Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover (26 page)

I got home about midafternoon to a quiet, orderly house and sat down at the kitchen table to read a note from Lillian. Apparently Mrs. Abernathy's condition had worsened, so Lillian had gone to help out.
Frid chicken & potatoe salat in frigidair
, she'd written, and I smiled at her thoughtfulness—she knew I was no hand in a kitchen.

In fact, by this time I was worn to a frazzle from the stress of waiting for Trixie to throw a public fit, thereby embarrassing Hazel Marie and proving all her efforts in vain. To say nothing of how such a spectacle would've reflected on me, or what Mr. Pickens would do if he had to speak to Trixie again, or how angry Sam would be if he had to trundle her off on a southbound bus. It was all too much to consider dealing with, so it was with great relief that I had come home without such a story to tell and without having to worry with supper.

Trixie had behaved herself admirably. Well, not exactly admirably unless you knew her background, because she had not been what you would call companionably sociable. She never initiated or continued a conversation, merely responding briefly when someone addressed her. And all the while she'd had that unreadable look on her face, especially when she was left to her own thoughts as the conversation veered away from her, which it frequently did, as her “Yes, ma'ams” and “No, ma'ams” did not encourage further efforts to converse.

I tell you, as relieved as I was that Trixie had behaved herself for two full hours, I was also befuddled as to what ailed her. I mean, Hazel Marie had done wonders with her, no doubt about that, but that glassy-eyed, faraway look on Trixie's face boded trouble in the making. Was she getting sick, and if so, would all the guests come down with the same thing? Was she so upset with Rodney that she'd been making plans to wreak vengeance on him, even as James served meringue shells topped with fruit?

I heard the screech of bicycle tires on the driveway as Lloyd came to a stop outside the kitchen door. Then he banged through the door and smiled when he saw me.

“I didn't know if it was safe to go home or not,” he said, grinning. “But I dropped by, and all the ladies were gone.”

“Yes, the luncheon is over and it was lovely,” I said, saying the expected thing without referring to the tension I'd undergone during it. “Did you see Trixie? What was she doing?” I asked, wondering if she and Hazel Marie were assessing the luncheon—what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and who had said what. Sometimes the debriefing was more enjoyable than the party itself.

Lloyd shrugged, heading for the pantry. “Watching television.” He came out with two of Lillian's chocolate chip cookies. “You want a cookie?”

I shook my head. “No, your mother served a wonderful lunch. I hope Trixie had a good time, but it was hard to tell. She didn't have much to say, which was fine because she really didn't know those ladies.” I rose from the table. “You want a glass of milk?”

“No'm, I'm okay.” He took a seat next to the chair I'd just vacated, so I figured he wanted to talk. I quickly sat back down.

“What've you been doing today?” I asked.

His face lit up. “Helping Mr. Sam get ready for tomorrow. Miss Julia, you wouldn't believe all the people who came out, and every one of them's planning to go with us. You know, for Mr. Sam's Fourth of July district tour. Why, there's so many that he had to call the rental place and cancel the van we were going to use. We're going in a jitney now.”

“What in the world is a jitney?” I pictured some bicycle-powered conveyance from the Far East that I'd seen on a public television travel documentary.

“Oh, it's just a little bus, not like a Greyhound, but it'll carry more than a van. You should see the banners we made. They say
JOIN THE JITNEY JOURNEY FOR MURDOCH
, and we'll put one on each side, so people'll know who to vote for.”

Lloyd frowned and brushed cookie crumbs from his T-shirt.
“Except, they say it might rain tomorrow and I'm worried the paint might run.”

“Well, let's hope not, Lloyd,” I said, wanting to feel him out about the uproars that Trixie had caused in his two households. “I understand that Mr. Pickens had to speak to Trixie after she was rude to your mother. And I want you to know that whatever he said has made all the difference in the world in her attitude.”

“Yes'm, I heard about that. I mean, I was upstairs and I heard part of it when she yelled at Mama, and when he told her to go sit in the living room. Scared me to death.”

“Oh, honey,” I said, reaching across the table to touch him. “I don't know what your father said to her, but he'd never do that to you—you'd never give him reason to.”

“Well, I don't know. I might. You know, without meaning to.”

“I can't imagine it. Your daddy—as new as he is to the job—loves you. And I'll tell you this: Trixie didn't act scared today. She acted just as a young lady should, and would you believe that she actually apologized for being rude to me? Your father is a remarkable man to have worked such a turnaround.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes as I wondered if I'd put any of his concerns to rest. Lloyd had lived so long without a father—the one who'd engendered him had rarely been around, and even if he had, he'd hardly been worthy of a child's emulation. And Mr. Pickens had only recently become his adoptive father. So it was no wonder that Lloyd felt a sense of unease, especially when that new father had just drawn a few lines in the sand.

“Miss Julia?” Lloyd asked. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can. Anything you want.” And waited with wary concern for a confession of misdoing that he wanted to keep from Mr. Pickens.

I should've known better, for he said, “I think I know who took down Mr. Sam's campaign signs.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Well, I hate to say it, but I think it was Rodney.”

“
Rodney!
But why? Why would he do such a thing?”

“I don't know, but, see, I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't supposed to hear it. But late last night, well, it wasn't too late, but it was after everybody went to bed, I went downstairs to get my tennis schedule. I thought I was supposed to teach a class today, but I'd promised to help Mr. Sam and I couldn't get to sleep until I made sure what I had to do. Well, anyway, I didn't turn on any lights because I didn't want to wake the babies, and I came downstairs and heard Trixie on the telephone. And I knew it hadn't rung, so she'd called him. Rodney, I mean, because she said his name, and she was in the den and didn't see me. I didn't want to scare her, so I just sat down on the stairs to wait till she finished, because, see, I'd left my tennis bag in the den.” He stopped and looked away. “I know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but it wasn't like I
wanted
to hear, I just couldn't help it. And Trixie was mad, and she wasn't whispering by a long shot. I was kinda surprised that nobody else heard her. Anyway, at one point she said something like, ‘You think you can do anything you want to and get away with it. What about when they find out it was you who took down all their signs?' Then she listened for a little bit, then she said, ‘I'm not saying whether I will or I won't, Rodney, but you'd just better not cross me again.' And around that time I was already scrambling back up the stairs and didn't hear any more.”

“Well, they Lord,” I said, just done in at this revelation. “But why, Lloyd, why would he do it? Sam's never been anything but gracious to him. I don't understand.”

“I don't either, but he had to be really mad about something. It must've taken him all night.”

“Served him right if it did. But it makes me feel bad that he'd go after Sam when it's really me he's mad at. I'm sorry, Lloyd. I know you liked him. You've had a heavy load to bear since hearing that, haven't you?”

“Yes'm, I guess I have, but I feel better after telling you. I didn't know if I should or not, but I figured it wasn't fair to blame Mr. Mooney when he didn't do anything.”

“Right you are. Because we'd have gone on thinking badly of Mr. Mooney when all the while he'd been entirely innocent.” Well,
not entirely, for Jimmy Ray wasn't above finagling a few dirty tricks of his own.

“Will you tell Mr. Sam?” Lloyd asked, picking a cookie crumb off the table.

“We'll discuss it, of course, but if you want to tell him, you can. Sam needs to know, but I wouldn't do it when anyone else is around. No need making the volunteers angry.”

“Oh, no'm, I wouldn't do that. In fact, I'd just as soon you tell him. I feel bad about it all because Rodney was so nice and he nailed up almost every one of those signs. I mean, he worked
all day
. It's hard to believe he'd go tear them all down.”

“I know, honey. But people can be strange, and it's better to withhold judgment until you know a person well. I, personally, think that everything Rodney has done from the beginning was aimed toward getting that property. And I hate to say it, but I'm including his matchup with Trixie on that dating service, too.”

“My goodness,” Lloyd said, looking up in surprise. “You think he'd do that?”

“Well, obviously, I don't know how those things work, but I wouldn't put it past him.”

Lloyd laughed. “I hope you don't know how they work. Well, listen, Miss Julia, I better get back over to headquarters and see if the jitney has come. I just came home for a snack and because, well, I knew Mr. Sam invited Rodney to go with us tomorrow, and I was kinda worried that he'd show up, and I didn't much know what to do. I bet he won't, though, 'cause he'll be afraid Trixie's told on him.”

“I expect you're right,” I said, then sent him on his way, thinking as I did so that I could guess what had possessed Rodney to take down Sam's posters. It wasn't something I wanted to share with Lloyd, though, because there was no need to add to the boy's disappointment in Rodney.

But I knew as well as I was standing there that Rodney had not slipped through the night snatching down posters just to get back at me through Sam, but to aid and abet Thurlow's chosen
candidate. It was as clear as day to me that with Jimmy Ray back in the senate, Rodney and Thurlow could count on getting a variance if my property proved unsuitable for their grand plans. Which it most certainly would, because how would they get a variance on land they couldn't buy?

Well, but who knew what else Rodney had up his sleeve? If he had no qualms about stripping signs from telephone poles, what would he do next?

Bestirring myself to get up and perk a pot of coffee, I was missing Lillian's company as I did so, but not because she wasn't there to do it for me. Good grief, even I could turn on a coffeepot. I was missing her because I wanted to know what she'd say about Rodney, now that I could tell her of the anger, resentment, frustration, or whatever emotion it had been that had prompted him to take out his antipathy to me on Sam's campaign posters. And what a petty waste of time that had been. I wondered if he'd felt better after having done it. I hoped not. I hoped he'd felt some shame, except if he hadn't felt better he might think up some other mischief to relieve his desire for vengeance.

Well, a lot of good that would do him, too. But I had about had enough of Rodney Pace and had to smile at the thought of Trixie saying she no longer gave a flying flip what he did. Was that true? If so, it indicated a complete and utter makeover of her attitude and her disposition, the possibility of which I was inclined to doubt. She'd been so wrapped up in him, heeding his every word and allowing him to plan her life, only to suddenly care nothing for him? It seemed highly unlikely to me.

I poured a cup of coffee, lightened it with cream, and returned to the table, wishing again for Lillian. But Sam would be home soon. He would hear me out and offer his sane assessment of the situation, and I'd feel better. For the present, though, whenever I thought of Rodney in a frenzy of frustration going from one telephone pole to the other all over town ripping down Sam's posters, a cold chill ran down my back. But when I thought again of his remark that I was like an old woman with a houseful of cats, I wanted to smack his face.

Realizing that the room had darkened, I got up to switch on the lights and to look out the window. Clouds had rolled in and
rain threatened. What a shame, I thought, as I watched a light drizzle darken the driveway, if Sam's Jitney Journey got rained out. To say nothing of all the celebrations of the Fourth, including the expected crowds at every stop, and the fireworks spectacular planned for the following evening.

—

By the time Sam came in an hour or so later, I had had time to change my shoes, set the table, and put some rolls in the oven. I was slicing tomatoes when he came in, brushing his hand across his hair.

“It's raining,” he announced with a grin.

“I noticed,” I responded, looking up and smiling, “but the forecast says it won't be heavy. And tomorrow will just be scattered showers. I shouldn't think it'll slow you down.”

“Nothing's going to slow us down now. It can rain all day if it wants to. I tell you, Julia, that's a happy, enthusiastic bunch I have. A little rain won't bother us at all.”

He was ebullient over the recent response to his senate campaign, and my heart lifted along with his. “What about the fireworks tomorrow night? Will it go on if it's raining?”

He sat down at the table as I brought our plates over. “I think so, yes. Of course if it's a downpour, it might not be as spectacular as they advertise. But they're planning to fire 'em off regardless.” He looked up as I put a plate before him. “Lillian go home early?”

“She left early, but I doubt she's home. The Reverend Abernathy's wife is quite ill. I expect she's with her.”

Sam nodded. “I heard she's not doing well. I dropped by the reverend's office this morning to ask about her and to see if they needed anything.”

I looked at my husband with love and gratitude that he was a man of decency and thoughtfulness. But what he had done was so innately natural to his character that he didn't notice my admiration.

I let him get most of the way through his supper, then asked in an offhanded way, “Did Lloyd speak to you this afternoon?”

Sam's eyebrows went up. “Well, yes, several times. He offered me a Coke about two o'clock and told me he was coming to see you for a while, then, let me see. Oh, yes, he wanted me to check the banner he'd painted, then he asked if he could go inside to use the bathroom. I think that's about all he had to say.”

“Oh, Sam,” I said, laughing. “You know I meant more than that.”

“Okay,” he said with that sweet smile of his, “seriously then. Obviously, he didn't tell me whatever it is that's on your mind. What is it?”

So I told him what Lloyd had told me, that he'd overheard Trixie talking to Rodney, that it was a fairly settled fact that Rodney had been the miscreant who'd torn down his signs, that Trixie had said she no longer cared a flip about Rodney, and that she'd behaved herself at the luncheon, except for the distracted, moony look on her face, which I was fairly sure hadn't been caused by having quiche for lunch.

“Well,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair with a tired sigh, “I'm sorry to hear that about Rodney. I expected better from him. He's such a go-getter, he could be a real addition to the town's movers and shakers. But not with that kind of anger and pettiness.”

“But nobody'll know about it,” I said. “I certainly won't tell it around—it was so
small
of him. I'd almost be ashamed to tell it. And you wouldn't, either.”

“No,” he agreed, “but it'll come out sooner or later anyway. I don't mean that particular act of vandalism, specifically, but it'll come out in other ways.”

I nodded, understanding. “I expect you're right. I just wonder what else he's capable of.”

—

We woke to an overcast Fourth of July the next morning, but the clouds didn't dampen Sam's spirits. He ate the big breakfast that Lillian prepared, talked to her about the Abernathys, and joked
with Latisha, who'd accompanied Lillian since her usual summer sitter had holiday plans.

As soon as Sam left for his big day, Lillian started apologizing. “I'm sorry I have to bring her, Miss Julia, but she know she got to behave.” She gave her great-granddaughter a stern stare, but Latisha paid no attention. She was sitting on the floor surrounded by a pile of doll clothes spilling out of a doll's suitcase, a yellow plastic drawstring bag with a smiley face on it, and a fine-figured, wild-haired doll that needed an appointment with Velma.

“For goodness sakes, Lillian, she's no trouble at all, and she's welcome here anytime she wants to come. Actually, though, I didn't expect you—it is a holiday, you know.”

“Not much a one,” Lillian said. “They already shootin' off firecrackers up an' down the street where I live. I rather be here where they's some peace and quiet.”

“Well, I don't blame you,” I said, but wondered that the police hadn't put a stop to fireworks within the city limits. “Latisha,” I went on, noticing how intently she was going through the little suitcase, searching apparently for the correct outfit for her doll. “Are you dressing your baby?”

“I didn't bring no baby today,” Latisha said in her high-pitched little voice. “I brung my lady doll, an' she sick an' tired of them loud firecrackers. They scarin' her, so I'm gonna bundle her up good so she can't hear 'em.”

“Oh, okay,” I said and smiled at her imagination. “When she's all bundled up, you can take her into the library and watch television if you want to.”

“I jus' might do that,” Latisha said. “Great-Granny already tole me she wadn't gonna turn on the one in here, 'cause she don't want to hear that thing all day long.”

I laughed, then took myself to the living room, noting as I went that the day was dim with threatening rain. I had wished for a bright, pretty day for Sam's trek around the district, but he had left in great good humor in spite of the dampness. Lloyd and Mr. Pickens were meeting him at campaign headquarters, along with
a crowd of eager volunteers. Apparently, they'd loaded the jitney with coolers filled with soft drinks, and some were bringing snacks and, according to Sam, one would bring a guitar and somebody else a harmonica for traveling music. I was just as glad to be home.

But it was a long day for me, as holidays often are, broken only occasionally by entertaining conversation with Latisha. I kept trying to get Lillian to go home, but she filled her time by baking several pound cakes for the volunteers. I finally realized that baking was a comfort to her, as worried as she was about Mrs. Abernathy, and I stopped urging her to leave.

About three o'clock that afternoon, I called Hazel Marie, knowing full well that I should've done it sooner.

“Hazel Marie?” I asked, as one does even when one knows who has answered the phone. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the luncheon yesterday. Everything was lovely, and it was sweet of you to entertain for Trixie.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Julia, I appreciate that. I'm still not real sure of myself about having the ladies. They do it so much better than I do.”

“No one could've done better, Hazel Marie. Everything—your house, the food, the flowers, the conversation—everything was perfect.” I deliberately overlooked the unedifying discussion of colonoscopies.

“Well, I'm just glad that Trixie seemed to enjoy it. She did quite well, don't you think?”

“Yes,” I agreed, then asked, “but was there anything wrong with her? She seemed, oh, I don't know, in sort of a dreamy state or something.”

“
Tell
me about it!” Hazel Marie whispered forcibly. “That's the way she's been acting for the last two days. I don't know what's going on, but she's so agreeable about everything else that I'm afraid to ask.”

“Maybe,” I suggested, “she's so relieved to be free of Rodney telling her what to do that she now has time to think for herself. Except I'm not sure she can think for herself.”

“Well, I'll tell you what I think it is. I think she has a crush on Magnum, P.I.”

“Who?”

“Oh, you know. The actor who had that old series. J.D. has all the DVDs, and Trixie came across them the other day, and that's all she's been doing ever since. And, I mean, she's been
glued
to that television set.”

“Hazel Marie, he must be as old as the hills.”

“Well, he doesn't look it on those shows. Trixie is entranced with him. And you know what? He doesn't look a thing like Rodney. So I hope she's over him for good, and think of this: it doesn't matter how old that actor is, she sure can't get into trouble with him.”

That was true, so I decided that a crush on the image of a screen idol, regardless of his age, was healthier for Trixie than the adulation she'd heaped upon Rodney Pace. Besides, I could hardly fault her for being smitten—Magnum, P.I. had certainly been a fine-looking man.