Chapter 34 #2
Since I have never been in the car alone with Lucille, I figure I might as well get some facts out of her. I learned with Lucille it is best to start with what she wants to discuss.
What exactly is a classic six? I ask.
She laughs low. Classic six is what every girl in New York City wants, sugar. It’s a two-bedroom apartment plus a maid’s room. It’s the only place I’ve ever been able to breathe.
I heard the air up there is very dirty from factories and all the people, but it does not surprise me that Lucille can suck that in better than the air here. Some days she looks like the breath is getting squeezed out of her, looking around at the house like she can’t remember how she got there.
Why did you and Tom leave New York? I have heard a few sides to the story, but Lucille’s answer is bound to be interesting.
Why indeed, she mutters. New York’s a very expensive place to live, and Tom’s parents didn’t want to pay the bills anymore. So his mother decided to jerk him back home so we’d stop hemorrhaging cash.
But didn’t you have a job working there for a man named Bill?
Sure, but a secretary job isn’t enough for a decent living.
And Tom couldn’t keep a job to save his life.
I watch her while I listen. From the side, Lucille’s nose with the tip end raised and her square jaw make a strong outline.
If a artist cut her face out of black paper and framed it, you would know it was Lucille.
I heard a man at that reception party say, That Lucille is a good-looking woman, but …
I could think of a couple ways to end that sentence for him.
Honestly, she says, I would’ve liked to’ve kept my job, but I had to quit because I got pregnant. They won’t let a woman work in an office when she’s pregnant. That’s a man’s rule because they want us to keep our figures, not remind them of their fat wives back home.
Where is the baby? I wonder is it up in New York? Then I think about Miss Garnett having the baby dead inside her. And the mama dog with the dead puppies inside and I got to shut my eyes a second. Did it die while it was inside your body?
Yes, and they blamed me for it. Her voice shakes a little.
Men do that too, you know. They won’t let you work if you’re pregnant, expect you to sit home alone, and then say it’s your fault if you lose it.
Then they want to try all over again like they learned nothing from what you just went through.
Well. Men are slow learners, I tell her.
You’re damn right about that, Meg.
She turns onto another road and up into a gravel area.
The Little store is just a small wood building set off from some others, near a railroad stop about fifteen minutes from our house.
Three or four black cars and a couple mule wagons sit out front.
A row of kids are hanging their feet off a front porch, eating ice cream cones.
A saggy old woman up on a stool is turning a crank on a machine.
Lucille turns the car off and tucks her pocketbook up under her arm. Two dollars and fifteen cents might be a paltry sum to her, but that is still good money to me. She takes a big breath to prepare herself.
I tell her, Don’t worry, Lucille. I know what to say to those cousins about where I came from. Because she still thinks that lie is alive. And I try and give her a hug to show her. She stiffens and sort of pats me on the ear area. Half a loaf is better than no bread at all.
Lucille walks us toward the store about like we are going to the belt closet.
She is wearing a simple light blue dress with brass buttons down the front and a blue hat to match.
None of that witchy black drawed on her eyes, only some cherry-colored lipstick and powder.
Me, I got my favorite green play set on and black shoes since it is after Labor Day.
Why, Lucille, what a surprise. I don’t think we’ve seen you since the reception.
It is Marybeth’s mama, who is also pudgy, and already I can feel the chill in the air.
She and Marybeth look a lot alike but her dimples don’t even show when she says it.
The other one, with the thin, harder face, sums Lucille up in about two glances.
I bet my school materials money that one is Gloria’s mama.
Lucille smiles like it hurts her teeth to do it. Shifts in the shoes. Why hello there, Sarah, hello, Rowena. Meg and I thought we’d come do a little school shopping.
It is strange to see Lucille around other ladies.
She rules the roost at home, but there is something shy and worried in her eyes now.
I might not agree with Lucille on much, but there is nothing scarier than a woman who hates you, much less two.
They chitchat a little about summer, where did the time go.
Lucille throws something in there about how nice it is to be out of the city, enjoy a nice big backyard.
I have never once seen Lucille set foot in that yard, front or back.
Lucille is what you call a inside person.
Gloria’s mean mama gives her a cool look. And how is the red house treating you and Tom?
I’d like to stick a sign on her back with that word Lucille used at the kitchen table. With a big capital B. I tug on Lucille’s hand to go on inside.
But Lucille lets go of mine and clenches her teeth. The red house is just wonderful, Sarah. It’s so much more room than I even dreamed of having in New York. There are bedrooms we don’t even use, closets galore. I don’t know how we got so lucky.
If Tom was here, he would be impressed by how hard she is trying. Sarah looks like she might jump Lucille right here in the parking lot. I can’t bear it and ask if I may please go inside the store now.
It might not look like much from the outside, but this place is a treasure trove of school materials.
From what I can tell, it is just a regular store for your daily shopping needs, except today they have pushed a lot of racks aside and set up a special school-shopping section with a sign that reads School Supplies, Grades 1–6.
Under that is a paper tacked to the wall with a handwrote list called Recommended Purchases by Grade and a column of items for each one.
A note at the bottom says: For those who cannot afford supplies, your child’s teacher will do her best to find used and donated items.
I spot Marybeth and a few other cousins over by some toys.
I wave to her, but this is not playtime.
I get a wicker basket like I see another mama carrying and I study the recommended purchases list for the sixth grade.
I start with the basics, one box of ten yellow pencils, one rubber eraser, a tablet of paper with lines, one ruler, one jar of ink with a pen you dip it in, and a metal thing you call a compass.
The colored pencils and construction paper and extra items I skip for now since it already adds up to seventy cents.
And then you got your books. This is where the real money comes in.
It says we need one called the McGuffey Reader for sixty cents, and if your budget allows, please buy a arithmetic book and a grammar book, which are forty cents each.
I add it up and our budget does allow it, with five cents left to spare!
I skip over to Marybeth. She is with Gloria, but I am hoping Gloria will go away. Marybeth and I hug hello. Gloria smiles at me cute and says, Looks like Lucille’s been in the hand-me-down closet again. That was mine about five years ago.
I was wondering why it smelled so bad. Good thing Willy May washed it, I say, and Marybeth laughs but she covers her mouth quick.
I follow them around while they put all sorts of things in their baskets, windup toys, a whirligig you blow on to make it spin.
In the candy aisle they grab handfuls of the stuff.
Not even penny candy. They’re just piling it into their baskets, boxes of Jujyfruits, chocolate kisses, Chiclets chewing gum.
I didn’t know people lived like that. Gloria smirks at my basket with nothing but school materials like she knows we don’t have any money, so I pick out five cents’ worth, two chocolates and three hard candies.
They stay close, talking about somebody named Wally. I try to laugh when they do. I know I sound too loud. Finally Gloria looks back and says, This is a private conversation, if you don’t mind, Meg?
I look at Marybeth and she looks sorry. Why don’t you do some shopping with your mama, and I’ll come find you in a little while, she says.
I look, but Lucille is nowhere to be found, so I walk around alone.
Up front are the food items, sausages and meats in a case, barrels of flour.
All sorts of can goods line a shelf, peaches and green peas and all manner of vegetables.
Staring at those, I think how it could be Ava who stuck those green beans in that can.
It gives me a lonesome feeling. Of course then the train horn has to blow in the distance, not helping things.
Am I really so easy to leave behind?