Rush

by Lisa Patton

  If truth be told, it’s made me wonder why I ever decided to work at a sorority house in the first place. I love our girls, don’t get me wrong, but it’s hard. Hard to be a surrogate mother instead of a real one. The Alpha Delt girls are a daily reminder of the decision I made all those years ago and every now and then it about chokes the life out of me. How was I to know I would never give birth again? Plenty of unwed mothers put their babies up for adoption hoping it won’t be their only chance at motherhood.

  Is my daughter’s adoptive mother good to her? What about her father? How about college? Did she graduate? And what about the man in her life? Is she married now, with children of her own? Once again that voice inside my head gets going. It speaks loud and clear, the way it always does, reminding me of who it was that made the selfish choice in the first place to give up my own flesh and blood. I have nobody to blame but me.

  *

  At a quarter past ten, I look up from reading and here comes Mama Carla, dragging herself inside with Trudy trotting at her heels. I hop up, help her with her bag, and she and Trudy both plop down in the other chair. No “How are you,” or even a simple, “Hello, Pearl.” The first words out of her mouth are: “Philip left her.”

  “Tell me that’s not true, Mama Carla.”

  “It’s true.” She lets her head collapse back into the chair and closes her eyes. “I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case. You and I both know how hard it is to go through divorce.”

  “Sure do.” I put the magazine down on the coffee table and give her my undivided attention.

  “It’s nasty and it keeps the children in a constant state of upheaval.”

  “That it does. Any chance of reconciliation?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “I am so sorry, Mama Carla.”

  “Somehow she’ll get through it.”

  “Yes, she will. We both know how that works.” I yawn, cover my mouth. “Excuse me.”

  Mama Carla yawns, too, laughs. “I bet you’re as tired as I am. How did it go here?”

  “It went well,” I tell her.

  “No hiccups?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” A part of me wants to get her opinion on the big hiccup that happened here yesterday, but I don’t want to worry her. Not tonight.

  “You must be ready to get in your own bed.”

  “I might be spoiled by yours. It sure is comfortable. I felt like I was queen for the weekend.”

  She chuckles softly, gets a sparkle in her eye. “Would you be open to doing it again sometime?”

  “Of course.” Despite the brouhaha with Miss Lilith, the thought of this still makes me happy. Like I told Kadeesha, progress.

  “Pardon me,” she says, talking through another yawn. “I’m afraid I lost too much sleep this weekend.”

  I figure that’s my cue to head on home, so I stand up. “Something struck me as funny while I was lying in your bed, Mama Carla. Before last night, I’d never spent one night in this House.”

  “Never?”

  “No, ma’am. After all these years.” I gather up my pocketbook and overnight case. “By the way, there are clean sheets on your bed.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Pearl, you didn’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I did. I knew you’d be too tired to do it yourself.”

  “Well, thank you. You’re a dear. On the way in I noticed the House looks spotless. Did Kadeesha behave herself?”

  “That’s another story. We can talk about it tomorrow.” We both chuckle, too tired to say much more. “Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Lilith asked me to have you call her soon as you get back.” I search her face, looking for her reaction. I’m not going to give her a blow by blow, but I feel as if I have to at least pass on the request. If not it could borrow trouble for Mama Carla.

  She puts a finger to her chin. “Did she, now?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I cut my eyes at her. She knows we’re both thinking the same thing. “Soon as she saw it was me taking your place.”

  She leans her head back, shuts her eyes. “Well. Whatever Miss Lilith needs will have to wait until tomorrow. Good night, my dear.”

  “Good night, Mama Carla. Get some rest.”

  Our pudgy-faced security guard stops me as soon as I walk out of her apartment. “Finally going home, Miss Pearl?” he says, sweet as he can be.

  “Yes, Oliver, I sure am.”

  “Want me to walk you to your car?”

  “No, thank you, baby. I’ll be just fine. But you’re mighty sweet to ask.” I’ve trekked to the parking lot a thousand times by myself. And I imagine I’ll be doing it plenty more.

  It’s quiet in the kitchen when I walk through to the back door. The only sound is the soft hum from the icemaker. When I push the door to and lock it from the outside I feel a deep sense of pride in how I’ve spent the last sixty-two hours. A soft rain is falling; Lord knows we need it. I start toward the parking lot, but something makes me turn around. I look up at the second story. The upstairs study room is brightly lit and through the blinds I can see some of the girls’ silhouettes bending over their books. A thought comes to mind. Something I can see as clearly as Paul saw Jesus on that road to Damascus. I haven’t thought about it much in a few years. But now I believe the timing is just right.

  THIRTY

  WILDA

  The second I woke up, Monday morning after the game, Lilith Whitmore’s face popped into my mind’s eye. Four months ago she was a tiny head on an old composite in my attic. Now she’s occupying more space in my worry room than I ever knew I had. I’ve been practicing what I’ll say to her over and over again and by now, ten A.M., I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. I’ve been on the toilet all morning.

  In my mind, I get as far as: Hi Lilith, this is Wilda, how are you today? Nice weather we’re having, huh? Then I hear her say: Actually it’s the hottest September on record. Did you really call to talk about the weather or is there something else on your mind? Spit it out, Wilda, I don’t have all day. Or even: Wilda, I’m glad you called. There are a few things about Rush we need to discuss. Particularly that Cali Watkins. I saw the rec you sent in for her and heard you and Haynes invited her to the game. Do you honestly think she’s Alpha Delt material?

  Define Alpha Delt material for me, would you please, Lilith? Because a daughter who is falling down drunk in the Grove does not seem to be in line with your definition. Ellie made me swear not to tell Haynes but, apparently, Annie Laurie had to be carried back to the dorm. And that sweet Cali Watkins sacrificed her seat at the game to take care of her. Ellie also told me that Lilith was not very friendly to Cali at the Grove party. The irony of that is astonishing.

  On the way home from the game I told Haynes about my talk with Lizzie. He thought it was hilarious. I told him that there was nothing in the least bit funny about me telling Lilith Whitmore she can no longer attend Rush meetings and that he was no help at all. He reminded me how few people were at the party, and said I shouldn’t be in the least bit afraid of her. After nearly thirty-five years of marriage, wouldn’t you think he’d know me a little better than that?

  Now I’m staring at her contact on the phone in my hand, her picture in the tiny round circle above her name—like the composite in my attic. Poor Daisy hasn’t been fed yet and my house is in desperate need of a scrub-down. I’m walking around in circles wondering what to do first. Instead of punching in her number I put the phone down and clean our toilets. Then I vacuum our entire downstairs like I’m OCD.

  When the phone rings, thirty minutes later, I’m as jumpy as a dang flea. I creep over and peek at the name. Mama. Reluctantly, I push talk. It’s been awhile. “How’s it going, Mama?”

  “Not well. We have a problem.” We is the key word here. With every passing day I’m more and more jealous of Mary living in Dallas.

  “What’s wrong now, Mama?”

  “If Hugh Freeze thinks that defense will carry us through till the end of the season he’s got ano
thah thing coming.” My mother doesn’t know the first thing about football.

  “We won thirty-eight to thirteen,” I say.

  When she snickers and clicks her tongue my entire body cringes. I can feel my face contorting like I’ve just gotten a whiff of spoiled milk. A throwback to childhood.

  “Against the Wofford Terriers. Freeze better do something if he hopes to have a sliver of a chance against the Tide. The talk is he’s going to be let go.”

  “The talk from whom, Mama?”

  She pauses long enough for me to realize she’s made the whole thing up. “I don’t know, Wilda, I’ve heard it in passing.”

  I switch the phone to speaker mode and set it down on the kitchen counter. When I come back from the laundry room she’s still talking. “And then I called both Coopah and Jackson and they agree with me. Hugh Freeze is in big trouble.” I know she has embellished this way out of proportion, but there is no point in challenging her. I just let her talk. “But enough of Ole Miss football. How is Ellie?”

  “Fine. We took her to the game. She’s Miss Ole Miss. Couldn’t be happier.”

  “Well. That makes me happy to hear. How is her roommate?”

  Mention of Annie Laurie gets me thinking about Lilith all over again, and I feel that familiar pit constricting my stomach. I’m just about to confide in Mama about Lilith when, thankfully, my better sense takes over. “She’s fine, too.”

  “I am delighted the Whitmoahs are in your life. They are such a fine family. What luck their daughtah needed a roommate and chose Ellie.”

  Hearing her choice of words, “chose Ellie,” does me in. “I better go, Mama, I’ve got a ton to do today.”

  “Well,” she says, completely ignoring me. “How’s the job search going?”

  “I told you. I can’t take a job until after Rush is over.”

  She never responds. Just rolls right onto something else. “It’s a shame neither of my grandsons are married. I’d certainly like to see my first great-grandchild before I die.”

  Now my head is pounding. Between Mama and my impending phone call with Lilith, I might combust. This calls for drastic measures. “Mama? Mama? Are you there?”

  “Yes. I’m heah.”

  “Shoot, I must have lost you. If you can hear me I’ll call you later. My tub is overflowing. Have a great day.”

  I push the red end-call button and I’m free.

  For now.

  I’m convinced a good hot soak in the tub will calm my nerves. But when I get out twenty minutes later, panic returns and I find myself once again staring at the phone in my hand. It’s getting impossible to come up with more stall tactics so I go ahead and take a deep, deep breath and punch in her number.

  Lilith answers on the first ring, without a hello. “Hey, stranger, we were hoping y’all would come back for the band.”

  “I know. I really wanted to, but Haynes wasn’t feeling well. I had to drive the whole way back.” Little Southern white lies numbers one and two.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “Please tell him Gage and I hope he feels better.”

  “I sure will.”

  “By the way, I never got to finish telling you about the maid.”

  “Rosetta?”

  “No. The Alpha Delt maid,” she says.

  “Pearl?”

  “Yes, Pearl. Anyway, she was filling in for Carla last weekend.”

  “Aw. She’s so sweet. I met her when I was there for the Rush meeting.”

  “Sweet, yes, I’ll give her that. But a House Director she is not. When she told me she was Carla’s fill-in I nearly died. We’re the finest sorority on campus. What is this world coming to?”

  Oh my God. Did she honestly say that? “You know we have an African American active member now. Right?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  I’m hideously uncomfortable. All I want to do is hang up the phone, but there’s still so much to talk about. I’m beginning to wonder why in the world I took the advisor position and, more importantly, why I ever encouraged our daughter to be a part of this.

  I pause. A little too long.

  “Wilda?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I thought I lost you.”

  “No, I’m still here.” I breathe deeply. It’s now or never. “Lilith. The funniest thing happened on the way to the stadium. Right after we left your tent.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I ran into Lizzie Jennings. The Rush Chairman for Alpha Delt?”

  “I know Lizzie. Very well, in fact. She’s doing a great job.”

  “I think so, too. I was very impressed with her at that Rush meeting I attended, and how she kept it moving forward. Things sure seem to run more smoothly than when we were in school. Don’t you think?”

  “I’m not so sure about that. But I suppose they run a fairly tight ship. Now, as you were saying?”

  “Well, funniest thing. It seems there’s been a mistake.” I’m balled up in the corner of the couch with my thumb in my mouth.

  “What kind of mistake?” she asks in a cool tone.

  “This is not coming from me—as you know I don’t know all that much about Alpha Delt.”

  “Wilda. I can tell something’s wrong. Please tell me what it is.”

  “Lizzie asked me to tell you…”

  “Tell me what?”

  “The House Corp President is not supposed to be handling anything that has to do with Rush.”

  My voice is practically shaking. And it only makes things worse when a deafening silence on her end follows—dead, dead air.

  Now I’m terrified. “I told her I was sure you didn’t know and you were only—”

  “You’re exactly right. I had no idea,” she says in a surprisingly calm, kind voice. Relief is oozing from my adrenal glands when she adds, “I’m glad you told me. I’m going to hang up right now and call Lizzie. I need to thank her for telling you, reassure her all is well, and let her know she has nothing to worry about.”

  To think all the gray hairs I added to my worrywart head in the last thirty-six hours was all for naught. “You’re not upset?”

  “Upset? Heavens no. Why would I be upset?”

  “I … I was afraid it might hurt your feelings.”

  “Wilda. You need counseling, girlfriend,” she says in a somewhat jovial tone. “If that’s all it would take to hurt your feelings, I suggest you find a good therapist.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  MISS PEARL

  It’s here. Rush. The biggest week of the entire year. Most days I’ll clock in at five forty-five and won’t leave till one the next morning. By the time the week runs out, this forty-four-year-old girl will be completely outta gas. The only thing positive about working that many hours is the number I’ll see on my check. It’s one of two weeks out of the year I get overtime pay, and it can’t come at a better time. My tires are still bald.

  There are traces of October in the air when I park my car. My sweater is in the back seat so I reach behind me and slip it on. By the time I walk all the way to the House I’m five minutes late. Mama Carla is rambling around the kitchen when I clock in. She’s got an order sheet in one hand and a pencil in the other. I’m surprised to see her.

  After placing my card back in the slot, I mosey toward her. “Why in the world are you up working so early?”

  She’s still in her bathrobe, has last night’s makeup on her face, and her hair is a big mess. “Lordy, Pearl. I’ve been up all night.”

  “Uh-oh. What’s happened now?”

  She sucks in a deep breath then expels it slowly. “Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, one of your babies took the liberty of propping the side door open. When her boyfriend snuck inside the stairwell, drunk as Cooter Brown, he fell all the way to the bottom, splitting his head wide open.”

  I gasp.

  “She found him unconscious, so she had to call an ambulance, which, naturally, woke not only me, but the rest of the house.”

  “
Mercy me. He is okay?”

  “He’s fine. A little embarrassed, but physically he’s fine.”

  “Whose boyfriend?”

  “Do you really want to know?” She leans on the wall for support. “She’s one of your favorites.”

  “I don’t guess. I’m the maid, not the housemother.” We both chuckle.

  “You should have seen our poor security guard, bless his heart.”

  “What did Oliver do now?”

  “When he heard the commotion, he banged on my door first. Then, as we walked through the house, he had both hands on his gun.” She stretches her arms out to demonstrate. “He ducked around every corner, like he was a cop on CSI.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Bless his heart. He’s our own Barney Fife.”

  She chuckles, shakes her head. “Needless to say, I’ve been up ever since.”

  “I was up late myself.”

  “What called you to the witching hour? Something fun I hope.”

  “I wish. Nothing bewitching about last night for me. I was right here. Till eight.”

  “Don’t tell me; let me guess. You were rescuing another pair of thong panties from the agitator in the washing machine?”

  “That was last week.”

  “Hang on. Give me another try. You were teaching someone how to make instant oatmeal.”

  “Hush now, Mama Carla. That’s my baby you’re talking about.”

  She puts a hand on her hip. “I give up. What were you doing?”

  “Cleaning upchuck.” I lift my hand to stop her from getting the wrong idea. “But it wasn’t from drinking.”

  She throws her hands up. “Thank God for small favors. What happened?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you.”

  After I left work, about five o’clock, I was headed out toward Handy Andy’s for a barbeque. Shirley and I were on the telephone, talking about her new boyfriend. I was only fifteen minutes from home when someone with an unknown Memphis number started blowing up my phone. I ignored the beeping the first time, and the second, but when I heard it a third time I told Shirley I had to go. When I switched over, I’m sure there was a plenty of annoyance in my hello.