Ya-Yas in Bloom: A Novel

  I was so thrilled, and I was proud of my parents for braving that crazy crowd. It took hours for the Fab Four to come on. Act after act performed, and finally it was time!

  The stage lit up, and there were two amplifier speakers, microphone stands, and a set of drums. When the Beatles finally ran onto the stage, it was the loudest thing I have ever heard! Everyone in the whole place was on their feet yelling. Jillions of flashbulbs popped all at the same time, giving off a blinding white light that made the huge, dark cavern of the Coliseum turn into instant daylight. We were sitting in the balcony. The speakers were right in front of us, so we heard what they said and heard the songs they sang. As long as I live, I will never forget that moment. It is burned into me.

  Not a person was sitting down in those seats they had paid for. So we had to stand up, too. There was a group of girls off to the side who started fainting halfway into the first song. Policemen had to come carry them out.

  Daddy had brought the binoculars from the recipe drawer that we always used to stand at the kitchen window and look out at the fields. Boy this was sure a different sight! We passed those binoculars back and forth. When it was my turn, I zeroed right in on Paul’s face and just left it there so I could watch his lips move. They were singing “She Loves You.” Then Aunt Jezie started hogging the binoculars. I was jumping around so much, maybe she thought that in my state, I’d strangle myself with them!

  It was hard trying to decide just where to look. I wanted to see all the people screaming and passing out, but I didn’t want to miss anything the Beatles did. It almost made my eyes hurt. Every once in a while I let out a scream, more because I wanted to be like the other girls, not because I really felt like screaming. They went right on into “All My Lovin’.” Then they sang some other songs I didn’t know the words to because they hadn’t made it to Thornton yet. When they got to “My Life,” I started crying real tears. I just couldn’t help it. It all became a blur. It was so loud and crowded. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daddy take out his inhaler. Pretty soon he and Mama ducked out. They said they’d find a taxi and meet us back at the motel.

  Now everyone was standing on their chairs to see better. We were glad we were in the balcony, not on the ground floor, because you would not see anything there. There were a million screaming girls on the floor seating area, out of their minds, they were so excited. One girl almost climbed up on the stage!

  It was funny because Aunt Jezie kept trying to protect us from getting our eyes poked by other people waving Beatles pennants on sticks! If a pennant had stuck me in the eye right then, I wouldn’t have even noticed!

  I think the Beatles played maybe thirty minutes at the most, but believe it or not, I had to go to the bathroom before they finished their set. I guess I was kind of nervous. Anyway, Aunt Jezie and I left the arena and went to the restroom area. It was actually a good time to go, because nobody else had left their seats. After we finished in the bathroom, we were walking back in the long cement tunnel that led back to the seating area, and to this day, I swear that the Beatles ran right past us! We were the only two people in the tunnel as this big group of policemen came charging past us, and Aunt Jezie grabbed me and pulled me up against the side of the tunnel. I swear that for a millisecond I could see one or two of the Beatles in the middle of them as they rushed past! I even think that for a trillisecond I caught Paul’s eye. It was them! It was him! I wanted to call out and say something to Paul, but I was just frozen to the spot where I was standing and could not say a word.

  Aunt Jezie said, “Well, I’ll be goddamned!”

  Then she rushed us back to our seats, and the Beatles were still playing. I don’t know how they did it.

  I tried to ask Aunt Jezie, but she said, “These celebrities have their ways. Just enjoy the concert.”

  After the concert, Aunt Jezie got us through all the traffic—once she flashed something that looked like a badge out the window when a policeman stopped her, and then she gunned the Riviera down a blocked-off street.

  “Go, Aunt Mario Andretti!” we screamed.

  When we finally reached the motel, Mama and Daddy were propped up on pillows in their motel room bed looking real relaxed. Mama was wearing her gold caftan, and Daddy had on his khaki shorts and a sports shirt.

  “It was très fab!” I screamed.

  “Wow!” Little Shep said. “I never saw so many people in my life.”

  Lulu climbed on the bed with Mama. “Look, Mama,” she said, handing her the special Beatles Concert booklet Aunt Jezie bought us with the money Daddy had given her. “This is George. He’s my boyfriend,” Lulu said.

  “Baylor,” Mama said. “How about you?”

  “It was loud,” he said. “Girls fainted.”

  “They love me, yeah, yeah, yeah!” Little Shep said. “Those girls don’t look at little boys, Bay. They like us older ones.”

  Aunt Jezie laughed. “It was an experience,” she said. “An experience I am glad I had. An experience that requires a drink. Got any vodka?”

  “Over there on the table,” Daddy said. “Brought our own bar.”

  The boys kept shaking their heads like the Beatles, trying to get their hair to swing from side to side. But their hair was too short, and the shaking just made them look like goofballs.

  “Okay, everybody, listen.” Then I told them about Aunt Jezie and me seeing the Beatles running through the hall, about them being just inches from us. Aunt Jezie backed me up, said she’d seen it with her own two eyes.

  Mama said, “Sidda, darling, that is simply remarkable, simply remarkable.” She gave me a hug.

  But all the others said, “You liar! You are making that up just because you had to miss part of the show and go to the bathroom!”

  But I know the truth, and that is what counts.

  Mama and Daddy were in a good mood, and we were all just enjoying our own company. Daddy said, “Why don’t yall put on your swimsuits?” And so we all got in the pool and Mama ordered a bunch of club sandwiches and we swam and ate under the umbrellas. We had to sit along the edge of the pool for thirty minutes after the sandwiches before we could go back in so we wouldn’t get cramps and drown. Once the half hour was up, we dove in and played Marco Polo and sang Beatles songs underwater, trying to get each other to guess which one it was.

  The grown-ups went inside after a while. They could see us through the sliding glass doors, even though we couldn’t see them.

  From time to time, Mama would step out and shout, “Are yall still alive?”

  And we’d yell out, “Yes ma’am, we’re still alive!”

  Then Little Shep got his famous idea of climbing on the Greek statues and diving off. We boosted each other up and just dived right off those Greek gods’ and goddesses’ heads and shoulders. We sat on their shoulders and pretended we were riding bucking broncos. And we leaned down and kissed the statues all over their faces and called them John or Paul. And then Shep decided to stand on the arm of the naked statue with all the muscles and pose like he was a statue himself. We egged him on like Evel Knievel, and then out of nowhere the whole arm broke off! Shep fell into the water, and we froze in fear. We had been whipped for far less than this!

  “Little Shep,” we told him, “you’re gonna ruin the whole trip, just when it was going so good.”

  We tried to figure out a way to get that arm back onto the statue. But it just didn’t want to stick. We left it lying there and grabbed our towels and ran into our room and went to bed without saying a word, without even turning on the TV.

  Mama came in and said, “What is wrong with yall?”

  Little Shep said, “We’re just tired from all this excitement, Mama.”

  Wouldn’t you know it, the next morning this guy comes knocking on Mama and Daddy’s door, right next to ours. We huddled in bed and listened.

  “You ruined everything,” I told Little Shep. “It’s all your fault.”

  We could hear them in the next room talking, and we thought for sur
e that Daddy would tear into our room and beat our butts. But nothing happened. We just cowered there, without moving, under the sheets, wondering what was going to happen next. Things can turn from really good to really bad fast in my family. But it quieted down next door, and it sounded like Daddy had gone back to bed.

  Then there came a knocking on our door! It was this man wearing a blazer with the motel insignia on it. He told us he was Ken, the day manager.

  Ken said, “You kids were the ones roughhousing in the swimming pool last night, weren’t you?”

  Baylor, who was still in bed, said, “No sir, that wasn’t us. That was some other little kids from Arkansas.”

  Boy, I love a liar with imagination.

  Old Ken wasn’t buying it, though. Little Shep was hanging his head down, and Ken smelled that something was fishy.

  Ken stared into Shep’s eyes and said, “It was you, wasn’t it, son? You’re the one that broke off the statue arm. Do you know what the penalty is in the state of Texas for destruction of property?”

  Little Shep started crying, which is not something you can usually get him to do.

  I yelled, “You fart motel-man, get out of here.” I went over and gave him a push. I don’t know what I thought I was doing. I just wanted him gone.

  He kind of stepped back and looked at me in shock, and said, “What kind of family are you all from?”

  “Catholic,” Lulu said, chewing on her hair, which she always does when she gets nervous.

  Just then Daddy and Mama stepped through the door that joined our two rooms.

  Daddy said, “I beg your pardon. I thought I told you I’d talk to my children and see you at the desk later on.”

  Then Ken said, “Well, I didn’t know whether I could believe you or not. This is serious business here. Those statues cost the owner of this establishment a pretty penny. We sent off for those statues.”

  Then Mama said, “Well, I’ll tell you exactly like it is: you shouldn’t have statues out there in the first place. They are hazards to children. What do you expect? There isn’t a diving board. Don’t you know little kids are bound to climb up on those statues and dive off? Don’t you know anything about children here in Texas?”

  Old Ken said to Mama, “We cater to an upscale traveler here. We are not children-oriented, madam. We are not a Holiday Inn.”

  “Well, I don’t care who you cater to,” Daddy said, “we could slap a lawsuit on you pretty quick for having something as dangerous as those naked statues out there for my kids to get hurt on.”

  Old Ken changed horses in midstream then. “Well, look here, Mr. Walker, I feel sure we can handle this like adults.”

  Daddy said, “Well, get the hell out of my children’s room if you want to be an adult about it. We haven’t even had our breakfast yet.”

  And old Ken, he just backed out of the door with his tail between his legs.

  “Awright Daddy! Awright Daddy!” we yelled.

  This was wild. We hadn’t even told them about the broken arm, and here they were, standing up for us.

  Then Daddy said, “Wait a minute now, just what did yall do?”

  And then Shep told him what happened, and we all stepped outside in our pajamas and pointed to the Greek statue with the broken-off arm lying there in the hot Houston sun.

  Daddy looked at it, then said, “Close the door, son. You’re letting all the air condition out.”

  Then we ordered some breakfast from room service, and Daddy said, “They don’t have any business putting those statues out there anyway. What do they think this place is, a museum? Who do they think stays here? Mummies? Maybe Mister George Ogden and his mummified self could stay here and qualify as upscale, but we are plain American tourists.”

  After breakfast we packed up our stuff. We took everything we wanted but the bathrobes. They wouldn’t fit in our suitcases. Baylor especially loved those shoe-shine cloths. He had a whole collection of them at home.

  Aunt Jezie came to tell us good-bye. When she heard about the broken Greek arm, she said, “Shep, you were perfectly right to bring up possible litigation. When you settle your bill, don’t you dare pay one red cent for that statue. Just tell them you’ll sue the hell out of them if they say one more word about it. Tell them you know Russell Long. Tell them you know Al Hirt.”

  Daddy paid the bill and then came out and got in the car. He handed us a bunch of after-dinner mints.

  “Stick out your tongue,” he told Baylor.

  Baylor obeyed.

  Daddy unwrapped one of the mints and put it on Bay’s tongue.

  “Now,” he said, “yall can go back home and tell everybody that you had a hundred percent Catholic experience here in Houston, compliments of your pagan, heathen-ass father.”

  Then Daddy laughed, put on his Ray-Bans, and got behind the wheel.

  We drove back to Thornton and when we got home we were sort of famous for a while. When school started, we told lies about how we’d gone swimming with the Beatles, who were staying at the same motel with us.

  If anyone questioned us, we’d say, “Heck, yeah, it’s true, just go ask my brother.” And then we’d back up each other’s stories. We showed off our Beatles souvenir programs but wouldn’t let anyone else hold them. We would not even let people touch them.

  Sometime in December, the Dave Clark Five came on TV. Mama and us kids had just come home from Teensy and Chick’s house. Daddy was already in the den watching Ed Sullivan, and he said, “Kids, come on over here.”

  And we went over and listened to them sing. After they finished, we all said, “They are just fakes. Copycats!”

  Then Mama fixed pancakes and we sat at the breakfast table. We loved pancakes on Sunday night. The Dave Clark Five reminded us of our trip to Houston, and we sat around the table and rehashed it, letting each other add little things that didn’t really happen but would have been fun if they had.

  When he finished eating, Daddy folded up his napkin and laid it down next to his plate. He looked at us and said, “If there’s one thing I have to say to yall, it’s don’t ever be a copycat. Steal, lie, and cheat—but don’t ever try to be something you aren’t, you hear me?”

  Mama said, “Shep, I couldn’t have put it better myself. To thine own self be true, and all else will follow.”

  Little Shep said, “Yes sir.”

  I said, “Yes ma’am.”

  Lulu said, “Please could you pass the syrup, please?”

  Baylor said, “I wish we could live in a motel. You know what I mean?”

  Daddy said, “Yeah, I do, son. Now go on and finish your supper.”

  I don’t think Daddy was really mad, but he said it grufflike. This embarrassed Baylor, and it changed the mood of the evening.

  When we got through helping clean up, Mama said, “It’s about time for yall to go to bed now.”

  “Aw, Mama,” I whined, “it’s still early.”

  But Daddy said, “Yall heard your Mama. Get on to bed now. This isn’t vacation, it’s a school night. This is real life.”

  “Yessir,” I said, and gave Daddy a kiss. “Thank you for taking us to see the Beatles.”

  He gave me a little hug. “You’re welcome, babe.”

  “Thank you for not being like Mister Ogden.”

  Daddy laughed. Mama tried not to.

  “Get your bee-hiny to bed, you little Beatle-girl,” my Daddy said.

  Back in the bedroom I shared with Lulu, I took out my concert ticket. It had cost five whole dollars. Lulu and I turned out the light on our bedstand. The nightlight by the dresser was glowing. You could slightly make out the shapes of the Beatles’ faces on our life-size posters.

  “Good night, Lulu,” I said.

  “’Night, Sidda.”

  “Good night, Paul,” I whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

  Bruised Plantings

  TOO MUCH WILD

  August 1961

  Minutes before she ran off the road in her 1961 Bel Air, Myrtis Spevey had been praying.
She’d come out of another Heathen Situation, as she always called it, with that horrible Vivi Abbott Walker. Time and time again, Myrtis asked herself what in God’s name had possessed poor Shep Walker to marry such a woman as Vivi Abbott. Nothing but trouble, that harlot, and the whole of Central Louisiana knew it.

  Myrtis was a pinched-looking lady who wore a size 16, but a “small 16,” as she put it. One of the reasons she loved to sew so very much is because she didn’t have to pay much attention to the sizes in the stores. Fear coursed through her body like the Garnet River did at the river bottom, but Jesus was her personal savior, very personal. She was shielded by her Jesus cloak, by His shield, His promises, and His protection.

  Myrtis knew the Walkers. Myrtis had practically grown up with Shep Walker. The Walkers lived on the plantation next to where she grew up, her daddy leasing land from the Ambroses. She’d watched Shep Walker every Sunday morning at Calvary Baptist Church, where the Walkers were pillars of the church. Well, at least Mrs. Walker was. Mr. Baylor Walker, big man that he was, came and went as he pleased, dropping into church with a fat wallet on holidays. Other than that, it was Mrs. Walker who represented them both as fine upstanding Baptists. A wife could do that, Myrtis knew. Could carry the moral burden for the whole family, and they would still be saved. The Walkers were just the finest, most upstanding family you’d ever want to meet, as far as Myrtis was concerned. Mrs. Walker was so dependable. You could count on her at every bake sale, and she was known parish-wide for her canning and preserving. Mr. Walker, now, there was a hard worker. He’d taken those old rundown farms he’d inherited from his family and made them into some of the most productive plantations in Louisiana. Myrtis’s own mother had told her how Mr. Baylor Walker was a downright hero during the Great Depression. How he trucked potatoes to Texas and far away as Oklahoma to hold on to his land. He even managed to buy up some land that the blue-blood don’t-get-your-hands-dirty gentleman farmers let slip away because they couldn’t be bothered to get down from their fine front porches and walk among common country people. That was the thing about the Walkers: their blood was blue as it comes in the state of Louisiana, but they were country people and loved the land like a husband loves a wife. You drove by Mr. Baylor Walker’s land, with the fences all lined up straight and painted, fields full of cotton as far as you could see, barns full of livestock, and Negroes all over the place working—well, you just knew that he was the best farmer in all of Garnet Parish. Myrtis’s daddy said he just thought the world of Mr. Walker, there wasn’t a finer man in the entire state. Not to mention that Mr. Walker was good friends with Huey Long.