Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Page 37

  “Lawanda, oh Magnificent One, spirit Siddalee and Vivi Walker away from this hot blacktop parking lot! Return us to the untamed green jungle from whence we came!

  “Are you ready?” Mama asked. “Are you willing?”

  “Yes, Mama! I’m ready. I’m willing!”

  “Then open your eyes! Open your eyes and witness Vivi and Sidda of the High and Mighty Tribe of Ya-Yas as they commence their great escape on the back of Royal Lawanda!

  “Great Scott! Look at this! Lawanda is jumping the ditch! She’s out of the parking lot! Oh, my God! I don’t believe it! We’re crossing the highway. Sidda, look at them, will you?! Just look at those people jumping out of their cars to watch! Oh, they’ve never seen the likes of an elephant breaking free with Ya-Ya royalty on her back!

  “We’re too much for them! Wave to the people, Dahlin, wave like the Queen and Princess we are.

  “Oh yes! We’re on the Lawandamobile! Listen to her roar and trumpet! Hold on now! Look at her! We’re charging across the highway, faster than a plane! Past the beauty shop, past Hampton’s Funeral Home, where the sight of us stops all the mourning! Past The Thornton Daily Monitor, which has never touched news this big! Past Father’s old law offices, past Whalen’s Department Store, where there’s nothing we want to buy anymore! Past the River Street Café, and—

  “Oh! Oh, Buddy! Hold on to your hat! We’re climbing up the side of the levee now! Look! The sky is fading to blue-purple and filling with stars. There’s the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. There’s Pegasus! Reach up, Buddy, scoop down some stars with your hand! Up here on Lawanda’s back, we can touch the heavens!

  “Into the Garnet River, now, the red flowing river. What a mighty swimmer! Feel how Lawanda submerges, breathing through her snorkel trunk! Even alligators know better than to mess with Lawanda! She could stay down longer, but she surfaces so we can breathe.

  “Oh, no! Look up on the levee! It’s the jealous pissants, gunning for us. They’ve got their spears, they’ve got their guns! Well, they will not take our ivory trunks, they will not take our broken hearts! We are not trinkets to put in a jewelry box! Oh, no, they’ll tell their children’s children about us, Buddy! The mother and daughter team that got away!

  “Come on, sweet, strong Lawanda, you can do it! Just a few more feet to the other side of the river where safety awaits. Ah, yes, yes. We made it. Now we can rest. Now rest, Sweet Big One, that’s it, rest, eat all you want.

  “My darling daughter, we’re finally here! Home in the wild, green verdant jungle. Do you feel the velvet air?! Do you feel it on our skin? Do you smell the bananas and ancient trees? Do you hear the rare birds and millions of monkeys? Do you see them swinging from tree to tree? This is our true home, no need for air conditioning, no call for cash, just walking barefoot all year long. Where the trees and animals know our names and we know theirs. Yesssss! Say it, Sidda! Say it with me: ‘Yesssss!’ There is nothing, anywhere, to be afraid of! Lawanda loves us and we are not afraid!”

  Sidda paused for a moment. She looked down at the key, which still lay in her hand.

  “All we had done was circle that puny shopping-center parking lot, but when that ride was over, I was a different little girl.

  “We climbed back into the T-bird and drove down Jefferson Street in the early darkness. I looked at my mother behind the wheel, barefoot and humming. Without taking her eyes off the road, she reached out her hand and placed it on top of mine. Her skin was cool and soft. We drove past the familiar landmarks we saw every day. But the world outside our car seemed charged with mystery, all new and unknown.”

  Sidda glanced at the key one last time. It’s life, Sidda. You just climb on the beast and ride.

  Then she crossed to Connor, took his champagne jelly glass out of his hand and sat down in his lap, facing him. She began to kiss him all over, while at the same time unfastening the jumper she’d put on after their swim.

  They began their lovemaking on the deck, with Sidda still straddling Connor. Then they moved to the bedroom. When she closed her eyes, Sidda felt like they were a satellite tumbling in wide-open space, and this did not scare her. For once it did not scare her to open to this man, to herself, to the endless wide universe she had no control over. This time, when their pleasure joined, Sidda did not weep. She laughed out loud, the way a child does when she is deeply and completely delighted.

  After Connor fell asleep, Sidda got out of bed. She walked into the big room and chose a cassette tape from her collection of music. Bringing a small boombox out onto the deck, she poured herself the last of the champagne. She slipped in the home-edited tape she’d made of Aaron Neville singing “Ave Maria” over and over. She stood naked in the moonlight.

  My mother and I are like elephants, she thought. In the stillness of night, out of sight, out of acoustic range, separated by barren, dry savannas, my mother has been sending me messages. In my dry season, when I froze in the face of love, my mother did not abandon me. My mother is not a stage character to be fathomed from fragments, and I am not a scrawny, anxious child waiting for her perfect love. We are each flawed, and in search of solace. Mama longed—still longs—to bust free of the hot, dry place where fear keeps her frantic and bourbon keeps her hazy. She still longs to return with me on the back of a graceful beast to the fertile jungle where wild things flourish.

  Sidda held the glass of champagne up so she could see the bubbles in the moonlight. My mother is not the Holy Lady, she thought. My mother’s love is not perfect. My mother’s love is good enough. My lover’s love is good enough. Maybe I am good enough.

  Twenty minutes or so passed before she spotted a shooting star. Then a meteor shower filled the sky. Sidda stood perfectly still, watching and listening. Hueylene came out to sit at her feet. The sky was so clear, the setting moon so kind. There were no city lights to interfere. The meteor light from so very far away was older than she could even imagine. There was nothing to figure out. There was Sidda’s heart beating. There was the heart of the planet beating. There was enough time. She was not afraid.

  30

  Connor and Sidda sat out on the deck in their shorts and T-shirts after having slept till noon. Van Morrison played on the CD and Hueylene was almost sobbing she was so happy to be eating bits of bacon that Connor snuck her from his plate. He had cooked Sidda’s favorite breakfast: fresh sour-dough French toast with maple syrup.

  Pausing for a minute to look at her lover and her dog against the backdrop of the lake and the mountains and the trees, Sidda felt a shiver of happiness. “Thank you, Connor,” she said. “For listening. For loving me.”

  He gave her a slow smile, then put a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. “What’s this Vivi birthday shindig the Sisterhood was talking about?”

  “The Sisterhood?” Sidda asked, smiling.

  “The Ya-Yas,” Connor said. “If you and your mother are like elephants, then the other three of them are the sister elephants. You know, the ones that tag along and help mothers with the calves.”

  “You amaze me.”

  “Hey, I watch Public Television. When is Vivi’s birthday?”

  “It’s actually in December. But this year they’re celebrating at the end of October because Mama wants an outdoor party when the weather’s still good.”

  “Why don’t you return her scrapbook to her in person?”

  Sidda put down her fork and stared at Connor.

  “Are you nuts? She’s still enraged about The New York Times. She’ll kill me on sight.”

  “You know,” Connor said, “no one would ever suspect you worked in the theater, Sidda.”

  “Am I being melodramatic?” she asked, laughing. “Moi? Never.”

  “Of course not,” Connor said.

  “Of course not,” she said.

  “I don’t hear much about your dad,” Connor said, reaching for his cup of latte. “He must be a brave man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on,” he said, “marrying a woman as str
ong as your mother. Finessing his own way through that band of women. What’s the French word for sisterhood? Communauté de soeurs.”

  Sidda helped herself to a slice of cantaloupe. She thought of how much she’d missed her father. “He was never around much. I’ve been so obsessed with my mother I guess I haven’t paid much attention to Daddy.”

  “You might want to,” Connor said. “Teensy told me you’ve got his eyelashes.”

  “Teensy said that?”

  “Yep. Said your mother’s lashes ‘disappeared when she swam.’ She told me that while we were in the lake.”

  Sidda shook her head. “God only knows what else they told you when I wasn’t listening.”

  “You have no idea,” Connor said.

  Unable to resist, Sidda dipped her finger into the remaining maple syrup. Then she put her finger in Connor’s mouth for him to lick it off.

  “You know,” she said, “October is my favorite time in the South. There’s nothing like Halloween in the Gret Stet of Loosiana.”

  “Necie said she’d cook for me,” Connor said. “Teensy wants to introduce me to Cajun music, and Caro has already challenged me to a whistling contest. I hear Louisiana calling.”

  “October,” Sidda said, thinking out loud. “Harvest time. Not too hot, perfect weather. We’ll be done at the Rep. The American Playhouse project will be under control.”

  Connor McGill winked at Sidda. She winked back. She fed Hueylene the last scrap of bacon. Then she stood up, walked to the railing overlooking Lake Quinault, and flung her arms wide into the air.

  “Are you listening, Holy Lady?” she called out. “Gods and Goddettes? Angel-gals? Thank you for making Connor McGill and me the same species. Thank you for his kisses sweet as Aaron Neville’s falsetto! Thank you for not knowing, for guessing, for leaping into the dark!”

  “I take it that means we’re going to Louisiana together,” Connor said.

  “Uh-huh,” Sidda said. “Shots and passport up to date?”

  “I like to live dangerously,” he said.

  31

  September 8, 1993

  Dear Mama,

  I have never properly thanked you for lifting me up onto Lawanda’s back. For our trip to the wild jungle, for your bravery, for the way you were true to me on that hot blacktop of the Southgate Shopping Center. There is a lot I haven’t thanked you for.

  The Ya-Yas told me about your early birthday party in October. Would an out-of-town daughter and her sweetheart be welcome?

  Thank you also for the crayfish meal you sent. It was your kitchen, it was the best of Louisiana distilled into one dish. It moved me to tears.

  I love you,

  Sidda

  September 16, 1993

  Sidda Dahlin—

  I do deserve to be thanked. But so does Lawanda, Mother of Us All. Glad you remembered something good for a change.

  As for my birthday, you’ll have to take your chances. I have no idea of whether I’ll be in a welcoming mood or not. It’s my birthday, and I’m not in the least bit interested in having the party scrutinized in the national media.

  You must let me know about your wedding—is it on or what?

  Love,

  Mama

  September 20, 1993

  Dear Mama,

  Wedding plans are still on hold. We’ll just play the party by ear, what do you say?

  I love you,

  Sidda

  September 26, 1993

  Sidda Dahlin—

  Life is short, Buddy. Don’t keep your wedding on hold too long or you won’t have anything to hold on to.

  As for my early birthday party at Pecan Grove on October 18, which starts around seven in the evening: I play everything by ear.

  Love,

  Mama

  On the night of October 17, the day before she and Connor were scheduled to fly from Seattle to Louisiana, Sidda very carefully photographed the old snapshots and memorabilia contained in the scrapbook of “Divine Secrets.” The photo she took the most care with was a picture she hadn’t discovered until she’d returned to Seattle. Tucked into the folds of one of the back pages was the image of a woman, blonde with dark eyes, holding an auburn-haired baby girl in her lap as she sat on a porch swing. Each of them was dressed in a fetching summer dress, and back-lit by the sun. Sidda photographed the image several times. With each advancement of the film, she dropped deeper into an appreciation of the moment recorded on that Southern swing. When she finished photographing the image, she turned the snapshot over and photographed the inscription on the back. In Vivi’s hand were written the following words: “Vivi and Sidda, 1953. A beautiful day, a pink dress. Photo by Buggy.”

  After finishing eight rolls of film, Sidda closed the scrapbook and set it on the dining-room table. On either side of the album, she set sanctuary candles, one with an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe and one with a depiction of Saint Jude. She lit both candles, turned out all the lights, and said a little prayer of thanks to the Holy Lady and her angels. Tenderly, she took the “Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood” album, and wrapped it in a silk pillow case, and placed it in a gallon-size Ziploc bag. Then she tucked it into her carry-on bag, along with a tiny, gift-wrapped package.

  For the fourth time since she’d boarded the plane, Sidda checked her carry-on to make sure the scrapbook was still safe. Then she took a sip of her Diet Coke and settled back for the flight.

  “Have I lost my mind?” she asked Connor. “I mean, Vivi Dahlin still sounds angry. There’s no telling what will happen.”

  “Your mother doesn’t own Louisiana,” Connor said.

  “Yes, she does,” Sidda said. “She is the Queen of Central Louisiana. But she’s getting old. She won’t live forever. I want to see her.”

  “What do you want from this visit?” Connor asked.

  “Oh, just the perfect healing of all wounds, transcending of all pain. That sort of thing. What do you want?”

  “To marry you in your hometown.”

  Sidda choked on a peanut and quickly reached for a quick sip of her Diet Coke. When she recovered, she said, “I’m not going to touch that right now. Okay?”

  “Definitely do not touch it right now,” he said. “Not in public.”

  As they flew over the heart of the country, the earth tinged by the reds and golds of October, Sidda and Connor played game after game of gin rummy, betting everything from trips to Tuscany to back rubs to little private pleasures only the two of them knew how to broker. They didn’t stop playing until the Boeing 707 landed—just barely—in Houston, where the weather had grown melodramatic. A mean, exciting storm born somewhere off the coast of Africa had Houston in its grip.

  Sidda’s perfectly calculated plans—to arrive in Thornton in plenty of time to check into their lodging, shower, change, and make a shining entrance just as Vivi’s party kicked off—were blown off course. During a three-hour wait in an airport café, Sidda had plenty of time to wonder if her reentry into the land of tropical depressions and storms was a crazy mistake.

  “It is hurricane season, after all,” she told Connor. “We should have never attempted to make this trip. Jesus.”

  “The last time you were home—when was that—couple of years ago? That was October too, wasn’t it?”

  “Right,” Sidda said. “My goddaughter Lee’s baptism.”

  “No hurricane then, right?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, “just your run-of-the-mill psychic squalls and mental typhoons.”

  “Well,” Connor said, testing her, “maybe we won’t make it after all. Maybe we should just check into a hotel here in Houston.”

  “Are you kidding? And miss the birthday party?! No, no, no, if that plane doesn’t take off soon, we’re renting a car and driving.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  “Smarty pants.”

  When the small puddle-jumper plane from Houston to Thornton was cleared for take-off, Sidda took it as a sign. Visibility has incre
ased: this means my mother will not kill me.

  By the time the plane landed at Thornton’s tiny airport, it was almost ten o’clock at night. They rented a car, cracking up when the only one available was a big silver deluxe Chrysler New Yorker Fifth Avenue with burgundy leather interior.

  When they turned off Highway 1 onto Jefferson Street, Sidda wished she smoked. “Cocktail hour has come and gone,” she told Connor. “No telling what shape Vivi Dahlin will be in. Daddy either.”

  “You know how to wing it.”

  “Yep,” Sidda said, trying to control the nausea, “I know how to wing it, but I’d sure as hell rather have a finished script in my hands.”

  At the sight of her parents’ home, Sidda slowed the car to a crawl. The long brick house on the rise above the bayou looked different than it did in her memories. The pine trees seemed taller. The pecan trees and azaleas were older, and ivy now covered almost the whole back side of the six-bedroom brick house. Everything felt more settled and peaceful-looking than she remembered.

  She could see the small wood frame house at the edge of the field, where Willetta and Chaney lived. Something about that little house helped her keep driving toward the much larger house in which she’d grown up.

  “We’ve made it this far,” Sidda said, creeping the car up the long drive, “I guess we might as well at least drop in.”

  She slowly drove past the bayou to the front of the house. The first thing she saw as she turned off the motor was her parents. They were sitting on a wooden swing under two old pecan trees in the front yard. White Christmas lights were strung around the swing set, and Vivi and Shep sat inside their glow. Vivi was wearing a rust-and-gold-colored silk pants suit, her ash-blonde hair cut in a smart page boy, which swung from side to side as she moved her head. Shep wore a pair of light gray Dockers and a blue-and-gray-plaid shirt. They both had aged in the past two years.

  Sidda watched for a moment as her mother gestured animatedly with her hands. She did not recognize the person sitting in an Adirondack chair opposite the swing, which surprised her. Sidda believed she should be able to recognize every person in her hometown, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t actually lived there in over twenty-five years. There were very few other cars. Most of the guests had already left.