Chapter 33
Meg
Your mother is requesting our presence for supper tonight, Lucille says after she has hung up the telephone. She delivers this news with about the same excitement as it’s time to clean the outhouse again.
Well, it’s probably time we saw the rest of the family anyway.
It’s just us, Lucille says.
I wash my hair and comb it out like I am a respectable person. For my evening wear, I select my favorite bluebird dress paired with white stockings and black shoes. Though I will not be putting any damn bow in my hair tonight and ruining it. Lucille will have to strap it to my head to get it on me.
Tom looks like his usual ironed self except he puts a tie on, and Lucille wears a dress she calls couture de penitentiary.
It is gray with gray buttons and that is all I can say about it.
Still, we look like a regular ole family tonight.
Stick a puppy and a ball in this picture and we could be a Dick and Jane story.
We have hardly made it off the porch when Lucille turns right back around, muttering how just because she’s treated like a prisoner doesn’t mean she has to damn dress like one.
She comes back out in a flashy red-and-black number she bought up in Memphis.
When we finally pull up to Tom’s mama’s house a half hour late, I am starving to death.
You’re sure Mama didn’t say what this dinner’s all about? Tom asks her.
She shrugs and shakes her head. Guess the parole officers wanted to check we’re not up to any funny business.
Tom ignores this, so as not to cause a stir.
I am just glad for one damn night without her drunk and complaining.
Last night, when Tom brought up the drinking, she said, Everybody needs a drink now and then, Tom.
Even Roosevelt said it in the newspaper.
I wonder did she make that up. Tom works all the day long, and she lays into him nightly.
To be safe, I go over my lines about Memphis in case I have lost practice. You never know when somebody might ask where in the hell you came from.
A maid I don’t know opens the front door to the smell of meat cooking.
The big house is like I remembered, high ceilings and dark floors, all sorts of big rooms except they are empty of people tonight.
Burning lights like it’s going out of style.
Big Mr. Heidelberg meets us and pounds Tom on the back.
Tom tells his daddy he’s sorry we’re late, he was working on something.
When it’s Lucille’s turn, Mr. Heidelberg says, Welcome, Lucille, and he forces out a smile. It is a regular camel through a needle’s eye. Then he bends down to me and says, And look at you, young lady. And that is it. I am not real sure he knows exactly who I am.
Is tonight something special, Daddy? Did I forget a birthday? Tom asks.
Son, I have no idea. I hadn’t been in chahge a what goes on heah since 1899, when I married yoah mothah. Now come on, suppah’s almost on the table.
I like how this man operates. No point in beating around the bush when it comes to eating food.
Mrs. Heidelberg greets us in the dining room.
She does her usual style hellos and so do we.
I would’ve put Mrs. Heidelberg at the head since she wears the pants, but Big Mr. Heidelberg sits up there.
Tom sits on his right with Lucille next to him.
I am across from her, on the side with Mrs. Heidelberg.
The men talk about boring things while my stomach growls.
Sending fahmahs checks not to grow cotton?
I don’t like this New Deal, Son, I don’t like it a bit.
Lucille tries to act like she is listening, but I know she is just wishing for a cigarette and one of her liquor drinks.
Mrs. Heidelberg is quiet, and I just try not to fidget.
Around here you got to wait on somebody to bring you your food, you can’t just collect it yourself like at home.
Behind Tom’s head, a dead animal with horns is mounted on the wall.
Its eyes follow mine when I move side to side.
Finally a colored woman they call Maggie carries out a big platter. I was hoping it was a fried something, but when she gets to me, I see it is thick cuts of red meat with blood and fat around the edges and bones sticking out. I look up at Tom.
That’s roasted rib eye, Meg. I promise you’ll like it, he says.
I shake my head no sir, I do not care how hungry I am, I am not eating a eye of anything—
It’s just steak, Meg. You eat it the same way you eat roast beef. Want me to cut it up for you?
I don’t want to look like a baby, but I say, Yes sir, just a few pieces to get me started.
Tom gets up and cuts some on my plate. He pats my back and whispers, Let me know if you need some more help. It’s alright to ask for help, Meg.
I notice his mama is watching every move.
It is a lot of sawing but let me tell you, rib eye steak is worth it. It has a brown cooked crust with a soft red inside and it tastes like a different category of food altogether. I hope it’s not that animal on the wall we are eating, but even if it is, I still would recommend it.
While we eat, Mrs. Heidelberg says, That’s a pretty dress you’ve got on, Lucille. Did you get it up in Memphis?
What, this? Lucille says like she is trying to remember. The big fat liar.
Did you get it when you were up there seeing to your sick friend? Or maybe when you were up there adopting Meg?
I look at Tom, but he is busy talking to his daddy.
Oh no, I’ve had this dress for years, Lucille says. Course I would’ve loved to gone shopping while I was up there, and she smiles across the table—but unfortunately these days we don’t have a penny to spare.
Lucille does not miss her a damn chance.
Huh, Mrs. Heidelberg says. Could’ve sworn I saw it at Lowenstein’s a month ago. Maybe we should all go shopping in Memphis and get Meg here ready for school. What would you think about that, Meg? You could go visit some of your old friends at the orphanage.
I think she is talking to me, but she is looking right at Lucille. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like this line of questioning.
I’d love to go, Lucille says coolly, but like I said. We don’t have any money to shop with, so there’s no point in going, is there?
I can see Mrs. Heidelberg squeezing her napkin in her lap. Lucille cannot see that, but something is not right here. I can spot a upset woman a mile away. Believe me, I have known some.
When Mrs. Heidelberg turns and lays eyes on me, I say, Mrs. Tann, Tennessee Children’s Home Society. I do not know why I said that.
Mama! Did you heah what Tom’s been doing? Mr. Heidelberg bellows. Our son heah has gone and written a book!
Tom puts a hand up. Almost written. I’m not—it’s not finished yet.
Mr. Heidelberg sets his elbows on the table. Well, what’s the book about, Son? Is it Amehican histry? When I run out of stock repohts, Amehican histry’s what I like to read.
No, Daddy, it’s not American history. It’s …
a novel. I’m writing a contemporary novel.
Tom clears his throat, looking very nervous he will be made fun of or Lucille will lean up while he is talking and say, SO.
His eyes land on mine, and I smile at him.
He smiles back. It’s about a man living in New York City just after the war and it’s in the vein of F.
Scott Fitzgerald. If you remember, you and Mama went to see a few of his silent pictures.
Will you send it to Bill Davenpoht? Mr. Heidelberg asks. He still working for that publishing outfit up in New Yohk?
Yes sir, I plan to send it up to Bill soon.
My hope is they’ll offer me a pretty good advance for it too.
That means they’d pay me before it’s published and let me earn it back in sales.
And if it works out, then we’d have our own money.
Tom glances at Lucille. It is quick. You and Mama wouldn’t need to give us anything.
Mr. Heidelberg lays a heavy hand on Tom’s shoulder. Well, I think that’s stupendous, Son. It sounds like you’ve been working hahd.
Yes sir, I have. I can see the shiny relief in Tom’s eyes that his daddy is proud of him.
Not Lucille, though. At that word advance, she started smiling so hard it looks odd.
Tom, you know there’s no guarantee they’ll pay you anything—not to mention no one’s even read it yet.
And even if they did offer an advance, it probably wouldn’t be nearly enough to live on.
Gritting that smile so hard she could break a tooth.
I might’ve just been a secretary, but I know enough and you shouldn’t count on a big advance.
Tom looks at his hands on the table. I am afraid she has shut him up. But he says, Mama, there’s something I want you and Daddy to know.
Mrs. Heidelberg raises her chin like she is waiting to hear this.
I know how much I’ve disappointed you both in the past, but I’ve learned—I’m still learning—from the mistakes I made.
It’s been eye-opening, to say the least, being out of New York and living at home and …
starting our own family. He looks at me.
You know, Meg and I’ve been going down to the lake and I’m teaching her to swim?
I can’t— He looks down. I can’t really explain it, but she’s made such a difference.
I just … I took so much for granted, Mama, and I’m so sorry for that.
His eyes fill with tears. Meg’s been helping me not do that anymore.
You’re a very good swim teacher, Tom, I tell him.
Well, you’re a good student, turkey.
Almost all the upset has drained out of his mama’s face now.
Her mouth has softened. I doubt she will let it go altogether.
She is the type to store it away for later; I have known a few of those too.
But her lips tremble when she asks me, Does he call you turkey, Meg?
Tom and I nod. Your father used to call you that when you were a little boy, Tom.
I look over and Lord, if huge old Mr. Heidelberg doesn’t have tears in his eyes too.