Dropping a Hint
ETHEL, THE OLDEST MEMBER OF THE JINGLE-ETTES, A HANDBELL choir that played out at the mall on holidays, had invited Brenda and Maggie to come during their lunch hour to a first dress rehearsal for their 2008 performance. Brenda said she would drive, and Maggie was glad to have an opportunity to ride with her. It would give her a chance to try to drop a hint again.
Brenda and Maggie sat in the food court and ate their lunch and enjoyed the show. Ethel was a regular virtuoso on the handbells and had a special solo spot during “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” All the Jingle-ettes wore blinking red noses, and it was very effective, drawing quite a bit of applause from the crowd that had gathered. Maggie was glad she had a chance to see it, considering she would be missing the holidays this year, and she was surprised to find herself getting a little teary.
On the way back to the office, in keeping with her plan, Maggie said, “You know, Brenda, I don’t know if you have noticed or not … but I’ve been a little depressed lately.”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Oh right, Maggie, you have so much to be depressed about. You’re so ugly. It must be terrible to have to wake up and see yourself in the mirror every morning. If I looked like you, I’d be delirious. I’m the one who’s depressed. I swear, I’ve gotten to the point to where I can’t even bear to look at myself anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because I look like a big fat Tootsie Roll in a wig, that’s why.”
“Oh, you do not! Brenda, why do you say those awful things about yourself?”
“Because it’s true … I’m ugly-looking.”
“You are not! You are just as cute as you can be; everybody thinks so. When you’re not with me, people always ask, ‘How’s that cute Brenda?’ ”
“Who?”
“Everybody … everybody thinks you are just as cute as you can be.”
“Really?”
“Yes, silly, so stop being so hard on yourself.”
Brenda seemed happy for the moment; then she asked, “What’s cute about me?”
“A lot of things … your personality for one, your smile … you have darling teeth.”
Brenda looked at her. “Darling teeth?”
“Yes, and you have a great smile.”
“Oh, I do not; now I know you’re making stuff up. I have buck teeth and a big space between my two front teeth.”
“No, you don’t, you have a great open face and a wonderful sense of humor … everyone says that.”
“They do?”
“Yes … Hazel always said you had a million-dollar personality.”
“She did?”
“Yes, you know she did.”
“God, I miss Hazel …”
They drove a little while longer and then Brenda said, “People don’t say I look too masculine, do they?”
“What? Brenda, anybody who wears a size 54 double-D-cup bra couldn’t look masculine if they tried. Why would you ask that?”
“Oh, I don’t know … I just worry. Since I got so fat, I think I look masculine.”
“Don’t be silly. Does Oprah Winfrey look masculine?”
“She’s skinny now …”
“Well … when she was heavier …”
“No …”
“Okay, then.”
They drove in silence a little while longer, until Maggie asked, “How are you doing with your Overeaters Anonymous meetings? Are you still going?”
“Yes, I love the meetings … it’s the not eating I don’t like.” Brenda let out a big sigh. “Maggie, if I tell you something, do you swear not to tell Robbie?”
“Of course.”
“I’m so mad at myself, I could just scream.”
“Why?”
“I had another slip. Doughnuts.”
“Oh … well, honey, just try to forget it and move on. That’s all you can do.”
Brenda smiled. “You’re right … that’s all we can do …”
Brenda then pulled down the visor and looked at herself in the mirror. “Do you really think I have cute teeth?”
“Yes.”
Brenda smiled. “I’ll tell you what Maggie, talking to you always cheers me up!”
Oh, dear. This clearly was not the moment. Maggie decided she would try another time.
What Was Bothering Brenda
AT BRENDA’S LAST OVEREATERS ANONYMOUS MEETING, THE LEADER had said to the group, “The problem is not what you are eating, but what’s eating you!” And unlike a lot of the other gals in the group, Brenda knew exactly what had been eating at her for years.
When Hazel had hired her, it had still been a pretty rare thing: a black real estate agent in an all-white firm. But for Brenda, growing up when and where she had, she had always been an experiment of some kind. Now, after so many years of having to deal with the “race issue” day in and day out, she was tired. Tired of everybody bobbing and weaving all around the subject, never saying what they really thought, herself included. And tired of always having to be careful about not acting “too white” around her own people or “too black” around white people.
When Brenda had been growing up, the issues had been the big, overt, and glaring oversights of voting rights and segregated neighborhoods, water fountains, schools, and bathrooms. But now it was the small, everyday subtleties that were so wearing. She always felt it when white people were walking on eggshells around her, nervous about saying something that might offend her. She just wished people would act normal. When she had been in college up north, all those obsequious professors fawning over her had made her very uncomfortable.
She would have loved to have had a vacation from race, even for a day. But it was always there. And lately, the way the news media kept pitting one side against the other, she didn’t see it going away anytime soon. Everybody seemed to have an agenda where race was concerned. Some to keep people stirred up, others to pretend that it didn’t matter.
That’s why she liked Maggie. Maggie had no hidden agenda; she was nice to everyone. Sometimes too nice and too trusting for her own good. Maggie once spent six weeks driving an old lady all over town, showing her every property available within a twenty-mile radius, only to find out later that the woman was just lonely and liked to go for rides. Ethel said that if the woman hadn’t died, Maggie would still be driving her around town to this day, and it was probably true. Maggie had taken care of her parents for years, and when they’d both had to be put in a nursing home, she had visited them twice a day, seven days a week, and never complained. Brenda admired her, but if she herself couldn’t complain about her family, life wouldn’t be worth living.
Maggie also did nice things for people and never told you about it, but when Brenda did something nice, she wanted people to know about it. Brenda guessed that was why she had always been so drawn to politics and had decided she was going to run for mayor. A politician had to toot his own horn. How else were you going to get votes?
The only college professor Brenda knew for sure had really liked her was her senior year English professor. While working on a project together, they had fallen in love and had an affair, and it had ended badly and broken her heart. Anybody who won her heart now would have to be pretty special. She had tried out a few, but no luck so far. And she figured that, as mayor, she’d be much better off not having a husband at all. From what she had seen, the husbands had turned out to be more of a hindrance than a help. She would have been much better off with a wife. They stand by you, no matter what. Even Ethel had said, she would be better off just getting herself a cat. “They clean up after themselves and mind their own business.”
Maggie’s Rehearsal
THAT AFTERNOON, MAGGIE WAS GOING TO TAKE A TEST RUN DOWN by the river to make sure that on the third, there would be no last-minute surprises; you never knew when or where they might be doing roadwork, and if there were any detours she wanted to know about them now. She took the precaution of wearing dark glasses and a scarf. She didn’t want to risk the chance of someone seeing her drivin
g on the river road and remembering it later. She now wished she had maintained a lower profile around town, but after Hazel died, she had appeared quite a few times on Good Morning Alabama, offering home-selling tips; now younger people who might not have recognized her as an ex–Miss Alabama sometimes recognized her as the Real Estate Lady. She realized it was just another irony of life; first you want to be famous and in the end, it turns around and bites you.
Fortunately, today she knew exactly where she was going. It was to a certain spot where her father had always gone fishing, and if it still was as she remembered, it was the perfect spot for her purpose. As she drove, she looked over at her latest checklist, on the seat next to her.
River-Run Items
Wraparound weights
Glue
Raft and paddle
Raft instructions
Reading glasses
Cheap watch
She had everything with her today, except for the watch. She wasn’t about to jump in the river wearing her good gold watch, but she would need a watch to time the glue. She would go to the drugstore next week and buy a Timex, and on the morning of the third, she would put her good watch in an envelope for Lupe, her housekeeper, along with her money for the week. She wanted to say a proper goodbye to Lupe (hard to do when you don’t speak Guatemalan), but she figured a nice gold watch says, “I appreciate you” in any language.
One of the reasons she had addressed the note “To Whom It May Concern,” and not to Lupe, was that Lupe could neither read nor speak English. Nevertheless, she was always anxious to please. No matter what you asked her to do, she smiled and said, “Yes,” the one word she knew. Unfortunately, she was not a very good housekeeper. She had chipped or broken almost every dish Maggie owned and Maggie wound up having to do most of the cleaning herself, but she was so sweet, Maggie didn’t have the heart to fire her.
As Maggie drove along, she gradually realized she had not been out this way for years, and she was surprised to see quite a few of the new Jim Walter manufactured homes scattered here and there; other than that, though, the area was still pretty rural. A few barns still had faded SEE ROCK CITY advertisements painted on their roofs. A good half hour later, about ten minutes past the old Raiford Fishing Camp, she found the little turnoff spot she was looking for and slowly drove her car down the winding red dirt road and parked in the small clearing. It was completely hidden from the highway up above, so she got out and changed her shoes. Thankfully, although it had grown over with weeds, she was able to find the little path that led down to the river. It was a good three-minute walk, longer than she remembered, but the good news was that this part of the river was still pretty deserted, and the few beer cans scattered around the bank were old and rusty. She didn’t think anybody drank Schlitz or Pabst Blue Ribbon anymore.
She calculated that two trips from the car and back should do it: one to get the weights and one for the raft. Today, she would just check to make sure that the spot was still here and as perfect as she remembered. It was, and on her next trip down, she would hide everything in the bushes and be ready to go.
Coming up with a method had been difficult, but surprisingly enough, figuring out the logistics had been the most difficult part. She couldn’t drive down on the third and leave the car parked up in the clearing; she had a responsibility to Steel City Leasing and would feel terrible if someone were to vandalize it or steal it. She couldn’t leave a note saying where it was, because if her car was found anywhere near the river, there was sure to be a search, the very thing she wanted to avoid. She couldn’t just ask a friend to drop her off. There were no buses she could take, and she certainly couldn’t walk. She finally realized there was only one solution. She hated to do it, but she was going to have to take a cab to the river. It would be tricky, of course; the last time she had called a cab, it had come an hour late. This was one of those times that, just like Hazel, she was going to have to depend on people and hope for the best.
But this decision, like every other, entailed having to make yet another decision. Should she call City Cab, Yellow Cab, or Veterans Cab? Her plan had been to call the cab company from a pay phone so there would be no record of the call on her phone bill. She would order the cab a few days before she was leaving, give the dispatcher a false name, and have the driver meet her at another address, up the street from her complex. Later, she realized that to be on the safe side, it would be best to order a cab from one of the independent cab drivers listed. They drove their own cars, so later people wouldn’t be so likely to remember a cab being in the neighborhood on Monday morning. Nothing was simple. You had to think of every little thing.
When she got home from the river, she stopped and checked the mail: nothing but junk and another flyer from Willow Lakes Retirement Community. Before she threw it in the trash can, she happened to glance at it. She was glad she did. Written in big bold letters across the top of the page was this phrase: SOME PEOPLE SLIP INTO RETIREMENT, OTHERS JUMP RIGHT IN. And if that wasn’t a sign from the universe that she was doing the right thing, she didn’t know what was.
That night, as Maggie was eating another bad TV dinner, she spied something in the kitchen and realized she didn’t need to buy a new watch to time the twenty minutes for the glue on the Velcro to dry. She would just take her rooster egg timer and use it. She spent the next few hours packing most of her clothes for the theater and the Salvation Army, and it wasn’t until after she finished that she realized that she needed to keep one casual outfit to wear down to the river. She rooted around and pulled out a nice powder blue matching outfit and put it alongside the egg timer.
At two A.M. that night, Maggie sat straight up in bed. Good Lord, what was she thinking? She couldn’t wear an expensive workout suit to jump in the river! People in Alabama were serious about their fishing, especially down at the river. They didn’t fish in designer clothes, and if for any reason someone were to see her, it might arouse suspicion. She had to be more careful than that. What she needed was a good red herring outfit: something that would throw people completely off the track. After racking her brain, she suddenly came up with an idea for the perfect thing. She was glad now that she had watched all those Agatha Christie English mystery shows on PBS.
THE NEXT MORNING before work, she wandered around a few sporting goods stores, looking for some kind of man’s sweatshirt or T-shirt in an extra large that she could wear with a pair of jeans. She hit pay dirt out at Sportsman’s World. There were all kinds of fishing T-shirts to choose from:
BORN TO FISH, MADE TO WORK
REEL MEN EAT TROUT
CHICKS DIG ME, FISH FEAR ME
KISS MY BASS
She was not sure which to get and kept looking until she found the perfect shirt hanging on the last rack. It was so crude, so crass. Something she would never be caught dead wearing:
FISHERMEN DO IT WITH A BIG POLE
She found one in an XXL, but the problem was paying for it without having someone notice. She managed it by sticking the item in the middle of a pile of WOMEN FISH TOO, GET OVER IT T-shirts and, luckily, the girl at the checkout counter never looked.
Maggie had to admit there were times when it was best that salespeople didn’t get personal. She was halfway out the door when something else hit her. What shoes would she wear? Her workout shoes were far too nice. Should she pick up a pair of cheap flip-flops? No, too many rocks; she might trip on the way down. She turned around and headed to the back of the store. She would buy a pair of large men’s boots. It would be just another red herring, in case anyone found footprints. For someone who had always felt stupid, she was surprising herself with how clever she had turned out to be. Then again, she had always loved Nancy Drew mystery stories. It was too late now, of course, but she wondered if she should have become a detective. She might have been very good at it, if it didn’t require a lot of paperwork.
The Beauty and the Beast
Thursday, October 30, 2008
MAGGIE WAS STILL IN A FAIR
LY GOOD MOOD WHEN SHE GOT TO the office, until Ethel said, “The Beast just called and said she’s coming to see you at eleven. Happy Halloween.”
“What? To see me?”
“Yes, lucky you.”
Maggie moaned, “Oh, no.” Babs was the very last person in the world she wanted to see, but she knew that Babs had shown her condo at Avon Terrace a few days ago, so she was probably bringing in an offer on the two-bedroom unit that was just like hers. That was the good news; the office could use the commission. The bad news was that Brenda had gone to another political rally, which meant that Maggie was going to have to deal with Babs all by herself. Babs would fight you down to the nub on every point, so she braced herself for a bumpy ride.
At eleven A.M. on the dot, Babs arrived and as always, forgoing the customary friendly “hello”s and “how are you”s, she sat down and pulled out the papers and pushed them across the desk. “It’s a good offer, no contingencies, and they qualify.” Maggie looked it over, and Babs was right; it was a good offer. But when Maggie read the buyers’ names, Tom and Carole Troupe, she realized they were the same couple Dottie had shown the unit to a few times before, most recently on Monday. Babs had a nasty habit of stealing clients by cutting her commission, and she was obviously trying to do it again. Oh Lord, Maggie didn’t want to get in a fight with her, but she felt she had to say something. So, she asked as pleasantly as possible, “Is this a co-listing?” Babs looked straight back at her and without blinking an eye said, “No.”
“I see, but … what about Dottie Figge?”
“What about her?”
“Aren’t these her clients?”
“No.”
“Ah well, I don’t know if they told you or not, but she showed them the same unit at least three or four times.”
“So?”
“Well, she did spend a lot of time with them, and I think she was sort of counting on this commission.”