The Ladies' Room (2 page)

"That place won't bring enough for a cruise anywhere, unless you want to hire a fishing boat on Lake Texoma. But it'll
either be me or you or Trudy. We're the only living heirs, except
for Trudy's mother. And she's got Alzheimer's, so Gert wouldn't
leave it to her."

"Poor Trudy. Bless her heart," Betsy said.

I leaned forward and strained my ears until my head hurt. It
would be too awkward to open the door now. There would
definitely be a confrontation, and I've always hated that kind
of thing. Besides, I wanted to know just what I'd done to be
poor and blessed.

"It's sad, isn't it? But she's always been that way. Even when
we were kids, we could convince her of anything. She's so
blind. She's like an ostrich with her head in the sand and that
big bubble butt in the air," Marty said.

A lump caught in my throat. I swallowed a dozen times
before it went down. If they hadn't been so intent on talking
about me, they'd have heard the gulps.

Betsy giggled. "Maybe not blind. Just naive. Hasn't got a
clue as to what really goes on around her. She actually liked
Gert"

"Anyone who liked that salty old witch deserves to be running around in the dark. Let her live in ignorance. They say it's
bliss. Besides, Trudy's always had it all, and I've been jealous.
She deserves to have to get her hands dirty. If she gets the
place, she'll work her chubby little rear end off getting it all
organized. There won't be a doily or an ugly knickknack that
she doesn't categorize," Marty said.

My face burned, because that was exactly what I'd been
thinking since I'd heard Aunt Gert was dead. Her prized stuff
might not bring much, but it could be given to a good charity.

"That's Trudy-her head so far into good deeds, she doesn't
see what's right before her eyes" Betsy chuckled. "Give me a
drag off that. Does God strike people dead for smoking in a
church? We'll have to go out and blend in with the crowd in
a minute, and it'll be an hour before we can smoke again."

My skin prickled with hives. Was I that predictable?

"God won't strike us dead for smoking, but Gert would have.
Maybe Drew will talk sense to Trudy and make her bulldoze
the place," Marty said. "He's a smart lawyer. Guess Trudy don't
care what she has to put up with for that fancy house and all
that money."

Cigarette smoke drifted under the toilet-stall door. I clamped
a hand tightly over my mouth to keep from coughing. Talk
about a disaster. It would be the beginning of a family war for
sure if I got caught now. And Aunt Gert would rise up out of
that coffin if we got into it in the bathroom while her funeral
was going on.

"Do you think she knows about either her husband or her
daughter's shenanigans, or has her head been in the sand so
long that she's never coming up for air?" Betsy asked.

"If she doesn't know, she's dumb, not blind. Everyone knows
about Drew," Marty answered. "How could Trudy not? It's
been goin' on ever since the week after he married her."

My eyebrows furrowed so tightly, I felt the birthing of a
dozen new wrinkles on my forehead. What was it that everyone except poor Trudy, bless her heart knew about Drew?
And what did they know about my grown daughter, Crystal,
that I didn't know?

Marty lowered her voice slightly. "Remember when Trudy
did that overnight sleepover in Dallas with Crystal and her
little friends on-what was it?-Crystal's seventh birthday so
the kids could go to see Disney On Ice? Lori Lou came over to
my house and borrowed my casserole recipe for hot chicken
salad. I caught her coming out of Drew's house the next morning when I delivered the newspaper."

My stomach did thirty-nine flip-flops before it settled down
to plain old nausea. If I got sick, they'd hear me, and then I'd
have to endure a gazillion apologies with excuses about how they should have told me but really thought I knew and was ignoring it to keep my marriage intact. Hearing the words was so
much worse than the niggling little suspicions I'd had through
the years. My two cousins had turned on the lights and showed
me exactly what Drew was, and now I had to deal with it.

I wished I had that little .22 pistol from my nightstand.
When the custodian came to clean the church bathrooms after
the funeral dinner, there would be my two female cousins, one
bullet in each. If only I'd had the good sense to carry a gun in
my purse instead of candy bars.

My ears hurt so badly, it sounded as if Betsy was yelling,
but she was really just talking in a conversational tone. "Lori
Lou wasn't the first, you know. He was looking over the crowd
and flirting even at his and Trudy's wedding reception. Only
person who doesn't know that Drew is a rich, good-looking,
philandering fool is Trudy. She just thinks he's rich and goodlooking. I've always said that if she doesn't know, then I'd let
her live in bliss. I heard his newest toy is that new twentyyear-old blond teller at their bank. Her name is Charity something. Trudy gets older and frumpier every day, and his toys
get younger and prettier. You've seen her, haven't you?"

"Know exactly who you're talking about. My oldest son
asked her out on a date. She turned him down cold. Now I
know why. Donnie James doesn't have the money to buy her
one of those brand-new Thunderbirds like Drew shelled out
the money for."

A moment passed before Marty continued. The cloud of
smoke attested to the fact that she was busy burning an inch off
the cigarette before she spoke. "Charity is young enough to be
his daughter. Hey, so what did you think about Crystal's sneaking off to marry that worthless boyfriend of hers in Las Vegas?"

"Just a minute," Betsy whispered, and I heard the bathroom
door squeak.

Maybe I could strangle them with the legs of my ultracontrol panty hose. It would be so satisfying to see their eyes bug
out and their faces turn blue. If I put the hose back on after I'd
committed justifiable homicide, no one would ever be able to
find the murder weapon.

Betsy whispered, "They're all coming out of the church.
We can blend in now. Put on your sad face, and for God's sake
put a mint into your mouth. I can still smell the smoke from
way over here."

The door shut, and I released my breath. I hadn't even realized I was holding it until it gushed out in a great sob. I leaned
my head against the cold metal of the stall wall. Its coolness
kept me from fainting dead away. It didn't, however, prevent
me from curling up in a ball of anger, pain, and tears until my
chest ached.

I had always had the perfect family, while my two cousins
had messed up their lives with five unwise marriages between
them. Now I had found out that the only real difference was
that my family had had a sugar coating and theirs didn't.

I talked my jelly-filled legs into supporting me, and a glob
of cheesy cellulite bubbled out through the hole in my panty
hose as a runner inched its way down to my knees. If I didn't
cross my legs, poor, frumpy Trudy might make it through the
dinner without a run all the way to her ankles. A conspicuous
run would certainly be a disgrace.

My reflection in the mirror almost sent me right out to my
car. Big black mascara streaks ran through pink blush. My eyes
were swollen. My chin wouldn't stop quivering. I took a deep
breath and looked into my own green eyes. My long black hair
was a fright. What was I going to do?

The first step was to make myself presentable. I'd focus on
one thing at a time and get through the graveside part of the service. After that would be the dinner and the reading of the will.
Then I'd deal with what I intended to do about my husband.

I walked out of the ladies' room with my shoulders straight
and a fake smile on my face. A lady kept up appearances and
never lost her dignity-even when her world had just shattered around her in the stall of the women's bathroom.

Marty, Betsy, and I were required to ride together in the
limousine to the cemetery for the final bit of the service. They
were whispering when I crawled inside. At least the fat escaping through the hole in my panty hose reminded me that I had
a murder weapon at hand. I could strangle them and then shove half my Snickers bar into each of their mouths after they
were dead and swear they'd both choked to death while weeping for Great-aunt Gert. No one would doubt frumpy old Trudy's
word.

"How you holdin' up?" Marty asked.

"I'm just fine," I told her.

"Well, you look like warmed-over sin," Betsy said.

"And you look absolutely beautiful," I said sarcastically.

Marty became the buffer. "Don't take that tone with her,
Trudy. What's the matter with you? She's just tryin' to make
you laugh. We didn't know Aunt Gert meant so much to you.
We're just happy the old gal finally kicked the bucket and we
can go to the grocery store without checkin' around the end of
the aisles to make sure we're not goin' to run into her."

"That's not any way to talk about the dead," I said.

"Why not? You're being hateful to the living," Marty snapped.

I turned my head and looked out the window.

They figured I was mourning or in a snit and went back to
the latest gossip: whose kid was in trouble with the law, who
was sleeping with whom. I didn't care about the latest gossip, but I would have liked to have that list of home-wrecking
women they knew all about. I wanted to see the names of the
women in Tishomingo, Oklahoma, and the surrounding areas
that my husband had slept with. Peace always seemed to come
at a high price, and the way my stomach was hurting, the cost
of keeping quiet was going to be a full-fledged ulcer.

At the cemetery we were escorted from the limo by three of
the men from Gert's church. They acted as if they expected us to
go into some kind of wailing fit and were a little disappointed
when we didn't.

The pallbearers set the pale pink casket on the fake-grasscovered rise, and everyone gathered in the tent. Three chairs
waited for the bereaved great-nieces to sit in right in front of
the casket. Sweat poured off my neck and ran in rivers down
every wrinkle it could find, wetting the wide strip of elastic at
the edge of bra that was biting holes into my rib cage. The fat
bubble on my thigh stuck through the panty hose on the other
side, and no amount of wiggling would unhinge it.

Through the pain, all I could think about was killing the
messengers of the horrible news that my husband had been
cheating on me most of my married life. They should have
told me the day they found out rather than laughing about it
behind my back.

"We are gathered here at this site to remember one more
time the life of Gertrude Elizabeth Martin. She lived a long,
happy life and has gone on to a better place. She has folded up
her tent and gone on home to Jesus," the preacher said.

Jesus had better be ready for a different lifestyle once Gert
got to heaven, because there were going to be some major
changes up there. Saint Peter could get rid of his little black
book with the names of the worthy written in it. Aunt Gert
would arrive with a new and updated version tucked under her
arm.

The singers began to sing "Amazing Grace," but I didn't
hear a word of it. The preacher said a prayer, and as soon as he
uttered "Amen," there were people all around us.

"You be strong, Trudy," Daisy Black said. "Gert wouldn't
want to see you grieving a long time. Lean on your happy
memories."

If I did that, I'd fall on my bubble butt pretty quickly. Was
the woman daft?

Another little gray-haired lady hugged me and whispered,
"Gert was a great lady. You'll have a time filling her boots"

"Dinnertime," Betsy whispered into my ear, and she headed
toward the limousine that would take us back to the church.

"I sure hope someone made hot chicken salad," I said.

She did have the grace to blush. "I never knew you liked hot
chicken salad. I mean, I know you make it for Drew, because
you told me, but I didn't know it was your favorite."

"Of course I like hot chicken salad. I make it every week
for Drew. If he doesn't have it on Tuesday night, it's grounds
for divorce." It was amazing how easy it was to dump ashes
upon her head and how much I enjoyed it.

I could have sworn I heard Gert's voice whispering that a
true lady could weather tragedy and heartache and keep her
pride and dignity. I suppose she was trying to tell me to be careful, but I didn't really care about all those old southernisms she'd spouted all the time. I wanted to roll down the
windows of the limo and yell toward the single white cloud up
there in the ultrablue summer sky, Don't be telling me anything about pride and dignity! I want to kill someone, and I'll
gladly start with Betsy or Marty-either one. So take your
advice on to the pearly gates and rearrange heaven. Don't be
whispering into my ear. You probably knew Drew was cheating, and you didn't bother to tell me, either!

I didn't do it. Instead I sank down into the heavy silence.
What on earth was I going to do? My salary at the school
wouldn't pay rent and bills on a one-room shanty on the edge
of the Washita River. Did I swallow my pride, wrap myself in
a robe of dignity, and shut my eyes? After all, evidently he'd
been cheating for years. Everyone in town knew and "blessed
my little heart" on a daily basis.

If Aunt Gert could have been in that limo right then, she
would have told me to stop blaming my cousins and blame the
party responsible. She would have said for me to go take care of
business so I could hold my head up. She would have kicked
my hind end for wanting to kill the messengers when the person I should be thinking of murdering was my lying, cheating,
two-timing husband.

Marty cleared her throat to get my attention. "What are you
thinking about? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Aunt Gert," I answered.

Betsy pulled out a compact and applied a fresh coat of
bright red lipstick. "What're you going to do if you get that
horrid house? We've already decided what we'd do with that
eyesore"