The Improper Life of Bezillia Grove (12 page)

Cornelia would be so proud. I’d been flirty and coy but vague and slightly disinterested, and I hadn’t required the Parisian sun bouncing off my cheeks to do it either. I needed to write my cousin and tell her about this Rutherford Semple. And I needed to write Mary Margaret Hunt and let her know that the best-looking men were not, it turned out, in France.

“I see you met Ruddy,” I heard my grandmother shouting from the kitchen.

“Yeah. He was coming out as I was coming in.”

“Don’t be getting too friendly with him.” Nana stepped outside the kitchen door just far enough so I could see her face. She was holding a knife in one hand and an onion in the other. She wiped her eyes with the hem of the ratty old apron she had loosely tied about her waist.

“He’s a nice boy and all, but he spends way too much time with Megan, and something about that just ain’t right.”

“I think it’s nice that he hangs out with Megan. Besides, they’re just friends, Nana. Mrs. Scott said so herself.”

“Just friends? A girl who can’t talk. Lord, child, are you kidding? That boy could only have one thing on his mind, and that’s getting into her pants. Just like his daddy.”

“Nana!” I said, surprised to hear my grandmother talk about any boy getting into any girl’s pants. “Mrs. Scott says Ruddy is very nice. And what do you mean ‘just like his daddy’?”

“Forget it. It’s not important. But remember this, Bezellia, I didn’t just crawl out from under some rock the way your mama would like you to think I did. Mark my words, the only reason he spends time with that girl is because he likes the way she fits into those blue jeans she’s always wearing. God almighty, you can see everything the good Lord gave her.”

I didn’t even bother to argue with her because I was beginning to realize, just as it was with my own mother, that an argument would be nothing but a waste of words. I honestly didn’t care what my grandmother thought. It felt good to be interested in a boy again, and I liked Ruddy Semple, whether he wanted in my pants or not. And I wasn’t so sure that was a bad place for him to be.

Turned out, Ruddy was everything Mrs. Scott had said he would be. He was kind, a little shy, but patient and very handsome. His chest was broad and strong, and his eyes were the warmest, deepest brown I had ever seen. His dark hair was cut short and parted over to the side. And when that little dimple on his left cheek surfaced, I found myself wanting to curl up in his arms.

Before long, Ruddy and I were spending most every afternoon together paddling around in my grandfather’s rowboat, checking his fishing lines that were tied to empty plastic milk jugs and scattered about the lake. We drifted through the summer doing nothing more than talking and holding hands. And when he finally kissed me, he hoped my granddaddy would understand that his feelings for me were true and honest. I really didn’t care what anybody thought. I just wanted Ruddy to kiss me again.

To tell the truth, Pop thought Ruddy kept coming around the house because he needed extra spending money. But Nana knew better and just stared him down like a hungry hawk circling her prey. When my grandmother was in the room, poor Ruddy spent most of the time talking to his feet.

He said that when he was singing and playing his guitar he had more courage than a lion and that he was heading to Nashville as soon as he graduated from high school. He was going to be a famous country music star someday but had promised his mama he would finish school first. He’d be only the second Semple to get his diploma, his daddy being the first.

We were almost to the other side of the lake, probably already had fifteen fresh catfish in the metal tank at the end of the boat, when I started telling Ruddy about my uncle and his Buffy Orphans. As soon as I mentioned those silly hens, Ruddy jumped to his feet and clapped his hands, almost dumping me right into the water.

“Lord, girl, I don’t believe it. You know something about the chicken business? Man, you have got to see my daddy’s prizewinning cock, a blue-ribbon winner, twice over. Prettiest cock in the county. Maybe you could come to supper tomorrow night and take a good look at him?” Ruddy clapped his hands in excitement and then just as quickly turned a deep shade of red. He sat back down and fixed his eyes on the water. “You do know I’m talking about a rooster, don’t ya?”

I reassured him that I did, even if I did live in the city, and that I would love to see his daddy’s prizewinning bird.

Nana was not too happy about my invitation to Ruddy’s house. She said his parents barely had a pot to piss in, and she didn’t think my mama would be too happy either about me going anywhere near the Semple farm. Nana was probably right. Ruddy did not own one expensive sweater, and he certainly did not drive a convertible, unless you counted my grandfather’s tractor. And since he was born and raised in the Church of God, I could guarantee that he did not know how to dance. But I told my grandmother not to worry. I was only going to see a bird.

Ruddy picked me up in his daddy’s truck a little before four. I was wearing a white cotton skirt and a thin cotton blouse with little pink and green flowers all over it. Nana thought the skirt was too short. But Ruddy smiled when he saw me, said I looked real pretty, and then he helped me into his daddy’s truck. We drove a couple of miles without saying anything, my hair blowing in my face. I’d catch Ruddy staring at me and then looking away, shy and yet real curious all at the same time. He finally slowed the truck down and pulled off to the side of the road. He inched a little closer, put his arm around my shoulders, and pointed to a field spotted with Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans. It looked a lot like the land back behind my house, except now a rooster was crowing in the distance, urging us along.

“That’s Mister Jackson,” Ruddy said with a big grin on his face. “He knows you’re coming. See, down there, that’s my house.” On the other side of the field stood a small yellow house topped with a red tin roof. It looked like a speck of paint from where we were, and even up close it didn’t get much bigger. Ruddy said his mama had been cooking all day. She was real anxious to meet me, so Mister Jackson would have to wait till after supper to make my acquaintance.

The smell of pot roast and green beans filled their tiny house. The windows were wide open, but it was still so hot and sticky inside I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. Three or four pots simmered quietly on the stove, and a pan of biscuits sat warming in the oven, the door left open so they wouldn’t burn. I wondered how Ruddy’s mama stood there cooking all day without fainting from the heat.

The living room and kitchen were one large room, no walls separating one space from the other. The kitchen table was nicely set with a faded blue checked cloth and a handful of that Queen Anne’s lace plunked down in an old glass milk pitcher. As soon as I stepped through the door, everyone’s eyes turned toward me—Ruddy’s mother’s, his father’s, his little sister’s, even their dog’s eyes were fixed on the girl who’d come all the way from Nashville. No one said hello until I did. No one sat at the table until I did or placed his napkin in his lap or picked up his fork, until I did. And somewhere swirling about my head, I could hear Samuel, sitting down by the creek under the cherrybark oaks, calling me a princess.

Mrs. Semple apologized that her meal wasn’t very fancy, like I was surely used to eating back home. I told her it was wonderful, better than anything I’d had in Nashville or anywhere else for that matter, and then took another bite of pot roast. She smiled at me and then at Ruddy and asked if I’d like another biscuit. Mr. Semple took his place at the head of the table without saying a word. He sat there either staring at me like he was trying to recall an old friend or ignoring me altogether, every now and then stopping to look at his plate while he dragged his biscuit through the last bit of gravy. He waited for his wife to clear the dishes from the table and seemed relieved when Ruddy and I finally got up and left.

After supper, Ruddy took me into the front yard and introduced me to Mister Jackson. He stood near the edge of their beaten old barn, beaming like a daddy who’s just been told his baby girl is the prettiest child in town. He clucked like a rooster and then threw Mister Jackson a few kernels of corn. The rooster waddled right up to Ruddy and ate out of his hand. I told him that Mister Jackson was the best-looking bird I’d ever seen, much more handsome than Uncle Thad’s pack of orphaned hens.

We walked back to the house and said our good-byes. Ruddy’s mom told me to come again real soon, that it had been a pleasure meeting me. I assured her that the pleasure had been all mine. His daddy just sat in a tattered old reclining chair reading the newspaper, never once bothering to look our way. Ruddy kissed his mother on the cheek and said he was going to show me the sights. I started to laugh but then realized he meant what he said. We hopped in his daddy’s truck and headed back down the narrow gravel road that led to his house. But he turned left and onto a little dirt path I hadn’t noticed before and shifted down into first gear. He drove real slowly, the lush green growth on either side of the road rubbing up against the truck. A branch popped inside my window, and I squealed and moved closer to Ruddy, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a present for you,” he said, pulling off the road and gesturing for me to look out the window. And there, glistening in the remnants of the late evening sun, Old Hickory Lake stood perfectly still, its glassy surface reflecting the tall oaks and cedars that trimmed the water’s edge.

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, Ruddy. You know my mother would say there’s nothing quite like being on the water.”

“That’s not the best part,” he said excitedly. “Come on and I’ll show you. You know your grandparents’ house is just right over there. I’m surprised you’ve never been over here.”

Ruddy jumped out of the truck and practically ran to my door. He reached for my hand and guided me off the seat, giving me time to pull my skirt down before fully revealing my panties. Then he led me through some tall grass and onto a white, sandy beach. We stood there holding hands while our feet instinctively burrowed down into the cool, smooth sand. Ruddy fidgeted for a while and finally pointed to the ground. “This! This is what I wanted to show you.”

“The sand?” I asked, suddenly realizing that it was odd to see a white, sandy beach in the middle of Tennessee.

“Yeah, the beach,” he said excitedly. “The Army Corps of Engineers carried in all this sand last summer so everybody out here could pretend like they were in Florida or Hawaii. I guess they figure most of us aren’t ever gonna get anywhere near a place like that so they decided to bring it to us. I told the Scotts there was no point in them making that long drive to Destin anymore,” he said, and then laughed, pulling me down onto the beach next to him. He said it was the biggest thing that had happened in Mount Juliet in years, next to Mister Jackson winning a blue ribbon at the state fair and Mr. Patterson setting his own house on fire so he could collect the insurance money.

We nestled our bodies next to each other and watched the stars come out, every new spot of light further decorating the night sky. Ruddy said there’d be rain later in the week. I told him that was exactly what my grandfather had said, even though that wasn’t true. He laughed just a bit and wrapped both arms around me, pulling me so close that I could hear his heart beat. He said he’d never met a girl like me and sure hated to think of my leaving soon. Then he stroked my lower lip with his finger before pressing his own mouth against mine, his kiss so warm and perfect that I couldn’t help but wonder if he read
Seventeen
too. Every time he touched me, I found myself digging my foot deeper and deeper into the sand, as if I was hopelessly trying to bind my body to the earth.

I snuggled deeper into his chest, and without warning or announcement, he reached under my blouse and tried to unfasten my bra. Now Cornelia would say that a man with any experience at all with a girl’s undergarments could unfasten a bra in one swift flick of the wrist. But Ruddy struggled with the clasp, and I finally reached behind my back and helped him with the last hook and eye. He apologized for his clumsy fingers. I told him not to worry about it, that sometimes even I had a hard time getting those hooks undone. He pulled off his own shirt with ease, and I watched him as he carefully unbuttoned mine. Ruddy didn’t seem so shy right now.

My breasts felt warm against his chest and my back cool against the sand. His tongue touched mine, and he kissed me a long time, as if he was trying to pour every ounce of love he had right down my throat. Tommy Blanton and I had never kissed like this. Samuel and I had never kissed like this, like Cornelia had promised I would do someday. A part of me wanted to tell him to stop, that I had been saving this moment for another boy. And a part of me wanted to tell him to move a little faster.

Ruddy rubbed his hand up and down my leg and then into my panties. Nana was right. He
had
wanted in my pants, but I gently caressed his hand, reassuring him that he was headed in the right direction. Then he led me to a place that I was not familiar with, and he stroked me until I shook in his arms. He kissed my forehead and my nose and my cheeks and my chin. He whispered in my ear that he wanted to love every inch of my body—someday. I told him that he better not wait too long because I would be leaving soon, and then I tugged at his belt. Ruddy took my hand in his and kissed it over and over again.

“Bezellia, you’re makin’ it real hard, but it just wouldn’t be right, here and all.”

“I didn’t know the location had that much to do with it.”

“I guess the beach is better than doing it in the back of the pickup, but I think you oughta have a ring on that finger before you, uh …” And he hesitated finding it hard to say the word. “You know, before we do everything God intends for a man and woman to do.”

“You don’t think God’s going to have a problem with what we just did?”

“That just ain’t the same thing. Besides, I think God understands that a girl and boy got to have some fun along the way. But the big
it
, well, that needs to wait till after the wedding. Daddy says you can really make a mess of things if you don’t wait till it’s proper.”