The Reading Circle (10 page)

That raised the level of buzzing throughout the crowd, but Becca just stood there smiling and looking innocent until it tailed off. “So now I've set up the story for you. The payoff is that those three LSU husbands were so hot and bothered that their beloved Tigers had lost the game—hey, they were even blanked, 21-0—that they all withheld the other kind of hot and bothered in the boudoir that night back in their hotel rooms in the French Quarter. All my 'Bama girlfriends wanted was a little mattress magic, but the boys weren't having any and said, ‘No, ma'am, not tonight!' Can you believe men would give up . . . you-know-what like that?”

Most of the men in the crowd sprang to life over the comments, almost as if someone had lit a match and given them each a hot foot. And Douglas seemed to be speaking for all of them when he said, “It's not as crazy as it sounds, but it's easier to believe the other way around. Women are pretty good at that withholding business themselves. Hey, we've all been there.”

Connie balled up her fist and punched her husband on the arm. “Douglas, I can't believe you said that in front of all these people!” Then she inched closer to him and whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Everyone will get the wrong impression about us.”

He was massaging his bicep, and the scowl on his face indicated she had hit him a bit harder than was necessary. “We're all grown-ups here, aren't we? It's not the first time adults have discussed the subject of withholding sex.”

“And it won't be the last,” Becca added, giving her Stout Fella a stern look as she headed back to her seat. But he did not respond, staring straight ahead at the podium as if he had not even heard her.

Maura Beth knew she must try to dissipate the tension in the room quickly, so she consulted her notes once again and cleared her throat with authority. “Be that as it may, we were supposed to be talking about football as a religion and the plight of football widows. And somewhere along the way, we were supposed to be relating it all to the plot of
Forrest Gump.
Please, let's try not to forget that and return to those topics, why don't we?”

“I'll bite,” Periwinkle said, getting to her feet and moving to the front to face the crowd as Maura Beth stepped aside. “There's a lot to cover on the subject of the football widow.” She began moving back and forth slowly and deliberately, giving a passable imitation of a lawyer addressing a jury in a courtroom trial. “Now, let's examine some of the evidence we wives—or ex-wives in my case—know to be factual. First, everything is often indeed on hold when it comes to men getting their football fix. And I do mean everything—with no exceptions. I have a good friend over in Corinth—and I'm not about to reveal her identity—whose husband waited until halftime of the big game to get his first glimpse of their fourth child in the hospital. Just happened during this past football season, matter a' fact. He figured it was all no big deal by the time they'd had three, and he managed his time pretty doggone well as he raced the clock, his wife told me. He worked in a kiss on the forehead to her and a peck on the cheek to their latest bouncing baby boy with some sweet talk thrown in and still got back to the flat-screen TV in the waiting room before the third quarter started. Last time I heard from her, she said she was seriously thinking of nicknaming this last child Halftime.”

The laughter that followed eased the tension somewhat, but it took the gathering by surprise when a voice from the back row posed the question, “May I add something to your insights there, counselor?”

Most everyone turned in their seats to see the man who had come in with Periwinkle out of his chair with a twinkle in his eye.

“Now that was very clever,” Periwinkle put in. “So why don't you get on up here and finish what you started? Ladies and gentlemen, this is my ex-husband, Harlan Lattimore.”

He was soon standing beside her, scanning the crowd with that rugged smile of his. “Well, the gist of it is, I'm here to say before all a' you good witnesses that I was as guilty as the next fella when it came to ignoring his wife during football season. If I'd paid more attention to my wife in general, football or no football, I believe Peri and me'd still be married. But, fellas, let's be honest here. Some of us really are fanatics about the game. I've got my share of customers who spend most of Saturday afternoon at the bar guzzling beer, peeling shrimp, and watching the games with their wives nowhere in sight. It's become the most important thing in their lives, I do believe. Now, I read this
Forrest Gump
book here because Peri was so high on your book club. Seemed like it was something we might do together.”

He reached over and rubbed her arm gently a couple of times, looking her straight in the eye. “So that's what I'm doing. As I told Peri here on the way over, I'm not much of a reader, but I liked this book. I thought this Forrest Gump was a fine fella with a great sense a' humor who tried hard, whatever he undertook; and I just wanted to say to you right here tonight, Peri, that if I'd tried as hard as Forrest Gump did in his relationship with that pretty Jenny Curran, I know for dang certain we'd still be married to each other.”

A few of the women in attendance let out an “Aww!” for starters; then there was light applause that briefly grew louder before finally dying out. Maura Beth, however, was astonished to see that Periwinkle was actually blushing, something she had never witnessed in the six years of their friendship.

“And furthermore to that,” Harlan continued, “I think this Winston Groom fella who wrote this was smart as a fox to connect Forrest Gump with Bear Bryant the way he did. Why, you can't go wrong in the Deep South if you talk about legends like that. A whole lotta people will take a peek, even ones who aren't Alabama fans.”

“Yes, I believe the idea was to have the fictional character present for many watershed moments of the twentieth century, and it obviously worked quite well,” Maura Beth said.

“That's what I liked most about the novel,” Nora Duddney put in next. “All the iconic figures during the time I was growing up are there—JFK, Lyndon Johnson, the first astronauts. Even though Forrest Gump was a fictional character, that made him seem all the more authentic, giving him a place in the march of history like that. There were times that I forgot he really didn't participate in all those events. There's brilliance in that concept.”

“Good insight,” Maura Beth said, smiling generously at her new friend and confidante.

“I kinda thought of Forrest Gump as Everyman, myself,” said Justin Brachle. “You know, not the two-word version but the one-word spelled with a capital E.”

“Excellent point, Justin,” Maura Beth added with a grin, “and I think Forrest Gump would have explained it exactly the way you just did. And I mean that in a complimentary way, of course.”

Justin beamed, puffing out his big chest. “Stout Fella thanks you. And I agree that Forrest Gump seemed real, since he ended up playing football for The Bear. It made me want to be him because I was just a small potatoes quarterback at Millsaps. Our big rival was Sewanee—the Methodists versus the Episcopalians, ya know.”

Miss Voncille's hand shot up. “This has all been very interesting, I'm sure, but haven't we talked about this football angle enough? We get it. Some people love their football, and others take the game too seriously. Then that leads to marital problems and yada, yada, yada. If you'll permit me to say so, there are lots more important things to fight over than football. So I respectfully propose that we move on to discussing the Vietnam angle of the plot that I submitted to Maura Beth. I'm sure I'm not the only one here tonight who's interested in discussing that.”

“I'm just one person,” Mamie Crumpton said, thrusting out her bosom as usual. “I don't mind the football topic, but I think we've had more than enough of this sex talk. Let's return it to the bedroom where it belongs.”

Ever the diplomat, Maura Beth scanned the gathering and said, “Well, what do you say, people? Show of hands to move on?”

Everyone appeared to have had their fill of the men versus women topic, as there were far more hands up than down. Periwinkle and Harlan resumed their seats. Maura Beth consulted her notes once again and then motioned to Miss Voncille. “Please come up and get this part of the discussion started, then.”

Miss Voncille rose from her seat on the front row, her face solemn and her pace to the podium deliberate. There was an initial grand exhalation; then she began reading from a prepared speech, looking up now and then to make eye contact. “My years as a schoolteacher serve me well tonight. If I know nothing, it's how to organize my thoughts in a cogent manner. So I will begin by saying that our country hasn't been the same since the Vietnam War. We had some politicians—and you know who they are—who wanted to have it both ways: trying to please those who wanted to win the war, while placating those who wanted us to withdraw from it unconditionally. The media began to take sides, of course, and I'm inclined to think that that's when objective journalism began to die in this county. The press stepped away from merely reporting and started advocating. When the war was finally over and done with, some came home—but many didn't. The phrase
life and limb
comes to mind. Some gave their lives, as Bubba Blue did, dying in Forrest Gump's arms. Others gave their limbs, as Lieutenant Dan Taylor did, Forrest Gump's commanding officer. They weren't real people, but they represented real people. Too many to count, unfortunately.”

Miss Voncille paused to take another breath for courage. “Meanwhile, back in the real world we all live in, I found myself affected by another phrase—
missing in action.
My connection to the war—Sergeant Frank Gibbons of Corinth, Mississippi—never came home. As many of you know, his status remains MIA. I never got the kind of closure that Forrest Gump did as he neatly concluded every episode of his fascinating life journey. That was entertaining fiction, but the MIA issue is a heartbreaking one for those of us who live on. It's always in the back of our minds, dogging us no matter how many years have passed. If only we could close that chapter of our lives as easily as we could finish and close up a copy of
Forrest Gump.
And that's what I wanted to say here to all of you tonight. I needed to try and once again exorcise my demons, and I thank you for listening.”

The gathering was stunned, to say the least. No one said anything—not even Locke Linwood—and there was no applause as Miss Voncille headed toward her seat.

Maura Beth quickly moved into the breach. “That was certainly a speech from the heart, Miss Voncille. You've touched on so many good points. Group, shall we discuss any of this further?”

It was Sarah Key Darwin who spoke up next. “The thing is, the Vietnam War is not a subject that lends itself to such easy analysis. I think the biggest problem most people have in resolving the subject today is that so many soldiers thought they were being patriotic in becoming a part of the military effort. Back then, it was the definition of being an American, and you didn't ask questions the way people do now about everything. The simpleton aspects of Forrest Gump's character reflect that precisely. It was what you were supposed to do without thinking.”

“What are you saying?” Miss Voncille said, her tone tinged with anger. “I'll have you know my Frank was no simpleton. He was a brave and thoughtful man. He knew what he was getting into, and I know for a fact that he found time while he was deployed over there to weigh the consequences of the war. I have his beautiful letters to prove it.”

“I wasn't trying to attack your friend personally. What I meant was, we'd have been far better off if more people had questioned our presence in Vietnam from the get-go,” Sarah Key returned, refusing to back down.

Miss Voncille got to her feet, even though Locke Linwood made an effort to restrain her. “I just have to ask—how old are you?” she said, pointing her finger directly at Sarah Key.

“I beg your pardon? What has that got to do with anything?”

“Never mind,” Miss Voncille continued. “You're probably one of those people who views history as something to revise constantly, omitting the truth when it suits your agenda. You have no idea what some of us lived through in the last century!”

“Please, ladies,” Maura Beth said, trying to calm things down. “We don't need to get personal here. This is supposed to be a polite discussion. Let's keep that in mind as we proceed.”

“But she doesn't even know me!” Miss Voncille insisted, completely ignoring Maura Beth's plea for restraint. “And she certainly didn't know my Frank. Here she is forty-something years later with her political hindsight and easy answers that come with it. Implying that the men who signed up for duty in Vietnam were dolts of some kind is completely out of line!”

Maura Beth was surprised to see that Sarah Key continued to fuel the fire. “No, not dolts, but definitely manipulated. More to the point, I think, is the fact that if we don't learn from the lessons of history, we are doomed to repeat them. Why, look at all these little wars we still get involved in at the firing of a rocket or bullet? We seem to be a very trigger-happy country.”

“Please, Voncille,” Locke said to Miss Voncille under his breath. “Don't get your blood pressure up. This is getting out of hand.”

“I will not be silenced!” Miss Voncille proclaimed, gesturing dismissively toward Sarah Key. “Who is this person, anyway, Maura Beth?”

“No, you don't need to ask
her
who I am. I can speak for myself. Sarah Key Darwin is the name,” came the curt reply, “and I was not aware that agreeing with everybody was a requirement of participating in The Cherry Cola Book Club. I certainly don't remember it being on the flyer I read at The Twinkle.”