“What did Daisy do?” she asked.
“You know how she jumps up on Bernadette?”
“Of course I know how she jumps on Bernadette. That’s what dogs do. They jump up on people they like, and they sometimes lick their faces.”
“Well, I know that. But, get this: Daisy, she jumped up on Bernadette and scratched at her pap, and Bernadette didn’t even know it.”
“Well, of course she didn’t,” Chloë said, irritated that Tyler was about to tell her something she didn’t know. “What’s a pap?”
“A tit. The Reverend Mr. Butler, he calls them paps, and he says if you poke a witch in her paps and she don’t feel it, it’s because they are being used to suckle imps.”
“Did the Reverend Mr. Butler happen to tell you what imps are?”
“He did. Imps is small demons. Witches suckle them.” Tyler leaned back. “You can just relax, though, because I didn’t tell him that it was your aunt what had the pap. I didn’t give out any names.”
“Well, that is very thoughtful of …,” Chloë said, and then stopped in midsentence. “Did you say the Reverend Mr. Butler?”
“I did. We must listen to him. He is head of the Church of the Endless Horizon and God’s messenger here on earth.”
Chloë remembered Tyler’s sigh of relief when Bernadette said that she would not sign on with COAT. “Is that the same Reverend Mr. Butler who is head of COAT? The same one who is head of Citizens Opposing All T-backs?”
“The very same. What of it?”
Chloë said, “Well, if the Reverend Mr. Butler is leading the crusade against the T-backs and your mom and your aunt are leading the crusade for them, I think that’s a pretty good what of it. As a matter of fact, I think that’s a whopper of a what of it.”
“Well, I did not tell him. The Reverend Mr. Butler don’t know that Velma is my mom and that Wanda is my aunt. My last name is Blakely. And Mrs. Blakely was the name my momma used when she signed me up, even though she don’t use it at other times because she ain’t been married to my daddy for a long time. And no one at the Bible school knows which is my house because the bus picks me up on the corner two blocks away and drops me off at the same place, and it’s none of their businesses neither. And the reverend, he don’t need to know. And if he finds out, I’ll know it was you who told.”
“Does your Reverend Mr. Butler say it’s all right to go skating with a witch?”
“I didn’t tell the Reverend Mr. Butler exactly who was taking me to the dollar-movie parking lot when I explained to him that I must undo all the prideful skating I done last night. It’s my duty to skate tonight. God is testing me.”
“And what did the Reverend Mr. Butler say to that?”
“He said amen”
* * *
Something had gotten out of control. Chloë had never meant the information she was feeding Tyler to go beyond the two of them. She wasn’t sure what or how it had happened, but she sensed that she had lost control of the situation. Like wishing Bernadette would stop and having her fall; like wishing Tyler would fall and having him hurt, something had gone wrong. She only hoped that this time no one would get hurt. But she had an uneasy feeling that someone would.
As the number of T-backs escalated, so did the efforts of COAT. They set up tables at supermarkets all over Peco and collected signatures on a petition asking the city to pass a law that would make T-backs illegal. They marched, toe-to-heel, in circles around the food-service vans, carrying picket signs and chanting, “Just say no to T-back business.” Besides picketing the vans on Talleyrand, COAT also decided to picket the downtown vendors.
That was a mistake.
The downtown food wagons were small carts that were pushed by hand. They were scattered at various street corners, so it was easy to “circle the wagons” and keep people from getting through to buy food. The protesters were successful at stopping business, but they also stopped traffic.
The same laws that forbid blocking access to public buildings forbid picketing without a permit and deliberately stopping the flow of traffic on downtown streets, so Bayard had the protesters stopped. Mrs. Westbeth complained that it was the motorists who were gawking at the T-backs who were stopping the flow of traffic, but Bayard convinced the judge that there was no law on the books—and at that time there wasn’t—that didn’t allow T-backs, but there was a law that didn’t allow pickets without a permit. It was the picketers who were causing a bottleneck by not allowing customers to get through. COAT had to call off its pickets.
COAT printed Day-Glo orange T-shirts that said, in big black letters, T-SHIRTS NOT T-BACKS across the front and across the back.
That too was a mistake.
Wanda and Velma themselves showed up wearing T-shirts.
White T-shirts.
Thin white T-shirts.
Wet, thin white T-shirts.
Wet, thin white T-shirts with nothing on underneath.
That night on the evening news, the blue blobs went north of the waist, and the next day the T-SHIRTS NOT T-BACKS campaign disappeared from the face of the earth. Wanda and Velma went back to their dress-for-success uniform of choice, and Mrs. Westbeth went back to command central to think of what to do next.
* * *
For the next week there was little change in the T-back war. Neither side strengthened its position. Then, on a slow news day, Mrs. Westbeth called a news conference. Every TV station in town covered it. She announced that she would enlist the help of the one virtuous woman and the one virtuous man who worked at Zack’s Commissary. “We are calling Mr. Grady Oates and Ms. Bernadette Pollack to our side. In the name of decency, they must answer.”
Wanda decided to make a call of her own. She called the TV stations and suggested that they show up at the commissary early the next morning. When Bernadette and Chloë arrived, they were surprised to see InfoNews and NewsCenter 5 already there—lights and cameras ready for action.
The cameramen kept following Bernadette, and the reporters kept making a nuisance of themselves, shoving microphones in her face.
Bernadette refused to talk to them.
Finally Chloë and Bernadette finished loading up. Feeling relieved that they would soon be on the road and out of camera range, Bernadette got behind the wheel of her van, ready to pull away from the loading dock. Suddenly she pulled back into her parking slot and cut the motor. “Something’s not right,” she said. Just then, Grady Oates drove in. Bernadette got out. Chloë followed. Grady Oates got out of his van wearing a tattered terry-cloth robe. Like a mismatched set of baseball bats, his bare legs, one natural, the other plastic and metal, stuck out below the frayed hem of his robe.
“What are you doing?” Bernadette screamed. “Do you have on what I think you have on under that miserable excuse for a robe?”
Grady nodded yes.
“Why, Grady, why?”
Grady shrugged.
“Who got to you? Who told you to wear a T-back?”
“Wanda. Said I had to do it for the good of the company. Said it was a question of showing solidarity.”
Bernadette said, “Well, Grady, nobody is going to make you wear a T-back. You take my car and go home, change into your regular clothes, and come back. Chloë and I will load your van.” With that, she put her hands on Grady’s shoulders and turned him around and pointed him toward her car. She took her keys from her pocket and shoved them into his hand. “Now, go!” she said, pointing to her car.
“I don’t want to make you late.”
“Who’s going to be late? Look over there,” she said, pointing. “Chloë is already starting to load you up.” She spun around, still holding Grady’s shoulder and yelled, “Chloë! Chloë! Load Grady.”
As curious as Chloë was about how Grady attached his artificial leg, she was grateful to Bernadette for sparing her having to see him in a T-back and also for sparing her from having to see that kind old man embarrassed. She ran inside, happy to start loading Grady’s van.
W
hen they finished, Bernadette signed the clipboard and added a note at the bottom. “Shame on you, Zack.”
Looking over Bernadette’s shoulder, Chloë said, “But Grady said that it was Wanda who told him he should wear a T-back.”
Bernadette replied, “She said for solidarity.”
Chloë said, “That’s also what she said when she asked you to wear a T-back. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. I remember because I don’t think solidarity is part of Wanda’s vocabulary.”
* * *
They were on the access road to the interstate. Bernadette eased into the southbound lane. “Would you like to hear about solidarity?” she asked.
Bernadette had been very proud the day that the commune voted her and Nick in. The residents of Spinach Hill thought it would be neat to help raise a child, and she thought that there was nothing she wanted more than to share that responsibility. She had been taking care of Nick since she had graduated from high school. Commune living was in fashion all over the country at the time, and she thought that it was the answer to all the nuisance chores that come with just plain living.
Aside from the petty quarrels that came up among the members of the commune, the first few months seemed perfect, but it didn’t take long for the glow to wear off.
First of all, Bernadette realized that there was a part of her that did not enjoy doing everything in full view of someone else. She needed more time alone than this kind of living could give her. Every day, for some part of that day, she needed a piece of time that was hers alone. To be alone.
And then, the night of the protest at city hall, she realized something even more important. She realized that by allowing Nicholas to become everyone’s responsibility, he had become no one’s. She could not allow no one to be there for him when he came home from school any more than she could allow everyone to help him with his homework and correct his grammar. By giving up some of her responsibility—both in the house and with Nick—she had lost some freedom of choice. For a while she had been thinking about leaving the commune, but it was the night of the protest that she knew she had to.
Bernadette and Nick left the commune, and within two months, Spinach Hill broke up. They all accused Bernadette of creating that first crack in their solidarity.
Chloë asked, “Do you ever see any of those guys?”
Bernadette answered. “I work for one.”
“Zack?” she asked, astounded. “Zack was once a hippie?”
“Yep,” Bernadette answered, smiling. “We ex-hippies come in many guises.”
“Have you known him ever since?”
“Oh!” she said. “I hadn’t kept in touch all the time. But about eight years ago, I got sick and needed some surgery. I couldn’t go back to my old job at the auto-body shop. I had heard that Zack had started this business, so I asked him for a job. I started working for him right after I came back from the wedding, when Nick married your mother.” She smiled. “That was the funniest wedding, wasn’t it? I remember you insisted upon walking down the aisle with your mother … as if Nick were marrying you too. In a way, I guess he was.”
Chloë laughed. “I was scared. I was supposed to go down alone, but I was scared. I guess it was a funny kind of wedding. I remember you being Nick’s best man. Dressed in a tuxedo, with your hair cut shorter than Nick’s. I had never before seen a woman as best man.”
Bernadette said, “I was glad Nick asked me to be his best man. I certainly couldn’t have been a flower girl or a bridesmaid.”
Chloë said, “Your short hair looked very chic with the tuxedo. That’s what all of Mother’s friends said.”
“I was lucky to have any hair at all,” Bernadette said. “You know, I haven’t cut it since.”
Chloë said, “It sometimes looks very nice, though.”
Bernadette laughed.
As they drove down the highway, Chloë said, “I think Nick liked living at Spinach Hill. He talks to me about it a lot. I also think he’s proud of his tattoo.”
“I’m not,” Bernadette said. “I’m not at all proud of Nick’s tattoo. He was only twelve when all of us were getting tattooed, and I let him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought, How can I tell him no when we’re all getting one? It was unfair pressure. That was something else I realized about communal living: Nick had to conform to standards that were theirs but not necessarily ours—his and mine. I thought that more people could give Nick more, but they couldn’t. They certainly didn’t.”
“Did you get a tattoo?” Chloë asked.
“You betcha.”
“Is that why you won’t wear a T-back?”
Bernadette smiled. It was a sad smile. “Not really,” she said.
* * *
The tape of that evening newscast shows the following:
Bernadette slams the door of her van and rushes out to Grady Oates. She is having a heated discussion with him, waving her arms. She shoves her keys at him, and the sound picks up. “Now, go!” she yells. The camera catches Chloë running back into the commissary after Bernadette yells at her. Grady walks toward the Firebird. The camera focuses on his mismatched legs, then on his face. He smiles and shakes his head no at the microphones. He tries to wave the microphones away.
Since neither Bernadette nor Grady had spoken to the reporters, the reporters spoke for them.
VOICE OF RICHARD ROEBUCK (having been introduced as the star reporter of T-back news): The lone holdout at Zack’s Commissary, where the vogue for wearing T-backs started, is a Ms. Bernadette Pollack, a seven-year employee with the firm. Until this morning, Mr. Grady Oates, another long-time employee, had also refused to wear a T-back. However, this morning, when he chose to show solidarity with those vendors who did, he was attacked by Ms. Pollack. We have footage of Ms. Pollack’s confrontation with Mr. Oates, and Mr. Oates’s retreat. The child you see in the background is Ms. Pollack’s niece.
The tape stops rolling, and the cameras are back in the studio. Richard Roebuck is sitting at the anchor desk to the right of Anchor I.
ANCHOR I (leaning across the desk): Have any of the workers at Zack’s Commissary questioned having a minor working under these conditions?
RICHARD ROEBUCK (facing the camera): News-Center Five has learned that the child’s aunt (he glances down at his notes) … a Ms. Pollack, is an independent operator. Zack, the owner of the commissary, has not put the child on the payroll. And as you have seen, the child’s aunt refused to talk to us on camera.
ANCHOR I (facing camera, looking serious): Thank you for that report, Richard. That was reporter Richard Roebuck, who first broke the news of the T-back controversy, with an update on the developments from Talleyrand.
The first telephone call came before the next commercial message. The first one said that Bernadette was the only decent and moral person in her line of work. The second call, which followed immediately, said that she was indecent for allowing a child to work in a place where women exposed themselves.
When she hung up the phone the second time, Bernadette said, “It’s a crazy world out there. For doing what I’m doing, I’m called moral by one person and immoral by another.” The phone rang again. She took it off the hook and laid it down on the kitchen countertop without holding it up to her ear. “And neither one has a clue about what I was doing.”
Chloë asked, “Do you think God has something like a big camcorder so that He can see what really happened? If God’s camcorder could see into people’s hearts, wouldn’t God’s voice-over be accurate?”
Bernadette said, “I would hope so.”
The following morning—Saturday—Mrs. Westbeth, the chairperson of the Citizens Opposing All T-backs, came calling. She wore a flowered dress that looked like the wraparound cover of a large seed catalog; the background color of the dress matched the blue of her hair. From the flush of her cheeks to the dusting of talcum in the V of her bosom, she had the moist, warm look of a baby just awakened from a nap. With her came Deacon A and Deacon B
. They were dressed alike in black suits, white shirts, and black ties. The deacons were tall; Mrs. Westbeth was squat. They marched up the driveway, three abreast, A on the right and B on the left. Deacon A carried a briefcase with the famous COAT petition. B had a camera.
After congratulating Bernadette for her performance on the evening news, Mrs. Westbeth said that she had tried calling, but the line was always busy, so she decided to come personally to have Bernadette sign the petition. She confessed that she was very excited to have seen Bernadette at last answer her call and stick up for decency.
Without asking permission, she spread the petition out on the kitchen table. Deacon A took a pen from his inside jacket pocket, pointed it at Bernadette, and said, “We’d like you to pose with Mrs. Westbeth on one side, and your niece here on the other.” He snapped his fingers high over his head and pointed to Deacon B. B took the cap off his camera lens; A took the cap off his pen. “Now,” Mrs. Westbeth said to Bernadette, “if you’d like a minute to freshen up, we’d be happy to wait.”
Chloë watched Bernadette’s back stiffen. She waited to see which of her sides Bernadette would show Mrs. Westbeth: quiet stubborn or loud stubborn.
Bernadette chose quiet. She said, “There’s no need for me to freshen up, Mrs. Westbeth.”
“Fine, fine,” Deacon A said. “Then we can get right to the photo op.” He held his hand up again and snapped his fingers. Mrs. Westbeth pushed up on her blue hair, tugged down on her flowered dress, and sidled over to Bernadette. She rested one hand on the edge of the kitchen table and attempted to put the other one behind Bernadette in a comradely gesture.
Bernadette swung around and said, “Get your hands off me.”
Mrs. Westbeth’s chins quivered. “I was only …”
Bernadette said, “And get these papers off my kitchen table.” She looked down at Mrs. Westbeth’s hand resting on the table. Mrs. Westbeth drew her hand back as if it had been burned. “I’m not signing your petition.”