Maggie Sweet (11 page)

Naturally
, feeling that happy couldn’t go on forever, not for a good Methodist girl from Poplar Grove, North Carolina.

It started with Mama Dean calling to let me know she wasn’t speaking to me. She does this by phoning but not saying anything. She just breathes into the receiver.

The first time she did this, I thought it was an obscene caller. Now she’s done it so often I recognize her breathing.

“Mama Dean, is that you?”

Silence.

“Mama Dean, I know it’s you. I can hear you breathing.”

More silence.

“Mama Dean, whatever it is, I apologize. Just tell me what I did or didn’t do.”

Dead silence.

By now I was wishing it was an obscene caller. An obscene caller would be a lot easier to deal with than Mama Dean. At least I could slam the receiver or blow a whistle into the phone on one of them.

“Mama Dean, if you don’t say something in five seconds I’ll figure it’s a pervert and hang up.”

She gasped at the word
pervert,
then her breathing went back to normal.

I hung up, then redialed. The line was busy. I hung up again, redialed again. This time the phone rang and rang. Finally, someone answered.

“Mother?”

“What in the world’s going on? I had to get out of the shower to answer the phone. Here’s me dripping all over the carpet and Mama’s sitting there glaring at the phone but letting it ring away.”

“She called me up not speaking,” I said.

“Oh, Lord, Maggie. What have you gone and done?” Mother asked.

“That’s the thing; I don’t know.”

“All right, I’ll find out and call you back.”

Two minutes later the phone rang. “She says she’s not talking to you ’cause you were supposed to come and do her hair this morning.”

“Oh, Lord, Mother, I forgot.”

“She says she had to go uptown with her head in a polka-dotted roller bonnet. She says she looked like a haint and it’s all your fault.”

“Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I’ll be out first thing in the morning. I’ll even throw in a manicure,” I said.

“She says you needn’t to bother. She says because of you, everyone thinks she’s the town character.”

“But she
is
the town character.”

“Maggie Sweet, that’s not the least bit funny. Do you really want me to tell her that?”

“No, Mother. She’s just got me worn out. Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything you say.”

“I think you better come tomorrow and plan to stay and stay.”

“You mean pay and pay,” I said, feeling depressed.

“Well, Maggie Sweet, what a thing to say!”

“I know, Mother. But sometimes I think I’ve been paying my whole life.”

It was
dark when I drove to the pay phone in Dixie Burger’s parking lot. Inside, someone was playing Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.”

“I can’t see you in the morning. I was supposed to do Mama Dean’s hair today but someone, uh, sidetracked me and I forgot. Now she’s mad.”

“There’s a lot of that ‘sidetracking’ going around. This morning a pretty brown-haired woman sidetracked me for hours. Made me forget everything.”

“I miss you already.”

“Honey, I need to ask you, does your Mama Dean still follow you around?”

I thought back to high school when Mama Dean really did follow me.

“No. She doesn’t get around like she once did. But she’s still someone to reckon with. She called me up today, not speaking.”

“What?”

“She calls on the phone but won’t speak, just breathes. When your grandmother calls you up and breathes into the phone it’ll make you feel guilty as homemade sin.”

“Guilty about us?”

“Never about us; just about forgetting Mama Dean. I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world. And I have to be careful. If she gets suspicious we’re doomed. She’d call out her bloodhounds in a heartbeat.”

“That paints a picture.”

“I know. I’ll see you after lunch. Don’t cook.”

The
next morning, along with the manicure set and hairdo supplies, I carried chicken salad and an Impossible Pie to the boardinghouse.

Mother, who was working second shift at the hospital, met me at the door. She was dressed in a pink housecoat and smelled like Jergen’s lotion as usual. When she hugged me, she whispered, “Mama Dean’s on the warpath. Look out.”

I pasted a smile on my face and called out, “Hey, Mama Dean! I brought your favorites for lunch.”

Mama Dean was sitting in her rocking chair, wearing the polka-dotted roller bonnet over wet shampooed hair and an inside-out housecoat held together with three big safety pins. “Well, look what the cat’s done drug in,” she said.

I put the chicken salad in the refrigerator, cut three slices of pie, poured coffee, and carried everything on a tray to the front room. “Have you all been doing all right?” I was determined not to let her get me down.

“You’re the one whose been so almighty busy,” Mama Dean said.

“I
have
been busy,” I said, avoiding her eyes.

“I see you had enough time to do your hair different. It looks like it’s been boiled and hung upside down to dry,” she said, sniffing.

I patted my hair nervously. Had it really been that long? I’d done my hair weeks ago. Then I remembered: I’d done Mama Dean’s hair last week and the week before that. I’d only missed yesterday because it wasn’t our regular day. Mama Dean was setting me up, spoiling for a fight. But I didn’t have to take the bait.

“Now, Mama Dean, you know I was here last week. You said you loved my hairdo. Why, I was planning to try it on you today,” I said, winking at Mother.

“Well, sister, who put Tabasco sauce in
your
oatmeal?” she snapped. “I never said any such. I don’t hold with that newfangled bull; old-fashioned hairdos, old-fashioned morals. Why, the hairdos and the morals in this town is already going downhill in a handbasket.”

“Now, Mama, hairdos don’t have a thing to do with morals,” Mother said. “Remember how worked up you got when crew cuts came into style? You said all the boys looked like death-row convicts and most of ’em grew up just fine.”

“But now it’s the women looking like convicts. I never thought I’d live to see any such. I saw Mary Price uptown the other day in a crew cut as yellow as a pumpkin. I swanee, she looked wild as a buck.”

“Now, Mama Dean, you know Mary Price is in show business. She’s supposed to look different than real life,” I said.

“Hmph. Show business or monkey business, she looks wild as a buck. You always did admire wildness, though. You take after your daddy that way.”

I smiled helplessly at Mother, unpacked my comb, a round brush, rollers, setting gel, and hair spray. “I did
Mary Price’s hair for her opening at Palomino Joe’s,” I said.

“Hmph. I wouldn’t brag on it.”

I dropped the subject of Mary Price and Palomino Joe’s and started combing Mama Dean’s hair. Mother’s radio was playing “Tennessee Waltz.”

Mama Dean said, “I think you young people are losing your simple minds. I heard about Toy Overcash. She ought to count her blessings. A good husband and all those children. Then she runs off over a’ art studio.”

“Who told you about that?”

“Mama ran into Dreama Nims uptown the other day,” Mother said.

“Why do you listen to that old gossip?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t get around like I once did and no one around here tells me a thing,” Mama Dean said.

“That’s because it’s over and it didn’t amount to a hill of beans. I just hate and despise Dreama Nims. She’s a gossip and a liar,” I said.

“Well, sister, what a thing to say,” Mama Dean said.

“It’s only the truth. Toy did leave home, but only for a few hours. She got fed up with Bobby treating her like a doormat.”

I’d rolled the top of Mama Dean’s hair, now I was sectioning off the sides. The radio was playing “On the Rock Where Moses Stood.”

“It’s always over some stinking man. But now Toy’s gone and ruint herself. And her with that new ranch-style house with the automatic garage-door opener. I tell you, the women’s getting as selfish and no-account as the men,” Mama Dean said.

“Toy’s not selfish and no-account. If anything she was too nice for her own good,” I said.

“Well, she couldn’t be
that
nice or she’d stay at home. A real mother’s place is at home with her children, not gallivanting off to some art school. If her nerves is bad let her take up something soothing like cake decorating or crocheting, something for the family. She could even start a ceramics shop in her garage and never have to go anywhere,” Mama Dean said.

“Ceramics would go good here in Poplar Grove. The ceramics shop in Harmony is so busy people have to take numbers to use the kiln,” Mother said.

“Mrs. Babcock from our church goes over there. She made those cute little frogs with fishing poles. Why, she’s made gnomes, dozens of the prettiest things,” Mama Dean said.

“But Toy doesn’t want ceramics, she wants art school,” I said.

“Hmph. Art school don’t put food on the table. It’s as useless as tits on a bull,” Mama Dean said.

“Lord, Mama Dean! It doesn’t matter if everyone thinks it’s useless, it’s what Toy wants. While Toy was nicing herself to death, Bobby was doing exactly what he wanted and no one ever accused him of not being a ‘real’ father. I don’t see why she can’t do what she wants instead of doing what she has to do and pretending it’s what she wants,” I said.

“Well, Maggie Sweet!”

“Well, it’s true. Can’t Toy have a life? Isn’t she a person? Look what all Mary Price has done and she’s—”

“Mary Price is entirely different. She was always different. Hoyt knew that before he married her. Bless his
heart. But Toy changed
after.
A person can’t go around changing
after.
Why, just think how Bobby and those children must feel with Toy going around like a hippie,” Mama Dean said.

“You don’t have to bless Hoyt’s heart. He’s not pitiful.” My neck felt hot. It’s true what they say about getting hot under the collar.

“What did you say, Maggie Sweet?” Mama Dean said.

“I said Hoyt isn’t pitiful. They might fuss and argue but at least they know they’re alive,” I said.

“We’re not talking about Hoyt and Mary Price. We’re talking about people changing
after.
People ought
not
to change after they marry.”

I didn’t think, I just blurted out, “Well, for goodness sake, Mama Dean. If people can’t change after, they might as well book the church for their wedding and funeral on the same day—cut out the middle fifty years altogether.”

Mama Dean just looked at me. Then she said, “Speaking of people changing
after.
I heard you was seen dancing in the Winn-Dixie awhile back. There’s some that says you must’ve been drinking the way you was carrying on.”

I took a deep breath. I’d taken the bait, walked right into her trap after all.

“Well, damn! Damn that Dreama Nims, anyway,” I flared.

“Well, sister! What a thing to say!” Mama Dean said.

“Maggie Sweet, there’s no need to cuss,” Mother said.

“It’s enough to make a preacher cuss, Mother. Dreama Nims talking about me to my own grandmother. I can’t believe it.”

Mama Dean narrowed her eyes to slits. “What I want to know, sister is, is it true?”

“Lord, Mama Dean, I
was
dancing. Mary Price and Hoyt were in the Winn-Dixie…they’d just found out they had the job at the Palomino. We were laughing, hugging…celebrating. I tell you, I could kill Dreama Nims!”

“They say the boy you dated back in school was in on it,” Mama Dean went on, dismissing my explanation like a dog flicking off a flea.

My eyes welled up. Mama Dean knew about Jerry.

Nobody said anything for a while.

Finally Mother said, “Now, Mama, there’s no need of this. Nobody was ‘in on’ anything. Nothing happened. Why, that boy was twenty years ago. Besides, Maggie Sweet doesn’t drink or gallivant. She’d never do a thing in this world to shame any of us. She’s been a good wife and mother, you’ve said so yourself a million times. She even gave up that beauty shop she wanted so bad to stay home with her children.”

Mother defending me made me feel worse than Mama Dean fussing at me. Her absolute belief that I’d always do the right thing made my stomach clench and my eyes well up, but so far it had always worked.

“I didn’t give it up, Mother. Steven wouldn’t let me work,” I muttered.

“And I thank God every day for that,” Mother said. “Steven’s a good man. I’d have given anything to have stayed home and raised you full-time.”

“But my girls are raised. What am I supposed to do now?”

“See, Betty. I told you she bears watching. And, sister, I can sure as the world tell you what you’re
not
supposed to do.” Mama Dean shook her finger at me.

I ducked my head. Felt the tears behind my eyes.

“Lord, Mama,” Mother said. “Life’s hard on women and Maggie’s always been deep. Why, I’ve seen her staring out the window up the road for years. But she’d never go back on her raising. She’s always done the right thing. And I know she’ll do the right thing now.”

Oh, Lord.

“Hmmph. Hard times! Hard times. You all don’t know a thing about hard times. Why, Maggie’s got everything a body could want, a family, a fine home in the historical part of town, that Add-a-pearl necklace…I don’t know what more she could want. I’ll tell you about hard times; the Depression was hard times, walking to school barefoot, living off corn bread and beans. Why, I could go on and on.”

I wanted to say, I know you’ve seen hard times, but it’s hard to turn an Add-a-pearl necklace into a reason for living. But I kept quiet. Mama Dean was still going on and on when I covered her curlers with a net and tucked her under the dryer.

Lying
in bed with Jerry that afternoon, I told him about Dreama’s gossip and what Mother and Mama Dean had said.

“You’ve got to tell them, honey. It’ll be a lot easier when you tell them you’re leaving, when everything’s out in the open.” he said.

“How can I leave now? The girls graduate in two weeks.”