Revenge of the Kudzu Debutantes (12 page)

“Here’s to freedom,” Lavonne said.

“Here’s to revenge,” Eadie said.

“Here’s to love,” Nita said in a voice that made the hair on the back of Lavonne’s neck rise.

They tossed back their drinks and set the glasses on the table. No one bothered to pick up a lime slice anymore. “Let’s think about this a moment,” Lavonne said. “What is it these husbands all have in common?”

“They’re all assholes,” Eadie said.

“Besides that,” Lavonne said. She paused dramatically, waiting for them to catch up and when they didn’t, she said, “Pride. Male ego. They all have it in spades. That’s where we strike.”

“Look,” Eadie said. “I’ve tried sleeping around. It doesn’t work.”

“Shit, Eadie, I’m not talking about sleeping around,” Lavonne said. “We have to hit them where it hurts. We have to wound their pride.”

“I’d like to wound something else,” Eadie said.

“It’s a control issue,” Lavonne said.

“I still say we have them killed. Or at least maimed.”

Sunlight slanted through the long windows. The old floor register hummed and belched a steady stream of warm humid air.

Nita tapped her glass with one finger. She chewed her lower lip. “What’s the name of that place where they go each year?” she asked quietly.

“The Ah! Wilderness Game Ranch,” Lavonne said. “A place where men go to feed their male desire to kill something.”

The room was quiet. A tourist bus rumbled down the street. Clouds shaped like grazing sheep wandered across the blue sky.

“You’re starting to sound like a feminist,” Eadie said.

Lavonne put her pencil down. “What’s your definition of a feminist?” she asked.

“A woman who won’t take shit from anybody.”

“Okay,” Lavonne said. “I’m a feminist.”

Eadie grinned at Lavonne and poured her another drink.

“I’ve been a feminist all my life,” Lavonne said.

“Good old Ramsbottom,” Eadie said. Lamar Ramsbottom was the owner of the Ah! Wilderness Game Ranch. “I’ll bet he gets the girls. I’ll bet that’s part of the price.”

Sunlight shone through the prism of Eadie’s stained-glass window. A hummingbird hovered over the birdbath.

“You don’t think they have girlfriends, do you?” Nita asked suddently. Eadie and Lavonne looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Naw,” Lavonne said. “Leonard and Charles don’t have time for girlfriends. Those women are once-a-year prostitutes. I’m sure of it.”

“They must fill out a request form,” Eadie said, stirring her drink with her finger. She stuck the finger in her mouth, and pulled it out again. “Kind of like filling out a sushi request form. You know, a check mark next to the California Roll, or the Crab Roll or the Tofu Sushi, only this time they’re ordering women—blond, redhead, brunette.” She was getting mad just thinking about it.

Lavonne sat up suddenly and slapped the table. “That’s it!” she said. “That’s the revenge part of our plan.” It had come to her in a flash. She knew what they had to do. They would use the skills they had acquired through eighteen years of planning birthday parties, luncheons, and PTA meetings. “We’ll plan their hunting trip for them. We’ll set it all up before they even get there!”

Nita and Eadie looked at her. A muscle moved in Eadie’s cheek. Nita sucked her lower lip. “I mean, hell,” Lavonne said. “We planned the damn firm party. Why can’t we plan the hunting trip?”

“You mean,” Eadie said, beginning to catch on. “
We’ll
be the ones placing the sushi order?”

“Right!” Lavonne said. “We’ll put in the request for the girls.” She frowned and drummed the table with her fingers. “But how can we get Ramsbottom to go along with it?”

“Simple,” Eadie said, raising her glass. “We’ll pay him twice what they do.”

“We’ll get the prostitutes ourselves?” Nita said.

“The ugliest we can find,” Eadie said. “We’ll tell him to get ugly women.”

“Yeah. Very ugly women.”

“Women who make us look good,” Eadie said.

“Scary women,” Lavonne said, getting the hang of this.

“Biker chicks.”

“Feminists.”

“Lorena Bobbit wannabes.”

Nita lifted her drink, drained it, and then set it down. “Who says they have to be women?” she said.

L
AVONNE DROVE HOME,
humming softly to herself. She felt better just knowing they had a plan. She and Nita and Eadie had agreed to think about it and to meet again in a couple of days to discuss ways they could get their hands on some quick cash. Eadie had agreed to call Ramsbottom and Rosebud Smoot. Lavonne felt light on her feet, curiously elated, which was odd, she realized, for a woman who had just found out her husband had been cheating on her for years. She felt free for the first time since she quit her job and moved to Ithaca and started having children. Now she had only herself to rely on. Now she could be whomever she wanted to be. She could be an accountant or a waitress or a college student. She could be queen of the damn Kudzu Ball if she wanted to be, and no one could tell her what to do.

She drove past the Shapiro Bakery, lifting one hand to wave at Little Moses, who was hand-lettering a sign across the plate-glass window.
Bodacious Brownies,
the sign read. The thought of brownies made her slightly nauseous. She clenched the steering wheel and slowed for a group of tourists who ambled slowly across the street clutching brochures and bright blue bags that read
I Survived Shopping in Ithaca.
The bakery was closed on Saturdays and Sundays, which didn’t seem like such a good idea to Lavonne, what with the tourist business and all, but it was Mona’s store, not hers.

The girls were just getting out of bed when Lavonne arrived home. Leonard was in the family room reading the Sunday paper. He called to her as she came in. She had expected to find him sullen and angry over the catering fiasco, but he was obviously determined to keep up his cheerful front. He wasn’t letting anything spoil his upcoming hunting trip. She was sure it was hard to be angry when you were looking forward to a week of good sex and animal slaughter.

“Where’ve you been so early this morning?” he called, rattling the newspaper.

None of your goddamned business,
Lavonne thought. She sat down at the breakfast bar and poured herself a cup of coffee. A box of sweet rolls rested on the counter. Lavonne played idly with a corner of the tissue wrapping, pushing the box toward a bleary-eyed Louise as she came into the kitchen.

“Have a sweet roll,” Lavonne said.

Louise yawned, stretching her arms above her head. She was wearing an old bathrobe and a flannel nightgown with a brown stain across the bodice. “Aren’t you eating?” Louise said to her mother.

“Nope,” Lavonne said.

Louise stopped yawning. She dropped her arms. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Lavonne said, blowing on her coffee. “I feel great. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

Louise shrugged and went to the cabinet to take down a mug. Her long ponytail hung down her back, almost to her waist. She had pretty hair like Leonard’s, auburn colored with blond streaks, but she never wore it down. With her thick glasses and severe hairstyle, she looked like a middle-aged librarian. Ashley was cute and popular at school, but Louise wanted to be a writer. She had no social life to speak of.

Leonard came into the kitchen, whistling. He smiled at Lavonne but she stiffened and lifted her coffee cup to her lips.
Just don’t look at him,
she told herself.
Just pretend he isn’t even here.

Ashley followed her father into the kitchen, her hair standing in stiff spikes around her sullen face like whipped egg whites. “Is there any coffee?” she said, plopping herself down at the breakfast bar.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Lavonne said to Ashley.

“Good morning, Puddin’,” Leonard said.

“Don’t call me Puddin’,” Ashley said to her father.

“Don’t drink coffee,” Leonard said. “You’re only sixteen years old,” he reminded her. He was dressed in his Ralph Lauren bathrobe and slippers. He looked like the father in one of those 1950s TV shows where everyone in the family speaks politely and calls each other by pet names. “You’re too young to drink coffee.”

“Everyone I know drinks coffee,” she said wearily, leaning to pour herself a cup.

“It will stunt your growth,” Leonard said.

“I started drinking coffee at twelve,” Lavonne said, holding her cup up with both hands, her elbows resting on the breakfast bar.

“I rest my case,” Leonard said. Ashley and Louise thought this was funny. Leonard wasn’t usually funny. He grinned at the girls, enjoying himself.

“I’m five feet six inches tall,” Lavonne said stiffly. “That isn’t short.”

“Don’t be mean to Mommy,” Louise said pouring cream and sugar into her coffee. “She isn’t feeling well.”

Ashley picked at a sweet roll, bored. Lavonne tried to concentrate on a spot on the wall directly opposite her. It was difficult to look at Leonard in his Ralph Lauren robe and slippers. It was hard to be calm when all she wanted was to smash her fist into his cheerful face and knock every one of his shiny teeth down his throat. Lavonne fought a sudden urge to throw plates, cups, saucers, frying pans, and furniture. This secrecy thing was going to be harder than she had thought.

“Dolores Swafford called me yesterday,” she said, casting about for something to say to take her mind off smashing Leonard’s face. Dolores Swafford was a local realtor who had managed to build one of the biggest real estate brokerage firms in south Georgia. She billed herself as a Christian Real Estate Agent, and had biblical verses printed all over her business cards.

“What did that old dragon want?” Leonard said, reaching for a sweet roll.

“She says the Winklers have upped their offering price $20,000.” The Winklers were Dolores’s clients. They were moving here from New York and they desperately wanted Leonard’s house. It seemed he wasn’t the only Yankee with dreams of Tara.

“Damn those people,” Leonard said. “When are they going to get it through their heads we’re not selling this house.” Leonard was getting mad just thinking about it. Some people just can’t take no for an answer. Some people think money can buy anything. “I’ll retire in this house,” Leonard said. “I’ll die in this house. They’ll have to take me out of this house in a body bag.”

“Materialism is the last refuge of scoundrels,” Louise said to her father, quoting Nietzsche.

“I love this house,” Leonard said, ignoring Louise.

Lavonne couldn’t remember the last time Leonard had told her he loved her. Admitting his emotions had always been painful for Leonard. He had told her he loved her the first time they had sex, shuddering and whimpering against her shoulder, but Lavonne had known there was more gratitude than love involved. She hadn’t really expected it. She had never heard her father tell her mother he loved her. She couldn’t remember her parents ever saying, “I love you.” The Schwagels had been too practical for all that crazy stuff. Too stoic and emotionally contained.

“Louise, I love you,” Lavonne said suddenly. “And Ashley, I love you, too.”

No one said anything. Louise set her cup down, leaned her elbows on the bar, and looked at her mother, blinking behind her thick glasses. Ashley looked suspiciously from one parent to the other. After a minute she said, “What are ya’ll trying to tell me? I hope ya’ll aren’t trying to tell me something bad.” Her voice rose. “I hope ya’ll aren’t trying to tell me you’re getting a divorce or anything, because I have it on very good authority that I’m going to be named May Queen and there’s never been a Barron Hall May Queen with divorced parents.”

Leonard, who had been lost in some private reverie, woke up. “Of course we’re not getting a divorce, Puddin’,” he said quickly.

“Don’t call me that,” Ashley screamed.

“May Queen?” Louise said. “Don’t you know that’s just an old pagan fertility ritual?” She poured herself another cup of coffee.

“You’re just jealous,” Ashley said, “because you never got named May Queen.”

“I never wanted to
be
May Queen,” Louise said. “I never wanted to dance around the Maypole and worship that old phallic symbol.”

“Louise!” Leonard wondered suddenly what it would be like to live in a house with no women.

“See how she talks!” Ashley shouted, flinging her arms wide like a stage actress. “She says words like that at school! She talks trashy at school!”

“What’s trashy about
phallic
?” Louise said, stirring three tablespoons of sugar into her coffee. She looked at her father and shrugged. “It’s Latin.”

“Well I’m glad to see that prep school education has been put to good use,” Leonard said. His ears were pink. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down the thick stem of his throat like a buoy on stormy seas. “I’m glad to see I haven’t completely wasted my money educating you.”

“Everyone at school thinks she’s weird,” Ashley cried. “Of all the sisters in the world, oh why did I have to have her?”

“You and your moronic little friends,” Louise said, sipping her coffee. “You’re all just a bunch of snobs.”

“Well I’d rather be a snob than an intellectual freak,” Ashley said.

“You’re just jealous because I’m smart and you’re not.”

“Oh, right. Like I’d rather be smart than popular.”

“Are you listening to this?” Leonard said to Lavonne. He could feel his resolve to be calm and cheerful oozing through his pores like gravy through a sieve. His stomach felt lumpy. His heart felt thick and glutinous. “Isn’t there anything you’d like to say to your daughter?”

“You’re right,” Lavonne said to Louise. “The Maypole is a phallic symbol.”

“Go ahead and make fun of me in front of the children! Go ahead and treat this like a big joke!” Leonard’s heart flopped around his chest like a wounded beast. He could feel it hammering against the tender bars of his rib cage. If he stayed married to Lavonne, he’d be dead of a heart attack before he was fifty. “I have to live in this town,” he reminded her. “I have to work in this goddamn town.”

“Look, Leonard,” she said. “You can’t spend your whole life worried about what other people think.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say, Lavonne. When was the last time you brought home a paycheck?” He smiled at her in a manner she found particularly insulting.