Venus Envy, page 13
“Everything.”
“Be specific,” Libby demanded.
“Mother, Dad was great. This isn’t a big deal for him. What did you talk about when he got home?”
“He said he was tired and he went to bed. All this has worn him out. He doesn’t show you how he feels but I know.”
“Does he know about Carter’s escapade?”
“He’s not awake yet. He needs to sleep.”
“But I don’t?”
“You’re younger. I can’t talk to Laura anymore. At least for another hour. She’s fixated on Courtney Wood. If I were Laura I’d be much more concerned with where Carter will get the money to pay for damages. Those five-sixties cost more than a hundred thousand dollars! Stupid to pay that much for a car. The cost of Billy’s car, they say, is astronomical. A king’s ransom. Carter’s totaled so many cars and trucks, Laura says she doesn’t think the insurance company will pay.”
“Hanckel-Citizens is the best, Mother.”
“He’s not there anymore. He had a fight with his agent and he shifted over to Central Insurance.”
“Well, he’s about to find out how good his insurance company is.” Frazier longed for eggs and sausage. “I’m glad I won’t be there when Carter wakes up. Whooee.”
Niceness permeated Libby’s voice. “I was thinking, perhaps you could help your brother.”
“He needs Alcoholics Anonymous, not me.”
“He does not. He most certainly does not. We do not have drunks in our family. High spirits, perhaps, but there has never been a drunk in the Redington line. Now in Frank’s …” “Uncle Ray.”
“He’s been dead for years.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that he guzzled beer.”
“Sometimes I think Ru drinks, the way she acts.”
“Not really.”
“Go ahead. Stick up for her. You two are thicker than thieves.”
“If you want me to pay for Carter’s demolition derby you ought to keep buttering me up, Mother. It’s more effective.” Frazier twisted the imaginary acupuncture needle.
“Butter you up? It’s your duty. He’s in this mess because of you.”
“Sure, I held the bottle to his lips. I didn’t do a goddam thing.”
“Don’t swear. This is your fault. He was terribly upset at the dance. This whole gay”—she nearly gagged on the word—“business has shaken him to his core. I can tell. I know my boy. Think of his standing in the community.”
“Carter’s recent unpleasantries have nothing to do with me. He suffers from testosterone poisoning.”
“I can see I’m getting nowhere with you. You won’t be content until you ruin this family. Why? So you can be queer?” Libby was ripshit.
“The only people who are queer are the people who don’t love anybody. That means you, Momma. You are incapable of love!” Frazier slammed down the phone so hard she scared the cat.
26
MAYBE WE NEED A BETTER LIGHT ON THE CANVAS.” MANDY stood in front of the Olympus painting. “One that gives us a wash with the tiniest hint of rose.”
“That means a trip to Eck Supply,” Frazier grumbled, in no mood to run errands or to have Mandy do them either. An avalanche of paperwork awaited them, as tax time lurked six miserable weeks in the future, immediately before Easter, an ugly way to screw up the holiday.
“I’ll call them. I bet they’ve got what we need in stock and I can pick it up on my way to work tomorrow. If they haven’t got it I’ll order one. No big deal.”
Both heads turned as they heard the front door open. Courtney Wood, dressed for success, stepped inside. As the second showroom could be seen from the front door through the large archway, Frazier and Mandy appeared almost a part of the huge canvas, an optical illusion.
“Good morning, Courtney,” Frazier greeted her as Mandy waved and walked to her office to call about the lights.
“Well, hi, Frazier. I was on my way to work and I thought I’d pop in and see what’s new and if you still had that James Seymour painting—1744 or something like that.”
“Good memory.” Frazier smiled. “Good scarf too.”
Courtney glanced down at her silk Hermès scarf, tied around her neck so a point would hang over her left shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t see the Seymour.”
“That sold just about two months ago to a couple living outside of Nashville.”
“Was it awfully expensive?”
“I can’t divulge the cost of a painting unless my clients instruct me to do so, and they did not, but it went for six figures. Wish I could tell you more. That’s the advantage of auctions—you know what price each painting brought. It’s a good way to track the market. Would you like coffee or tea? I have cold drinks too.”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Courtney held up her hand to her eyeballs to indicate she’d imbibed enough liquids this morning. Frazier wondered when she’d get to the point of her visit.
“Would you like me to leave you alone to study in silence?”
“Oh, no, you see, uh, well, Frazier, I wanted to talk to you about the Saint Patrick’s Day Ball and the mess with Carter. Billy’s lawyer called me this morning and how he found out that I left with Carter I don’t know….” Courtney wanted to believe hardly anyone knew about her exit with Carter. This was one of those pathetic flights from reality so prevalent in small towns.
“Billy told them.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t, but I know Billy. Carter’s handsome—raffish, I guess you’d call it. He was alone. You may not have been having the best time with Billy and Kenny, and Carter smiled that big ole crooked smile.”
Courtney, bewildered, fiddled with her purse. “Close enough. Billy can be so beastly, even if he is divine-looking. I don’t know. He’s got ice in his heart, and what he said to Kenny, who is such a sweet guy…. How could you stand dating him for so many years?”
“Mutual interests,” Frazier truthfully replied, but she didn’t list the interests and Courtney was too preoccupied to ask.
“Well, I don’t want to testify against Carter if it gets that far. He had one too many, that’s all.” “Did you tell him?”
“Laura, the Dragon Lady, won’t put me through.”
Frazier laughed at Courtney’s description of her social-climbing sister-in-law. “Call him at work.”
“He’s not there yet but I’ll keep trying. I do hope he’ll talk to me and that’s where I was hoping you could help me.”
“What can I do?” Frazier made no move one way or the other.
“In case he’s mad at me and won’t talk, will you tell him I am not testifying against him and I hope he can clear this business up.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m here to bring you a message from Kenny. He’d love to see you toward the end of the week.”
Frazier brightened. “Thanks, Courtney.”
“Kenny is a teddy bear. Not like Billy. I don’t know how they can be friends, they’re so different from one another. Guess you and Billy had a fight, huh?”
“A one-sided fight. He’s angrier at me than I am at him but if things continue I guess I could work up a case of the mean reds.”
“Men.” Courtney’s tone implied one could do nothing about their apparent irrationality.
“Some men.” Frazier smiled.
Courtney checked her watch. “Well, I’d better run. Thanks for giving Carter the message.”
As she left Frazier sighed with relief. The bombshell fragments hadn’t fallen out yet in Courtney’s social set. How refreshing to have a normal conversation, free of hidden agendas. Courtney’s agenda was clear enough.
Frazier called Carter at his office. He picked up the phone himself, since his secretary was lying in bed with the flu.
“Horse and Hound Real Estate. Good morning.”
“Wildman …”
“Don’t get on my case about the little incident at the club. There are too many people ahead of you. You’ll have to go to the end of the line.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Carter. But Courtney Wood’s been calling you at home to tell you she won’t testify against you should it get that far and Laura, lovely Laura, wouldn’t put her calls through. Courtney stopped by the gallery to ask me to call you in case she couldn’t reach you from work. Guess she felt people there might overhear.”
“Oh.” Carter’s anger drained off. Then he laughed. “You should have seen me, Sistergirl. Richard Petty, move over.”
“I hope you enjoyed yourself. The bills—”
“Shit, I don’t care. I don’t have any money anyway. I think the insurance company will ditch me after this.”
“Assuming they pay.”
He sighed. “There is that, isn’t there? If they don’t I’ll dig it up somewhere. Still, it was worth it.”
“Exactly what was worth it? I want to know. Really.”
“Every day I walk around and I do what I’m told. I don’t just mean Laura and Momma. I pick up the groceries when I’m told, and I pay that gas tax at the pump like I’m told. And if a client wants to look at a house in Orange County, I drive them there like I’m told. I feel like my life is proscribed or prescribed or circumscribed or something. The only adventure I have left is women. My life frittered down to one long set of rules, none of which I made. Rules and bills. Damn, Frazier, I feel trapped and I feel old—sometimes.”
“I know. I know.” And she did.
“When we were kids, even up through college, we could pick up and go. Oh, yeah, Dad bitched at me about being responsible but he’d reverse himself and say go on and see the world while you’re young. Why do we have to stop? I look around and I see my buddies with potbellies, balding, and you know, they get laid every Wednesday night. They go to the Tap Room on Thursdays for the club specials. It’s like everyone is moving through this routine but nothing happens, very slowly.” He stopped a moment and then added, “You thought you were dying in the hospital. Sistergirl, I feel like I’m dying now by inches.”
“You can change. If I can change, you can change.”
“So you told people you were gay.”
“You don’t think that’s a change? I was unhappy and too dumb to know it. Shit, Brudda, I love my work and I love my house and the kitty and doggie, of course, but I was rolling in my own rut. I’m trying to get out.”
“You wanna stay here?”
“For right now, I do, but if it gets really awful, I don’t know—I reckon I could leave. But it would be hard. I do love it here and I’m not sure people would be any more forgiving or generous anywhere else.”
“If you went to New York or a big city you could be with your own kind.” Carter thought he was being helpful.
“What’s my own kind? Lesbians? Why should I want to socialize with people because of their sexual habits? You’ve my flesh and blood. Aren’t you my own kind? Maybe Delta Delta Delta alumnae are my own kind. It gets confusing, doesn’t it?”
“Seems to me,” Carter said, lighting a cigarette, “it would be more comfortable being with people who felt what you feel and who aren’t going to judge you harshly for it.”
“Maybe so but how do I know they won’t judge me harshly for something else? For me maybe it’s a case of better the devil I know than the devil I don’t. But for you, you never did get out. I had those years in New York City, so when I returned here I was sure about it, plus I’d been seasoned up there. I became somebody other than Libby and Frank’s daughter. You got to hit the road, Carter.”
“I reckon I’d just take my problems to a new location,” Carter mused.
“I didn’t say that. Go reread my letter and this time don’t get pissed at me.”
“Sis—I’m really fucking up. I know it.”
“Maybe I am too. Maybe we’re at this big old crossroads of our lives and one turn means more of the same and the other turn means all kinds of new stuff, but it’s scary as shit because you don’t know how it’s going to turn out. If we pick more of the same, we get to be safe, bored, but adored too. All the other safe people—which is to say probably ninety percent of the people we know—will hail us as prudent, responsible, and mature people. We’ll even know where we’ll be buried. Right, the plots will be chosen. Isn’t that what you do when you sit and rot? I guess it’s a secure feeling to know where you’ll be even when you’re dead. We’ve got to go with the ten percent, Carter. I don’t know how I’m doing it but I made a beginning when I wrote those letters and I’m not backtracking. Maybe every human being has only one question to answer—”
Carter, listening intently, interrupted: “What’s that?”
“Do you want to live or do you want to die?”
27
THE FLANNEL SHEETS WARMED FRAZIER AS SHE CLIMBED INTO bed, exhausted. The day that began with Courtney ended with Ann charging into the shop in full cry about a variety of sins. All Frazier’s sins. When Frazier mentioned that Ann had vehemently expressed no desire to see her again, lest she be tainted with the deadly lavender “L” for lesbian, she hollered some more and left as abruptly as she came. Mandy, who had been in the storeroom, finally crept back into the gallery after Ann’s flaming exit. In a funny way both Frazier and Mandy felt sorry for Ann. She wouldn’t be making Frazier out to be such an awful person if she weren’t in love with her.
Piled next to the bed, a mountain of books teetered precariously. Frazier intended to read each one but time scooted away from her. Most nights she was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
Tonight she reached over and plucked up the little Bible she had read in the hospital. Libby urged her to reacquaint herself with the Good Book and she reread her favorites, especially the Book of Psalms.
She liked to shut her eyes, then open the pages, plunk her finger down, and read. This game had saved her during Catechism or she would have perished from fear and boredom. Their pastor, fierce in his biblical lore, expected his charges to know everything backwards and forwards. Frazier, not religiously inclined, struggled with the forwards, and even at that age, twelve and thirteen, she realized that religion, at least her religion, was predicated on fear. How could God love you if He was trying to scare the shit out of you?
She closed her eyes, felt the thin pages between her fingertips, and stuck her right forefinger on the bottom right of the page.
She read II Timothy, Chapter 4, Verse 7. “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”
Closing the book, for she had no desire to read on, given that although she loved that verse she could barely abide Saint Paul, she thought about the concept of reward. External reward surely pleases because everyone sees your victory or the fact that the Lord has shone his love light upon you. The concept of internal reward was more demanding. No wonder those jackleg preachers stressed money. Christianity, a demanding religion, spawned a host of false prophets to make it easier for people.
Frazier didn’t much think of herself as a Christian but when she read bits and pieces from the Bible she knew something remained in her brain. She also knew the Good Book would be used as a weapon against her.
Funny how so many people leapt up to judge homosexuals. It was as though every bad feature of heterosexuality was projected onto those men and women who found themselves in love with a member of their own sex. They were scapegoats for the culture. The common run-of-the-mill adulterer created more damage than a lesbian could dream of doing. The adulterer betrayed his wife, wounded his children, and used the woman with whom he slept for pleasure. But he was not so bad, not so hateful, even though he took down at least two women and however many children he had sired.
Frazier held the small old Bible in her hands and wondered how people could read so selectively, but then maybe she was reading selectively. She did get one message clear though: “Judge not lest ye be judged.”
28
THE WIND STUNG, TINY NEEDLES IMPREGNATED WITH MOISTURE. These sharp gusts alternated with dead calm, the sun shining—another March day. The temperature edged into the high fifties, giving Frazier the excuse to play her first round of golf for the season. Mandy and Ruru accompanied her.
Although it was a weekday Frazier hung a sign on the door of the gallery: OUT. The Puritanical dedication to work meant a few passers-by would scowl and shake their heads. These were the “Keep thy shop and thy shop will keep thee” people. Not that their worldview lacked truth, merely that it was their truth. Frazier’s hospital scrape encouraged her to play more, period. Mandy volunteered to hold the fort but Frazier beguiled her outside too.
A long fairway harboring hidden sand traps greeted Auntie Ruru as she sank her yellow tee into the soft earth. She studied the situation.
Frazier motioned toward the right. “Green’s over there, Ru. If you hit straight you’ll be in good position for the next shot.”
“Five hundred and forty yards,” Mandy read aloud from the small diagram placed at the ladies’ tee.
“For you.” Frazier always teed off from the men’s tee, since she hit the ball about as far as any woman in the club and most of the men. Frazier’s driving powers impressed everyone. Putting, though, gave her fits. She’d run hot or cold. There would be days when she could do no wrong. Unfortunately these days would be followed by weeks when she could do no right. Cigarettes had helped during those “no right” times. Her golf bag was stuffed with last year’s cigarette packs, and as this was the first time she had played this season, she hadn’t cleaned them out.
Around the slow, graceful curve of the fairway reposed Libby Armstrong’s house. This would become visible on one’s second or third shot, depending on how strong one’s second shot turned out.
Ru performed the obligatory wiggle, her number one wood poised dangerously over her right shoulder. She uncorked her drive, the splintered tee flying into the air. The ball, also bright yellow, sailed low but straight.
“Good shot!” Frazier appreciated the feat.
Mandy grimaced because now she would have to tee off, and as a beginning golfer, she was hard on herself. She felt she slowed down everyone’s game. She did, but what she couldn’t believe was that they didn’t care. Mandy had taken up golf at Frazier’s urging. Since the game made her boss happier than anything, Mandy figured there must be something to it. There was: blood, sweat, tears, and an expansion of her vocabulary of abuse. Worse, golf’s cruelty lay in the fact that every now and then she’d hit the ball sweet and true. It felt so wonderful—to her bones wonderful—that she’d brim over with enthusiasm, sure she could master this game. Of course, the next shot would take care of that glory. For all Mandy’s suffering she was hooked and while not a natural like Frazier—then again, who was?—she learned quickly and she was developing into a nice player. Another year and she’d be an asset to any twosome of foursome.
