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“So who’s wantin’ him to?” Corrine slammed her locker closed. “I gotta see Ricky Dale before class. Catch ya’ later.”
Thankfully, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Ricky Dale, was standing right across the hall.
It was just bizarre.
She could hardly remember ever seeing the woman, and then suddenly, on this day, every time she turned around, there was Ms. Huggins. What was up with that?
Then—as Corrine was finishing lunch late, because she had stayed longer cleaning up in art class—she saw Ms. Huggins on the far side of the lunchroom with Mrs. Yoder. Seeing the two teachers rise and carry their trays to deposit at the counter nearby, Corrine remained seated, waiting for them to pass behind her.
A napkin came flying off Ms. Huggins’s tray and skittered on the floor beneath the tables.
“They pay people to pick that stuff up,” said Ms. Huggins, and went on out of the room.
Corrine got up to deposit her tray and trash, and ended up going around to pick up not only Ms. Huggins’s napkin but a couple of others. She knew that Mrs. Pryne, the cleaning lady, had bad arthritis, but indelibly written in her mind was Aunt Marilee’s voice saying: “Clean up messes wherever you can. Let it begin with you.”
At times that voice was just the ruination of her life.
Aunt Marilee picked her up from school. Willie Lee had left earlier, with his girlfriend, Gabby.
“Can I drive?”
“Well, sure, honey.” Aunt Marilee scooted over rather than get out.
“Hey, shortcake.” Corrine grinned at little Emily, who giggled at her from the car seat in the back. “Is Victoria home with Rosalba?”
“Yes. That woman is a pure answer to prayer.” Aunt Marilee’s face lit with delight, then she sighed a long sigh. “But I cannot imagine how she does it all day in those heels. I really can’t. Oh, I need you to go by Blaine’s on the way home. I’ve got to consult with Belinda.”
“Okay,” said Corrine, quite thrilled with the prospect of more driving and the opportunity to say, “I might as well go on by the Texaco, since we’re goin’ that way.”
“We need gas?”
“We’re down to half a tank.” Almost.
Corrine glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. She had not dared to put on fresh lipstick. Thankfully Aunt Marilee did not seem to notice any difference in her chest, which really was not so reassuring.
“Aunt Marilee?”
“Hmm?” Her aunt dug around in her purse.
“How much older than you is Papa Tate?” She was pretty certain she already knew the answer.
“Ten years. Why?”
“Oh, I just thought of it today,” said Corrine, sitting up a little straighter and shaking back her dark hair. Her hair and her eyes were her best features; even Aunt Marilee, who was knowledgeable about such things, said so.
“Well, I cannot find my credit card,” said her aunt, with her head nearly into her purse. It was a large tote-bag size and had everything in there in case of emergency—moist wipes, tissues, first-aid kit, crackers, tea bags, collapsible cup. Corrine had even seen a pair of panties in there. Aunt Marilee pretty much believed in emergencies, and counted being ready for them on the same scale as righteousness.
“We can just charge the gas to the account,” Corrine told her.
“Well, yes. We can do that.” Aunt Marilee brushed her hair out of her face and sat back with a deep breath.
What did age have to do with maturity? Corrine wondered. That was an enormous, unanswerable question.
As Corrine pulled up to the gas pumps, she looked over to see Larry Joe coming out from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. She felt this silly grin come over her face, and she dared not look at her aunt, but she did catch sight of herself in the side mirror. She wet her lips.
Larry Joe almost never waited on cars anymore. Usually Dusty or Rick did that. They even washed the windshields. The Valentine Texaco was one of the few gas stations that still provided such service. Lots of men who went there all the time pumped their own gas, but ladies always waited. Corrine had heard Larry Joe talking with Papa Tate and saying that women made the majority of purchasing decisions. It was well-known that he had been the saving of the Texaco when he took over managing it from old man Stidham. Aunt Marilee had said it was due to both service and cleanliness. The women’s restroom was now spotless.
In fact, Corrine was delighted that Aunt Marilee got out to go use it (and check it out to see if it was holding up), leaving her alone with Larry Joe. He set the gas running into the tank and then stood there, talking through the driver’s window. He spoke first to Emily in the backseat, getting her to grin and show him her bottom teeth. Then he asked Corrine how old Emily was now, and she told him a bunch of things about her baby cousin. At least it was a topic that she knew, and he seemed interested. Larry Joe was something of a kid magnet, Jojo said. The idea, in that moment, was a little uncomfortable.
Aunt Marilee came back and complimented Larry Joe all over the place for the good shape of his ladies’ restroom. She went on at great length about it, so that Corrine wanted to crawl under the seat. As Aunt Marilee slipped into the car, she said under her breath, “You just can’t encourage a man too much.”
When the tank was full, Corrine followed Larry Joe inside, while he wrote out the ticket, and while she stood there, Rick came in. He grinned at Corrine and let out a low whistle. “Whoa, chicky, lookin’ fine today!”
Corrine was both thrilled and embarrassed.
“That’s her aunt Marilee out there in the car,” said Larry Joe, pointing with the pen. “You’d best watch yourself.”
Rick winked and went on through to the garage.
“Here you are, Miss Corrine.” Larry Joe handed her a yellow slip of paper, then touched the brim of his ball cap. “Thank you for your business. See you in the mornin’.”
“See you.”
She wondered if he watched her walk back out to the car. She was able to casually glance back as she opened the car door. Larry Joe was not looking. He was over in the garage beneath a car with Rick, deep in conversation.
Disappointment and frustration caused Corrine to press harder on the accelerator than she otherwise might have.
“Watch out when you pull into the street!”
“I am watchin’, Aunt Marilee. I’ve been drivin’ for a year now—and I am not the one who has had a wreck and a ticket.”
To this, Aunt Marilee responded in a dozen different ways, and all the way to the drugstore, including how it was her car and when Corrine got her own car (which they would not let her do until starting the next school year), she could drive any way she wanted. She also had to instruct Corrine on how to pull into the head-in parking place.
Corrine was thinking, Let me in the convent now, just to get away from an overprotective mother. Would they let a Methodist in?
Help Wanted.
The sign was in the drugstore window. Corrine looked at it, and then again at the back of it when she got inside the store.
“Hi, sugars.”
Miss Belinda sounded more like her mother every day, something that Aunt Marilee often commented on, but then she would say, “Don’t say it to Belinda. She won’t appreciate it.”
Belinda did not look at all like she was related to her mother. Aunt Vella was dark eyed, tall and statuesque, and Belinda was light eyed, short and voluptuous. One day Corrine had said that Belinda was a voluptuary, like Elizabeth Taylor. Belinda had been so thrilled with this description that she had forever after seemed to favor Corrine.
Belinda told her now, “Sugar, you go on over to the soda fountain and get yourself a Coca-Cola or anything you want…and can Emily have a peppermint stick? Just get her anything she won’t choke on.”
As Corrine headed away with her baby cousin, Aunt Marilee said, “I tell you, Belinda, I am fixin’ to spontaneously combust with these hot flashes, or else slap somebody, and the doctor I saw today was no more help than the man in the moon….”
The current bane of Aunt Marilee’s existence was menopause, with doctors coming in a close second.
Between her mother, who Corrine had more or less taken care of instead of the other way around, and then living with Aunt Marilee and helping with her mentally handicapped cousin, Willie Lee, and then with the babies, and adding in Aunt Vella and Miss Belinda, Corrine knew far more than the average teenage girl about the intimate details of womanhood. She was able to assist in instruction in health class at school. Many times the girls at school, even those in senior class, sought her out for answers that their mothers were too embarrassed to tell them about boyfriends and sex. With Aunt Marilee’s latest trials, Corrine knew more about menopause than any other young woman of her age should be burdened with knowing.
And that she was in love with a young man of twenty-four would be considered surprising? What could be considered surprising was that she had loved Larry Joe since the age of thirteen and knew that she always would.
Corrine thought all of this as she made herself a Coca-Cola vanilla float, at the same time keeping Emily’s quick hands out of everything within her one-year-old reach. While she was going about this, a man came in and wanted a sweet tea and an order of nachos to go.
Corrine instantly seized the opportunity. “I’ll get it, Miss Belinda,” she called out.
Miss Belinda’s hand came up above the shelves, waving. “Okay, sugar. Thanks. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Corrine made the man his order and even took the money, which she placed at the cash register.
When she sat down at a table with her float and Emily, she thought about the sign in the window.
Help Wanted.
It was time she quit working for free.
Corrine caught sight of her own and Aunt Marilee’s reflections in the dark dining room windows as they got supper on the table. Gathering courage, she told her aunt about her idea to work at the drugstore.
Aunt Marilee looked at her with wide eyes. “You want to go to work?”
You would have thought she had said she wanted to fly to Mars.
“Yes.” She had all the arguments ready. “You have Rosalba to help you now. I need to be responsible and earn my own car insurance. And Blaine’s will be perfect for me. I already know how to do everything. And Miss Belinda is your cousin. And she could use my help with Aunt Vella away.”
“You want to go to work?” Aunt Marilee repeated and dropped into a chair.
“I’m sixteen. Lots of the girls are already workin’. Paris has worked since she was fourteen.”
Papa Tate walked in and snitched tomatoes out of the salad.
Aunt Marilee said, “She wants to go to work.”
“I heard.” His eyes met Corrine’s. He was caught in a tight spot.
Later that evening, Aunt Marilee came into Corrine’s bedroom and put her arms around her and said, “You are growin’ up,” and cried a little, as if Corrine had caught some rare disease.
Corrine, patting her aunt, wondered which one of them was growing up. Or if, indeed, anyone ever really did grow up.
CHAPTER 6
Ahead of Her Time
WHEN THE TELEPHONE RANG, BELINDA WAS curled on the end of her couch, half a glass of wine at hand, fire in the fireplace and Rod Stewart on the stereo. She was reading about menopause in Prescription for Nutritional Healing. It was the same book that she had consulted to help Marilee that afternoon. The book was continually kept open on a stand at the pharmacy for the convenience of customers. After reading in it and talking with Marilee, Belinda had about convinced herself that she was not pregnant but into early menopause. She had experienced hot flashes for two years. This was not at all surprising to her. She always had been a woman ahead of her time.
“Hello, Belinda? This is Corrine.”
“Well, hello, sugar. How are you this evenin’?”
“Fine.”
Belinda stopped in the middle of a sip of wine. Oh, Lord, don’t let the girl be in trouble.
Her mother had for years taken many an after-hours call from teenage girls, and a couple of boys, wanting to know how to get rid of some nasty infection or a surprise pregnancy. It was amazing how young women today were as ignorant of their bodies as young women had been some hundred or even fifty years ago. Parents, supposedly modern in thought and accepting of all manner of “alternate lifestyles,” still did not speak plainly to their children at an early age about normal sexual behavior. They let their children learn the way everyone had learned for generations: from movies, television and the stupid kid up the block—and none of it accurate, healthy information. Basically, modern young women were not modern in regard to any of it. They could smoke weed and get a tattoo and let a boy do all sorts of things to them, but by heaven, they didn’t want to know about their own vaginas and uteruses. They were too busy paying attention to boys during health class to pay attention to what they needed to learn, until they got a crash course. It was said that experience was the best teacher.
In cases of pregnancy, Vella Blaine had a rule about referring the girl to a good counselor that she knew, who would help navigate the decision-making process. (Belinda had the urge to jump up and look for the woman’s card, which her mother had given her for this express purpose.) For any nasty infections, Vella gave private instructions for remedies, or a referral to a good physician.
Three times in the past few years, Belinda had received similar inquiries. She had referred them to her mother, but now, with her mother’s absence, she saw plainly that she would be the one to have to step up to the plate. She did not care for the idea. It was all just awkward and annoying. She had the wild thought to give out the phone number of her mother in France.
Thankfully Corrine ended Belinda’s worry in the next instant with, “I was callin’ about the help wanted sign I saw in the drugstore window.”
“Oh.” Belinda brightened and took a fresh breath.
“Is that for full-time or part-time?”
“Well, sugar, at this point I will take any good help I can get. Are you interested?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Honey, you are hired!” Belinda raised her glass with joy.
“Well, I first need to know the hours and what you are payin’.” Politely but firmly said.
“Of course you do,” replied Belinda instantly. She’d always liked Corrine, and the girl’s statement just increased her opinion, which was that the girl was highly intelligent and a go-getter.
On the spot, Belinda quoted a salary twenty-five cents an hour more than she had planned to offer.
The headlights of Lyle’s patrol car pulled in the drive right at 8:55 p.m.
When on night duty, Lyle liked to take a break around nine and come home for a snack, either a health drink or for a more intimate snack of a different sort. Any of his nightly stopping in, however, had to come before Belinda settled herself in her beautiful bed, with her reading, everything from the Bible and Bible commentary to the Wall Street Journal and the day’s financial reports printed from the computer to the biography of some highly successful person, either current or from history. Sometimes Belinda had all of that in the bed with her. One thing was certain—she disliked, for any reason, to be disturbed from what she called her nightly reading, meditating and consciousness raising.
She would tell him, “Sugar, you have your health routines, and I have mine.”
Lyle’s consisted of lean meats, vegetables and fruits, special protein drinks, lifting weights and running.
Clearly one focused on the mind and one on the body. Belinda thought them a perfect pair.
Already showered and wearing her favorite Delta Burke rose-print satin gown, Belinda met Lyle in the kitchen, anxious to tell him the good news about Corrine. She had just gotten started when she found herself scooped up into his arms and carried so quickly into the bedroom that her head spun.
“You haven’t started readin’ yet, have you?” he asked.
“No, sugar,” Belinda said, just as he entered the bedroom, where the bedside lamps and candles were lit but the books were still stacked on the night chest.
In inspiring movie-scene fashion, Lyle smiled a delighted, sensuous, promising smile and laid her as carefully as a fine jewel upon the bed.
Belinda found herself once more grateful and amazed by the gift she had been given in her man. Truly, as the scriptures said, a woman was made for a man, a fact Lyle proceeded to prove.
