Miss Julia Hits the Road (19 page)

So I told him what I wanted, running as fast as I could through the catastrophe that had befallen the people on Willow Lane, Clarence Gibbs’s plans for a plant to bottle cow-tainted water, and our need to help the people who had helped build our community.

“Clarence Gibbs,” he said, running a hand across his mouth as his eyes wandered around the room. “Never had much use for that sneaky sonuvabitch.”

“Mr. Jones!”
I rared back, shocked by his use of profanity in mixed company. Then, on second thought, I decided to make use of his openly expressed feelings. “Ah, well, many others might agree with you. Although perhaps not in such terms. Now, what we need to do, Mr. Jones . . .”

“Thurlow. Call me Thurlow,” he reminded me, but not as strongly as before. He appeared to have his mind still on Clarence Gibbs.

“Thurlow,” I said, almost choking on it, “we need to buy up that property and prevent Mr. Gibbs from proceeding with his own plans. It’s for sale for a period of three weeks only, so we have to raise the money before then. I know you’d like to help, Thurlow, so what can we count on you for?”

I wasn’t good at asking for money and it grated on my soul to have to do it. He was still musing over something in his own mind and didn’t appear to have heard me. So, figuring if I ground my teeth much more I’d have to make a dental appointment, I gritted them once again and leaned over to put my hand on his arm.

I smiled my most winning smile. “Thurlow? The people on Willow Lane really need your help.”

He glanced at my hand, then leaned close, the bristles on his face shining whitely. He blew out his breath from behind those false teeth, and it was all I could do to keep a smile on my face.

“One thing I’ll have you know, little lady,” he said, offending me something awful—I’d easily make two of him. I took my hand away, wishing I could smack him with it, and prepared myself to leave. But he wasn’t through. “I’m not in the habit of giving money to every Tom, Dick, or Harry who shows up on my doorstep.”

Then in a sudden change of mood, he demanded, “Who else have you hit up for donations? If you expect me to be the Lone Ranger on this, you got another think coming.”

“Everybody,” I assured him. “Everybody in town is participating. Why, Mr., I mean, Thurlow, the children are contributing, banks, businesses, individuals—just everybody—and we want you to be a part of it. Why, just listen, the garden club is having a home tour, the Boy Scouts are raking leaves—which you could take advantage of; your yard badly needs it. There’s talk of a bake sale, a talent show, a basketball game and . . .” I turned to Lillian, using the opportunity to slide away from Mr. Jones’s vicinity. “What’s the name of that other thing Mr. Pickens was talking about?”

“A Poker Run,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?” Mr. Jones leaned forward, cupping his hand around his ear. “Speak up, I didn’t hear you.”

“A Poker Run,” I said, in a voice somewhat above my normal tones. “You know, it’s something having to do with cards and motorcycles.”

“Hah!” he cackled, throwing himself against the recliner so that both feet came off the floor as it sprang backward. “I’d like to see that!”

“Well, you’ll certainly have the opportunity. Now, Thurlow, how much can we expect from you?”

He raised himself to a half-sitting position, fastened his eyes on me, and said, “You ridin’?”

“Oh, no, not me.” I twittered at the thought. Everybody and his brother seemed to think I belonged on a motorcycle. “No,” I said, shaking my head as if I purely regretted my inability to straddle and ride. “That’s not the sort of thing I do.”

“I dare you,” he said, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in doing so.

“Absolutely not.”

“Hah!” he yelled, jerking his chair upright so that he was almost catapulted off of it. “Double-dog dare you.”

I’d had almost more than I could take from Thurlow Jones, so I gripped my pocketbook and prepared to rise.

Then, squinching his eyes as a beam of sunlight in the darkened room flashed on his glasses and cocking his head in a calculating way, he said, “I’d give money to see it.”

I gasped, struggling to maintain my decorum as I balanced my strong aversion to motorcycles in general, and to me on one in particular, against my even stronger desire for a large check from Thurlow Jones. He watched me carefully, as if he could see the battle in my mind. I settled back on the sofa.

“How much?” I whispered, the battle now won.

“How much what?”

“How much would you give to see me on one of those death machines?”

“Hah!” he yelled, springing back in the chair again, his legs spraddled out so that one slipper went flying, landing on Ronnie, who passed gas in surprise.

I ignored the faux pas, as any well-bred lady would under the circumstances. Lillian looked as if she were about to pass out, but then she was closer to the dog.

“Behave, Ronnie,” Mr. Jones yelled. “There’s ladies present. Now, Ju-u-lia,” he crooned, moderating his voice and turning to me with what looked like a salivating grin on his face. “I’d give one hundred thousand buckeroos to see you ride in that Poker Run. How you like them apples?”

I couldn’t get my breath. A hundred thousand dollars. Lord, that property was as good as ours. A quick thought of what I’d have to do for it passed through my mind, and I just as quickly let it pass on out. I’d face that when the time came.

“I like them just fine. Now, if you’ll just give me a check.”

“Not so fast, little lady,” he said, that grin still on his face. “I got to see it before you get it. You might cash my check and then back out on me.”

“Indeed, I would not,” I said, ruffled that he would impugn my given word. “But, now that you’ve brought it up, how do I know
you
won’t back out on
me?
I’m the one risking my life, here. To say nothing of the impropriety of it all.”

He cackled again, seemingly delighted to have someone stand up to him. “We better come to terms then, hadn’t we? You wanna sign an agreement?” He hopped up and scrounged around on a littered desk in the corner, then swung around with a sheet of paper and a pen in hand. “Your woman,” he said, pointing the pen at Lillian, “can be a witness. We can get it notarized, too, if you want to hold me to the fire.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, aghast at taking such an agreement downtown for some notary to look at. Even though they’re not supposed to read a document, you know they do. “No,” I went on, “what you can do is give me a down payment today, and we’ll both sign an agreement that upon my completion of the Poker Run, you’ll hand over the remainder.”

His eyebrows went up and a look of absolute pleasure passed across his face. “A looker
and
a businesswoman! God dog, you don’t meet many of them,” he said, then he turned to Lillian. “That’s a fine-looking woman, ain’t she?” Lillian nodded, too mesmerized to speak. “Yessir,” Mr. Jones went on in a satisfied way, “a handsome woman with a head on her shoulders. Holds herself well, too, don’t she? A little age on her, though, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”

Lillian was nodding, then shaking, her head, her eyes wide and round. I sat there while my qualities were being analyzed as if I were an object up for sale.

Lord, I thought, that’s exactly what I am.

Then, waving the sheet of paper, Mr. Jones said to me, “Come on over here, I’m gonna write this up right now. Can’t let you get away without signing it.”

“And you need to sign your check,” I said, as sharply as I could between gritted teeth. “Make it out to the Willow Lane Fund.”

He laughed, his narrow shoulders shaking. “Tell you what I’ll do,” he said, holding up the pen. “I’ll write out a check for fifty thousand, and give it to you today. Then I’ll write another one for the same amount, but I’ll hold onto it till I see you come sailing in on a motorcycle. That’ll make a cool one hundred thousand. Now, wait, I see you gettin’ all huffed up, but I ain’t finished.” He looked off into the distance as his mind turned over some other crazy notion. “Here’s the deal,” he finally said. “Listen up, now. What I’ll do is donate ten thousand more dollars for every female you can get to ride in that Poker Run. And I mean
quality
ladies. I’m not talking your usual run of Harley mamas.”

I needed a fan to stir up enough air to breathe. Other ladies? Who? And how in the world could I talk anybody into doing what I so feared to do myself?

I narrowed my eyes, thinking LuAnne, maybe Helen Stroud, and certainly Hazel Marie. Several young women in the church came to mind.

“How many would you have in mind?” I asked.

“However many you can get. Hell, it’s only money.” He watched me, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. “But let’s make it interesting. Any woman under fifty won’t count.”

There went more than half the women I’d come up with, but there were still plenty who could meet the age requirement—if they’d admit it. “Write out the agreement and the down payment check,” I told him. “And sign both of them. I’ll deposit the check, and the other one better be waiting for me when I come off that Run.”

And he did, laughing to himself and mumbling about how he liked a woman who knew her own mind. And he had certainly met one today, although I feared that I might’ve lost it, too.

I took the signed check and a copy of the agreement and walked toward the door, Lillian close behind. Mr. Jones hurried in front of us, almost skipping in his eagerness to be a gentleman.

As he opened the door, I spoke as formally as I could under the circumstances. “I can’t tell you how much your generosity is appreciated, Mr., I mean, Thurlow. You are to be commended for the greatness of your heart.”

I stepped aside so Lillian could precede me, as I knew she was anxious to get away. While she hurried to the car, I turned and offered my hand to Mr. Jones.

“Thank you again,” I said stiffly, wanting to leave the impression of a cool and self-possessed businesswoman. “And, Thurlow, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t even think of stopping payment on this check.”

“Dear lady, you have cut me to the quick,” he said, taking my offered hand with one of his, while the other one slid around my waist. Before I knew it, his bony fingers had nipped through wool coat, wool dress, and silk underclothing to a most tender and private spot.

“Mr. Jones!” I shrieked, backhanding him with my pocketbook and scurrying out the door. I could hear him cackling as I steamed my way to the car.

“Lillian,” I said, breathing heavily as I locked the car door behind me. “You won’t believe what that old goat did.”

“Don’t you tell a soul,” I said to Lillian, as we got to the house. I was so glad to be home and away from that offensive old man I didn’t know what to do.

What I did was take off my coat and try to calm my jittery nerves. “Let’s have some coffee, Lillian. I declare, I have never been subjected to such an outrage in my life.”

I sank down into a chair at the table and covered my face with my hands. “Such presumption,” I moaned. Then I took my hands down and looked at her. “Say something, Lillian.”

“That ole man need a whippin’, is what I say. An’ nobody gonna know anything ’bout it from me. But what you gonna tell Mr. Sam about how you gettin’ them checks?”

“I’ll just tell him that we asked him for a donation, and he gave us one. The other one, the one we’ll get if I ride that machine, well, I’ll think of something when the time comes. Just don’t let on that he’s paying to see me on a motorcycle. And, whatever you do, don’t say a word about him pinching me, it’s too humiliating.”

Lillian set a cup of coffee in front of me and said, “You don’t need to tell me more’n oncet ’bout that pinchin’, but you better make out like you change yo’ mind ’bout that Poker Run thing. An’ Mr. Sam gonna want to know why you change it. An’ something else you better be thinking about is how you gonna get some of them quality ladies on a motorsickle.”

“I’m trying to think of how to present it to them.” I picked up the cup, then set it back down. “Oh, Lord, Lillian, you know what this means, don’t you? I have been bought and paid for. That’s why that repulsive old man thought he could put his hands on my person and get away with it. He paid for the privilege. What if he tries to pinch every woman who climbs on a motorcycle?”

“I ’spect he won’t try long ’fore somebody take a broom to him.” She put her hands on her hips and laid down the law. “Now, I want you to quit carryin’ on like you doin’. All he done was put up money for that Poker Run thing to help us all out. It don’t buy him nothin’ else, so you jus’ set him straight on that.”

I started laughing, though I felt more like crying from the shame of it all. “Oh, Lillian, I think I did. I whacked him good with my pocketbook, and it certainly set him back a step or two.” I wiped my eyes, trying to see the humor of being pursued by a disreputable old man with false teeth that kept loosening up on him. For all I knew, Sam could be just as crazy, but at least he had his own teeth. And he was tall.