The Supremes at Earl's All-You-Can-Eat

Chapter 21





If you ever wanted evidence that I wasn’t as fearless as the rumors made me out to be, all you had to do was look at the way I

handled Barbara Jean’s drinking. Without even discussing it, I joined in a coward’s pact with Clarice and didn’t say a word

about it for years. Both of us were afraid that if we confronted it head-on we’d find our friendship toppling over like a tower

of children’s blocks.

Not dealing with Barbara Jean’s drinking turned it into an invisible fourth member of our trio, a pesky, out-of-tune singer who

Clarice and I just adjusted to over time. We learned not to call Barbara Jean on the phone after nine at night because she wasn’t

likely to remember the conversation. If she was going through a bad spell, we would say that she was “tired” and we rescheduled

anything that we might have had planned so we could do it when she was feeling more energetic. It went on like that for years, and

the whole time I convinced myself that we weren’t doing her any harm by not confronting her about it. She would go through

periods when she was tired more days than not, but those episodes were always followed by longer periods when she was fine.

I told myself that it was Lester’s place to step in and say something if it was going to be said. He was her husband. But Lester

was gone now, and for the first time in ages, Barbara Jean had been drunk in public. I tried to tell myself that what had happened

at my party had been typical New Year’s Day excess. Who hadn’t tied one on celebrating a new year at some point in their lives?

But this was different. And Clarice and I both knew it, even if we hadn’t said anything. Barbara Jean had that darkness about her

in a way that I hadn’t seen since she lost Adam. And it didn’t seem like she was going to shake it anytime soon.

I entered 2005 recognizing that one day soon, while I still had the chance to do it, I was going to have to risk toppling that

tower of blocks.


Barbara Jean’s drinking got bad for the first time in 1977, during that horrible year after little Adam died. For a long stretch

of months she was drunk more than she was sober. I would stop by her house and find her hardly able to stand. She maintained a

good front when she was out among strangers, though; people talked about how well she was holding up. If I hadn’t known her like

I did, I’d have agreed. But I heard the occasional slurred word coming into her speech earlier and earlier in the day. I saw how

she wobbled on those high heels she loved to wear.

And poor Lester. World War II had only succeeded in adding a hitch to his step, but his son’s death defeated him. He turned into

an old man that year. The first in a long list of chronic ailments—a kidney problem, if memory serves—made its appearance just a

month after Adam’s funeral.

Lester dosed himself with work the same way Barbara Jean medicated her sorrow with alcohol. With Adam gone, Lester started taking

more business trips, staying away from home longer. And when he returned, he looked more exhausted and more miserable.

When he had Adam, Lester’s work energized him and kept him young. Barbara Jean might have seen her son as a future painter

because of his elaborate crayon drawings or a musician because he was such a natural at the piano, but Lester knew that his boy

was meant to work with the land like his daddy. On the weekends and during Adam’s summer break from school, Lester brought his

son with him whenever he had jobs around Plainview. Lester joined in doing the sort of grunt work that was customarily left to

low-level employees so that Adam could see and understand every aspect of the business he would inherit one day. And Adam had

loved every minute of it. Dressed in his overalls, he followed his father everywhere, planting, digging, and raking with his

miniature tools.

Now that he wasn’t creating something to hand over to his son, there was no reason for Lester to touch a shovel or lift a rake.

His body withered along with his spirit, and his life’s work turned into a numbers game. He made deal after deal and piled up

cash like he thought it might make him and Barbara Jean happy one day.

Even though they were from different generations and even though the one thing, or so it had always seemed to me, that bound them

as a couple was gone, Lester and Barbara Jean stayed together and sometimes managed to look like all that money really was

bringing them happiness. Richer, sicker, sadder, and older, as the shock of Adam’s death faded, they built new lives.

It was during that awful first year that the Supremes and the fragile new life Barbara Jean and Lester were building nearly came

to an end, with some help from Richmond Baker.

We were at our table at the All-You-Can-Eat on a Sunday afternoon. Clarice’s twins were seated in their highchairs between her

and Richmond. Denise was on James’s lap, making a macaroni and cheese sculpture. The other children were at a table of their own

just a few feet away, within snatching distance.

Clarice tried to keep up a conversation between yawns. The twins had really knocked the stuffing out of Clarice in a way the older

two hadn’t. She could barely keep her eyes open some days.

Barbara Jean looked divine that Sunday in a dress of layered taffeta that was traffic-cone orange. Big Earl stood and applauded

her when she walked into the restaurant. Lester was out of town again, so she was alone. She was relatively steady on her feet,

but she talked in an uneven, overly careful way that telegraphed her drunken state to those of us who really knew her.

During that meal I watched as a curious and troubling scene played out. We were discussing the latest round of renovations going

on at Barbara Jean’s house. It was one of the few activities that seemed to really interest Barbara Jean around that time. Things

started going funny when she said, “What I need to do right now is get a carpenter in there to do some work in the bedroom

closets. Somebody put in metal shelves at some point, and those things are coming down practically every day. One of them almost

took my head off last night.”

Richmond said, “You don’t need to hire anybody to do that. Lester can take care of that with an electric drill and some masonry

screws in no time.”

Barbara Jean shook her head no. “Lester’s gone for the next two weeks and I’ve got to do something about it right away.” She

laughed and said, “I think that for everyone’s safety I’d better not try to do it myself.”

Richmond, the charitable Mr. Fix-it, said, “I’d be happy to come over and help you out.”

Barbara Jean leaned across James to pat Richmond’s arm. “Richmond, you are a lifesaver.”

The thing with Richmond was that he would help a friend in need without giving it a second thought. As much as he annoyed me, I

had to admit that he really was that guy who’d hand you the shirt off his back. Unfortunately, when an attractive woman was

involved, Richmond would hand her the shirt off his back and then toss her his pants and underwear, too.

Alarm bells went off in my head when Richmond turned his at your service smile on Barbara Jean. I looked at Clarice and James to

see if they were hearing the same warning signal I was. But Clarice was focused on the twins, not her husband. And James was

bouncing Denise on his knee and not paying a bit of attention to anything else that was happening at the table.

That night at home I stewed over what I’d heard earlier at the All-You-Can-Eat. I told myself it wasn’t any of my business and

that my friends were responsible adults. They would come to the right decisions on their own. And even if they didn’t do the

right thing, it wasn’t my place to step in. Finally, when it was clear that turning things over in my mind was going to ruin

Kojak for me, I told James that I had an errand to run and I left the house to act upon my true nature.


I smelled Richmond before I saw him. Since he was a teenager, he’d worn the same lemony, woody cologne. It always marched into

the room several seconds before he did. I was waiting in the shadows, sitting in one of the wicker rockers on Barbara Jean’s

front porch when he stepped up to the door.

I said, “Hello there, Richmond,” just loud enough for him to hear me.

He jumped, put his hand to his chest, and said, “Odette, you damn near scared me to death.” Then he asked, “What are you doing

here?”

“Just enjoying the night air. What about you, Richmond? What brings you by Barbara Jean’s tonight?”

He produced a smile that I would have believed was innocent through and through if I hadn’t known him better. He said, “I told

Barbara Jean I’d come by and take a look at those shelves of hers that keep falling.”

“That’s truly sweet, Richmond. But I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“What’s that?”

I pointed to the sack in his hand and said, “Looks like you were in such a rush to come over here and be a Good Samaritan that

you went and picked up the wrong bag. Instead of your drill, you accidentally grabbed a bottle of wine. Must be the stress of

dealing with the twins.”

He lost his smile then and said, “Listen, Odette, it’s not what you’re thinking. I was just—”

I interrupted him. “Richmond, why don’t you come over here and sit with me for a minute.”

He hemmed and hawed, saying that he should probably get back home.

“Just for a minute, Richmond. Really, I insist.”

He groaned and then took a seat in the chair next to mine, falling into it like a teenager who’d been called into the vice-

principal’s office.

He placed the bottle of wine on the floor between his feet and said, “Odette, I was just paying a friendly visit. Nothing’s

happened and nothing’s going to happen. But Clarice might get things mixed up. You aren’t going to tell her, are you?”

“No, Richmond, I’m not going to tell Clarice. But you and I have to have a conversation because there’s something I need to

tell you.”

I rocked back and forth in the chair a few times to think about what I wanted to say. Then I said, “If I weren’t married to a

man everyone loves, I probably wouldn’t have a true friend in this world, except Barbara Jean and Clarice.”

He said, “That’s not true. You’re a perfectly charming woman.”

I waved off the compliment, saying, “Richmond, you have lovely manners. I’ve always admired that about you. But you don’t need

to waste time blowing smoke up my ass. I know who I am.”

I continued, “I’m a tough woman to be around. I don’t try to be, I just am. I don’t know how James deals with me. And to top

it off, I was never pretty enough for people to overlook me being a pain in the ass.”

He started to interrupt once more, but again I stopped him. “Please, Richmond, let me go on. I promise to get to the point.

“I know that you probably think I don’t like you. Maybe Clarice told you that I warned her not to marry you.” In the dim light

from the street lamps out on Main Street, I saw an expression of surprise on his face. “She didn’t tell you, huh? Well, I did. I

told her you’d always be a cheater no matter how hard she tried to change you and that she was better off without you. I shouldn

’t have said it, but I did. That’s kind of my way.

“But I want you to know that I really don’t have anything against you. And I understand why Clarice loves you. You’re polite.

You’re funny. When I watch you with your children, I see a kind, warm side of you that is absolutely beautiful. And, even though

I hate to admit it, you are one of the best-looking men I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He relaxed then. A discussion of his physical attractiveness was something Richmond had always been comfortable with. “And I love

Clarice, I really do.”

“I believe you. But what you need to understand is I’ll do absolutely anything to protect the handful of people in this world

who truly love me. And, Richmond, if you follow your dick and go in this house with Barbara Jean, she’ll never be able to see

herself as a decent human being again. She’ll come to her senses tomorrow and hate herself for letting it happen. It’ll eat her

alive, almost as bad as losing Adam. Clarice will eventually figure it out and feel more humiliated than she has ever felt with

any of your other women. And then, Richmond”—I reached out and placed my hand on his muscular forearm—“I will have to kill

you.”

Richmond laughed and then said, “Okay, Odette, I get it. I’ll stay away from Barbara Jean.”

“No, Richmond, I don’t think you really get it yet.” I squeezed his arm tighter and said, very slowly, “I am as serious as a

heart attack. If you ever come sniffing around Barbara Jean again, I will kill you dead.”

I held his gaze and added, “I won’t want to. And it will bring me no pleasure to do it. But, still, I will kill you.”

Our eyes locked for several seconds and I watched the last traces of a smile leave his face as he took in that I was telling him

God’s honest truth.

He nodded. “I understand.”

I patted his arm and said, “Well, this has been real nice. I don’t know about you, but I feel a whole lot better.”

I pushed the sleeve of his shirt a few inches higher on his wrist and read his watch in the faint light. “And would you look at

that,” I said, “I can still catch the end of Kojak.” I stood and stepped to the edge of the porch. “Why don’t you walk me

home?”

Richmond picked up the bottle and came along with me, down the stairs and onto the stone walkway that led to Main Street. I looped

my arm around his and said, “It really is a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

I looked over my shoulder as we turned onto the sidewalk. Just for a second, I caught sight of Barbara Jean peeking out of an

upstairs window at me and Richmond, a man who now understood me in a way that even James didn’t, as we strolled away from her

magnificent house.