Mermaids in the Basement

by Michael Lee West

  To make matters worse, an early spring heat wave had settled over the coast, and the air turned thick and scalding. When I stepped outside to fetch the mail, the sun poured over my head like melted shortening. A shimmering haze collected over the bay, and I couldn’t see ten feet in any direction. Mobile Bay felt like the edge of the world, a repository of craziness. I knew trouble was brewing for Louie, but I couldn’t stop it, any more than I could stop this weather.

  Rather than walk next door, I called Isabella, thinking she would have better insight into the matter; but she wasn’t home—or else she wasn’t taking calls. Like me, she was a widow, and sometimes bad weather made her antisocial.

  I didn’t know who else to call. I thumbed through my address book, but I couldn’t think of a soul who’d share my angst over Louie’s marriage. Then it hit me, Na-Na DeChavannes, my husband’s sour sister. Na-Na’s real name was Mary Agnes, and she was an old maid with cold blue eyes and the DeChavannes nose. She wore brown lace-up orthopedic shoes, and her hairstyle hadn’t changed in fifty years—parted in the middle, then pinned into a bun. Na-Na had no use for me, more on that later, but she loved Louie and would be interested in the marriage; she’d understand why I was fretting.

  Picking up the phone, I dialed her number over in Pass Christian. Years ago, when I realized that she was meant to be an old maid, I felt sorry for her; I tried to be nice. She took that as an invitation to move into our lives. She treated my Chaz more like her boyfriend than her brother. We butted heads over him, fighting over his clothes, meals, and leisure time. When Louie was born, I softened, and Chaz begged me to let Na-Na be the godmother. I thought it was a terrible idea, but he just insisted. Against my better judgment, I agreed, but I secretly made up my mind that I just couldn’t ever die, not until he was grown.

  Na-Na assumed the role with a vengeance. When Louie and Shelby got married, Na-Na tried to force her way onto the front pew with me, as if Louie had two mothers. That was one time I put my foot down—quite literally. I dug my three-inch spiked heel into her orthopedic shoe, and under my breath I said, “Go away.”

  I rarely phoned Na-Na, even in emergencies. When Chaz died, I was too crazy to make the necessary calls, even though everybody assumed I had, and Na-Na had read about his funeral in the obituaries. She never forgave me. Well, she lived over in Pass Christian, near James and Nigel, and I just assumed they’d tell her. I assumed wrong.

  “Hello?” said Na-Na in a sour voice.

  I started to hang up, but then I heard her shriek. “Who is this?” she cried. “Why won’t you speak? What kind of pervert are you?”

  “No, it’s just your sister-in-law,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Oh, crap,” she said.

  “Well, that’s not very nice.”

  “I don’t have to be nice at my age. Look, you called me. What is it that you want? And please, don’t ramble. It’s too hot.”

  In the background, ice tinkled in a glass. In Na-Na’s youthful days, her drink of choice was iced coffee; now she drank lime Kool-Aid because caffeine made her heart race—all of the DeChavannes had weak hearts.

  “It’s Louie,” I said.

  “Yes?” Na-Na’s attention was caught. “Is he okay?”

  “He got married.”

  “To Shelby?”

  “No, somebody else.”

  “You are lying! They’re about to remarry, and you know it. You have an evil soul, Honora.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s true.”

  Na-Na fell silent, and I knew she was crossing herself—forehead, chest, shoulder, shoulder. “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Na-Na scoffed. “Isn’t that’s just like you. Why didn’t he call me?”

  I let that pass. In the back of my mind I heard Louie’s woman, or women, screech.

  “How can this be?” Na-Na cried.

  Before she caught her breath again, I filled in the details. When I finished, Na-Na said, “Poor little Renata shouldn’t have to put up with a stepmother. Louie could’ve married a nut! You say he called from Las Vegas—did he mention which hotel?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason. Well, I’ve got to take my heart pill.”

  “Don’t start calling every hotel in Vegas and bribing the operators.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do! Oh, go fix yourself a Land O’Lakes sandwich,” Na-Na said, and slammed down the receiver.

  I settled on the chaise and opened a photograph album, flipping pages until I found a picture of Na-Na’s house. It was a gray-shingled bungalow that faced the Gulf of Mexico. Built in haste after World War II, it was reputed to be haunted by the daughter of its original owner. Local legend claimed that the daughter had shriveled up and died while waiting for her one true love to return from the war. Na-Na swore that the girl’s ghost paced the front porch, and sometimes it heaved the wooden glider. “I saw the chains lift,” she’d say. “The wind doesn’t do that.”

  Years ago the house had attracted Louie, but the ghost appeared only for Na-Na. Even so, he would beg me to let him spend the night with his aunt. “Please, Mama,” he’d whine, jumping up and down on one foot. “Please let me go to Pass Christian.”

  I did not want my son to spend one night in Na-Na’s haunted house. “The ghost could be dangerous,” I told him, but I really meant Na-Na. Louie would cry, and I’d let him have his way. Now I was reaping the whirlwinds of soft parenting.

  A watched pot never boils, I told myself. And a watched phone never rings. Still, I could not drag myself from the house, even to fetch the mail. I wanted to call Shelby to see if Renata was feeling better, but I knew she would hear trouble in my voice. Better to seem neglectful of my grandchild than to break shocking news.

  To keep busy, I made cheese straws, lemonade, and icebox pies. I dragged the phone into the kitchen, propping it on a green stool, straining to hear above the whirring KitchenAid mixer. “Ring, damn you,” I told it. “I dare you. Ring!”

  The waiting stimulated my appetite, and I found myself craving foods I hadn’t eaten in years. For supper that night I ate an avocado and mayonnaise sandwich, laced with crumbled bacon. At eleven p.m., when I got ready for bed, I checked the dial tone—yes, it was working. It hummed in my ear. I settled against the pillows. But it was a long time before I felt sleepy. In the deepest part of night I could hear the mosquitoes buzzing. Sometimes they sounded like drunken women, the type who cried in bars and restaurant powder rooms and told their life stories to perfect strangers. I wondered if Louie’s woman was like that.

  The next morning, while I experimented with key limes, the kitchen phone rang. I snatched it up, not caring if I sounded anxious. When I heard Louie’s voice, I said, “Well, it’s about time! How dare you leave me hanging? You should’ve called sooner.”

  “Oh, Mama.”

  “Don’t you ‘oh, Mama’ me. You only went to Jamaica two weeks ago. How could you marry a woman you barely know?”

  “I just did.”

  “Well, aren’t you ashamed?”

  “Look, don’t be upset, Mama. Be happy for us.”

  “Louie, don’t take this wrong. But I’ve known you to take more time picking out golf balls.”

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, I can’t explain.”

  “Try.”

  “I saw this gorgeous woman standing on the diving board. Her ankles were dainty like handles on a Dresden vase. And I don’t know, I just fell for her. That’s the end of the story.”

  “I’m afraid it’s just the beginning,” I said, rubbing my tired old eyes.

  “You’ll like her, wait and see. We’re flying back to New Orleans in a few days. How about you throwing us a party next month?”

  “Honey, I can’t get a caterer in this short of time. I doubt I could order a fruit tray from Winn-Dixie.”

  “You’ll pull it off just fine, Mama
.”

  “As long as you don’t expect much,” I said, but I shook my head. In the old days I had thrown spectacular parties. I’d bring out flaming ducks, all surrounded with rum-soaked sugar cubes, and my guests would stand up and applaud. But widowhood, not to mention the relentless coastal storms, had sapped my energy; I lacked the strength to host a parasite, much less a party. And it would rub this sudden marriage into my daughter-in-law’s face. Ex-daughter-in-law, I reminded myself.

  “Louie?” I said into the phone. “You still there?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “What in the world are you going to tell Shelby? That poor girl will be heartbroken.”

  “Don’t you go telling her, you hear? I will do it.”

  “What do you take me for?” I said. “A meddler?”

  “You’ve been known to do it.” He laughed.

  The rest of the day, I moved in a daze. I told myself it was a combination of the news and the heat. Right before the sun went down, I mixed a gin and tonic and carried it out to the screened porch. The surf had picked up, and the breakers were edged with foam. Dirty clouds were packed on the water. Somewhere way out on the bay, it was pouring rain, and it was headed straight my way.

  I sipped my drink, shaking the ice in the glass. A breeze stirred the shell chimes, and rain began to fall, lightly at first, ticking through the trees. Louie’s bride was bound to be pretty, but he was bound to disappoint her. There was something in him that made him act thoughtlessly. His love life was a minefield, requiring finesse and sure footing.

  In the old days, when he was small, I took measures to protect him. Even if I sensed no danger, I took precautions. I tried to stop him from camping out at Na-Na’s. I’d gripped his tiny hand whenever we walked down the beach. The shallow bay had a muddy, grassy bottom, and you could walk a long way before the bottom sloped off. When Louie waded out into the water, I would call out, “That’s far enough!” He’d pretend not to hear. His head would dip down into a wave, and he’d swim like a kingfish, his tanned body gliding through the water, then arching deeper where I could not see and could not reach, no matter how hard I tried.

  Chapter 30

  HOLLYWOOD INFORMER

  After Honora finished talking, she picked up the watering can and drenched another orchid. “That’s really all I know,” she said.

  I sat there a moment, trying to absorb the information. “How did my mother react to the news?”

  “She cried her eyes out and lost fifteen pounds—but she looked fabulous.”

  I started to ask another question, when Isabella breezed into the sunroom, tucking an Hermès equestrian scarf around her head. “Y’all look depressed,” she said. “What the hell happened?”

  “Oh, we’ve just been talking,” said Honora.

  “Maybe y’all should do less talking and more drinking.” She walked over to the sofa. The article was still lying on the cushion, and she picked it up. “I remember that party,” she said.

  “Don’t we all,” said Honora.

  “Louie got married. Then he started having an affair with his ex-wife. What a glorious scandal!” Isabella curled up on the sofa.

  “It wasn’t a scandal,” said Honora.

  “No, just the talk of New Orleans. Louie was caught between two wives, one old and one new. I thought it would settle down when Bitsy turned up pregnant.”

  “It’s a wonder I’m not crazy,” I said.

  “Don’t be so quick to judge,” said Isabella. “Adultery is complex and misunderstood. Personally, I think it’s something the Old Testament prophets thought up to control the masses. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure it’s no fun if you’re the one being cheated on. Although that isn’t my realm of expertise. No man ever strayed from my bed.”

  “Because you chained them,” said Honora.

  “Only when they begged for it.” Isabella’s lips parted, showing her teeth. “You know what, Renata? You should call Aunt Na-Na. She was at the party. She was there when you tried to drown yourself.”

  “I never did that!”

  “Yes, you did,” said Isabella.

  “It’s true. You did it to scare Louie,” said Honora. “In your little mind, you thought he would leave the new wife and go back to your mama.”

  “I’d remember something like that,” I said.

  “Maybe.” Isabella tilted her head, watching me with those green eyes. “Maybe not.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll call Aunt Na-Na,” I said. “I’ll ask her to clear this up.”

  “Let’s not involve Na-Na,” said Honora. “We haven’t spoken in years. I didn’t invite her to Louie’s most recent soiree, and she’ll be furious.”

  “Too bad you didn’t,” said Isabella. “Then the police would know who hurt Joie.”

  “She’s at Bay Manor over in Pass Christian,” said Isabella. “That’s an assisted-living facility. If you go, remember to flatter the old bird. That’s the key to Na-Na.”

  “Did I really try to drown myself?” I asked the women.

  “Yes,” said Honora, and Isabella nodded.

  “Well? Did it work? Did I disrupt his new marriage?”

  “Tricks don’t work with Louie DeChavannes,” said Isabella. “He is impervious to tricks.”

  “Do I need to call before I visit Aunt Na-Na?” I asked. “What are the visiting hours?”

  “Oh, please don’t go. It’s a long drive. Why don’t you just sleep on it?” Honora suggested. “I’ll make us some crab cakes and home fries, and then, in the morning, if you still want to see Na-Na, you can borrow my Bentley.”

  “Can I stay for supper, too?” Isabella said. “I just love your fries.”

  The policemen returned to the house, this time with an engineer who measured Honora’s garage steps, trying to calculate the angle and trajectory of Joie’s alleged fall. That’s what they called it—alleged.

  When I finally went to bed I couldn’t sleep. I kept remembering how, after my father married Bitsy, I turned evil. One weekend they brought me to Daddy’s apartment, and I got tired of watching Bitsy sit in my daddy’s lap, whispering and making him laugh. So I wandered to their bedroom and stood in front of her dresser, touching all of her crystal perfume bottles. I poured them into the bathroom sink and refilled them with vinegar.

  Not an hour later, my crime was discovered when Bitsy doused herself with cider vinegar, thinking it was Robert Piaget. Daddy jerked my arm and said I was a cruel child, that I should be nice to Bitsy and leave her things alone. After he punished me, I didn’t speak to him for weeks. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. When I got over being mad, I called him up, asked if he’d take me out to lunch at Morrison’s Café, just me and him. He laughed and said he’d be right there. But he never showed up. He had broken my heart and mama’s. I felt hard toward him; but I still loved the man that I wanted him to be. For years, I clung to that hope. When he couldn’t become that person, I felt orphaned, as if my real father had died, leaving behind an inferior replacement.

  At daybreak, I finally drifted off, only to be awakened by nesting birds. I lay there until eight a.m., then put on my clothes and went downstairs. I got into the Bentley and headed over to Pass Christian, Mississippi. Honora had owned a beach house here until Papa Chaz had died, but now strangers were living in that house.

  I pulled into Bay Manor’s parking lot and hurried into the building. A receptionist with a nose ring pointed left and said, “Room 231.” As I turned down the tiled hall, the smell of Clorox, urine, and boiled cabbage washed over me. Cupping my hand over my nose, I took shallow breaths. A white-haired woman shuffled past me, bent into an S over a metal walker.

  Thumbtacked to my great-aunt’s door was a poster of an upside-down orange kitten. Hang in There! read the caption. I knocked on the door, and a crabby voice called, “What now?”

  I peered inside. The walls were bright yellow, and scattered around the room were carved Mediterranean antiques that I remembered from her old house. My great-aunt was sitt
ing at a round table, surrounded by breakfast dishes. Lifting one bony hand, she stirred milk into oatmeal. She wore a two-piece black velour jogging suit, and on her feet were white Reeboks. Her gray hair was braided and pinned on top of her head.

  “Aunt Na-Na?” I said

  “Yes?” She glanced sideways and straightened her polka-dotted glasses. “Are you the new dietician?”

  “No I’m Renata DeChavannes, your grandniece,” I said, then added, “Louie’s daughter.”

  “Speak of the devil!” She sucked in air, swiftly crossed herself, and whispered a Hail Mary.

  “I didn’t mean to surprise you,” I said.

  “No, no, come on in.” She waved her hand. “Just come on in. I read all about you and that Hollywood man. I cut out the articles. Do you want to see? Or would you rather have some oatmeal?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Is that why you’re in Alabama—boyfriend trouble? Tucked your tail and ran! And what did he do? He went jewelry shopping for a hooker!” She laughed and pushed a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. Then she leaned sideways and reached into a stack of papers. She pulled out a Globe, then threw it down and reached for a Hollywood Informer. Licking her finger, she began turning pages. Then she held it out.

  * * *

  March 28, 2000

  The Hollywood INFORMER

  World Exclusive!

  Ferguson Lauderdale Shops for Engagement Ring

  While Ferguson Lauderdale’s romance heats up with Esmé Vasquez, the H.I. has learned that he made a secret trip last week to Weir and Sons on 96 Grafton Street, a landmark jeweler in Dublin, to peruse diamond rings. Meanwhile, on the other side of the ocean, his former girlfriend, screenwriter Renata DeChavannes, was spotted at Atlanta-Hartfield Airport dressed in refugee garb (see page 17, “Freaky Photo of the Week”). An unnamed source said that Mr. Lauderdale looked at several diamonds before settling on a 3 carat pear-shaped stone, which should complement the equally pear-shaped Esmé.

  * * *