Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Twelve

I sat out in my car for a minute and watched Sheila through the glass front of the bagel shop. This was not the Sheila I knew, the headstrong teenager who stomped out of my house and all over my heart a mere eleven months ago. Sheila had evolved into someone else.

The girl I watched had straightened her curly red hair and now wore it slicked back in a ponytail, just like the other girls in the upscale Irving Park shop. She'd toned down her makeup so she'd look "natural" like the others, not like a vampire runaway. I had to admit it was a positive physical improvement, but at what cost to my little rebel's freethinking spirit?

The Bun and Bagel was no redneck, lard-cake bakery. There wasn't a bun in the place that smacked of squishy white bread and Vienna sausages. It was wholesome, a quality I much dislike in my baked goods. Give me a hunk of greasy yellow cornbread with bacon drippings any day of the week.

Sheila saw me coming and seemed to cringe.

"Pretty uptown little shop," I said, stepping up to the counter in front of her.

"Hey, Mama." She smiled weakly. But like every child with something to hide, she didn't meet my eyes. This was made all the easier by her bagel cap. Designed to look like a bagel, it slid down lopsidedly onto her forehead, giving Sheila the appearence of a drunken angel.

"I need to talk to you, honey. Tell your boss you need to take a little break."

Sheila looked frightened. "Now?" she asked. "I can't right now, Mama. I'm working and we're swamped."

I looked around. There was one customer in the store, a woman in a fur coat, being waited on by another girl. I looked back at Sheila, raising my Mama-don't-buy-that eyebrow.

"All right." She sighed. "Mary Catherine, I'm taking a break for a second." She used a chatty little tone I'd never heard before, and pitched her voice an octave lower than usual. It was her version of an upper-crust accent, and it cut me to the quick. What was happening to my baby?

Sheila flung her cap down onto a stool and brushed past me, headed for the door. She walked past the storefront and around to the side of the tiny brick building where the girls inside couldn't see her. She was fumbling in the pocket of her bagel apron, her hand closing around a telltale rectangle.

"When did you start smoking?" I asked.

Sheila looked guilty. "I only smoke every now and then," she said. She looked up at me, and for a second I saw the Sheila I knew. "I know, I know. It's bad for me. It might even kill me one day if I do it until I'm as old as you and Daddy. But I'm only smoking now and then."

I couldn't believe it. Sheila'd always been so health-conscious, A sudden memory of her rushed back. It had been only a few months back, on the porch with Jimmy. She'd been getting onto him for smoking. What had changed her?

"Why are you smoking? Do all your new friends smoke?" That's what it was. Sheila wanted to fit in more than she cared about her health.

"No, Mama." She sighed. "Don't hardly a one of them smoke." She had lapsed back into her deep, country accent.

"Well then?" I stood waiting for an answer, forgetting all about my true agenda.

Sheila just shrugged her shoulders. If none of her fancy friends smoked, then who was she hanging around with who did? The image of Jimmy tossing his cigarette out into my front yard returned. He'd laughed at Sheila's earnest attempt to make him quit.

"That's not why I came to see you," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tiny garnet and gold ring. "Look what I found."

I watched her face, carefully. Mama used to say the truth was like a doorbell. She'd never elaborate, but I always took it to mean you shouldn't go poking at it and running away. The truth has a way of catching up with a body. I didn't want to see Sheila's face mirror a lie, but that's what happened.

She swallowed, groped for her cigarettes, let go when she remembered that she was facing her mother, and then tried to smile. It was a pathetic performance to a mother. It might've fooled a stranger, but not me.

"I wondered where I'd left that!" she said, reaching out to take it. I folded my fingers over the ring and snatched my hand back. "Hey!" she cried, trying to look puzzled and hurt.

"Not so fast," I said. "How'd you lose it?"

Sheila shrugged her shoulders again. "I don't know! God, Mama, if I knew how I lost it, it wouldn't be lost!"

"Young lady!" I started, then thought better of it. "Let's fish or cut bait here, Sheila. Is this what Keith was looking for in my house?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she insisted.

I leaned back against the cold brick of the wall and watched my daughter lie to me. How had we come to such a place? Hadn't I been tucking her in bed, her arms wrapping around my neck, her "I love you" echoing in my ears, just a little while ago? When did this adolescent demon take over her body?

"I haven't seen Keith in weeks!" she cried. "And it's all your fault!" I watched her thinking up her next lie. "I probably dropped it in your car, or in my room the last time I was over."

"When was the last time you were over?" I asked softly.

"Three weeks ago, you know that." Somewhere in the middle of that statement, Sheila saw the trap, realized there was nothing she could do to help herself, and continued on into it.

"Sheila, I found this ring next to the bathroom sink. It wasn't there before I left for work the day your Uncle Jimmy died."

"Well, I don't how it got there then," she said, her voice weakening, her eyes fixed on the traffic out on Battleground Avenue.

"There was a two-hour window of time between when I left for work and when the police say your Uncle Jimmy was killed. Now if you were in the house, I need to know about it. Honey, you might have seen or heard something that will help the police find Jimmy's killer."

Sheila's eyes widened, and her face paled. "Me? What makes you think I know anything?"

She was lying. Don't ask me how I knew, but she looked straight at my face and continued to lie. "I wasn't there. I don't know how my ring got there!" Her voice took on a distinct edge of hysteria, and her neck had flushed a bright, beet red that clashed with her hair. "I don't know anything about who killed Jimmy. I didn't hear a thing! I didn't see nothing!"

I reached out for her arm, but she jumped backward, her eyes widening and her breath coming in short little gasps.

"Honey, calm down!" But she couldn't, or wouldn't.

"What is it, Sheila?" I asked. "What's wrong? Talk to me, baby."

Sheila moaned and started to walk past me.

"No, Mama. It's nothing. I gotta go."

"Sheila!" I reached for her, and she let me stop her.

"Mama, I told you, I don't know anything about Uncle Jimmy." This time she looked me in the eye, but her look was far scarier than her lies. She was looking through me. "No matter who asks me, no matter what they try and do to me, I won't say any different, to anyone. I don't know anything! I didn't leave my ring at your place." Her voice was low and deliberate, as if she were a zombie, delivering a rehearsed line. "You can just keep it! I never want to see it again!" The edge of hysteria was creeping back into her voice.

Her eyes softened for a second. "I love you, Mama," she said, "no matter what happens, no matter what anybody says. I love you." A tear slid over her eyelid, running through her artfully applied makeup and leaving a pale liquid streak behind.

My heart was racing, breaking in half at the same time. I grabbed for her but she was gone, almost running back into the shop.

I would've gone in after her if I'd thought it would've done any good, but I knew better. Sheila was like me, stubborn. If my back was against the wall, I'd come out swinging. My gut instincts told me that my little girl was cut from the same cloth. It would be pointless to go after her.

I started back to the Bug, tears blurring my vision. If I'd had any doubts about my decision not to pursue Sheila into the shop, they were wiped away as a large panel truck rolled into the parking lot. Vernell Spivey was impossible to miss and the truck he drove made it a certainty that he'd be noticed, even on a foggy day.

Vernell drove a two-ton panel truck with a satellite dish mounted up on top. The truck was painted bright fluorescent orange with the words SATELLITE KINGDOM spelled out in huge black letters. VERNELL SPIVEY, THE SATELLITE KING was written in slightly smaller letters on the driver's side door. A painted profile of Jolene the Dish Girl, pointing to a huge dish-her largest attributes almost overshadowing Vernell's product-adorned the side of the truck.

As I watched the truck glide across the parking lot, drifting inevitably toward my little Bug, I saw Vernell's latest addition to his advertising campaign. I knew then that the Vernell Spivey who had come to the Golden Stallion dressed in a powder blue polyester leisure suit was not just a passing apparition. Nope, Vernell was having some kind of personality transformation, and from the looks of it, this was serious business.

The satellite dish mounted on the top of his truck had been painted with a tableau depicting Jesus, his arms outstretched and a tearful look on his face. At the very front of the truck, on the hood and just below the longhorn steer horns, Vernell had mounted a set of loudspeakers. I did not take that small detail in until I heard the music and Vernell's voice flooding the air around me.

"Wait right there, sister," he crowed. "I bring great tidings from the land beyond." I froze as organ music blared. Behind the windshield I could see Vernell, a microphone in his hand and a wild look in his eyes.

I stood absolutely still, hoping against hope that he hadn't been speaking to me. Anyone within a ten-shop radius of Vernell's truck also stopped, frozen like possums in the middle of a south Georgia highway. My eyes were drawn to the satellite dish. It was a darn good rendering of Jesus. The arm that extended out from the dish, curving back in toward the center, had been painted gold, probably in an attempt to look like some stick Jesus was using in his work. I couldn't figure it out and didn't want to know.

Vernell, for his part, was clambering down out of the truck, which he had stopped just behind my Volkswagen. I could only imagine Sheila's reaction inside the shop. She was probably trying to pretend she didn't know us. I could hardly blame her.

Vernell still wore the leisure suit, although it was now much the worse for wear. His ruffled shirt had lost a few buttons and the suit was stained with paint. Vernell wasn't looking any too sober, either. Even though it was approaching the traditional cocktail hour, it was apparent to me that Vernell's happy hour had begun long before noon.

His hair was mussed, he sported a black stubble of a beard, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Maggie!" he cried. "I was jess looking for you." He slurred his speech slightly. This was another serious sign. Vernell could hold his beer. He even did a pretty good job with liquor. But when he'd crossed the line, Vernell began to lose his capacity for speech. He could still walk, and many folks would think he'd had a few, but no one knew how much liquor it took to make Vernell appear drunk. I knew. He'd at least finished a fifth of the hard stuff, probably Jack Daniel's.

"Come here, you! I gotta talk to you!" He'd made it to my side, but now seemed to sway slightly.

"Sit down, Vernell," I said, pulling him down to the curb that ran alongside Sheila's store. He didn't have much of a choice once I got the momentum swinging downward. He sank like a sack of potatoes.

"Maggie," he said, his whiskey breath coating my face. "Jimmy's dead,"

"I know, Vernell, remember? You came to see me last night."

Vernell looked confused. "I did?"

"Yeah, Vernell, you did. You were liquored up, just like you are now." And just like you always were, I thought.

"Maggie," he said again, paying no attention to what I'd said. "I saw him!"

"Who, Vernell? Saw who?"

Vernell shot me a look like maybe I hadn't been paying attention. "Jimmy! He come to see me last night!"

Poor Vernell. Now he was slipping into the d.t.'s.

"Honey, Jimmy's dead."

Vernell gave me that look again. "Don't I know it!" he said loudly. "Of course he's dead! How else could he've found himself and received his true gift?"

"Vernell, how long have you been drinking?" Vernell was bad to go off on these kind of binges. Every three months you could count on it, and in between then if he was under stress. Jimmy's death must've set him off good.

"Listen to me, Maggie. We're gonna be partners, you know. You gotta listen."

I sighed and prepared to give Vernell time to talk until he ran out of gas. It was the only way when we'd been married, and it was obviously the only way now.

"You listening?" he asked. I nodded. "Good then," he said, and we were off to the races. "Jimmy came in a vision, Maggie! He was all dressed in pink robes!"

"Pink?"

"I know what what you're thinking," he said, nodding. "It's supposed to be white. I told Jimmy the same thing and he said, 'That's what all you people left behind think! Don't a one of you know, 'cause you ain't dead!'" Vernell went on. "Well, I couldn't argue with that, especially not when he told me what the Lord wants me to do! The Lord is working in my life, Maggie. He has a great vision for me, and dawg, if it ain't an inspired business vision to boot!"

I was starting to have a bad feeling, a way-down-deep-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach bad feeling.

"Lookee up there," Vernell said, pointing to the satellite dish. "Jimmy says, 'Vernell, the Lord wants you to spread his message. Vernell, paint the dishes.' I said to him, Taint the dishes, what kind of talk is that!' But Jimmy explained it all. He said if I painted the dishes in His likeness, then one and all would receive him."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I just shook my head.

"I know, I know," Vernell said, seeing my reaction. "I told him I couldn't even draw, but Jimmy said I had the gift now. He even told me what kind of paint to use, so's we wouldn't affect the transmission. Latex. Get that? Latex. Jesus even knows about paint! "

"Vernell," I said, trying to interrupt, but he went right on.

"So look, Maggie! It's a damn good likeness, don't you think?"

I looked back over at the truck and nodded wearily. It was a damn good likeness, all right.

"And best of all? This'll sell. Why, do you know I took sixteen orders right here today? In Greensboro? Why, honey, we'll spread the word all over the world."

I didn't like the way Vernell kept saying we.

"What's Jolene think about this, Vernell?" I asked.

Vernell shook his head and spat out into the parking lot. "Jolene don't know shit!" he pronounced. "She thinks the best thing I can do is take you to court."

"Me? Vernell, hello, we're divorced. Why're you gonna take me to court?"

"On account of what Jimmy did." He looked over at me as if to say "The jig's up."

"Vernell, I told you Jimmy and me were never any more than friends, and not even good friends."

"Not that! Although, that's probably why he done it. Maggie, Roxanne's the one who found it! You couldn't hide the truth away from us forever!" I was trying to get a word in, but Vernell was on a roll. "Sure, I was madder than a coot owl when Roxanne told me, and she's still fit to be tied, but eventually I had to accept it. We've gotta work together. And you know what?"

"What, Vernell?"

"Maybe it's God's way of working a miracle in my life." Vernell started to cry.

"All right! All right, Vernell Spivey, I've pitied you and babied you enough. Now you reach down in your drunken soul and you pull yourself together I want to know what you're talking about, and I want to know now!"

Vernell raised his tearful eyes and reached his hand out to touch my arm. "Maggie, Jimmy's done left you his share of the business, you and Sheila; Don't you know?"

I shook my head in disbelief.

"If I recall correctly, Roxanne said he left a copy of his will at the house and he said half of everything him and me co-owned was for you, and half for Sheila, on account of how he told you he'd take care of the both of you." Vernell's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is there something I ought to know about Sheila?" he asked.

"God Almighty knows!" I said, jumping up off the curb and whirling around to face Vernell. "You Spiveys'll dog a girl from the grave! Hellfire! No! I had no idea and I didn't have an affair with your brother!"

Vernell smiled sadly. "It don't really matter none now, Maggie. Jimmy's dead and you and I are gonna be partners in the mobile home business. It's fate, Maggie. Pure T fate."

Not my fate! Not my future! I was so mad, I couldn't even begin to take it all in. Damn that Jimmy!

"Come on, Vernell!" I cried. "Get up!"

"Where're we going?" He had a foolish grin on his face, just the way he used to when he'd come home drunk and think he was going to get lucky.

"Vernell, I am taking you home."

"I knew it!" he whooped. "I knew you still wanted me!"

I stared at the pitiful wreck of a man in his scruffy polyester, with his stinky breath, and shook my head. What had I done to piss off the universe?

I tugged him up off the curb and headed for my car, only to face the panel truck blocking me in.

"Give me your keys," I demanded. When he didn't move, I stuck my hand in his pants pocket and pulled them out. Vernell giggled. "Shut up and get in that truck! I'm driving, so don't even think about getting behind that wheel. You're knee-walking, dog drunk!" Vernell giggled again.

"I always did love it when you were mad," he said, wrapping a big arm around my shoulder and resting his drunken head on top of mine.

I stood there for a moment, trapped by the weight of him and trying to urge him forward. From a distance, we must've looked like a happy couple. At least that's what I figured Marshall Weathers was thinking as he watched from his vantage point across the parking lot.