Songbird

by Lisa Samson

  Stars dance a ring-around-the-rosy inside his pupils.

  “Wanna hit the little mall?” I ask.

  Grandma nods. “This place just sort of reminds me of Disneyland’s Old West part, doesn’t it?”

  “Only smaller,” I say.

  Harlan squeezes me closer “But maybe not for long. Look how the Lord is blessing now. This all is just waiting to explode!”

  “I just saw on TV the other day that plans for an amusement park are in the works as well as a big, outdoor concert setting. It will seat ten thousand people.” Hopefully they’ll have me sing there someday.

  We enter the mall area from the lobby, content to leave our bags in a corner of the lobby. As Harlan said, “What kind of Christian would steal something from a brother or sister in Christ?”

  Oh, this place is too cute. “Look Harlan, a beauty parlor! Pretty Mares All in a Row. Isn’t that the cutest thing?” I turn to him, laying a hand upon his arm. “Can I make an appointment, honey? Please?”

  His gentle smile fills me. “Of course you can, Shug. What about you, Grandma? You up for a haircut?”

  She runs her fingers through her short hair. “I need one badly. But I’m not sure I trust this place.”

  I laugh. “Well, if we get butchered we get butchered together.”

  “All right then. I’ll bet if I had a ponytail, they’d do great braids.”

  Laughing, we walk into the salon to make our appointment for tomorrow morning.

  I tug Grandmas sleeve. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “You deserve a little pampering, sweetie.”

  A permed hairstylist runs over on red pumps stuffed over bobby socks. “You’re Charmaine Hopewell, aren’t you?”

  My eyes bug open wide. “Yes, I sure am. I’m sorry, but… well, have we met before?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. I go to Gospelganza every year when it comes to Winchester. I’ve got your tape. I just love you!”

  Oh, my. Nobody’s ever run up to me outside of the concert setting before. I’m so stunned. My mouth drops. Grandma snickers softly but takes my hand. I come to. “Well, what’s your name, honey?”

  “Georgie May.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Georgie. You do a good cut?”

  She leans forward and whispers, “The best here in the shop if you want to know the truth.”

  I turn to the receptionist. “Then put me in with Georgie.”

  “Me, too,” says Grandma Min. “She seems believable to me.”

  Harlan watches all of this from the side, shaking his head and smiling. In fact all three of us are smiling like insipid jack-o’-lanterns.

  “Can you sign the tape cover for me tomorrow? I’ll be sure to bring it in. I just love that tape.”

  “All right, I’d be tickled to do that.” And that’s the truth. I’ve signed lots of tape covers at concerts, and each time I write my name I can hardly believe it. “I’ve got a new one coming out this spring.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “From a real record company.”

  “No kidding? That’s great! You here to sing on the show?” she asks.

  “Oh, no! I’m sure I’m not even close to being in this league.”

  “Of course you are, Mrs. Hopewell. You sing like an angel. You have the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard.”

  Oh, my lands.

  So I just smile and pat her hand. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

  As we walk into the mall she yells, “Hey y’all, that was Charmaine Hopewell!”

  “Charmaine who?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Hopewell did you say?”

  “Never heard of her.”

  Now that is more like it.

  “Looky there, Shug, you’re famous.”

  “Oh, Harlan. One hairdresser in Forger’s Creek, Virginia, does not render a girl famous.”

  “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

  “I don’t have to. You do it for me.”

  He kisses my temple. “I guess I have to be honest and say that if you did, I may not find you so sweet and sexy.”

  Harlan hardly ever uses the “sexy” word, so I turn and kiss him back and I’m thankful that we got two rooms instead of one. Let’s hope Grandma Min turns her TV up real loud tonight! We haven’t made love since Carl Bofa.

  My lands.

  I realize right then that I feel so much older than my twenty-five years.

  Grandma walks in front of us, the twinkle lights on all the trees illumining her pathway.

  “It’s just so pretty in here, Harlan, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is, Shug.”

  Grandma turns. “Look! A china store! Oh, my. Those are beautiful teapots in the window.”

  “I’ve heard Vinca loves china,” I say. “Go ahead on in. We’ll be there in a minute.”

  I turn to Harlan. “Let’s sit on a bench for a second okay?”

  “All right.”

  So we sit on a bench between two sparkling ficus trees. “Just promise me one thing,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  “Promise me you won’t dream of this when you close your eyes.

  “You know me too well, Shug.”

  “You’re right. This isn’t you, Harlan. This isn’t me. This isn’t us.”

  “You think this is wrong?”

  “I just don’t think it’s us. There doesn’t need to be two Peter and Vinca couples out there.”

  He is silent.

  “Honey, this isn’t our style. We’re down-home. Really down-home. Look at all this stone and glass and pewter and brass. For heaven’s sake, we shop at variety stores.”

  “But they started out that way years ago, Shug.”

  Though Vinca is from society and Peter’s family owned a large cattle ranch, they did start small, going on the evangelist circuit and even sleeping in their car for months on end. They never do pretend they’re better than anybody else. I have to give them that.

  “I don’t begrudge them this, Harlan. Look how happy it’s making these folks. But this isn’t for us.”

  He is silent again and I let him be. After five minutes of watching people go by I can no longer stand it. “Spill it, baby.”

  “Spill what?”

  “You’re not telling me something.”

  He sits back and slips an arm behind me on the bench. “You’re right.”

  “So let me have it.”

  “We’ve been at the church for four months now, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I’m feeling that wanderlust again to get back out on the road.”

  “Oh, Harlan, no! Please don’t ask me to leave Mount Oak!”

  “I’m not. Listen, Shug, I’ve got an idea.”

  “Harlan!”

  “No. Please. Just let me say everything and then you can get upset.”

  I have to laugh at that and he jumps on it. “See, Shug? You’re not as upset as you think you are.”

  “Stop telling me what I am or not, Harlan.” I try to sound as serious as I feel. He deserves that. We all do.

  “Okay. The church wants to start televising its services.”

  I dip my head. “The church?”

  “Well, me, too. But just on cable access. John Patterson is donating the cameras and the equipment we’ll need to tape the programs. See, I’m hoping this will curb that wanderlust, Shug. You know I’m not happy if I’m not preaching to the multitude.”

  “So it’ll be the Sunday services?”

  “Yep.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “For now.”

  “Harla-a-an.”

  “Well, I’ve got to be honest, Shug.”

  “And they want me to sing, right?”

  “Right. It would be good for the show to have you on. I mean, look Shug, here’s a hairdresser in Virginia who knows who you are. And with that BrooksTone record coming out in the spring, that will be wonderful for the show.”
r />   Dear Lord. “What’s it going to be called?”

  “The Port of Peace Hour.”

  “Sounds like the Port-O-Potty Hour.”

  “Shug!”

  “Well, Harlan! This is an awful lot to spring on someone in the space of two minutes!”

  He puts his arms around me. “I know. But I didn’t know how else to do it once you asked me to spill it. I’ve been trying to break it to you for weeks.”

  “And you were hoping that coming down here would help me see the potential of a television ministry?”

  “I guess so. Yes.”

  “Oh, I see the potential all right. But maybe not the potential you see, Harlan.”

  He doesn’t ask me what I mean, and I don’t have the heart to tell him.

  Harlan looks around like he’s at the Ritz or something. “Look at this bedroom, Shug! A wardrobe thing and everything.”

  “It’s an armoire, baby.”

  “Darn. I don’t see a TV.”

  “Look inside the armoire.”

  He pulls open the doors. “Well, would you look at that? There’s the TV! Have you seen anything like this before?”

  “In Nashville when I went to record.”

  The hotel room isn’t nearly as high-end as the lobby and the mall. However, it’s neat and houses good, oak furniture, pretty quilts, and a clean bathroom with little soaps, shampoos, and lotions.

  The coffeepot is not by the toilet, thank the Lord.

  I look through my luggage just to make sure nothing was taken in the lobby, and sure enough, “It’s all still here.”

  “Did you think it wouldn’t be?”

  I shrug. “You can be too trusting sometimes, Harlan.”

  Excitement stutters inside me. I sit in my studio seat and when the music and lights go up I am transported back to Suds N’ Strikes, back to that first moment of glory when the crowd belonged to me.

  The Jesus Alive! gang files out smiling and waving and I understand exactly why they do what they do.

  Harlan sizzles beside me like one of those glass balls with all the electric waves wiggling around inside it.

  Much to my surprise I am pointed out in the audience by Peter himself. “We’d like to welcome Charmaine and Harlan Hopewell today to the show Charmaine is a big hit on the gospel music concert circuit.”

  I can see which camera has us in its eye, and I wave as the audience claps. I figure that hairdresser let them know, and I am glad I had her do this pretty curled updo this morning.

  Vinca stands and claps, smiling. “Come on up and sit with us, won’t you?”

  “Good idea, Vine!” says Peter and he extends his hand toward me.

  I turn to Harlan.

  “Go on, Shug!” His eyes glow and I know he loves me so.

  I turn to Grandma and she smiles and nods.

  They settle me right next to Cowboy George who puts his arm around me and gives me a sideways hug.

  “I love having impromptu guests,” Vinca says. “I hear you have a new album coming out, Charmaine. Would you like to tell us about that?”

  So I do.

  Oh, the folks at BrooksTone won’t believe this.

  Peter takes his wife’s hand comfortably. “Now, I know this may put you on the spot, Charmaine, but we have a fine band, and I hear your rendition of ‘His Eye Is on the Sparrow’ is one of the prettiest things ever to hit an eardrum.”

  “Will you?” Vinca asks.

  “With pleasure.”

  So I sing, and the band follows me perfectly.

  We have dinner with them that night in a private dining room in Wyoming’s. Vinca’s flowing skirts are made of a gorgeous gold brocade and she wears a black velvet bolero vest. I feel so short and typical.

  Harlan shares his vision for The Port of Peace Hour.

  “Whatever we can do to help!” says Peter.

  Vinca leans forward and places her hand over Grandma Min’s hand. “I realize we’re not everybody’s cup of tea.” She looks at Harlan and me. “You’ll reach people with the gospel that we don’t have a hope of finding.”

  Grandma smiles. “May I tell you that I loved your china shop?”

  “I knew it!” Vinca claps. “You are a china fanatic, too, aren’t you?”

  And they suddenly whisked off to Limoges and all sorts of places that they have both loved for years, and most likely their mamas did, too.

  On the way back to Mount Oak Harlan says, “A lot of people need deliverance, Charmaine. If we can provide some peace of mind, some grace to someone out there who may never get it otherwise, that would be a good thing.”

  “So that will still be your angle? The ‘What’s Really Eating at You?’ thing?”

  “It’s the message I’ve got to tell. But how about if I simply call it a message of deliverance.”

  “But what if you’re wrong, Harlan?”

  He shakes his head, confusion shorting his gaze. “Shug, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay. You’re okay.”

  He laughs at my joke. And when I fail to laugh back I want to gag.

  10

  I grip the phone. Grace, come on home.”

  Why did I say that?

  “I can t, I just can’t.”

  “I’m going to tell your parents where you are. They already know you left us.”

  “Where am I, Charmaine?”

  “On the street. I don’t know which street. But I’ll find out. My guess is you’re still in Atlanta.”

  She is silent.

  “I’m right, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s it gonna take, Grace?”

  “Nothing. I’m never coming back.”

  “Just carry my number in your pocket at all times, Grace. So when they find you rotting in a Dumpster they’ll call and I can tell your son his mother is dead.”

  She is silent.

  “He stopped asking about you this summer, Grace.”

  I hang up on her sobs and I hate myself. What more can I do? I’m raising her son. I’m doing all I can.

  “Leo?” I call his name out the kitchen window. It’s December 26, 1985 and he’s having a good old time out there in the carport on the pogo stick we got him for Christmas.

  “I did twelve in a row, Mama!”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Melvin said his record is twenty four hundred and thirty-six!

  “You’d better keep practicing if you want to beat him.”

  “Oh, I’ll beat him all right!”

  I put that call in to Tony Sanchez myself. He tells me he’ll get on it first thing in the morning. “If she’s on the streets of Atlanta, Charmaine, she’s as good as found.”

  I decide pogo-sticking might be a good thing just then. I decide I’d better do a lot of pogo-sticking and the like because you just never know when that pogo stick will be stolen right from beneath your feet.

  Ruby and I walk around the local IGA. She pushes the cart because she injured her knee while running last week. Ruby is so athletic and toned these days.

  We shop for ingredients to make a large-scale batch of tuna casserole. In the winter, each church in Mount Oak volunteers to house the homeless for a week at a time, turning our fellowship halls into a shelter after six P.M. We offer a hot meal, warm blankets, and someone to talk to. I’ve looked forward to this for weeks and it’s finally here.

  I am still at a loss regarding Grace and I tell Ruby this.

  “It’s not your problem, Char.”

  “But I’ve got Leo, so I think it is.”

  “Then what you need to do is stop lying to Grace’s parents.”

  “I did. I told them I hadn’t seen Grace in a while.”

  She is surprised and I don’t blame her. Ruby’s known me for so long. “Do they even know about Leo?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  And doggone it, Ruby knows my fears because she says, “You’re scared if they find out about him they’ll take him away from you.”

  �
��Bingo, Einstein.”

  “Hey now, don’t be hurtful.”

  She’s right. “I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you.”

  I stop the cart in front of a tower of Pepsi, seventy-nine cents for a two liter bottle. “I don’t know what would happen if I lost that little boy. We’re all he has.”

  Ruby visibly buttons her lip.

  I ramble on for her, “Other than his grandparents.”

  Oh, the irony of the situation is stunning.

  “Why do you feel you have the right to hide Leo from his family?”

  “Loyalty to Grace?”

  “Come off it, Char. You and Grace never really fancied each other.”

  “That’s true. I just love Leo so much, Ruby. On the one hand, I know what’s best for him, that I’m the best thing for him. On the other hand, I know what it’s like to have your mama walk out on you and I don’t want him to go through that.”

  We continue walking.

  Ruby lays a hand on my arm. “Of course, you could be like that stupid white girl, Scarlett O’Hara, and think about it tomorrow.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll end up being dumber yet and put it off until at least next year.”

  “Come on, Char. Let’s go look at nail polish. That always cheers you up.”

  Nail polish? My lands. But I don’t have the heart to pretend Ruby’s anything other than right on the money.

  Good old shallow Charmaine strikes again!

  “Ruby?”

  “Yeah, Char?”

  “You okay still with singing on the show?” “Of course.”

  “Okay, just checking. I ‘know how you feel about TV preachers in general.”

  She laughs. “It’s for Harlan. You know I adore Harlan.”

  We continue shopping, chitchatting about this and that, relying on our love for one another.

  “How’s Henry?” I ask.

  Ruby smiles. “It’s moving quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a wedding come June!”

  We hug right there by the stand up freezers. And I watch the reflection of our embrace as I gather strength.

  Part Six

  1

  Spring is almost over. The cherry trees have dropped their pink snow upon our temporarily succulent lawns and the daffodils waved a brown, translucent good-bye a while ago. I should know. Surprisingly enough, a bunch of them popped up all over our yard. Right in the middle of the yard, too. Grandma Min dug up bulbs for days. We got a little secondhand rider mower and it’s the funnest thing I’ve ever driven. I mow that lawn twice a week if I’m home to do it. In fact, the three of us adults fight over who gets to fire up that mower.