Authors: Nancy Frederick
Annabeth nodded.
"That's a good idea.
I'll try to remember it."
Noticing the way Doug and Annabeth were interacting, Patsy reached over and kissed Doug on the cheek, then focused on Annabeth, saying, "You two have to have some wine with us.
We're celebrating.
Seven months together."
"How nice," said Annabeth and Charles simultaneously.
Doug signaled to Wanda, the waitress, as Patsy said, "And Annabelle, where do you live?
I'm always looking for clients."
"It's Annabeth," said Doug.
"Oh, sorry.
Annabeth."
"I live on Old Magnolia Bayou."
Patsy's eyes opened wide.
"Oh!
I heard the most marvelous story about that street.
Years ago--when I was first in the business."
She licked her lips and continued,
"Well, everyone knows the Parish Paper Company."
They all nodded, so Patsy went on, "And they owned the whole street, all the land around it, just a pine forest really.
This was, oh, in the twenties or thirties, I think."
"Here you go," said Wanda, placing the opened bottle of Chardonnay on the table with four wine glasses.
Want to order supper now?"
"Come back in a bit, would you?" instructed Patsy without consulting the others.
"No problem," said Wanda, walking to another table.
"So!
Old man Parish--Tyler was his name I think, though he wasn't any old man then--he was maybe forty--younger than we are now."
Patsy laughed at this irony before continuing, "In fact, he was the youngest son, but I'm getting distracted here.
Anyway Tyler Parish it was, and he got involved with some bootleggers, and one of them had a friend who was a grifter, and that guy had a girlfriend from up North--she was Swedish, I think, one of those pale, shimmery blonde types, stunning, not too bright.
So Tyler built a house for the blonde.
At the end of the bayou, in fact, he built the street.
And he didn't just keep her for his mistress.
He actually lived with her, dumped his wife.
The wife had the rest of the town to offer her comfort, and she didn't much miss Tyler.
He was kind of a sleaze."
Doug filled the wine glasses and handed them out.
Apparently he was far less interested in his girlfriend than she was in herself despite the fact that she was very beautiful.
"So.
The blonde runs off after a couple of years and Tyler eventually drops dead.
The house on Magnolia sits empty for twenty years, maybe more.
But Tyler and the wife had a son, Buster Parish, kind of a weakling, and he's into gambling, not that he has a knack for it.
And one night he gets into this poker game with some local low life, a guy who everyone knows is a cheater, everyone but Buster, that is."
Annabeth swallowed hard on hearing this part of the story, and she wanted to speak up and correct Patsy, but if she were to defend R.J., it would be like calling Patsy a liar, and that would be awkward for everyone, so she chose to remain silent.
Instead of commenting, she picked up her wine glass, downed its contents and allowed Doug to refill it as Patsy continued.
"So.
They're playing five card stud, and the low life is dealing from the bottom of the deck, or whatever it is that cheaters do.
Buster is too drunk to know.
And the low life bets his truck--a new vehicle--against this house that Buster says he owns on the Bayou.
And the cheat wins.
He gets the house.
So this sleaze, thinking he got a valuable piece of property goes all around town talking about how he beat out a Parish."
"What became of the house?" asked Charles.
"They actually moved into that dump.
The guy's wife fixed it up. Kind of a mousy somebody I heard.
Was that who sold it to you?" Patsy asked Annabeth.
Annabeth blushed when this question was asked of her, and stammered only, "No, don't think so."
"You two here for supper?" asked Doug, changing the subject.
Charles nodded.
Doug signaled to Wanda, who appeared immediately.
"What are the specials?" asked Patsy.
"We have some nice fish tonight.
Grilled Grouper or Snapper.
Or you can have it fried or blackened.
Also lasagna."
"Grilled grouper sounds great," said Patsy.
"Rice and salad?"
Patsy nodded.
"And another bottle of wine."
Wanda looked toward Annabeth.
"Oh a burger is fine."
"No, come on, eat a proper dinner," insisted Charles.
"You do eat fish?"
Annabeth nodded.
"Have that, please."
"All right," agreed Annabeth.
"Grouper or snapper?"
"Either is fine."
"We'll both have the grouper, but I want mine blackened.
How about you?"
"No, grilled please."
"Rice and salad?" asked Wanda.
Annabeth nodded, so Charles said, "Perfect.
And a beer for me.
Want a beer?"
Annabeth shook her head.
"No, thanks.
Some water, please."
"How about the grilled sirloin for me," said Doug.
"Baked potato.
And salad.
Tanqueray and tonic."
Wanda nodded, scribbling on her pad.
Patsy leaned over, put her arms around Doug, kissed his cheek, then said, "Such a carnivore!
He'll need all the strength he can get tonight."
Doug reached out, took her hand and held it briefly, extracting himself from her public embrace.
Wanda arrived shortly, placing Doug's steak in front of him, plates of blackened grouper in front of Patsy and Charles, and a burger plate in front of Annabeth.
"Wait a second," complained Patsy.
"This is supposed to be grilled."
"And the burger's wrong too," said Doug.
"It was another grilled grouper."
"It's fine," said Annabeth.
"I can eat this."
"Don't be silly," said Doug, handing the burger plate to Wanda.
"Probably a mix-up in the kitchen."
"She's so fuzzy-headed," said Patsy, spearing a forkful of salad and eating it.
The two men sat waiting for the rest of the food, but Annabeth said, "Oh please, don't wait.
Your food will be cold.
Eat."
Doug refilled the wine glasses for Annabeth and Patsy.
Wanda returned to the table with one order of grilled grouper, which she set in front of Patsy.
"I'm sorry.
We're out of grouper.
Is the snapper all right?"
Annabeth nodded, "Sure, it's fine.
And a glass of water please."
Before Annabeth's supper arrived, the phone in Charles' pocket rang, and he answered it.
"Hello?
Yes, dear.
Are you sure?
Look downstairs?
In the kitchen?
No Tylenol?
No Advil?
How's that possible?
All right, I'll be right along."
He flipped the phone closed then turned to his companions, "My wife needs some aspirin.
Imagine that--a pharmacist's wife running out of aspirin."
Annabeth rose to leave with him, but Charles insisted that she stay.
"You haven't even had your supper."
"Of course you'll stay.
After all we've gone through this evening to get you some edible food," interjected Doug.
Patsy remained silent.
"I'll get the check," said Doug.
"Sara's waiting."
"Thanks," smiled Charles.
"Next one's on me."
"Does he ever get the check?" asked Patsy when Charles was beyond hearing.
"Every time I see him in here, he gets a call and trots home to the wife."
Wanda removed Charles' and Patsy's plates and set Annabeth's food in front of her along with a glass of water, and at last she began eating, along with Doug, who had waited for her.
"You know, I think I'll sing a song.
Need to show these people how it's done."
Patsy winked at Doug, strode to the end of the bar and sang a passable rendition of "Walking After Midnight," although she posed no threat to the memory of her namesake.
"She has a lot of energy," said Annabeth in genuine admiration.
Doug nodded, "You know, I just realized it this minute.
What it was about Patsy."
He continued softly, watching his girlfriend sing, but speaking to Annabeth in an intimate way, expressing his ideas slowly as they were forming in his mind.
"My wife always acted like she wanted me to be someone else, someone who was better,
someone more up to her standards.
And with her I felt like I'd captured a treasure, one I maybe didn't deserve.
And she acted like that was the correct interpretation, right up to the end of our marriage.
I always felt like it had all been my fault, that I just couldn't live up to the life--and the partner--I'd chosen, that I'd reached beyond my limits.
With Patsy, there are no complications.
She wants me for who I am, well as much of me as she understands."
"You must have been very competitive," said Annabeth.
Doug's eyes widened with insight.
"Yes!
I never thought of that."
Before he could continue, Patsy had returned to the table, saying, "Look who I found by the cigarette machine."
The man was tall, with the same dark eyes and fair skin that made Patsy so beautiful, although his face was marred with a number of pock marks.
Doug rose from his seat, shook the man's hand and then reseated himself.
"Annabeth Welner, this is George Healy."
"My wonderful brother," said Patsy, smiling, "Now our table is less unbalanced."
"Hello, Annabeth," said George, smiling at her.
"Let me refill your wine glass."
Before she could decline the invitation, she watched aghast as R.J., his arm around Linna, walked into the bar, his footsteps unsteady.
Not even spotting Annabeth, he steered his girlfriend to a booth at the back of the bar and began kissing her in a manner that was far too intimate for a public place.
"I don't believe it!" trilled Patsy.
"That's the guy.
The low life, cheater guy."
Knowing better than to point, she nodded toward R.J., who by this time had his back to them.
Seeing that her glass was filled, Annabeth lifted it and downed the wine, then held her hand to her temple.
The headache that had begun at two in the afternoon was now a migraine.
"Are you all right?" asked Doug.
"I really need to get home.
Headache for hours."
Annabeth stood quickly, and feeling the room spin around, she steadied her hand against the table.
"We'll drive you home," said Doug.
Patsy jabbed George with her elbow, causing him to say, "Ouch!" followed by a hasty offer to see Annabeth home.
"I'll be fine, really," said Annabeth, trying to regain her equilibrium by focusing on one corner of the bar.
"It's no trouble at all," said George.
"We're ready to leave anyway," argued Doug.
Not wanting Patsy anywhere near her house, Annabeth said, "You two go on with your celebration.
I'll be fine.
Some fresh air will help.
Thanks so much for supper."
She took a couple of steps toward the door, expecting to be able to exit on her own, but George leapt up, and placed his arm on her shoulder to steady her, and he helped her out the door toward his car.
11
There's a certain feeling of electricity in the air before a thunderstorm, in the wind, even if it's barely ruffling the trees, and it was this charge that Annabeth sensed as she walked out the door of the Rusty Lantern.
She held her face toward the sky, hoping to be refreshed by a mist of yet unfallen rain, but there was nothing but the faintest breeze, not even a noticeable drop in temperature.
"It's going to pour any minute," she said softly, breathing deeply in the hopes that her throbbing head would clear.