Give me one more minute, but you go ahead,” I said to Dr. Saylor.
“Okay, then. I’ll have the Trucker’s Special.”
I glanced down at the menu. The Trucker’s Special offered pancakes, sausage, grits, hash browns, and four eggs, any style.
“How do you want your eggs, sugar?” Minnie asked.
“Sunny-side up, please.”
“With extra toast for dunking?”
“Definitely.” Dr. Saylor nodded.
“And you, ma’am?” Minnie smiled at me patiently while I studied the menu, searching for something that wasn’t doused in two pounds of grease.
“Do you have salads?” I asked hopefully.
“Not really. Well, we have tuna.” Minnie made a face. She leaned toward me and whispered, “If you like mayonnaisy things, that is. You ain’t saving no calories, trust me. I’d get the omelet. My motto is, if you’re gonna eat something fattening, you might as well eat something tasty. You know what I’m saying?”
I smiled and nodded. I liked Minnie’s style. “Have you been waitressing long?” I asked her.
Before Minnie could respond, Dr. Saylor interrupted, “Just make that two Trucker’s Specials.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “That’s too much.”
“It’s a bargain,” said Minnie. “You get one of everything.”
“We’re not coming for the food, anyway,” Dr. Saylor said, giving me a knowing look.
“Ain’t heard that one before.” Minnie raised her eyebrows and scribbled on the pad. “I guess you two are in love.”
She bustled off, and Dr. Saylor propped his arm on the back of his booth. “My baby sister Jobeth used to work here,” he said. “That’s how I know about it.”
“I’m a waitress at the Green Parrot Café.” I touched the philodendron again.
“Well, I’ll have to start eating lunch there.” He smiled. The sun blazed through the window, shining through his Afro, making his scalp gleam. “When you aren’t waiting tables, what’re you doing?”
“I like to work in the garden with my aunt.” I rubbed a spot on the table.
“I used to have plants. You know, ferns and whatnot. But I’ve been thinking that I’d like to study astronomy, learn the constellations.”
“Yes, that would be neat. Do you have a telescope?”
“No, but maybe I’ll get one.” He leaned across the table and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “So soft and pretty,” he said. “I wonder what you’d look like as a redhead.”
Awful, I almost said but stopped myself. I leaned back, and my hair slipped from his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just can’t seem to keep my hands to myself.”
I let that pass.
“You don’t feel comfortable with me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“Maybe you will when you get to know me better.” He folded his hands. “Do you have any questions?”
About what? I thought. But I said, “Why did you and your wife split up?”
“We just did.” His face turned red, and he looked down at his hands.
“Were you having an affair?” I thought this was probably the reason, because he’d acted pretty forward with me from the get-go.
“No, no! You’ve got me pegged all wrong. I’m not the type to run around. I mate for life.”
“Maybe you still love her. Why don’t you try and patch things up?”
“And risk death?” he cried. Several truckers turned around to stare.
“Fiona’s a violent woman,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning purple. “She beats me.”
I blinked, wondering if I’d misunderstood. “You mean, like, she hits you?”
“All the time. Last night, she chased me with a hot spatula. I’ve got a mark to prove it.” He glanced over his shoulder, then rolled up his sleeve, to reveal a square red patch above his wrist. I saw little dots, each corresponding to the holes in a spatula.
“She started beating me on our honeymoon,” he said. “And she never stopped. But I never laid a hand to her. Not ever. Not that I’m expecting a medal or anything. But I put up with a lot.”
I squeezed my hands together, remembering how Claude pushed my head into the sink, his fingers digging into my neck. And then I remember how I’d bashed in his face.
“But if she’s so violent, why are you still there?” I managed to ask.
“Squatter’s rights. She wants the house, and legally it’s half mine. But I paid for it all.”
Minnie was bearing down on our table, her arms lo
aded with trays. She began setting down plates in front of Dr. Saylor, rapidly covering the table’s shiny surface: four sunny-side up eggs, ruffled strips of bacon, disks of sausage, buttery grits, hash browns, fried apples, biscuits, toast.
“Man, look at this.” Dr. Saylor pursed his thin lips and whistled.
“Ain’t it a beauty?” Minnie grinned, arranging plates in front of me.
“And it was fast, too,” said Dr. Saylor.
Minnie grinned, as if she was personally responsible for the swift service. I wondered how long ago the food had been prepared.
“Y’all need some milk to wash it all down?”
“Bring us the whole cow.” Dr. Saylor grinned at Minnie, then he turned his attention to the table, gazing rapturously at the food. I felt dizzy breathing in the greasy fumes.
“After all this, I won’t be able to eat for a week,” I said.
“Me, either.” Dr. Saylor squirted catsup over his hash browns.
I lifted my fork, speared a sausage. A droplet of grease hit my plate. I still wasn’t one-hundred percent convinced that he was telling the truth. From the corner of my eye, I watched Dr. Saylor digging into his eggs. Freckles were splattered on the backs of his fingers, way too many to count, and his nails were marred by white dashes and dots, like his body was sending urgent signals in Morse code. Danger, Stay Away. Or the code might have said: Harmless, Free Roses. Take Advantage.
“This food is de-licious,” he said, shoving a forkful of hash browns into his mouth. A blob of catsup hit the front of his shirt, directly over his heart, neat as a bullet hole. “But it’s not as good as El Toro’s. Maybe one of these days, we’ll go there, just you and me.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but I’m afraid to go anywhere with you. You’re still living with Fiona. What if she just cracks?” I snapped my fingers to emphasize my point, and he flinched.
“The only thing she’ll crack,” he said, a grim look crossing his face, “is a whip—across my back.”
Clancy Jane
In a yard sale cookbook find, Clancy Jane found a recipe for a dish called Buddha’s Jewel—tofu dumplings floating in a sweet-and-sour sauce, with mushrooms and water chestnuts. She ran to the cramped, cookbook-lined office in the back of the café to show it to Zach. He vetoed the idea, arguing that Buddha had three jewels, not one, and besides, the customers might confuse it with the “family jewels.” She hadn’t thought of that.
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