Nine

  

Old age is a high price for maturity.

~ Sign on the bulletin board at the Senior Center

  

With a shy smile, Mavis admired her enhanced silhouette in her full-length bedroom mirror. Yesterday she’d driven to Dilbert’s Department Store in Augusta for their annual Foundation Fling, and the saleswoman had talked her into purchasing a Liquid Assets Aqua Bra.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mavis said as the woman—a little red-haired sprite scarcely out of high school—had extolled the many virtues of the pricey bra.

“It molds to your body’s natural shape and temperature,” the salesgirl said, handing Mavis the lacy bra on a plastic hanger and ushering her into a dressing room. “And it adjusts to three levels of cleavage.”

Once Mavis had tried on the bra, she couldn’t get over how shapely she looked. She was used to buying plain A-cup bras on sale, which did nothing to boost her humble little bosom. With the Aqua Bra, her breasts inflated like fireplace bellows, even at the tamest level of cleavage.

A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do, Mavis mused as she turned from her mirror and went into the kitchen to check on her chicken divan casserole. She opened the oven and saw the Parmesan cheese on top was golden brown and bubbly. The heavenly fragrance of the dinner wafted throughout her sunny galley kitchen.

As she removed the casserole from the oven, she recalled Attalee’s constant hounding ever since Birdie had taken off in the direction of Brewster’s house.

“You gonna let Birdie snatch that Brewster from right under your nose?” Attalee had nagged several times. “That gal’s got her trotting harness on for your fellow.”

“He’s not my fellow,” Mavis had protested. “Birdie has as much right to him as I do.”

Attalee had leveled a bony finger at her. “You saw him first. She knew you were kindling after him.”

Later, when Mavis came home to another night of watching old black-and-white movies and munching Healthy Choice popcorn all alone on her sofa, she decided that Attalee was right. She’d seen Brewster first and when she’d confided her interest in him to her friend, Birdie had gone after him like a duck on a June bug.

That was mighty underhanded and selfish of her, Mavis huffed. After tossing and turning that night in her narrow single bed, she woke up with a fresh resolve.

Every woman for herself, she’d thought as she flung a leg out of bed. Her new attitude led to her decision to amplify her assets with the Aqua Bra and to prepare a nice, hot dinner for Brewster.

“Perfect,” she said to herself as she placed the hot Pyrex dish on the kitchen counter.

While it cooled, she reapplied her lipstick and practiced what she was going to say to Brewster when she arrived at his house.

“Brewster, I mean... Brew,” she said, trying to affect a breezy tone. “I was cooking, and I’m afraid I got a little carried away in the kitchen. Could you use an extra casserole for your freezer?” Too mealy-mouthed. Plus it sounded like she was trying to pawn off her leftovers on him. The direct approach, though daring, was probably her best tactic. “Hello there, Brew,” Mavis practiced, batting her eyelashes. “I hope you like chicken and broccoli, because I made a casserole especially for you.”

She grimaced. Still not quite right. She’d just have to sort out what she was going to say to him when she got there.

Since the day was sunnier than usual, Mavis slipped on her good wool coat to make the short walk from her little cottage on Persimmon Road to Brewster’s house on Chickasaw Drive. The warm casserole dish felt toasty against her abdomen, and she liked the sensation of the bracing wintry breeze on her cheeks as she strolled down the sidewalk.

Bluish gray smoke curled from the stout brick chimney of her next-door neighbor’s house, and Mavis’s nose twitched with pleasure at the intoxicating fragrance. She carefully watched her footing along Persimmon Road, which was lined with ancient oak trees. The mossy roots burrowed from their bases like long, gnarled fingers. She could easily trip over a knuckled protrusion and be sent sailing through the air.

Eloise Jenkins was in her yard inspecting her azalea bushes, and she waved at Mavis and pointed at several burgeoning white blossoms on the bush.

“Those two warm days last week fooled this bush into thinking it’s spring,” she said. Noting the casserole in Mavis’s arms, Eloise asked, “Who’s under the weather?”

“Nobody,” Mavis said, a hint of irritation in her voice. You could scarcely sneeze in Cayboo Creek without everyone knowing about it. “Just a little hot dish for a friend.” Mavis quickened her pace to quell any farther questions.

“Seems to be a lot of that going on today,” Eloise called after her.

What does she mean by that? Mavis wondered. Thankfully, she managed to make the rest of the walk without encountering anyone else. Rounding the corner, she smiled as she saw Brewster’s red car parked in the drive of his house.

She rang the doorbell, her heart knocking against her chest like a woodpecker as she waited for Brew to answer. When he appeared, he tossed her a wide grin and said, “Well, looky here. Today’s my lucky day.”

Buoyed by his warm welcome, Mavis felt her confidence surge.

“Hello, Brew,” she said with a wave of her glove. “I’ve got something to warm you up on this cold day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”

Oh dear. That came out a bit more suggestive than she’d intended. Thrusting her casserole dish at him, she said, “I hope you like chicken divan.”

“I sure do,” he said. “And it looks like I’ll be eating a lot of it. Come on in and visit for a spell.”

Mavis stamped her feet on the mat while Brewster offered to take her coat. She smelled sawdust and noticed that most of the furniture was shrouded with sheets.

“I hope I haven’t caught you in the middle of your work,” she said, shrugging out of her coat. “I can only stay for just a—”

“Brew,” said a familiar voice coming from the depths of the house. “Who’s at the door?”

“It’s Mavis, Birdie,” Brew replied, hanging Mavis’s coat on a hook in the hall. “Aren’t the two of you friends?”

Birdie appeared in the hallway, wearing a new red dress with a daring slit up the side. She startled when she saw Mavis.

“Yes,” Mavis said, forcing her lips into a smile. “We’re the best of friends.”

“I thought so,” Brew said. “And what a fine coincidence. Birdie just dropped by with her own delicious dish of chicken divan.”

Using my family recipe, Mavis thought. She and Birdie often swapped recipes, and the chicken divan had come directly from Mavis’s collection.

Birdie’s eyes fell on Mavis’s enhanced bustline.

“You’re looking very robust today,” Birdie said, putting her emphasis on the second syllable.

“I’ll say,” Brewster said, eyeing Mavis with appreciation.

“Thank you,” Mavis said with a blush.

“I guess I should dash off,” Birdie said. She turned to Brew.

“I hope you enjoy the casserole. And if you need to reheat the yeast rolls, put the oven on 375.”

Mavis nearly gasped aloud. Birdie’s homemade yeast rolls? There were none better.

“And if you don’t eat all the blueberry cobbler, it freezes nicely,” Birdie added.

Cobbler, was it? Birdie had certainly outdone Mavis’s meager offerings.

“Don’t let me run you off, Birdie,” Mavis said. “I’m the one who needs to be going. I’ve left Attalee alone in the store.”

“Are you sure either of you have to leave?” Brew asked. “I like some company while I eat.”

“I guess I could stay a little while, Brew,” Birdie interjected. “Sorry you have to run off, Mavis. May I see you out?”

Triumph shone in Birdie’s eyes. Apparently she thought the battle was over before it even had begun.

“Not necessary,” Mavis said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. “I’ll just be on my way.”