Flavor of the Month (87 page)

Dobe’s laugh came back to her over the miles. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you tonight.”

“Tonight?” Sharleen asked. “You’re going to be here
tonight?
” Lord, her momma was coming over tonight, too! But Dobe would be welcome. Maybe he could even give her advice about Momma. “How long are you going to stay? You’re coming to stay for a while, right? Dobe, we got a big house. Wait until you see it. And wait till I tell Dean.” She gave him directions to the house, and told him about the security guard outside.

“Sounds like you’re in a safe neighborhood, girl. Makes me feel a lot better about you being in that city.”

“Dobe, it’s more like a prison.” She didn’t stop to explain. She wanted to get home and get everything ready. And tell Dean. “Dinner’ll be ready, Dobe. And we’ll be waitin’ for you.”

Sharleen hadn’t felt this happy since…Funny, she couldn’t remember feeling this happy—ever.

Filled with new energy, Sharleen went to look for Dean. She walked through the living room, past the dining room and pantry, then into the huge kitchen she was usually too tired to use. “Dean,” she called out again, as she walked past the gleaming, untouched stove to the back door, where she peered out the window to the hedge-and-brick-enclosed garden. She knew she would find Dean out there, either working on the flower beds or playing with the dogs. Or both.

Dean had taken the overgrown back yard and transformed it into a garden like you would see in the garden magazines he would look at over and over. Here, in what Sharleen was told was the most expensive four acres of property in America, Dean had created the equivalent of a perfect tiny farm.

Dean knew the name of every single thing he had growing, could even identify the occasional weed that had somehow missed his eye. He had talked to her so often about them,
she
now knew them all by heart. There was a small stand of fruit trees—a mini-orchard, really. Two peaches, four apples, and three pears. And a vegetable garden filled with beefsteak and plum tomatoes, three kinds of lettuce, scallions and onions, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, green and yellow beans, carrots, and okra. He even had peas growing up some teepee he’d built of sticks. Beyond the vegetables, there was a small pond stocked with fish—carp, she thought—that Dean fed by hand from the little wooden bridge he’d built across the pond.

Prettiest of all to Sharleen were the flowers. Alongside one brick wall, extending maybe thirty, forty feet, was a perennial bed. He had planted all the old-fashioned flowers that he loved so much, and, in less than a year, he had made them bloom. There were peonies especially for Sharleen, because she favored them, and also larkspur, hollyhocks, and foxglove. There was a stand of delphiniums almost as tall as she was, but Dean considered them a cheat, since he’d bought them potted and blooming and only transplanted them. Still, they were gorgeous.

Beyond the perennials, around the lawn, he had annuals bedded out—pansies, johnny-jump-ups, lots of zinnias, their colors sweeping the rainbow, strong-smelling marigolds, and nasturtiums. The grass was trimmed perfectly; he did it himself. And a rose garden, his pride and joy, had center place. But despite his garden, Dean was glum. Sharleen could tell.

Well, she knew what they’d do to cheer him up. They’d have a barbecue for Dobe and Momma. She saw him romping with the three pups on the emerald lawn. “Howdy,” she called to him as she walked across the grass toward him. “Whatcha doin’? Teaching the girls new tricks?”

“Yeah, and watch this, Sharleen.” He was like a little boy. Whenever he got the three dogs to do somethin’ new, he always presented the trick to her like a bouquet of flowers. Just as well, because Dean hated to cut the flowers out of the beds. “They’re dead once you do that,” he’d explained. And to Sharleen, the dog tricks were just as good, if not better than a bouquet. She liked to see him happy, and she knew she had news for him that would really get him goin’. But she decided to wait a little bit before she told him who was comin’ tonight. He’d be pesterin’ her the rest of the day if she told him now.

Dean called the three dogs and made them sit in a row. It took some coordinatin’, but they finally were all sittin’ at the same time, their eyes turned up adoringly at Dean. He stood back and took a ball from his pocket and called out, “Cara, go git it, girl,” and Cara ran and jumped into the air and grabbed the ball in her teeth. “Now, give it to Clover; good girl.” And Cara walked over to Clover and dropped the ball in front of the other puppy.

“Clover, give the ball to Crimson,” he instructed, and Clover picked up the ball in her mouth and walked to Crimson and dropped the ball, then walked back to her place. After their performance, he was beaming, and gave each of them treats from his pocket.

“That sure is something, Dean. How long did it take you to teach them that?”

Dean was stroking the dogs. “Just a few days. Ain’t they smart, Sharleen? Now they know eight tricks. Smart dogs,” he said to them, then stood up and looked at Sharleen. “You tired, Sharleen? Let’s go inside, I’ll get you a pop.”

Sharleen sat at the kitchen table sipping the cold soda from the can. She could see something was botherin’ Dean, and considered telling Dean the surprise she had for him. But first she wanted to know what was wrong.

“Momma was here yesterday, while you were out,” he said, as if answering her unasked question.

“I forgot to tell you she was comin’. I left an envelope for her on the table. She run short,” Sharleen explained. “Was she…okay?”

“Yeah, she was, but not for long, I could tell. All she wanted was to get the envelope and leave. And she asked a lot of questions about…” He paused. “Well—about stuff. Like how we slept together.” Dean paused, then looked directly at Sharleen. “Sharleen, it ain’t like I thought it was goin’ be, having Momma back. Like bein’ a family. It’s like she’s someone different. I don’t remember her like this. She’s old, and smells like whiskey all the time. It’s like she ain’t
our
momma, you know?”

Sharleen did know. She
wasn’t
like their momma. Not the momma she had known when she was a kid.
Before
she left them. All these years, Sharleen and Dean had believed that their momma was going to get them some help or something, and even when she didn’t come back, they kept believing.

Now it was hard to believe anything good about Momma. She was a drunk, and only thought about herself. She’d quit beauty school, and it looked like she was planning to live off of them. Sharleen remembered what Jahne had told her about not trusting
anybody
. Would Momma talk to newspapers about Dean and her? What a terrible thought! Well, Sharleen wasn’t exactly sure why, but she didn’t trust her momma. She did trust Dean. And Dobe.

“Dean, honey, have I got good news for you,” Sharleen suddenly said, then sat back and crossed her arms, a teasing smile on her face.

Dean opened his eyes wider. “What, Sharleen?”

Sharleen stood up and started to leave the kitchen. “Oh, I think I changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll tell you about the surprise. About who’s coming tonight.”

“Momma?” Dean asked, his face dark.

“Momma and someone else,” Sharleen sang out, teasing, “Me to know, you to find out.”

Dean smiled and jumped up and ran after her, and grabbed her around the waist as she got to the stairs. Sharleen shrieked and squirmed her way out of Dean’s grasp and ran up the steps. “No, Dean, I ain’t telling you,” she yelled, and continued to run. Dean grabbed her by one foot and got her down.

“Oh, yes, you are,” he said, now straddling Sharleen, “or I’m goin’ tickle you to death.” He held one hand up, squiggling his fingers threateningly.

Sharleen shrieked again, and begged Dean not to do it to her. “Okay, then, you gotta tell me the surprise.” He loosened his grip, but didn’t let Sharleen stand.

She gave up. “But first take one guess. And it ain’t only one person. It’s two.” Dean looked perplexed. “What two people would you want to see more than anyone else in the whole world if you had your wish?”

Dean’s eyes squinted as he tried to think. “Oprah and Dobe?” he finally asked, his question spoken softly.

“Right, honey. Oprah and Dobe are coming here to visit. Tonight!”

Dean scooped Sharleen up in his big arms, and ran up the stairs with her, two at a time. He was yelling like a hound dog in the bayou. “Sharleen, wait till I show Dobe the dogs! And all the tricks they know. Oprah, she’s going to love them, even if they’re only babies.” He kicked open their bedroom door and dropped her on the huge bed. “Yippee!” he screeched.

That night, the four of them sat around the dining-room table, the first time since Momma’s dinner that they had laid out a spread like this. Left on the table were remains of the fried chicken, ribs, and fixings Sharleen had had prepared, along with the fresh vegetables from Dean’s garden. Dobe was sitting back, wiping his fingers on a wet towel Sharleen had given him. Momma seemed to be staring at Dobe, a big smile on her face. Sharleen wondered how much she’d had to drink. “You are one hell of a man, Mr. Dobe Samuels. I bet you’ve put a smile on a lot of ladies’ faces.” Flora Lee smirked. All through dinner, she kept laughin’ at his jokes and sayin’ how smart he was. Dean hadn’t noticed, thank the Lord, because he had Oprah’s head on his lap the entire meal, and was feeding her a piece of food for every bite he took.

“Did you get enough for the guys at the gate?” Dean asked Sharleen. Usually he made sure before he started eating that the security guards got food also, but tonight, with Momma and Oprah and Dobe here, he’d been so excited, he forgot until now.

“Sure did, Dean. I got something for them, too. Just like you told me.” Sharleen looked over at Dobe and saw him smiling.

“Well, I’ve got to go to the little girls’ room,” Flora Lee declared, and left the table, her walk affected by all that she had drunk.

Dean got up and began to gather the rib bones. Oprah began dancing around him, and the three pups joined her. “Let’s go, girls. Let’s go out,” he coaxed. “When I come back after taking them for a walk, you all want to watch
The Andy Griffith Show
with me, Dobe? I got practically all of them on tape, if you want to start from the beginning.”

“Sure. I love that show. I love what’s-his-name—the barber. Floyd.” Dean was rushed out the door by the pack of dogs, who knew they were going to have fun. “He’s one sweet boy,” Dobe said. “And it looks like you got one sweet life, from what I see and read.”

Sharleen looked at Dobe. “Dobe, it ain’t how it looks.” She had to tell him, had to tell
someone
, what it was really like. She didn’t want to complain. But Dobe was the only person who would understand that just because things got better didn’t mean that things got good.

Sharleen told him the whole story. How she got the job as an actress on TV, and what it had been like since. Not all the good stuff—that he already knew—but what she had lost when she gained so much. She never thought that the success, the money, would be a trade-off, a phrase Jahne had once used that Sharleen now understood all too well. If she had been asked back then, when she was offered the job, she would have said that she had nothing to give up in return for great fame and wealth.

Now she knew different. She had lost her freedom. “I can’t go out by myself. I can’t go to a movie like other people. I can’t go into a supermarket, even though I can afford to buy the whole store. I have to go everywhere in a car with a driver and a security guy. A
bodyguard
, for goodness’ sakes, Dobe.
I
need a
bodyguard!
” Sharleen wasn’t concerned whether she was sounding ungrateful or not, or whining. Dobe understood. “When I’m work-in’, I’m tired all the time. Men are always hittin’ on me. Worse than ever. And I have no one to talk to.”

“What about your momma, Sharleen? Now that you found her. Can’t you talk to her?”

Sharleen wiped tears from her eyes on the linen napkin and grunted a laugh. “
We
didn’t find
her. She
found
us
. I never thought we was goin’ see her again, although we wanted to. Then, one day, she shows up at the studio. At first, I was real happy. Now? Now she’s never sober long enough to hold a conversation with. She just comes by for her money, then goes back to the bars, where she throws it all around. Dean don’t like her. I know it’s a sin, Dobe, but I can’t blame him. ’Cause she don’t want to be nice. She don’t, Dobe. I give her lots of money. But it seems there’s never enough. She keeps coming back for more and more. And she’s started askin’ questions. Nosy, like. And it upsets Dean. He still remembers her as our momma, but now…well, he don’t like her. Momma ain’t Momma no more.” A tear rolled down Sharleen’s cheek. “I wish she’d never found us.”

Dobe stood up and went over to Sharleen. He pulled her out of her chair, put her head on his shoulder and his arms around her. Sharleen felt herself grow limp in Dobe’s arms, and she cried like she hadn’t cried since she was a little girl. Since then, she’d always had to be strong, to take care of herself and of Dean.

“Your momma’s had a little too much to drink. Why don’t I just take her home and make sure she don’t get into any trouble.”

Mutely, Sharleen nodded. Somehow, she already felt much better.

I have never had the advantage of beauty. Somehow, you’re not surprised, right? Who ever heard of a beautiful
writer?
Writing—even the kind I do—is hard and lonely work. Who’d do it when they could be out getting laid? Not that I haven’t had my share of men. A bad first marriage (that’s where I got Richie as a last name) and then several bad affairs. But beauty wouldn’t have ensured any better men. Just different ones. I figure it like this: Beautiful women have a better early life. Then they have to suffer more later. Us plain ones have a tougher beginning—you know, no date for the prom, and the usual heartbreak—but if we work at it, life does get better. Maybe
.

Hollywood has made it worse for all of us women: the expectations are higher and more unrealistic than ever while the “life expectancy” of an actress is shorter. Female stars used to reign for a long time. A decade was a short career. Now a year is. Men want novelty. Younger, fresher, newer. And there is always some kid ready to fill the void
.