Nether Regions (6 page)

That was a long time ago, however, so today she merely pressed the envelope closed and pushed it into the pack.

Reverently, taking time to finger each piece with tender, respectful nostalgia, Delora repacked the contents. She approached it as one would a puzzle, fitting each box or parcel into its exact nesting space. She sighed as she pulled the covering taut across the fullness. This was her real life. The life she led day to day now was someone else’s life that she had stumbled into.

She touched the cold bottle of vodka nestled into the triangle created by her folded legs and lit her last cigarette of the day. Who was this scarred woman who drank straight vodka from the bottle late at night, reveling in her loneliness as if doing penance? This was not Delora Marrs Clark—the pampered only child of two loving parents. No, this was Delora Marrs Clark November, an entirely different person. Delora sincerely hoped the windows of heaven were shuttered when it came to her life. It was appalling to believe her parents could see who their daughter had become.

Dispirited and ashamed, she rose and placed the sack on the floor of the closet, behind her beaten-up sneakers. She closed the door and stood indecisively in the middle of the room.

She was only twenty-four. A babe still and her life was done. Yet she would not give up everything. The quiet magic of the night stole across her and, crushing out the cigarette, she relaxed against the pillows of her bed. Her fingers idly caressed one satiny pillow and teased a protruding corner. She’d bought these pillows herself, with her own money, from the discount store in Goshen. The overabundance of pillows on the bed pleased her and she felt almost guilty for pampering herself. Her eyes snared on her partially exposed abdomen and she flipped a corner of the comforter across it. Not that guilty. With her next run of big tips she planned to buy a smiley face throw rug for the center of the room.

Lord knows, she’d better not buy any more maps. Her eyes grew fond as she studied the wall opposite her bed. About eighteen months ago, while foraging in Raymond’s used book store, she had discovered a huge fold-out map of the world. Bearing the National Geographic logo on the bottom left corner, the map was awe-inspiring, taking up the better part of the wall and dragging Delora in headfirst. The deep sky blue of the oceans soothed her as the outlined, colorful countries excited her. Strangely enough, it was the continent of North America that captured her interest more than any other. Colorful pushpins bristled in intriguing locales such as San Francisco, Corpus Christi, Key West, Fargo, Spokane. She said the names to herself, allowing the words to roll off her tongue like diamonds, with hard edges and dazzling facets. The other continents just couldn’t match up. Turkey and Algeria, China and Kazakhstan. They didn’t fall as well. Too harsh maybe.

She cracked the seal on the bottle and lifted the moist neck to her lips. Delaying the first sip, she teased her full bottom lip with the wetness of the rim, allowing the fresh, cool smell of the vodka to waft across her senses. The first sip was always the best. This was why she seldom overindulged. The taste got old quickly. A certain amount helped her sleep, however, and she welcomed that.

Other maps decorated other walls. To her left stretched the great state of Alabama. The tourism bureau in Goshen gave those away free. She’d had to pay for the now-faded road maps, however, and the dog-eared atlas from Walmart that lay on the floor next to her bed. That was okay. Maps were a necessity. How else would she find her way away from Redstar when it was time?

She took a deep sip and let her eyes roam the small bedroom. Having her own room again was one of the best things to happen to her in a long time. Not having Louie’s obnoxious presence next to her was a delightful freedom. She’d hated the way he dominated any room he entered. She still hated the sour sweet beer smell of him.

Turning on her side, she slid her right hand along her thigh and up her side feeling the point of numb sensitivity that was almost a pain when her fingers strayed into the area of burned skin. If he ever touched her again she would die, absolutely drop like a bludgeoned cow.

According to the doctors in Mobile, her repaired flesh could not take the thrust of a lover. They had made a point of telling Louie this. Blind and crippled by a repaired, rigid ankle broken while running from the fire, Louie was not likely to hurt her physically again. His words still hurt, however, and he knew just how to use them as weapons. These hours, though, from work until morning were hers alone and she cherished each one of them. No Louie, no Rosalie, just Delora and the image of who she used to be before she knew them.

Chapter Eight

Bayou water slapped with gentle insistence against the south side of Salamander House. Sophie listened intently for a few minutes to see if there was a message there. She determined the slapping was just a friendly hello and turned her attention back to Stephen Combs’ words.

“I don’t know, Clary,” he was saying as his teeth and tongue worried a stringy piece of celery. “I could probably take it a little better if he was honest. It’s the lying that gets to me.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Sophie interjected. She was separating leaf lettuce from its stalk and did not look at him as she spoke. “And it’s the cheating that is getting to you too. That and the fact he is choosing someone else over you time and again.”

“But that’s just it, he’s still with me.” He leaned toward her with avid curiosity, still chewing. “What’s that about?”

Clary, carefully washing watercress at the sink, answered. “It’s just not something we can understand. Some people are plain born unfaithful. I think your Righteous is one of them.”

“You’ve known him longer than me. Have you ever known him to be with just one person?” Stephen asked quietly.

Sophie snorted before Clary could answer and Clary gave her a sour look.

“Hell, the only person he’s ever settled with is you, Stephen. I remember when you came to town driving that beat-up Chevy pickup. He thought the sun rose and set in you. Didn’t he, Sophie?”

“Umhm,” Sophie agreed halfheartedly. “I remember how it was when they first saw one another. All of a sudden it was like the rest of us weren’t there anymore.”

Stephen laughed hollowly. “Lord, he was impressive. I remember remarking on how wide his cheekbones were and wondering about his ancestry.”

“You mean like having Eskimo or Indian blood?” Clary placed a stack of plates on the table.

“Right.” Stephen moved lazily to spread them across the table. “You don’t see black people with that wide a face. He has to have something else mixed in.”

“What does he say?” Sophie asked as she studied Clary’s wide cheekbones.

Stephen shrugged and lifted a handful of forks. “Says he doesn’t know. His grandparents died when he was a boy so what little bit of knowledge they had was lost.”

“Shame,” said Beulah, laying her hand over her heart in a gesture of remembrance for those who had passed on.

Stephen’s face hardened. “What I want to know is why he feels like it’s okay to have sex with all the little chickies he runs with.”

“It’s an easy thing,” explained Sophie. “Get someone new to rub the rod a little, to relieve the pressure. I don’t think there’s love involved. Sensuality and passion of a sort, yes, but it’s not like what you two have.”

“I know,” Stephen sighed. “It doesn’t make it right, though.”

“No, but sometimes it’s not up to us to know why someone does what he does. Maybe our job is just to love who we love.”

“There’s no way to tell you how I feel,” Stephen said abruptly. His fingers began fretting a bowl of Washington State apples that Clary had put out that morning.

“You’re going to bruise them,” Sophie chided softly, never taking her eyes from her task.

“I know how you feel,” Beulah said quietly.

Early June in the Alabama swamp means bugs and lots of them. Beulah sat at the kitchen door, thoughtfully twisting a thread pulled from her sweater and watching the poetry as the insect tribes spiraled around one another in a joyful frenzy of procreation. “You think no man ever cheated on me? I can tell you plenty about how you feel. Why do you think I’ve been hitched so many times? I didn’t get tired of that many men; they just found new pussy more appealing.”

“Miss Cofe,” Clary scolded. She turned from the sink, eyes wide. “You know better than to say such.”

“But it’s true,” Beulah protested.

“True or not, there’s no need for vulgarity.”

Beulah smiled, her mouth filled with stars in the sudden light of the kitchen as she turned her head and radiance caught her golden tooth. Though she was old, almost ninety by the last guess, her grin revealed the dimpled energy of a young, budding woman. “What’s the matter Clary? Ain’t you got no pussy?”

“She does, I can vouch for it,” Sophie chimed in, getting into the spirit of play.

Clary shot Sophie a glance full of ill will. “I leave my pussy at home and that’s where I’ll keep her, thank you.”

“I’m gonna tell Salty you said that. He’ll think he’s the luckiest man.”

“What did I say?” Clary spread her wet hands in a gesture of innocence, her round, brown features childlike.

“Y’all stop,” Stephen said. “I come here for advice and y’all act like fools.”

“Just calm yourself, honey,” Beulah said, her voice gentle. “No need to fret. What’s the boy up to now?”

Stephen squirmed. “There’s this new boy, just a baby. Chili Bowling saw them together and told me about it, and I swear Righteous is gonna leave me for him.

“Now, Stephen, you said that about the last one, that black boy from Minion.”

“Yes,” Stephen agreed, as if the point he was making was the most sensible thing. “And he almost did.”

Tears welled in his eyes and he lifted his hands to hide the emotion. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why can’t he stay in our bed?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, boy. He’s only working through his own purpose. What’s up to you is whether you tolerate it or not.” Beulah rolled her chair closer and patted his arm with hands that had birthed and buried a large portion of Redstar. “If you love him enough, you’ll wait for him to come around.”

“It’s not that simple,” he replied with an annoyed twist of his shoulders.

Sophie turned from the salad she was combining and studied him. There was a shift in energy, and it disturbed her normal complacency. She too wondered why Righteous, a tall, skinny, not particularly attractive black man, wouldn’t stay at home. Stephen with his blond hair, tanned, even features and muscular build was certainly as good as or better than the bar trash he strayed with. Stephen always appeared perfectly attired as well. Even today, knocking around with friends, he wore a polo shirt and pressed khaki shorts. Brown leather loafers, gently worn, covered his sockless feet.

“Of course it’s that simple, Stephen,” she said gently. “First you need to talk to him honestly and tell him exactly how you feel about what he’s doing to your life. Then, if he won’t stop, knowing how you feel about it, then you have to decide whether you leave or stay. It is that simple.”

Stephen stared at Sophie. She saw his face change as he realized the truth of her words. He had no defense and merely tucked his head.

Clary turned in time to see the exchange. “How is Righteous doing overall, Stephen? Is he still working steady?”

“Yeah, at Thirsty’s.”

“He’s still there at the Thirsty Rogue. That’s good.” Clary smiled and nodded at him.

“But that’s the thing. Why won’t he look for another job? One that doesn’t have all those young boys around? He obviously can’t resist them.”

“Have you told him that? About the job and what it’s doing to y’all’s relationship?” Clary turned back to the sink before he could answer.

“Oh yeah. We argue about it every few days it seems. It ain’t doing a bit of good. He likes the job.”

“He is a good bartender, I hear,” Beulah offered. “Amos Willis told me Righteous never lets a customer go dry.”

“I’m sure,” Stephen agreed bitterly.

Clary turned off the faucet with an angry snap. “Give the boy some credit if you do love him. The way you say you do. What he’s doing to you is all wrong, we all know, but it’s like being hooked on booze. Something he fell into and can’t help.”

“And we’d like to say that if he just didn’t drink, everything would be okay, like not working at Thirsty’s would fix it all,” Sophie added.

Silence fell, populated only by the whine of the insects and whisper of the water outside. Beulah sighed once and Clary moved to sit next to them at the table. She lifted a glass of iced tea to her lips.

Stephen sat sullen, studying the watered texture of the sweet tea in his own glass. Sophie watched him, knowing that his dignity was slipping away and that he felt powerless to prevent it.

“Stephen?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “I just don’t like being made a fool of, that’s all.”

“I know,” Sophie agreed. “It’s in your power to change that. You can’t change him, you know.”

“I know. I also know I can’t take much more. I won’t take much more.”

Beulah turned to look at him and rolled her chair away from his side and closer to the table. She began laying silverware out next to the plates. “Whatever you decide, it’ll be all right. We’ll still feed you. That’ll never change.”

It took a few minutes for the gravity to lift but when it did, Sophie let go a sigh of relief. Clary brought the tuna salad, the potato salad and the watermelon from the refrigerator, balancing the platters precariously until Stephen leaped to take the melon and place it on the table. Sophie brought the pitcher of mint tea and arranged the tossed salad next to the selection of dressings.

“I’ll get the ice,” Clary muttered as she opened the freezer.

“Nothing hot?” Stephen asked.

“Fried chicken from Albert’s. Here, want a leg?” Beulah handed him the bowl.

“You know I don’t like dark meat, Grandam. How long I been coming here? You should know that by now.”

Sophie was the first to laugh, puzzling everyone. Gradually the other women got it and laughed as they settled themselves at the table. Stephen watched them, bewildered until he got the joke and blushed, stuffing bread into his mouth.