Alma Mater (6 page)

She stared at Chris, realized she didn't know her, and stuck out her
hand. "Hello, I'm Sissy Wallace. I'm so glad to make your acquaintance
even if I did fill my Poppy full of ratshot."

Vic, still holding Chris's hand, dropped it. Chris reached out and
shook Sissy's hand.

"Miss Wallace, you can pick out the ratshot with tweezers." Mignon
helpfully supplied this information.

"Got it to pepper the crows. If I had any sense I'd hit up Yolanda
with it. Poppy lets that cow stick her head in the kitchen window. I hate
that cow smell! He pays me no mind, just feeds her carrots." Sissy was re
covering her aplomb. "Here comes my sister. How she has the nerve to show her face! Georgia is a hussy—oh, yes, the stories I could tell you about my sister who never has a hair out of place, all two of them."

Georgia and Edward disembarked from a big white Cadillac.

"You never loved me. You love Georgia," Sissy shouted.

"Georgia doesn't shoot me." A square-built man, fit-looking, in his eighties, sensibly replied. Hostility clearly had a rejuvenating effect on Edward Wallace.

"No, she nearly killed you with shingles."

"That was an accident," the well-groomed Georgia snapped back
_;
her fingernail polish matched her pale pink dress. "You want everyone
to pay attention to you. The world centers around your navel." Geor
gia pushed her tortoiseshell glasses back up on her nose.

"Don't you talk to me. I'm not talking to you."

Piper, fascinated with human irrationality, watched, wagging her
tail. The golden retriever sniffed the air and raised her eyebrows.

R.
J. emerged bearing a tray of potent drinks. She knew everyone's preference. Edward liked Scotch—Johnnie Walker Black, on the rocks.
Georgia, pretending to partake only to be social, enjoyed a vodka mar
tini. Sissy would drink whatever you put in front of her, but she was
partial to margaritas.

The Wallaces collapsed into chairs. Frank introduced Chris to
Edward
and Georgia.

"So pleased to meet you." Georgia lowered her pleasant voice. "I'm
sorry you aren't meeting us at our best. As you can see, we are afflicted
at this moment by familial discord."

"Oh, balls." Sissy clamped her mouth shut like a turtle.

"You're the source of our affliction." Georgia's voice took on a pa
tronizing tone.

"Am not!"

"Did I make that martini to your specifications?" R. J. handed Georgia a napkin, her own slender hands a contrast to Georgia's square fingers.

"Why, it's just perfect, R. J. Just like you, perfect. Of course, I'm
not much of a drinker, so I can't really compare."

"Liar. You go to parties with a siphon." Sissy was beginning to en
joy herself. The double-strength margarita was helping.

"Mother, can I do anything to help?" Vic smiled at everyone.
"How about some peanuts and oh, there's some of that dip to go
with the potato chips. Edward likes my special dip."

"Sure." Vic disappeared into the kitchen followed by the other
three young women.

They could hear everything since all the windows were open.
"What's ratshot?" Chris asked.

"Little pellets. Same as birdshot, but we call it ratshot down here."
Jinx pulled out a big tray from the pantry. "Napkins." She put a bunch
on the tray.

"Mignon, get the bowls, will you? I can't very well serve in plastic
bags."

"Can I do anything?" Chris wanted to be useful.

"Stand there and look beautiful." Vic smiled at her.

"Queer," Jinx mocked, emptying a bag of chips into one of the
bowls Mignon placed on the tray.

"Takes one to know one," Vic good-naturedly shot back.

They could hear Edward booming. "Too many women. That's the
trouble in my house."

"It depends on the kind of women, Edward." Frank gave him a sly
glance, which had the intended effect.

Edward grunted, smiled, and leaned back in the chair for a long pull. He winced for a moment as he felt one of the little pellets that
was embedded in his backside.

"Poppy, now Poppy, don't you fret. I'll carry you to the hospital if
you're feeling weakish." Wrong word.

"Georgia, I've got some ratshot in my ass. I'm not feeling weakish."
He looked over the rim of his depleted drink to R. J. "Pardon my
French, R. J."

"I
hear worse than that around here, Edward. Let me freshen your
drink. It's Friday evening, and we all need to just kick back." She stood
up, took the glass, and walked into the kitchen just as the girls were
walking out. "Vic, the solution to this problem is to bring the booze
out onto the patio."

"Yes, ma'am." Vic handed the tray to Jinx, turning to go back into
the kitchen.

R. J. put her arm around Chris's waist for a moment. "Chris, there's
never a dull moment around here."

Mother and daughter quickly gathered all the necessities for vodka
martinis, margaritas, Scotch. Frank liked Scotch, so he was fine. He
just needed a splash of soda water. R. J. rarely drank except on special
occasions like her husband's birthday.

"Mom, should we put this on the coffee table or on the side table?"
Vic asked.

R. J. thought a moment. "Side table. I'd better not let them fix their
own drinks, in case someone loses their temper again. You keep an eye
on Georgia. I'll watch Sissy and Edward."

"This is a drill." Chris laughed.

"We've done it many times." R. J. smiled as she picked up the tray with ice cubes in a silver bucket and lime, lemon, and orange rind peels
in small bowls. Vic handed Chris the bottle of Absolut Vodka
and
Johnnie Walker Black while she grabbed the other bottles.

"Onward Christian soldiers." Vic opened the door with her foot
just as Edward was pontificating.

"Women can't think straight. God love 'em, they just can't."

"I believe they say the same thing about us." Frank's tone was light.

"But I bet if we all sit here we'll come up with an amicable solution."
"'Course we will. We're men."

Chris glanced at Vic and Jinx, who bore this sexism stoically. She
wondered if Virginia women believed it or if they were obedient just
to get their way. Apparently those myths about the Southern belle

were true. If it were up to her she'd knock the old man's teeth down his
throat.

"If men are so reasonable, why do you get us in all those wars?" Georgia mentioned this without rancor.

R. J. pushed a lock of glossy black hair out of her eyes. "Georgia's
got a point there."

"On top of her head." Sissy giggled as R. J. reached over, took her
glass, and made her another.

"Don't be childish." Georgia scowled and then looked up at R. J.
"You haven't a gray hair on your pretty head."

"Oh, yes I do. You can't see it out here. Put me under bright lights, and you'll find some."

"Georgia hits the dye pots. Her hair is a blonde not found in na
ture." She stared at Chris a moment. "I'm sure yours is natural, honey." "Yes, ma'am."

The tension ebbed, the older people chitchatted about goings-on, the younger people refilled chip bowls, the ice bucket, and whatever else needed attention.

At one point, R. J. reached for Mignon. "Sugar, I thought you were
going to the football game tonight?"

"I'd rather stay here with you." Mignon didn't want to miss any
thing, since the Wallaces were capable of explosions in a split second.
"Sure?"

Mignon smiled. "Sure."

"When I see your girls I regret not having children," Sissy said.
"Don't you, Georgia?"

Georgia nodded in agreement. "Yes, R. J., you and Frank brought

two lovely girls into this world. Such young ladies. And you, too, Jinx."
"Where's your young
man?"
Sissy leaned over to pat Vic's leg.

Vic, sitting on the edge of her chair, replied, "Football, game to-

morrow. We don't see much of him here on Fridays."

"We like having a young buck around, don't we, Georgia?" Sissy
sighed.

Georgia paused. "Any woman who doesn't like looking at a handsome man is dead. That's what Momma always used to say."

"What was that? What did your Momma say?" Edward had never
truly recovered from his wife's death thirty-four years ago
_;
he had kept his daughters too close to him as a result of it.

"Any woman who didn't like looking at a handsome man was
dead," Georgia repeated.

"That's why she married you, Poppy," Sissy cooed.

He snorted a disbelieving laugh, but he loved hearing that. He
pointed his glass in Chris's direction. New ears. "My wife, Dorey,
passed away on April thirtieth,
1945.
She was forty-one and pretty as a
picture. I tell you, honey, it broke my heart. I loved that woman and
she loved me. I never have understood that." The corner of his mouth
turned up in a smile.

Finally Frank, seeing his charges were lubricated, made his point.
"Now I know this contretemps was over the will, and I know, Edward,
your patience can be sorely tried. However, if you return to your origi
nal intention and I believe Dorey's original intention, you'll divide your
estate fifty-fifty, and I think both girls will discharge their duties faithfully as regards the church and other worthy charities, won't you, girls?"

"Yes," they sang in unison.

"Bring me the papers Monday," Edward said.

"Have you destroyed your former will?" Frank asked.

"Burned it."

"All right. I'll drop by around noon."

After draining the bar dry, the Wallaces repaired to their vehicles.
Sissy opened the door to her Plymouth. "I wish Don McKenna

would get a Cadillac dealership. Poppy, will you buy me a Cadillac?" "Don't push your luck." Georgia closed the door behind her sister

and walked to the Cadillac.

"I was kidding, Poppy," said Sissy, who wasn't.

Numb from the Scotch, Edward didn't wince when he shifted his
weight in the passenger seat as Georgia started the motor.

"Frank, I wonder if we should let him drive home?"

"Honey, everyone knows those cars. They'll pull over." Frank
laughed.

"Dad, are Vic and I going to fight like that?"

"We might now," said Vic as she put empty glasses on the tray.

"I mean over the will." Mignon couldn't imagine her parents dying,
but the Wallaces were a vivid reminder that siblings will act like hye
nas over the spoils.

"Everything will be left to you just as it is today," R. J. answered
her, firmness in her voice.

A cloud passed over Frank's eyes as he nodded in agreement with his wife.

Later, after everyone was in bed, Chris, in the guest room next to
Mignon's, had to laugh. Mignon kept slipping notes under the door.
Things like: "Help, I'm held prisoner in this room." Chris would re
spond with a drawing or something else.

Jinx slept in Vic's room, which had two twin beds with a night-
stand in between. Most of the clothes that hung in Vic's closet were
Jinx's.

"What time do you want to go to your mom's tomorrow?" Vic
propped up the pillows. The lights were out.

"I'll worry about that tomorrow," Jinx said. "Drives me crazy when
old man Wallace talks about how irrational women are."

"Let men say and think whatever they want
_;
then go do it your
way. That's my motto," Vic replied. "I don't think Charly's going to be
like that. I mean he's not that way now. He'd better not turn into a
good old boy."

"Who knows? I look at my mother, and I can't imagine her young.
Time really does have power." Jinx sat up. "I'm hungry."

"Eat."

"I can't. It's too late. I've got to lose ten pounds."

"Well, don't think about food."

"I'll try."

"Jinx, you know how we talk about fate?"

Both of them believed in some kind of fate or karma that deter
mined their destinies. Over the years and in many nighttime talks, this concept evolved into a belief that everyone did have a predetermined
destination, but that there were obstacles in reaching it. Plus, things
happened on the way. People had choices.

"Yes."