Chapter 43
Good Lord, this is not the day to oversleep.
I shot up but then realized it was only seven thirty in the morning.
When I peeked out into the hall, I saw the door to the attic was open.
I threw on a dress and hammered down the main stairs.
Halfway down, I could hear Mrs. Tartt talking, perhaps to a room of prostitutes or to the sheriff on the telephone or maybe directly to Jesus, instructing Him which warm room in hell she’d like to reserve for us.
Dining room.
“How’d everybody sleep?” I asked, strolling in.
Charlie was sitting at the head of the table, very upright.
She had on her most stoic of dresses, black silk with a high lace collar and long sleeves.
She seemed eerily collected. Mrs. Tartt sat in her usual place, at her right.
I gave the room a quick sweep for anything illicit, but it looked the same as before they’d left for Jackson. But it was oh so different.
“As well as can be expected,” Mrs. Tartt said. “It’s a little warm up there.”
Indeed, it felt pretty warm this morning, perhaps a final heat wave of the season.
Or maybe it was just my nerves, though it’d gone so well last night.
Mr. Binny had played slow, easy numbers at half volume, nothing that would induce stomping or yelling.
Virginia’d been on guard for a cowbell clanging upstairs, but she’d heard nothing.
Doors closed softly, shoes came off inside, and after a while the girls just quit putting them back on.
They danced most of the night in stocking feet, and it would’ve looked very carefree and innocent if you didn’t know any better.
At two a.m., I’d pulled the plug on the lights and learned that my exhausted sister and Mrs. Tartt had slept through sixteen jitterbugs, five Flossies, three foxtrots for an hour each, and a two-hour tango in Rory’s room.
This morning, Mrs. Tartt looked much, much better.
She had on her favorite ice-blue housecoat and had covered her hair with a scarf, though significant tufts of gray showed out the back.
But the deep arcs under her eyes were just a scatter of ash now.
She’d gotten some real sleep, which meant she’d be harder to keep upstairs tonight.
In the morning light, the task of telling Frances seemed freshly horrifying.
“Birdie, you didn’t tell me Picador and Polly are back!” Mrs. Tartt said, her smile brimming over. “When Picador saw me, I tell you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.”
I excused myself to get some coffee.
“Bring the pot in, would you?” Mrs. Tartt said. “It must be laundry day today, looks like they’re both out at the clothesline.” Charlie gave me a look and a small nod that I hoped meant I handled it.
When I went in the kitchen, I could see a reasonable number of sheets on the line outside. The rest were in the washroom, door closed.
In the dining room, I poured everybody more coffee and sat next to Charlie.
“I was just telling Mrs. Tartt that you’re behind on the bookkeeping, but we hope to know in a few days how close we are on her mortgage,” Charlie said.
Mrs. Tartt sighed sadly at this. I nodded back and tried to look honest. I hated to make her suffer like this.
“Could you at least tell me how much longer you expect to stay open?” Mrs. Tartt asked Charlie.
My eyes burned on Charlie. Couldn’t we give her this one thing?
“We’ll let you know in a few days, I promise,” Charlie said.
Mrs. Tartt reached over and patted Charlie’s hand. “Don’t for a minute think I’m not grateful to you both,” she said. “Because I am.”
“I’m grateful to you too, Mrs. Tartt,” Charlie said. I saw no guilt on her face and heard no regret in her voice.
Mrs. Tartt took a deep sip of coffee. “I reckon I’m not surprised our houseguests aren’t up yet. I thought I heard motorcars driving by after midnight last night.”
“It went later than usual,” Charlie said. “It’ll go even later this weekend with homecoming.”
“That electric fan up there should muffle the noise,” I said. “You should keep it on.”
“I wish I looked a little more presentable before I meet the ladies,” Mrs. Tartt said. “I must look like ten cents on the dollar, as my daddy used to say.”
Charlie reached into her pocket and slid two bills across the table. “We had a little left over from the grocery account. I thought you might like to go to the beauty parlor today.”
Mrs. Tartt’s mouth opened. She touched the back of her head where the tufts of gray showed. “Could I?” Her blue eyes were round and shiny, but suddenly she looked worried. “Are you … sure? It’d be alright to spend money on something like that?”
Charlie nodded and touched her hand. Maybe I’d been wrong about her guilt. “I’m sure. Go treat yourself. The Unique said to just call and tell them what time you’d like to come this morning. They’ll fit you in.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” Mrs. Tartt said.
When we could hear Mrs. Tartt on the telephone in the hall, Charlie exhaled. I could see how anxious she really was.
“Can you ride to town with her and run a few errands for me?” she asked.
“Course, what do you need?” I needed a radio.
“A few things, but also … I think it might be wise to get some of her money out of the house. What would you think about going to the bank and paying off her note?”
Even though the note wasn’t that big it was still drawing pennies in interest, so it made sense to do this, but: “Why? Are you worried?”
Charlie glanced in the direction of the front sitting room. “The car came back about four o’clock this morning. I don’t think it’s the sheriff, but somebody’s been out there watching us.”
It took a second for this to sink in. It made even more sense why we needed to keep our closing date a secret. If whoever was watching us was biding their time to do something, whatever that was, they certainly didn’t need to know that Saturday night would be their last chance to do it.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Tartt and I were rolling down North Lamar in Mr. Binny’s taxi.
When he’d pulled up at the house and gotten out, I’d given him a knowing look and shaken my head—left, right, left, right.
She. Does. Not. Know. After he’d helped Mrs. Tartt into the car, he’d given me a deeply irritated, frustrated look back.
Me and Mr. Binny were not suited for this kind of pressure.
Mrs. Tartt opened a little mirror from her handbag and eyed the gray hairs poking out of the scarf.
“I tell you, I cannot wait to get my cullah back.” Dressed in her light blue suit, white blouse tied in a cheerful bow, her new slimness suited her body, but her face had lost its girlish plumpness.
“It’s so kind of you and Charlie to let me go and do this. ”
With each nice thing she said, I smiled and felt queasier.
“Tell me, is there something I could do to help out tonight?” she asked. “I could greet the customers or take their hats or, well, I’m probably too old to give a dance lesson but I suppose I could try.” She giggled at the thought of teaching the jitterbug to a college boy.
“You don’t need to do anything, just get some rest tonight.”
As Mr. Binny approached the square, he slowed down for the line of traffic.
“Heavens to Betsy, look at all the people,” Mrs. Tartt said, rolling the window down to look.
Students, townsfolk, out-of-towners of all ages were strolling around.
A sign hung from the second-floor balcony over the bank that read Ole Miss Homecoming 1933 Go Red and Blue!
“Mr. Binny, how do you like playing in the backyard again? Does it look like the big parties we used to have in the old days?”
“No ma’am. It ain’t nothing like your old parties,” Mr. Binny said. He hit the brake hard as a group of boys walked in front of his car. I gripped the door handle. “I’ll get out here, Mr. Binny. I’ll see you at home, Mrs. Tartt.” I was ready to get off this ride.
I couldn’t help myself and went to check the mail before going to the bank.
Mrs. Nutt was gone now, fired for Section 213 so she could stay home and cook supper for her husband.
Mavis checked the out-of-town box for me.
Please, Jack. Don’t let me go so easy, I prayed.
But there was nothing. The summer of Jack was over.
In the bank, my gaze went straight to his empty office. It ached so much I wanted to turn around and walk out, but I couldn’t. And anyway, I couldn’t stand the thought of those filthy bankers drawing another cent of interest off Mrs. Tartt.
“May I help you?” Eleanor asked. I looked down at her.
She had on a cinnamon-colored suit today that went perfect with her curly red hair.
She was probably a better match for Jack anyway.
She could probably bear him so many children that her uterus would fall out.
Virginia’d shared that bit of medical phenomenon with us. “I need to see Mr. Allison.”
“May I ask what it’s concerning?” Eleanor smiled the smile that wasn’t friendly. It was a patronizing gate of teeth meant to keep the riffraff away. You should not be at the hello desk. You are not a hello can I help you person. She was too beautiful and probably too fertile to be working here.
“I’m here to pay off Mrs. Tartt’s note.” I reminded myself that this was going to be the easiest part of my day, so I’d better relish it.
She raised her thin, tweezed eyebrows. “You mean the Tartts’ mortgage?”
“Yes, I’m here to pay off Mrs. Tartt’s mortgage.” To get this over with quicker, I set a fat, paper-clipped stack of two hundred eighty-four dollars on her desk. I had more in my purse to cover whatever extra interest they were charging.
She looked at the money like it was dirty, and oh it definitely was. “I don’t handle mortgage payments,” she said in a clipped tone and stood up. “I’m not really sure what to … do.”