by Lee, Terry
Piper accepted the Solo cup. “Nah. I was in the crowd though.” She leaned back in her beach chair and smiled. “I look better with my clothes on.”
“Don’t we all.” Janie wadded up the empty marshmallow bag and dropped it in her trash sack.
As the night wore on topics ranged from favorite instructors and the best movie ever contest, which led to favorite actor, and then guys they’d dated. Regina seemed the least involved in the discussions.
“Hey there.” Dena wagged a fingernail at Regina. “What’s with the mute button?”
Reliving her recent reaffirmation of actually being included as a true Bad-Ass-Girl, she came to terms with a concept, the one her mother had preached about for so long.
“You know, I worked so hard to get ahead…the best majorette, best-dressed, get noticed more than anyone else….” She stared down at her pedicured feet and didn’t even bother brushing off the sand. “Not only did I miss out on most of this stuff, but…well, I was rude a lot of the time. I hate that.”
“I’m surprised.” Janie spurted out, and then refilled her cup.
“You mean, I wasn’t rude?” Regina narrowed her eyes as much as the Botox would allow.
The remaining sets of eyes volleyed between the two women.
“Oh no, you were rude. I’m just surprised you hated it. I figured you enjoyed it at least a little, because you did it so much.” Janie slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Okay, Tourette’s woman, where’s the duct tape?” Dena rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d outgrown that.”
“Oh God, I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Janie wedged her cup in the sand, heaved herself out of the low-lying chair, and made her way over to Regina. Dropping down on her knees, she pulled Regina in for a tight Janie-hug. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve had too much to drink. And it meant so much this morning when you and I were able to share about our…hiccup…well, you know…friends.”
Regina brought her arms up around Janie’s large frame and patted her back. “That’s okay. It was true. I really was a bitch.”
“Well, yeah…or at least I thought so back then.” Janie squeezed a bit harder. “Not now, though. Besides, we’re not eighteen anymore.” Janie released Regina, came to her feet, brushing sand from her shins, and announced to the BAGs, “Okay, I’m cut off.”
She had just about made it back to her seat when Frannie broke out with,
“Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.
Wouldn’t you like to get away?”
As was Frannie’s style, she held up a finger again, waiting for the others. Hardly a beat passed before everyone joined in singing…loudly.
“Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they’re always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
Troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows your name.”
God, how they’d loved Cheers. The women howled, whether from nostalgia or the adult beverages. A little of both would probably be more accurate. One song led to another. By the end of the next hour they had covered “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease, nixed the Brady Bunch theme song, belted out “I’ve Got You, Babe” by Sonny and Cher, “Monday, Monday” by the Mamas and the Papas, several Beach Boy songs, and ended with their theme song, “You’ve Got A Friend,” but, of course, not without friendly fire regarding artists.
“Hey, anybody ever to go Gilley’s?” Suzanne held up the pitcher of margaritas. “My last one.”
“I did.”
All eyes turned to Regina.
“Whatever for?” Dena had never strayed from straight-up questions. “I mean, let’s face it, Gilley’s seems way too…oh, what’s the word…? Redneck for your taste.”
“I tried out for an extra in Urban Cowboy.” Regina rearranged herself in her chair. “I think I would have gotten the job, but I couldn’t get the hang of that two-step thing.”
“Yeah, that would be a deal-breaker.” Allison stretched her legs. “Did you see Bud?”
“You mean John?”
The atmosphere mimicked a round of truth or dare. The floor was open to Regina. It would have been so easy to fabricate some wild story about her and Travolta, but something seemed to have shifted after spending time with the group of old friends. At least tonight, her self-inflation button had been switched to the off position. She chose truth.
“No.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her blouse. “Didn’t even get close.”
The bonfire coals had burned down to mostly ashes. Yawns circled the group like a wave at a sports event. Allison stood to gather her belongings and looked around for something to help disperse the remnants of the fire.
“Do you think she’s here?” All eyes swerved toward Suzanne. “Denise...do you think she’s here?”
Allison had found a small stick and spread out the remaining bits of glowing coals. “I do.”
“Really?” Suzanne pinched her lower lip with her fingers.
Dena also rose out of her chair and extended a hand, pulling Suzanne to her feet. “Of course she is. Where else would she be?”
The women hauled chairs, blankets, and ice chests back to the parked cars, stopping to drop off the trash bag in the garbage container.
Janie, who had remained silent since her verbal spasm, started the last song of the night.
“We are the girls of the ground floor whore corp,
We are the girls that the boys pay more for.
Out in the courtyard…under the bushes,
You can hear all the grunts and pushes.
You don’t dare to call us tra-mps,
If you do, you won’t get Green Stamps….”
“God, I’d forgotten about that song. We weren’t really like that, were we?” Suzanne’s look bordered between pure horror and puzzlement. “I mean…if my girls ever heard that.”
Dena wrapped an arm around Suzanne. “We were big talkers…b-i-g fucking talkers.”
They walked the remaining distance to their vehicles in silence.
~~~
Sunday
Once again, the movement through the bay house in the early hours would have put a snail in first place. The tension that had filled the rooms like a smoke bomb on Friday was little more than a puff of air that last morning. They’d grown up…well, for the most part. Basic personalities remained the same: Suzanne was still the most reserved, Regina maintained her best-dressed performance, and little had shifted from Dena’s vocabulary.
The group learned—which came as a surprise, even to Dena and Janie—that Frannie had not only submitted a series of short stories to a publisher, but had been offered a contract for publication.
“What the fuck?” were the first words spoken by you-know-who. “I talk to you at least once a week.” Dena sat at the kitchen table, her pile of mostly diamond jewelry in front of her waiting to be donned. “You little sneak.”
“I know, I know.” Frannie covered her face with her hands, then dropped them to her lap. “I should have said something, but I was afraid of jinxing it.”
“Uh, excuse me?” Janie stood at the sink, filling the dishwasher.
“Okay, wrong word.” Frannie’s face flushed slightly.
Of course they still had issues. Janie finally spilled the story of her and Matt. When she had arrived last Thursday she’d felt down-right pissed. But sitting among the BAGs—the BAGs of today—her anger switched to the pain she’d held in for way too long. Her eyes welled. She pressed her fists to her chest as if to stop the breaking apart of her heart, marriage, and family. The tears finally spilled. They all stayed at her side until her sobs turned to sniffles.
“Does this have anything to do with the nude chick on that weird surfboard hanging on the wall?” Piper had switched to a shirt that actually covered her mid-section. I
t was difficult to decide which was more noticeable, the actual full-length T-shirt or Led Zeppelin stretched across her larger than life boobs. As stated above, some basic personalities remained the same.
Janie blew into several Kleenex. “I was pissed when I got here on Thursday. A picture of Matt in his damn kayak had been hanging there forever. So, I tossed it.” She actually laughed. “That bottle opener was the first thing I found to hang on the nail.” Using a new Kleenex, she wiped the black mascara smudges under her eyes. “She’s not really naked. If you look real close she’s wearing one of those old one piece Esther Williams swimsuits. Don’t know where it came from. Probably a garage sale or something.” Janie took several deep breaths. “Wow. That hurt, but I got to tell ya…somehow I feel better. Isn’t that weird?”
Allison gave a Cliff Notes version of life with an Alzheimer’s mom, and the upcoming decision of placing her in a specialized facility.
“How are Ben and the girls?” Dena stood in the kitchen packing up Pyrex dishes from the chicken and rice casserole.
“Everybody’s good.” Allison kneaded the sides of her neck with her knuckles. “Believe me, it’s definitely a team effort.”
“Whatever happened to that guy you dated in college?” Regina sat next to Allison at the table. “I thought for sure you’d end up with him.”
If Janie had the Tourette’s mouth when under the influence, Regina cornered the market on “need for sensitivity training.” How like Regina not to remember how difficult that time had been for Allison.
The room fell to an almost respectful silence…like when walking into a church…or funeral home. Allison studied Regina’s sculptured face before replying. “He’s married and has two boys…I believe.”
“Well, that’s our signal to hit the road.” Dena stood and nodded toward Frannie. “Anyone else?”
“Yeah.” Piper heaved the straps of her paisley duffle bag up to her shoulder. “I’m out of here. I’ve got a helluva long drive.”
A collective, but silent, sigh of relief circled the room when Piper left the house without the gallon milk jug.
Before the departures, they’d all exchanged current phone numbers and made tentative plans to have another get-together the same time next year. Those in the Houston area, which included everyone except Piper, who still lived near Fort Worth, agreed to get together and see what they could do to help Denise’s family.
The weekend had been a success. They’d reconnected, actually in many ways they never had before. Janie and Regina had shared a “moment” with their tormenting little inner selves, which was a definite first. Piper had revealed to Allison and Regina that she had a daughter, and Frannie got to share her news about becoming a published writer. Janie gained support about her failing marriage, and Regina finally felt like a true Bad-Ass-Girl. And Suzanne had been able to work through some much withheld torment of not being present for her best friend at the time of her death.
The BAGs, all wearing their “diamond” red flip-flops, said goodbye to end their farewell weekend to Denise.
Chapter 25
The Interview - 1992
Wednesday afternoon the television station set up a camera crew in the courtyard of the Fountain Oaks Apartment complex. The brief ceremony was set for two o’clock. A military veteran would present the dog tags to Viola Middleton, mother of the fallen soldier, who had been killed in the Vietnam War in 1970. Twenty-two years had passed.
“Why am I so nervous?” Regina asked Snow. Where the hell was Snow? “I’m a Scorpio, for God’s sake. Scorpios don’t get rattled.”
Regina learned Ms. Middleton had reluctantly agreed to a short interview after the presentation. Few people intimidated Regina, as far as she would let anyone see, but something about Ms. Middleton scared the shit out of her. She always mailed her rent check at the first of the month instead of hand delivering it, and had only had a few—but all unpleasant—face-to-face moments with the apartment manager. Roger, her immediate boss and head of the news desk, decided to attend, which added to Regina’s rattled nerves.
“Thank God, you’re here!” Regina released a huge breath at the sight of Allison and Suzanne walking out to the courtyard. “I didn’t know if you’d remember it was today, and then my boss showed up. Wait till you see this woman. She looks like a pit bull ready for a fight. Do I look too orange?”
“Hey, calm down.” Allison pulled back and did a full head to toe examination of her ex-roommate. “Who are you and what have you done with Regina? She’s tall, looks like you, but is a smartass and awfully sure of herself.”
Regina pushed the two back under the breezeway, out of earshot from any of the station personnel. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Suzanne turned to Allison. “Doesn’t that sound like me?” She next faced Regina. “You sound like me.”
“What is wrong with you?” Allison grabbed Regina by the shoulders. “Let me see your pupils. Did you forgot to take your medicine this morning…or maybe took too much?”
“Oh stop.” Regina shrugged off Allison’s grip and used a hand to run fingers lightly through her hair.
“Maybe I should slap you out of it.” Allison turned to Suzanne and grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Just give me a minute.” Regina placed her hand on her chest. “Really, do I look too orange? I think I overdid the self-tanning thing today. Does my lipstick look okay?”
“It’s tattooed on.” Allison reached into her purse for a small mirror. “Don’t think it’s going anywhere. Here.” She handed over the mirror.
“I always wondered about that.” Suzanne edged closer to Regina’s face for a better look. “Did that hurt?”
“Really? That’s the best you two have to offer? I’m dying here.” Regina moved the mirror around to check all areas of her face and neck before snapping the compact close.
“Okay, okay.” Allison smoothed out her voice. “Too late for a counseling session, so we’re gonna go with just some d-e-e-p breathing.”
The three women stood in the breezeway of the Fountain Oaks Apartment and collectively practiced deep breathing techniques as if they were in a yoga class. Two minutes of actually oxygenating the brain seemed to do the trick. Regina’s face relaxed as much as cosmetically possible and she seemed to regain her usual haughty composure.
“I’m better now.” She smoothed out her spandex-fitting dress and practiced her on-stage smile.
“Regina! Get over here,” the head of the news desk yelled.
“Oh shit.” Regina darted off like R2D2 being chased by a storm trooper, far from the Yoda tranquility she’d experienced only moments before. She slammed to a halt next to the person who would wire her earpiece for the interview.
In the past, Regina had only seen her landlord in funky overalls and tennis shoes. Now, Regina wasn’t a total snob. Yeah right. So now Snow pipes in. Overalls could be really fashionable if they were from someplace like Banana Republic, with a decent accent top. But Ms. Middleton’s usual attire looked like something out of Hee-Haw. However, today Ms. Middleton actually wore a pantsuit. Drab, and definitely not one Regina would ever be caught wearing, but it beat the overalls.
The ceremony was brief, and Regina learned the veteran presenting the dog tags was actually the woman’s nephew. A polished rectangular cedar box containing the recovered dog tags of the fallen soldier had been handed over to Ms. Middleton. At the completion of the ceremony, Regina approached the woman in the drab pantsuit and extended her hand.
“Ms. Middleton, I will be conducting the interview.” Regina tried to ignore the golf ball lodged in her throat and the narrow grey eyes giving her a once over. She had been informed Ms. Middleton requested that the interview take place inside. “Do you mind if the camera crew sets up the lights in your apartment?”
Ignoring the extended hand, Ms. Middleton clutched the cedar box. “Will this take long?” Though slight in stature, the woman easily reduced Regina to a glob of Silly Putty.
“No.” Regina cleared her throat. “We can be in and out in no time.”
Ms. Middleton wheeled around and yelled at a relatively young man dressed in fatigues. “Fletcher!” The woman’s voice sounded bitter and unfriendly. “Let those guys into the apartment,” she ordered.
Regina had been given some background information, which provided her with prompts to hopefully move the interview along. Hopefully. She glanced back at her compadres for assurance, who both gave a thumbs up.
“Theo, move!” Ms. Middleton ordered her cocker spaniel out of the doorway. “Fletcher, take him for a walk. He doesn’t need to see this.”
The young man in camo fatigues grabbed a nearby leash. “C’mon, boy.” The dog took off like a greyhound released from the starting gate, and landed securely in the man’s arms. “That’s a good boy.” Man and dog, both appearing to be smiling, left the apartment.
Regina used this as a conversation starter. “Theo. That’s an unusual name for a dog.”
The woman stopped and turned. “Why?”
Caught off guard, Regina took a step back. She heard Snow in her head saying Keep moving. Thank God Snow had joined forces. “I mean….” Regina cleared her throat, grateful the camera had not started rolling. “It’s great. I’ve just never heard it used as a dog’s name. I…just…wondered where…you came up with it.” Already feeling defeated, she felt her legs weakening at the cold stare from the woman she was about to interview.
“It’s short for Theodore.” Ms. Middleton spoke through clenched teeth. “I name my dogs after presidents. Don’t ask me why.”
No problem, Regina and Snow silently replied.
The cameraman caught Regina’s attention. He held up three fingers, two, one, and then pointed to the red light on the camera.
With the thousand-times-in-the-mirror practiced smile, Regina began the interview. “We’re here today with Ms. Viola Middleton, mother of Michael Middleton, a Vietnam war hero tragically killed over twenty-two years ago. Ms. Middleton has just been presented with a most memorable gift…her son’s military dog tags from 1970, recovered in what was then the Tay Ninh Province.” She turned to the woman, who had white-knuckled fingers around the small cedar chest. “I imagine this is a very emotional experience for you.”
