Southern Fried (7 page)

blow. They’d certainly done me well in the past in that capacity.

southeRn FRied
37

Well, maybe not in the
same
capacity, but still.

I looked down at Pearl. She smiled and nodded. I looked at

Jeeves. Nothing. Go figure. Then I looked to Zeb. His smile lit

up the place. Heck, even Gabriel would’ve needed shades for

that one. And then, all of a sudden, I knew what to say. Because

it wasn’t for those people I was saying it; it was for Granny. And

you know what Granny would’ve said to me? She would’ve said,

“Tell it like it is, boy. ‘Cause most people won’t believe you either

way, so you might just as well speak the truth.”

I smiled as I stared at the coffin, and then I spoke. “Granny

was one of the best dancers I know.” I looked at the crowd, most

of their eyes growing wide at the comment, with more than a

few hushed whispers here and there. This was not what they were

expecting. And Granny hated giving people what they expected.

“What’s the fun in that?” she’d say. In any case, I continued. “She

loved getting in the middle of the crowd and lifting her arms up,

swaying them to the beat, on account of her hips didn’t work all

that well anymore.” Pearl snickered, which meant I was on the

right track. “See, in the crowd, Granny was just like everyone

else. Nobody was watching to see if she was saying or doing the

right thing. Nobody knew that she was a Jackson. Nobody knew

about the mansion or the plantation. Not that Granny didn’t love

the mansion, mind you; it’s just, it came with a price none of you

could see.”

I paused, trying to keep my voice in check and the floodgates

behind my eyes locked up good and tight. Granny hated when

people made a spectacle of themselves. And, if she was watching,

I didn’t want to disappoint. “See, she was Miss Jackson to you all.

But she was Granny to me. I got to see her for who she was.

And, yes, she was as ornery as you all thought, just as short-

tempered and irritable, but that’s because she had generations

and generations of Jacksons pressing down on her, forcing her

into a role too heavy for your average person.” Again I looked to

Pearl, her eyes shut good and tight, head bobbing up and down.

“And let me tell you all something right here and now, Granny

was anything but average.”

38 Rob Rosen

“Hallelujah,” shouted Pearl, a few uncertain amens following

suit.

“Now then, Granny wasn’t a God fearing Christian woman,

like many of you know. But that’s because she wasn’t
fearing
of

anything. In fact, she was the most fearless person I ever met

or ever hope to meet. Which is why she was able to get down

with it in the middle of a dance floor at her age.” Pearl had her

hands up in the air now, getting ready to
feel
it. “But Granny, well

now, she was a God
loving
woman. She loved God for all that he

gave her. Loved God for that mansion and her name. For her

peach crops and her rose bushes. Loved God for making her a

fine southern woman.” Well know, wouldn’t you know it, half

the crowd amened at that one. Probably all the women in the

audience, at any rate. “And, mostly, she loved God even though

he took her only child away from her and gave her me instead.

And that’s about as fearless a person as any of you would be

lucky enough to meet. And lucky for me as well, let me tell you.”

Pearl was on her feet now, “Hallelujah, praise Jesus!” I smiled,

knowing full well that this wasn’t
that
kind of Baptist church. Still,

a bunch of folks followed Pearl and a bunch more shouted their

praise up to the rafters. Meaning, if Gabriel was listening, I was

certain he was getting an earful. Probably from Granny right by

his side, I’d imagine.

“So for all of you out there, pretty much the whole town

it looks like from up here, for all of you who understand what

it’s like to show something on the outside but feel something

completely different on the inside, let me hear an amen!” There

was a murmur of it, a ripple across and down the pews. “And for

all of you who feel the crush sometimes and just wish you could

shake it off and get
down
with it, let me hear an amen!” And the

murmur went full-voice, rising like the tide. “And for those of

you who love the South and what it represents above what other

folks think about you, because let me tell you, Granny loved the

South and couldn’t give a damn what anybody thought about her,

let me hear an amen!” And, wouldn’t you know it, they were all

on their feet, every last one of them, even the ones that probably

southeRn FRied
39

couldn’t stand Granny. Because, above all else, they were her kin

just by being her neighbors, just by being born southern by the

grace of God. And Granny might have hated them all for a lot

of things, but she loved them all for that. And if Gabriel couldn’t

hear all those resounding amens then he surely needed himself

some hearing aids.

“Amen,” I whispered, staring at the coffin yet again, picturing

Granny smiling. Then I bowed, good actor that I am, and headed

back to my pew. I had mixed feelings about it being over, though,

because the tough part was still yet to come.

Pearl held my hand when I sat down. “Your Granny would’ve

been mighty proud of you, boy. You sure done told it like it is.

And that woman liked for people to say what they mean and

mean what they say.” She nodded and smiled. “Especially if she

came out looking good as a result.”

“Especially,” I agreed. “Besides, it isn’t too good to lie in the

house of the Lord. Least not when he’s about to judge your only

kin.”

“Amen,” both Jeeves and Pearl said. And I could’ve sworn I

saw just the slightest tear welling up in that old man’s eyes. Then

again, the pollen count was off the charts that day, so it was hard

to tell for certain.

Then the service was done with, the creepy preacher bowing

his head in one final prayer before telling the folks who wanted to

go to the burial where they should go. Me, I would’ve preferred a

nice stool at a nice bar, but this being Sunday, I wouldn’t have had

much luck. The South was nice for a lot of reasons, dry Sundays

not being one of them. Not that people didn’t get shit roaring

drunk, of course, just not so much in public, where the good

Lord could see you. Trust me, when you’re from the South, that

does indeed make some bit of sense.

We piled out after that, Zeb catching up to us before we

reached the Bentley, the rest of the staff milling about, none of

them any happier than we were about what needed to get done

next: one Granny, one meal ticket, good and buried. Still, it was

nice to see Zeb again. “You done real good, Trip,” he whispered

40 Rob Rosen

in my ear, his hand squeezing mine before anyone was the wiser.

“You think Granny would’ve liked it, Zeb?” I asked, locking

eyes with his, butterflies swarming all at once inside my belly.

“She would’ve loved it, Trip,” he replied, smiling and nodding.

“You done put her in the best light possible.”

I returned his smile in kind. “Which wasn’t an easy thing to

do, all things considered.”

He laughed. “I reckon not. Your Granny was more of an

acquired taste. Kind of like wanting to eat snails.”

See! See! Talk about being on the same wavelength. And,

damn, if those butterflies didn’t go wild at that comment. “And

you’re all coming to the burial, right?”

He nodded, again. “We’ll all be standing right behind you,” he

told me. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Miss Jackson was our

acquired taste, too, Trip. Seeing as how she done acquired all of

us, I mean.” An odd if not apt choice of words.

And then we were off. As before, I stared out the window,

though we only had to drive less than a mile. People like to be

buried as close to the church as they can be around those parts;

gives them a sense of peace, I suppose. Plus, the cemetery and

the church are as far way from the water as possible. Don’t want

your earthly remains or your house of worship to be washed out

to sea come the first bad rains. Or land you on the wrong side of

the tracks, heaven forbid.

We all made it to the cemetery a short while later, Granny

included. Mostly it was just us, those closest to her. The townsfolk

already made their required appearances; they’d done their parts

and were off the hook. Still, there were some old biddies scattered

here and there, neighbors who knew Granny when she was my

age or younger. Not too many of them left, so I figured they were

there to gloat. Though they’d all be following her soon enough.

Guess this was just a preview before the big event for them. I

know, I know, morbid thoughts for a morbid day. So sue me.

I turned and smiled at everyone. At Pearl and Jeeves. At Betty,

the maid, Jake, the pool man, Roy, the gardener, Zeb, of course,

southeRn FRied
41

and Stella, I guessed, the handyman. Pearl was right on that

account; one look at Stella and you knew handyman was what

you should call her, on account of she’d make Rosie O’Donnell

look petite. Though, oddly enough, she was just as beautiful as

she was brick-wally.

And that was pretty much everyone.

Everyone, that is, but one lone straggler hanging back some,

near to my age, good looking if not entirely solemn.

Him I’d never seen before. I nudged Pearl. “Who’s that?” I

pointed with my chin in his general direction.

Pearl squinted, tilting her hat up for a better view. “Huh,” she

said. “Don’t rightly know. He looks familiar, I suppose. Maybe he

did some work for Granny. She was always hiring people for this

and that. Odd jobs.”

“Huh,” I also said. “Kind of strange to come to a person’s

funeral that you barely know, though.” It was then it hit me.

“Unless that’s the Beau Pellingham mentioned in Granny’s will.”

I whispered the question to each of the staff in turn. They

all shrugged, all remembered seeing him around the mansion at

one point or another, but nothing beyond that. Strange, even

for Granny. You were either in her life or not; no one was on

the periphery. Least of all anyone allowed in the mansion. That

was sacred ground for her. Maybe you could make it inside the

greeting room, but never beyond that. Not even at parties. Those

always occurred out back, on the great lawn, or out front on the

veranda, for sweet iced tea and finger sandwiches.

See, Granny loved her sweet iced tea. She’d have Pearl brew it

in the sun all day so that it was good and strong. Then she’d pour

in spoonfuls of Dixie Crystal sugar, which came from Savannah.

Some peach juice was added, if the peaches were in season,

either that or a fresh-cut lemon. Nothing like a cold glass of it

on a sweltering summer’s day. Matter of fact, I was pleased as

punch when the preacher arrived, several pitchers in tow. Seems

Granny had told him at some point that she wanted it served at

her funeral. For a final toast. All things considered, I was glad

42 Rob Rosen

for it right about then, seeing as my clothes were already sticking

to me something fierce, my face drenched with sweat, my heart

beating like a drum inside my chest.

Not that any of that explained who Beau Pellingham was, if

that’s who the stranger was, in fact. Just thought you’d want to

know why a bunch of folks were drinking iced tea at a funeral.

Even in the South that must’ve seemed odd. Though for Granny,

odd was par for the course. Heck, odd was a friggin’ hole in one.

Anyway, I didn’t have time to find out about the stranger just

then. The preacher started walking up, the funeral home wheeling

Granny’s remains behind them. I shivered at the sight, despite the

intense heat. This was it, after all. A handful of minutes and I’d

be all alone in the world. Pearl held my hand, sensing my sadness.

Though I suppose hers was almost as great as mine, seeing as

she’d been with Granny even longer than I had.

The preacher nodded, standing at the head of the grave. He

spoke briefly, offering up some prayers I barely paid any attention

to. I stared up at the trees instead, at a pair of birds flitting about,

at a squirrel running across a nearby branch. Anywhere but

down. Not that it helped, what with all the sobbing going on

around me, the heaviest from the rear of the crowd, which was

weird, all things considered, seeing as those closest to her were

packed up front.

I turned, briefly. It was the stranger making the racket, the

supposed Beau Pellingham. Just for a second, our eyes locked.

The chill returned. It was true, I’d never seem him before, as far

as I could remember, but there was still something familiar about

him, like we’d met. Only, I was certain we hadn’t. He glared my

way, tears streaking down his face. I stared his way, tears streaking