The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel (24 page)

As soon as we got to Upper Slaughter, a bit of sunlight peeped through my pall of darkness. I couldn't help but smile at the string of honey-colored, ivy-patched cottages, and the sleepy stream that wound its way through the village like a silver ribbon. It was as if we'd been transported to a fairy-tale land. I half expected it to be populated with elves, gnomes, and hobbits.

The other Queens seemed similarly enchanted. They tumbled out of the car as soon as it stopped at our hotel. We were staying at the Horse and Hound Inn, a homey structure with a slate roof and dormer windows.

My eyes eagerly cataloged the details around me. A man on an ancient creaking bicycle clattered across the cobblestones, his red wool scarf trailing in the wind. A woolly sheep ba-a-ahed from behind a hedgerow.

“This
really
feels like England!” I said. London, as different as it was from Jackson, still had many familiar aspects of a city. Upper Slaughter, on the other hand, was like stepping into a completely different universe.

We checked in and then settled into the restaurant for a late lunch of Scottish eggs and some beer.

Afterward, Patsy and Gerald opted for a nap underneath their feather-bed duvets, and Mary Bennett and I bundled up in down coats and mittens and took a hike around the village.

“Now I understand why people love to travel,” Mary Bennett said, as we paused to study some crumbling remains of a medieval castle. “New sights and smells wash your mind clean for a while. Lifts you from the old ruts.”

I had to agree. In the car I'd been twisted up with thoughts of Tammy, but for these moments I felt completely removed from her.

“It's happening with Gerald,” Mary Bennett said. “He's letting go of some of his rage. He seemed almost happy when he came in from that last gay-guy meeting. I've been wanting to have a talk with him, and I think the time may finally be right.”

“What do you want to talk to him about?”

“I'm thinking differently, too,” Mary Bennett said, ignoring my question. “I just called Brian and left a message on his machine. I told him he could reach me tonight in the Cotswolds, or tomorrow night in London.”

“What did you say?”

“Just that I had been thinking about him.” She paused for a minute. “I also might have thrown in a little something about how I never stopped loving him.”

“I hope he calls you back,” I said.

“Me, too,” Mary Bennett said. “I've never been so nervous about anything in my life.”

We crossed a footbridge and passed a ruddy-cheeked Englishman. He tipped his herringbone touring cap to reveal a wavy head of glossy dark hair.

“God save the queen,” Mary Bennett whispered after he passed. “I wouldn't toss him out of bed for eating kippers.”

“He looked shifty-eyed to me,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“Some ruts, on the other hand, are deeper than others,” Mary Bennett said, giving me a sideways glance.

“I'm not in a rut,” I said quickly. “I'm being particular.”

 

The next morning was drab and gray, tempting me to linger in my cozy nest of linens. But thoughts of a steaming mug of hot coffee coaxed me out of bed. I dressed quickly, planning to shower later. The Queens were supposed to meet for breakfast in an hour to plan our next excursion. There was no point staying on in Upper Slaughter if Tammy wasn't around.

I left my room and headed for the café. I heard the squeak of wheels behind me and a voice—a voice I knew as well as my own—calling out, “Miss, do you need any more towels?”

I abruptly turned around and there behind me, garbed in a peasant blouse and black skirt, was Tammy—wheeling a maid's cart down the hall. When she recognized me, her body tensed and I expected her to bolt. I could almost see the gears of her mind turning, struggling to come up with an explanation. Her shoulders drooped in surrender when she realized the jig was up.

I, on the other hand, was so delighted to see her familiar pert nose, green eyes, and abundant red locks, I let out a whoop that was likely heard all the way over in Lower Slaughter.

“Tammy!” I said, tears pouring from my eyes as I opened my arms to her. “I've missed you so much.”

Over two years of carefully constructed artifice fell from her face.

“Oh Jill,” she said, receiving my embrace. “Thank God you're here. Take me home, please.”

 

The Queens couldn't stop talking or eating. We were tearing through a huge English breakfast of deviled kidneys, honey pancakes, kedgeree, coiled wild boar sausage, black pudding, farm-smoked bacon, bread rounds, freshly churned butter, fruit preserves, eggs, baked beans, sautéed field mushrooms, and grilled tomatoes. We didn't know what half the stuff was, but we ate it with a vengeance anyway.

“I cried all night last night after we spoke,” Tammy said, wedged between Patsy and Gerald in a booth at the hotel's restaurant. Gerald kept patting her hair and stroking her cheek as if he couldn't believe she was real.

“I wanted so badly to see y'all, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth about my life.”

The truth, as Tammy spilled it out in one long, tearful confession, was that everything had gone wrong since she'd set foot in Great Britain.

Although James was indeed a lord, he was nearly penniless. What money he did have was squandered on gambling and drinking. She didn't actually live in Belmont Manor (it had been turned into a hotel twenty years ago, when James's family fell on hard times) but instead resided in a drafty and crumbling gatehouse adjacent to the property. Phone service came and went because James frequently drank away the bill money.

“When the heat got turned off, and we practically froze the first winter, I decided to get a job at the Horse and Hound,” Tammy said.

James, with his nasty habits and surly attitude, was shunned by the British peerage and rarely invited anywhere. All the hobnobbing with royals Tammy had written about in her letters was pure fiction. People assumed she was as lowdown as James and as a consequence, she had few friends.

“I was never going to be Lady Tammy,” she said. “The only title I've ever had was ‘the wench who shags James.'”

“I don't understand,” Mary Bennett said. “Why did you keep quiet about this? Why didn't you tell us?”

“I wanted to, many times, but I'd already lied so much! I wasn't sure you'd want to associate with me after all my bullshit,” Tammy said, her chin drooping to her chest. “I also felt like I
deserved
what I got. I'd left a wonderful man and the best friends anybody ever had in the world. For what? Selfishness, pure and simple. And the idea of being ‘somebody.' She gazed across the table at me, her eyes shiny with tears. “But then I ran into Jill in the hall…and when she saw me, she seemed so
glad
to see me—just plain old ME. Just one look from her, and I knew it was possible that she might forgive everything. And I knew for the first time in my life that if I'm with y'all, that's the best ‘somebody' I could ever hope to be. I can't believe y'all came all this way to find me—thank God you did!”

“That's what you do for the people you care about,” I said softly. “You love 'em no matter how badly they screw up.”

“I'm afraid to ask,” Tammy said, stirring her coffee with a teaspoon, “but I have to know. What's happened with Bob?”

“Are you sure you want to know this now?” Gerald said, stroking her back.

“Yes,” she said. “I really want to hear.”

“He's married to a very sweet lady,” I said quietly. “He also has a baby girl, Hannah.”

Tammy didn't speak for a moment, just nodded her head absorbing the news. “Good,” she said, after a moment. “I'm glad he's happy.”

A tall woman in a maid's uniform with braids crisscrossed atop her head approached the table. “What do you think you're doing, love? This isn't break time. Are you looking to get sacked?”

“I'm having a spot of breakfast with my family,” Tammy said with her faux English accent. “And no, I'm not looking to get sacked, because I quit. I am a Queen, and the Queen is returning to her Court!”

 

After breakfast, we drove to Tammy's cottage and helped her pack up her meager belongings. A bloated and snoring James was passed out cold on a couch in the living room and didn't stir once while we were there. Tammy scribbled a brief note saying she was leaving him and never coming back. She stuck it in the fridge near his beer so he wouldn't miss it.

“If I never have another steak-and-kidney pie, I will die happy,” Tammy said in the car on the way back to London. “Soon as I saw that mess on a menu I shoulda known I'd fucked up.”

“It's all about the food for you, isn't it, Tammy?” Gerald said, smiling so wide his cheeks looked like twin cherry tomatoes.

“She ain't the only one,” Mary Bennett said. “Hollywood was bad enough. Never again will I live anywhere with no grits and gravy.”

“One more night in London and we'll be on our way back to God's Country,” I said. “We need to have a kick-ass celebration tonight before we leave.”

“Well, I was going to go to a rally for a gay political candidate, but I suppose I could skip it,” Gerald mused.

“Did I hear correctly? Is our little gay guerrilla mellowing a bit?” Mary Bennett asked, smiling her signature shit-eating grin.

“Well, maybe,” Gerald said. “This will be the first full meeting of Q.U.E.E.R. I really shouldn't miss that.”

“Okay, Gerald—it's now or never for this. Now that we're all together, I've got something to say to you. None of us has understood why you have been so pissed off since…”

“You know I don't want to talk about that, Mary Bennett.” Gerald's face once again flushed with that all-too-familiar fury.

“Well, we're GOING to talk about it, so just shut the fuck up,” Mary Bennett commanded. “We couldn't understand why William's death has made you so…so MAD. And so I did a little digging.”

Mary Bennett found out that back in San Francisco, Gerald and William had been in a car wreck. Gerald was essentially unscathed, but William was nearly killed. He had to have a blood transfusion, and that's how he contracted HIV.

“I believe that you felt guilty that he was hurt and you weren't—he got AIDS and you didn't, he died and you're still here and you don't think you deserve it—and it's gotten all twisted up inside you and you're just fucking pissed off at the world because of it. That's what I think. Am I wrong?”

The tears flowed freely from all our eyes as we reached out to Gerald, who had begun leaking tears at the first mention of William's name and was now heaving with great sobs.

“It's time to let yourself grieve, hunny—and to be happy you're alive,” Mary Bennett said with loving firmness. “We thank God every day we've still got you. And I believe there's a way to do something positive—to make a difference in the world—without cutting off everybody's heads and shittin' down their neckholes!”

“Have I really been that bad?” Gerald asked, snuffling.

“WORSE!” we all shouted.

“All those hateful group names you make up—all that gay go-rilla stuff—you're so mean to the Pink Panthers, I can't believe they keep coming back,” Patsy said. “Pretty fucking scary shit, hunny.”

His grief finally allowed to vent, Gerald thanked Mary Bennett and all of us for loving him in spite of it all.

After all the tears were dried, the mood in the car was as sparkling as champagne. It felt grand to have all the mysteries solved and, more important, to finally have us all back together again. We were, in fact, Queens United for the Evolution of Everlasting Relationships.

I
can't believe I had four Revirginators.” Gerald moaned, holding his head.

“It's a good thing we were all together—after three of 'em, one tends to DE-virginate,” I said.

“The barf bag's tucked in the seat in front of you if you need it,” Patsy said. “After last night, the city of London won't be forgetting the Sweet Potato Queens anytime soon. I think Mary Bennett is the only one whose head isn't throbbing today.”

Mary Bennett didn't respond. She had her face pressed up against the plane window, but the only thing that could be seen at this altitude was the blank whiteness of the sky. She'd been mighty quiet the whole flight. Brian hadn't returned her phone call.

“Who knows?” I said, in an attempt to cheer her. “You might have a message waiting for you at home.”

“I know Brian,” she said without turning to look at me. “If he was going to call, he'd do it right away.”

“Maybe he's out of town and he didn't get—”

“If he was out of town he would have called to get his messages. His sitcom was canceled, so he's back to being an unemployed actor. His phone is his lifeline.”

There didn't seem to be anything else I could say to mollify her, so I plumped up my puny little airplane pillow, hoping to saw a few logs before landing.

It seemed like only moments until the pilot announced our descent into Atlanta. The long flight and the over-the-top boozing and bingeing the night before had pretty much waxed our asses. We sleepwalked our way off the plane and stumbled through customs.

We boarded our flight to Jackson, and a short time later we were back on our home turf.

As we approached the baggage claim, there were several people holding hand-lettered cardboard signs. They were an alert bunch compared to the sluggish passengers they were meeting. One sign caught my eye, and I elbowed Mary Bennett, who was walking beside me.

“Get a load of that,” I said. “Some yay-hoo's holding a sign that says ‘true love.' I wonder who he's meeting?”

Mary Bennett's bleary eyes followed my pointing finger. Her mouth dropped open, and she immediately dropped her carryon bag and coat and sprinted away. My glance traveled down from the sign to its holder.

It was Brian. When he spotted Mary Bennett flying toward him, I saw a look I'd never seen on a man's face before. It was the purest, sweetest, most uncomplicated expression of love I'd ever witnessed. His expression completely matched the message on his sign.

The two embraced, and I was so choked up I found myself trying to catch my breath. The other passengers must have sensed this was no ordinary reunion, because several of them broke out in spontaneous applause. All the other Queens were crying. As I watched Mary Bennett and Brian hugging the life out of each other, I felt a flutter in my chest. The shell I'd built around myself over the last couple of years developed a hairline crack. Maybe there was something to this true-love stuff after all.