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  One Big, Beautiful Pearl

  At long last, Friday night arrived. Tante Pearl volunteered to drive us girls to the school. As we pulled up, the baseball team had just run onto the field for their warm-up laps. Tante Pearl stayed outside while Mary Jordan and Evie and I snuck into the school building. The locker room was full of open cubbyholes, with each player’s number marked in black electrical tape on top. Doug was number eleven.

  “Well, lookey here,” Evie said as she rummaged through his duffel bag. She started tossing our clothes out in a heap on the floor. Then she took out the little helmet that was supposed to protect Doug’s personal parts.

  “Probably shouldn’t take our clothes with us,” Mary Jordan said. “When he comes back to get dressed, he’ll know we were here.”

  We shoved our clothes back into the bag, except for our underwear. We tucked our bras and our panties into Mary Jordan’s backpack, hoping Doug wouldn’t notice.

  Evie opened up the bottle of Tabasco sauce.

  “Let me,” Mary Jordan said.

  Mary Jordan dabbed some onto the stretchy fabric covering Doug’s plastic armor and smeared it all around with her fingers. The three of us started blowing on it to make it dry faster.

  “You can barely tell,” I said.

  “You sure it’s going to work?” Mary Jordan said.

  “It’ll work,” Evie said. “Just as soon as he starts working up a sweat.”

  She placed Doug’s belonging back in his duffel bag; then the three of us hurried outside, where we met up with Tante Pearl in front of the school.

  “I can’t remember ever having been so eager for a baseball game to begin,” Tante Pearl said.

  We started walking around the school to the baseball field. I’d been so caught up in our locker room mission that I hadn’t paid any attention to my aunt’s attire until that very minute. She wasn’t wearing her camouflage dungarees or a blouse with cutoff sleeves. She had on a blue-and-yellow-print skirt and a white knit top.

  “Tante Pearl, you’re wearing a skirt,” I said.

  No sooner did I stop to stare at her than Mary Jordan and Evie stopped to stare at her, too.

  “Been born again,” Tante Pearl said. She kept walking. We followed behind her.

  Mary Jordan said, “You been going to church?”

  All my life I hadn’t seen my aunt so much as set her big toe in a church.

  “Lord knows I’m no Pentacostal,” Tante Pearl said. “But yes, ma’am, I’ve been born again.”

  “Well if it isn’t the Holy Spirit, just what is it you’ve been born again in?” Evie said.

  Tante Pearl stopped walking to catch her breath and wipe the perspiration from underneath her big brown eyes. “When I was a little girl, I used to swing with my meemaw on her front porch. One night she asked me if I knew what God was. I said, ‘Why, Meemaw, he’s big and he’s got eyes all over his head.’ I said that on account of my mama always telling me God could see everything I was doing. Meemaw got to chuckling. ‘Well, he’s big all right,’ she said. But she felt pretty sure I didn’t have it all right. ‘God is love,’ she told me. ‘Soon as all those church folks and evangelists get their notions about Him straightened out, the world just might get straightened out, too.’ She said when you’re feeling loved or you’re giving love away, you might as well be looking God in the face, ’cause He’s all around you.”

  Mary Jordan said, “I never thought about it like that before.”

  Evie said, “I never thought about it like that before, either.”

  Lately I was learning a lot of new things about my aunt. I’d never known Tante Pearl to have a religious bone in her body. I’d never known her to have an opinion on love, either.

  She rubbed her fingers down the sides of her yellow-and-blue skirt and rolled up the sleeves on her shirt to cool off her arms. “Yes, indeed, I do believe I’ve been feeling the good Lord these days,” she went on to say.

  “Who is it you’ve been feeling the good Lord with?” I asked.

  Tante Pearl smiled. She turned away from me and started walking toward the baseball field as if she had no intention whatsoever of answering my question.

  “Tante Pearl!” I said.

  “I guess you could say I’m being a little careful.” She kept right on walking.

  “Careful of what?” Mary Jordan asked.

  Tante Pearl slowed as we approached the field. “My life has always felt like a coarse little piece of sand,” she said. “Now it feels like a pearl. I guess I don’t want anyone making me feel like a piece of sand again.”

  I was still just as curious as ever about the new love in my aunt’s life, but I had a feeling I shouldn’t press the matter anymore. Though my aunt seemed about as happy as I’d ever seen her, I felt sad that she hadn’t felt like a pearl all along. I also knew she had just spoken a wealth of wisdom about love. My relationship with Tommy had been the closest thing to love I’d ever come, but he’d never made me feel beautiful inside. Whoever it was in my aunt’s life, I was glad that he had found her. It was high time she felt like a pearl, one big, beautiful Pearl.

  Tabasco Sauce

  The Trudeau Tigers’ baseball field sits back about a hundred yards from the school building, with aluminum bleachers behind the batter’s box. By the time we reached the field, the players had already finished their laps and were heading back to the locker room via a shortcut off of left field.

  “I don’t know why it is they put these bleachers behind a fence,” Tante Pearl said.

  “That’s for our protection,” Evie told her. “So we don’t get hit by a ball.”

  We climbed up to the back row and took our seats. Mary Jordan said, “You know, Miss Balfa got hit by a ball once. Knocked her clear upside the head.”

  “No, she didn’t,” I said.

  “Yes, she did. Billy told me so.”

  Mary Jordan’s brother, Billy, used to play for the Trudeau Tigers. He would probably know.

  “What was she doing at a baseball field?” Tante Pearl asked.

  “Miss Balfa goes to all the games,” I said.

  The visiting team was on the field warming up. It wasn’t too long before the Tigers appeared, stashing their gear in the home-team dugout. The game was about to begin.

  “Which one’s Doug?” Tante Pearl asked.

  Mary Jordan said, “Catcher. Number eleven.”

  The Trudeau Tigers took to the field. All four of us squinted our eyes toward Doug as he squatted behind home plate. It didn’t look like that Tabasco sauce was having a bit of effect.

  The first batter for the Lakers struck out. As he was walking back to the dugout, Miss Balfa strolled up to the bleachers in the brightest pair of pants I’d ever seen.

  “What’s she trying to be, a jack-o’-lantern?” Tante Pearl said.

  Miss Balfa’s slacks were fluorescent orange, and her shirt looked like a tourist souvenir from Hawaii. She had a large straw purse hooked over her arm. When she saw the four of us on the top row of the bleachers, she decided she’d join us.

  “Don’t usually have someone to sit with,” she said as she sat down beside me.

  She pulled out a tube of zinc oxide, dabbed some underneath her eyes and over the entire surface of her nose, then passed the tube to me. “Lucy, I swear your nose has a hint of red to it.”

  “Miss Balfa, it’s after seven at night. I don’t need any sunscreen protection.” I handed the tube back to her.

  The second batter hit a high fly out to left field, giving the Tigers another easy out.

  “You sure we put enough sauce on his thing?” Mary Jordan said.

  “We used up more than half the bottle,” Evie declared.

  “Used up more than half the bottle of what?” Miss Balfa wanted to know.

  Tante Pearl took it upon herself to inform our guest. “Mary Jordan thought she just might light her boyfriend’s fire.”

  “Light his fire with what?” Miss Balfa asked.

  Evie pulled out the
bottle of Tabasco sauce from her shorts’ pocket.

  “Oh, I do declare, there’s hope for this generation yet,” Miss Balfa said, laughing.

  The third batter hit a fly foul after a ball and two strikes. The left fielder caught that one, too.

  Our eyes were glued to Doug as the teams changed positions.

  “He’s grabbing himself,” Evie said.

  Mary Jordan said, “No, he isn’t.”

  “He is, too,” Evie said.

  Sure enough, I thought he was adjusting himself a little.

  The first batter for the Tigers hit a single, stirring up a rowdy applause from the bleachers. The second batter got walked. Again fans made a raucous fuss. Doug strode up to the batter’s box. He was one of the Tigers’ strongest hitters. The first pitch was outside. Doug stepped out of the box and adjusted himself a little more, then stepped back up to the plate. The second pitch was a curveball. The ump called a strike. Again Doug grabbed at himself. Evie began to laugh. Miss Balfa got to her feet. The rest of us did the same.

  “This is it,” Miss Balfa said. “I can feel it.”

  Sure enough, a fastball was pitched, Doug’s favorite, and he took an even swing with all his might, sending that ball soaring up in the air out past center field. All the Tiger fans and players hooted and hollered while Doug took off for the bases. No sooner had he rounded first base than he grabbed hold of his southern region like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and his two feet started running faster than I’d ever seen them run.

  Evie started singing “Light My Fire,” by the Doors. Mary Jordan and I joined in, all three of us belting out the chorus. Doug had hit a home run, which sent up more cheers. We continued singing our hearts out as he rounded third base and was heading home. By now he had both hands over himself. The team tried to high-five him, but he barreled right through their little rally, off the field, past the dugout, and over to the school.

  We got to laughing so hard, Evie let out a snort, Tante Pearl backfired, and I felt sure Miss Balfa was going to have herself a cardiac arrest.

  The Birds and the Bees

  Mama once said the heart is like a vessel carrying all sorts of important cargo, the kind that no one knows about, the kind that can sometimes make you cry, and the kind that can determine the type of person you are. I thought about her words the day after the ball game, when a young woman I’d never seen before walked into Daddy’s shop. She had long straight hair that was probably blonde at one point but now resembled the color of dirty sand. She was wearing jeans and a white baggy T-shirt that looked like the ones at the bottom of Daddy’s laundry basket. Her skin was smooth and washed out, just like her hair and jeans. She had a way about her that let me know she’d never been in the store before, pausing at every item and acting a bit shy. I could hear my mama in my head saying that girl needed some renovation. Maybe that’s why she’d come into Daddy’s store. She picked up the tester bottles of perfume, holding their tips to her nose, but not going so far as to spray any on her skin. Then she walked over to Ethel Lee’s Amour Cosmetics’ counter.

  Ms. Pitre and Miss Balfa were sitting at a large table trying to arrange dried flowers. By the way they’d gotten quiet all of a sudden, I knew they were watching the woman, too. I wished Ethel Lee was there, but she was taking her day off, and Daddy was in the back of the store preparing flowers for a funeral, which meant I’d have to help the woman. I was hardly a makeup connoisseur. This woman wasn’t wearing any. But as I walked past Miss Balfa to return an item to one of the shelves, she nudged me in the hip, then jerked her head toward the customer. Ms. Pitre cleared her throat and did the same. Of course, as soon as she cleared her throat the woman looked our way.

  “Let me know if you need any help,” I said, then felt something inside me cringe, because the word “help” was written all over this woman’s face.

  “I want a new look,” she said, her voice sounding all tied up in her throat.

  I’d never helped someone find a new look before. All I’d ever done was stock shelves and help Daddy with the flowers.

  “What kind of look?” I asked her.

  The woman took in a deep breath. “Well,” she said, exhaling the air slowly. “Something to catch my husband’s attention, I suppose. Things haven’t been the same since our daughter was born.”

  Miss Balfa said, “Haven’t you heard of cyanide? Add a few drops to his coffee in the morning. Works every time.”

  At that, the woman smiled, and I was feeling very thankful for Miss Balfa’s and Ms. Pitre’s presence, as I didn’t have a clue how to help some woman capture a man’s attention. Like I knew how myself.

  I think Ms. Pitre read my mind. “Let me help you,” she said, scooting her chair out from the table. She walked right up to that woman and, placing her hand on the back of the woman’s elbow, steered her toward a stool at Ethel Lee’s makeup counter.

  “Consider the Garden of Eden,” Ms. Pitre said. “It’s no wonder Adam and Eve found themselves in the midst of sin when you consider how colorful it was.”

  This woman wasn’t slow. She caught on to Ms. Pitre just fine, and was even laughing a little.

  Miss Balfa cleared her throat mighty loudly. “There’s underage listeners in our presence, mind you.”

  I joined Miss Balfa at the table, deciding I’d just watch Ms. Pitre in action.

  “What’s your name?” Ms. Pitre asked the customer.

  “Savannah.”

  “That’s a lovely name,” Ms. Pitre said.

  “Savannah what?” Miss Balfa wanted to know.

  “Savannah Banks.”

  “Isn’t your husband the new drama teacher?” Miss Balfa asked.

  “You know, I just love to act,” Ms. Pitre said.

  And so they took that woman right into their friendly circle. Ms. Pitre brought out the makeup and made over the young mother’s face. By the time she was finished, she’d sold Savannah a hundred dollars’ worth of Ethel Lee’s cosmetic goods. Then she got to talking to her about adding color to her wardrobe and showing off her legs.

  “You know, a man always appreciates a good set of legs on a woman,” Ms. Pitre said.

  I got to thinking about my own legs, wishing I could take them down a few sizes. I was as tall or taller than most of the boys in my class. I hadn’t dated a whole lot, and I was certain it was because of my height. Mama once told me that height can sometimes intimidate a man. She said I’d need to find me somebody big in character, which might take me a while, because a lot of boys didn’t arrive at their character till much later in life.

  I looked over at Miss Balfa. She’d been a bachelorette all her life, and as I considered her in her fluorescent purple attire, I got to wondering why she’d never married, and because I was wondering, I asked her. “Miss Balfa, did you ever think about getting married?”

  Ms. Pitre answered for her. “It’s like feeding chickens,” she said. “If you scatter the feed too fast, they all run away.”

  It wasn’t Miss Balfa’s nature ever to be quiet. She jumped right in. “Well, now, if you’re going to go taking your sweet liberty to compare me to some animal, I’d just as soon have you compare me to a deer, long and graceful. I’d like to see some man try and catch a deer without a rifle in his hand.”

  Ms. Pitre said, “You know, Paul Harvey once got to talking on his radio broadcast how everybody’s got some animal that best suits their individuality.”

  “That’s like people and their dogs,” Miss Balfa said. “You ever see how some man with jowls always has himself a bulldog?”

  Savannah laughed. She wasn’t looking so helpless anymore, and I got to wondering what kind of dog I looked like. Probably a Great Dane.

  Ms. Pitre stood back to take a look at Savannah. “Sweet child, you are a beautiful young woman.”

  The ladies in our town were always using words like sweet child and honey child, and I wondered if I’d be doing the same thing when I got to be their age.

  “I think she nee
ds to see Noel. Have him do something with her hair,” said Miss Balfa, who never was one to hold back an opinion.

  Next thing I knew, I was on the phone with Sweetbay Hair Benders, making an appointment for our new customer. When I got off the phone, Ms. Pitre and Miss Balfa had not only taken it upon themselves to rearrange Savannah’s appearance but her evening hours as well.

  “What they need is some time alone without the baby,” Miss Balfa said.

  “Mm-hmm,” Ms. Pitre said.

  I hung up the phone, only to find all three of them looking straight at me.

  “Lucy’s a fine babysitter,” Ms. Pitre said.

  “Aside from my husband, I haven’t left Mattie alone with anyone,” Savannah said.

  “Well, honey, it’s about time,” Miss Balfa said. “Don’t you know bringing a baby into this world leaves you with two children to attend to, an infant and a man, both as helpless as the other?”

  “I’ll babysit,” I offered.

  And so it was agreed that I would stay with Mattie, the Bankses’ five-month-old daughter, while Savannah surprised her husband with a date out.

  Savannah said they lived about a mile away on the edge of town. “Do you need a ride?” she asked me.

  “No. I can ride my bike.”

  Savannah stopped at the front of the shop before leaving. She ran her hands over the lingerie.

  “You might want a little nightcap after your evening out,” Ms. Pitre said. “Did you see the white negligee hanging in the window?”

  “I thought you said the Garden of Eden had color,” Miss Balfa said. “I’d go with something red.”

  Or orange or purple or okra green, I thought. Miss Balfa had the most colorful wardrobe of anyone I knew.

  “Red certainly captures a man’s attention,” Ms. Pitre said.