Cold Tea on a Hot Day

by Matlock, Curtiss Ann

  “Well, I still have a life,” Charlene pointed out. “I’ve gone back to school for a license in therapeutic massage. I’ll do that in a dim room anyway, and we’re planning to put in a salon at the retirement community. Iris is going to finance it, and Dixie and I are goin’ to run it, and we’re goin’ to offer massages and all sorts of herbal treatments.”

  Marilee, who had been listening idly and who now handed Charlene her sack of sandwiches, thought how lovely Charlene was. Attitude, she concluded. Since marrying Mason, Charlene seemed to get younger every day, which was a mark in favor of marriage, Marilee thought, her gaze drifting to the mirror to check out her own appearance.

  There were deeper than normal circles under her eyes, and her hair was limp. She was just about ready to fall off the vine, and then who would want her? Would she bloom, as Charlene had done, if she married Parker?

  Just then Charlene said, “I got your note last week, Marilee, and I meant to call and tell you that we’ll be there for Parker’s birthday party on Saturday. I’ll bring my sour cream dip.”

  The party was a casual affair that Marilee had somehow fallen into organizing each year for the past five. She had sent out the reminder notes to Parker’s small group of friends at the beginning of the month and then forgotten about it. She started just a bit when Charlene mentioned it.

  “I have to get the cake,” she said, checking the calendar. “I forgot about it.”

  “How old is Parker gonna be?” Belinda wanted to know.

  “Forty-three.”

  “Has he ever been married?”

  “Once…for six months when he was twenty.” Marilee wondered why she always answered Belinda’s intimate questions.

  Just then Iris MacCoy entered the store and came forward with rapid steps, even in platform shoes. She gave Charlene, her sister-in-law, a kiss on the cheek like she always did, whether she saw her once a week or three times in a day, and showed them all a poster she wanted to put in the window, announcing the grand opening of the Green Acres Senior Living Community.

  “See…we are emphasizing the word Living. The chamber is putting advertisements in national magazines, too.”

  Going gung ho on working with her husband Adam on building a full-service retirement community, Iris had taken a position on the board of the chamber of commerce. It was widely agreed that Iris could get men to do what they had set their minds not to do. In point of fact, her husband Adam had told everyone he did not intend to build a community for retired old farts, and a week after Iris worked on him, he was contacting architects.

  “Iris designed the poster herself,” Charlene pointed out.

  Each woman made appropriate compliments over it. Iris really had a flare for color and design. She was herself very much of an eye-catcher. Her personal style of bimbo pretty much camouflaged the fact that she had an intelligent brain. Marilee, who had known Iris moderately well for eight years, had an idea that both libertine and intellectual existed inside the woman, and she envied Iris for being able to contain such conflicting natures with apparent peace.

  Marilee put Imperia’s barbecue sandwich in front of her on the counter. She saw Iris, setting herself on a stool, eyeing the plate.

  “Do you want one?” Marilee asked her.

  “Well…what I’d really like is one of those hot fudge sundaes.” She pointed her silvery-nailed finger in the direction of Marilee’s carefully constructed sundae.

  Marilee stuck a stainless-steel spoon in the ice cream, now softened just the way she liked it, and plopped the dish in front of Iris. She wondered if she might get some tips.

  Belinda was up and leaning on the counter, reading aloud the list of activities for the opening. “All day buffet…bingo…pinball…pool tournament…golf tournament…poker…gospel and country music bands and dancing in the evening.” She looked up. “You sure better have paramedics on-site…you are gonna kill these people with all this activity.”

  Marilee watched Iris stick a spoonful swirled with vanilla and chocolate into her mouth. Turning to the shelves, she took down another sundae dish.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Tate Holloway looked up and saw Parker Lindsey approaching from the opposite direction. It was plain that both of them were headed to the drugstore.

  Tate stepped up his pace, ducked into the alcove just ahead of Lindsey and got a drip on the top of his head from the air conditioner just as he pushed open the door.

  “After you.” Tate motioned Lindsey onward. He also got another drip, as he was standing in the correct place for it.

  “After you.” Lindsey stood his ground.

  “No, please…” Tate gestured magnanimously.

  Lindsey kept standing there, so Tate gave in and stepped forward to enter, but Lindsey picked that second to move, too, so they ended up jostling themselves through the door.

  At the bit of commotion at the door, the women at the counter quit talking, and Marilee lifted her eyes from the box of brownies to see two figures entering. With the glare from the bright light through the glass, it took her several seconds to recognize Tate Holloway. Then, with surprise, she saw Parker step out from behind Tate.

  Marilee took in the two men. Tate Holloway whipped off his hat, saying, “Good afternoon, ladies,” and his blue eyes met hers. She jerked her gaze downward, pulled a brownie from the box and plopped it into the sundae dish.

  “Hello, gals. Havin’ a conference?” Parker asked.

  Each of the other women said hello.

  Marilee, occupied with arranging two brownies in the dish and avoiding the temptation of stuffing a third directly into her mouth, did not realize she had not offered a greeting until well after the time to do so had passed. Her lapse, however, obviously had not been noted, possibly because of the welcome so evident in the other women at the counter.

  It was as if an energy swept them, each woman coming just a little bit more to life as a female will when confronted with powerful male energy, and in this case, it was two very vibrant men suddenly dropping into their midst. Even Belinda, who had been about to lower herself onto her stool, stood straight, brushed a hand through her hair and hid her slippers by tucking them beneath the front counter.

  Charlene, moved by the disruption and possibly by Tate Holloway addressing her as “The most beautiful Miss Charlene,” suddenly remembered that she had to return to the salon. “My gosh, Oralee wants this sandwich!”

  She cast a wave. “Marilee, bring the children out to see the ponies. Parker, I’ll see you on your birthday. Bye, y’all.”

  Tate was sprinting to open the door, and this set Imperia into motion. She jumped to her feet, leaving her half-eaten sandwich on the counter, saying for Tate’s benefit, “I have customers to visit,” and hurried after Charlene.

  Like a knight from a storybook, Tate bowed to each woman as she went through the door. Observing, Marilee thought that there was not a single man around Valentine who behaved as Tate Holloway did. His antics had Iris laughing gaily of course. Iris laughed quite easily anyway. Men just loved the way Iris laughed, with her head lifted and her hand sometimes touching her bare neck, or them. Marilee noticed Tate wink at Iris, not that it was any of her business, and she focused on building herself another sundae.

  Parker, who thought Holloway a stupid show-off, nevertheless determined to show off in his own way. He rounded the counter and went about getting himself a Coke out of the fountain machine. He wanted Holloway to see this, to see that this was Parker’s place first. Parker had been here for years and years, and Holloway was a latecomer.

  “Would you like somethin’, Tate?” Parker wiped drips off his foaming glass.

  “Thank you.” Holloway had sat himself on a stool next to Iris. “I came in for the wonderful iced tea. I miss Miss Vella, but the cold tea is still good.”

  “Yes, it is, because it comes from the iced tea maker,” Belinda told him. “It’s made from packets. The only thing Mama did was put the packet in the machine.”

  She pushe
d the button that opened the cash register drawer with a ding and counted away the money Charlene and Imperia had left. Belinda liked to count money. She didn’t like to make food for customers and was inclined to encourage anyone to help himself. She reminded Parker that he needed to pay for his Coke, though.

  Parker scooped ice into a glass and poured the tea from the pitcher, then plunked the wet glass in front of Holloway, who said, “Thank you. I appreciate you servin’ me. Pay the lady, too, will you?”

  Annoyed to find himself being treated like a servant, Parker grandly told Belinda, “Put the editor’s drink on my tab.”

  “I’m not runnin’ a tab like Mama did. I’m not keepin’ track of it.”

  He pulled a couple dollars from his pocket and passed them to her outstretched hand.

  “Thank you, buddy,” Holloway said with that annoying grin of his. “Could you hand me a slice of lemon there?”

  Parker got the lemon slice and threw it so that it plunked with a splash into the man’s glass. “Hey, I’m sorry, buddy.” He used Holloway’s term back at him. “Let me wipe up that mess I made.” Parker grabbed a cloth, lifted Holloway’s glass and, with elaborate motions wiped the counter, setting up to accidently dump the glass in Holloway’s lap.

  The next instant, however, Holloway reached for the glass. “Thank you, sir. That’s just fine now.”

  Parker, feeling thwarted, stepped back and sipped his Coke a couple of times, and then his eyes lit on Marilee, who was busy shaking a can of whipped cream, and thus causing her neat bottom to shake in a nice manner.

  Stepping close behind her, he put both hands on her waist and bent his lips near her ear. “That sundae is lookin’ awfully good. Think you could make me one?”

  He was thinking: See this, Holloway. This is my place.

  Marilee wriggled away from him, saying, “You are perfectly capable of gettin’ it yourself.”

  Parker stood there, his back to those on the other side of the counter. Thank goodness Marilee had spoken in a low voice that only he could hear. What in the hell was wrong with her? He reached for his soft drink glass and casually turned, checking the faces of those at the counter. He was relieved to see that no one was looking his way. He looked again at Marilee, wondering what had gotten her back up. He was getting darn tired of her prickly manner.

  This thought caused an uneasiness inside him, and he drank deeply of his soft drink, then ran his gaze down Marilee’s profile. He found himself caught between being afraid of her breaking off with him, and being afraid she would say she wanted to marry him. He kept hoping if he left it alone, it would all work out somehow.

  Marilee plopped a cherry on the top of her sundae. She wished for more, but by eating them and putting them on sundaes, she had used them all up, and she didn’t want to risk this sundae by taking time to go get another jar from the storeroom. She felt certain that she had annoyed Parker—and she didn’t know why she had done that, except that she didn’t like him putting his hands on her in front of everyone, as if he had ownership.

  Of course, surely he did have some sort of ownership, with their pending engagement. Although it might not be pending. Parker had not said one more word about it. Maybe he wanted to just forget he had ever asked, and that he did not tell her this annoyed the living daylights out of her.

  The problem was that she felt guilty for not making a decision about marrying Parker and telling him one way or the other. That still hung over her, even if he had not mentioned it again.

  She sprinkled pecans atop her sundae, then sprinkled a second helping. She had the feeling Tate was watching her and told herself this was foolishness on her part. She glanced up to check this out and saw him in conversation with Iris and Belinda, his eyes fully on Iris. Parker leaned over on the counter and joined in the conversation. They were talking about the merits of jogging.

  Good Lord, Iris said she jogged six miles four times a week.

  Again Marilee looked over at Tate, and this time his eyes came swinging around to hers.

  Marilee averted her eyes and reached for a cloth to wipe her hands. The next instant, while getting a long-handled spoon from the container, she succeeded in sending two dozen stainless spoons clattering to the floor. She had to get down on her knees to gather them up. Parker helped, and she thought that was nice of him, after she had behaved so sharply to him. This fact deepened her guilt.

  She saved a spoon for herself and threw the rest into the dishwasher. When she turned around, she discovered Parker was helping himself to her sundae.

  Snatching it from beneath his next scoop, she sat herself on Belinda’s stool and began to eat.

  She had sampled one lovely taste of sweet cream and chocolate when Belinda, who had not noticed a body in her stool, backed up to sit herself down. Marilee saw it coming and let out a warning, but Belinda, intent on telling about the fifty-thousand dollars found in Fayrene’s ex-husband’s car, did not hear and ended up squashing the sundae all over Marilee’s bosom.

  It was lucky that Aunt Vella was staying at her house, Marilee thought, observing the chocolate stains on her blouse in the filmy old rest room mirror. Aunt Vella was good at getting stains out of clothing. That mirror had to be the first one hung in here, probably at least sixty years old.

  With a sigh, she threw the paper towel in the trash and emerged from the rest room. Looking down the narrow hallway, she saw Tate and Parker and Belinda at the soda fountain, silhouetted by the bright light through the big front window. Iris was just leaving.

  She stood there a moment, staring.

  Then she looked left, at the door leading to the rear room of the pharmacy. The drone of her uncle’s television came through the door. After a moment’s hesitation, she quietly turned the knob and entered. She apparently wasn’t going to get a sundae, but maybe she could have an influential word with her uncle.

  “Uncle Perry?”

  Her uncle’s eyes opened, and he made a mild effort to straighten himself. He nodded at Marilee.

  “Are you doin’ all right?” she asked. He looked a little too pale to her, but admittedly, she had not paid her uncle any attention for quite some time.

  “Yep. Fine. Somebody need a prescription?”

  “No. I just wanted to say hello.”

  He nodded and straightened some more. His gaze moved back to the television, as if drawn there by a string.

  Marilee noticed that the early edition of the news was just going off, so it was about five o’clock. She needed to get on home if she was to get anything done on her newspaper article before Aunt Vella returned with the kids. She would be embarrassed not to have any writing done.

  “Uncle Perry, aren’t you gonna call Aunt Vella?” Aggravation at thinking about being embarrassed had caused her to get short-tempered.

  He looked at her. “I guess not,” he said, his jaw getting tight.

  “Why not?” Marilee pressed.

  “Vella’s made her decision. Don’t see any need to argue with it.”

  “Don’t you miss her?”

  “Nope.” He focused his eyes on the television screen.

  Marilee looked at him and thought she was carrying on the stupidest conversation in the world. She saw, too, that her uncle’s life had not changed one iota with her aunt not here.

  Annoyed with the entire situation, Marilee said smartly, “You might want to know that while you’re sittin’ in here all day and half the night with the television, Aunt Vella is seein’ Winston Valentine. She is serious about going off in a new direction. You can sit here if you want, but you’re likely to be losin’ your house and a part of this store.”

  While she said that, she searched his face for some reaction, no matter how small. But she did not see any. Her uncle sat there and looked like the lump Imperia had called him. An old man, as her Aunt Vella had said.

  Marilee, feeling defeated, left him there and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Pausing, she looked into the front of the store
to see Tate and Parker and Belinda, still silhouetted against the light of the big front window.

  Stepping out with purpose, Marilee glided out to the soda fountain.

  “You’re not wearin’ a sundae anymore,” Parker said.

  “No, it didn’t fit.” She cast him a grin because she felt it rude not to, then picked up her purse from the rear, saying, “I need to go home to write. Good evenin’, y’all,” and was out the door almost before she realized how coolly she had breezed out.

  Whew.

  She paused on the sidewalk to take a good breath. The air had become quite humid and heavy, indicating coming storms.

  Then her gaze fell on Munro, sitting in front of her Cherokee.

  “My goodness, where did you come from?” She had left him with the children and Aunt Vella.

  She glanced quickly up and down the sidewalk, looking for familiar figures, wondering if some sort of emergency had happened.

  The dog was regarding her with quiet eyes, and she seemed to hear him say, I came to keep you company.

  “Well, come on, and we’ll go home,” she told him and opened the door of the Cherokee for him to hop into the seat.

  Munro was with her when she entered the empty house, and he curled beneath her desk, while she chewed on a fingernail and dredged up from memory the point of her article for next Sunday’s edition.

  An hour and a half later, in a T-shirt and sweatpants and bare feet, Marilee had a rough draft written. She had written it in spurts between glancing at the clock and out the window, looking for her family, and then forcing herself to sit in the chair and put words down for ten minutes at a time. She was exhausted and well ready for Aunt Vella and Winston and the children to blow in with the rising wind of an evening thunderstorm. She greeted everyone with happy hugs.

  “Well, he is here,” Aunt Vella said, upon seeing Munro. She stopped with the pizza box high in the air. “I was afraid I was going to have to tell you I had lost him.”

  “I told them Mun-ro said he need-ed to come be with you,” Willie Lee said in his practical tone.