Big Stone Gap (22 page)

“Ave, I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“Well, I sort of sprung old Jack Mac on you at my wedding. I never liked nobody force-feeding me when I was a baby, and I sure as hell wouldn’t like it now. I should’ve mentioned it to you. But I guess I got caught up in all of it and just forgot.”

“It was fine. Don’t worry about it.” What is everybody getting so worked up about? I’m not going with Jack Mac. So I walked down Iva Lou’s aisle with him. So what? He kissed me once. Twice. At a party. Big deal! Women get kissed at parties all the time. I’ve hardly given it a second thought since then.

I get comfortable on my stool and begin to read.

“So, where you going?” Iva Lou asks.

“Italy.”

“Italy? That far?” Iva Lou’s eyes widen. “When?”

“As soon as I can book it.”

She points out travel advertisements she thinks are effective. One catches my eye. The caption reads: “New Jersey’s own:
GALA NUCCIO TOURS: YOU WON
’
T MISS THE BOAT.
Join Gala, she makes every tour a party!” There’s a big photo of Gala, who looks to be about my age. She is a very dramatic Italian woman with an elaborate hairdo, a pile of braids that curve artfully all over her head like snakes; she has big brown Sophia Loren eyes and an hourglass shape. She stands in the middle of a gondola in a Venetian canal with her arms in the air. In a flag on the gondola the tour prices are listed. They are very reasonable. I have found my travel agent and tour guide in one stop! Iva Lou is thrilled for me. She wishes she could go too, but for now she must put her dreams of Europe on hold and concentrate on her new husband.

I return home, get comfortable in Fred Mulligan’s chair, and dial Gala Nuccio. The phone rings twice, then: “Frank, you son-of-a-bitch bastard, stop calling me. I am done with you! Finished! It’s over!”

“I must have dialed the wrong number,” I whisper.

“Who is this? No, no. Dammit. I thought this was my personal line. I have two phones over here, and I get ’em confused from time to time.”

“Are you Gala Nuccio?”

“Yes. I apologize for my outburst. I never use that kind of language. But if you had been fucked over by that goomba the way I have, you’d pick up the phone ready to bite off somebody’s head too.” Gala sighs. I can hear her take a long deep drag off of a cigarette. Her accent reminds me of all the hard-boiled New York blondes in the detective movies of the 1930s.

“Are you all right?” I ask very earnestly.

This makes her laugh loudly. “Men. You’re a woman, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about.”

“Say no more,” I reply pleasantly. What I really want to talk about is planning my trip. I begin to ask questions about her tour packages, but Gala needs to talk about Frank.

“I’ve been with Frank on and off for about four years. He’s divorced, he’s got three kids—they’re brats of course. And I don’t see him enough. He says it’s work and the kids, but I don’t buy that line of bull for a second. ‘Lipstick on His Collar’ is sort of my theme song. You know the song?” She inhales again. I can hear her exhale the smoke all the way from New Jersey.

“I do. It’s an oldie.”

“Yeah. Well. It still applies. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to go to Italy. I speak Italian.” I sound like a backwoods bumpkin. What does she care if I speak Italian? Is there a test you have to pass to buy a tour ticket?

“I have several tours coming up. You wanna do the Greek Isles, too?”

“No, just Italy. Northern Italy.”

“Uh-huh. Venice, Milan, and up. I do that. And a side trip to Santa Margherita on the coast. You don’t want to miss that. It’s scrumptious.”

“Great. Maybe you can send me some brochures.”

“Love to.” Gala continues to puff as I give her my address and information. She is surprised that I am Italian, too, and live in the mountains of Virginia. She has never heard of that before. I say that I’ll tell her my story on the long plane ride to Italy. She sounds genuinely interested.

“Hey, Ave Maria. This could be your lucky day.” Gala puffs.

“Why?”

“I got a seat on my Northern Italy tour in three weeks. Think you can pull it together by then and join us?”

I panic. There’s so much to do. It’s not like it’s just a vacation, it’s a reroute-the-rest-of-my-life trip. There’s so much to settle up around here: the house, the business, and everything else. But maybe this is a sign to do it quick and clean. Maybe if I don’t have much time to think, I won’t ponder details. Maybe for once in my life I should just throw myself headlong into opportunity and see what happens.

“I can make it.”

“Great. You’re booked.”

I’ve gone about my business quietly. I find I can get a lot done if I get up early in the morning. I’ve managed to pack up the house, shop for the trip, and check in on the Pharmacy without tipping anyone off. I don’t want anyone else’s opinion about this decision; I want it to be mine and mine alone. I wrote to Mario asking him if he would like to meet me. If so, I wanted to know a convenient time to come and visit Schilpario. I have not heard back from him. I wrote to my mother’s family as well, and they are thrilled that I’ll be visiting. I still haven’t sent a picture. The photos that came back after Iva Lou’s wedding were horrible, and I’m not showing them to anybody. The hat and the dress were a disaster, and I will never wear either one again.

I haven’t told anyone that I’m leaving. I may tell Theodore in advance, but only if the time is right. My plan is to go on the trip, meet my family, and consider all my options. The only thing I am certain of is that I will never return to Big Stone Gap. This is not my world anymore. My mother is gone. The Pharmacy and now my home are in Pearl’s capable hands. Spec has chosen a new captain for the Rescue Squad. Anybody can direct the Outdoor Drama. There is nothing holding me here. It’s time to move on.

The front page of the
Post
has a bold headline:
MOVIE STAR GIVES CHUNK O
’
CHANGE TO LPH
. It turns out that Elizabeth Taylor was so grateful to the staff of Lonesome Pine Hospital for yanking that bone that she made a five-thousand-dollar donation to its emergency fund. I flip through the paper to the want ads. I placed one this week; I’m selling my mother’s Oldsmobile Cutlass. It’s amazing how much I’ve gotten done since I put my mind to it. I’ve made a list of my assets, and I plan to sell off whatever I don’t need. There is only the matter of Pearl to address.

I’ve called a meeting with Iva Lou, Nellie, and Pearl over at Lew’s office. I stop by the Sub Sandwich Carry-Out and pick up a few sandwiches and bottles of pop; we’re having a working lunch. Delphine Moses throws in extra chips (she always does) and comments on how impressed she is with Elizabeth Taylor’s generosity. “You just don’t expect that kind of caring from a movie star,” she says.

Inez looks slimmer. Pearl convinced her to join Weight Watchers, and the results are impressive.

“Inez, you look fantastic.”

“Thank you, Ave. You know, I haven’t felt this good in years. And I love all the little pamphlets, recipes, and helpful hints they give us at Weight Watchers. Our group leader, Pam Sumpter, is from Norton, and she lost one hundred pounds herself, so she knows how hard it is. Every week she shows us her ‘before’ picture. She had it blowed up large and sets it on an easel at the beginning of every meeting. I keep it fixed in my mind, and it helps me stay on program. Losing weight has made such a difference in me. I think he notices it too.” Inez points to her husband’s inner sanctum.

“Good for you!” As I enter Lew’s office, I realize that this is probably the longest conversation I’ve had with Inez. She does seem like a different person. And Lew is smiling. Why shouldn’t he be? He’s got his tight little race car back in running order.

“How are you?”

“Better.” Lew beams like a man who is getting regular attention from his wife. “And how are you?”

“I’m just great.”

“You look it.”

Pearl comes in, having forgotten to take off her Mulligan’s Mutual smock. We hear an engine blast, followed by a fan-belt hum, and then silence, signaling Iva Lou’s arrival in the Bookmobile. Then the office fills with the smell of gardenia, and we know Nellie Goodloe must be in the waiting area. Lew hollers to Nellie to come on in, as I set up the lunch.

Iva Lou breezes in and kisses everyone, but I can tell she is nervous. The girls have no idea why I have gathered them here, and let’s face it, it’s never pleasant when you have to make a trip to a law office. I make it as friendly and casual as I can, but food can only do so much to comfort people.

“I guess you all wonder why I have gathered you here today.”

Nellie and Iva Lou nod; Pearl takes a cue from them and nods too. I find it endearing that she is acting so mature.

“Girls, I’m leaving you.”

“You aren’t sick or anything, are you?” Iva Lou asks worriedly.

“No, no. I’m not dying.” They look relieved.

“You all know I believe in Chinese face-reading. Well, maybe Nellie, you never heard of it.” She shakes her head slightly; she doesn’t know what has gotten into me.

“Every face is a map. Mine tells the story of a woman who changes the course of her life the year she turns thirty-five. Now, you know, I’ve had quite a few whammies over the course of the last several months. It was fate at work. After much contemplation, I decided that it was time to take control of my destiny and figure out why I was put on this earth. I don’t want to let life happen to me anymore; I want to choose my future.”

“I did the exact same thing right around thirty-five,” Iva Lou interjects. “That’s when I got my two-year degree from Mountain Empire Community College and got on the Bookmobile!”

“Good. Right. See there? Iva Lou gets what I’m talking about. Sooner or later everybody has to ask the big questions of themselves. Some of us ignore the truth, and some of us gut the interior of our lives and attempt to reinvent it. I am doing the latter.”

“Good for you,” Nellie says because she thinks she needs to say something.

“Thank you. Now, a few months back I made Pearl Grimes here my ward. I signed over Mulligan’s Mutual to her.” I look at Pearl. “To you. But what I didn’t tell you at the time was that I also gave you my house in the deal.”

“You gave me your house?”

“Yes, Pearl. It’s yours.” Pearl looks at Lew, who nods in confirmation and smiles at her.

“But . . . why?”

“I’m leaving town and I thought you’d like to have it.”

Pearl is overwhelmed. I know what this means to her, to live in town. To be close to the school. To have a phone. To be able to have her friends over. This is the best thing that could happen, better than owning Mutual Pharmacy. I look at Nellie and Iva Lou, who are equally stunned.

“Pearl just turned sixteen, and until the age of eighteen, she cannot fully own the properties and their assets in her own name. That’s where you two come in. I would like you to be her legal overseers. Lew came up with an angle I like. You two will look over this youngun and guide her decisions regarding the business. And you will be paid for your services.”

“I’ve never run a business,” Iva Lou offers.

“You’re a librarian. You’re organized. You work within a system. Pearl needs a system. You can guide her.”

“What about me?” Nellie says. “I’m just a housewife.”

“Nellie, I picked you because you have good taste. And Pearl needs exposure to the finer things in life. You’ll show her how to make a pretty store window, teach her the proper manners for business lunches, show her how to deal with all sorts of people.”

Nellie’s back straightens. She never realized that her skills were marketable. Now she knows.

“What about my mama?” Pearl asks.

“She is a great mother. She loves you and takes excellent care of you, and she always will. I’ve talked this over with her, and she’s comfortable with Iva Lou and Nellie handling this stuff. When I met with her, all she kept saying is that she wants you to be happy.” Pearl’s eyes fill with tears.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s all any good mother wants,” Nellie says, backing me up.

“She’s very excited about moving to town with you. You’ll be closer to things that will help you develop into a self-sufficient person. She is totally in favor of my”—I look at Lew and share the credit—“our plan.”

“You’re moving away, Ave Maria?” Iva Lou asks pitifully.

“Girls, this isn’t a sad thing. I’ve lived here all of my life, and it’s been wonderful. But it’s time to see what’s out there, test my mettle, see what I’m made of. You understand.”

“When do we start?” Nellie asks.

“Monday.”

“Monday? Cripes, why don’t you just give me a heart attack right here, Ave?” Iva Lou slumps back in her chair.

“Are you ever coming back?” Pearl asks.

“I’m sure I’ll visit. I won’t make like a ghost, like old Liz Taylor. I’ll be back.”

I motion to the lunch set up on Lew’s worktable.

“Let’s eat,” Lew says as he stands. “We can sign the papers later.”

We gather around the table. Nobody says much. We eat. Delphine can make a sub sandwich, that’s for sure. Nellie unfolds a paper napkin and places it gently in her lap. She turns to Pearl, who is picking the turkey out of her sub, and gives her a napkin. Pearl unfolds the napkin and places it gently in her lap, just like Nellie.

The hardest part about packing up my house is deciding what to do with Mama’s sewing supplies. The only thing I know for sure that I will keep is her button box. I used to play in it when I was little, pretending the buttons were stones when I played explorer, or crown jewels when I played princess. I’ve sorted out most of the plastic ones, keeping the antique and cloth buttons. Buttons are light; I can always tuck them in a corner of my suitcase, and they are very symbolic to me. When Mama made something, the last thing she did was to sew on the buttons. They were the finishing touch, the end of a creation. I just can’t throw them away.

I know this should be easy. Why should any normal person be attached to bolts of fabric: scraps, ends, and odd yardage? But I am. Each piece reminds me of something she made. There’s a yard of purple satin that she used to make my shepherd robe for the kindergarten Nativity. A mint-green dotted Swiss remnant that she used to make my dress for the May Day court when I was in seventh grade. A bolt of Carolina-blue wool for cheerleading skirts and a bolt of ruby-red wool that she used in the pleats of those same skirts. Red cording and frogs that she used when she made Bobby Necessary’s band uniform. Back in 1969 Bobby’s mama came over all hush-hush and begged Mama to make Bobby a band uniform. He was so heavyset, they couldn’t order one in his size. Mama toiled over that one. But when Bobby marched out with his clarinet during halftime, you couldn’t tell that his uniform wasn’t from the factory. It was a perfect match.