Fourteen

  

What if the hokey pokey is really what it’s all about?

~ Sign in the break room of the Bottom Dollar Emporium

  

Mavis sat in the break area of the Bottom Dollar Emporium nibbling on a stale Lorna Doone cookie and listening to the crop bulletin on the AM radio station.

“Soybean and sorghum harvest are completed,” said the male announcer through a flurry of static. “Overall pecan poundage was good, but quality was poor.”

Mavis leaned over to snap off the radio and glanced up at Attalee, who was sweeping the tile floor near the soda fountain.

“I’ve made my decision. I’m going to call her, and I’m going to apologize,” Mavis said.

“Stay away from that phone.” Attalee looked up from her broom. “She’s the one in the wrong, not you.”

Mavis’s knee joints creaked as she rose from her chair. “I don’t care. Birdie hasn’t come in for days, and I miss her. We’ve known each other since elementary school, and I’m not going to ruin our friendship because of a—”

The bell jingled over the door, and Brewster Clark entered the store wearing a gray overcoat and a forest-green muffler that complemented his eyes.

“Hey there, Mavis.” He wiped his feet on the mat just inside the door. “Do I smell a pot of coffee perking?”

“Brew!” She brushed cookie crumbs from her chin and the front of her candy-striped uniform. “Long time, no see.”

“I know.” Brew removed a felt Indiana Jones-style hat from his head. “I kept saying to myself, ‘Brew, get yourself over to the Bottom Dollar Emporium and have a visit with that pretty filly of an owner.’ So here I am.”

“I’m delighted to see you.” Mavis was already pouring him a cup of coffee in the only mug without any chips. “How do you like your java?”

“Black as a gypsy’s heart, m’lady,” Brew said.

“Coming right up.”

Attalee stole out from behind the soda fountain and grinned at Brew.

“Brew,” Mavis said. “I’d like you to meet Attalee Gaines, my dear friend and employee.”

“You’re a vision, madam.”

Brew leaned down to kiss Attalee’s gnarled hand.

“Thank you kindly,” Attalee said, with a provocative flick of her sausage curls. “Must be my new lip gloss. Nude pink. When I wore it at the picture show last night Dooley couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“Dooley is Attalee’s boyfriend,” Mavis explained.

“That’s right, tiger,” Attalee, said showing off her toothless gums. “I’m taken. But Mavis here is free as a bird.”

Mavis cast an annoyed look at Attalee.

“Whoopsie daisy.” Attalee covered her mouth. “I forgot. Birds are a ticklish subject ‘round here.”

“Don’t you want to finish your sweeping?” Mavis said in a small voice.

“You don’t have to hit me on the head with a two-by-four,” Attalee said. “I can take a hint. I’ll finish my sweeping so you two can finish your sparking.”

Once Attalee had disappeared into the back of the store, a pink-faced Mavis handed Brew a coffee cup.

“Sorry. Attalee can be a handful. Don’t take her seriously.”

“She’s a character all right,” Brew said with a smile.

“Would you like to have a seat in the break room?” Mavis asked.

“I’d love to, but I’m expecting a lumber delivery at my house in a few minutes. But while I’m here, I wanted to run an idea by you. What do you think about having a high school reunion? We’re coming up on our forty-fifth year since graduation.”

“A reunion?” Mavis leaned against the checkout counter. “I don’t think we’ve had one since our twentieth. Gladys Hobbs used to organize them all, but she moved to Knoxville about ten years back.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about our high school days,” Brew said, stroking his beard. “Wouldn’t it be great to relive them?”

“Well, maybe.” Mavis’s high school days hadn’t been all that memorable. She’d fretted constantly over blemishes and was forced to purchase her poodle skirts from the chubbette department.

“Bottom line is this,” Brew said. “What with working on my aunt’s old house I just don’t have the time to put together a reunion all by myself. I need a right-hand woman. Someone with the organizational skills to tackle a project like this. And someone who can pull it together fast, since I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”

“Me?”

“Exactly. But I warn you.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. “We’d have to work pretty closely together. I don’t know if you’d mind being around me so much. Just the two of us.” His voice dropped to a lower pitch. “Alone.”

All Mavis could think about was the pressure of his hand on her shoulder and the masculine smell of his lime-scented aftershave lotion. How long had it been since she’d felt a man’s touch?

“Sounds wonderful,” she stammered.

“Great. Why not come to my place tomorrow night, and we’ll discuss it over dinner?” He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Not that I’m much of a cook. Scrambled eggs are my specialty.”

“Nonsense,” Mavis tutted. “I’ll fix dinner for you at my house. Are you a fan of rib-eye steaks?”

He chuckled.

“Darling, you’re playing my song.”

The bell over the door jingled once again and an agitated-looking Mrs. Tobias bustled inside. She wore a double-breasted jacket and a pair of blue jeans.

“Mavis, I was wondering—” Mrs. Tobias stopped short. “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t notice you had a customer.”

“I’m not a customer.” Brew clamped his hat back on his head. “I’m more like family. Call you later, Mavis?”

“Yes, Brew,” Mavis said with a good-bye wave.

“My goodness, who was that?” Mrs. Tobias said after Brew had exited through the front door.

Attalee popped up from behind a display of cast-iron pots. “That was Brew. Mavis’s main squeeze.”

“You were spying,” Mavis said.

“‘Course I was.” Attalee put her hands on her hips. “I needed to stay close in case he got fresh.” She eyed Mrs. Tobias. “Creation! You’re wearing dungarees.”

“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Mrs. Tobias said, pulling her jacket down over her hips. “I simply want to be comfortable in my dotage.”

“Dotage jeans, are they?” Attalee said, looking them over. “I ain’t never heard of those. I wear Wranglers, and nothing comes between me and my—”

“Attalee.” Mavis sighed. “It’s much too early in the day.”

“So you have a new beau, Mavis?” Mrs. Tobias asked, settling into a chair in the break area.

“Well—” Mavis began.

“She and Birdie were feuding over that feller,” Attalee said. “But it looks like Mavis won by a cup size.”

“Gracious,” Mrs. Tobias said. “I’ve been away from the Bottom Dollar Emporium for only a few days, and I’ve missed all the scuttlebutt.”

“You’ve haven’t missed a thing.” Mavis sat next to Mrs. Tobias. “Brew and I went to high school together back in the dark ages. We’re just friends.”

“But she’s angling for more,” Attalee said.

“He’s quite handsome,” Mrs. Tobias remarked. “You never can tell. Maybe those friendly sparks will burst into flame.”

“I’m not betting the farm on it,” Mavis said. “But I wouldn’t mind a little male attention now and again.”

“Speaking of males,” Mrs. Tobias said, “there’s a gentleman I’ve been seeing—”

“Who?” Attalee demanded.

Mrs. Tobias held up her index finger.

“I’d prefer to be discreet about his identity for now.”

Mavis dragged her chair closer to Mrs. Tobias. “I thought you were done with dating. Isn’t that what you said at the Sweetheart Dance?”

“I did, and I genuinely believed that part of my life was over. But then I met this man.” Mrs. Tobias let out a long exhale of breath.

“Good-looking?” Attalee inquired.

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Tobias said. “But his appeal goes far beyond his appearance. He’s witty, kind, and sensitive.” She bit her lip and scanned Attalee and Mavis’s attentive faces. “There is one small problem, however.”

“I’ve been in your shoes, ma’am.” Attalee draped an arm around Mrs. Tobias’s shoulder. “And whoever says size don’t matter can’t tell their huckleberries from their scupper-nongs.”

“Attalee Gaines!” Mavis said. “If you can’t behave yourself, I’m sending you home.”

Mrs. Tobias was so distracted she didn’t react to Attalee’s comment.

“I’ll just come out and say it.” Mrs. Tobias gritted her teeth together. “I think my new beau is... gay.”

“Oh my,” Mavis said. “What makes you say that?”

“There’s several things,” Mrs. Tobias said. “He enjoys cooking and antiquing. And quiche. Isn’t a fondness for quiche a dead giveaway these days?”

“I’m not so sure,” Mavis mused. “I’ve heard there’s something telling about track lighting. And listening to Barbra Streisand records.”

“None of them things matter anymore,” Attalee interjected. “Nowadays, it’s perfectly normal for menfolk to act like a pack of pansies. I read it in Cosmo. They’re called mezzosexuals.”

“Heavenly day,” Mrs. Tobias said with a raised eyebrow.

“I saw something about that on Entertainment Tonight,” Mavis said. “Only I think the word is metrosexual.”

“Mezzo, metro. Nowadays it’s plum hard to tell if a man’s a Bambi or a bull,” Attalee said. “Luckily, there’s still the fingernail test.”

“The what?” Mrs. Tobias asked.

“The fingernail test,” Attalee explained patiently. “You ask a man to take a gander at his fingernails. If he bends his fingers and stares at them close up, he’s a Mickey. If he stretches his arm and looks at his fingers from a distance, he’s a Minnie.”

“That doesn’t sound very reliable,” Mavis said.

“It’s based on scientific fact.” Attalee flounced up from her chair to make another pot of coffee.

Mrs. Tobias shook her head. “Who would have imagined courting in the twenty-first century would be so complicated?”