Ever since I woke, I’d been assailed by doubt and misgivings. “I’ll be happy if it’s just not a sand bucket,” I said.
“Aw, naw, you’re going to do just fine, idn’ she, Zell?” he boomed.
“Well of course she is!” my aunt answered smartly. “And I want your solemn word right this minute, James Ashley Smith, that you’ll be home at Thanksgiving so you can see her swearing-in.”
“Already got it on my calendar, Miz Ozella.”
I knew the conversation was about to get mooshy-Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash sometimes act like they were married only four months instead of forty years-so I got off the phone and went up to brush my teeth and find something fitting to wear.
The flowered dress and cherry tunic I’d laid out the night before looked too sweet-sixteenish this morning; and I was rummaging in my closet when Aunt Zell called up that she’d see me later. “Now don’t forget to come vote- early and often!”
I finally settled on a red-and-white houndstooth skirt with a red patent belt, red patent heels, white silk shirt, and navy blue blazer. Bright red lipstick and bright red earrings.
I looked patriotic as hell.
Reid arrived at the office just as I was leaving for court, took one look at my clothes, and offered to send over to the little theater for an Uncle Sam top hat.
Everybody’s a comedian.
The polls opened at 6:30 a.m. and closed at 7:30 p.m. It made for a very long day.
Judge Harrison Hobart managed to keep his feelings reined in as I walked a couple of misdemeanor larceny cases by him. Now that primary day was upon us and he was barred from running again, the old fossil had decided to go out with dignified formality.
Judge Perry Byrd was a different horse altogether.
A horse’s ass, to get more specific.
With his broad face more florid than usual, he was sarcastic and snide and nitpicked every motion I made in the routine breaking-and-entering I had to argue before him. As soon as he’d rendered a guilty verdict and I’d given notice of appeal, I got out of his courtroom before I said something we’d both regret.
Most everyone around the courthouse wished me luck and swore that they’d either already voted for me, or surely would before the polls closed. I took it with a grain of salt big as a cow block and drove on over to the fire station.
Lunch hour had filled the polling place with familiar faces, and the usual jokes and glad-handing went on as we waited in line to vote. One of my high school classmates was tending the Republican register. “I’d wish you luck, Deborah, but you’re sitting in the wrong pew.”
“That’s okay, Kath,” I smiled. “Can’t everybody sing with the angels.”
We still use paper ballots in Dobbs. One of the party elders handed me this year’s sheaf of seven IBM cards and a soft pencil, and I went into an empty curtained booth to mark my choices. Aunt Zell was posted by the machine at the end and she smiled at me encouragingly as I fed in my ballots one at a time, face down.
“I’ll be home soon as the polls close,” she promised. “Folks’ll probably start coming in before nine.”
I told her I hoped she hadn’t fixed all that fancy food for nothing.
“Family’s going to come whether you win or lose,” she said. “But you’re going to win! You’ll see. Now go have some lunch and quite worrying.”
Following Aunt Cell’s advice, I drove through a fast-food lane, ordered a cheeseburger with everything, fries, and a drink, and took them back to the office. Sherry eyed the yellow-and-red bag hungrily when I came through the door.
“The phone hasn’t quit ringing all morning,” she said. “I haven’t had a minute to go eat.”
Since most of the calls were well-wishers for me, I guiltily pretended I’d been thoughtful and brought her lunch. “I couldn’t remember if you liked it all the way or not,” I lied, “but maybe you can scrape off what you don’t want.”
My appetite was gone again anyhow.
“Now isn’t that nice of you!” said Sherry, flipping on the answering machine before heading for the kitchen. “And you can just go right on in and work in peace,” she added officiously. “I won’t put through any phone calls unless they’re real business.”
Both Reid and John Claude were out, so I had no excuse to idle around the place, and Sherry was right in hinting about the work that needed my attention. There were pleadings to write, depositions to read, motions to draft, but I couldn’t concentrate. The afternoon dragged along on little snail feet, and the few calls that got past Sherry were more than welcome.
Eventually, the grandmother clock on my mantelpiece limped its way around to four-thirty and I was ready to pack it in when Reid stuck his handsome face in the door and started humming “Hail to the Chief!”
“Idiot!” I laughed as my spirits began to rise again.
“So what time do the games begin?” He pushed his way on in, followed by John Claude, who had to carry the firm’s mantle of dignity by default.
“Aunt Zell says around nine, but y’all can come on anytime. You, too, Sherry,” I called through the open door. “Bring that good-looking boyfriend, too, if you want.”
“Does that mean I can bring Fitzi?” asked Reid.
“What the hell’s a Fitzi?” I laughed. “That blonde we didn’t see yesterday morning?”
“Hey, you really didn’t see that particular lady,” Reid warned. “All the details of her divorce settlement haven’t been worked out yet and-”
“Dammit all, Reid!” John Claude was past pained shadows and into outright indignation. “You promised!”
“Promised what?”
“You know very well what,” our senior partner said icily.
“I promised not to fuck any more of our clients.” Reid’s face was that of an innocent child unjustly accused. “You didn’t say I couldn’t fuck Ambrose Daughtridge’s.”
“She’s Daughtridge’s client?”
“Well, of course. Didn’t I give you my word?” He drew himself up and put on an exaggerated drawl. “A Stephenson never breaks his word. Suh, you have impugned my honoh as a gentleman.”
“A gentleman doesn’t use the f word in front of a lady,” John Claude said crisply.
I gave Reid my fiercest glare before he could make the obvious rejoinder.
By ten o’clock, Aunt Zell’s whole downstairs was jammed with people. From the kitchen to the front veranda, it seemed like Knotts and Stephensons were there in their thousands, and Smiths and Lees in their ten thousands. Not to mention half the neighborhood.
The initial returns were in and just as I’d hoped, the two white men had knocked each other out of the race. Luther Parker and I were the front-runners, predicted to wind up with fifty-three percent of the vote, although our actual finishing positions were too close to call. Sherry had gone over to the courthouse, stationed herself in the lobby outside the board of elections office, and kept calling over with the figures till it was clear that the runoff would be between Luther Parker and me.
I finally managed to get through to him and we congratulated each other and someone on an extension line- whether his or mine I couldn’t tell-exclaimed, “And may the best man win!”
Parker chuckled. “You might want to rephrase that, Miss Knott.”
The party swung into high gear after that, despite the lack of anything harder than sparkling cider and iced tea. The dining table was loaded with platters of finger food, and there was too much laughing and talking to hear myself think. Minnie was so ecstatic about me passing the first hurdle that she wanted to sit down in the middle of all the hoopla and start mapping out the rest of my campaign.
“Not tonight!” cried Seth and grabbed her hand and danced her out into the wide central hall where fiddles and guitars were tuning up on the staircase.
Further up, near the landing, a bunch of teenagers-cousins, nieces, and nephews-camped on the staircase to watch their elders play. They always start out too cool to join in. Nevertheless, I saw toes tapping and signaled to my brother Haywood’s youngest son, eighteen now and a senior at West Colleton High. Stevie turned red, but he eased past his daddy, who was cutting loose on the fiddle, and met me at the bottom of the stairs. Someone had carted out the Persian rug that usually covered the parqueted floor and we two-stepped up and down the hall,
