Twenty-One
Leta Pearl
People acted like they’d been rescued from a shipwreck the way they ate at a church potluck: combinations of food like a dog’s breakfast. Baked beans with green beans and butterbeans.
English peas, black-eyed peas, and purple hull peas.
Fried okra, fried green tomatoes, and fried chicken livers all piled on top of lasagna and chicken casserole.
Ladies asked each other for recipes, but they all knew they’d leave one or two ingredients out on purpose.
Despite the gluttony and the lying, the potluck looked like a picture in Southern Living , the folding tables in long rows underneath magnolias, different colored tablecloths waving in the breeze.
I was fixing to have to lie to Miss Myrtle Tindall about how good her congealed salad was—she’d obviously used canned peaches—but Miss Verlaine Crump sat herself down at our table and saved me.
Verlaine has always been a sweetheart, but bless it, she and her husband Dickie are both about as country as a baked bean sandwich.
Her bleached hair spilled out from underneath her flouncy straw hat.
She wore a floral, ruffled smock dress that hung off her shoulders and showed off the cleavage between her brand-new boobs.
“Miss Verlaine,” I said. “How nice to see you. You know Haskel Moody, I’m sure.” I introduced Haskel all day so everyone would know he was my guest. If a Moody got converted to Baptist, I wanted to be sure I got the credit.
“Lovely to see you, Haskel,” Verlaine said. “Trudy, you too. Where’s that handsome boy of yours?”
Trudy smiled. “Oh, Pete’s running around here somewhere. Messing up his church clothes, I’m sure.”
“Haskel?” Verlaine said. “You finally switching to Baptist?”
“Haven’t been dunked yet.” Haskel laughed. “But I hear congratulations are in order for you.”
“Now you hush.” Verlaine waved Haskel off in feigned modesty.
“Congratulations?” I asked. “For what?”
Haskel said, “Verlaine here was elected president of the Celestial Ladies Auxiliary last night.”
“President?” I almost couldn’t contain myself, and how in the world had I missed this bit of news? I knew Barbara Beaumont had termed out again, but I had no idea she would allow Verlaine Crump to fill in until she regained eligibility.
Verlaine and her husband, Dickie had happily accepted our spot at Falconhead after we Abernathys had been ousted. They’d been on the waitlist for years. I sure hope they enjoy the sunset river view from Table Sixteen as much as I did, but I’m not bitter. New money.
“It’s nothing,” Verlaine waved it off again.
“Full time labor, without pay, is more like it. Of course, with Dickie flying to Dallas all the time working for Jerry Don on that new mall, I don’t guess I have anything better to do, do I?
God only knows how those Texas mall people find so much to talk about. ”
“I heard they’re putting in a Zale’s ,” Trudy said, and I kicked her under the table.
“Speaking of jewelry,” I said. “Your ring is so lovely, Verlaine. I remember when Dickie bought it.”
Verlaine looked at her ring. “Why thanks, Miss Leta Pearl. You sure did a good job helping him pick it out.”
“Looks like it could use a cleaning, though, if I’m being honest.” I reached for her hand and held her one-and-a-half carat pillow cut at eye level. “Oh, definitely come in this week. I’ll have it looking brand new.” I patted her hand and let go. “Won’t cost anything, of course.”
I was fixing to make Madame President Verlaine my new best friend.