Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (13 page)

haircut.You know, something California.What do you think?”

76

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“We’ll see.” I cleared my throat. California? “I could use one

too. Maybe next week we’ll go to the mall together.”

“Well, that’d be cool if you’d take me to the mall, ’cause Lucy

and I were gonna just go there next Saturday and hang and

see if Jonathan shows up with this guy, Sonny, she’s like totally

dying for.”

“Hang?” I decided to smoke another cigarette and was

wondering if I had any Xanax in the bathroom upstairs.

“Yeah, you know, you go get your hair cut, Lucy and I can

cruise and, you know, do the girlie-girl thing for a couple of

hours.”

“Girlie-girl thing?” I was having some trouble breathing

and/or swallowing.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Your hands are shaking. Oh, great, you’re upset over the

idea of me meeting a boy at the mall. Am I right?”

“No, I mean, I don’t even know this boy. You don’t even

know his last name! I mean, he could be a serial rapist, or a

sociopath, or you could wind up pregnant!”

“I can’t believe you! I can’t believe you would say that!

Pregnant? Mom, are you like totally spassing or what? Gimme a

break.”

“Give you a break?” My eyes glazed over. “Look, Beth,

there’s nothing more exhilarating than being attracted to some-

one else like this. Is this a marriage? Not so far.You don’t even

know this boy’s last name!” I took a breath.“Now, why don’t we

just calm down, and let’s see if he calls you.” There, that’s better,

I thought. “Then, in the time-tested (and proven) tradition of

my family, I’ll run a criminal background check on him, a driver’s

license history, and we’ll see if he’s registered with the AIDS

clinic at the health department. If he’s not, I’ll invite his parents

over for an interview. I’m sure they can give references. And, if

they’re not related to Charles Manson, then you can have him

come and sit in the living room while his parents and I sit in the

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

77

kitchen with a glass to the wall. How’s that for giving you a

break?” Pave the way to better parenting through humor, I

thought, patting myself on the back.

“You’re not funny.”

Her adolescent rage was escalating again and I floundered

around to no avail trying to lighten things up a little.

“You know what the problem with boys is? They ruin your

skin.You fall for some guy and the next day you get acne like a

bullfrog. You know what else happens? You get trapped in the

bathroom and can’t get into a decent college!”

That mildly got her attention, so I continued. “Yep! Ask

your Aunt Maggie! You get in there in front of that old demon

mirror and then you start obsessing about your hair and your

makeup and is the hair on your legs making you look like a

gorilla? And are your bosoms big enough or are they too big

and then you start to sweat and does it show? You have to run,

change your shirt. You can’t find one, you have to iron. Then,

you’re habitually late for class, you flunk out and wind up on-

line, at the Acme Training Institute, a loser guaranteed. I don’t

think that’s what you want, is it?”

“Are you all right, Mom? I think you’re losing it.” She was

not even a little bit amused. She was, in fact, as angry as I’d ever

seen her.

“I’m not losing anything. I’m fine, quite fine.” I was not

fine.Where did my composure go, anyway?

“Mom? You know what your problem is? You’re trapped in

the seventies! The Brady Bunch wasn’t real, for God’s sake.

Nobody dates anymore; they just go to the mall or the video

arcade or something and hang around. You think this guy is

gonna show up with a corsage! God! You treat me like such a

total baby, I can’t stand it!”

It was my turn to get mad.

“First of all, I don’t like your tone of voice and second, it’s

not your job to tell me what my problems are. Third, I don’t

treat you like a baby at all.”

78

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Yes, you
do!
” Beth was serving up that most unpleasant stew

of teenage screaming rage. “If Jonathan whatever-the-hell-his-

last-name-is calls me and wants to meet me at the mall, I’m going

if I have to take the bus and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

She was absolutely shrieking at me and I didn’t know what

to do except to pull rank.

“Nothing I can do about it? You’re telling me what I can and

cannot do? I don’t think so, Beth, oh, no. Let me tell you some-

thing, my defiant young daughter, you’re going noplace unless

I give you permission. And if you want to be treated like a

grownup, try acting like one and living up to your commitments!

I come home after another underpaid, unending day, working in

the most excruciating, humorless, literary abyss in the world and

walk right into a land mine of filthy dishes and food and trash all

over the place. I don’t need this, Beth, it’s not fair.”

“Just because I didn’t run home from school and do the

dishes, I’m not old enough to go to the mall with a friend? Do

you remember that I’m fourteen? Hello? Fourteen!”

“I don’t care how old you are; when you start acting respon-

sibly, then you’ll get all the privileges you want! And watch your

mouth, Beth, because you’re very close to getting a slap in the

face.”

She stood at the door of the kitchen, which led to the din-

ing room, and her blue eyes flashed the hatred of a formidable

woman, not my little girl.

“Go ahead. Slap me. It won’t make any difference.You know

what I wish? I wish I lived with Daddy. He understands me and

so does Karen.”

“Karen understands you because she’s your peer,” I stuttered.

“You know the court’s granted primary custody to me. Even

though it may seem like a living hell at this moment to both of

us, it’s how it is, so get used to it.”

“You’re just jealous of Karen because she’s young and

pretty,” she hissed. “Maybe if you lost some weight and bought

some clothes from this decade, Daddy might come home.”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

79

“That’s not why your father left!”

“Yes, it is! Why can’t you face the truth? God, Mom, the

way you look is embarrassing. You look like those women on

Court TV!”

I couldn’t believe she had spoken to me this way. I was

stunned. She stormed out of the room and I followed her down

the hall. She raced up the stairs and slammed the door of her

room.

“This has nothing to do with you following this Jonathan

person around a mall, do you hear me? Nothing to do with it!”

I couldn’t help it. I walked into the living room and stood

before the huge full-length mirror with the gilt frame, my

inheritance. I broke down when I saw myself—a forty-six-year-

old woman, with some very tired and afraid blue eyes, wearing

a dress that hung on her like a rag from fashion hell. My eyes

got hot. Tears welled up and spilled over in a fury like boiled-

over oatmeal and they made me mad too. Hot and thick, they

rolled down my face. I hated crying. I had thought I was doing

pretty well until then.That woman in the mirror was not who

I was.

This should’ve been the time in my life when Tom and I

were concentrating on finding our poetry, cherishing moments

like this with Beth. Her first boyfriend, and I couldn’t handle it.

I should’ve been gracious and understanding and said, “This is

great! I remember my first crush!” I could’ve told her about

Simon, the big fish that got away and how I had loved him. I’d

never told her about him. But no, I was incapable of doing that

because I was so afraid. I was afraid I couldn’t make it. I was afraid

because I felt alone and what if I lost her too?

The next thing I knew I had lowered myself into this sitting

fetal position on the floor and started to wail, not giving a damn

if the world heard me. So I wept, quietly at first, pitying myself

for the loss of my Tom. Okay, he might be the fastest zipper in

Charleston, but dammit, he was mine.We’d planned to retire to

Sullivan’s Island. I had dreamed forever that we’d buy a house

80

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

next door to the Island Gamble and our children would always

love Maggie’s! I thought we’d all grow old rocking on that front

porch together, eating boiled peanuts, and take our rightful

position as old-timers, being as opinionated and as eccentric as

we wanted to be. Let the young folk think we were peculiar and

we wouldn’t care. We’d all laugh our way to the other side

together.What happened to my dream? What happened?

I blew my nose and thought some more, looking at myself

in the mirror. In my mind, I could see Livvie wagging her fin-

ger at me. I had always been reasonably good-looking but now I

looked like I’d been rode hard and put up wet, like Daddy used

to say. All at once I was infuriated that two people could bring

me to the point where I sat on the floor and wept. I felt Livvie

smiling. I began to talk to the mirror as though she were there,

listening.

“Tom Hayes,” I muttered under my breath, “he doesn’t

deserve me or this girl of mine who, by the way, needs her

behind kicked. No, no, this isn’t about my weight.This is about

Tom Hayes and his withering little pecker turning fifty! So, Miss

Karen thinks he’s the stud of all times, huh? I wonder if she

watches the digital clock like I used to. Three minutes, Big Tom!

Time’s almost up! Ha! Have a ball, you losers. And you think

he’s generous now? Just wait until you marry the son of a bitch,

you can kiss the mall good-bye!

“I may go down, dammit, but I’ll go down fighting. Just

who the hell do they think they are? And just what do they

expect from me? I look like Mrs. Court TV? Well, I guess I do!

Every last dime goes to Miss Beth’s constant harangue for

clothes! It’s always something! Maybe I should just fly to Atlanta

and blow the bank at the shops and forget the furnace repairs.

Or maybe I should just skip groceries and the phone bill . . .

hire a personal trainer and get a massage and a pedicure!”

At this point, my shirt started getting wet. I hadn’t cried like

this since we buried my mother. And where was she now, when

I needed her? Gone and useless, like always. I cried for her, as

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

81

I never had when she died. I couldn’t stop. Maybe this was the

cry I owed myself, I thought, and then, I was done. I could

either continue to be defeated or I could get myself back

together. Beth.

Oh, no, Miss Beth Hayes, I’m your mother and you will not

treat me this way! It’s bad enough that Tom left me for Karen,

but who are you, at fourteen, to dare to criticize? You have no

idea the sacrifices I have made for you. More than anyone ever

made for me . . .

I never heard Beth come down the stairs. Suddenly, she was

next to me with a box of Kleenex and she was crying too.

“I’m sorry, Momma, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right”

“I never meant to make you cry like this.”

“Sweetheart, you know I love you, but if you ever speak to

me that way again, I’ll rip your ears off.”

“And you should. I never should have said what I said about

Karen. Karen’s a jerk. And I don’t want to live with Daddy. He’s

a jerk too. I just wanna be with you, right here.”

She put her head on my shoulder and I looped my arm

around her. I stroked her gorgeous auburn hair and in that

moment peace was restored. She was my little girl again. I

accepted a Kleenex from her and blew my nose so loudly that

we both started to laugh.

“Daddy’s not a jerk,” I offer magnanimously,“he’s an asshole.

And Karen’s not a jerk either, she’s the slut of the world, that’s

all.” I continued to stroke her hair.“Don’t share that with anyone,

okay? Let’s keep this between us.”

“Mom, I would never repeat it. I agree with you.”

“If I’d met Karen under other circumstances, I’d probably

find her interesting and amusing.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Can I have a Kleenex?” She blew her

nose and leaned back into my chest, the way she had as a little

girl. “She’s so lame, always tossing her hair. All she talks about is

karma this and retrograde that. She wears this huge crystal

82

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

around her stupid neck and talks about close encounters. Maybe

she thinks aliens are after her.”

“Now, there’s a plan to get rid of her!” I raised my eyebrows

and smiled at Beth. “I like it! Yeah, can’t you see the front page

of the
Post & Courier?
‘Charleston Woman, Owner of Insignifi-

cant New Age Bookstore, Abducted by Aliens!’ Wouldn’t that

be fabulous?”

“No such luck, Mom. Come on, I’ll help you burn dinner.”

Beth pulled me to my feet.

“Burn? I never burn the chicken. I just like it dead. Salmonella,