She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother Read online

  Without any emotion or guilt, Da-Dee sat with Jay and in a matter-of-fact manner, as if he were telling the boy a time-honored adage, stated, “Son, there are just some things you don’t ask your wife to do.” And that was that.

  “Well, I definitely believe in genetics, that’s where he got it from; the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree,” Moozie quoted.

  After a few ample sips, Mother sat up, mustered every bit of strength, and announced, “I don’t know how or why, but I don’t want a divorce, I don’t believe in it. I took a vow, and I will stand by it.”

  It was at this moment her life changed forever. Some people crumble in the face of betrayal and adversity, but somewhere in her stealthy Southern DNA was the fortitude to survive, no matter what the circumstances. This inner strength would serve her well throughout her life. She realized that she didn’t want to be a victim, but rather a victor. Not knowing why or how, Gayle Batt was going to survive.

  Moozie, still reeling from the news, said, “Damn it to hell, this is an outrage, we have never had anything like this in our family.”

  At that, the other three ladies gave Moozie an all-too-knowing look. It was common knowledge that others had stepped out, but of course not her sainted late husband, Dick.

  “Aughhhhh!” Gayle screamed, shocking all in her presence. “I just want him to hurt like I do. This is not fair. Hell, life is not fair, that’s what I keep telling the boys, but this is … shitty!”

  “Gayle, language,” Moozie chided.

  “Sorry, Mother, but it is. I want to get even … not in that way, I could never be unfaithful, or could I?”

  “Gayle!” Moozie exclaimed, shocked.

  “Mother, you know me. Vilma, you too. I just don’t know what to do.”

  She started to break down, but instantly she forced herself not to cry. Suddenly stoic, she said, “I’ll be damned if this is going to get me.”

  Vilma loved hearing that affirmation. Now, Aunt Vilma always had a wonderfully wicked side; unlike Mom, she could play the game, and her wheels were turning so fast they were audible.

  “Sister, I know how to get that SOB where it hurts, in his wallet. If you are sure that this can be worked out, then I say let’s scurry downtown, have a delicious lunch at Galatoire’s, and then you pillage Adler’s.”

  For generations, Adler’s on Canal Street was the preeminent jeweler of New Orleans. The finest and most current as well as classic designs were featured at this Southern treasure chest of gold, diamonds, pearls, and every other precious stone or metal imaginable. Mother nodded softly, and Moozie took her hand in her own gloved one, offering Vilma the other, and they were off to seek bejeweled revenge on the man who had done her wrong.

  Before entering Galatoire’s, a historic mainstay of cuisine, Moozie whispered to her daughter, “Now, honey, powder your face and fix your lips, you never know who you’re going to see here, and I don’t want anyone to suspect anything, you just pull your shoulders back, lift that pretty chin and give me that smile, you’re going to be fine as wine, just fine.”

  Gayle came to a halt as she saw the leaded-glass doors that bore the monogram of the famed classic creole restaurant. As she gazed at the entrance, the very place she and John had spent numerous evenings, Vilma knowingly reached for Mom’s purse, producing a compact and powder puff, then began the translucent application. Next she gently handed her the frosted coral lipstick, slowly turning the mirror so that Gayle’s reflection appeared. She gasped as her eyes started to well.

  “Little sister, Mother is right, you have to go in there as if nothing has happened, walk in and smile as if you’ve not a care in the world. If you can’t, we can just go home, but darling, aren’t you just craving some delicious oysters en brochette and shrimp rémoulade?”

  She grinned as Moozie chimed in, “And some soft-shell crab and their divine trout meunière almandine. And Bloody Marys all around.”

  With that she accepted the lipstick, arched her back, lifted her chin, and assumed the traditional mouth formation for applying lipstick. Her top lip stretched widely across, covering her front teeth, and the bottom lip pulled up, covering the bottom teeth, all the while dabbing the pigment with tiny feminine strokes. As soon as she’d finished rubbing the top and bottom lips together, she made a little popping sound as the lips parted.

  Vilma produced a lace monogrammed handkerchief. “Voilà! Blot, s’il vous plaît.”

  Gayle replied as the sisters had always done, purposefully murdering the French language, “Mercy buckets.”

  And together they locked arms, took a deep breath, and just then the doors were flung open for their entrance. Passing the tourists waiting for a seat, Moozie whispered softly in the maître d’s ear. He smiled, gesturing the party to follow, “Of course, Mrs. Mackenroth, and how are you and your lovely daughters today?”

  “Just ducky, dear.”

  As they made their way into the heart of the bright tiled and mirrored room, they were greeted by numerous friends and acquaintances; there were smiles and waves and air kisses.

  Quickly the busboy brought glasses of iced water and hot French bread, and he was followed by Nelson, who had been our family waiter for generations. Nelson served my grandparents, my parents, and later me. Each family had its own assigned regular waiter. He beamed as he spoke with a hint of a Cajun accent, “Ah, Miss Hazel, and Miss Vilma, and Miss Gayle, how could I be so lucky to have the three most lovely ladies in New Orleans at my table no less, I tell ya, cher, my cup she runneth over. So I’m gonna drink from the saucer, now speaking of drinking, what can I get you three for some drinks? Pimm’s Cup, Kir Royale, or some Bloodys?”

  “Three Bloodys,” Vilma ordered, “but make mine gin, Nelson, would you please?”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Coming right up. Let me tell you some of the specials. We got a pompano meunière almandine with lump crabmeat on top that is fantabulous, and my favorite, soft-shell crab that are so fresh their little claws are just playing the piano.” Nelson demonstrated by dancing his fingers like a crab playing a piano. “And of course we got trout, all the regulars, and your favorite, Miss Hazel, chicken Clemençeau. Let me suggest soft-shell crabs for the girls, the chicken for you, Miss Hazel, soufflé potatoes béarnaise, shrimp and crabmeat rémoulade, and oysters en brochette to start? Sounds good?”

  As was, and still is, the practice for locals, menus are rarely needed, and Nelson knew what they loved because the ladies all nodded.

  “Very well, mon cheri, I’ll be back in a flash with your drinks.”

  Suddenly, Vilma’s face fell as she scanned the noisy room. She whispered quietly through a pleasant smile that never moved, “Oh my hell, here comes the aptly named Doris Strain, I am not in the mood, all she talks about is herself or something plain awful that befell her dearest and closest friend or money. Tacky witch. My word, she is intolerable. No wonder her husband turned homosexual. Oh yes, common knowledge. Audubon Park shelter number four. Please don’t come over, oh please oh please … Oh, hello Doris dear,” Vilma drawled, pure saccharin.

  Doris was the sort of person who read reviews of theatre and books rather than experiencing them herself, then would quote the critics as if their words were her own. Although she was president of the Opera Guild, she knew nothing about opera and actually had to take No-Doz to remain awake during Carmen, no less. The only reason she vaguely recognized the melodies was because of reruns of Gilligan’s Island that featured the classic Verdi score as the basis for a musical version of Hamlet.

  “Hello, ladies, Miss Hazel, Miss Gayle, what brings y’all to the Quarter today?”

  They all knew better than to answer, because before they could even start, she went on, “I am having lunch with some dear college sorority sisters from Jackson, and then we are going to have a good ol’ time spending our husbands’ money over by Holmes’s for a start.”

  A telltale sign of class level in the Big Easy lay in whether one pronounced the name of the popular d
epartment store D. H. Holmes in the possessive. Doris continued, “I intend on wearing down the little letters on my New Orleans Shopper Card. Do y’all have one? It’s a dream, I tell you, a modern miracle of a dream. They just put these letters on your plastic card …”

  Moozie mentioned that they all had a New Orleans Shopper Card, but it went unnoticed as Doris continued rambling. So Moozie just buttered the hot French bread before it cooled. She wasn’t about to miss out on one of her favorites because of this overprivileged, underaccomplished twit.

  “… G is for Godchaux’s, K is for Kreeger’s, MB is for Maison Blanche, and so on. And they just send the bill. Just like here, don’t you just love having a house charge at restaurants? We have one at all the ones we love, it just makes it so much easier, not having to deal with dirty cash. I love just saying ‘house charge,’ it’s so much more refined, like a country club. Gayle, we missed you at the Crippled Children’s Hospital Guild meeting this morning, and both you girls don’t forget the Protestant Home for Unwed Mothers tea on Thursday. I tell you, my darling hubby is a living doll, he really is, I don’t know what I did to deserve such a sweetie, I honestly don’t. I am a member of a bajillion organizations, president of two, vice president of one, and secretary of another, and he never complains about all the fundraisers and galas and all that jazz. Not a peep. I do declare he is an angel, an angel on earth. Did you all hear about Sue and Pierre? Separated. He was shacking up with something on the side just blocks from here.”

  Mother stared past Doris and muttered the word “Angel.”

  With this, Doris stopped flapping, pulled her head back, and squinted, saying “I beg your pardon, Gayle dear.”

  Vilma took her wounded sister’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as if to revive her from this trance.

  Mom smiled and tilted her head slightly, took a sip from her recently delivered drink, and sighed, calling forth ever so slightly Olivia de Havilland’s Melanie. “Well, Doris, it must be just heaven, having an angel for a husband.”

  Moozie could stand no more. She’d never liked this woman, no one did. They all tolerated her, but that was about to come to an end. Besides, this was not how she intended to pass this particular luncheon. She said, “I don’t know about you, but I always like a little devil in my men. Get my drift, honey?” She emphasized the word “devil,” raising an eyebrow and buttoning the comment with a wink and a bite of celery.

  This retort came as quite a shock to her daughters, but more to Doris, who feigned a giggle that ended as she snorted, “Oh, Miss Hazel, you are a card, and you must be dealt with.”

  Moozie’s dander was up, way up, and luckily for all present, Miss Doris quickly spotted another victim across the chatty den whose lunch she saw fit to sour. And with a faux smile punctuated by insincere air kisses, she mercifully fled to a table of unsuspecting oversized-hat-wearing ladies who lunch.

  “Well now, it is quite clear she has mastered one-half of the art of conversation,” Moozie said as she buttered another hearty bite of bread, letting the crumbs fall to the white tablecloth, as is the custom at Galatoire’s.

  Vilma added, “See, somebody always has it worse than you. I mean, I wouldn’t want to dance in her shoes, even if they do cost an arm and a leg—and that makeup!”

  “There is a limit to what a single solitary eyelid can bear,” Moozie declared as they both giggled like schoolgirls.

  “Oh, sister, come on, it’s just a little cat-talk, and honestly, Mother, you were in rare form, two for two!”

  Mom thought for a second, and shook her head softly. “You know, I never could gossip, I just don’t like it, ever since I was a little girl and Reverend Storm gave that sermon where he talked about how gossip was like cutting open a down pillow on a windy day, and trying to take it back would be like getting all those feathers back in the casing—impossible, and just because of a few words. Well, I don’t want them to talk about me that way, especially now, so how can I?”

  “You know I was just trying to make you laugh, take your mind off things,” Vilma defended.

  “I know, and I love you for it, both of you. But that woman is hurting, and so am I, we just show it in different ways.” She took a long sip of her Bloody Mary, then popped an anchovy olive in her mouth and continued, “Dr. Waters calls that compensating; some people go overboard in the opposite direction to avoid the truth. He says it’s a manifestation of—”

  Moozie interrupted, “Oh, for crying out loud!” Just as Nelson arrived with their meal, “And thank the Lord, Nelson, you got here just in time.”

  While Moozie was diverted by the appetizers, Vilma winked and shrugged to Mom as she had done since they were children, and Mom returned the gesture; it was their code, their mutual comment on their mother.

  After the delicious meal and café brûlot dramatically served flaming from a silver bowl with awe-inspiring ladle dexterity, the ladies made their way to Canal Street, to Adler’s, for the true purpose of the mission.

  Mom paused for a moment under the grand bronze clock that landmarked the classic nineteenth-century structure, but instantaneously her cohorts locked arms on either side and marched her through the heavy glass doors, up to the main jewelry counter, where Mr. Wally stood poised for the sale.

  He smiled. “Always a pleasure, Mrs. Batt, ladies. How may I assist you today?”

  Then the feeding frenzy began. Brilliant diamonds and creamy pearls can sometimes take one’s mind off the everyday pains of life, at least for a few minutes. Some women have a weakness for shoes, some for designer clothes, some for furs. My mother’s passion is jewelry; she simply adores it. Mr. Wally presented diamond clip earrings set in gold, composed of many pear-shaped, top-quality stones that fit the shape of her ear to perfection. “Those will do,” she muttered. “To be honest, I’ve had my eye on these for a while.” The suggestions and commentary came rapid-fire, so much that Mr. Wally didn’t know whom to answer first, nor could he get a word in edgewise.

  “Those are heaven.”

  “You think so? They’re not too much?”

  “John will kill me.”

  “Just let him try.”

  “Oh, look at those, my stars, they are breathtaking, how many carats?”

  This banter and flurry continued for what seemed like an eternity for Mr. Wally, but it was really under an hour. In the end, the girls decided on the diamond and gold clips, because they could be worn during the day to a dressy luncheon. However, Moozie made it clear that she didn’t care for the new jewel rules; diamonds were not for day-wear, despite what the Duchess of Windsor said. But they were all in agreement on the pearls, a double strand of opera-length with a diamond and gold clasp that complemented the earrings and allowed many options for wear.

  Mom nodded. “Thank you, Wally, you have been a dear, I’ll take it. Oh, and ‘house charge’ Pontchartrain Beach. Please make sure the bill goes to my husband’s office.”

  “That’ll get him,” Moozie whispered.

  When they arrived home, Mom’s face lost all color as she saw my father’s car in the garage. She started to sink, but when Moozie stopped, she quickly hopped out, thanking them for everything but explaining that she had to do this alone, no matter how difficult.

  They blew kisses and lovingly told her she would be fine, to just stand her ground, and call as soon as possible. Carrying her handbag on one arm and the small shopping bag on the other, she approached the front door and, rather than ringing the bell, began the characteristic fruitless search for her keys, when Dad suddenly opened the door.

  His face was drawn and his eyes glassy and bloodshot, but not from drinking. She stared into his eyes, eyes that she had loved since her junior year at Newcomb College. She stood at the threshold and looked at their home in a completely different light. She asked softly, “Where’s Oralea?”

  “I gave her the afternoon off.”

  “Where are the boys?”

  “Riding bikes. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

  She
stepped into the foyer, letting the door slowly close behind her, not saying a word.

  “She means nothing to me, it was only once.”

  “Once was enough.”

  “I never meant to hurt you, you are the only woman I’ve ever loved, please forgive me.”

  Even though his words sounded clichéd and cinematic, his delivery was sincere. She knew this man, now she knew even more, maybe more than she wanted. She had heard of other men’s affairs, and had thought it could never happen to her, but it had. But that was just it, it had, past tense, and it would not happen again. Somehow the words just came out. Although she had rehearsed a perfect rant in her head, the words were soft but crystal-clear and sharp as razors.

  “I will be able to forgive you, one day. But I swear, John, if you dare do it to me again, you will regret the day you were born. Now, we will never speak of it again in this house.”

  “Never?” he asked hopefully, questioning his good fortune.

  “Oh darling, we will discuss it, once every week, just not in this house. I called Dr. Waters and he has recommended a marriage counselor, so now we will have a standing appointment. And if you are a good boy, I may one day let you take me to lunch before it.”

  “All right.” Dad sighed. He didn’t like it, but it was fair. A few tense moments passed, then he noticed the Adler’s bag.

  “Honey, what’s in the bag?”

  “Just a few baubles to help ease my pain.” She turned to face the gilded mirror above the console, opened the boxes, and slowly adorned herself with the new gems. “I hope you don’t mind, I sent the bill to the beach.”

  “But Gayle, how am I going to explain that to Dad?”

  She spoke to the reflection in the mirror. “I honestly don’t know or really care, but somehow I have a feeling he’ll understand, Johnny. Have you taken a good look at your mother’s brooch collection? Look at the fire in those diamonds, five carats total.”