The School of Beauty and Charm (29 page)

“Thank you,” I said. That night I dreamed of the fire and snakes and Jeremiah, who kept saying, “You ever seen a cat catch a rat?”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, on the way out of town, the caravan stopped at a gas station, and I called home.

“Living with whom?” asked Florida. I shifted the receiver to my other hand and took a drink.

“With a friend,” I said in a small voice.

“With a black man? What did you say? I can't hear you? Where are you?”

“South Carolina. We're on our way to Rock Hill this morning.”

“We'll see about that. You ask your father. He turned this town upside down looking for you. I told him you'd taken the bus. Or hitchhiked. Rebelling against your mother. You could have been killed or mauled. I've lain awake every single night. Had nightmares. I guess that doesn't concern you, does it? You just please yourself. Mark my words, one day you will be sorry. Here's your father.”

I heard her murmur, “Living with a black man in North Carolina. She said something about somebody with three legs. I don't know what-all. Circus, it sounds like. Maybe she'll listen to you.”

There was a silence on the phone. Then Henry said in a deep, steady voice, “Hello, Louise.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I'm fine. How are you?”

“I'm doing all right, honey. You're mother's been worried to death.” In the background, over the clatter of dishes, I heard Florida's monologue: “Didn't hear a peep about college. Guess she gave up on that, too. Does she have any money? Oh, I could just wring her neck. I'm going to get my purse and go to the car.”

“Sit tight, Florida,” said Henry. “I'm talking to her.” In a
professional voice, he began to ascertain my situation. First, he took down the number of the pay phone, in case of disconnection. Then he asked for my address.

“Dad, it's the Arthur Reese Traveling Show,” I said impatiently. “We don't have an address.”

“He must have an address. Everybody in this country has some kind of address. How does he pay his bills? Spell his name for me.”

“He has a patch man to pay his bills.”

“A what?”

“A guy who pays people off.”

“What's his address?”

Florida picked up on another extension to ask if I wanted her to reschedule my dentist appointment. “The Good Lord has answered my prayers,” she said. “I thought you might be in pain.” She began to cry.

“I'm trying to talk,” said Henry.

“Is there a law that only one person can talk? I have something to say, too. I'm her mother. Boss, boss, boss, that's all you do Henry. I'm going to the grocery store. You all are driving me crazy. Bye.”

“Yes, he went to college,” I was saying when Zane walked out of the gas station and handed me a fresh beer. “He probably got a degree. I don't know.”

“I went to all the colleges,” said Zane, popping open is beer. “I can count to ten backwards, but I only do it for cops.”

“Would you like to talk to him?” I asked Henry.

“Not right now,” he said, but I handed the phone to Zane. Then, with a mixture of wonder and shame, I looked at the caravan lined up at the Texaco pumps. Arthur's limousine had
been obtained, somehow, from a funeral home in Texas. Eva had replaced the black curtains with purple and gold ones, but you can't hide a hearse. Most people maintained a respectful distance, but while I was standing on the curb I saw a child edge toward the window. Then he fled, screaming “Snake! Mama, they's a snake in that car!” Madge claimed that Percy could not get comfortable anywhere except in the back seat of the limo, and Arthur, who had in fact traded in her mountain lion for a couple of hot dog stands, felt guilty enough to ride with an albino python for the rest of his life. Spencer and Daisy rode in Jungle Jim's trailer. Theoretically, they were in car seats, but they'd managed to unfasten each other and dash into the store. Daisy came out first, waving a fistful of lollipops, and was followed shortly by Spencer, who was chased out by the cashier. Someone screamed, “Call the police!” drawing a crowd around our sputtering rigs and the rusty, patched-up trailer homes we pulled behind them.

“You get them stinking gypsies outa here.”

“Gypsies and niggers and monkeys, too.”

“What's the damn difference?”

“Don't you leave that register, Brittany. Them folks are dangerous. I had my cousin Peewee out here one Sunday on the morning shift, and one of them circus ladies give him the evil eye. She snatched twenty dollars clean out of the drawer. Didn't touch nothing. Did it all with her eye.”

“He tell you that?”

“He stood right there where you are.”

On the pay phone, Zane was slowly repeating a phone number he had made up.

O
N THE RIDE
to Rock Hill, squeezed between Zane and Lollibells, who had snatched some Valium from Arthur and was snoring quietly, I asked Eva about her third leg. Until now I had been too bashful to ask, but since it was hanging over my shoulder, and everybody was in a good mood, I risked it.

“All of Eva is real,” she said. “No rubber parts. Right, Zane?” She tickled him with her toes.

“You bet,” he said, tossing her a handsome smile.

“Here, Louise. Give me a foot massage. My feet are clean. I am not like Tic Toc. It is how long since he has bathed, Zane?”

“He got caught in the rain a few years ago.”

“A little harder, dear, yes, there, that's it.” I rubbed her foot, which was small, smooth, and white, with blue polish on its little toenails, like Puff LeBlanc.

“She's nice! Nice hands, huh Zane? You have the hands of a lady—Eva's hands. We should have many of these fine hands; two is not enough. Do you know what a famous man with three legs, four feet, and sixteen toes said when he was asked how he coped in the world?”

“Lentini!” shouted Zane. “I love him!”

“He answers to this man, ‘If you lived in a world where everyone had only one arm, how would you cope with two?'”

“So you weren't really found in a Dumpster?”

“No, I was in a convent, which is much, much worse. I did not eat chicken. I ate—how do you call it? Cruel.”

“Gruel.”

“Yes, that. And at night they locked me in a closet. The sisters said my parents have sinned—so I have three legs. Some of them thought I was a devil. They were afraid I would get
out of the closet at night and eat them up. That was correct.” Clenching her jaw, she snapped her teeth and growled. Her eyes were dark corridors.

As we crossed the Catawba River, she brought up the subject of Sunny. “You can tell it's the end of the season when nobody will ride with nobody else,” she said as we bounced along the rutted road. “Sunny wants to ride here, with Zane, but Zane cannot let her because here is his new wife, Louise Peppers.”

“We're not married,” I said pointedly.

“And you,” continued Eva, “you hate that girl, no? You want to scratch out her eyes?”

“I could take her or leave her.”

“Leave her to the wolves!” she cried, poking me with her foot. “All night you lie in his arms, thinking, Did she hold him like this? Did he like her smell? Is this her smell on the pillow?”

“Let's change the subject,” said Zane.

I lit a cigarette for courage and asked, “Did you go to their wedding?”

“Oh, yes! It was a carnie wedding on the merry-go-round, in New Orleans. The horses were in better shape back then; they had shiny new paint and most of their teeth. Sunny's father bring his band to the lot, and they play beautiful music; everyone is dancing and drinking champagne. We make toast. Sunny, she is throwing up. We are joking with Zane—Is she pregnant? Because why else would he have married such a trumpet?”

“Strumpet,” I corrected, watching Zane from the corner of my eye. He was mad. Eva didn't seem to notice.

“You see, Louise, he come to me the day before and say, ‘Eva, Potrebbe mi aiutare? Can you help me? I think maybe I make a mistake.'

“I say to him, ‘Ferma! Stop! The marriage is not . . .' andato e ritorno, how do you say in English?”

“Round-trip,” mumbled Zane. “I don't want to talk about this.”

“So don't talk,” said Eva, opening a beer. “I am talking because I tell the truth, and this girl who leaves her family to join us needs to know the truth.”

“That's very Italian, or something,” said Zane.

“How do you know? I am a woman. This is what I know.” Turning to me, she said, “I love Sunny. She is like a daughter to me. Her father—what music he plays! When I hear him, you understand, I am flying. But she is not the woman for Zane. She is too afraid. Afraid of everything. Always pushing people. Trying to be the one, as you say. Not like Zane. He dreams big dreams, like you. He loves. Sunny's father love only his music. Her mother love only her wine. Poof. Not like your mama, no? I see her now; she is hurting in her heart for you.”

“Here comes the fortune,” said Zane. “Give her a dollar, Louise.”

Eva took my hand, running her fingers over my palm. “No money this time. Next time. This time, I am talking to you as a daughter. I see fire in you, a terrible hot fire you cannot put out with whiskey. It gets hotter and hotter. Big, big fire. Zane cannot swallow this fire. The dragons across the sea, they run from you. Inside, you are burning, burning, burning. Nothing can stop you. You are crazy. Do you understand what I am saying?” I looked into her eyes. She hissed, “Il cotella!”

“Give her a dollar,” said Zane.

“You insult me,” replied Eva.

“I try,” he said. He rubbed his eyes and stared tiredly at the
road. The birds were flying south in unwavering black V against the blue sky. At dusk, we drove through a town where the houses sat close together behind neat picket fences, and I looked at each softly lit window, wondering what they were doing inside, if anyone was thinking of joining the carnival.

I
N
R
OCK
H
ILL
, I received a real letter from Florida:

Dearest Louise,

I am sending this General Delivery and don't know if you will get it or not. Please let me know. Your father and I do not like it that we cannot reach you. We might have an emergency, and no one would know where to find you. We are trying to let you be “independent” but you will have to prove that you are capable. Mature. Please call us collect. Henry wants to know if you got your check.

It is raining here. It is something like a “rain forest.” It was very hot in Atlanta and warm here but not hot. Last weekend we went to the lake with Mary MacDermott and her husband, Phil (I always call him Bill), who taught you math at Bridgewater. He said that it's not unusual for female students to have a math block. I don't know if that's prejudiced or not. He wore his socks the whole time we were on the boat. Maybe next time we'll invite her when he's out of town. They are new members of our church but don't come regularly.

“The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.” Psalms 53:1. Try to make some Christian
friends in the circus who will be a good influence on our morals and not lead you down the wrong path (premarital sex). Do you work on Sundays? See if you can get to a church service. Stick your neck out there. Smile. Fix your hair and your makeup. You can do it! No one wants to be around someone who is down in the dumps. You were very unhappy at home. I know you don't like me to tell you this, but you have hardened your heart against JESUS CHRIST YOUR LORD. I'm sending you a hairbrush that Agnes recommends for fine hair. I'm back with her now.

Mary thinks it's wonderful that you are studying to be a “clown.” People are driving from Atlanta and all over to buy MacMe clothes. Her prices have gone sky-high. I bought a pair of socks from her that you can have if you want them—I can't afford anything else. I know you don't like her style, but these are real cute. She asked me if you got your sense of humor from me, and I told her no, you aren't very funny at home, just around other people. You get that from Henry I guess. He mopes around the house now that you are “away.”

I shooed our owl away last night. We think he's the one who ate Puff. Then I had a bad dream about a big bird carrying me away. Got up at three and went back to sleep on the couch. Don't know if we'll get another pet or not. They're more trouble than they're worth, but now that you aren't in your room, the house feels empty. Found one of your argyle socks behind the dryer. Do you have the mate?
I can send it to you. I'm taking a painting class, but I'm the dumbest one in class. I may quit. Henry doesn't like the mess I make.

Remember all the good qualities you have when you make an effort and all that you have to be grateful for. Have you spoken to anyone at Ringling Brothers about your ambitions, desires, and goals? You know who to talk to better than I do. Put your best foot forward! Have a positive attitude! Let me know if you would like me to send you Billy Graham's tape on that (the one I got for Mother). She never listened to it. Please don't take any drugs if someone offers them to you.

Love,

Mom

P.S. I saw Drew's mother yesterday at a shower for Barbara Groche's daughter (the fat one) who is getting married to a piano player from Cartersville. Barbara tried to discourage that but failed. She said Drew is working hard at Harvard and is running for vice president of her class. Drew has always been outgoing and bubbly. Have you talked to her lately?

P.P.S. Dr. Frommlecker married and divorced a nineteen-year-old Vietnamese girl. People say he was mean to her. I don't know what happened to the secretary, I guess she ran out on him. It just about killed Shirley (the marriage) but she went to a spa in Asheville, North Carolina, and is much better
now. Henry says she took an arm and a leg off Leo in the divorce. She looks great! Skinny and tan with a manila frost in her hair. I've gained ten pounds right around my middle. I'm old and fat— not young and cute like you!