Secret Lives of the Kudzu Debutantes (18 page)

“Isn't that Taurus?” Lavonne asked, pointing at the glittering constellation. She'd spent a week at Lutheran Camp when she was a girl and had never forgotten how to read a night sky.

“Wow,” he said, sipping his beer and looking at her appreciatively. “You must have been a Girl Scout.”

“Nope. Camper for Christ.”

“That's not something a Hebrew boy wants to hear.”

She laughed and picked up her beer. The moon, wreathed in yellow clouds, hung low over the trees. One block over, the neighbor's neon Christmas lights lit up the street like the Las Vegas strip.

“I don't know if I could sleep with those things on,” he said, pointing at the lights with his beer.

Lavonne wasn't sure if this was an invitation or just an observation. She cleared her throat and said, “They turn them off about eleven.”

“Shouldn't they take them down now that Christmas is over?”

“This is the South. We like to leave our Christmas lights up until Easter.”

He finished his beer and leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I had a great time tonight,” he said.

She smiled, amazed at how easy that kiss had felt. She hadn't seen it coming and she appreciated that, she appreciated how smooth and relaxed he had made it seem. He was only three years younger, so his first-date expectations were obviously not as high as Lavonne had worried they might be. “I had a great time, too,” she said.

“Hey, try not to sound so surprised.”

She leaned back, trying to see his face in the shadows cast by the dimly glowing porch light. An owl swooped above the shed roof. The moon lay in slivers across the frosty lawn. “I don't get out a lot,” she said. “In fact, you're my first date in a long time.”

“How long?”

“Twenty-two years.”

He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. “It's a good thing I didn't know that before I came over,” he said. “That's the kind of pressure that could give me hives.”

Lavonne pulled on her beer and then set it back down. “How about you?”

“I don't know. About three years, I guess.” He pushed one of the deck chairs out and put his feet up. “I tried dating after the divorce, but it felt weird.”

“So you're not one of those guys who rushes out after the divorce trying to find a new trophy wife?”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” he said, looking at her steadily.

Lavonne reddened and lifted her beer. She'd only dated two men her whole life; a quiet shy boy she'd bagged at Lutheran Camp named Carl Imhoff, and Leonard. Neither one had been the type to give compliments. Three weeks after she began dating him in college, Leonard, feeling chivalrous, had told her she had “small feet for a big girl.” It was the best he could do.

“I didn't mean to embarrass you,” he said.

She sipped her beer. “Yes, you did.”

“I figured a woman like you must be used to compliments by now.”

“A woman never gets used to compliments.” She almost told him about her seventy-five-pound weight loss, but then she didn't. She kind of liked the fact that he thought she'd always been thin and attractive.

He looked like he might kiss her again but just then someone started banging on the front door. Lavonne set her beer down on the table. She turned half way around in her chair with her hand resting on her throat. “My God,” she said, “who in the world can that be at this time of night?”

He was already on his feet. “Stay here,” he said. “I'll find out.”

E
ADIE HAD RENTED A CAR AT
H
ARTSVILLE AND DROVE TO
I
THACA
, arriving a little before midnight. She had planned on surprising Lavonne. She hadn't called her, not because she was afraid she wouldn't have a place to stay, but because she was afraid Lavonne would try to talk her out of leaving Trevor. Even temporarily. Once Eadie was there on her doorstep, it would be harder for Lavonne to scold her and send her home.

She was surprised, turning down Lavonne's street, to see a strange car in the drive. She figured it might be Ashley, home from college for the weekend. Eadie parked in the street and took her suitcase out of the car. The porch light was on but the rest of the house was dark except for the kitchen. She rang the bell twice but the house was quiet. Finally, in desperation, she pounded on the door.

It swung open suddenly and she found herself face to face with a strange man. For a moment, given her current emotional state, Eadie wondered if she might have come to the wrong house. But then he said, “Eadie,” and she recognized the man from the park. He stepped back to let her enter.

“Hello, Joe,” she said.

Lavonne materialized suddenly in the darkness behind his shoulder. “Goddamn it, Eadie, it's a good thing I don't have a gun or you'd be dead,” she said.

Eadie dropped her suitcase at her feet and stared at Lavonne who stood there fluffing her hair nervously. “What kind of greeting is that,” Eadie said. She grinned slowly, looking from Lavonne to Joe and back to Lavonne again. “Am I interrupting something?”

Lavonne did her best to ignore the question. She looked at the suitcase slumped against Eadie's feet. “Are you running away from home?”

“Sort of.”

Joe said, “Well, I better be going.” He leaned and kissed Lavonne. “I had a great time. I'll call you tomorrow.”

She really didn't want him to go, but there wasn't much else she could say. Not with Eadie standing there grinning like she had caught them in an unnatural act and couldn't wait to see what happened next. “Okay.”

He let go of Lavonne's hand and slid past Eadie. “There's a Harold Lloyd film festival out at the college this weekend, if you're interested.”

“Oh, she's interested,” Eadie said.

“Call me,” Lavonne said to Joe.

They stood there looking at each other while he started his car and drove away.

“You sly dog,” Eadie said.

“It's only our first date. Don't get excited.”

“You know, I can get a hotel,” Eadie said drily.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Lavonne said. She leaned and turned on a lamp. “Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll make us some breakfast and you can tell me what's going on.”

Eadie took a present out of her suitcase and followed Lavonne into the kitchen. She laid the gift on the counter. “Forget breakfast,” she said. “Let's make some vodka martinis.”

“It's late, Eadie.”

“Shit, Lavonne, it's Friday night. You didn't use to be such a party pooper.”

“What's this?” Lavonne said, looking at the gift.

“It's your late Christmas present,” Eadie said. “I wanted to deliver it in person although I don't guess you'll be needing it. At least not for a while.” Eadie was trying not to feel jealous of the fact that Lavonne obviously liked Joe. A lot.

“It's not a Mondo Log is it?” Lavonne said, tearing through the paper. Inside was a black shiny box with a small horned figure etched on one corner. Lavonne squinted and saw the figure had a long forked tail and carried a pitchfork. Underneath, in red letters, it read “Love Monkey II.” “You didn't,” she said, lifting the lid.

“I did,” Eadie said, grinning.

“It looks like an instrument of torture,” Lavonne said, looking down at the gleaming apparatus in its form-fitting box.

“Oh come on. Admit it, Lavonne. You might use it.”

“I might use it if I was making a movie about chicks in prison.”

“Go ahead. Touch it.”

“What are those little pointy things?”

“Those are pleasure nubs.”

“Nubs? They look more like porcupine quills.”

“Touch it.”

“I don't think so.”

“Touch the Monkey, Lavonne.”

“No.”

“Lavonne, touch the Monkey.”

Lavonne touched it. “There,” she said. “Are you happy now?”

“Not as happy as you'll be once you learn to use it,” Eadie said, and turning, she went over to the counter to make them some drinks.

H
AVING FINALLY SNARED
R
EDMON IN HER PLANS FOR REVENGE
and retribution, Virginia had no intention of letting him wriggle free. There wasn't a lot of time to pull this off without a hitch, although Virginia was the only one who knew this, of course. In the weeks following their trip to the island she worked feverishly behind the scenes to ensure that the Culpepper Plantation project proceeded ahead of schedule. She made sure Redmon met with the designer, made sure the permits were pulled and all the zoning approval processes were streamlined. Under Virginia's careful tutelage the slow, methodical wheel of county government spun like a well-oiled turbine. And she did it all without ever once expressing more than a glancing interest in the project. Virginia was a genius of detached involvement. She was a master of understated micromanagement.

There were times, though, when Virginia's impatience nearly got the best of her. There were moments, when Redmon dragged his feet over some insignificant detail, when she wanted to stamp her feet and rant and howl like a madwoman. It was at times like these that Virginia's sixty-five years of training as a Southern Lady served her well. A Southern Lady did not raise her voice or curse her husband. She did not throw crockery or
kitchen knives or fireplace tools no matter how great the provocation. She was always a picture of serene and detached attractiveness, from her wellpedicured toes to her perfectly styled hair. She was a cool oasis of calm and reasonable sanity in the uncertain maelstrom of life.

There were days when it took every bit of false patience and cunning artifice that Virginia could muster.

By the first of March, her steel-jawed trap had been set, waiting only for Jimmy Lee to insert one of his hapless but expendable limbs. On a bright, sunny Tuesday morning, Virginia rose early to make Redmon's favorite breakfast: scrambled eggs, fried country ham, grits, biscuits, and red-eye gravy. Redmon followed the scent down the stairs like a bloodhound, standing in the doorway and lifting his big red nose to sniff the air.

“Goddamn, I smell ham,” he said gleefully. “What's the occasion?”

“Well, now, does there have to be an occasion?” Virginia said, widening her eyes coquettishly. She had made up her face and fixed her hair, and forgone her usual cotton bathrobe and slippers for a shimmering silk kimono and a pair of leopard-print mules. Normally, the mules alone would have been enough to capture Redmon's attention for some time, but at this moment he was fixed on something infinitely more appealing: fried ham. His doctor had long ago forbidden salty foods and cured meats. Standing there in the warm, fragrant kitchen with the smell of fried pork flaring in his nostrils, Redmon was like a recovering addict stumbling across a cache of Mexican black tar heroin.

“Goddamn, Queenie, what are you trying to do, kill me?”

She blanched and swung around to face the sizzling skillet. She thought,
Now there's an idea
. She said, “Oh, a little bit every now and then won't hurt you. Sit down. The biscuits are almost done.”

He sat down and she poured him a cup of coffee and slid a thick slice of ham onto his plate. She took the skillet back to the stove to make the gravy while he loaded his plate with eggs and grits.

“Um-um,” he said, chewing loudly. “If I'd known you were such a good cook, Queenie, I'd of had you down in the kitchen every morning making my breakfast.”

She thought,
Fat chance of that ever happening
. She said, “Silly,” grinning at him over her shoulder. She browned some flour in the skillet and then poured a little coffee in, stirring until it reached a rich brown color. The oven dinged and she took the biscuits out. “You've got that big meeting today,” she said briskly. “You need a good breakfast.”

Redmon chewed his ham and looked at her blankly. “What meeting?” he said.

She glanced up at him. “That meeting with Nita's husband, silly. About the Culpepper Plantation project.”

He took a swig of coffee and grimaced. “How'd you know about that?”

She turned and took the skillet off the fire. “Oh, I don't know,” she said, waving one hand vaguely. “You might have mentioned it at dinner.” She set a plate of biscuits down on the table in front of him. “Are you ready for some gravy?”

Redmon grinned and sucked his cheek. “Does a wet dog stink?” he said.

He opened up a biscuit on his plate and she poured gravy over it. Then she set the skillet back on the stove. “What time did you say it was?” she said. “The meeting?”

“There ain't no meeting,” Redmon said. “Goddamn, Queenie, where'd you learn to make red-eye gravy like this?”

Virginia put her hand on her hip. “What do you mean there ain't no meeting?” she said sharply.

Redmon frowned, looking at her suspiciously. She quickly turned to the sink and began to wipe the counter down with a dishcloth, trying to catch her breath, trying to drown out the sound of jungle drums that had started up suddenly and were pounding in her head. “I'm playing golf today,” Redmon said, behind her. “Got a ten o'clock tee time with that sumbitch Jack Ledford who took fifty dollars off me last week. I aim to get it back today,” he said, scooping a piece of biscuit up on his fork.

Virginia waited until her breathing was even, until the pounding in her head had gone from a base drum to a snare. Then she swung around to face him, both hands stretched out on either side of her, gripping the marble counter. “Golf?” she said sweetly. “But what about that meeting? What about the Culpepper Plantation project? We need to get a contractor lined up so we can get started immediately on the foundations.”