The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett - 46

I cooked a big batch of pancakes and bacon the next morning. In the dining room, Charlie’d set the card tables beautifully with pressed linens and blue and white china and an arrangement of red spider lilies twined with ivy from the yard. Pleasant details that might help Mrs. Tartt digest the fact that she’d be having her morning constitution with five prostitutes.

At nine, I went up to the attic to check on Frances. She was lying on her bed, dressed for the day, though she hadn’t come downstairs. She sat up and narrowed her eyes on me, no doubt preparing to tell me something terrible about myself. I did not have the inclination or the time to care where I landed on the Frances-o-meter today. Mrs. Tartt’s door was still closed.

“I’d appreciate it if you could please keep an eye on Mrs. Tartt today, Franny. Just to make sure she doesn’t … see too much.”

“She walked in on the twins , Birdie. What else could she possibly see?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said.

I started to leave, but Frances said, “Wait.”

“I’m busy, Frances.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Charlie was Meg’s mother?” she said. “I had a right to know that.”

When you’d clutched a secret as tightly as this one, it felt unsafe to open your fist and finally let it go. But maybe this would help her understand what I’d been telling her all this time about her highness, Chairlady Garnett. “Because Welty Pittman is Meg’s father, Frances. He had an affair with Charlie.”

She made a choking sound. “You’re— sure ?” I nodded. “So, you’re saying, all this time we— I’ve been harboring Welty Pittman’s mistress?”

Of course Frances was making this about herself. But then, thank God, I saw it: doubt . It cracked open across her face, widening her eyes. “ That’s why Garnett … treated Meg so much worse than the other girls?”

“I suspect it’s why she became chairlady in the first place and why she started that horrible work program. To punish one little girl.”

Frances considered this. “You don’t know that, Birdie. You don’t know what Garnett would do.” She was sliding back to where she was more comfortable, following her leader like she’d been instructed. “She’s a good Christian, she believes in—in the sanctity of family. Who knows, maybe she would’ve helped Charlie get her little girl back.” When it came to Garnett, Frances was a sheep.

Did she need to know everything? I decided that she did. “Have you seen the scars on Charlie’s wrists?” Frances eyed me warily, but she nodded. It made me sad trying to put it into words that Frances would understand. “Garnett had Charlie deemed feebleminded so she’d get sent to the state asylum. They tied her up and sterilized her.”

Frances’s mouth turned down. Cold tables and knives and ropes. To make sure her imagination was working, I gently wrapped my fingers around her small wrist. “Can you imagine that, Frances? Your hero, Garnett, made that happen.”

She pulled her wrist out of my fingers and hugged herself like she was cold.

“Go downstairs and please keep an eye on Mrs. Tartt? She’s seen enough,” I said and left the room.

After I took a quick bath that I didn’t really have time for, I dressed and went downstairs. This was going to be a busy day. When I walked into the dining room, Frances was already at the card tables. Virginia was sitting next to her, pointing to something in the big black textbook. “There’s nothing wrong with the word vagina ,” Virginia said to her. “You have one, you know.” Frances looked speechless. She got up and moved so there was a chair between them.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Tartt sang brightly, walking in.

“Morning, Mrs. Tartt,” I said. She had on a light blue cotton dress, clean but very wrinkled. Her hair was properly coiffed, and she’d put on cheery red lipstick, though it ran slightly awry on the top left. I thought she looked pretty good, considering. I gave Frances a look that said, Please watch her , and went into the kitchen.

Picador and Polly were coming in from the clothesline, holding a basket of sheets. I looked each of them squarely in the face and said, “ She knows. ”

Polly grasped the counter. “What she say?”

“She said …” I had to take a second to breathe, myself. “We can stay open for the last two nights. I think she’s in some sort of a look-the-other-way mood.”

“Law have mercy on my soul,” Polly said, shaking her head. “Here I thought this gone put her in Methodist Cemetery, laid up next to Mr. Henry.”

Picador pursed her lips. “Miss Viktoria ain’t no dummy. She know what a dollar bill smell like, prolly better’n any a us do.” She sounded sort of proud of Mrs. Tartt. “But we gone act like nuttin going on, don’t wanna wave it in her face now.”

“ Thank you , Picador,” I said.

Polly’d gone out to the clothesline again when Mrs. Tartt came into the kitchen. Picador walked out of the washroom with an armful of wet sheets. Mrs. Tartt stopped in her tracks.

“Good morning, Picador,” Mrs. Tartt said.

“Mawning, Miss Viktoria,” she said. They stood looking at each other. Picador did not glance down at the mountain of wet sheets in her arms. Neither did Mrs. Tartt. For a moment, the two of them had the loudest silent conversation I’d ever heard about why there were so many wet sheets piled in her arms.

“I hope you’re doing fine this morning?” Mrs. Tartt finally asked.

“Fine, we all fine.”

“Fine, glad to hear it, then.” Conversation over. Mrs. Tartt went back to the dining room, and I prayed the rest of the day would go just like this.

By two thirty, I had had it with Frances. I walked out on the back porch to find her asleep with her mouth open. “Frances!”

She opened her eyes and wiped her mouth. “She’s in there .” She pointed to the window behind her. “Which is why I’m out here.”

I went into the parlor to find Mrs. Tartt sitting up very straight on the settee as Flossy painted her fingernails a slick dark pink.

“The trick is long, quick strokes.” Flossy winked. “Now look, ain’t that attractive?”

Mrs. Tartt smiled politely. “And how am I supposed to get this off?” she asked.

“Why would ya?” Flossy said.

Ah, but the day was not over yet.

At some point, Mrs. Tartt was headed toward the stairs to go lie down awhile when the telephone rang. I gave Ruby a shove and grabbed it myself.

“Yes sir,” I said and then, “It’s for you, Mrs. Tartt. He says it’s Harry Holtzman calling from Biloxi.”

She smoothed her dress down and took the receiver from me and I went to get Frances in case she was needed for this. By the time we got back, Mrs. Tartt was hanging up. Her face was drawn, the color of cold ash. She went over and sat on the bottom stair.

“What? What did he say?” Frances asked, sinking down beside her. I didn’t know if I should give them a minute, but Frances said, “Stay.”

“Holtzman did it. He made a deal with the judge, the papers are signed and everything,” Mrs. Tartt said. She swallowed hard. “Rory’s going to the hospital. He says he’s ready.” She closed her eyes and covered her face. “ My poor son. ”

“You spoke to Rory?” Frances asked. Mrs. Tartt nodded. “What else did he say?”

“That he was so sorry he’d disappointed me. And sorry he’d embarrassed Henry all those years ago. He promised to get better, and I told him he didn’t have to do this, he could serve his time instead, I would stand by him but he said no, he had to. Then he put Mr. Holtzman back on the line.” She was perspiring, she looked nauseous. I was afraid she might be sick so I went to the kitchen and brought back glasses of water for them both.

Mrs. Tartt drank half of hers in one long sip. “Holtzman said he … went through the apartment Rory’d rented in New Orleans. A lot of it was still there, but Henry’s gold watches, the jewelry, the silver—Rory’d sold it all for quick cash, and that money will have to go toward the fees and his treatment. Holtzman said he’d arrange to have what’s left shipped up here with the Studebaker.”

“Do you think it would’ve made any difference if I’d told him not to go to the hospital?” Frances asked. Her eyes were filled with tears. Did I do this? was what she was asking.

“No, dear. Rory made his own choice this time.”

I watched her face. Frances looked grateful to be absolved. She was put on this earth to be Mrs. Rory Tartt, and she truly believed her husband would get rid of this “illness” of his.

“I’m glad you’ll have some of your things back.” Frances reached over and squeezed Mrs. Tartt’s hand, which I’d never seen her do.

“I don’t care about any of those things anymore, Frances. I just want my son, whole and happy … I can’t imagine what they’re going to do to him.” She sobbed deeply into the palms of her hands. It sounded guttural, full of bright, fresh pain.

The temperature dropped as the afternoon wore on and a cool fall breeze sent the lanterns and the ornaments swaying in the trees. I decided to make us a picnic supper, or lunch for some, on quilts I’d laid out in the side yard: hot ham and cheese sandwiches, potato salad, cold Co-Colas, and the can of cigarette singles. With just two nights left, we couldn’t sell them all and it made me think of all those johnnies that would be left up under the sink. The ladies were mostly ready for the evening, bathed and shaved and their faces made up, but still in their comfortable “own-ers.”

While we ate, Flossy and Ruby played a game of whist with the twins. At first I thought the twins were real good at it until I realized they were cheating. Coughing and sniffing signals with cards tucked under their legs. I wondered when the others would catch on. Charlie had the appointment book out, though mostly she was staring off at the crape myrtles. She’d been deathly quiet all day and I knew it was because of Meg. Even though she had the money to take care of her, there was no guarantee she’d be able to get her back. She looked sick, gaunt.

“Golly jeez, it’s getting chilly,” Flossy said. Sitting cross-legged, she pulled Frances’s bathrobe tighter. That October wind was brisk. “So what’s everbody’s plan after this? Dr. Twat, what will you do when your favorite prostitute patients ain’t here to catch something?”

Virginia looked up from her textbook. “Work at the hospital and for Kleinkamp until I hear back from med schools. If I get into Woman’s Med up in Pennsylvania, there’s a hospital there that’ll hire second years, but I still need to earn the first year’s tuition.” She chewed the end of her pencil. “Birdie, think your sister needs to get checked for gonorrhea?”

“Sadly, she does not,” I said.

“What about you, Es?” Flossy asked. “Going straight to Paris to get Frenchy with the frogs?”

“I’m driving to Memphis first,” Esmeralda said. “There’s a fella there who wants to buy that fancy car of mine for a good price. Then I have to get back down south to New Orleans by Monday morning before the ship leaves. Otherwise, I’ll have to leave out of New York. And in a few weeks, I’ll be in Paris with my girl.” She stretched her long legs out on the quilt. She was wearing the pale silky pantsuit again. I wanted one for myself.

“Your girl in this business?” Virginia asked.

“No, my girl’s a singer in the clubs.” Esmeralda smiled, her cheeks shimmering. “She is the cat’s meow over there. If you gals ever heard her sing, she’d turn all y’all’s asses lavender.” Esmeralda closed her eyes, showing the neat black line of Cleopatra kohl on her lids. She opened them and looked at me. “What are your plans for the future, Birdie? That big fella coming for you?”

I nodded. I couldn’t believe the future was only two days away. “I have to go home to the Delta for a while.” Saying that sounded like an ending. It sounded like death. But it wasn’t. “I’ll be coming back up here to see him … and I’m thinking about setting up my own business.”

“You need girls?” Dixie asked.

“Not that kind of business, Dixie.” But what an idea. “Bookkeeping services, for businesses around here.”

“What about you, Flossy? You think you’ll still go up to North Dakota?” Virginia asked.

I looked at Flossy. I didn’t know this plan had become real. Flossy examined her hands, which were veiny and yellow. “I thought I’d give it another try. Then me and Rube are getting a place in Chicago, ain’t we, Rube? See can we get us some Capone types.”

“We got a good thing going here,” Ruby said in a strangely high voice. “Why the hell we gotta shut down?” I thought I saw her lip actually quiver as she tossed a card in the pile.

“You gettin’ sentimental on me, Rube?” Flossy asked and squeezed her arm.

Ruby looked away. “No. I just don’t like what you said before.”

“What did she say?” I asked.

Flossy laid her hand of cards down and leaned back. “I been getting this feeling. That Chicago’s my last ride.”

“You mean, you’re gonna retire?” I asked.

“No, it’s bigger than that. It’s just a hunch, and it’s alright, I made my peace with it.” Flossy nodded to herself, watching leaves drift down from the pecan tree. I didn’t like that either. “Hey, it’s been a hell of a ride.” She sat up and played a card and winked at Ruby, her card partner, with a see what I just played there? look.

Dixie rearranged her legs, coughed twice, and a few minutes later the twins won the game.

“Jeez Louise,” Flossy laughed, “what do you two, share a brain or something?”

“Brain damage is more like it,” Ruby muttered and threw down her cards.

“There she is,” Flossy said.

“If we are, you are,” Dixie said, looking straight at Ruby. It was rare but I guess she figured she better get it in while she could. “Try and tell me which one a us here ain’t damaged?”

There were looks around the quilt, like we were measuring it in each other, even Charlie. I’d always thought I was the most damaged person in the room until I’d lived with five prostitutes and a madam. Ruby reached over and snatched a ten of clubs out from under Dixie’s leg.

“You stupid geeks been cheating this whole time?” But instead of threatening to shove the card down Dixie’s throat, Ruby just laughed. Not head back laughter, like the first busy night when she’d danced so much, she forgot what she was here for, more of a chuckle. “Maybe y’all ain’t as stupid as you look,” she said and stood up and went in the house, leaving her dirty plate behind for me to take in. She still scared the daylights out of me.

“Charles, what’s your plan from here?” Flossy asked.

Charlie didn’t look glum like Ruby had; it was deeper, almost bottom of the well. I thought about when she’d stood, so obstinate, on the back porch that day, chin out, telling me how things would be run—that sureness looked like it was slipping through her fingers.

“Next week … I’m driving north to go talk to some people. I’ll stay in Memphis while I wait to see if it works out, and then hopefully I’ll be taking the train …” She pointed a thumb to the left.

“Anywhere but? I know the town,” Esmeralda said. “How you getting up there?”

“Mr. Binny said he’d drive me.”

“Maybe I can make you a better offer?” Esmeralda asked.

Afterward, as Charlie washed dishes, I listened to what that offer was. Charlie would drive Esmeralda’s Pierce-Arrow up to Byhalia then on to Memphis to the man who wanted to buy it for a good price. She’d collect the money and wire it to Esmeralda in France, keeping a small fee for herself. “He won’t give you any trouble about the money,” Esmeralda had said. “But don’t fall for him. He’s tall, very dark, and handsome.”

“What do you plan to say when you get to Byhalia?” I asked Charlie.

She turned the tap off. There came a point where desperation didn’t take no for an answer, but I wanted Charlie to handle this wisely. “I’ll try and reason with the Heidelbergs,” she said. “Tell them who I am and what happened and I’ll ask them to let me talk to Meg, and once they see the way she is with me …” Her chin quivered, but she took a deep breath and reeled her heartache back in. Charlie was the strongest person I’d ever known. I looped my arm through hers. “And if they refuse, I’ll hire a lawyer in Memphis and try to go through the courts.”

I nodded my approval. Her words were thick with defeat. “There’s no other way to do it, Charlie.”

Charlie’d more or less collected herself when Esmeralda came back into the kitchen, her silky pants swishing around her. “Don’t forget, drive slow on your way to Memphis, make sure you don’t get stopped by the cops. If they see the registration papers, they’ll think the car’s stolen.”

“Is the car stolen?” I asked.

Esmeralda frowned at me for asking this. “No, it’s not. But if the police ask to see the registration, they’ll know Charlie’s not me. Most of the time they don’t even believe I’m me. But they might still give you trouble when they see it’s registered to a Negro. They hate a colored person owning a car that nice. So drive careful and drive slow.”

“I’ll watch out,” Charlie told her.

Esmeralda must’ve seen the surprise on my face. If we’d been caught … if she’d been caught … I was speechless. We still had two nights to go.

Her look wasn’t unkind, it was more sympathetic that I was so naive. “In case I don’t get the chance to tell you, it’s been an absolute pleasure working with you, Birdie.” She set a hand on my shoulder.

“You too, Esmeralda. More than you know.”

She swished out and I looked at Charlie, my heart beating faster.

“You didn’t know,” Charlie said. It was not a question.

“Does … everybody know but me?”

Charlie nodded. “We assumed you knew.”

Naturally I’d been the last to know. I stared down at the checkered floor and it all made sense—the way Mr. Binny had looked at Esmeralda that first night. How terrified she’d been when she found out Charlie hadn’t made a deal with the sheriff.

“If we had gotten busted, Es could’ve been—” I didn’t want to finish that sentence, it scared me too much for her and for us. “What about Priscilla? Did she know?”

“That’s why Es came back here. Priscilla was afraid the car was stolen and it would bring the cops around, so she found the registration papers and saw it was registered to a Negro. She told Es she’d only pay her a third what she paid the other girls. Es wouldn’t take it.”

“Why would Es risk working in a white crib? When she said there was a colored house here that was a lot nicer?”

“They wouldn’t have her. They were too scared. They told her she looked too white.”

Charlie left me in the kitchen, and I let that sink in. Beautiful Esmeralda, unwelcome in the state she was born and raised in. No wonder she was moving to Paris. This world made no sense, and yet I had the same thought I’d been having more and more often: This slapped-together band of misfits made me feel, for the first time, that I truly belonged. How the hell , I wondered, did I ever get so lucky?