Southern Fried (5 page)

reached out to hold my hand. I grabbed on to hers. We bowed

our heads, eyes closed good and tight. “Dear Lord,” she said,

beginning our grace, “we thank you for the food we are about to

eat. And we thank you for bringing old friends home and even

older friends up to heaven with you. Please forgive her, Lord; she

meant well.”

“Amen,” I said, squelching a laugh. Then I looked over at

Pearl. “Granny didn’t do anything she didn’t mean to do, you

know.
Well
or not.”

She smiled. “Trust me, I know. Anyway,
he
knows that already,

southeRn FRied
23

doesn’t he? I was just hedging us some bets.”

“Amen,” I repeated, already eagerly lifting up a drumstick to

my mouth.

It was hot and crisp and fried to perfection. Colonel Sanders

had nothing on Pearl. The chicken was moist, cooked with tender

loving care. The greens were both bitter and hot, spicy hot,

smothered with some secret sauce that burned a hole through

your tongue, the fire doused with iced tea that had been brewing

all day in the sun. The yams were home grown, sweet and candied,

with extra heaping spoonfuls of brown sugar. A plate of biscuits

sat to the side, dripping with butter and honey. “Hot damn,” I

couldn’t help but groan, in between hearty mouthfuls.

She smiled, lips wrapped around a thigh. “You got that right,

boy.”

Ten minutes later, we had both cleaned our plates, not a

wayward crumb to be found. Though I did, of course, save some

room. Peach pie was quickly proffered, topped with homemade

whipped cream, steam rising up as I cut into it. “I should’ve

come home sooner,” I said, slapping down a slab onto my plate.

Pearl did the same. “But you didn’t, boy, did you?”

I set my fork down and looked up at her, a frown suddenly

forming on both our faces. “She wouldn’t let me, Pearl,” I

explained. “I tried, believe me, I did. But she preferred to meet

me in Atlanta or Savannah, Charleston or Hilton Head. Anywhere

she could get driven to in a day’s time. Then it was a vacation

for both of us. Me being home, she said, took all the fun out it

because she’d still have to work, as she called it.” I again reached

out and held Pearl’s hand. “And you know there was no arguing

with Granny. Would’ve had better luck with this piece of pie.”

Her smile returned, however half-heartedly. “Pie’s too good

to argue with, Trip; just go ahead and eat it. Least you’re home

now, and that’s all that counts.”

Which was true, though it didn’t make me feel any less guilty.

Pearl had been at the mansion since I was a baby, hired to clean

and cook and take care of me, mostly the latter as it turned out.

24 Rob Rosen

Meaning, she was owed more than just my weak apology.

Finished with our meals, I excused myself and went to my

room, belly so full it felt ready to burst. I got out of my clothes

and slipped into my pajamas, then hopped into bed, the list

again folded opened and on my lap. With the news of Granny’s

passing, I hadn’t given much thought to the people that worked

for her, for the mansion itself, to the will and all it entailed. I

was a Jackson, like Granny was, but that’s where the similarities

ended. For better or worse, Granny made me into a Yankee. Odd

but true. And a gay Yankee at that. What did that mean for all

our futures? Or had Granny taken care of that as well? Guess,

I’d have to wait and see. No use putting the cart in front of the

horse just yet.

And speaking of horses, their handler was sneaking into my

room at that very moment, a smile on his face, a plate in his hand.

“Pearl left me a snack,” he said, by way of greeting, gently

closing the door behind him.

I folded the paper and sat up, spotting the biscuits he was

holding out for me. “Pearl’s snacks can make a grown man weep,”

I whispered, making room on the bed for him.

He hopped in, snuggling next to me, good and tight. “Thank

goodness I ain’t no grown man just yet, then. Shame to get these

biscuits all wet.” He grabbed one and set to work. Reluctantly, so

did I. Well, maybe not reluctantly. After all, I wasn’t full grown

just yet, either. And there was always room for one of Pearl’s

biscuits.

I put my arm around him and he slid into my crook, head on

my shoulder, both of us contentedly chewing away. “You going

to the funeral tomorrow, Zeb?” I asked, hopefully.

He laughed, despite the direness of the question. “Your granny

would haunt me until the day I die if I didn’t, Trip. Woman was

vengeful in life; in death, Lord only knows what she’d be like.”

I nodded and laughed right along with him, setting the plate

on the nightstand. “Yep,” I said, sinking into my down pillow as

he rolled over, his hand on my chest, body soft and warm against

southeRn FRied
25

mine. “You have a point.”

His hand moved south, landing playfully on my crotch. “So

do you, Trip. So do you.”

The next morning I woke in my old bed, not feeling anything

like the randy teenager I used to be. Well, a teenager at any rate;

the randy part was taken care of those several times the day

before. Sadly, however, my caretaker was already up and gone.

Seems like the horses needed Zeb more than I did. Only, the

horses didn’t have to bury anybody that day. In other words,

I may not have needed my flanks brushed, but my own needs

weren’t any less pressing.

Fine, fine, so I’m being a bit overdramatic. But, I mean, I

wasn’t yet thirty and had no mom, no dad, no family. Granted, by

all accounts, I had a mansion and a bunch of servants, but, uh,

but… okay, I see your point; hard to feel sorry for a guy with a

mansion and bunch of servants. I get it. But, truthfully, it didn’t

make me feel any better. Not a lick. I stared up at the ceiling and

shook my fist at Granny. “Not a lick!” I shouted. Then I shook

my fist at the floor, too, because the odds seemed so much better

that way. “Not a lick!” I shouted again.

“Boy, who you talking to?” Pearl asked, kicking open the door

with her foot while holding a tray overflowing with breakfast, a

pot of piping hot coffee, a yellow flower in a porcelain vase.

Again I stared at the ceiling, smelling the wonderful aroma

coming off the tray.
Well, maybe just a little lick, but from a small

tongue
. Then I looked at Pearl. “Morning, Pearl. And nobody in

particular, to answer your question.”

She
tsk
ed me and set the tray down. “City done made you daft,

boy,” she chided, taking a bite of my toast, the butter sliding off,

a glob of marmalade with it. Homemade, if I wasn’t mistaken.

The peaches, of course, came from our very own orchard.

Again I looked to the ceiling, giving it a shrug. “A little daft

28 Rob Rosen

goes a long way, Pearl. Keeps the beggars away. And the Girl

Scouts, too. Parents don’t let their kids knock on a crazy person’s

doors. Nifty trick I learned.”

She sat on the bed and finished my slice of toast. Thankfully,

it had a sister. I grabbed it before she did. “You get that from

your granny,” she said, chewing.

“Penchant for toast?” I matched her chew for chew.

She slapped my arm. “The
crazy
, boy. Your granny was crazy,

too. Did some of the strangest things at times. Couldn’t rightly

guess what she was up to when she got like that.” She shook her

head, sipping from my coffee. “Crazy.”

“Like what?” I asked, starting in on my omelet before she had

the chance to.

She scratched her chin, a tater tot now between her nimble

fingers. She popped it whole in her mouth. “I don’t know,” she

replied, shooting crumbs my way, which she quickly brushed off

the bed. “Like when you done left, she’d come up here at night

when she thought I’d left for the day. Only, I heard her, pacing

around, opening and closing drawers. I’d ask her about it, but

she’d say I was hearing things. And, boy, everything else might be

going, but my hearing is still top notch. Like a hawk.”

I shook my head back and forth. “I think hawks are known

for their eyesight, Pearl, more than for their hearing.”

She slapped me again. “Boy, don’t you sass me. Anyway, my

eyesight ain’t too shabby neither.” She ate another tater tot and

grabbed my fork when I set it down, starting in on my omelet

right where I had left off.

“Maybe she missed me,” I offered. “Maybe she came up here

to be closer to me the only way she still could.”

Pearl snickered, the omelet nearly gone, my juice too, and the

tater tots, and toast, and strawberries. Thankfully, I wasn’t all that

hungry. “You’re confusing your granny with someone else, boy.

Woman didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body.” She nodded

and took another sip of coffee. My coffee. “Don’t get me wrong,

though; woman loved you something fierce. Just wasn’t her style

southeRn FRied
29

to show it too much. Least of all coming up here and getting all

sappy over it. Nope, just plumb crazy she got sometimes, I’m

telling you. Other things too, like whispering on the phone and

then pretending she wasn’t. And she hated talking on the phone.

You know it, too. But I’d catch her whispering, then lying about

it.”

Pearl had a point. Granny hated the phone, or anything electric

for that matter. Might’ve been born in the twentieth century, but

she had a foot stuck in the nineteenth. Barely talked to me when

I called. But she could write pages and pages worth, all on that

fancy scented stationary of hers. Yep, I could smell a letter from

her from a mile away.

“What else?” I asked, pushing the tray away. Breakfast, after

all, was finished.

She shrugged. “I don’t like talking bad about the dead, boy.”

I chuckled, despite the comment, the
dead
part of it, anyway.

“What’ve we been doing?”

The third slap was the hardest. Or I was just getting tender.

“Never mind, boy. She was just an old lady. And old ladies do

nutty things sometimes, I suppose. Probably not even knowing

they’re doing it.” She stood up and lifted the tray. Then she headed

for the door. “We’re leaving at eleven, Trip. Jeeves is driving us.

Wear something nice.” She left, the silence enveloping me like a

shroud. I shivered into it.

I’ll tell you this, though: Granny wasn’t crazy or old acting.

Ever. The woman retained her senses to the end, I was sure of it.

Held it all in like a steel safe. What Pearl was saying sounded fishy,

but it didn’t sound crazy. Again I did my ceiling stare. “What

were you up to, Granny? And why were you hanging around in

my bedroom? Never liked to come up here when I was around,

so why after?”

On that subject, Granny was silent. Not even a banging on

the wall or a shifting of a picture. Nothing remotely poltergeist-

like. Still, I had me a look around, just out of curiosity. Pearl, it

seemed, had it aroused. Zeb, of course, took care of all the rest

30 Rob Rosen

of my arousals, for the time being. Post-funeral, there was no

telling.

Problem was, it had been ten years since I’d been in my

room. Everything looked familiar, but in a distant way. Like I’d

seen it all in a movie rather than my life. And it all appeared in

place. Probably just where I left it all. Albums in alphabetical

order, books grouped by authors, posters on the walls in perfect

alignment. “God, I was anal.” Chalk it up to life with Granny.

Then I opened up the dresser drawers, figuring they’d be

empty. I mean, I took my clothes with me to college. I was

fairly certain I’d left nothing behind. But there was stuff inside.

Underwear, socks, a couple of t-shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair

of jeans. And none of it was for a teenager. Least not me. See, I

didn’t wear jeans; Granny wouldn’t allow them inside the house.

“Jeans is for fieldwork,” she’d say, sternly.

In other words, someone was using my room. Or living in

it. And under Pearl’s nose, I was certain, without her knowing

it. Unless Granny had taken to wearing men’s clothes, which I

highly doubted, amusing though the image might have been.

“Maybe one of the workers was squatting, using my room

without anyone knowing about it,” I said to myself, my fingers

shuffling the clothes around. “After all, no one ever came up

here once I was gone. What would’ve been the point?” Made

sense. The mansion was huge. You could come and go without

anybody knowing about it. Especially at night, when everyone

was sleeping or had gone home. Heck, I’d done my fair share of

sneaking out then. Well, twice, to be exact. But, in truth, that
was

my fair share.

Anyway, I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not then, at any

rate. I still had to get showered, dressed, and bury Granny. My

stomach tied up in knots at item number three. Are you ready for