The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel (10 page)

“You
should
be mad,” Gerald said, pumping his fist. “Anger's a good thing!”

“As soon as I took those pills I knew I'd messed up,” Tammy continued. “I tried to vomit, and guess I managed to get some of them up. Then I called you. I was so groggy by that time. Thank God you were home. I was afraid you might have been out and…” Her eyes grew large. “Wait a minute,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “You're supposed to be getting married right now! Don't tell me you put off your wedding on account of me?”

“No, no, no,” I said softly. “It wasn't because of you.”

Several hours earlier I'd stopped by Sonny's to tell him the wedding was off. I cried the entire time. Part of me desperately wanted Sonny's hand to guide my decisions, the way my daddy had as a child, but I knew I was the only one who could decide the true direction of my life. Otherwise, I might just disappear altogether. The Queens comforted me after I had broken it off and spent the rest of the morning informing all the guests, the minister, the photographer, and the caterer.

“What happened?” Tammy asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Marrying Sonny just didn't seem like the right thing to do anymore. It never was.”

“I'm glad, Jill,” Tammy said with a definitive nod of her chin. “I
never
thought he was the right guy for you.”

“You, too?” I asked in amazement. “Why didn't you say something?”

“Well, I've been so preoccupied with Deke I couldn't think of anything else,” Tammy said. “And…I'm just not used to
you
making stupid mistakes. You've always given everybody sensible advice. I just figured you knew what you were doing.”

The others nodded in agreement.

I shook my head in disbelief. The Queens certainly saw me differently than I saw myself.

“Believe you me, I'm as good at screwing up my life as anyone else here,” I said. “If you think I'm making a stupid mistake, y'all need to tell me. I might initially tell you to mind your own fuckin' business and drop dead while you're at it, but I swear, I still want to hear it. Do y'all promise?”

“We promise,” the Queens said in unison.

“Same goes for me,” Gerald said. “If I'm fixin' to screw up, I'd like to know, and you're the only people I can trust to tell me.”

“Me, too,” Patsy said.

“I'm in,” Tammy said with a sigh. “Not that I always listen. I tuned Jill out this time around.”

“Sounds like a fine plan to me,” Mary Bennett said with a grin. “We Queens gotta look out for each other.”

“Here's to US,” I said, putting my hand out. The Queens stacked hands on top of mine and we laughed as we completed it, “and fuck EVERYBODY ELSE.”

 

“I don't know about y'all, but it seems to me that the good Dr. Day got off a wee bit too easy,” Mary Bennett said as she backed her convertible out of the hospital parking lot. “Don't we think he should suffer just a little bit more?”

“Yes,” Patsy said, bobbing her blond head up and down. “He deserves a good stab in the ass with a sharp stick.”

“I agree,” Gerald said. “But what could we do to get back at him without getting ourselves in trouble?”

Suddenly a fiendishly diabolical plan began to swirl in my brain.

“I might have a little something in mind for our dear Dr. Dick,” I said. “There's a hardware store a few blocks from here. Why don't we swing by?”

 

Three days later Tammy was released from the hospital. It seemed only fitting to pick her up wearing our cat's-eyes and red wigs. (Mine had a small bald patch on one side from where the moths had gotten to it.)

It was a pretty June day. Blue and pink hydrangeas bobbed like big balloons in dozens of yards, and the air smelled like line-dried sheets.

Tammy rode shotgun. A hospital bracelet still encircled her slender wrist and her complexion was a tad on the wan side, but after cruising with the Queens for a few minutes, singing our anthem, “Tiny Bubbles,” color blossomed in her cheeks.

“We have a surprise for you,” I said, squeezing her arm. “A gift from all the Queens.”

“As if all those flowers and trashy cards weren't enough?” Tammy said with a grin.

“This is an
extra
special surprise,” Mary Bennett said, a strand of red hair flying into her face. “It's a present you'll be sharing with the entire city of Jackson.”

“It's a group effort!” Patsy shouted from the backseat. “We all contributed.”

“You've certainly roused my curiosity,” Tammy said.

Mary Bennett slowed to a stop as she neared the main road leading to Dr. Day's office.

“There,” she said, pointing to the block letters spray-painted fluorescent pink on the overpass. “Isn't it a thing of beauty?”

Tammy's eyes followed Mary Bennett's finger. “Omigod!” she said, cupping her mouth. Muffled squealing sounds came from behind her hand, and her torso heaved. The Queens traded worried looks. Had we gone too far?

Tammy dropped her hand. With eyes shiny with tears, she said, “This is, by far and away, the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I just love it!
Loooove
it!”

“Hopefully it will be around for a very, very long time,” I said, admiring our handiwork. “Our dear Dr. Dick will get to see it every morning when he goes to work.”

“What lyrical alliteration,” Gerald mused, as he read the message on the overpass: “‘Dr. Deke Day has a dinky dick.'”

“It's a work of art,” Tammy said, gazing dreamily at our graffiti. “And TRUE—but there's prolly not room on that sign to describe his other problem.”

“What?” we asked in unison.

A wicked giggle escaped her lips. “Well, didja ever try to put a marshmallow in a parking meter?”

I
sn't she lovely? Isn't she won-der-ful?” sang the incredibly handsome, broad-shouldered man sitting next to me at the Diabetes Association Annual Fashion Fling. Sadly, I was the not the inspiration for his serenade. His dark blue eyes were fastened on Tammy, who was strutting down the makeshift runway in the middle of the community center.

“Tammy is wearing a silk bomber jacket, Jordache jeans, and hot pink shoes from Candies,” said the emcee, reading from an index card. “All are available from J.B. White's. Doesn't she look divine?”

“Yes!” yelled out my table companion. He stuck his pinkies in his mouth and let out a long, shrill whistle. “She's breathtaking.”

“Gee, Bob,” I said, leaning toward him. “Maybe you should ask her out for a date.”

He flashed me his bright, white movie-star smile. Bob was wasting his time teaching high school English; he would have made a great underwear model.

“Oh, Jill,” he said. “I'll bet you think I'm some kind of idiot, huh?”

“No more so than the average guy,” I said.

“I just can't believe she's my wife!” he said. “Every morning I thank God for her.”

Bob's affection for Tammy reminded me of a little boy with his very first BB gun. I smiled at him, wondering if I'd ever have a man so completely moon-pied over me.

Tammy approached the table, fresh from her runway stint. “How was I?” she asked, her eyes darting with excitement.

“Cheryl Tiegs is a dogball compared to you,” Bob said, rising from the table and enveloping her in his arms. “You were the hit of the show, baby.”

“You really think so?” Tammy asked.

They started nuzzling and whispering to each other, creating a bubble around themselves as lovers often do. Tammy's happiness was blindingly evident. She had a positively worshipful, not to mention handsome, husband and a killer job. If I hadn't loved her so much, I would no doubt have been annoyed that her life was as frothy and colorful as an episode of
Happy Days
.

“Can I get y'all a drink?” Bob asked, even though the line now snaked halfway across the room. He'd walk barefoot through fields of broken glass just to wait on his wife and me, as a mere extension of her wonderfulness.

“Oh, yes. A wine spritzer would be yummy!” Tammy said gratefully.

“I think I'd like a Jack and Seven with lots of lemon.” I paused. “On second thought, hold the Seven. And the lemon.”

“Coming up,” Bob said cheerfully. The two of them kissed quickly but passionately before he departed.

“Okay, give me the unvarnished truth,” Tammy said. “How did I
really
look?”

“Like a wave over a slop jar,” I said in a teasing voice.

Tammy's mouth fell open in horror.

“Oh, come on, Tammy. You
know
you looked stunning—you just like hearing it over and over.”

“I guess…I'm just being…I don't know. It just that I'm kind of long in the tooth for
modeling
.”

“Twenty-eight is hardly old,” I said, although I'd been feeling the pangs of my own advancing age lately. After all, twenty-eight was only a few heartbeats away from thirty, the age at which we then believed death began.

“Tammy Myers? Is that you?” said a woman with a long face, large Chiclet-like teeth, and heavy blond hair pulled into a ponytail. She reminded me of a sweet little palomino I'd ridden as a child.

“My
married
name is Tammy Hollingsworth,” Tammy said, slightly raising her left hand from her lap. She wore the patient and mildly flattered expression of a person who is accustomed to being recognized in public. “But yes, that's me.”

“My husband and I watch you every morning. He won't go out the door until he hears what Tammy has to say about the weather.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Tammy said, beaming.

Tammy worked at WJBW as the weather girl. She was so pretty and personable that she'd become something of a local celebrity. The station even sold logo umbrellas that said “Tammy predicts showers.”

“I didn't know you did charity work. That's so wonderful! We sure could use a little help with this year's Hair Ball.”

“Really?” Tammy said, her eyes glinting with glee. Despite the relatively disgusting name, the Hair Ball was
the
charity event in Jackson. It was a benefit for the local chapter of the Humane Society.

“Yes,” continued the woman, who wore a skirt covered with pink and green whales. “We're having a planning meeting Thursday at seven p.m. at my house. I'd
love
for you to come. I'm not the chairwoman per se, but I'm sure that won't be a problem. Let me jot down my contact information for you.” She found a pen in her purse and wrote a phone number on a cocktail napkin.

“I'll check my schedule and make sure I'm free,” Tammy said.

“Oh, forgive me. My name's Stacy Albright,” she said. “I hope you can come. We really need people to help with fund-raising. Our slogan this year is ‘Cough it up for the Hair Ball.'” She let loose a loud, braying laugh. “What did you say your husband did?”

“I didn't,” Tammy said, toying with her oversized hoop earring. “Bob is, uh…an academician.”

“Really? My Doug taught at the medical school for a few years, but he couldn't resist the lure of a lucrative private practice. It's a good thing, because I just adore shopping. Tammy, it was a pleasure.” She tossed off a bye-bye wave. “Hope to see you Thursday.”

“I jest ado-o-ore shop-pin',” I said, mimicking Stacy's voice after she left. “Please tell me you aren't planning on going.”

“It's the Hair Ball, Jill! I've wanted to attend forever. If I'm on the planning committee, I'll surely get an invitation.”

“It should be called the H-e-i-r Ball,” I said, spelling out the name. “Practically everyone there is covered up in Daddy's Money.”

There was no
way
I'd be able to talk Tammy out of being on that committee. With her high-profile job and cute-as-a-button husband, maybe Tammy had finally “arrived” in the way she'd always hoped.

“We'll see,” Tammy said. “So, how's work going?”

“Not great,” I said with a sigh. “I thought my promotion to manager would make a difference, but I'm still under Penny's thumb. I keep telling her we need to discuss exercise with our clients, but she's resistant. Thinks it would be a turnoff to 'em.”

“I've gotta admit, I don't find all that sweating and huffing and puffing very appealing.”

“Appealing or not, exercise is the only way to keep weight off.”

“You're so good about all that. Walking every day. Lifting those heavy barbells over your head.” Tammy shuddered.

I knew from previous discussions that she considered weight lifting to be unladylike and believed that one day I was going to wake up looking like Charles Atlas.

“I have plenty of time to exercise,” I said, “since my social life is about as lively as a Quaker funeral.”

“You've only been divorced six months. It takes a little while to get back in the swing of things.”

I nodded. Shortly after jilting Sonny, I met and married a guy named Warren, despite some trepidation from the Queens. He was the opposite of Sonny, wild and irresponsible. I finally ran him off after he quit his sixth job and maxed out all my credit cards.

“I could ask Bob if he knows anyone to set you up with.”

“I hate blind dates,” I said, peering at the line to the bar to see what kind of progress Bob was making with our drinks. “I also hate being the only one without a boyfriend or a husband. But, a boyfriend who sucks is NOT better than no boyfriend at all. Anyway, when the Queens get here tomorrow, Mary Bennett will be yammering about that actor she's been howlin' at the moon over, and Patsy will be gabbing nonstop about Jack.”

“You won't be the only Queen without a man,” Tammy said. “There's Gerald.”

I laughed. “You're right. I'll have Gerald to commiserate with.”