The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel (15 page)

I
was going to call and tell you about getting the part of Electra, but I guess you already know!” Mary Bennett's voice said on my answering machine. I had left a message about the parade at the studio. “I would love to be in the parade. As a matter of fact, I think I'll come in a few days early so I can have some time with you and Tammy. We've got a lotta catching up to do!”

I was so pleased Mary Bennett had decided to come home for the St. Paddy's parade, I forgave her for calling me at home during work hours, knowing full well I wouldn't be there. I had a sneaking feeling she didn't want to talk about what had happened between her and Brian just yet. Obviously, she didn't know anything about William and Gerald, which kind of surprised me. If Gerald were going to confide in anyone, it would be Mary Bennett.

I made my daily phone call to Tammy, listening to the familiar trill of the phone ringing, when I finally heard her say a harried hello.

“It's about damn time.”

“Jill?” Tammy said, not sounding at all pleased to hear from me. “I thought you were someone else. I can't talk long. I'm expecting a call.”

“Well, that's a fine greeting to someone you haven't spoken to in a coon's age. Can we get together later on?” I'd planned to interrogate her about the diamond earrings. “I know Bob's out of town, and I thought—”

“I'll call you,” Tammy said in a hurried voice. “I need to hang up now.”

“Just two quick things.” I proceeded to tell her about the St. Paddy's Day parade.

“Sounds like a blast,” Tammy said. “Count me in.”

“Also, guess who has moved back to Jackson?”

“Jill! I gotta go.”
Why was she so desperate to get me off the phone?

“This is important. It's Gerald. Something happened between him and William. He's in a terrible state—”

I heard the dial tone. I was talking to empty air. Tammy had hung up on me.

 

The month before the parade flew by. I had a couple of strained dinners with Gerald, who still seemed absolutely miserable. Despite much gentle coaxing on my part, he remained stubbornly closemouthed about William. I was pleased to see him perk up a bit when I mentioned the St. Paddy's Day parade, and he'd promised to participate. He mentioned he was going to a support group, but refused to tell me any details. I was just grateful he was talking to someone.

Tammy joined us only once and begged off early, saying she had an early-morning meeting, but when I passed by her house on the way home from the restaurant her car wasn't in the driveway. What was she up to—and more important, how bad was it gonna fuck up her life?

I didn't have much time to worry about Tammy's shenanigans. I was working harder than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest keeping up with all my personal trainer clients along with my regular job, and doing a little bit of writing on the side.

After downing a couple of glasses of excellent red wine, I'd stuck several of my essays into an envelope and addressed it to Buster Henry, the editor at
The Diddy Wah Diddy,
but hadn't gathered the courage to toss it in the mailbox yet.

 

“Before we start reading, there's something special I want to share with you,” said Louis. There was a foiled bottle of sparkling grape juice on the table and several Dixie cups.

I felt a pang of disappointment. I'd been hoping to dive right in. I had promised myself an entire bowl full of my world-famous raw chocolate chip cookie dough if I managed to muster the nerve to read out loud my latest essay. I'd gone over it by myself several times before the meeting, and the last time, my cheeks hadn't gotten hot with mortification. I was even a tiny bit proud of it.

“This is a huge moment in my life, and I wanted to share it with my fellow writers,” Louis continued. “Today, I received a letter from New York's most powerful literary agent, Bunky Lazar.”

“Bunky,” Fred repeated in a hushed, respectful tone. Both Bonnie and Norah nodded in recognition.

“I haven't opened it yet.” His voice was shaky with emotion. “I wanted to wait until you, my esteemed colleagues, were gathered around me.”

It was flattering to be identified as Louis's colleague even though he hadn't yet read a single word I'd written. The others must have felt likewise, because they were beaming up at him from their chairs.

“Here goes nothing.” Louis slit open the envelope with the blade of a pocketknife. Bonnie and Norah grasped hands. Fred made a gulping sound.

“I don't think I can read this,” Louis said with a nervous chuckle. “Would you do the honors, Jill?”

The others shot me irritated looks. I could practically read their thoughts. Why should the newbie get such a great honor? She doesn't even contribute to the group.

“Certainly,” I said, uncomfortable at having all their eyes upon me.

“Dear Author,” I began.

“Louder!” Fred said, cupping his ear.

“Dear Author!” I repeated.

“Hear that?” Bonnie said, clapping her hands. “Louis is a real-live author now.”

I continued. “Thank you for sending us your manuscript. I've had a chance to review your work, and have decided…” My voice slowed as I continued to read. “I'm not the right agent for this project, and therefore…I cannot offer you representation.”

“What?” Louis said, in an almost inaudible voice. The others were too dumbstruck to comment.

“Do you want me to continue?” I asked.

Louis nodded very slowly, as if in shock.

“Please understand publishing is a subjective business and taste and judgment may vary among agents. Also forgive this form letter. Due to the volume of submissions received, it's impossible for me to write personal rejection letters. Best of luck with your writing. Signed Elizabeth Primrose, assistant to Bunky Lazar.”

No one spoke. I carefully folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope.

“Well,” Louis said in a ragged voice. “Clearly I thought the outcome was going to be slightly different.”

“You were robbed!” shouted a wild-eyed Fred.

“What a brutal business this is!” Norah said in a small, scared-sounding voice.

Bonnie's mouth was a crinkly line of distress. “The letter says publishing is subjective, dear. Maybe you should send it to another agent.”

“I wanted Bunky,” Louis said. “He's the best in the business.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said.

“This isn't the end of the world,” Louis said, his voice cracking slightly. “I've heard of writers who paper their walls with rejection letters. It's a rite of passage. It's…uh—” His brave front started to fray. I thought he was going to either cry or get sick. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” Then he fled the room.

“Good going, Jill,” Fred hissed.

“Hush, Fred,” Bonnie said. “It's not her fault.”

I picked up my papers and my purse. “Good night, everyone,” I said, knowing I was never coming back.

As soon as I got home, I tore up the letter to
The Diddy Wah Diddy
and threw it in the trash. If someone as talented as Louis had problems getting published, I didn't stand a chance. Writing was far too risky.

 

“Y'all are a sight for these sore eyes!” Mary Bennett said, looking every inch a rising star in a raw silk pantsuit, wearing expensive-looking shoes and carrying a Chanel handbag.

I hoped Mary Bennett's visit would help snap Gerald out of his funk. After all, they were both going through breakups.

“How was your flight?” I asked.

“De-vine,” Mary Bennett said. “I kept the first-class stewardesses on their toes, fetching Bloody Marys. Gerald, don't just stand there with your dick in your hand. Come here and hug my neck!”

Gerald shuffled over to her and gave her a perfunctory embrace.

“You help Mary Bennett with her luggage,” Gerald said to me. “I'll bring the car around to the passenger loading area.” Then he plodded out to the parking lot.

“His face was so sour it could turn buttermilk,” Mary Bennett said. “What's wrong with him?”

“He and William have apparently split,” I said, as we headed for Baggage Claim. “And don't even try to bring it up. He's totally clammed up about it.”

“Poor baby,” Mary Bennett said. “If that guy broke Gerald's heart, he'll have me to answer to.”

“I don't know
what
happened, but it wasn't like it was just ‘some guy.' It was the love of his life—it was his precious WILLIAM. This is HUGE, I'm telling you—Gerald refuses to talk about it. He's been going to some kind of support group.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake. He's already GOT a support group: the Queens! All he needs is our loving devotion, a pan or three of Chocolate Stuff, some Pig Candy, and a couple of shots of te-killya. He'll be as right as rain.”

“I think it's more complicated than that.”

“No it isn't. When someone knocks you down, you gotta get right back up. No point in wallowing in it.” She stopped short. “Where's Tammy? Why isn't she here to meet me?”

“Good question. I called to tell her you were coming home, but I can never catch her.”

“But she's coming to the parade?”

“She promised. All of the Queens will be there.”

We reached the luggage carousel and Mary Bennett chattered about the show and her co-stars. Never once did she say a word about Brian.

“By the way, I've moved,” she said ever so casually. “I'll have to give you my new number.”

“I know. How do you think I got the number to your studio? I spoke with Brian.”

“You did?” She flinched slightly. “What'd he say?”

“That y'all had broken up. You
were
going to tell me, weren't you?”

“Of course! It just didn't seem really important. I'm already dating someone else. I'm going out with Grant, my co-star.”

“Not important? You were
engaged
to Brian. You've been together for three years.”

“That's right. And it took me only three days to get over him. There's my bag!” She grabbed a pink suitcase from the carousel. “Are we ready? Let's find Gerald.”

“Is that all you're going to say?” I asked in an incredulous voice. “The two of you were so much in love!”

“Sometimes things can change overnight,” Mary Bennett said firmly, as if the matter was closed.

 

“Where's Gerald?” Mary Bennett said, looking impatiently at her watch. “He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”

It was two days before the St. Paddy's parade and we'd agreed to meet at a neighborhood bar to discuss final parade preparations. Tammy, as usual, had begged off, saying she had to work late.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Maybe he forgot. He's so unreliable these days.”

Mary Bennett had been in Jackson for three days, and nothing she could say or do had any effect on Gerald's mood.

“I hope he comes soon.” She smiled. “I have lit-tle sur-prise for him. The night before last I was brainstorming, and I think I came up with a foolproof way to cheer him up.”

“There he is!” I said, pointing to the door. Gerald stood for a moment in the entrance, blinking in the dim light of the bar. When we waved him over, he ambled toward us.

“He walks like a ninety-year-old man,” Mary Bennett said with a sigh. “But I have something that will put a little starch in his shorts.”

“What is it?” I whispered.

“You'll see.” She smiled mysteriously.

“Hello,” Gerald said, greeting us with a limp wave of his hand.

“Hi, handsome,” Mary Bennett said. “How we doing tonight?”

“Okay,” Gerald said as he sat. “I'm a little tired.”

“Me, too, hunny,” Mary Bennett said, smothering a yawn. “Me and Martin were up all night havin' phone sex. Let me tell you, that man can heat up the lines.”

“Martin?” I asked. “I thought you were dating Grant.”

“I am,” Mary Bennett said. “I'm also dating Martin, who is my nutritionist; Rodney, who is my publicist; and André, who is my acupuncturist. I believe in sharing the love.”

“It sure didn't take you very long to get over Brian,” Gerald said. There was recrimination in his voice.

“Easy come, easy go,” Mary Bennett said with a shrug. “Words to the wise. There's just too many men in this world to get all worked up about just one. And speaking of men, here comes one of the finer examples.” Mary Bennett signaled to the man who'd just entered the bar. “Over here, Gaylord.” She smiled at Gerald. “Don't you jest love that name—it CAN'T be real, of course, but isn't it just so deliciously descriptive?”