Mad Girls In Love (21 page)

“Maybe
she
was happy,” I said. “Maybe she assumed that Byron was, too.”

“A fatal mistake.”

“For whom?”

“Why, his wife, of course. I certainly didn't mean Byron or myself, if that's what you're asking.” The vase looked intact, but within seconds a fine trickle of water began to leak from the base onto her hands.

She set the vase gently into the sink and lifted out the whole clump of flowers. Laying them aside, she said, “I can try and glue it back. Thank goodness I didn't put it on Miss Gussie's table. It would've left a white spot.”

“It wouldn't have been your fault,” I said. “If you didn't know it was broken, how can you be expected to fix it?”

“You can't.” Clancy Jane's lips tightened, and she picked up a rose, the petals trembling. “That's the trouble, you just can't.”

 

That weekend, Violet drove up from Knoxville. When she stepped into the kitchen she goggled at the vases lined up on the counter and the floor.

“Who died?” She leaned over to smell a coral rose. She wore green army fatigues and clunky boots, but her hair was swept into an Audrey bun.

“Bitsy's got an admirer,” said Aunt Clancy.

“A florist?” Violet gave the rose one last sniff, then she jerked open the door of the refrigerator and poked her head inside. She pulled out a Sara Lee chocolate cake.

“No, a dentist,” said Aunt Clancy, watching as Violet opened a drawer and removed a knife and three forks. “And don't include me in this sugar-fest.”

“Oh, come on.” Violet ripped off the plastic wrap. “Preservatives are
good
for us.”

I told her to cut me a big slice as I walked over to the Welsh cupboard, grabbed three polka-dotted plates, and set them down on the table.

“So, tell me about this suitor who sent all these flowers,” she said, serving the cake.

As Aunt Clancy told her the whole story, Violet fit a hunk of cake into her mouth and chewed vigorously, her dark eyebrows moving up and down. They were virginal brows—not a single hair had ever been plucked. Still chewing, she reached into the cake box and dragged her finger along the cardboard bottom, scraping up a hunk of icing. She put her finger into her mouth, then burped.

“I'm so glad you're home,” I said, meaning it. I loved the way women were able to relax when no man was around. And these days Byron was always at the hospital, signing charts, recording discharge summaries. When he was home, he either fell asleep on the sofa or buried his face in a medical journal.

“What's this dentist's name?” Violet asked.

“Walter Saylor Jr.,” I said.

Violet's eyes popped open wide. “Hey, I might know him. Does he have a harelip?”

“I didn't notice.”

Aunt Clancy snorted. “How could you overlook a disfigurement like that?”

“I didn't say I overlooked it,” I shot back. “I said—”

“It's not Bitsy's fault,” Violet said, waving her fork. “If we're talking about the same Walter Saylor, he has a slight scar on his upper lip. I understand it's barely noticeable. I've never seen him. I don't understand why he'd be sending you flowers, Itsy. He's married. Or at least he
was
last summer. But he's a wife beater, so you'd be smart to steer clear of him.”

“How do you find out all this stuff?” I asked. “Who told you?”

“Sources. Deep Throat,” Violet said. “The Crystal Falls version.”

“It's Danny, I know it,” I said.

“That little pip-squeak?” Aunt Clancy smirked. “He doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. You said so yourself, Violet.”

“I never said it was him. I said source
s.
That's plural. And my sources know a Vietnam veteran who painted the house next door to Dr. Saylor's. He heard screams.”

I'd been cutting into my cake, and my hand froze. I hoped that Violet was making this up, trying to scare me. Unlike her mother, my cousin believed that a Crystal Falls man was the last thing I needed, and she was always begging me to go to the community college where I'd meet men and at the same time get an education.

“The painter heard screams?” Aunt Clancy asked.

Violet nodded.

“Quit eating.” Aunt Clancy slapped Violet's wrist. “What kind of screams?”

“High-pitched ones,” Violet said, her words garbled by cake.

“Could it have been the television?”

“The TV doesn't squeal, ‘Please, Walter. Don't!'” Violet opened her mouth, showing a streak of black on her tongue, and shoved in another mouthful. Still chewing, she added, “Apparently the painter heard a great big crash, too. And the next day, he saw the wife in the backyard, wearing a floppy hat and sunglasses.”

“What's that supposed to prove?” Clancy Jane asked. “Maybe it was a bright, sunshiny day.”

“I thought of that, too. But according to the painter, it was overcast. Hey, are y'all through with this?” Without waiting for an answer, Violet began dragging her fork over the top of the cake, scooping up the icing. “The wife didn't need the sunglasses or hat
unless
she was trying to hide something.”

“A black eye?” Clancy Jane suggested

“That's what the painter thought.” Violet licked the tines of her fork. “The wife was wearing something long-sleeved too. Totally weird for a hot summer day.”

The three of us fell silent. The only sound was Violet's fork scraping over her teeth. Finally Aunt Clancy said, “What about you? Are you still sleeping with that poet?”

“No, he left me for an art major, and I'm better off. He was messy and forgetful.” Violet sniffed. “Men have two speeds, on and off. They aren't complicated. In fact, they're too fucking shallow.”

“If you want depth, get a swimming pool,” said Aunt Clancy, “but don't turn into a man-hater.”

“Would you prefer me to be a man-eater?” Violet pulled the Sara Lee box into her lap. “Personally, I prefer cake.”

“How do you eat so much and stay thin?” I asked.

Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. I followed Aunt Clancy into the front hall. She opened the door, and Donnie, the florist's gnome-like delivery man, held out two glass vases, both filled with tropical flowers—hibiscus, bird-of-paradise, and some weird, spiked things. I carried the vases back to the kitchen and set them on the table.

Violet stared.

Aunt Clancy touched the envelopes. “May I do the honors?”

“Be my guest.”

“And the winner is…“ She ripped open the envelopes and held up two white cards. One said CALL, the other said ME. A phone number was scrawled on the back of ME card. She handed it to me, saying, “You have to end this.”

“Don't you dare call that wife-beating bastard,” Violet cried, rising from her chair.

“But she can't keep ignoring these flowers. She's just got to be firm with him, and real, real specific, or he'll think she's secretly interested.”

“Bitsy, don't listen to Mama,” Violet said. “If you call, you'll only inflame him. Ignore him, and he will go away. Eventually.”

“I hope you're right.” Aunt Clancy pursed her lips.

I threw the cards in the trash.

“I'm still hungry,” Violet said. “Let's go to the Square and get some ice cream.”

We hopped into Violet's Volkswagen and drove downtown, looking for an empty parking spot near the ice cream shop. The radio was blasting out “What's Going On” by Marvin Gaye. We passed a man who was jogging down the sidewalk. Violet suddenly hit the brake and leaned toward the windshield. “Wow, look at him. He's cute.”

The man was running past Rexall Drugs wearing shorts and a faded Memphis State T-shirt with the sleeves cut out. He had long, muscled legs and broad shoulders with chiseled biceps. A faded bandanna was tied around his forehead, and perspiration was dripping off his hair, which hung around his face in dark orange ringlets. The wind caught his shirt and it blew up, showing a flat midriff and a hairy chest.

“Why, that's Dr. Saylor,” I cried.

“Damn, what a body.” Violet whistled. “Gee, he sure doesn't look dangerous. Even if he is, I can handle him.”

“You?”

“Why not? God, my nipples are getting hard, even with that orange hair. But it'll blend in perfectly at the U.T. football games.”

“If you can handle him,” I said, “then so can I.”

“Bet you wish you hadn't torn up that ME card!” Violet laughed, and Dr. Saylor ran around the corner and disappeared.

After supper, while Violet and Aunt Clancy did the dishes, I sat cross-legged on the counter, the phone book in my lap. Walter Saylor Jr. had two numbers, an office and residence. I dialed the home number before I lost my nerve.

“Who are you calling this time of night?” Aunt Clancy asked, dipping a glass into the sudsy water.

“The dentist,” said Violet in a dreamy voice.

“What?” Aunt Clancy whirled around, slinging suds onto the floor.

“I'll explain later,” said Violet, throwing down her drying rag and hurrying over to me. She hopped up on the counter and pressed her ear against the receiver. When Dr. Saylor answered, I said, “Hi, er, this is Bitsy Wentworth. The one you've been sending flowers to?”

“Oh! You got them.”

“Yes, I did,” I said in a bubbly voice, thinking of his legs.

Aunt Clancy set the glass in the plastic drainer and stepped over to the counter. I moved the receiver so we could all hear.

“Can you hold on a second?” he asked. “I'm in the hall, and I've just got to drag the phone into the bathroom.”

“Hold on,” he said. “I'm turning on the shower.”

Violet put her hand over her mouth and giggled.

“Maybe I should call you later,” I said.

“No, now is fine. It's just fine. See, I'm still living with Fiona—but not as man and wife. Fiona's my soon-to-be-ex? She wouldn't like it if I was talking on the phone.”

“Oh.” I made a face at Violet.

“Is he still getting a divorce?” Aunt Clancy asked.

“Shhh!” Violet hissed.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called,” I told him. “I was under the impression that you were separated—”

“I am. It's a long story. If you meet me for breakfast tomorrow, I'll explain everything.”

While we decided on time and place, I heard a pounding noise. “What's that?” I asked him.

“It's Fiona,” Walter said. “She's banging on the door.”

In the background, I heard a gravelly voice. “Walter? What are you doing in there? And why do you need the phone? Do you need me?”

“No, Fiona. Just go away,” Walter yelled.

“Walter?” cried Fiona. “If you don't answer me, I'm picking the lock. Walter?”

“Say
something
,” I suggested. “Tell her you're fine.”

“I'm fine,” he called.

There was a moment of silence. It occurred to me that my husband had tried to drown me, and now I was encouraging a wife beater. Why did I attract these types?

In a loud voice, Fiona cried, “But Walter, honey, what's taking you so long? Are you talking to your mother again?”

“No, Fiona. I'm calling time and temp.”

“I can give you that information,” Fiona yelled. “Honey, if you're pooping then just say so. Did your diarrhea come back?”

“No!” Walter screeched. “I'm not your honey. I'm divorcing you, Fiona. So
go away
.”

“I most certainly will NOT!” Fiona screeched. “I'm going to jerk out the phone if you don't come out.”

I waited for an opening, then said, “Fiona sounds upset. We'd better hang up.”

“Wait, not yet! Meet me tomorrow at the Caney Fork Truck Stop out on Highway 70,” he said. “Is nine o'clock too early?”

“Fine, I'll be there,” I said.

“Good, good!” Dr. Saylor said.

“What's good?” Fiona screamed. “What's going on in there, Walter? Open the door
this
instant, or you'll be sorry.”

“I may have to spend the night in here,” said Dr. Saylor. “So don't leave if I'm a little late.”

After I hung up, Violet made a pitcher of margaritas, and we went outside and sat on the back porch, gazing up at the stars. It hadn't rained for weeks, and the City of Crystal Falls was threatening to ration water. Aunt Clancy stepped out onto the porch, carrying a portable radio. John Denver was singing “Annie's Song.” She inched open the screen door, careful not to bump us, then eased down onto the step behind Violet and reached down for the pitcher.

“I wish it would rain,” I said.

“Maybe we should dance,” Violet suggested.

“I think I've forgotten how,” said Aunt Clancy.

“It'll come back to you,” said Violet, grabbing her mother's hand.

“Come on, Bitsy,” they called. “Get your butt out here.”

While John Denver sang about his lady, the three of us entwined our fingers, then raised our arms and began to sway to the music. Next door, the porch lights blinked on. Dorothy and Jennifer stepped out, followed by Earlene. “Y'all look ridiculous,” Dorothy called.

“It's a dance,” called Aunt Clancy. “Get over here. We need you.”

“I most certainly will no—”

“Yes!” Jennifer began pulling Dorothy's hand. “Me dance too.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” Dorothy rolled her eyes. But she let Jennifer pull her down the steps and across the yard. I let go of Aunt Clancy's hand and took my daughter's. Earlene fit herself between Jennifer and Violet. Then we all turned to look at Dorothy.

Clancy Jane extended her hand. “I won't bite if you won't,” she said.

“That's all right. I've had my shots.” Dorothy took her sister's hand and the six of us began to move in a circle. “Now, dance and fill your minds with watery things,” Aunt Clancy ordered. “Baths, rivers, dew, waterfalls, mermaids, fish, crabs.”