The Reading Circle (11 page)

“Of course it isn't a requirement,” Maura Beth put in, determined to restore order but sensing it all slipping away. “No book club worth its salt would ever discourage differences of opinion.”

Miss Voncille bristled. “This is more than that, I'm afraid. As far as I'm concerned, this woman is going out of her way to be disrespectful to me and to the memory of Frank Gibbons and the many other men like him!”

Sarah Key rose to her feet, turning up her nose as she faced the podium. “Maura Beth, I'm sorry. But this is not what I had in mind when I decided to come here tonight. You are certainly a lovely person, and I've enjoyed meeting most of the rest of you. But if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than be insulted for disagreeing with someone. The last time I looked, this was still America!”

“Oh, please don't leave!” Maura Beth cried out.

But it was to no avail as Sarah Key turned on her heels and marched out of the library in a huff.

“Good riddance!” Miss Voncille exclaimed, sitting down at last and folding her arms in disgust.

The uneasiness in the air was palpable as everyone else sat stupefied, and Maura Beth quickly glanced at the front desk clock. Perhaps it was time to pull the plug before more confrontation reared its ugly head. These meetings of The Cherry Cola Book Club had been cut short all too often by something unforeseen. Would they ever go according to plan?

“Well, I certainly hadn't anticipated anything like that,” Maura Beth began, forcing herself to smile. “But maybe we've accomplished all we can here tonight.” She brandished and then thumped her notes for all to see. “We certainly got around to the football angle—or angles I should say—and, of course, the controversial Vietnam angle; and a couple of other things emerged as well about Winston Groom's work. Unless anyone else has something to add, shall we adjourn?”

“If you don't mind, there was something I wanted to contribute,” James Hannigan said, timidly raising his hand. “And it was about football being a religion and all. It was just that I have this friend who is a big Arkansas Razorback fan, and it used to be that the Texas Longhorns were their biggest rival back when they both played in the old Southwest Conference. My friend Johnny told me about this sign he saw once on a church marquee up in Fayetteville that read, ‘FOOTBALL IS ONLY A GAME. SPIRITUAL THINGS ARE ETERNAL. NEVERTHELESS, BEAT TEXAS.' ”

The pall that Miss Voncille and Sarah Key had generated quickly dissolved into easy laughter, and when it finally died down, Maura Beth said, “Thanks, Mr. Hannigan. We definitely needed that. So, on that note, shall we adjourn?”

“Fine by me,” Miss Voncille said, obviously still holding on to her pique. This was followed by similar utterances from the others.

It was Connie, however, who reminded Maura Beth of something important. “Don't we need to discuss our next read? Or were we just going to resurrect
The Robber Bridegroom
? We've had Eudora Welty waiting in the wings for her cue for what seems like forever.”

Maura Beth chuckled and immediately went back to her notes. “Good catch, Connie. I had another suggestion, however. Since I'm originally from Louisiana and we have quite the flamboyant reputation for politicians down in the Pelican State, I thought we might consider reading
All the King's Men
by Robert Penn Warren. It's another Pulitzer Prize winner like
To Kill a Mockingbird.
Some of you may know that the novel takes its inspiration from the reign of Louisiana Governor Huey P. Long, who was assassinated on the steps of the capitol in Baton Rouge. The same thing happens to the fictional Governor Willie Stark in this novel. Naturally, our very own Councilman Durden Sparks came to mind, particularly all the trouble we've had lately with him and his cronies. Of course, I trust all of you know I'm not encouraging any gunplay here on the steps of City Hall.”

More much-needed laughter erupted. But when it finally died down, it was Connie who reacted first. “Poor Miz Eudora, a Southern legend being swept under the rug twice now.”

“Well, how about this?” Maura Beth said, thinking on her feet. “We could go ahead and approve our next two reads, if you'd like. First,
All the King's Men,
then
The Robber Bridegroom.
”

There was general buzzing throughout the room, but soon enough they were taking a vote on Maura Beth's suggestion. It won unanimously, and the date for the next meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club was set for the second Sunday in May.

 

“You've been keeping things from me, haven't you?” Maura Beth was saying to Periwinkle as the two of them visited in her library office after everyone else had left. For his part, Harlan had headed out to pick up a few odds and ends he needed at The Cherico Market and would return in about a half hour for his ex-wife. Meanwhile, Maura Beth's curiosity had been ratcheted up several more notches. “I thought the deal was, we were supposed to keep each other up to date about the men in our lives.”

Periwinkle looked down at her lap, entwining her fingers in a display of nervous energy. “I didn't mean to shut you out. Things just moved along a lot faster than I thought they would. I mean, it was just a drink here, another little dinner there, not to mention lots and lots of phone calls, and I guess he just wore me down after a while. I was going to tell you everything sooner or later, though.” There was an awkward pause, and somehow Maura Beth sensed what was coming next. “And, yes, I've gone to bed with him—after all these years. In fact, that's why we were late. Can you believe it?”

Maura Beth leaned back in her chair and scratched her head, trying her best not to sound as surprised as she was. “Wow! It seems things really have moved along fast for you. The last time we chatted about this, you were more impressed with Mr. Place than Harlan.”

Periwinkle gave a sweet little shudder and her eyes went all dreamy for a second or two, reminding Maura Beth of a teenager getting ready to share her innermost secrets with her slumber-party girlfriends. “Oh, Parker is still attentive in that professional way of his, but things have changed dramatically with Harlan. I know this sounds crazy, but it was like it used to be when Harlan and I were first dating. It was like no time had passed at all. I really believe he's a changed man, I really do. Despite everything that was said here tonight about men and women not getting along for the most ridiculous reasons, I think there are times they can come together for all the right reasons. When that happens, there's nothing better in the whole world.”

Maura Beth considered her reaction carefully. She had never seen Periwinkle acting this way and must not give her friend the impression that she was cynical or disapproving. “Well, what can I say? I'm very happy for you.” Then she reached across the desk and patted Periwinkle's hand a couple of times—a completely unconvincing display, as it turned out.

“Something's bothering you, I can tell. I know you too well, Maura Beth.”

“No.” Then Maura Beth decided to tell the truth. “Yes, I just have one question, and then I'd like to give you a real, honest-to-goodness hug, no matter what.”

“Shoot!”

“You two didn't do it back in that . . . you know, that god-awful room you decorated, did you? Oops, I meant the room was god-awful, not your decorating.”

Periwinkle produced her usual hearty laugh and waved her off. “I knew what you meant, girl. And absolutely not—he was telling the truth. He really did convert that little sex den of his into more pantry space—all extra jars of relish and bottles of ketchup galore. I got to see for myself when he gave me the grand tour. No, we got reacquainted, so to speak, back at his new place. Which I have to admit, he's done up right nicely all by himself.”

Maura Beth got to her feet, feeling tremendously reassured. “That's good enough for me. You come right around here pronto, and let's have that big hug.”

“So what's the latest with you and Jeremy?” Periwinkle said, after they'd pulled away from each other a few seconds later.

Maura Beth plopped back down in her chair and sighed while Periwinkle again took her seat. “No change. Oh, I've had my moments of weakness when I picked up the phone and started to punch in his number. And just the other day, I composed this spectacularly emotional e-mail, asking him to give us a chance to start over. But I didn't have the guts to send it. I guess tonight tells me everything I need to know.”

“Which is?”

Maura Beth gently massaged her eyelids with the tips of her fingers and then brought her hands together prayerfully in one smooth motion. “Which is that he knew well in advance about the review tonight and how much I wanted him here, even if he never opened his mouth. I told him how much his presence would mean to me, but it appears it meant nothing to him. So I have to conclude that it's really over between us. He's obviously not interested anymore, and it's high time I got that through this red head of mine.”

Periwinkle moved to her side quickly, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I'm so sorry, girl. Nobody knows better than I do how tricky things can be in this battle of the sexes. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”

C
ouncilman Sparks was seated behind his plush office desk, biding his time while playing tic-tac-toe against himself on his notepad. It was about a quarter to nine, and he knew his proxy would be arriving any minute with her report. This was fun, playing games with Maura Beth and her busybody friends, but he fully intended to enforce the terms of the one-year reprieve he had reluctantly granted to her precious library. Voter petitions be damned—he knew what was best for Greater Cherico and how to continue the sort of tangible legacy his father and Layton Duddney had begun. Charles Durden Sparks would leave his name on some building or project in the general vicinity for posterity, or there was no justice in the world!

After all, it was resourceful politicians, not inconsequential librarians like Maura Beth Mayhew and her predecessor, Annie Scott, who had put money into the infrastructure that today's Chericoans took for granted. True, the Sparks and Duddney families had siphoned off a percentage for themselves and their posterity here and there. But they had been careful not to leave a paper trail and had never neglected the public good.

Momentarily, the attractive woman who had attended the meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club at his clandestine bidding appeared, posing in come-hither fashion against the door frame. What could only be described as a wicked smile dominated her face.

“Is that what you wore, Sylvie?” Councilman Sparks said, looking her over from head to toe. “You remind me of either a witch or a vampire. Inspired by what all the kids are reading and watching on TV these days, were you?”

“Funny you should say that. I used that line about the vampire myself, as I recall,” Sylvie said, sitting down across from him and leaning in to better present her cleavage for his inspection. “And for the record, I was Sarah Key Darwin for the evening. I had a really tough time keeping a straight face every time I heard your librarian friend call me that. Can you imagine? Such a name and they believed it? Don't know how I came up with it. Except I've always thought Charles Darwin was a marvelously adventurous soul, and someday I'd like to travel to Key West. Wouldn't mind retiring there, as a matter of fact. Do you think you could arrange it for me one fine day?”

He muttered something under his breath.

“Was that a ‘yes' or ‘no,' Durden?”

“That was a ‘we'll see.' But please, your summary of the evening.”

“First, I will admit your Maura Beth's a looker. I can see why you're smitten; that is, if redheads are your type.”

“Never mind that. How many people were there?”

“I counted forty-five.”

He was gazing at the ceiling now, finally nodding his head sharply when he had finished his mental review. “Good. That's not quite as many as they had in November for
To Kill a Mockingbird.
I knew that was a dog and pony show Miz Mayhew went all out to stage. They can't sustain that momentum. By the end of the year, I'll have all the ammunition I need to shut her down.”

Sylvie Louise Morgenthal, as she had been christened by her late parents, then began recounting in earnest everything pertinent that had occurred, while Councilman Sparks listened intently, taking a few notes along the way.

“You came up from Jackson to nurse your biker brother? He was in a really bad wreck, was he?” he interrupted after she'd gotten to that part. “The things you come up with. I think I'd believe it, though. You always did have a good imagination.” But he perked up considerably when she reached the argument she had managed to provoke with Miss Voncille about the Vietnam War.

“It was a walk in the park,” she was saying. “You'd have thought she was addressing the United Nations the way she went on and on with her moral high ground approach and everything. Oh, she couldn't be bothered with a different viewpoint. Not that one with the prim, salt-and-pepper hair. It wasn't too hard to zero in on her soft spot.”

“Good deal. Miss Voncille Nettles was just as prickly as her last name when she taught me in school way back when. I know she resented my abilities. I could debate the pants off anyone who ever went to Cherico High School, but she was always about putting a damper on me and holding me down. I bet you really got under her skin with the Vietnam thing.”

Sylvie tossed back her long hair as she enjoyed a laugh. “Oh, you should have seen me. It was an Oscar-winning performance the way I spewed political rhetoric and then stormed out of there like a whirling dervish. You could have heard a pin drop in the place as they all watched me leave. I hung around outside in my car for a while, and the place emptied out not too long after I made my grand exit. All in all, I think I was effectively rude and subversive, take your pick.”

“I know the feeling,” he said. Then he furrowed his brow ever so slightly. “But for future reference, nurses don't generally go out dressed like that. They're serious people, and they have their reputations to consider. Florence Nightingale may be turning over in her grave even as we speak.”

“Florence Nightingale may have had her own secrets. Who knows? Most people do, including you.” Then she rose and turned to point her shapely, black-clad posterior at him, wiggling it with abandon. “Too bad you're so hung up on redheads these days, Durden.”

“Stop that, Sylvie.” He sounded like a drill sergeant barking orders. Then he lowered his voice as she reluctantly obeyed him. “That part of our relationship is way over, but I've always appreciated what you've done for me and Chunky and Gopher Joe when we needed you.”

She shrugged, her eyes looking glazed and lifeless, better suited to a mannequin. “Hey, sometimes the money works. Sometimes the woman works. Whichever gets you guys the votes you need, right?”

“Whichever.”

“Tonight was different, though,” she added, absent-mindedly coiling a thick strand of hair around her index finger. “I always thought I could be an actress, if I'd gotten the right breaks, you know. All those people getting so worked up over a book was a scream tonight.” She made a noise with her lips that sounded remarkably like it could have come from the mouth of a winded horse. “The food was good. Nothing to drink, though. No hard stuff, I mean, and I was dying for one. There was just some sort of Shirley Temple punch with lots of cherries and slices of lime floating around in it. It made me think of a children's party.”

“Yes, potluck,” he said, his tone completely disinterested now. “You can get the same thing on any Wednesday night at any Methodist church in the Deep South, punch and all. And the truth of the matter is, they could hold those book reviews in the fellowship hall of any church in Cherico. They really don't need that library.”

“Which reminds me. They discussed religion tonight, too. Well, sort of. It was insane. All this resentment built up between the husbands and the wives.” She had settled back down in her chair again, behaving herself for the time being. “That's why I never got married, Durden. Although I would, if you would ever divorce Evie and ask me. How are things between the two of you these days, by the way? Still no children? Still no heir to the family fortune?”

He had had enough. “That's none of your business, Sylvie.” He checked his watch. “It's getting late now, and I've got to get on home. I appreciate the report, and I'll call you again if I need you for something. I trust your direct deposit was sufficient?”

She nodded, her eyes now half-lidded. “More than generous, as usual.” She rose, giving him one last seductive glance. “It's such a shame that you and I couldn't have made it permanent, you know.”

His smile was at once pronounced and insincere. “Hey, what could you expect of a horny Mississippi College law-school student? I was looking for a good time one night at the State Fair, and you took me for a wild ride that lasted until the day I graduated with honors.”

She clasped her hands together and mockingly cast her eyes heavenward. “Ah, my ingenue days when I was just getting my . . . feet wet! But you have to admit, I still look pretty good.”

“That you do. Don't look your age by a mile.”

“Sure you don't want a little ride on the roller coaster for old time's sake?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” He rose from his chair, indicating with a sweep of his hand that she should leave. “I really need to get on home to the wife, Sylvie.”

She licked and then pouted her lips. “One little kiss, then?”

He escorted her to the outer door and granted her wish, lingering longer than he really wanted to. Then he pulled away forcefully. “Have a safe trip tomorrow back down to Jackson.”

He watched her walk away, some long-buried part of him wishing things had worked out for them. She might have been an inferno in bed in the days of their youth, but even then he was savvy enough to know that her profession was a liability she would never be able to escape. After all, he had political ambitions and no intention of being dragged down with her if her past ever came to light. Things were just fine the way they were. He knew she was still hopelessly in love with him and would never do anything to harm him or his career.

 

Miss Voncille was an emotional wreck. Locke had driven them to his place on Perry Street after the meeting was over and was trying his best to soothe her with a glass of his best Madeira. “Here, sip on this a little, sweetheart,” he told her, handing it over as she settled in on his living room sofa. “It'll help calm you.”

But she downed the whole thing in one big swallow and handed the glass back immediately. “I think I'd like another one, if you don't mind.”

He complied, bringing back a glass for himself this time and taking a seat beside her. “You know I support you one hundred percent, Voncille. But who cares what some strange woman thinks about the Vietnam War? She means nothing to you—to either of us. You made an eloquent speech, and I'm sure everyone else at the library agreed with you.”

This time she settled for sipping her little drink. “You're probably right. But that awful, strident woman still triggered something in me I hadn't thought of for a long, long time. I think I may have painted a false picture for you of what my fling with Frank was really like. Over the years, my memories have grown rosier and rosier. I know I've put him up on a pedestal, and I realize that's been hard on you.”

Locke inched closer to her, gently slipping his arm around her shoulder. “Don't worry about that. I'm a big boy.”

“You're a kind, wonderful man is what you are,” she said, giving him her best smile. “And that's far more important in the scheme of things. Anyway, the logistics of my relationship with Frank were a nightmare. If I hadn't still been living with my parents at the time, it all might have been a lot easier. As it was, I was always sneaking out of the house, struggling to make up excuses to Mama and Poppa that sounded halfway plausible, and always feeling guilty about everything, no matter what. I look back on all that and—” But she broke off, tearing up again as she had during the drive over from the library.

“What is it?” he asked, putting his sherry glass down beside the Oriental cat lamp on the end table and taking her hand. “You can tell me anything at this point in our relationship.”

She alternated sniffling and sipping for a few seconds, then dabbing at her eyes with the Kleenex he'd given her earlier. Finally, she straightened up a bit and took a deep breath. “The word that came to me on the way over here tonight is
payback.
At the time of my involvement with Frank, I know I thought there would be no price to pay for what we were doing. Of course, I couldn't have been more wrong. Sometimes you can get away with these youthful indiscretions. But in my case, it hasn't happened that way.”

“Please tell me you don't think you're being punished for your affair with Frank,” he told her. “Because that would be the most wrongheaded thing you could possibly think.”

“I'm not so sure. That Darwin woman was so glib about Vietnam the way she rattled off her opinions like a college professor or something. And I think most people have gone on to be glib about it nearly half a century later. Time always does that, and as a history teacher I know that only too well. Meanwhile, here I sit with my loss still feeling as fresh and painful as if it had happened yesterday. No matter how hard I try, I can't really seem to move on. Tonight was just another example of that.”

He thought for a while, taking a nip or two of his sherry in the interim. “Then tell me what I can do to help.”

She looked down at the piece of Kleenex she had reduced to shreds and managed a little chuckle. “First, please get me a fresh one of these. I'm about to make a mess on your beautiful sofa, and I know Pamela and her portrait on the wall over there wouldn't appreciate that one bit.” She put the traumatized tissue in his hand, and he headed for the bathroom.

When he returned and resumed his seat, she had managed to compose herself considerably. “Thank you, Locke. I'm a little better now, I think. But there is something else I've never told you about me and Frank.”

“Go ahead, then.”

She took an inordinate amount of time to speak, but she finally got it out. “There was a brief period there—it was right after Frank had been deployed to Vietnam—that I thought I might be pregnant. You can't imagine how panicked I was for a while. What would I do if I was carrying his child and he never came back to us? All sorts of crazy schemes went through my head at the time. Would I run away somewhere, have the baby and give it up for adoption? I don't even want to tell you what else I was thinking.”

“But you weren't pregnant, right?”

“No, I wasn't. I was just good and late.” She was searching his face carefully for signs of disapproval but thankfully found none. “But imagine if I had been. Then I would really have been up against it, seeing as how Frank really did never come back. That would have been a youthful indiscretion for all the world to see and judge. I don't have any idea how my parents would have acted. They were pretty rigid in their opinions, and I was such a free spirit back then. Sometimes I didn't even feel related to them.”