Miss Pearl squirmed a little in her vinyl recliner. “It certainly looks delicious, Hazel. Though I have to confess that the club lunched at my house earlier, and I’m sure I forced too much food on them. Only finger sandwiches and such, nothing as hearty as what you offer.”
Miss Pearl dabbed the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief.
Sweet Pea shrugged as if there was no accounting for taste and ladled the punch, making sure everyone got a marshmallow, except for Hazel, who got two and a sympathetic wink. Then she made her hip-rolling exit from the room.
There followed another long silence. Her face hot with shame, Hazel seized the opportunity to steer the subject away from the food. “What y’all studying in your club?” she asked Miss Pearl desperately. She was the only one Hazel dared to look at now.
“Well, we are presently up to the p’s. Puccini, Proust, and Picasso. Hertha here has been leading us in an animated discussion of Remembrance of Things Past.” When Hazel only stared blankly at Miss Pearl, she asked, “Have you ever read it, Hazel?”
“No. It don’t sound familiar. I know a good book, though,” Hazel ventured. “Have you ever heard of David Copperfield?”
“Why, yes! By Mister Charles Dickens! Are you familiar with that work?” Miss Pearl asked, pleasantly surprised. The other women leaned forward greedily, gawking like customers at a sideshow promising a French-speaking pig.
“I sure do!” Hazel said, relieved to be talking about something she knew. “When I was a girl they playacted that story on the radio. We never had a radio before. Just when it got good, Daddy said I had to go milk the cows. Well, I thought when you turned the thing off and then come back later, you could pick up right where you left it. Lord, was I disappointed to find out my program done went on without me.” Hazel shook her head sadly and then looked up at Miss Pearl. “I never did find out how that boy turned out. Do you happen to know?” Miss Pearl smiled tenderly. “He turned out just fine, Hazel. Just fine.” She began to edge herself out of the recliner. “Hazel, I’m afraid I really must be going. Hayes will be back from the bank anytime now and I’ve still got the meeting to adjourn.”
Hertha and Delia followed suit and began their ascents. They made little sucking sounds as they peeled themselves from the furniture.
After the other two ladies had filed out the front door, Miss Pearl lingered behind for a moment. “Hazel, thank you so much. I think it went fine, don’t you, dear?”
“Well, I hope it did.”
“We’ll do it again real soon, all right? Next time we’ll have you and Floyd over.”
Miss Pearl left, trailing agreeable beauty parlor smells. Though Hazel wasn’t so sure things had gone as well as Miss Pearl said, she was delighted that she had made at least one new friend. Floyd would be proud.
Sweet Pea looked down at the untouched tray. “It’s a shame they done ate. Sure is some purty food. Shoulda sent a plate home with them.”
Hazel beamed. “That’s a good idea!” she said and wrapped up some Fancy Franks and filled an orange Fiestaware bowl with Hula Ham. She headed off for Miss Pearl’s house, thinking maybe she could serve them to Mr. Hayes with his supper.
As she came up the steps, she was met by gales of laughter pouring through the Irish lace curtains and unshuttered windows. The Trois Arts League must not have adjourned yet.
“Thank heavens you didn’t touch the food!” someone was saying. “What did you say she called them? Fancy Franks?”
“And did you see the wallpaper?” That was Miss Hertha’s voice. “Am I wrong or were those actually bird dogs with pheasants in their mouths?”
“You’ve got to hand it to her,” Delia said. “Most people choose their wallpaper as background. Not Hazel. Hers screams out ‘Hey, y’all! We got wallpaper!’ ”
“How could you keep from bursting out laughing?”
“And the colors!” Delia went on. “I couldn’t hear myself think, they were in such a riot.”
Hazel didn’t stand and listen because she wanted to. She stood there because she was too shamed to move.
“Now, that’s enough!” Miss Pearl was speaking. Hazel waited for her new friend to set them straight about her. Miss Pearl knew who Hazel really was. Hazel had seen it in the woman’s kindly eyes.
“You can’t blame her, girls,” she said in the same sad whisper in which she’d spoken earlier about charity. “Now, put yourself in her place for a moment. Being poor and from the hills, you’re probably thankful to get a new spread for the bed. You can’t be terribly concerned if it goes with your curtains. Or if your curtains go with the rug on the floor. It’s only natural that Hazel missed out on the concept of ‘goes with.’ ” That brought on another burst of laughter.
“I wasn’t trying to be humorous. Y’all are being too hard on her, now.” Miss Pearl was sounding flustered. “After all, she has learned to dress nicely. You saw that. Very tasteful. And she’s pretty. Maybe interior decorating is her next conquest. Give her time.”
The women stopped to consider Miss Pearl’s point for a moment and then sped right past it. Hertha said, “And that sassy colored girl she found. Sweet Pea. A real Saturday-night brawler. She might as well have been serving drinks in a barrel house.” Miss Hertha lowered her voice. “Billy Dean has that girl in jail more times than I can say. Why, every time I see my husband, he’s got her in the back of his cruiser. For soliciting, you know.”
There was a chorus of clucks and gasps.
“And speaking of soliciting,” Miss Hertha said, “Hazel seems to have her own route. Have y’all seen her peddling Lincolns for her husband up and down Gallatin? And with those poor children in tow. A sorry spectacle. What will become of them with a mother such as that?”
“Really!” Miss Pearl said. “That’s uncalled-for. You are being much too hard on that poor woman.”
By the time Floyd came home, Hazel had stopped her crying and pulled herself together. When he asked how things had gone, she didn’t answer. She went to the sink and began scrubbing a clean pot.
“Do you think they’ll invite you to join their club?” he asked. “That sure would be good for business.”
“Well, I’m not sure,” she said with her eyes closed, keeping her back to him. “I don’t think they have any openings.”
She dried her hands on her apron. “And besides, I might not be their kind of people, Floyd.” Hazel’s breathing was labored, and she began to feel a little wobbly. It was another one of those sinking spells she had been having lately. She leaned against the counter for a moment and then turned to look at her husband, hoping he might reach out and steady her. That would feel real nice about now.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You’ve got to stop thinking that way. If you want something bad enough, you can have it. Ain’t I
