We left Mr. Kessler to map out the ruin and destruction of a town landmark and walked down the side street toward the Not-So-Old Market where I’d parked my car. The sidewalk was cluttered with cast-off furniture, plastic toys and what can only be described as unmitigated junk, all for resale.
“Etta Mae,” I said, as she slowed to look at the merchandise, “think culture.”
“I’m trying, but I don’t know what it is exactly.”
“Listen, it’s a fine line we have to walk. We want to show him the worst while pretending it’s the best, but when we don’t even have the worst, what do we do? I mean, Abbotsville is too small for a concert hall or an arts center or a museum or anything like that.” Taking her arm, I went on, “Let’s cross the street here.”
When we were settled in the car, I turned on the ignition to roll down the windows but didn’t start the engine. “Let’s think about this for a minute. We need a plan, a schedule or something. Today’s visit with Brother Vern was too much spur of the moment, although I think it went well, don’t you? When the mayor called back to tell me it would be a good time to show Mr. Kessler Main Street since he’d be downtown anyway, I just grabbed the opportunity and called on you. But, I’ll tell you this, Mayor Outz is not going to be running this show. You wouldn’t believe how eager he is to sell the courthouse. There’s nothing objective at all about his position, so he’d undermine us before we can undermine him, if we give him half a chance.”
Etta Mae frowned as she twisted her mouth in thought. “What I don’t understand is why the mayor is so worried about Mr. Kessler. I didn’t think there was any question that he would buy the courthouse if the commissioners approve it.”
“Oh, I think you’re right about that. Arthur Kessler wants that property, but Charlie Outz is your typical politician trying to make sure there’s no slip betwixt cup and lip.”
“Ma’am?”
“What I’m saying is, the mayor is holding his breath between now and next Tuesday when the commissioners will vote on selling the courthouse down the river. He wants to ensure Mr. Kessler’s interest and, at the same time, I have no doubt he’s working the commissioners to get their votes. The thing is, Etta Mae,” I said, turning to her, “we could aim our campaign at the county commissioners and try to get them to vote against it, but I don’t trust a one of them. They could swear on a stack of Bibles, but when it came down to it, who knows what they’d do. So my plan is to aim at disengaging Mr. Kessler’s interest in buying it. That way, it won’t matter how easily swayed the members are. They can vote to sell it all they want, but if there’s no buyer, why, it won’t matter.”
“So we have till next Tuesday?”
I nodded. “Yes, a week from now. And Arthur Kessler will be here until then, making his plans, suborning commissioners with promises of buying locally and making sure there’re dollar signs in everybody’s eyes. And when he gets their votes, he’s free to tear down the courthouse and put up anything he wants. You know, Etta Mae, the town doesn’t have any restrictions on what an owner can do with his property. Once he gets that site, Arthur Kessler can throw up the worst-looking building in the world. Why, he could put up a pool hall or a bowling alley, if he wanted to.” I sighed and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. “We missed our chance several years ago when some of us wanted to have Main Street designated a historic district. It didn’t go anywhere because some of the downtown merchants didn’t want anybody telling them what they could and could not do, and the courthouse, itself, got us bogged down, too. Some of us thought it should count as an antique, but it’s a little less than a hundred years old. At least, that was the argument, which I never thought should have applied. Anyway,” I said, cranking the car, “we might as well go on home.”
Driving slowly along the streets toward my house, I returned to the subject. “Did you know that the mayor wanted me to have Mr. Kessler as a houseguest?”
“Really?”
I nodded, leaning forward to check for oncoming traffic at Pine Street. “Yes, that’s how I learned that the town is paying his expenses. Charlie Outz said the town would pay a per diem if I’d put him up. I told him ‘No, thank you, I don’t take in paying customers.’ He probably wanted me to have him for nothing, but I didn’t offer. So they ended up putting him at the Mary Grace Haddington House. In their best room, too, the only one with an adjoining bath. No telling how much it costs. And,” I went on, stomping on the gas, “Arthur Kessler is a millionaire many times over. Why in the world should a town that can’t afford to build adequate schools pay that man’s room and board? It beats all I ever heard. And Arthur Kessler accepts it as his due.”
“That’s bad,” she said. “You’d think, if they had to do it at all, they’d put him at the Days Inn out on the interstate. That’s ever so nice, and you can get a room for around forty dollars a night. Thirty-nine ninety-five, I think, in the off-season. I’d take that over a room in somebody’s house any day.”
Wondering how she knew the cost of a motel room, I pulled into my driveway without asking for clarification, not really wanting to know. Etta Mae’s new red Camry was parked at the curb. I started to compliment her on it, then reconsidered. The less said about how she had been able to get it, the better.
“Let’s sit here a minute, Etta Mae,” I said, as I switched off the engine. “We need to come up with something cultural, and the only thing I can think of is my book club. What do you think of that?”
“No offense, but not much.”
“Good!” I smiled at her. “That means it won’t impress Mr. Kessler, either. The only problem is, it doesn’t meet for another two weeks. Of course, with Helen Stroud, who’s our president, being a recluse these days, it might be longer than that.” I thought for a minute, then said, “I guess I could see if everybody else wanted to have an extra meeting at my house and have you and Mr. Kessler as guests.”
“Um, well, what do you do at a book club?”
“Oh, we all read the same book beforehand and then discuss it. Don’t worry about it, as a guest you wouldn’t be expected to contribute anything. Unless you wanted to, of course. This year we’re not reading any current books, just some good, old ones. The next one on our list is The Great Gatsby. I’ll loan you my copy if we decide to meet early. It’s short, so it won’t take long.” I gathered my pocketbook and opened the car door. “Come to think of it, though, I haven’t quite finished it myself. Got hung up on that green light on the pier, for one thing. It’s got to be a symbol of something, but I can’t figure out what. Come on in, Etta Mae, we can plan better inside.”
As we walked toward the back door, the family’s usual entrance, I realized how easily Etta Mae seemed to fit in. I hadn’t even considered taking her in the front door.
“Hey, Miss Etta Mae,” Lillian said, smiling as she always did whenever Etta Mae showed up. “Miss Julia, Mrs. Allen say for you to call her when you get home.”
I put my pocketbook on the counter and asked, “Is it news about Horace?”
“She don’t say what it is. Y’all want some coffee?”
“That’d be nice. I’ll call Mildred in a little while. Have a seat, Etta Mae. We’ll sit here in the kitchen, if you don’t mind. As you see, I’m treating you like family.”
Etta Mae was pleased at that. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “It sure is nice not to have to be somewhere every hour of the day. I don’t know when I’ve had the time just to do whatever comes along.”
“All right,” I said, sitting across from her, “we need to think culture. What else can we show Mr. Kessler?”
Lillian stopped in midpour, the coffeepot suspended over the cups. “What you mean, culture?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve always considered myself a cultured person, but I’m not sure why. We’re assuming that Mr. Kessler is referring to art and music and plays and the like, of which there’s a complete lack in Abbotsville, except for the senior play at the high school. They put that on a couple of weeks ago, so that’s out.”
Etta Mae sat up with a sudden light in her eyes. “But won’t that work? I mean, if Abbotsville doesn’t have any culture, won’t that do what we want?”
“It could,” I said, musing over the possibilities. “But I think it’d have more impact if we could show him something that he thought we thought was culture, but it’s really not. See, I want him to meet people who don’t think like he does. He’s so wrapped up in showcasing this quaint little town with all its warm and welcoming neighbors. He intends for that to be a big selling point to prospective buyers of his condos. So I want him to meet some of the people who’ll be their neighbors.”
Lillian put a plate of brownies on the table. “Y’all could have a party an’ let him meet people that way.”
“Well, we could,” I said with little enthusiasm. Then, struck with another thought, I said, “I know! Why don’t we have a soiree?”
“Okay, but what’s a soiree?” Etta Mae asked.
“It’s just a party, but soiree will sound more cultural to Mr. Kessler. Let’s make it an afternoon affair and everybody can dress up in garden hats and filmy dresses and such. What do you think?”
“I don’t think I have anything filmy. Or a hat, either.”
I waved my hand. “Hazel Marie’ll have something you can wear. Now, how about this? Why don’t we have some entertainment to make it a little special? That would really make it a cultural affair. You know, like a musical afternoon.”
Lillian shook her head. “I think you gettin’ ahead of yo’self. Who you know can entertain with any kind of music?”
That stopped me, because if there was one area in which I was sadly lacking, it was in musical aesthetics. But Etta Mae had the answer.
“Tina Doland!” she said. “She’s the soloist at First Baptist, and I heard her one time at their Christmas concert. Sent shivers all down my back.”
“Because she was good or because she was terrible?”
“Um, well, she sounded kinda high and churchified, I guess. Real different from Faith Hill, anyway.”
“Well, I declare,” I said, not exactly sure who Faith Hill was. “I didn’t know Tina could sing, but that brings up another problem. We don’t have a piano, which she would surely need. Lillian, remember when I wanted Lloyd to take piano lessons and almost bought a baby grand?”
“Yessum, an’ I ’member you don’t have enough room for one of them things an’ you was about to build a music room onto the house ’til Lloyd, he say he want to play the drums instead, which take up a lot of room, too, but not as much as a piano.”
“Lord, yes, I was thrilled when he wanted to be in the band, but who would’ve thought he’d want a drum set? Anyway, it turned out that he had to take piano lessons, anyway, but not so many as to make it worth adding on to the house. Well,” I said, deflating slightly, “I guess that takes care of our musical afternoon.”
“Miz Allen,” Lillian said, “she got a big piano in her living room. Maybe she have yo’ party there.”
“So she does!” I jumped up and headed for the phone. “And it’s just what she needs to get her mind off Horace. I’ll call her right now.”
Lillian started shaking her head again. “You better hope she don’t have to have Mr. Horace’s casket in the living room same time as yo’ party. Miss Tina be singin’ a different tune then.”