Once we got on the road again, Aunt Lila doled out buttered cornbread with peach preserves and whole deviled eggs made from halves she had stuck back together and wrapped in waxed paper for the trip. There were jars of sweet tea with lemon and a bag of ginger snaps. She passed us a wet washcloth when we finished. Rayjeana got carsick so we had to stop two more times for her to throw up. Mother said more than likely it was just a bad case of nerves.
The contest was held in a school auditorium on the edge of Charleston. The master of ceremonies, a tall, skinny man whose pants were so short I could see flashes of his bright yellow socks, introduced the first model. Her hair was finger-waved back into a cascade of silver blue curls. The style was “Niagara Falls,” but he pronounced it “Niagara Fallth.” Vonnie looked at me and rolled her eyes. Then came a blonde woman with her hair braided into a lattice design. That hairdo was named “Heidi,” which he could say just fine. The next model had black hair lacquered into a smooth fat bun, with chopsticks crossed in it. She wore a red satin housecoat wrapped with a stiff wide sash to look like a kimono. This one was called “Geisha Girl.” He said “Geitha Girl.” There were a bunch more hairdos, but “Geisha Girl” was the only one I was worried about. I noticed her wood shoes were the kind I’d seen on pictures of Dutch girls. I didn’t know if that would count against her, but I hoped so.
Finally Rayjeana, wearing the long lavender-blue dress she’d made for prom the year before, floated onto the stage. Her hair was back-combed into a bird’s nest swirled high on top of her head. She curtsied, dipping low to show off three egg-shaped curls inside the nest. A blue-feathered bird, one I’d last seen on our Christmas tree, perched on the side.
“Thith lath one here ith ‘Bluebeard of Happineth,’ ” the man said.
Vonnie kept digging her elbow in my side, but I didn’t dare look at her for fear I’d bust out laughing.
There was a smattering of applause.
Huddled together, the judges looked at index cards they’d made notes on and shook their heads up and down or sideways, depending on which hairdo it was they were talking about. Finally the man with the yellow socks asked the beauty operators and their models to line up on stage for the winners to be announced. I don’t remember who got honorary mention or third place, but Geisha was the second place winner. I held my breath.
“And the firth plath winner . . . Bluebeard of Happineth!”
Mother and Vonnie and I let out a big whoop and embarrassed ourselves when people turned around to look at us. Aunt Lila and Rayjeana, still on stage, were more ladylike.
On the way home we imitated the yellow-sock man saying the words all funny and getting the name of the hairdo wrong. Mother told us to quit it right now, that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for mocking somebody’s affliction, but she had laughed too, although she claimed it wasn’t about that at all.
I thought Aunt Lila’s trophy was a beauty, but she said that wobbly thing was so tacky she had half a mind to let them put “Bluebeard of Happineth” on it. I said oh, no she couldn’t, but oh, yes she could if she wanted, she declared, now mocking me. We laughed at that and at Mother’s imitation of the look on the slack-jawed man’s face when she changed the tire. And when Vonnie told about getting whacked by the commode seat, we laughed some more.
Mother said we were all right giddy from the excitement.
Rayjeana said if she laughed anymore she was going to pee her pants. “That’s just your nerves again,” Mother said, but she pulled into a diner called Karol’s Kupboard just in case. Since we were already stopped, Aunt Lila offered to treat for supper. I ordered a fried baloney sandwich on white bread with potato chips and a cherry coke, foods Grandma wouldn’t allow. Mother gave us each a nickel to play the jukebox attached to the wall of our booth. She wouldn’t let me play the Andrews Sisters singing “Drinking Rum and Coca-Cola,” although I didn’t know why not; it was on the radio all the time. So I played something else, but I don’t remember what.
I yawned wide.
Mother said for me to close my mouth before a moth flew in.
Words blurred into faraway sounds that made no sense. Something about remembering to check the oil and yellow socks and the sandman. My eyelids closed over gritty eyes, and I soon fell asleep with my head on Vonnie’s shoulder.
I dreamed I was just like my Aunt Lila, except I was driving the car as I waved to Lana Turner and Rayjeana, a long black cigarette holder between the fingers of my perfectly manicured hand.
20
The Living and the Deaf
Grandpa was just back from a trip to the Beaver sisters’ general store. He watched Grandma pull sugar and flour and coffee and Crisco out of the paper poke and set it on the table. The last thing out was a can of Clabber Girl baking powder.
“Clev, surely you know I don’t use anything but Rumford.” There was an accusing edge to her voice.
“Couldn’t be helped. They were all out.”
“Well, don’t ever buy that Clabber Girl again. That stuff’s not fit to eat.”
With all the baking that went on at our house, it wasn’t long before me and Grandpa were sent to the store for more baking powder. When we got back, Grandma unpacked the
