Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 03 (7 page)

"Arrest those women," Bernswallow said, sounding a shade petulent.

Sherman Oliver held up his hand. "Let's put that on hold for a minute. We don't want to get all carried away before we've thought about this." He chewed on a hangnail and stared at the parking lot, which was beginning to resemble a terrace party, now that card tables had been draped with tablecloths and set with paper plates and plastic tableware. Someone had thought to bring mason jars as vases, and each now held a small bouquet of flowers. Estelle and Elsie Buchanon were uncovering dishes on the tailgate of the station wagon. Dahlia O'Neill hovered nearby, licking her lips at each unveiling.

"Good grief," I said, mostly to myself. I raised my voice and added, "Let's find out what the game plan is before we do anything rash."

Carolyn smiled. "It's really quite simple. We intend to stay here until Johnna Mae Nookim is restored to her rightful position as head teller of the branch, with full back pay for her maternity leave and for the days she was wrongly unemployed. She also deserves compensation for the pain and suffering brought on by the discriminatory actions of this man." She pointed a red-tipped finger at Bernswallow. "And, of course, he'll have to be fired."

"What?" Bernswallow sputtered. "You've got knots in your panty hose, honey, if you think you can make those wild demands and expect to get away with them. My grandfather founded the bank, and my father's chairman of the board. Nobody's firing this boy."

Sherman Oliver looked at Carolyn. "He's right about how his family owns the bank, young woman, but I think we can find a solution. This picnic in the parking lot won't harm our reputation in the long run. As long as you girls promise to clean up after yourselves before you go home tonight, I think we can just forget this whole mess ever happened."

"We're not going anywhere tonight, buddy boy, unless our demands are agreed to in writing. I've done a rough draft already. Perhaps you might care to look it over?"

"You bra-burning bitch," Bernswallow snapped. "What's with you, anyway? I'll bet you're one of those lesbians who hate men because men don't find them attractive. Couldn't you get a date to the prom, princess? Did you have to stay home and lick cunt?"

"Stop this!" I said, jabbing him in the chest. When he retreated, I turned around to Sherman Oliver and said icily, "You tell him to keep his mouth shut. This is difficult enough without a bunch of wise-ass remarks being thrown about. There's got to be some way to resolve this."

Oliver looked at the parking lot. He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "We cannot tolerate a lot of bad publicity. A bank survives on goodwill and community support. I guess I'd better go call Mr. Bernswallow and see what he wants us to do."

Brandon flinched. "Maybe I ought to call him."

"That might be better," Carolyn said sweetly. "Let him hear the news from his little boy who bullies women when he's not pulling wings off butterflies or using his masculine wiles to rape sorority girls."

"That's it, bitch!" Brandon said, moving toward her with a malevolent expression.

"Oh, Carolyn," trilled a voice from the parking lot. "It's time for supper. We want you to sit at the head table."

I wished I'd brought a bullet, if only to send it into my own head.

6

I pleaded with the sheriff's deputies until they agreed to stay for a while to maintain a semblance of order, and then I went to find Ruby Bee. She was sitting at a card table with Estelle, Johnna Mae, and Dahlia. As I approached, she made a great show of shoveling in the chicken salad, but I wasn't buying.

"We need to talk," I growled.

"Howdy, Arly," Dahlia said through a mouthful of green bean casserole, a Maggody favorite, done with cream of mushroom soup and canned onion rings. Ruby Bee always fancies it up with pimentos, claiming the addition of color gives it a festive air. Ruby Bee has the soul of an artist.

"Hi, Dahlia. I talked to Kevin earlier today, and he seemed pretty upset." I paused for a moment, both for dramatic effect and to allow her time to jump-start her brain, and then coldheartedly added, "In fact, he was so broken up he could hardly speak. He was in tears."

Her fork stopped midway to her mouth, possibly for the first time in her life. "He was? Gee, mebbe I'd better talk to him."

Estelle shook her head so hard a red curl popped loose to dangle in the middle of her forehead. "Now, Dahlia O'Neill, we already agreed that ain't none of us going to quit just because the menfolk try to pull this crap. We are doing this not only to help out Johnna Mae, but also to improve the lives of women across the country. They are our sisters, and we aim to see they are treated equally like men, not like some oppressive minority. You are not going to throw in the towel just because Kevin got all misty in front of Arly. He probably had a gnat in his eye."

"He has a terrible time with bugs when he rides his bicycle," Dahlia said, brightening enough to propel the fork into her mouth. "He like to choke himself silly on a June bug one time. I had to pound him on the back until I was afeared he would go flying on his face right in the dirt. Who made the green bean casserole? Was it Elsie McMay? I surely would like her recipe."

Ruby Bee poked a pile of the stuff with her fork. "Why, I declare, this has water chestnuts in it. Who'd have thought of such a thing? I'll speak to Elsie myself about it, then copy it on one of my personalized recipe cards for you, Dahlia."

"I was right on the verge of saying they were slices of celery," Estelle said pensively.

"No, they're water chestnuts," Johnna Mae said, not looking at me. "I sort of like the crunch myself."

I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and said, "I find it difficult to understand how you expect to improve the lot of American women by exchanging recipes in a bank parking lot. And according to the WAACO woman, you're all determined to stay here until wrongs are righted and justice prevails. Don't you think such lofty ideals will pale long about midnight, or did you bring kerosene lanterns so you can play canasta all night?" Ruby Bee turned up her nose at me, which took quite an effort since she was sitting down and I was looming over her. "We brought everything we need, including lanterns, and we intend to occupy this lot until our demands are met."

"This is not Columbia University, and you are not sixties college students," I pointed out as calmly as possible, considering. "Nobody may give a rat's ass where you sleep, but what about you, Johnna Mae? Are you planning to desert your husband and children for the duration?"

"I already explained to Putter, and he was real sweet about it. He understands this is the only way I can get my job back."

"What if Mr. Oliver decides to reinstate the battery complaint?"

"Carolyn says that we'll get national media coverage that will show how oppressed we pink-collar employees are. She says that once he hears the extent of her media resources, he won't have the balls to do it. She says if we stick it out, we will rid ourselves of the shackles of sexism."

"What has she been doing all week, lecturing on the proper rhetoric for confrontation?" I said, noticeably less calmly than before. "Did you all have vocabulary quizzes every evening after supper? Did she take off for spelling?"

Carolyn touched my elbow. "Arly, I hope you aren't feeling pressure from the paternalistic powers that control the town. We're doing this for the betterment of all the women in Maggody, and we'd like to think you'll support us. We're not the enemy. I'd hate to see you aligned with them, and therefore, against us."

"And your own mother," someone said under her breath.

"I am not against you. I agree that Johnna Mae deserves to get her old job back and receive some compensation for maternity leave. The problem is that you've breezed into town and stirred up a veritable hornet's nest, and these women are likely to be the ones who ultimately get stung. You've created a lot of animosity between husbands and wives, employers and employees, and mothers and daughters. Once this mess is resolved, you're going to breeze away, leaving these women to deal with the residual problems."

It was a stirring speech, I thought, but Carolyn merely gave me a supercilious smile and went to the adjoining table to congratulate Elsie McMay on the success of the damn green bean casserole.

I glowered at Ruby Bee, who was still prodding the goop with her fork. "Did we bring our sleeping bags?"

"And our cots," she replied serenely.

I was about to inquire about pajamas and toothbrushes when Earl Buchanon burst out of the group across the street and stalked to the line in the middle of the highway. "What about my supper?" he yelled.

Eilene Buchanon put down her napkin and stood up. "You can cook it yourself, or you can starve. It makes no matter to me."

"Listen up, woman, and listen up good. You're making a fool of yourself, you and your friends. You all are acting like those yellow-bellied Communist hippies did during the Vietnam war. I want you to git over here right this minute, unless you want me to come over there and git you!"

Conversation concerning water chestnuts and double-fudge-cake brownies stopped abruptly. All of the women looked at Eilene and then at Earl, as did, the deputies, Oliver and Bernswallow, who were still by the door of the bank, and the chief of police, who was praying for a semi to come barreling around the curve at eighty miles an hour.

Millicent McIlhaney's husband joined Earl on the broken yellow line. "You, too, Millicent," he called. "You and Darla Jean stop this foolishness and git over here. If you know what's good for you, you'll have my supper on the table damn quick."

Brother Verber strutted forward. Rocking on the balls of his feet, he folded his hands over his belly and said, "We all can see this is the work of the devil, particularly if you're intending to get naked and slaughter farm animals and rub their blood on your bodies and dance. Your very souls are in peril of eternal fire. Yes, I said in peril of eternal fire that'll lick at your feet and singe your skin until you cry for mercy. I am sorry to have to tell you that the Bible says there won't be any mercy. If at this very moment one of you rips off your clothes, I can pray for you but I can't be responsible for your soul."

"Old fart," Johnna Mae muttered.

Ruby Bee wrinkled her nose at Estelle. "Why on earth would we want to get naked and rub blood on ourselves? I don't recollect hearing anyone suggest that."

"I think I'd remember," Estelle said, equally bewildered. Both of them looked at Dahlia, but she was preoccupied with a molded gelatin salad (lemon Jell-O, pecan pieces, and coconut).

A fourth figure found courage to come forward, although he almost tripped on a particularly sly bit of gravel. "Dahlia," he yelled, "I want you to give up this tomfoolery. We aren't married like these other folks, but we've been keeping company for a long time and I'd like to think you're bespoken for."

"Why, Dahlia," Estelle said, "I hadn't heard that, but I'm thrilled to pieces for you. When are you two planning to get hitched?"

Dahlia's cheeks puffed out and her lower lip protruded. "You can think whatever you like, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon," she yelled, "but I am not bespoken for and you got no call to say such a thing, especially in the middle of the road and in front of everybody."

"And I ain't going home," Eilene Buchanon said loudly.

"Neither am I," Millicent said. Other protesters echoed the phrase, and Johnna Mae snuck in another "old fart," this time loudly enough to elicit a harrumph from the old fart himself.

Ruby Bee got up and went to the edge of the road. She placed her fists on her hips and produced the expression that had cut short many a potential barroom brawl. "Now it's your turn to listen and listen up good, Earl Buchanon, and the rest of you. I happen to be a widow, so I don't have to take orders from some chauvinist anymore, or scurry around trying to get supper on the table exactly at five o'clock or stay up till midnight ironing overalls or get up at six every blasted morning to make biscuits from scratch. But I did it for right at twenty years, because I was brought up to think that was the way married life was, that it didn't matter one hoot if I wanted to sleep late or go to a matinee at the picture show in Starley City. Well, no one should have to do those things unless she wants to, and none of us wants to anymore. Not Eilene or Millicent or Elsie or Dahlia, if and when she gets hitched, or any of us here in the parking lot."

She was working up to a Verberish pitch when a car came around the curve, braked momentarily, and stopped at the edge of the lot. Truda Oliver got out and came over to the table where I was still looming. "Johnna Mae, I have thought about how the bank treated you after you took that time off to have a baby, and I have decided that you deserve better from the institution you have been loyal to all these years." She fluttered a hand at her husband, who was clinging to Bernswallow like a baby possum hanging on to its mama. "Sherman, I am going to stay here and support this protest until you agree to undo all the wrong things done to this woman. As for your supper, it's high time you figured out how to work the can opener."

Carolyn rose to her feet and began to applaud in a slow, measured rhythm. One by one, her followers stood up and joined in until each clap seemed louder than a firecracker. Sherman Oliver stared uncomprehendingly at his wife, who had a hand on Johnna Mae's shoulder and a smile that surpassed simple martyrdom by a long shot. The noise drove those on the yellow line back to the far side of the road, where they muttered to each other and shuffled their feet in the gravel.