Small Town Girl

thousand ways. But the requests never stopped. Nor did people seem to understand the protocol of sending a stamped, self-addressed return envelope when they wanted a reply. Some didn't even understand that it was ridiculous to expect her to fulfill their wishes, which were sometimes ludicrous.

Today's packet of letters included one from a woman who came right out and stated that she couldn't afford to buy CDs and would Tess send her her last two? Another woman invited her to come down to Coral Gables, Florida, to sing at a retirement home because all the ladies there just loved Tess's records, and they would just love to meet her; twelve letter writers wanted to know how she got started; two asked for the name of her agent; several wanted to know where they could buy Tess's past albums (had they never heard of asking in a record store?). One chewed her out for the lyrics on her new hit single, 'Cattin',' because it condoned loose sex, which was immoral. An English teacher from Bloomer, Wisconsin, took her to task for all the double negatives in country lyrics in general.

There were, of course, many kind words in the fan mail, yet the negative ones left a longer-lasting aftertaste. It was just after Tess had been chewed out for the double negatives that Mary woke up complaining, 'Why didn't you wake me? I missed the beginning of 60 Minutes. I never miss 60 Minutes.'

'Well, you didn't tell me, Momma. How was I supposed to know?'

Perhaps Tess would have been more patient with her if it hadn't happened at that particular moment.

When Mary was settled on the sofa in front of the TV, she added, 'And suppertime was at six, too. What are you making for supper?'

'Chicken breasts and rice.'

'No potatoes?'

'No. Rice, I told you.'

'But I always fix potatoes with chicken.'

'This chicken is different. I marinated it and I'm going to broil it.'

'It gets dry that way.'

'Not if you don't overcook it.'

'Broiling always makes it dry. I like mine fried.'

'Mother, you don't fry marinated chicken, you broil it or grill it.'

'Well, I don't have a grill, and besides, I never liked the flavor of charcoal anyway.'

Tess sighed. Domesticity being her short suit, she was doing her best here.

'Do you want me to go to the store and buy you a piece of chicken so I can fry it?'

'The store's not open on Sunday night.'

'Well, I could thaw one in the microwave then.'

'Heavens, no. I wouldn't put you through all that trouble.'

'But you just said-'

'No, I guess I'll have to eat mine however you're fixing yours.'

But when Mary sat down to supper, distaste was written all over her face.

During the meal Tess attempted to broach the subject of Judy's jealousy and how it hurt her, but Mary said, 'Don't be silly. Judy's not jealous. She was in the kitchen washing up the dishes while all the rest of us were having fun.'

So that's how it went at mealtime, always disagreements about what Tess chose to put on the table, always differing opinions when they tried to talk. The yellowed plastic doily reappeared in the middle of the table and stayed. Tess couldn't believe her mother had retrieved it from the garbage, but there it was, looking as warped and discolored as ever.

Tess loved her mother, truly she did, but she was beginning to realize that as Mary aged she was becoming argumentative and persnickety about lots of things. She wanted to have her way. Maybe her hip was hurting, maybe she missed her privacy, maybe Tess wasn't the best cook in the world, but damn it, she was trying.

Starting on Monday they established a routine. Every day Tess helped her mother with physical therapy. Every day she watered the garden and fetched and carried, and did laundry and housecleaning and errands, none of which she enjoyed, and with much of which Mary found fault. Every day Kelly Mendoza sent an express packet that required Tess's attention, be it signatures, decisions, phone calls or simply reading. It became difficult to find a time when Tess could compose on the piano because during the mornings she was busy, and during the afternoons Mary watched soap operas on TV, and in the evenings there was prime time, followed by bedtime during which Tess hesitated to use the piano for fear of keeping Mary awake.

On Tuesday Jack Greaves called and said, 'The new song is a winner and so is the other voice. Is it that high school girl's?'

'Yes. Her name is Casey Kronek. I thought you'd like her.'

'So what's on your mind, Tess?'

'I'll let you know.'

On Tuesday night choir practice started at seven-thirty. An hour beforehand, Tess bathed, washed her hair, spritzed Jean-Louis Scherrer eau de toilette on her neck and behind her knees, dressed in a denim skirt and white shirt, and hooked a pair of silver discs in her ears. Tricia had been commandeered into staying with her grandmother and arrived when Tess was putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She came and lounged against the bathroom door-way. 'Wow, Aunt Tess,' she said, 'you look sensational.'

'Thanks.'

'Smell good, too.'

'Some new perfume I just found last month.'

Tricia watched as Tess finished outlining her lips with lip liner and began filling them in with a lipstick brush.

'Going to a lot of trouble just for choir practice, aren't you?'

Tess checked the results in the mirror. Her makeup was perfect, her lip line crisp. 'It's about maintaining an image. People expect you to look a certain way when they see you out in public.'

It wasn't about that at all. It was about impressing Kenny Kronek, though Tess wasn't exactly admitting that to herself yet.

She walked out of the house with fifteen minutes to spare and was halfway to the alley when the man himself came out of his own house heading in the same direction. They caught sight of each other and felt a connection that kept their footsteps brisk and their gazes locked as they continued toward their cars, which were both sitting out.

'Hiya,' she said jauntily, reaching her Z.

'Hiya,' he answered, reaching his Plymouth.

She felt spunky and a little flirtatious and decided to test out her wiles on him. 'I'm goin' to choir practice, where you goin'?'

He caught her mood and squinted at the clear violet sky. 'Full moon. Thought I'd go out and bite a couple necks.'

'You all alone?'

'Yes, ma'am,' he drawled, opening his car door.

'Where's Casey?'

'Gone already. She picks up Brenda and Amy on the way.' Those were the girls Tess had met after church on Sunday.

'Shame to take two cars when we're both going the same way. Wanna ride with me?'

He slammed his car door and crossed the alley. 'You bet.'

'You won't bite my neck, will you?'

'Might have to, to steal your car.'

'Get in.'

Inside the Z, they both buckled up and settled low in the leather seats, like riders in a bobsled. She started the engine and shifted into reverse.

'Boy, this is nice, and this time I mean it.'

'Meaning you didn't the last time?'

'We both had attitudes that day, didn't we? The car's incredible, Tess.'