Southern Fried (2 page)

God into you, she did. Me included, most times.

And, man, was it ever hard to go back there, what with her

gone. Place was soulless. All shell, the snail now in nothing but

plain old wood. I gulped, standing on the porch, a trail of sweat

bee-lining down my face, luggage off to the side. Then I rang

the bell,
I Wish I Was in Dixie
gonging from within as I took a

deep breath, the fragrant smell of magnolia blossoms wafting

languidly up my nostrils, with jasmine close behind.

“Old times there are not forgotten,” I sang, tapping my foot

as the door creaked on open.

“Trip, that you?” came the familiar voice, her head poking

out, a smile spreading wide across her dark, round face.

My smile instantly matched hers. “Pearl?” I managed, my

heart very nearly bursting at the seams.

The door continued moving open. “Who else would it be,

boy?”

She held out her arms to me, rolls of fat dangling down,

swinging like a pendulum. I ran in and gave her a hug, face buried

in layers of cotton and breast. She smelled like fresh cut corn and

okra, a splash of vanilla with a dash of Kentucky bourbon. She

smelled, in fact, like my childhood. Her arms closed in tight, the

hug like a vice as a tear streamed down her cheek before tickling

my forehead.

“You’re looking good, Pearl,” I managed, voice muffled.

She laughed. “All you seeing is titty, boy,” she chided, slapping

me on the shoulder.

“Well, could be worse,” I retorted, backing up an inch. “You

could be much taller and I could be much shorter.”

southeRn FRied
5

She paused, letting that image splash across her brain. Then

she laughed and smacked me twice as hard. “You’re a foul talking

boy, Trip Jackson. Who done taught you how to talk that way?”

She winked and led me inside.

“My lips are sealed,” I replied, closing the door behind me,

the smell of magnolia replaced by Pine Sol, jasmine by fresh

baked biscuits. “You got strawberry jam to go with those?” I

asked, head craning from side to side, taking it all in after being

away for so very long.

“With butter and honey,” she told me, grabbing my hand and

leading me inside the belly of the beast, not a stick of furniture

moved in well over a decade, and all of it clean as a whistle, not

a speck of dust to be found. Pearl saw me staring and nodded.

“She’s gone in body only, sugar. I swear, I think she’s still around

watching me like she always did. Making sure I keep it just like

she likes it. Fussy old biddy.”

I laughed, despite myself. “That any way to talk about the

dead, Pearl?”

We walked into the kitchen, the yeasty aroma so intoxicating

it very nearly made me hard in my jeans. Then she replied to my

question. “Trust me, boy, that’s saying it nicely.” She moved to

the oven and removed the tray of biscuits, flaky and perfect, just

a smidgen of brown around the edges. She cut one open for me,

a puff of steam rising up, before she smeared a slab of butter on

top, a swirl of honey, a glob of jam over it all. Then she served

it to me on Granny’s favorite china, a glass of whole milk set to

the side.

I smiled wide. “It’s a miracle her heart didn’t go out long

before now,” I remarked, taking in Lord only knew how much

cholesterol and fat. Gleefully. It went down smooth as silk,

blocking several arteries along its murderous path.

Pearl returned my smile with one of her own, big and white

against a sea of honey-colored brown. “Boy, it’s a miracle her

liver didn’t go out long before that. Only reason she died was

because we plum ran out of that Jack Daniels of hers.” She made

the sign of the cross over her chest. “God rest her soul.”

6 Rob Rosen

“And bless her liver, too,” I added, mimicking the gesture.

“Amen.”

She joined me at the kitchen table, two biscuits to my one.

“Funeral’s tomorrow, huh?” I asked, almost in a whisper. She

merely nodded. “Hard to believe she’s gone.” Again the nod,

half a biscuit downed. “Then what happens, Pearl?” I looked

at her like I did when I was a little boy and I broke something,

something Granny was going to be awfully pissed about me

breaking. Pearl always knew the right thing to say to comfort me.

Sadly, I wasn’t a boy any longer, much as I felt like one right at

that moment.

She swallowed and then gulped. “Her attorney is in London.

Can’t get back until a couple of days from now. He’s got the will

in a safe up in Charleston and then there’ll be a reading as soon as

he retrieves it and brings it on down here. That what you meant

by
then what happens
?” she asked, in between another hearty bite.

I swallowed too, but not because I had a thick slab of biscuit

gliding down my throat. “I suppose. I mean, it is a pretty big

estate, huh?”

She craned her head this way and that, multiple chins sloshing

about as she started in on biscuit number two. “I think that’s what

you’d call a gross understatement, Trip.” She laughed, crumbs

flying to and fro from between lips so thick they’d make Mick

Jagger jealous.

See, in terms of money, Granny was rich as Rockefeller and

twice as ornery. My family had always been rich, going back

to the Civil War. Rich from cotton. Fields and fields of it. All

spared from Grant’s torch. Marched right on past us and decided

on Atlanta instead. Thank goodness. Anyway, the house stayed

put, every last white column and stick of silver of it, all of it

passed down, down, down. Stopping dead in its tracks with me,

I supposed. There’s that bitter irony again, right? Last living

relative is queer as a three dollar bill, which, needless to say, they

didn’t have in confederate money. The genes were staying put in

my, well, jeans, so to speak. Still, I’d never laid eyes on Granny’s

will before. The inheritance was all assumption on my part, and

southeRn FRied
7

would be until the lawyer arrived.

I finished my biscuit and drank my milk. It went down cold

and satisfying. Then I washed my plate and glass and turned

again to Pearl. “Mind if I go and have a look around?” I asked.

“Been a long while.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself, boy. Place’ll be all yours soon

enough, I reckon.” She smiled, her eyes softening. “I missed you,

Trip,” she added.

I moved in and placed a warm, wet kiss on her cheek. “Same

here, Pearl. Same here.”

And then I excused myself and started my tour. So strange to

be back after so long a time. And, yet, it felt like I hadn’t left at all,

because Granny never, ever moved anything or bought anything

new. The furniture had been around long before any of us where

even glimmers in our rebel ancestors’ cotton-pickin’ minds. Still,

it did my heart good to run my hand across the smooth, wooden

banister, to sit on the sofa, to touch the lace that draped over it.

It was like feeling my past. Her past, too, I suppose. Generations

of pasts all piled high.

I stared at her portrait over the mantelpiece. It was Granny

when she was in her thirties. Less dour, if only by a hair. There

was a scowl on her face as she stared down at me, as if to say,
get

your filthy jeans off my sofa, boy
. In other words, I jumped up and off.

“I was done sitting there anyway,” I said to the painting, turning

away as I stuck my tongue out, just in case she really was hanging

around up there.

I walked back into the hallway, staring up the winding staircase,

massive chandelier hanging high overhead, dripping with crystals,

ancestral portraits arranged along the side of the wall, older as

you made your way up. I touched the picture of my mom and

dad. She was pregnant with me, smiling big and broad. I echoed

her smile as I made my way past, instinctively heading for my old

room.

The door creaked open. Granny never oiled it. Said she liked

knowing when I was up to no good, which was often enough.

8 Rob Rosen

My room, like the rest of the mansion, was just as I’d left it.

It was all teenage boy, posters on the wall, glee club trophies,

debate plaques, comic books neatly stacked. Nerdy chic, I called

it. I sighed as I hopped on the bed, smaller than I remembered

it to be. Ironically, my bedroom in New York wasn’t any bigger,

despite my staggering rent.

I stood up and walked to the dresser, staring at the pictures,

me when I was a teenager, Granny still old, barely a meager smile

if any at all. I touched her face behind the glass, a chill riding

shotgun down my back. “Hope you’re in a better place, Granny,”

I whispered, then realized that where she had been wasn’t too

shabby. Not by a long shot. I giggled at the thought. Then my eye

caught the light twinkling from outside.

I moved to the window and stared down, the pool off to the

corner of the yard, the sweeping lawn cascading over and down,

trimmed with magnolias and loblolly pines, water oaks, Spanish

moss hanging down off the branches like grayish green locks of

unkempt hair. A white egret took flight off the lake in the rear

of the property. “Fuck it, Granny; you were in a damn fine place

already.” Again I laughed, once more noticing the sunlight as it

reflected off the pool. Only this time I spotted movement, as

well.

It was hard to see him from my vantage point, too far down

and off to the side. Still, it was a man, shirtless, tan arms, his body

rife with hair. Then I saw the fluid motion of a net swiping the

top of the water, retrieving leaves and debris. That was my job

as a kid, but now the hired help’s. I gulped when he came into

view, at the sight of his broad hairy chest, etched belly, love trail

disappearing into tight work slacks. Handsome fella, super tan,

short hair, graying at the sides. Early forties with the body of a

twenty year old’s. My jeans bulged at the sight of him.

“Who are you, I wonder?” I asked, aloud, craning my neck

over, cheek against the cool glass, trying and failing for a better

shot of him. “Better view from Granny’s sewing room,” I added,

with a snap of my fingers. “That’ll look straight down on to him.”

I left my bedroom and hot-footed it across the hall and around

southeRn FRied
9

the corner, flinging open the sewing room door. I stopped, dead

in my tracks. “Oh, uh, fuck, sorry,” I yelped, frozen to the spot. As

was he. He had his pants around his ankles, hand at mid-stroke.

Obviously, whoever this guy was, he’d had the same thought as I

did. “You, uh, you want to put
that
away?”

His face went beet red, then an even deeper crimson. “Come

in, quick, before Pearl hears us.” I jumped inside and shut the

door quietly behind me. “She doesn’t like the help in the house,”

he informed, reaching for his shorts and then stuffing his rather

fetching stiffy inside. Dude was my age, or near about, shorter

than me by several inches, cute as all get out, with eyes a startling

blue, blue as that pool outside, of the sky on a hot August day. I

gazed out the window at what he’d been staring at. He followed

my eyes downward. “Jake,” he told me.

“Jake,” I echoed, with a nod, my heart beating hummingbird-

fast. “And you are?”

He laughed, nervously, his zipper rising up, shorts now

buttoned. “Zebulon. But everyone calls me Zeb. I take care of

the horses.” His eyes stayed locked on mine, boring down deep,

a smile wide on his tanned face, cheeks sprinkled with a day’s

growth of hair. “And you are?”

I gave him the quick run down. He’d heard of me, of course,

then apologized again, pleading with me not to tell Pearl.
As if
,

I thought. She was scarier than Granny when she wanted to be.

And she usually wanted to be. Besides, I loved having the upper

hand. “Does Jake know you’re watching him?” I asked, an inch

closer now, then two, both of us staring longingly down at him.

“I reckon not, not if I want to live to tell about it,” came

the reply, hand pushing down at his still hard prick, now sadly

encased in denim. “Promise not to tell?”

I grinned, that upper hand quickly put into play. “But Pearl

doesn’t want you in the house,” I said, all smiles, again staring

down as Jake emptied the net, his chest flexing, biceps massive,

sweat trickling down between his bulging pecs, which looked like

boulders after a morning rain. “Not smart to go against Pearl’s

wishes. I learned that the
hard
way.” Emphasis on the hard.

10 Rob Rosen

He gulped, eyes wide. Like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oh, come on now; I was just having me some fun. Nobody

needs to know nothin’.” His smile made a forced return, nervous

if not downright adorable. My heart went
thump
,
thump
,
thump

inside my chest.

I paused for effect, hand rubbing my chin as I pretended to

think it over. “I suppose so,” I relented. “Fun is fun. Too bad I