The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel (8 page)

Gerald looked me square in the eye. “Your life is Burt Bacharach, Jill.”

“What he means is that your life sounds sorta bland. Establishment,” Mary Bennett said.

“I
know
what he's saying,” I said, roughly. “And I'm with Tammy. I don't think there's a damn thing wrong with Burt Bacharach. Do you think everybody's life is supposed to be like Jefferson Airport?”

“That's ‘Airplane,'” Mary Bennett said, sniggering.

“Who cares?” I said, pushing my chair away from the table. “I don't think there's anything wrong with getting married, buying a house, and planning a future. That's what people do. You can't sit around smoking pot the rest of your lives. Who are
you
to judge me?”

“Damn. Y'all are killin' my buzz,” Mary Bennett said with a groan.

“But the question is,
whose
future are you buying into, man?” Gerald asked, leaning back in his chair. “Yours, or the one society is dictating for you? Women don't have to be baby factories anymore. They can have their own identities and lives.”

“I personally don't understand what's up with Gloria Steinem.” Tammy dabbed on lip gloss. “She's way too pretty to be one of them libbers. They don't even shave their pits.”

“Look,” I said. “I
have
my own identity, and I don't know what you're trying to prove—”

“I'm just trying to save you from a lifetime of oppression,” Gerald said.

“Oh, Queens!” came a voice from the hall. We all turned to see Patsy sauntering into the kitchen, wearing a red wig and cat's-eye sunglasses and carrying a big greasy sack. “Oh, my goodness! It's so great to see all of you! And look what I brought!” She plunked the bag in front of Mary Bennett.

“More pot, I hope,” Mary Bennett said. She eagerly peered inside and then dropped it on the table as if it were hot. “Oh, Gawd! Get this away from me or I'll puke.”

“What's wrong?” Patsy said, a puzzled look on her face. “It's your favorite, Pig Candy. I know it's cold, but—”

“Mary Bennett's a vegetarian, and so am I,” Gerald explained. “We refuse to eat the flesh of innocent animals. It turns our stomachs.”

The room fell silent. We surveyed each other with uneasy glances as if we were strangers.

“Well,” I said, after a moment. “I can tell my rehearsal dinner is going to be a real hoot, seeing how it's being held at the Sizzlin' Steakhouse.”

H
ow in the world did you get tied up with such a bunch of wackaloons?” Sonny demanded. I was curled up in a corner of my couch, watching him wear a groove into the carpet.

“They're not
all
like that. What about Patsy? She's perfectly—”

“
One
out of four,” he said. “That's nothing to brag about, and I can hardly understand her. Obviously, she has some sort of speech impediment.”

“She doesn't have a speech impediment. Her mama's from Minnesota, and the Southern accent just never really took hold for her.”

He stopped his pacing, and glared down at me. “You're missing the point. That Mary Bennett was bad enough. Her skirt barely covered her be-hind, and she's crude.”

“Crude?” I said with a puzzled tone. I'd actually been surprised at Mary Bennett's uncharacteristically subdued behavior during the rehearsal dinner.

“She said ‘blow job' within earshot of my mama. Mama graciously pretended not to hear, but it was obvious from the appalled look on her face that she had.”

Sonny's daddy cussed like a sailor, so it was hard to imagine that one little “blow job” from Mary Bennett would make his mama's precious ears wither, but I held my tongue.

“But
nothing
could prepare me for Gerald,” Norman said, holding his middle as if the thought of Gerald made him physically ill. “As if his freakish appearance wasn't bad enough.”

Gerald, bless his heart, had made an effort to dress appropriately. He'd worn a navy blue blazer, a white button-down shirt, and khakis, but nothing could be done to make his long, unruly hair look conservative.

“But that wasn't the worst of it. Not nearly,” Norman said with a shudder.

This is where Sonny calls Gerald a pansy, a mama's boy, or a sissy,
I thought with a sigh. Homophobes are so predictable.

“He quits Baylor Med School to study philosophy at Berkeley,” Sonny said, his face awash in color. “And you know what
that
means.”

“Enlighten me,” I said wearily.

Norman's voice lowered a pitch. “Drugs. Everyone knows that all those swamis and yogis are heavy LSD users. That's how the Beatles got hooked on the stuff. I read about it in a magazine. And
Berkeley,
well…”

I sorely doubted Sonny had his facts straight, but I wasn't in the mood for an argument. Suddenly I was extremely tired.

“Sonny, listen I—”

“Bottom line is this,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “I don't want that commie-pinko fag at my wedding. My boss and colleagues will be there. His presence will reflect poorly on me, on both of us. Let that gutter-mouthed Mary Bennett attend if you must, but I'm putting my foot down when it comes to that freak Gerald.”

His cheek muscle and right shoulder were jumping. Whenever he was wound up, Sonny jerked like a string puppet.

“You want to bar one of my oldest friends from our wedding?” The thought of feet being put down was disquieting to me.

Sonny sat down beside me and gently clasped my hand. “Be honest with yourself. Gerald may have been a buddy of yours a long time ago, but he's not anymore. You've even said how different he is now.”

“Yes, but—”

“Sometimes we grow apart,” he said. “You and Gerald have completely different values. Y'all have nothing in common anymore.”

The last few things Sonny had said made sense, but as disconnected as I felt from Gerald, I still couldn't imagine uninviting him to the wedding. He'd flown in from San Francisco just for me.

“I'll call him for you if you'd like, sweetie,” Sonny said, obviously sensing I was close to caving in. “Just give me his number.”

If Gerald didn't come, Mary Bennett probably wouldn't either. I'd seen them whispering and rolling their eyes at the rehearsal dinner and I was almost certain they'd been talking about me. Did I really want to exchange sacred vows in front of them, knowing they thought my life was all a big, boring joke? It would be much simpler to let Sonny take care of this problem, the way he already handled most other things in my life.

But out of the blue came a mental image of Gerald as he was in high school—with frizzy hair and that blue outfit he wore in our first parade. Maybe the Gerald I'd known and loved didn't exist anymore, but if I didn't want him at my wedding, I should have the guts to tell him myself.

“I'll speak to him.”

“You promise?”

“I said I
would,
” I said quickly. “You should go home. I need my rest. You don't want a bride with big dark circles under her eyes.”

“I know you'll do the right thing. You're a sensible girl.” Sonny kissed me on the cheek. “Just think. By this time tomorrow, we'll be Mr. and Mrs. Norman Butts.”

I winced at the sound of my soon-to-be last name and shooed him out the door.

 

After Sonny was gone, I stared at the phone a full fifteen minutes before I got up the courage to even pick up the receiver. The dial tone buzzed in my ear for so long that a recorded voice came on.

“If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again. If you need assistance—”

Bang! Bang! Someone was knocking on the front door. Tammy must have forgotten her key. She was supposed to meet Dr. Day right after the rehearsal dinner to talk about their “future,” but things must have really blown up for her to be home this early. I dragged myself to the door. I really wasn't up to listening to her caterwauling the night before my wedding.

“Keep your panties on,” I said as I swung open the door. Mary Bennett, Gerald, and Patsy stood under the pale yellow glare of the bug light.

“We need to talk,” Gerald said, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his bell-bottoms. He'd changed into a scruffy Led Zeppelin T-shirt and water buffalo sandals. Mary Bennett still wore the bright orange minidress she had on at the rehearsal dinner. Patsy stood slightly apart from them. Her nose was red, and she was honking into a handkerchief.

“I agree,” I said, ushering them inside.

The three of them sat in a stiff row on my sofa. Gerald was the first to speak.

“I've decided—rather
we
decided—that we won't be attending your wedding.” His eyes were unreadable behind his glasses.

“By
we,
he means Mary Bennett and himself,” Patsy said, breathlessly. “A herd of stampeding elephants couldn't keep me away.”

“It's not personal, hunny,” Mary Bennett said. “We were just getting a nasty vibe at the House of the Dead Cows. Your old man kept staring at us like we were three-headed snakes in a freak show. Gave us the heebie-jeebies.”

“Yeah, man,” Gerald said with a nod. “It was a paranoia party, and we weren't even stoned.”

“I keep telling them they're being ridiculous,” Patsy said, her voice high and thin as if near the breaking point. “We're the Sweet Potato Queens and that means we're family. You'd be devastated if Gerald and Mary Bennett didn't come to your wedding. Right?”

I slid down the wall, utterly exhausted. “Maybe we should just—”

The ringing of the phone caused me to jump. I reached over to the end table to pick it up.

“Hello?” I said. The line sounded dead. “Hello,” I repeated, this time louder. “Who is this?”

Seconds of silence ticked by. Ordinarily I would have hung up, but something made me hang on for a little longer. Finally, I heard a sound, faint as a baby's sigh.

“Jill?” the voice said.

“Tammy? Is that you?”

There was more silence, and then a gasp, as if the caller was summoning the last vestiges of her strength.

“Jill, I took some…pills. Sleepy,” she slurred.

“Tammy? Where are you?” I demanded.

Patsy, Gerald, and Mary Bennett gathered around me in a tight knot, their bodies tensed as they listened to my end of the conversation.

“I shouldn't have done…mistake.”

“Tammy!” I was screaming now. “Where are you?”

More silence—a deadly quiet that seemed to stretch into forever. Then there was a click and the sound of a dial tone.

“No!” I said, throwing the receiver to the ground. “Why did you hang up?” Then I lunged for it and quickly replaced it in its cradle. “Ohmigod! She might call back again.
Please
call back!”

“What happened?” a white-faced Patsy asked.

“Tammy took some pills,” I said, bolting to Tammy's room. The others followed on my heels. “She was supposed to see her boyfriend tonight. He's married, and it must have gone to shit.” I pawed through the memorabilia on her table, sending matchbooks and play programs flying to the floor.

“Where did they usually meet?” Mary Bennett asked.

“Different places. Motels. She was never very specific,” I said, as I pulled open a dresser drawer hoping to find some clue to her whereabouts.

Gerald put his hands on my shoulders. “Slow down a minute. This isn't doing any good. Think! Is there anyone who would know where she went tonight?”

“Well, Dr. Day,” I said, tears coursing down my cheeks. “But he won't tell us anything, he's—”

“The fuck he won't!” Mary Bennett shouted. “Come on. We've got to get to his house, pronto! He'll by God tell us where she is. Do you know where he lives?”

“North of Yazoo Road. A couple of streets from your old house,” I said.

 

A few minutes later, the tires of Mary Bennett's convertible screeched as we slid to a stop in front of Dr. Day's darkened Victorian mansion.

“It's ten o'clock. He's probably in bed. What if he won't answer the door?” I asked.

“Didn't you say he's an ob/gyn?” Mary Bennett said.

“Yeah,” I said.

She grabbed a sweater that was lying in the backseat and wadded it up into a ball. “So how could he possibly turn away a pregnant woman who's in the last stages of labor?” She handed it to Patsy. “Swiss Miss, you've got the most innocent face. Stuff this under your shirt and make like you're preggers. Knock at the door while we hide in the bushes.”

Patsy obediently tucked the sweater under her shirt and headed toward the front porch. We followed.

She mashed the doorbell several times, and after a few moments a light illuminated the entryway.

“Who is it?” said a gruff voice from behind the door.

“Please help me,” Patsy shouted helplessly. “My baby's coming right now! I can feel the head! I can feel the head!”

“What?” Dr. Day said, swinging open the door and surveying Patsy. He was wearing a plush burgundy bathrobe and matching slippers. “You're not one of my patients.”

“The baby's coming, Dr. Day. Ooooh! The pain.” Patsy was so into her role she dramatically clutched at her stomach, causing the sweater to fall onto the porch. “Oh my God! It's here,” she said, reaching down to pick it up. “Congratulations to me. It's a cardigan!”

Dr. Day narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is going on!?”

At that, the rest of us scrambled out of the hedges.

“We need to talk with you,
Deke,
” Mary Bennett said with an edge, arms planted on her almost nonexistent hips.

“What do you want?” Dr. Day said, fear flitting across his face as he eyed us. His glance rested on Gerald. “I'm calling the police.”

“Not so fast, Buckwheat.” Mary Bennett took a step forward. “We'll be on our way just as soon as you tell us where Tammy is.”

“Tammy who?” Dr. Day said. He took a quick peek over his shoulder. “How dare you come here this late at night—?”

“Tammy Myers,” I said, edging closer to the door. “Your nurse's aide. The one you fucked tonight. I don't know what you said or did, but it must have been horrible, because she just called saying she'd taken a lot of pills. She was so disoriented she couldn't tell me where she was.”

A brief look of alarm flashed in Dr. Day's eyes, but it was replaced with hard-jawed denial. “This is ridiculous! Of course I know Tammy Myers, but our relationship is strictly professional, and—”

“Honey? Is everything all right?” A female voice floated down from a long, curving staircase behind Dr. Day.

“Everything's fine, Linda,” he shouted up. “It's just someone who's lost. I'm giving them directions.” He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “If you don't leave this very second, I'm going to—”

“You're not going to do a goddamn thing except tell us where Tammy is right this second,” I said through gritted teeth. I held up a photograph of him and Tammy kissing. “I'm sure
Linda
would be very interested to see this photo of you acting
professional
with one of your employees. If you don't tell me where the hell Tammy is
NOW,
I swear to God, I'll run this straight up those stairs to
your wife
and then I will personally see that it's published in the society page of the
Northside Sun
.”