by Amy Metz
“People are like corn cobs, Pickle.”
“I like butter-pops.” He rocked from his toes to his heels.
“Yes, well, picture them still in their husks.”
“Okay …”
“You never can tell which ones might be bad on the inside.”
Martha Maye wasn’t able to hide from Lenny for the entire day. When she left the store later that afternoon, she saw him and Butterbean waiting for her on a bench in the shade. Butterbean ran up to her and handed her a small bunch of orange and yellow flowers. “These are from Daddy. I was just holding them for you. They’re, they’re called Chrysanthemumums.”
“Chrysan-the-mums,” Martha Maye enunciated. “And they’re lovely. Thank you.”
“Come on, Martha Maye.” Lenny took her elbow. “Come check out the ride I have today. It’s a 1987 Mercedes 420 SEL.”
He led her over to a long silver Mercedes and opened the door for her.
“Where’d you get this, Len?” Martha Maye ran her hand over the leather interior as she got into the car.
“Big Darryl D says I can take my pick any time, and I picked this one today. Tomorrow it’ll be something different. Maybe a 1998 Lexus.”
Before Martha Maye knew what was happening, Lenny had backed out of the parking space and was headed out of town on a country road. He took them for an hour-long ride, and they stopped for dinner at Dough Boy, a pizza place Butterbean picked out. The sun was setting when he pulled into their driveway. Lenny had been on good behavior, and their outing had been pleasant.
“Thank you, Lenny. That was lovely.”
Butterbean yawned. “Can Daddy come in and tuck me in bed?”
Butterbean’s big dark brown eyes were persuasive, and her mother gave in.
On the way into the house, Martha Maye saw her next-door neighbor Estherlene Bumgarner on her front lawn. She told Lenny and Butterbean she’d be in after she spoke to her neighbor.
“Put the flowers in some water for me, Bean.”
“Okay, Mama.”
“Evening, Estherlene.” Martha Maye walked up to her neighbor, who was watering some marigolds. The first thing one noticed about the older woman was her big hair. “Your flowers sure are pretty, and you’re looking awful pretty tonight, too.” Martha Maye was being a little kind. A petite woman with a slender figure, Estherlene looked to be in her sixties although she was in fact seventy-four. Despite her sizable ears and the ravages of time, she was still somewhat attractive for a woman of that age, even though she overcompensated with too much makeup and hairspray.
“Hidee and thank yew, Martha Maye. Hireyew?”
“Oh, I’m all right, I s’pose.”
“That don’t sound very convincing. Who’s that you got with you over there in that highfalutin car?”
“Oh, that’s my husband. My ex-husband. My husband.” Martha Maye winced a little, crossing and uncrossing her arms several times as she talked. She didn’t know how to categorize Lenny.
“So, which one?”
“Which one what?”
“Is he your husband or your ex-husband?” Estherlene used her wrist, since her hands were wet, to scratch her nose.
“Oh. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know, Estherlene. I guess he’s my husband since we’re still legally married, but we’re separated, so he feels like an ex.”
“Zat right? I seen him driving by here a bunch, but he wasn’t in that there car. Matter fact, I seen him in a bunch a different cars.”
“You have? Heavens to Betsy. I wonder why. He works at Car Country, and his boss lets him drive any car that’s available. That one’s just the car of the day. Have you really seen him driving past the house?”
“Sure. I sit in the chair by that window and watch my stories.” She pointed with the hose to the bay window on the front of her house, spraying the glass. “I see purty near everything happens on the street. Wouldn’t forget a face like his. He’s a hunk, Martha Maye. You sure you wanna give him up?”
“Oh, he’s a hunk of . . . something all right,” Martha Maye huffed. “And it ain’t a hunk a hunk a burning love,” she said under her breath.
“It wouldn’t hurt him to stop by the gym every once in a while and work off some of that beer belly, but he could read me a bedtime story any day of the week.”
“Estherlene! You’re a married woman!”
“Married, yeah, but not dead. I can still window-shop.”
“Believe you me, window-shop is about all you want to do with Lenny.”
“Oh, honey, he’s a man. I tell you, if they got tires and testicles, they’s gonna be trouble. Count on it. But you gotta put up with the bad in order to have the good.”
“What if all you do is put up with the bad?” Martha Maye asked, looking up at the light in the dormer window—Butterbean’s room.
“Oh. Well, in that case, sugar, dump him like a hot tater. Let him be some other woman’s problem.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Night, Estherlene.”
When Martha Maye went into the house, she found that Lenny had made himself at home. He had a beer in his hand and sat with his feet on the coffee table watching The World’s Dumbest Criminals on TV.
“Big idiot,” Martha Maye muttered.
“What’s that, darlin’?”
“I said, that’s appropriate,” she hedged.
“Come over here and sit by me, precious.” He patted the seat cushion next to him. Reluctantly, she did so, sitting sideways with one leg under her.
“Lenny, have you been driving by my house checking up on me?”
Lenny’s face froze for a minute. He started to take his feet off the table, then sat back again, trying to act confused. He took a swig of beer.
“Checking up on you?” he finally said, a little too high-pitched.
“Uh-huh. Have you? Don’t lie to me, Len. I already know the answer.”
“Well then, Mart, why’d you ask?” She gave him a look, and he said, “It’s not what it sounds like.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m just worried about you and Carrie, and sometimes I drive by to make sure everything’s copacedrin.” He sat back, pleased with himself for spouting off such a big word. Martha Maye rolled her eyes.
“You mean copacetic?”
His face dropped. “Whatever. The point is, I’m just trying to watch out for y’all. You should be happy to have somebody care for you like I do.”
Martha Maye sat for a few minutes, watching the show with him but not seeing or hearing it. When she thought she’d spontaneously combust if she sat there one more second, she got up and headed for the stairs.
“Where you going, doll?”
“To tell Bean goodnight,” she said over her shoulder.
She hated reality TV, and she resented Lenny making himself at home when she’d only invited him in to tuck in their daughter. And she resented him checking up on her.
But as she climbed the stairs, she began to feel bad about her attitude. Why am I being such a witch, she thought. He’s been nothing but nice to me since he got to town. So what if he wants to watch a stupid TV show.
Butterbean was on her bed playing with her dolls when Martha Maye walked into her room. She scurried to get under the covers.
“I thought you were sleepy.” Martha Maye stood next to the bed, hands on her hips, looking down at her daughter.
“Well, not really. I just wanted Daddy to come in. We had a real fun day. I like being with him, Mama. Do you?”
Martha Maye reached under the covers, took Barbie out of Butterbean’s hands, and then put her in the basket by the bed. She lay down on her side next to Butterbean, so they could look each other in the eye.
“Do you, Mama? Do you like Daddy?”
Satan loads his cannons with big watermelons.
~Southern Proverb
Lenny walked into the Magnolia Bar, known to the locals as the Mag Bar, strutting his stuff. He’d started frequenting it because it wasn’t as seedy as Humding
er’s, the bar just outside of town, and it wasn’t as upscale as the Silly Goose, which was located on the town square. He thought Humdinger’s had too many ladies of the evening, and the Silly Goose had too many uppity women. He felt ladies of the evening were beneath him. As for the uppity women, he always had to make the first move, and none of them seemed to like his pickup lines, for some strange reason. The Mag Bar was just right for Lenny, and he had become a regular in the few weeks he’d lived in Goose Pimple Junction.
He walked past the bar, shouting his order to the bartender on his way to the jukebox. “The usual, Cash. My mouth is dry enough to spin cotton.”
Cash was bald as a billiard ball and big as a bear. He’d boxed in the past, which had left him with a wide nose that made his narrow eyes more noticeable. A couple or ten broken noses will do that to a face. He wasn’t exactly a champ, but at the Mag Bar, he was in his element. Cash served as owner, bartender, and bouncer at the Mag Bar, although he hardly ever had to put on his bouncer hat. For one, the bar was rarely that kind of place, and for another, people took one look at Cash and tended to toe the line.
Lenny sat in his usual seat at the bar as “She’s Actin’ Single, I’m Drinkin’ Doubles” wafted from the jukebox. Cash set a bottle of Colt 45 in front of him.
“You’re a little late tonight.”
“Been over to the wife’s place,” Lenny said out of the side of his mouth. “But keep that on the down low, okay? I wouldn’t want it to interfere with my love life.” The two men guffawed.
“Aw, you dog, Lenny. I don’t know how you do it, man. You got a different girl every night. And what’s this about a wife?”
“Yeah, she’s crazy about me.” He took a pull from his beer. “But I need my space, you know? I told her we need to separate a while and see what’s what. But she keeps whining for me to come over.” His voice changed to imitate a woman’s. “‘Lenny, come see me, Lenny, spend time with me.’ Shewee, that woman wears me out.”
Cash snorted. “You must got something left. You pick up enough women over here.” He wiped a glass dry, set it down, and reached for another wet glass.
“It’s always been that way, Cash. Women are drawn to me like flies to honey.”
“Yeah, well, it seems like some men are, too. Two of them have been in here looking for you the past few nights.”
Lenny had put the bottle up to his lips, but he pulled it away without drinking and set it on the bar. “What did you tell them?”
“They didn’t look like the friendly type, so I told them I didn’t know you, hadn’t seen you, couldn’t help them.”
“They hang around long?”
“Oh, an hour or so each time. Saw them talking to some others. What’s working in your favor is that not many folks know you. I haven’t seen the dudes around in a day or so.”
“Thanks, Cash. I owe you one.”
“One? Shoot, you owe me two or three.” Cash took the glasses he’d dried between his fingers and turned to put them away.
Lenny looked over his shoulder to check out the pickings for the night before sauntering to the jukebox again. He punched “I’ll Marry You Tomorrow, But Let’s Honeymoon Tonight” and walked to a table of four women.
“Ladies! Each of you dolls pick a number between one and twenty. The one closest to the number up here”—he tapped his temple—”wins a dance with the Lenmeister.”
All four women said in unison, “Zero.”
One of them smiled sweetly and said, “But thank you kindly.”
Walking back to his seat at the bar, Lenny’s eyes followed one of the waitresses as she weaved in between tables. She looked like Daisy Duke with her low-rider denim cutoff minishorts and her red blouse tied at her stomach. His eyes traveled up her body but pulled over to park when, from the toned, tanned skin between shirt and shorts, the glint of a diamond stud piercing caught his eye.
“Need a Maker’s Mark, Cash,” the waitress said, leaning on the bar.
Cash looked on the shelf behind the bar. “All out up here, Darlene. Go in the back and get me a bottle, would you?”
She sauntered away, and as Lenny leered at her tramp stamp, Cash shook his head and said, “She has two speeds. Slow and stop.”
“I bet I could rev her engine”. He looked around the room again. “Kinda slim pickins tonight.”
“You’ve missed some, coming in so late,” Cash said, nodding to someone who’d just come through the door.
Lenny looked at his watch. “It ain’t that late. S’only eleven o’clock.”
“Just sit tight. Knowing you, somebody’ll be along.”
“I don’t know. I got a mind to roll on over to Humdinger’s.”
Darlene came back with a bottle of Maker’s Mark, breaking the red seal as she walked. Handing it to Cash she said, “I thought we just got a case of this stuff in.”
“Did.”
“Then how come there are four bottles missing already? I didn’t think we went through the stuff that fast.”
“Don’t.” Cash looked at her blankly. “That is mighty strange.”
Lenny was on his fourth beer when somebody took the barstool next to him. He looked over and saw a woman who looked to be in her sixties, but who was fairly well preserved. She was dressed a little young for her age in tight jeans that accentuated considerable thighs, and a green shirt that looked painted on, highlighting a few rolls of fat around her middle. She wasn’t fat, just aged. He thought she looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.
“Buy me a drink, sailor?”
“I ain’t no sailor, but why not.” Lenny lifted a finger to Cash, who came toward them. “Gin and tonic.” Cash nodded.
“You’re not from around here, are ya?” She batted her eyelashes at him. The wrinkles around her eyes, set on a leathery face, ruined the effect for him.
“Naw. I’m new in town.” Finished with her, he looked around the bar again.
“I could show you around if you’d like.” She wiggled in her chair.
“It ain’t that big a place.” His eyes continued to scan the bar.
“I bet I could show you a thing or two.”
A woman in her mid-thirties with blond hair cut Farrah Fawcett style and jeans that fit her exceptionally well sat down on the other side of Lenny. She wore black boots with four-inch heels, and a bright red silky blouse with the top three buttons unbuttoned. She smiled shyly at Lenny and asked Cash for a strawberry daiquiri.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Lenny said, turning on the stool so his knees brushed her thigh.
“Hireyew?” she said, her eyes checking out the ring finger on his left hand.
A vast file of pickup lines ran through Lenny’s mind. “I hope you know CPR, ‘cause, baby, you take my breath away.”
She giggled and brushed her hair off her shoulder with a flick of her wrist.
“Allow me.” His attention now totally on the younger woman, he peeled off some dollar bills and handed them to Cash.
The older woman sighed and got up. She ran her hand across Lenny’s back as she walked away, saying, “See you around, sailor.”
He bought Farrah two more daiquiris while he chatted her up. Thirty minutes later, he said she was in no shape to drive, and he insisted on taking her home.
Officer Hank Beanblossom walked into the chief’s office Monday morning and plopped a bag of greasy donuts onto his desk.
“We got an issue, Chief.”
“Oh yeah? A donut crisis? Is Jefferson hitting the sauce again and burning the donuts?”
Hank shot him a look. “No. Bernadette says this morning the phone’s been ringing off the hook with reports of pumpkins being snatched off front porches.”
“Pumpkins?”
“Yeah, you know, big round orange things with a stem? They’re especially prominent in October. Some make pies out of them, some make muffins, or you can turn them into jack-o-”
“I know what a punkin is, goldernit,” Johnny interrupted. “But why would anyone be stealing
them?”
“I got no earthly idea. It takes all kinds, you know?”
“Are they smushed out on the roads?”
“Nope. They’re just gone. Poof.” Hank made a hand motion as if he were a magician making something disappear out of thin air.
“Okay. Call up the Gazette. Tell them to print a warning for people to bring in their pumpkins at night. Tell them to ask folks to be on the lookout for a pumpkin-stealing perp. Y’all warn folks when you’re patrolling, and keep your eyes out for a pile of pumpkins stashed somewhere.”
“Gee, Chief, it’s not like a felony has been committed.”
“No, but these things can get folks fired up. Let’s try to nip it in the bud.”
Hank reached in the sack for a donut. “Goose Pimple Junction: a hotbed of crime.”
The men were laughing when Bernadette showed up in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her, a stern look on her face. “Two things.” She held up two fingers in front of her. “A couple of bozos were in here asking about one”—she looked at a piece of paper in her hand—”Leonard Applewhite.”
Johnny was biting into a powdered sugar donut but gasped slightly at the mention of Lenny’s name. He breathed in powdered sugar and began choking and coughing.
“Chief, you all right?” Hank got up, looking like he intended to thump the chief on his back.
“Don’t you dare.” He held up a hand. “I’m fine,” he croaked, through powdered sugar-covered lips. He looked at Bernadette. “What did they want with him?” He coughed twice more.
Bernadette motioned for Johnny to wipe his lips. “They just wanted to know if we had a resident by the name of Leonard or Lenny Applewhite, or if there were any arrest reports on someone answering to that name. I told them the only Applewhite I know in town is Martha Maye. And Butterbean, of course. So technically, that would make t—”
Johnny slapped his hand on his desk. “You don’t give out information on our residents to total strangers,” he bellowed. “Who were these clowns? Did they show some ID?”
Bernadette’s face lost all color. “Shucks, Chief. I’m sorry.” She looked like she was going to cry. “They flashed a badge, but I didn’t look at it carefully. I just assumed—”
