When Good Bras Go Bad (Myrtle Crumb Series) (10 page)

             
Sunny stared at me like I’d just spit pea soup at her
.
(Sorry, but them monster movie commercials are takin’ their toll on me and Matlock both.)

             
“Don’t mention it to Alicia,” I said, “or to anybody else for that matter, but I’m gonna do my dead-level best to get her mama to that play on openin’ night.”

             
“Why, Mimi?”

             
I shook my head
.
“Honey, if you was in that play and my car was broke down, you’d better believe I’d do whatever it took to get there
.
Her mama don’t seem to feel that way, and I think it’s a shame.”  I tore a piece off the top of my muffin and popped it in my mouth
.
“I can’t promise a
nything
, but I’ll try my best
.
That is, if you don’t care.”

             
“Why would I care?” Sunny asked.

             
“Alicia might not want her mama at the play
.
She hadn’t told her about it.”

             
“That, I’ll ask about.”

Chapter
Six

             
Tuesday I was back at work in the lunchroom
.
All the ladies asked about Sunny…in a nice way
.
They didn’t come across as snotty
.
I told them she was doin’ fine but that she still wouldn’t say who took Mrs. Anderson’s bracelet
.
Jane
Kershaw said young ‘uns were like that—they’d rather be punished themselves than tell on a friend
.
Another woman—a short little woman with a slight stoop whose name, I believe, is Polly—said Sunny might honest to goodness not know who’s lettin’ her be their patsy.

             
I talked to Wilbur Brody as soon as he came in
.
He said there weren’t any thefts, as far as he knew, during the three days Sunny was suspended
.
I hate I heard that
.
I knew Sunny wasn’t stealin’ things, so that had to mean somebody really was settin’ Sunny up to be their patsy.

             
Later when she came through the lunch line, I
decided to take my cues from her
.
I didn’t speak
.
She didn’t acknowledge who I was, but she did speak.

             
“Hi, Ms. Crumb.”

             
“Hello, Crimson.”  I kept on puttin’ food on plates, barely even lookin’ up.

             
About fifteen minutes into her lunch, she came lookin’ for me.

             
“Everything all right, Mimi?”

             
“Yeah, I reckon
.
You?”

             
“All right, I guess.”  She stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans
.
“I asked Al if her mama was excited about seein’ her in the play
.
She said she’s real excited and wants a front-row seat opening night.”

             
“I’ll do my best to get her here then
.
The young ‘un wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t want her mama to be at that play.”

             
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

             
“Well, you’d better get back to your lunch before somebody misses you.”

             
Sunny nodded
.
She turned to leave but then turned back
.
“Are you mad at me?”

             
“No
.
I’m just tryin’ to act like a lunch lady instead of a grandmother.”

             
“Oh.”  She walked on back to her table, and I dared myself to cry.

DIVIDER HERE

             
On the way home, I got to thinkin’ about how long it took me to get comfortable last night before I could go to sleep
.
You see, I like to sleep on my stomach
.
But—like every woman who likes to sleep on her belly, I imagine—I have a hard time gettin’ comfortable on account of my boobs
.
Either they’re mushed up under my chin to where I can hardly breathe or else I have to try to tuck ‘em under my arms.

             
I’ve decided somebody needs to make a bed with a boob trench
.
It could have two removable cushions, one on either side of the bed
.
That way, your husband—if you’ve got one—wouldn’t have to worry about havin’ his boobs in the trench
.
Although, Harold Miller, Tansie’s husband—God rest his soul—could’ve certainly put a boob trench to good use
.
He used to come out and mow the yard in just his cut-off jeans and sandals, and I’d say he was a double D cup at the very least
.

             
Any
how
, you could remove the cushions off whichever side you sleep on, lay down on your belly, and allow your boobs to gently rest in the trench
.
Now, mind you, the trench would be cushiony mattress stuff
.
It wouldn’t be a hole
.
God forbid you’d have your tender bosom just hangin’ there between the bed and the floor…especially if you’ve got a cat
.

             
If
you’d take a notion to sleep on your side or somethin’, you could just slip your pillow back in the trench
.
And, of course, you’d do that in the mornin’ when you got up so the bed would look nice and not have a big dip in it after you made it up.

             
Well, the more I thought about it, the more the idea grew on me
.
Somebody really ought to invent a boob-trench bed
.
Then, you know what?  It dawned on me
.
Why not Lenny?  He was smart, and he was willin’ to work
.
Plus, since he’s a high school student, he might be able to get some grant money to do it with
.
How proud Delphine and Lenny’s daddy would be!  And I bet his sorry, good-for-nothin’ mama would wish she’d never walked off and left such a wonderful young ‘un
.
Maybe he’d get rich and famous, too
.
And that little Katie Couric from the “Today” show—and maybe even Oprah—would talk to him on television and he’d say it was all my idea and that I was real special to him.

             
You know, it must’ve been meant to be because as I pulled in the driveway,
here came
the bus
.
As I got out of the car, Lenny was gettin’ off the bus.

             
“Howdy, Ms. Crumb!” he hollered.

             
“Hi, darlin’
.
Have you got a minute?  I’ve got an idea I wanna run past you.”

             
“Let me go tell Granny.”

             
I went in and went through the kitchen to open the back door for Matlock
.
He enjoys bein’ outside on these pretty days
.
When I got back to the living room, Lenny was knockin’ on the door.

             
“How would you like to be an inventor?” I asked him when I opened up the door.

             
“I might like it all right, I reckon
.
Why?”

             
I told him
.
I believe my boob-trench bed idea shocked him at first because his little face—and plumb to the tops of his ears—got red as a pickled beet
.
But he thanked me, said he’d give it some thought, and then he went on home.

             
I hope he
does
give it some thought
.
I really would like to have me a bed with a boob trench.

             
Lenny hadn’t been gone more’n ten minutes when Delphine called and asked what I was doin’ talkin’ dirty to Lenny.

             
“I most certainly was not talkin’ dirty to that boy!  Is that what he told you?”

             
“Not in so many words, but it didn’t take a genius—or a
detective
, Myrtle—to figure it out.”

             
“What exactly did he say?”

             
“He said you wanted him to invent some kinda bed with—” She cleared her throat
.
“With a special place for a…a woman’s—” She dropped her voice to a whisper
.
“A woman’s you-know-what’s!”

             
“Boobs, Delphine!  A woman’s boobs!”

             
She gasped
.
“Now you’re talkin’ dirty to me!”

             
“Oh, I am not
.
Excuse me for sharin’ my ideas for an invention with Lenny in hopes he could put ‘em to use and maybe even become rich and famous.”

             
That made her back off a little bit
.
“Well,” she said, “that’s all well and good, but, honey, you forget Lenny’s still just a boy.”

             
“Why, he ain’t either
.
Look at what Thomas Edison was doin’ at Lenny’s age
.
And how about Abe Lincoln and them Wright brothers from over yonder in
North Carolina
?  What about them?”

             
Actually, I didn’t know a bit more’n nothing what—if anything—any of that bunch did when they were teenagers
.
But, one, I figured Delphine didn’t know either
.
Two, they were bound to have done somethin’
.
And, three, I didn’t give Delphine a chance to argue with me about it anyway.

             
“How do you sleep?” I asked
.
“Do you sleep on your back, your side or your belly?”

             
“I don’t have any druthers
.
I just lay down and thrash around ‘til I get comfortable.”

             
“Do you ever sleep on your belly?”

             
“Yeah, I reckon I do sometimes.”

             
“Okay,” I said, and then I went on to extol the virtues of a boob trench
.
“Now do you see what I mean?  Do you see how it would appeal to women all over the world?”

             
“I guess you do have a point.”  She was quiet for a second
.
“But would you please ask me first before you discuss anything else of …of such a serious or delicate nature with Lenny?”

             
“I don’t expect I’ll be discussing anything else of a serious or delicate nature with Lenny again,” I said
.
“But if I decide to, then yeah, I’ll run it by you first.”

             
We hadn’t been off the phone for five minutes, when the darn thing rang again.

             
I picked up the receiver
.
“What now?”

             
“Did I call at a bad time?”  It was Coop.

             
“No
.
I thought it was Delphine callin’ again
.
She’s upset because I talked to Lenny about boobs.”

             
“You always manage to surprise me somehow,” he said
.
“I hear the M.E.L.O.N.S. are throwing a party Saturday night.”

             
“You heard right
.
Wanna escort a vulgar old woman?”

             
“Maybe
.
Will she talk to me about boobs?”

             
“Probably
.
She likes to discuss things of a delicate nature.”

             
He laughed
.
“Then I’m there.”

DIVIDER HERE

             
After me and Matlock had our supper, I put him outside and drove over to the mall
.
I figured since me and Coop was going to this Halloween party, I’d better start lookin’ for a costume
.
I wanted me somethin’ snazzy
.
There’s a shop that opens up in the mall just for the Halloween season—they put other stuff in there at other times of the year
.
Anyway, me and Faye used to find the cutest costumes there for Sunny
.
So I decided to look there first.