No Daughter of the South Page 16

  I dressed quickly and walked into the living room toweling my hair.

  “Who?”

  “The police chief.” My father finally looked at me, the muscles around his face twitching like he was holding back a smile. “Guess he’s still kinda sweet on you, Sister. You got another call too. From Susan used-to-be-Miller. You know, she always was a right pretty girl. Nice, too. Easy to get along with.”

  At least he didn’t say, “Unlike some people I know.”

  I called Susan first.

  She said,“I have to talk to you.” A pause. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you everything.”

  “Okay. Now?”

  “No, I can’t get away now.”

  “Tonight?”

  “No, Tom won’t let me tonight.”

  “Okay.” I was getting annoyed, but tried not to sound it. “What about tomorrow morning? I’m leaving on a trip, but I could meet you in the morning.”

  “Trip? My God, Laurie, whatever you do, you’ve got to be careful!” There was nothing artificial in her voice now, I was sure of it. That was real fear I heard.

  “Careful of what?”

  “I can’t tell you now.” Her voice had dropped so low that I strained to hear her.

  “Well, when can you tell me?”

  “What about Saturday, after the parade?” Her voice rose then and became sweetly cheerful. “I have so much to do for the fiesta, I won’t have a chance to see you before then.” I was sure someone had walked in on her.

  I sighed. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  “Sure, I’ll hold,” she said brightly.

  “Susan, what’s going on? Do you want me to come over?” There was no answer. I was really getting worried.

  Then she whispered again, hurriedly. “There. He’s gone. Just be careful. Very, very careful.” There was a click, and she was gone.

  I was trying to decide whether or not to return Johnny’s call when the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Laurie. Did you father tell you I called?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t say why.” I meant to sound cold, but it came out petulant and whiny.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he answered evenly.

  “Fine, thank you. And you?” I countered.

  “Would you like to meet with me and we can talk about how your project is coming along?”

  “Maybe later this week.”

  “Oh, are you busy the next few days?”

  I snapped. “Cut it out, Johnny! I know damn well that Momma called you and told you I’m going out of town! So now you’re checking up on me. The two of you think I can’t take care of myself! I’m tired of this shit!”

  “So how long have you believed in this conspiracy theory? Are you feeling more paranoid than usual, and does the doctor know you’re off your medication?” His voice was still mild.

  I almost said something nasty and hung up, but something stopped me. I wasn’t sure what.

  I was still a little shaky from my escapade the other night. But I really didn’t believe danger lurked in my trip to visit Sammy’s mother. Still, “if something happened to me” I wanted someone to know where to start looking. Johnny was the only someone I knew who had the resources and knowledge. Damn it, if I was wrong about this and got hurt, I would want to be avenged. And as much as I hated to admit to myself, I thought Johnny would do that. I was disgusted about Johnny’s relationship with Forrest Miller, but some part of me still believed that Johnny would hunt down anyone who hurt me. Part of my heart—a childish, sappy, part for sure—was as romantic as it was in the long ago days when I thought all the love songs on AM radio were written for Johnny and me. In spite of everything, I believed there was still a place in his heart that corresponded to that mushy place in mine. I know, it’s shocking news, but there it is. There’s this tiny, but stubbornly incurable streak in me. It’s another one of my short-comings.

  I agreed to meet Johnny at Bobby D’s in half an hour.

  I walked back into the living room where Daddy was still staring at the TV. “Hey, where did you say Momma is?”

  “She’s out buying herself more clothes. I told her that she has closets full of clothes. She took my car and went, anyway. She did say she’ll be back in time to put supper on the table.”

  “Good thing, you might starve, otherwise,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Did you say something, Baby Sister?” he asked.

  “Tell Momma I’m meeting Johnny for coffee, but I’ll be back in time for dinner,” I said.

  “Your Momma will be hurt if you’re late for dinner.”

  I left.

  Johnny was right there, waiting for me in the same booth as before. I slid in. Immediately the waitress appeared with a piece of hot pecan pie with a nice scoop of vanilla ice cream melting all over it.

  “Peace offering,” said Johnny. “Your mother told me about your road trip plans, but don’t hold it against her. She’s an awful sweet woman. And neither of us mean you any harm.”

  “I know,” I said, through a mouth full of achingly sweet goo, “you both just want what’s best for me.”

  “Right,” he said, looking at me funny.

  I ate slowly, carefully arranging each spoonful to contain the perfect proportion of sweet, syrupy pie to ice cream. I studied Johnny, while trying not to let him see.

  Who was this guy? I’d divorced him and Florida and the entire South at the same time. But in the end, I couldn’t get rid of any of it.

  I couldn’t even forget how happy I’d been when Johnny and I first started screwing. He was worlds away from the other boys I’d had. They were frantic and impersonal, as if fucking was a form of slightly embarrassing physical therapy. But Johnny and I hit it right off, with tender explorations of every body part, every taste, every sensation. Sometimes, hours later, I would find that my hair smelled like sex, or my knees, or maybe even the inside of my elbows. The thrill of those moments was so exquisite, the thought that we had such an intimate connection between us, that I would actually tremble. Well, I was beginning to think that I still carried with me, would always carry with me, Johnny’s scent.

  I thought, “Isn’t marriage a pisser.” Then I thought about Zack, and realized that it wasn’t the fact of marriage. I hadn’t seen old Zack since the day I left his trailer on foot, walking in the hot sun down that sandy road, dragging my clothes behind me in a plastic trash bag. I hadn’t missed him one bit. His mangy person hadn’t crossed my mind a half-dozen times in a dozen years. I didn’t have a clue where he was or what he was doing, and I didn’t care. Not that I hoped anything bad had happened to him. I just didn’t care.

  I hated Johnny for selling out, but I still cared about him. I wanted only good for him. I swallowed the last piece of pie and came to a decision. I knew Johnny. Forrest Miller might own a part of him, but Johnny would never actually betray me, not if it counted.

  So I told him everything. He listened.

  Then he looked me in the eyes and said that he wouldn’t try to stop me. I bit back the “Just try it and see what I do, buddy!” that buzzed on my tongue like an itch that wanted to be scratched.

  He went on, sounding like Susan for a moment, when he told me to be careful. He spoke slowly, saying he was of two minds about my safety. His first mind was that I was fine. Yes, I had played the cock tease and pissed off George and his friends the other night, and they had chased me to teach me a lesson.

  But, he told me, he could count on the fact that after they got over their hangovers the next day, they would surely realize they could only make things worse by continuing to harass me. He smiled for a moment, and then said that George probably cleaned their plows when they had to tell him I led them right to the police station. He said that their superiors in the Klan, including Forrest, would be stern with them for carrying on like that. The new Klan was working hard to become a political force in the county and the state. Their whole agenda was to look like a legitimate organization for w
hite men who were tired of feeling the system was against them. Their treatment of me was just the kind of thing they wouldn’t want public. No, he knew these guys’ thinking pretty well, and he thought they were going to leave me alone.

  On the other hand, he went on, I’d been going around mentioning Elijah Wilson’s name everywhere I went. Now, we didn’t know for a fact that there was anything out of the way in his death, but we both knew that bridge and Deadman’s Creek was an awful funny place to drown, all by one’s self. Even if someone else had been instrumental in Elijah’s death, it was a hell of a long time ago. Chances were real good that nothing could be discovered, and certainly nothing proved at this late date. Still, he said—and here his drawl slowed down to such a leisurely pace that I almost couldn’t stand waiting for him to get his words out—something about the whole mess made him nervous. He wanted me to be extra careful, stay out of stupid situations, and call him if I had any doubts.

  He was looking off over my shoulder as he said the last words. His expression changed from concern to surprise. Then he actually blushed, the red streaking up to his cheeks from where it started on his solid neck. I turned around to see what the problem was, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. Didn’t see anyone I recognized.

  An attractive woman in a suit approached our table. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but she walked with energy and self-confidence and had an open, intelligent look about her face. And she was a snazzy dresser. Her suit was yellow silk and she carried it off with a red t-shirt and red high-heeled pumps.

  She reached our table, leaned over to kiss Johnny on the cheek, and said, “Come on, scoot over, give a lady’s legs a break.”

  He did, and she sat down beside him and extended her hand towards me in a graceful gesture.

  “Emma Lewis, friend of Johnny’s. You must be the famous Laurie Marie Coldwater.” Her voice and her smile were warm and didn’t seem the least bit forced.

  “Nice to meet you,” I mumbled, hurrying to adjust my earlier notions about Johnny’s girlfriend.

  Johnny had been momentarily stunned himself, but he was coming back to life. “I thought you said you’d be in court for weeks.”

  “That’s what I thought. But when the defendant’s attorney got a taste of my case, he decided that the best defense would be a quick plea bargain.” She giggled. The sound was pure Southern womanhood. I looked at her hands. The nails were long, lacquered a shiny red.

  “Emma’s the best ADA in the whole damned county,” offered Johnny.

  “And she’s got the best damned legs,” added Bobby, as he walked by our table.

  “Well, boys, I just don’t think little ol’ me can take all this flattery,” she drawled with just enough irony to keep me from hating her.

  “Emma,” I asked suddenly, “are your parents living?”

  She looked at me, surprised. “Sure. They live down in Naples, where I grew up. Why?”

  Damn. My theory had been that only Southern girls with dead parents could stay near home and still make their living with their brains. I tried again, “Do you get along with them?”

  “Sure I do. My Daddy and I are the best of friends. And why, there’s nothing like the relationship between a girl and her momma, is there?”

  Johnny nearly choked on this, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Well,” I said carefully, “there’s certainly nothing like the relationship between me and my mother.”

  I was actually sorry when Emma said she had to get back to work. I liked her. I couldn’t help turning to watch her walk away on those spectacular legs rising out of those high-heeled shoes. When I turned back to Johnny I was embarrassed to see that he had been watching me watch her. I couldn’t really classify the look on his face, except to say it was strange.

  He drained his coffee cup and looked around. “I’ve got something to say that can’t be said in here. Let me walk you to your car.”

  Out in the parking lot, both of us leaned against Momma’s car. Johnny spoke quickly, looking straight ahead, not at me. He told me Walter was hanging around with a rough crowd. There was a big drug bust coming down soon. He didn’t want Walter getting pulled in. He said that he trusted me not to tell Walter all this, but if there was anything I could do to get Walter set on a better course, I ought to try it. Real soon. He looked embarrassed. He said he didn’t like himself for what he was doing, but he’d like himself less if he didn’t.

  The last moments felt awkward. I couldn’t decide between a friendly hug or a handshake. I was intensely aware of Bobby’s customers watching us through the big plate glass windows of the diner.

  Finally I just punched him on the shoulder and walked away. I was almost across the parking lot when an irresistible impulse hit. I decided to liven things up around town, give Johnny a little explaining to do to keep him busy while I was gone. I turned, ran back across the lot, threw myself against him, and planted a big kiss on his lips. Then I turned toward the diner, and waved my hand like a beauty queen acknowledging her audience. I trotted back across the lot, hopped in the car, and peeled rubber speeding away. Gave the folks a little something to think and talk about. I bet Emma heard about it before I was ten blocks away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was up early the next morning, shoving some clothes in a backpack. Even so, by the time I walked in the kitchen, Momma had already finished the breakfast dishes and was washing windows. I dropped my backpack beside the door and poured myself a cup of coffee. Then I poured one for Momma and asked her to come join me. To my surprise, she put down her cloth and her spray bottle of window cleaner and did.

  As she was sitting down, she said, “Daddy said for me to tell you he’s gonna miss you. He would have seen you off himself, but he had to get to the golf course before it gets too hot.”

  “Right,” I said. I thought I had kept the tone unprovocative, but I guess it wasn’t enough.

  Momma looked at me. Her eyes were pleading, but I didn’t know what for. “He did, Baby. Now don’t be that way. You know your daddy loves you.”

  I knew I should let it drop, but I just couldn’t do it. “I do? How?”

  “Well, of course, he loves you.”

  “I’m supposed to know that on the basis of the fact that he never calls me, or writes me, or sends me a present? Or makes any effort to spend time with me even when I’m staying here in the house?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Daddy and I call you once a week. We send you cards and birthday presents. Of course Daddy wants to see you, but he’s a busy man. Don’t expect the whole world to revolve around you. I didn’t raise you like that.”

  I looked around the kitchen at white eyelet curtains with blue ruffled tie-backs. Yellow and blue geese marched around the wallpaper. The floors and windows were spotless. If the family that ate in this determinedly cheerful kitchen wasn’t happy, could anyone be?

  “You. You call me. You write the letters. You buy the presents. You spend time with me when I’m here.”

  She looked puzzled. “Sure, honey, that’s the way the world works. But Daddy wants me to. It’s all from both of us.”

  “I know that’s the way it works, but I’m tired of it. You’re assigned to do the stuff Daddy wants done, but doesn’t want to do himself. Cooking, cleaning, buying clothes. You’re assigned to love his problem child for him, too.”

  “Why do you have to look at everything like that, Baby? Why do you try to make yourself unhappy? I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I really think you need professional help. I’ve spoken to Dr. Franklin, and I think he’d be willing to work you into his schedule. As a favor for me.”

  I started to say something, but she shook her head. “I swear I won’t say a word to your father or your brothers. Now don’t worry. Dr. Franklin says there’s no stigma to receiving professional help these days.”

  “Momma, don’t. Please don’t.”

  The rims of Momma’s eyes got red and she started sniffling. I went to the bathroom, got a box o
f tissues, and brought them to her. She took one and blew her nose. I patted her on the top of her hair-do. I wasn’t sure if she could feel it through the structure. “It’s all right, Momma. I’m sorry I made you cry. It’s okay. I’m not unhappy.”

  “You might try thinking about someone else’s feelings now and then,” she sobbed.

  That’s how I left her. I picked up my bag, and walked out, shutting the door carefully behind me.

  It felt good to turn onto the highway and drive, just drive— radio up loud—sing and drive. I was headed north, into the deep Deep South.

  It was a tacky hour’s drive past all the new shopping centers. The highway was four-lane, the traffic heavy.

  But after a while, the highway was two-lane and the scenery was palmetto scrub. For long stretches, there were no cars behind me. Now and then I passed small towns, after awhile not even that—just places where three or four buildings were clustered out by the highway. I couldn’t find a radio station that appealed to me anymore, so I turned it off and sang to myself, pulling a soda out of the cooler Momma had packed for me, and had left on the front passenger seat.

  I was having a good time, relieved to be out of that house where all my ambivalence and anxieties and failures lay around like ashtrays.

  After all those years in Manhattan, I missed driving. This kind of driving, not the slam-dance driving in the city. Just a long road, and me. Kind of like meditation. As close as I get to it, anyway.

  I had plenty of time to organize my thoughts, figure out what was going on. I’d pretty well decided that I would do an article for The Rag on the Klan rally. Maybe I’d describe it in the breathless tone of one of those articles telling about black-tie charity balls in the style section of the Times. I thought Jerry would probably go for that.

  My first priority, of course, was my upcoming talk with Sammy’s mother. I’d chat with her, try to get her to open up about Elijah, to tell me what kind of man he really was. And, of course, I’d find out what she knew about the circumstances of his death. I’d ask her for the names of some of his friends who might still be around, then see if I could look them up when I got back to town. I thought maybe I’d write up all the interviews I did, put them together so Sammy would have a sort of family history to give the girls. Just thinking about it make me feel warm and generous.