Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover (9 page)

“Lord, Lillian,” I said with a huge sigh. “What're we going to do with her? If she doesn't know any better than to dress like a . . . well, I don't know what, then what are we to do?”

“I don't know, Miss Julia, but she showin' too much of what ought not be showed.” Turning back to the stove, Lillian asked, “How Mr. Sam feelin'?”

“Oh, Lillian, I forgot to call you. I'm so sorry, but it was so late when we got in, and we still had to write this speech, that I just didn't think about it. They took out Sam's gallbladder last night.”

Lillian whirled around to stare at me. “You don't mean it! He got operated on? They Lord, what gonna happen next?”

“He says he's feeling fine, but would you believe they're making
him walk around this morning? Years ago, they'd have kept him in bed for a week, then just let him dangle his legs for a day or two. I have to trust that they know what they're doing—though I sometimes doubt it.”

“Law, Law,” Lillian said, shaking her head in commiseration. “Ever'time I go home, I never know what gonna pop up here while I'm gone. You sure he's all right? Maybe we oughta go see about him.”

“I can't, Lillian. He's bound and determined not to disappoint the people coming to hear him speak today, and not at all concerned that they'll be disappointed anyway when they have to listen to me instead.”

Lillian stared at me. “Don't tell me he want you givin' speeches to them folks.”

“That's exactly what he wants. And don't look so surprised. It's the only way I can help him get well. If I didn't do it, he'd probably have a relapse. I tell you, it's a burden being married to a man of his word—he's determined not to disappoint anybody.”

“Uh-huh, what you want to eat?”

“Not much of anything. My stomach's rolling around as it is. And seeing Trixie in that revealing outfit didn't help. But, you know, Lillian, I probably shouldn't have said anything to her. That girl doesn't take correction kindly at all, especially from me. Hazel Marie could've handled it much better.”

“Uh-uh. No, ma'am, I don't think so. Miss Hazel Marie have a conniption if she have to take her downtown lookin' like that.”

“Well, anyway,” I said with a sigh as I sat at the table. “I have more on my mind this morning than Trixie's exposure. Sooner or later, though, I'm going to have to have a heart-to-heart talk with her. The idea of a girl raised on a Georgia farm calling our Main Street dinky!”

“Huh,” Lillian said darkly. “You got more'n dinky to talk about. That way down on the list.”

How I wished Lloyd was old enough to drive. Instead of being at the wheel, I could've been going over my speech a few more times as we sped toward Brevard. Public speaking! Lord, my stomach was roiling, my hands slippery on the wheel, my heart fluttering, and absolute terror washed over me in waves. It was a wonder that I kept the car on the road.

Lloyd had set the GPS to take us right to the small brick building on a side street in Brevard that housed the local VFW, although I jumped in surprise every time that woman's voice told me where to turn.

“Lloyd,” I said, as I parked the car and made no effort to get out although my hand was clamped on to the door handle in case I had to throw up. “I don't think I can do this. Just look at all these cars—people have come to hear Sam, not me.”

“Yes, you can. Look, Miss Julia, I retyped your speech and included everything you changed. All you have to do is stand up there and read it. And don't worry about explaining why you're here and Mr. Sam's not. Whoever introduces you will probably cover that.”

As if in a trance, I walked with Lloyd into the large meeting room where military flags stood in stanchions, and service emblems, along with pictures of presidents, generals, and Medal of Honor winners, hung on the walls. Men and a few women of all ages, but mostly elderly, milled around the room, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and eating glazed doughnuts. As we entered the room, every one of them turned and looked us over. I thought I would die or maybe faint.

A slender man with a full mustache broke away and greeted us, but I declare, I couldn't tell you his name. My hearing was gone
and my vision, filled as it was with that huge crowd, was fading in and out of some kind of fog.

Lloyd spoke with him—I could only nod my head—then Lloyd took my hand and led me to a low platform in front of the room. “Just take one of the chairs, Miss Julia,” he whispered, “and get up when he introduces you. I'll be in the audience. Here, let me hold your pocketbook. You have your speech?”

I nodded, although by this time the paper was wadded up in my sweaty hand. I sat down, tucked in my skirt tail so I wouldn't shock the audience, and saw a podium with a microphone stuck on it.
Oh, Lord, spare me.

The man with the mustache went to the podium, told the crowd to quiet down and sit down, and took a few minutes to go over some items of interest to everyone but me. I didn't hear a word he said, but then before I knew it and long before I was ready, he called my name.

I rose unsteadily, then teetered to the podium, looked out over a haze of faces, and wished for the Rapture. Then one face stood out in the fog—Lloyd's, several rows back but smiling with encouragement.

I leaned toward the microphone, took a deep breath, blew it out, and was startled to hear it reverberate around the room. Moving a few inches back, I smoothed out my speech, determined now to read the thing and get it over with.

I couldn't see one word. Every one of them had disappeared or else I had gone blind, and the crinkled page itself seemed to go and come in my shaking hand. Even worse, I knew my skirt was trembling along with my knees and I was just before heaving in front of all those veterans of foreign wars.

But then I heard myself speaking. I mean, I just opened my mouth and words came out—not the words on the paper, because I couldn't see them, but words—if they would just keep coming, that would get me through the next few minutes, then out of that place.

“I know you were expecting Sam to be here,” I started off, “and, believe me, you aren't the only one.” I paused as a low murmur rippled
across the room. I sought out Lloyd's face, the only one I could discern, and he gave me an encouraging thumbs-up even though he knew I wasn't following the script. I opened my mouth again.

“But don't give up on him,” I went on. “The next time he's scheduled to be here, he
will
be, because if I get through this today, you can be sure I won't.” Another murmur, louder this time, swept the room, unnerving me to the point that I knew I'd better hurry and finish—you never know what an unruly crowd will do.

“However . . .” I stopped, cleared my throat, and wished I'd gone to the bathroom before speaking. “However, I expect many of you already know Sam Murdoch, especially those of you who've been in trouble with the law.” A ripple of laughter interrupted me, so I ran my hand down the bodice of my dress, making sure that a button wasn't undone. Disregarding such rudeness, I pushed on, aiming toward a stopping place. “And the fact that you're here today and not in jail or fighting foreclosure proves that you know what a good lawyer he is. Was, I mean, because he's retired, which is why he's able to run for office. He'll be just as good a state senator as he was a lawyer—looking after your interests in Raleigh. I mean, looking after your interests
here
while
he's
in Raleigh—bringing in jobs, widening the road, doing something about taxes, opening his door—his
office
door, not the door to our home—to everyone, and I assure you that he will not forget to pile up manure in Raleigh. I mean, in the south forty. Wherever that is.”

Out-and-out laughter stopped me in my tracks. One man slapped his thigh and another nearly fell out of his chair. I ignored it all because I didn't know what was so funny and, even better, I could see the end in sight. And when I reached it, I intended to head for the car and the road home, never to return.

“So if you want the best man to represent you, to speak for you and to you, you will vote for Sam Murdoch. He is without doubt the best man for the job, and I ought to know—I live with him every day.”

I stepped back, folded my unused speech, and was struck still by thunderous applause. Before I could get off the platform,
people surrounded me, shaking my hand, telling me I could come back anytime, and that it hadn't mattered what I said, they'd already planned to vote for Sam.

—

“Oh, Lord, Lloyd,” I said when we were finally back in the car. My hands were still so shaky I could hardly get the key in the ignition. “It was awful, just awful. Let's get away from here.”

“No, it wasn't awful,” Lloyd said, staunchly supportive as he always was. “I'm telling you, they loved it, especially the pile of manure. They've heard so many political speeches saying the same ole things that you just blew them away.”

I pulled out onto the highway, wanting away from that place as quickly as I could be gone. “I heard them, Lloyd. They were uneasy, whispering and murmuring, wondering what in the world I was saying. There must've been a hundred people there, all of them ready to tell me to shut up and leave.”

“No'm, I counted. There were twenty-six, counting you and me.”

“Is that all? Seemed like more to me.”

“And all that murmuring you heard? They were smiling and grinning and enjoying what you said. And that's the truth, because I was right there with them.”

“Well, it didn't sound like it. But I'm just glad it's over. I've always been glad when anybody's speech is over, but I never knew what a relief it is to finish one of your own.”

Lloyd grinned. “Keep that thought, because you have to do it three more times today.”

“How can I?” In my agitation, I let the car drift onto the dirt shoulder. Swinging it back onto the road, I moaned, “I don't even know what I said!”

—

We got back to Abbotsville just in time to go to the Kiwanis luncheon, the next stop on our itinerary for the day. I don't want to
talk about that except to say that I might've been able to eat something if they'd had the speeches before the meal instead of after. As it was, I could hardly manage a bite for fear of leaving something between my teeth and for getting more and more frightened of standing up in front of that crowd—much larger than the VFW group—which was accustomed to hearing well-delivered oratory.

And on top of that, their business meeting went on and on interminably, so as I noticed several yawns and lots of droopy eyelids throughout the audience, I decided to do them and me a favor. I would cut my speech to the bone.

“I'm here,” I said when I was finally introduced as Sam Murdoch's “better half,” “to urge you to vote for Sam Murdoch for the state senate. There are some pamphlets by the door for you to pick up as you leave, so you don't need me to tell you what you can read for yourself. Let me just assure you that Sam will represent you with honesty and integrity. Thank you for my lunch, your time, and your vote. Good afternoon.”

—

“How did it go, Lloyd?” I asked as we got into the car to travel to the next event.

“Well, it probably could've been a little longer. You know, to mention the things Mr. Sam wants to do. But I heard several people say they were glad they didn't have to listen to a long speech.”

“That's okay then,” I said, “because I didn't want to give one. Most of them were half asleep by the time they got to me, anyway.”

“I guess, but maybe you ought not cut it down much more. Pretty soon you'd be saying, ‘Vote for Sam Murdoch,' and nothing else.”

I smiled at him. “That's a thought.”

—

After driving down the mountain to Polk County, depending again on the electronic voice from the GPS to get us there, I parked in front of a brick ranch-style house in a hilly residential area.

“Lloyd,” I said as I tried to do something with my hair using the mirror on the visor. “I'm hoping this will be easy. The hostess is an active party member, and she's invited some friends and neighbors, hoping to interest them in volunteering.”

“That's good,” Lloyd said as we got out of the car. “You're used to talking to ladies. You want me to stay in the car?”

“Oh, no. I want you with me in case I lose my eyesight again. Don't forget the pamphlets. They'll cover whatever I happen to leave out.”

Virginia Case was a well-girdled woman with a hairdo that featured a jaunty flip on one side of her head. She welcomed us into her home and led us to the living room where everything was beige except the eight or nine ladies sitting around and the abundance of crocheted doilies on every piece of furniture. She introduced me, pointed me to a straight chair, and asked Lloyd if he'd like to go outside and play on the swing.

“He hands out Sam's pamphlets,” I quickly said. “I need him to stay.” She frowned, but brought in another chair which she put out in the hall for him.

“Ladies! Ladies!” Mrs. Case said, clapping her hands to get the attention of the group, none of whom were talking. They were too busy staring at me. “Ladies, we have a treat this afternoon. This is Sam Murdoch's wife, who is helping him in his campaign for the state senate. She is a helpmeet in every sense of the word and a wonderful model for us to emulate as we all get behind our husbands and walk hand-in-hand toward success.”

And then that woman proceeded to list off every one of Sam's campaign points. I mean she didn't miss a one, including the woes of the dairy farmers. I sat and listened, wondering what would be left for me to say. And the longer she talked, the madder I got. Why had I suffered agonies of stage fright on the way down the mountain to never have the stage? And why had my time been taken up that I could've better used to visit my hospitalized husband? Which of course I didn't want to mention.

“In conclusion,” she said, for which I thanked the Lord, “we're
disappointed not to have the candidate himself, but please welcome his wife. I promise you that the next time I invite you over, that handsome Sam Murdoch will be here.”

By the time she finally stopped and turned to me with a peremptory wave of the hand to get up and do something, I was seething. With an effort of will, I said, “Thank you for having me. As Mrs. Case has so ably pointed out, Sam Murdoch is the ideal candidate and I hope you will vote for him. Your help will be greatly appreciated. Thank you.”

And that was the end of that. Mrs. Case was somewhat offended that I declined the offer of tea and Pepperidge Farm cookies, but pleading another stop on our schedule, I ushered Lloyd out and hurried to the car.

“Have you ever seen such a bossy woman?” I fumed as I turned the ignition. “I thought she'd never stop talking. We could've stayed home for all the good coming down here did.”

“She was something, all right,” Lloyd agreed. “I wouldn't have minded a few of those cookies, though.”

“We have a couple of hours before the next event, so let's go by the hospital and see Sam. We can stop in the snack shop on our way. I'm a little hungry myself.”