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THE LULL IN THE CASE of Celia’s Lost Weekend came at a convenient time for Mary-Alice. She was able to take her weekly drive out to Mudbug.
Mary-Alice’s first stop in Mudbug was Betty Ann’s Hair Fashions. As she waited for Miss Velma, she leafed through a fashion magazine left over from Christmastime. She took in the smoky-eyed models smoldering in shades of burgundy and pine, just like the deep shades that had come into fashion the Christmas before, and the Christmas before that. Why, it was the same thing every year, wasn’t it? Darker colors in the winter, lighter colors in the summer. Silly fashion magazines, after all these years, they still couldn’t make up their minds.
When Joe Arceneaux died, Mary-Alice decided she was done letting other people tell her how to dress. She cut her hair (Joe hated short hair on women) and threw out her toe-pinching high heels. No fashion magazine could convince her that she needed to tone down her hair color as she aged, that she couldn’t wear her white pedal-pushers after Labor Day, or that sequined sneakers were not appropriate footwear for every occasion. Mary-Alice now wore whatever she liked. Exercising such license was not at all in keeping with her upbringing, but she found it quite satisfying.
When Mary-Alice had finished getting her roots in painted in “Red Riot,” she left a generous tip. On the way out, she smiled at her vibrant reflection.
Beulah was waiting for her inside the diner across the street. It was always pleasant to see Beulah. Already past the age where she might have retired, Beulah Monroe had kept her job at the Office of Motor Vehicles because she enjoyed helping people, and got bored staying at home. She liked to say she was the only person she knew who actually looked forward to visiting the OMV.
Mary-Alice did not wish to talk about the Celia situation, and hoped that Beulah would carry the conversation. Beulah did not disappoint. She was bubbling over with interesting news. A strange man had come to her window and tried to register a stolen car, Beulah told Mary-Alice, and Beulah had called the sheriff on him. Then there was Carlotta McIlvaney, who hated her driver’s license photo so much she’d gotten herself a fake ID with a more flattering picture on it. Carlotta had gotten caught out when she’d tried to buy cold medicine at Walgreens. And Fanny LeClair, who played organ at Mudbug First Baptist, had come in to renew her license despite her doctor’s orders to give up driving.
“I always did admire Miss Fanny,” Mary-Alice mused. “My goodness, you wouldn’t know she was over a hundred. Aside from a little trouble with her leg, why, she’s the picture of health.”
“Oh, there ain’t nothing wrong with that woman’s leg. That cane of hers is for recreational purposes only.” Beulah put her thumb to her mouth and tipped her hand like a bottle.
“No!” Mary-Alice exclaimed.
Beulah nodded.
“I watched her go out to the parking lot. She didn’t think anyone could see her. She unscrewed the eagle head right off that cane and took a big ol’ swig from it. Then she got into her Lincoln and drove off.”
“Well it certainly sounds like Mudbug is as exciting as ever,” Mary-Alice exclaimed.
“Now Sinful is no slouch,” Beulah riposted. “Surely there must be something going on there.”
“Well now, we did just finish the mayoral recount.”
“Well?” Beulah prompted.
“Celia lost. Marie is mayor now.”
“Aw, your poor cousin. I hope she’s not too disappointed. Well, if she’s anything like you, I’m sure she has a lot of different things going on to keep her busy.”
“I’m sure she has,” Mary-Alice replied blandly. The conversation stalled dangerously, so Mary-Alice quickly introduced a new subject.
“Do you know, Beulah, I had a very interesting epiphany when I was over at Betty Ann’s.”
“Well I was going to say, your hair looks wonderful, Mary-Alice. Some might say it’s an extravagance, going to the beauty parlor as often as you do, but Miss Velma always does a lovely job.”
Beulah would never tell Mary-Alice that she was wasting her money getting her hair professionally colored when it was so easy and inexpensive to do it yourself. Mary-Alice, in turn, was too tactful to tell Beulah it was worth spending the money to avoid having her hair color look like an obvious “home job.”
“Why, thank you, Beulah, you’re ever so kind. In any event, I was looking through the fashion magazines as I was waiting, and do you know, I haven’t paid much attention to the trends, and so I realized only today that it’s the same thing year after year. When the weather turns cool, we’re all supposed to put away our pastels and wear darker colors. But not the same dark colors as last year; those won’t do at all, it seems. Then, when the weather gets warm again, it’s time to wear lighter colors. But we’re not allowed to pull out our clothes from last year, because last year’s pastels were wedding-mint pastels and this year is sherbet pastels, or some such nonsense. Now isn’t that something? All of the things that were must-haves twelve months ago are now fit only for the Goodwill pile. And it happens the same way, every year. You’d think by now they’d have figured it out.”
But Beulah was way ahead of her.
“Mary-Alice, those magazines ain’t never gonna make up their minds. They gotta sell ads, and the advertisers gotta sell us clothes and makeup and new cars and such, and how are they gonna do that if we all satisfied with what we already have?”
“Why, you make a very good point, Beulah.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, Mary-Alice. Now I’m not saying we all gotta be content all the time, cause nothing would get better that way. I believe there’s good and bad discontentment. You see something wrong in the world and you make it better, that’s the good kind of discontentment. Like when you took in that little talking bird.”
What with all of the excitement around Celia, Mary-Alice hadn’t given Angela much thought. But now Mary-Alice realized she might like to visit the little bird. And it would be pleasant to see Boon as well.
“But some folks, they got the bad kind of discontentment.” Beulah popped a crispy boudin ball into her mouth. “They’re the ones ain’t never gonna be happy. No matter how much stuff they buy.”
Mary-Alice nodded sadly.
“Or no matter how many people they get the better of,” she agreed. Celia, Mary-Alice realized, was one of those unhappily-discontented people. It didn’t matter how nice Mary-Alice tried to be. Celia had never been truly happy, and she never would be. And what’s worse, Celia would always make it her mission to make someone else miserable too.