Bombshells, page 5
I light one of his Pall Malls and watch him through the kitchen window. When is he going to pop the question and make this playing house the real thing? We’re pretty good together.
Unlike that last guy I dated, Claude. What a stick in the mud he was. Of course, Norah and Clay thought Claude was the cat’s meow. All sticks in the mud together.
But sometimes I think I’d be real happy with the life Norah has. She stays at home doing a few little chores, and Clay takes care of everything else.
I almost had what Norah has. Almost. But I won’t think about Michael now. I only think about Michael when I’m alone and in the dark like he is. It’s been five years since the car crash that killed Michael. It didn’t kill me.
No. I’m alive, with a bad back and a broken heart.
Checking the clock, I take a long drag on my cigarette. Almost time for another pain pill. I’ll make it.
Too bad I won’t be able to go to Jacksonville for Labor Day like I usually do. But my back is killing me and that eight-hour drive from Atlanta will just do me in, I know it. Stan could drive, but Norah would probably tick him off by not letting us sleep together at her house. My God, she still thinks I’m a virgin at thirty. So, I’ll go to his boss’ cookout with him instead of going to the beach with Norah and the kids.
Outside, the mower coughs to a shuddering stop. That’s my cue to get the beer mugs out of the freezer and pour Stan a cold one. It’s the least I can do for him.
Stan comes through the back door wiping his face and head with his balled up shirt. His bristly blond crew cut stands right back up after the brisk rubbing. I walk over with his mug. He smiles, plants a big smacker right on my mouth, and then directs my hand with the cigarette to his lips. “Baby, you’re too good to me, you know that?” he says, blowing smoke over my head.
“You’re right. I’m too good for you.” Sweat is running down his bare chest, flattening and darkening the soft gold hair. I trace a pattern with my finger down to his nipple then swirl around it.
He grabs my hips and grinds against me. “Want to get a shower with me?”
“My back is hurting from that twist contest last night.” I open my pill bottle and pop one in my mouth, washing it down with the ice-cold beer. I wink at him. “How about you give me a massage when you get out?”
He slaps me on the fanny and whistling, heads for my tiny bathroom.
In my bedroom, I lie down on the bed. Might as well deliver the bad news about Labor Day to Norah and the kids. I pick up the phone and dial her number.
MELANIE
The phone on the kitchen wall rings as I pass by, so I snatch it up. “Hello?”
“Hi ya, sugar.” A familiar voice sounds like warm syrup dripping over a stack of pancakes. Anticipation grows inside me with that same warm flow.
“Aunt Lola! When are you coming? We can’t wait.”
“Well, sugar, I’ve run into a little problem here.”
“Oh, no.” All the warm anticipation gets cold and sticky, like dirty pancake plates. “What’s happened?”
“Don’t sound so serious, Mel. You always take everything so hard.”
Lola sounds funny, kind of slow and sleepy. In the background, I can hear the slide and click as her cigarette lighter closes and she makes a blowing sound. I picture the way the smoke wraps around her head and her eyelids droop, but don’t quite close. Lola calls it her smoldering look. I think she looks like a smoldering trash fire sometimes, all white smoke and bright colored papers shifting in the breeze while they burn.
“Aunt Lola? Are you all right?”
“I just won a twist contest down at the American Legion Post.”
“Neat-o!”
Aunt Lola wins contests all the time. Mama says her sister ended up with all the luck in the whole family. Once, Lola answered a question right on a call-up radio contest and won a real mink stole. When I tried it on, the fur was silky and the satin lining made me feel rich and grown-up, like I should have my hair in a French twist instead of a ponytail. I got to wear the mink stole for ten whole minutes while Mama did some alterations to a dress she’d made for Lola.
“What did you win this time?” I asked.
“You mean besides the heart of my handsome new beau?” Aunt Lola laughs her deep, throaty laugh. She never giggles.
“A new beau? What happened to the last one?”
“It seems he had a previous commitment. But that’s old news. I won fifty dollars in the twist contest.”
“So, what’s the problem? When are you going to be here?”
“I hurt my back, and I’m stuck in bed for a few days.” She blows out another breath, and I close my eyes. I can almost smell the way Aunt Lola’s “Evening in Paris” perfume blends with the cigarette smoke. It’s a heavy scent that can almost smother you, but somehow Lola makes it seem glamorous. “Looks like I’ll have to pass on the big end-of-summer shindig this year, sugar.”
My heart sinks right to the floor. Labor Day will be a complete flop. Without Aunt Lola, summer is going to close with a whimper and a whine instead of beach parties, sunburns, and shrimp boils. My summer is now officially a total failure.
“Mellie? You still there?”
“Yeah.” I swallow my disappointment and remember that Aunt Lola is really hurt. “Gee, I’m sorry you hurt your back.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve had some real good nursing.” That’s when I hear a man’s voice murmuring in the background.
“Who’s that?”
“My nurse checking on me.”
“I never heard of a man being a nurse.”
“Well, you have now.” I hear muffled voices, and then Lola comes back on the line. “So, Mellie, you got any boobies yet?”
My face feels hot as a firecracker, and I’m glad Mama and Birdie aren’t around. How am I supposed to answer that question? And what if that man is still there, listening?
I swallow my embarrassment and try for nonchalant. “Sure. I’m almost as big as you.”
She laughs real hard at that. Aunt Lola has the biggest boobs you’ve ever seen in your life. I swear her bra can hold a couple of cantaloupes.
“That’s a good one, Mel! How about the curse? Has it paid a visit yet?”
Damn! Can’t a girl go through the torture of growing up without everyone prying into her private business? “You know, Aunt Lola, maybe it’s a good thing you can’t come down for Labor Day. I just remembered I have some big plans.”
“Oh, come on, Mellie. Did I embarrass you? Don’t carry on so. You’ll be a member of the sorority soon enough. I’m looking forward to having you as my pledge. I’m gonna show you all the ropes,” she purred. “Get ya started out right.”
Mama comes in then. She mouths, “Who’s that?”
“Sure thing, Aunt Lola. Well, here’s Mama. Take care of yourself.” I hand the phone to Mama and stomp off to the bathroom.
As much as I love Aunt Lola, and I really, truly do, sometimes she makes me furious. She can take a little something that you might want to keep a secret, and all of sudden she’ll decide she wants to have some fun. It doesn’t seem to matter that her fun might hurt somebody’s feelings. Now that I think about it, Aunt Lola picks on me a whole lot. Mama says it’s just because Lola loves me so much.
I splash water on my face and scrub it dry with a towel.
In the kitchen Mama’s still on the phone. Kissing her cheek, I whisper, “I’m going to Steph’s. Back in an hour.”
“Umm.” Mama nods at me and then says, “Lola, that’s just like you, you know.”
Free at last, I rush over to Steph’s. We sit in the old swing set in her backyard. The rusty chains squeak every time we push at the ground with our feet. As the sun sets, the mourning doves coo. Mosquitoes buzz around my head.
“So, Aunt Lola’s not coming,” I said.
“Too bad.” Stephanie pops her bubble gum. “I really had a good time riding in her convertible.”
The last time Aunt Lola visited, she let us sit on top of the backseat, just like we were in a parade. Steph and I gave her directions to our friends’ houses, especially the cute boys’, and she drove us by real slow so we could wave at them. Then we went to the empty field behind the grocery store, and Lola spun the car around, cutting donuts in the dirt until we almost threw up on the leather seat.
“Did she tell you what color her hair is now?”
“Nope. But Mama told me Lola did a hair show for her hair dresser in the last few weeks, so who knows?”
“I’ll bet it’s red. Or maybe strawberry blonde.”
“Honestly, there’s just no telling. I guess we’ll see when she comes to visit after the baby is born.”
Steph and I swing back and forth for a long time, listening to the squeaky chains on the swings and thinking about riding in a red convertible. At least, that’s what I’m thinking about.
“Tell me again what you and Robert talked about while Birdie was at the hospital,” Steph says.
“I already told you everything.” Of course, I didn’t. Not everything. Like that Robert said he was scared. I didn’t even tell her he was joining the Navy. “We just ate our Popsicles and he told me about the teachers at the junior high. We need to look out for Mrs. Marchman, according to Rob.”
“Rob, huh?”
I shrug. “Yea. He wants me to call him Rob.” Man, do I love saying things like that. Like I’m the only person who can call him Rob, special privilege for a special person. Sometimes I think Steph is jealous. “How come you didn’t come up to the porch that day? You walked right by and didn’t even wave or anything.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you and your boyfriend.”
Yep. She’s jealous. “Have you heard from Nigel lately?”
“He sent a new picture.”
“Is he still cute?”
“No, he’s still as ugly as ever.” Steph laughs. “Since Aunt Lola’s not coming, maybe you can go swimming with us at the pool on base.” Stephanie stops swinging and props her foot on her knee. “Ow,” she mutters. “I’ve got a sticker in my foot.”
“Sandspur?”
“No, too small.” Steph squints at her foot. “So, you want to go swimming at the pool?”
“Sure. That’d be fun. You know your mom has to call my mom, right?” I stand up.
“Right.”
I watch Steph try to pull out the sticker. It’s almost dark now, so she’ll have to go inside and let her mom get it out with the tweezers.
Steph stands up and hops toward me. “Will you help me get inside?” Suddenly the little sticker in her foot hurts so bad she can’t walk.
Steph puts her arm around my shoulder and we go inside her house.
Gee whiz. A little thing like a sticker can become a big deal real quick.
Labor Day, September 3, 1962
NORAH
This Labor Day weekend seems never-ending. It’s hotter than blue blazes, and Birdie is driving me nuts because she wasn’t invited to go swimming with Melanie and Stephanie. I understand how Birdie feels, but she’s got to understand that her sister is six years older than she is. Most important of all, Birdie can’t get her arm wet for another few weeks.
Her cast helped me to stand my ground. Honestly, I didn’t even want Melanie to go, but Clay said the poor girl deserved to have a little fun before summer ended. That made me feel even worse. But still, I didn’t want her to go. Then Clay put his foot down, more or less. He accused me of being over-protective and trying to keep our girl from growing up. I told him, No, I’m her mother, and I’m doing my job.
My idea of a perfect nightmare is a crowded swimming pool on a holiday where I can’t watch out for my baby. Look what happened to Birdie right in our driveway, for goodness’ sake. At least now she’s right here in the back yard where I can watch her.
We spent the weekend getting things ready for the baby. Clay got the crib and playpen out of the utility closet and we scrubbed them down yesterday. We put them together today. Hand-me-down baby clothes and new cloth diapers are still flapping on the clothesline. We didn’t have too many of Melanie or Birdie’s things after six years, but in a neighborhood like ours someone is always giving away used layettes, swearing they’ll never need them again. Just like I did.
At least the big items are still usable. Of course, I don’t have a high chair or a stroller, but I don’t need them right away. Maybe by the time I do, I’ll have enough S&H Green Stamps saved up.
Through the kitchen window, I see Birdie playing on the swing set. Her stuffed monkey and two of her teddy bears are tied to one swing with a jump rope, while she dances around in front of them waving her arms, one arm wrapped in a dirty cast, like she’s making grand announcements.
The clock on the stove reads four. Melanie should be home in another hour. I fix two glasses of iced tea to take outside. I want to sit with Clay and rest my feet and back for a little while.
The lawn chair creaks as I settle in and hand Clay his tea. “What is Birdie doing now?”
He stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and sips his tea. Chuckling, he explains, “She’s practicing for the circus.”
Birdie skips across the lawn, stopping right in front of me. “Can I have a sip of your tea, Mama?”
“Sure. Are you playing circus?”
She shakes her head while she gulps half of the tea from my glass, then thrusts it back at me. “I’m not playing, I’m rehearsing. I’m the ringmaster today. To be part of the circus, I think I have to know about a lot of different jobs. I know I could be a ’tortionist. But probably, I can be an animal trainer, or an acrobat, or the ringmaster. But not the bearded lady, or the fat lady.”
I pat her on her behind. “Maybe I should think about joining the circus with you, huh?”
She grins and kisses my tummy before somersaulting—with her broken arm sticking straight out to the side—to the swing set.
Clay takes my hand and kisses it. “I’m not letting you go anywhere without me, lady.”
“You never feel like running away and joining the circus, Clay?”
“Never.” His blue eyes are earnest as he says, “I like it just fine right here, with you and the girls.”
I study him for a minute, wondering how that can be true. Squirming in my chair, searching for a comfortable position, I think about how great the temptation to run away is, even for me. He must feel that way sometimes, at least. But I’m not going to push him for the absolute truth. The truth might be something I don’t really want to know.
Instead, I ask about this lost weekend spent doing baby chores. “Aren’t you disappointed about your holiday weekend?”
“Not really.” He pauses to light another cigarette. “We needed to get those things done, and this was a good time to do it. How about you? Sorry Lola couldn’t come to visit?”
I drain my tea glass and sit it on the grass beside my feet. “No. I’m sure she’ll come down after the baby is born. And truthfully, I’m just too tired to keep up with her and the girls.” I shrug. “It’s just as well she didn’t make it. Can you imagine how miserable we would’ve all been at the beach? Me lolling in the sand like a beached whale. And then trying to keep Birdie out of the water?”
“You’ve got a point there. About Birdie, anyway.” What does he mean by that—about Birdie, anyway? I won’t ask him. I’m so thin-skinned these days, the littlest thing seems like a criticism. Most likely, he didn’t mean a thing except that Birdie is difficult to handle when she goes on a tear.
He takes a long drag on his newly lit cigarette and squints against the smoke, blowing it away from me. He knows it bothers me these days. “I’ve got to say I’m not sorry Lola couldn’t make it this weekend.”
Puzzled, I stare at him while trying to read his thoughts. As always, his face is handsome and his expression is about as clear as mud. “I thought you enjoyed Lola’s visits.”
“It’s not that I don’t enjoy her. I do. But sometimes, I just want us as a family. And this is one of those times, my dear.”
“Oh.” That’s news to me. He’s never said anything about not wanting Lola to come visit us. In fact, he always seems excited to see her. They have a lot in common, really. They both work in factories, Lola in the Atlanta plant, and Clay here. They both like to have a drink every now and then, something I never got a taste for.
Hmm. I guess you learn something new every day. “By the way, where did you put that home permanent I bought at the store Saturday?”
“In the bathroom cabinet. But you don’t need a permanent. You’re hair is beautiful, honey.”
I can’t help but blush. “Oh, hush up. It is not. Besides, the permanent is for Mellie, not me.” I reach across his chest for his left wrist to check his watch. He nips my ear and I think he’ll probably want to have sex tonight. I’m not sure I do. As if confirming my doubts, the baby moves and shoots a sharp pain through my groin.
“Ow,” I groan and withdraw my hand to settle back in my chair.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Baby’s just a little feisty this afternoon.” We watch Birdie dangle from the swing set’s crossbar by her knees. “Birdie! Don’t do that! You’ll break your other arm.” I shift in my chair again. “I hope Mellie’s not late coming home. I want to get that permanent done after supper tonight.”
“Don’t you think that’s overdoing it for today, Norah?” His brows are drawn together with worry. He’s so sweet to me today. He takes my hand in his.
Yes, he wants to have sex tonight.
His voice is full of concern when he continues. “You’ve been awfully busy this weekend.”
“But tomorrow’s the first day of junior high for her and I’m sure she’ll want to look her best. Besides, you’re doing the cooking tonight, right?”
“That’s right. I’d better get the grill going.” He puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself up. “Want some more tea?”
“No, thanks. I’ll get the clothes off the line so they won’t smell like charcoal smoke. Give me a hand up, okay?”
After stubbing out his cigarette, he tugs me up and pulls me into his arms. Humming in my ear, he dances me toward the clothesline. I’m so huge and clumsy I’m surprised he even wants to be close to me.
