Embrace Me (9 page)

The week before Thanksgiving I'm plotting to get my hands on the holiday meal.

“Come on Blaze, you can't cook! And you know I can. Why in the world do you want to spend all that time doing something you hate and doing a lousy job of it when I can give you a shopping list, send you off to the IGA, and we'll have ourselves a meal like you won't believe?”

“I don't know. I've got that great stuffing recipe, and it's easy as pie. Just a few boxes of Stove Top, some cream of chicken soup—”

Unbelievable. “Come on, let me do it.” She places her hands on her black-clothed hips. “Hey, nice red nails there, girl. And you're wearing lipstick too. You got a date, Blaze?”

“Naw!” She waves one hand. “There's a little girl down at Gus's place. She loves painting my fingernails after I help her with her homework.”

“Gus?”

“Augustine, Val. Good grief.”

“What's his deal anyway?”

She shrugs. “Don't know if he has a deal, per se. Showed up in town one day. Said he got out of a monastery or something.”

“A monastery? No way.”

“Or some sort of missions training program. I don't know, Val. Why don't you ask him if you're so interested?”

“I didn't say I was interested. Don't go assuming a bunch of interest on my part, Blaze. You're the one who brought him up, not me.”

“So if I say yes to Thanksgiving dinner will you shut up?”

“You got it.”

“Then yes.”

I head upstairs to Lella. “Wanna help me make the list for Thanksgiving dinner?” Lella's eyes widen. “Never thought I'd win that one, did you?”

“I'm surely glad you did.”

And Lella dreams out loud of a time long ago, before her parents died, when they'd gather in their trailer and cook up a feast for all the circus people. They'd line a picnic table outside with a paper cloth and all the food. She named each dish and described its taste exactly. In her bedroom the walls close in snugly around us, and I can smell the warm heat of the stove, feel the steam from the turkey, taste the butter melting on the mashed potatoes.

“So you want mashed potatoes?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. And sweet potatoes and stuffing. Oh, Valentine, you'll be able to eat until you're stuffed! Won't that be glorious?” She smiles. “What would you think of a cup of tea right now?”

“I'll go make us some. Let me put on my scarf.”

“Why, Val? It's just us.”

“Blaze brings home too many people—you never know who's going to show up. I sure don't want that Augustine weirdo seeing this face. Unless he's paid his five bucks like everyone else.”

“You know, it's okay to be happy right now, Valentine. You're going to cook us all a lovely dinner for Thanksgiving. You don't always have to be so crotchety.”

“You're right, Lell. But I kinda like the crotchety me. It fits right now.”

“Suit yourself.” She laughs.

The next morning somebody knocks at the back door. Looking out the kitchen window, I tie a blue scarf just above my nose and rise to my feet. Three people wait outside. That Augustine man, a woman with a red cloud of hair—yes, it's Charmaine Hopewell—and another woman with short brown hair—a little chubby I think, judging by the contours of her face. She's pretty, though.

“Hang on!” I carefully swig the chilled dregs of my coffee, set my mug in the dishwasher, and plan a quick exit.

I yank open the door. “Hey, come on in, I'll get Blaze.”

The three people file inside.

“Coffee's fresh. Mugs are on the shelf. Help yourself.” I head for the doorway.

“Wait!” Augustine steps forward. “We came to see you.”

“What?” I turn back around. “Now why is that?”

He grabs the coffeepot and heads for the shelf. “We heard you were cooking up a big Thanksgiving dinner for the household.”

“And?”

“First of all, let me introduce these ladies.”

I cross my arms and lean against the doorjamb.

“This is Charmaine Hopewell.” He touches her shoulder lightly.

“We've met. Hey, Charmaine.”

“Really?” Augustine asks.

Charmaine gives a little wave. “You know me, Gus. I don't let any grass grow under my feet. I met her on one of my midnight ramblings when I just couldn't sleep.”

“And this is Poppy Fraser.”

“Hi, Val. Great to meet you,” Poppy says. She's obviously not from around here. She speaks too northern.

“Hello. Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.” I look at Augustine. “So what does our Thanksgiving dinner have to do with you and these women?”

“I'm a lousy cook. So is Charmaine. And Poppy needs a little help.”

“Doing what?”

“Her church is putting on a big Thanksgiving dinner down-town. I heard about your dinner here and thought you might make some extra.” He pulls down some mugs and hands them to Poppy, who sets them on the kitchen table.

“Doesn't she have lots of church ladies to help her cook?”

“Yeah, I do. Not to mention that you probably don't have time.” She turns to Augustine. “I told you she wouldn't buy it.”

I point to Charmaine Hopewell. “What does she have to do with it?”

Charmaine laughs and winks at me. Augustine pours the coffee and lets Poppy explain.

“Charmaine just likes to be in on the action, whenever and wherever she finds it. She happened to be at Java Jane's with me when Augustine came in with his bright idea.”

“Ouch, Popp.” Augustine hands the ladies their coffee.

“Thanks, Gus.” She cradles the mug in both hands. “He told us about your burns and all, and I said I didn't think getting you in on the dinner was such a good idea.”

“Why? Because I'll make people lose their appetites?”

“Oh, shoot no. Because I've never seen you around, so I figured you were reclusive about it.”

“You're right.” I turn to Augustine. “Nice try, but no deal. Spooning up sweet potatoes on the street isn't in my usual routine. You could learn a lot from her.”

“Yeah, you're right. Plus that would be a lot of cooking for you.”

“Oh, I can cook for crowds.”

“It's okay. Don't worry about it.” He lifts his drink and takes a sip, then points a finger at me. “I'm not done with you, though. This was more of a fact-finding mission anyway.”

“What? As in, you want to see if I'll reach out, go outside of my comfort zone sort of thing?”

“Exactly.”

Charmaine laughs. “Augustine, honey, that was the lamest thing I ever heard.” She looks at me. “Valentine, forgive the man. His intentions are pure.”

“Yeah, okay. He does seem like an innocent despite all those tats.”

Augustine hoots a laugh. “Will you at least sit down with us and have a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, I get it. If you had come in here just asking for a nice chatty coffee time, I would have balked. But in the face of cooking and serving up Thanksgiving dinner to the less fortunate, a cup of coffee seems like nothing.”

He nods.

“You want to get me in with some other women so I'll make friends, be sociable. I'm your new project. Is that it?”

Poppy sits in a chair. “Hey, Gus, you're smarter than I thought.”

Augustine pulls out a chair for me. Oh, what the heck. It's Charmaine Hopewell after all. And this Poppy person seems okay.

“Wait!” I say. “Let me get Lella. Charmaine, she's always wanted to meet you.” I turn to Poppy. “She's our legless-armless woman.”

Poppy gasps. “Was she born that way? Or was it an accident?”

“Born that way. Don't worry, it's not contagious.”

Augustine winces.

A few minutes later I carry Lella down in my arms, her eyes closed at my request. Augustine's already brought in her special chair from the dining room. I gently settle her atop the donut and push her close to the table, then arrange her prosthetic arms, quite useless in function but not so in form.

“Okay, Lella, now who were you just saying you'd like to meet? Last night on our walk? Open your eyes.”

She does. “Charmaine Hopewell! Oh, my!” She'd raise a hand to her breast if she had one. “Oh, Valentine, did you arrange this?”

“Nah. Augustine showed up uninvited with Charmaine. And Poppy Fraser here. Folks, this is Lella.”

Lella glows as the greetings fly back and forth.

“I dearly love your show!” Lella. “And I've got several of your albums.”

“That's wonderful, honey. Thanks so much!” Charmaine.

“And how's your husband, Harlan?”

“Still preaching up a storm at church and on the television. That man!”

Earlier in the day I'd scraped back Lella's hair into her signature ponytail, and she asked me to make her up in a more Audrey Hepburn fashion, with slightly Egyptian eyes and red lips. She is easily the prettiest person in the room.

Charmaine takes to Lella right away, answering all of her questions about
The Port of Peace Hour
and her gospel concerts. So Poppy asks me about the road, what it's like to be in a sideshow these days.

“Well, folks still enjoy it. We're pretty politically incorrect now as you could probably guess. But who can resist a human blockhead or a fire eater?”

“Do you mind telling me how you came to be Lizard Woman?”

“Physically?”

She nods.

“I was in India and somebody mistook me for a relative that had brought dishonor to the family and threw acid on me.”

Augustine jerks his head up. “But didn't you say—”

“Yeah, it was horrible. We all couldn't believe it. And so I ended up here.”

He pushes his glasses up further on his nose.

Poppy asks, “What about your parents? Didn't your mother want to take care of you? Why did you end up on the road?”

“My mother couldn't stand to look at me anymore. And that was fine with me. We never got along anyway. My father isn't the strongest guy in the world, and I didn't want to burden him. I was just as glad to find Roland's sideshow, believe it or not.”

Charmaine hoots a “Well, praise the Lord!” at something Lella says. “I swear I haven't felt this good about life in several years.” She lays a hand on Lella's shoulder. “I'm always battling the dark monster of depression.”

“Oh, no!” Lella. “I'm so sorry for you!”

I say, “I know a thing or two about that.”

Poppy shuffles in her seat. “Charmaine takes care of her paranoid schizophrenic mother who deserted her when she was eleven years old.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Poppy!” Charmaine hits her upper arm. “Valentine's got enough on her already.”

I tap the table. “So honestly, Poppy. You need help with the food? I can make something here at Blaze's, I suppose. Like I said, I can cook for a crowd. What's a little more?”

“Valentine makes the best mashed potato casserole you've ever tasted!” Lella licks her lips. “She whips potatoes with cream cheese, sour cream, and softened butter, then places it in a casse-role and pours melted butter over it.”

I don't notice Rick standing at the door until he says, “And then she bakes it in the oven and it gets all brown around the edges. Mmm!” He rubs a stomach flatter than a first-round contestant on
American Idol
, a show Blaze never misses, darn her.

“It's one of the few things I can eat myself.”

Augustine smiles. “Yeah, then. Potato casserole it is. For about hundred people?”

“You got it.” I look at Lella. “Will you keep me company while I peel the potatoes?”

“I'd be honored.” She turns to Augustine. “That counts as helping, doesn't it?”

“Of course!” Charmaine cries. “Oh, Lella! Being company is the best thing anybody can ever do.”

“Valentine's my company, Mrs. Hopewell. Valentine's the best friend I've ever had.”

Rick clears his throat. “I'll help peel, Val. If that's all right and you don't mind.”

“For a hundred people? I'd be glad if you would.”

He whips around and hurries up to his room.