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

Chapter 34





Sharon’s wedding took place on the hottest day southern Indiana had seen in decades. Spring had come early that year and the

trend of record temperatures that had begun in February continued into the summer. The mercury registered right at one hundred and

five degrees that afternoon and the humidity was just as awful. Only Richmond wasn’t panting from the exertion of climbing the

slight incline that led to the Garden Hills Banquet Hall and Corporate Meetings Venue from its parking lot. The Supremes and James

began gasping for air within yards of their cars. The journey from the parking lot to the banquet hall was made worse by the fact

that the high temperature had caused the tar on the asphalt of the lot and driveway to become tacky so they had to work hard just

to lift their feet from the ground.

They stopped at the front steps of Garden Hills to take in the enormity of the place. The pictures from Veronica’s wedding book

hadn’t done it justice. The building was a half a block long. The huge white columns supporting the second-floor verandah that

stretched across the width of the structure were far more massive than the photo had let on. Nothing else in town, aside from the

larger buildings on the campus, approached this place in size.

The banquet hall was a part of “the other Plainview,” the Plainview that those who had grown up there didn’t recognize. This

imposing tribute to Greek Revival belonged to the new town that was being built by the university and by Plainview’s newer

residents, people who worked in Louisville and saw little of the town outside of the routes from their bloated homes to the pricey

specialty shops of modern-day Leaning Tree. Every one of the people gathered in front of the building thought the same thing. They

were becoming outsiders in their own town.

Barbara Jean said, “It looks like something straight out of Gone With the Wind.”

Clarice snapped her fingers. “That’s it. I’ve been trying to think what this place reminded me of, and that’s it. It’s Tara,

caught in a fun-house mirror. What a sight.”

Odette said, “Would somebody please explain to me why any self-respecting black couple would want to get married in a giant

plantation house? That’s messed up.”

Barbara Jean shook her head. “I tell you they’re asking for trouble not getting married in a church. Everybody knows that’s bad

luck.”

“My words exactly,” Clarice said.

Two young men exited the building and gawked at Barbara Jean as they passed by. Clarice and Odette silently agreed with their

judgment. Barbara Jean looked fantastic. She had toned down the color palette of her clothing over the previous few months. She

hadn’t exactly turned into a wallflower, but the days of the wild outfits seemed to have come to an end. And it wasn’t just her

clothes that were different. Sobriety seemed to be doing wonders for her. Who could have imagined that Barbara Jean could become

more beautiful? But a few months without liquor had managed the impossible. Odette and Clarice both told her all the time how

proud they were of her, but in typical Barbara Jean fashion, she refused to take any credit for what she had accomplished. She

would mutter some catchphrase like “One day at a time,” and then change the subject. But Barbara Jean had been resurrected and

that was plain to see.

“Let’s get inside. It’s too hot out here,” James said, meaning that it was too hot for Odette to be outside. James was more

vigilant than ever that summer—part nurse, part mother bear, part prison guard. He was also more aware than anyone that Odette

had lost more weight and more strength. She fought on like a champion, though, refusing to acknowledge that anything had changed.

Her husband and her friends admired her warrior spirit, but couldn’t help but feel like Odette was rubbing her legendary

fearlessness in everyone’s faces. When they looked at Odette, they all knew it was time to feel scared. They battled with the

urge to shake her until she came to her senses and was as frightened as they were.

The lobby welcomed the Supremes, James, and Richmond with a blast of frigid air that made each of them sigh with relief. A pretty

young hostess with bright red hair and an exaggerated English accent greeted the wedding guests at the reception desk. She said,

“Good afternoon. We are delighted to have you here at Garden Hills Banquet Hall and Corporate Meetings Venue. Please follow the

corridor to the doors that lead out to the courtyard for the Swanson-Abrams nuptials,” and pointed out the way for them. Her

instructions were accompanied by flamboyant arm waving. She wore a tight gray skirt and a very low-cut frilly white blouse. Her

breasts jiggled with each of her grand movements. Richmond did an admirable job of staring at the ceiling instead of ogling the

girl as his nature would surely have had him do. Clarice had to give the man an A for effort.

Unlike Richmond, who was going all out to prove that he was a changed man, Clarice wasn’t certain what degree of exertion on her

part was appropriate where her marriage was concerned. The new Clarice enjoyed having Richmond as her secret lover—she hadn’t

told her friends that he’d been spending nights with her. But the old Clarice, the one who knew all of the rules and yearned to

follow them, had staged a reappearance. Somehow Clarice had gone from reveling in her newfound freedom and sensuality to feeling

guilty about her vain pursuit of pleasure. She had even begun to take pride in sending Richmond away at the times she most wanted

him to stay. Funny how easy it was to tap into all of that—the guilt, the shame, the anger. You can take the girl out of Calvary

Baptist, but you can’t take Calvary Baptist out of the girl, she thought.

At the end of the hallway, two young men in white uniforms stood stationed beside massive oak doors. When the Supremes, Richmond,

and James approached, the men shoved open the doors, exposing a vast and spectacular courtyard. Second—possibly—only to Barbara

Jean’s prizewinning gardens, this was the most elaborately landscaped property in town. Intricately sculpted evergreens lined the

courtyard’s redbrick walls. Lacy vines trailed from stone pots that sat atop pillars that had been distressed in the style of

Roman ruins. Luridly bright flowers of every variety surrounded the wedding guests.

Barbara Jean grabbed Clarice’s arm. “This is incredible. They must swap out these plants every week to keep them looking like

this.”

The garden was something to see, all right. Unfortunately, the direct sunlight that helped the flowers remain so beautiful was not

greeted with much approval from the wedding guests. The sun beat down on them and, as more people arrived, their shared suffering

soon became the number one topic of conversation. Erma Mae and Little Earl McIntyre stepped into the courtyard just behind the

Supremes, both of them frantically fanning themselves with their hands. Erma Mae grumbled, “Outdoor weddin’ in July. Your cousin

’s tryin’ to kill us all, Clarice.”

Erma Mae wore a violet straw hat that Clarice thought was cute. But that hat didn’t provide a bit of shade to her great, round

head. Erma Mae’s cheeks and ears baked in the afternoon sun. She continued to curse Veronica as she and her husband headed to

their seats.

To ensure Odette’s comfort, James had been toting around an enormous insulated bag full of just-in-case supplies all summer. By

the time the Supremes and their spouses had traveled down the brick path that divided the courtyard in half and seated themselves

on creaky white wooden chairs, James had dug into the bag and pulled out five chilled bottles of water and a couple of battery-

operated personal fans. He handed each of his friends a bottle of water and gave fans to Barbara Jean and Odette. In return, James

received heartfelt thanks and an apology from Richmond for having teased him about carrying a purse for the past month.

Refreshed by the water and puffs of air from the tiny fans they passed back and forth to each other, Barbara Jean and Clarice

ventured from their seats to take a closer look at the flowers. They took a few steps toward the nearest bed, but stopped when

they were still about five feet away after discovering that they weren’t the only admirers of the flowers. Dozens of bees floated

from bloom to bloom in lazy arcs—a picturesque summer scene, best appreciated from a safe distance. When they discussed it later,

they all agreed that the bees had been an omen.

The two uniformed employees who had opened the courtyard doors for the guests reappeared, each carrying an oscillating electric

floor fan. When they placed the fans in opposing corners of the rectangular seating area and turned them on, the crowd burst into

applause. The effect was mostly psychological, though. Humid hundred-degree air was still humid hundred-degree air, even with a

two-mile-per-hour gust behind it. But the slightest of breezes was cause for celebration on that day.

The tiresome elevator music that had been piped in via speakers placed throughout the flower beds stopped. The redhead who had

greeted everyone at the front door entered the courtyard and asked the crowd to be seated in order that the service might begin.

James glanced at his watch and nodded his approval. “Right on time.”

The speakers blasted out music again. This time it was Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Clarice muttered to herself, “How unimaginative

can you get.” Then she admonished herself for being mean.

The large oak doors opened again and Reverend Biggs stepped through. He was followed by Clifton Abrams and his groomsmen—Clifton

’s shoe freak brother Stevie and two shifty-eyed, scowling young men. The groomsmen slouched in their ill-fitting, rented

tuxedoes with matching green cummerbunds and emerald bowties beneath a bridal arch that was covered in chartreuse carnations.

Behind them, a fountain in the shape of a gigantic fish spat water high into the sticky air.

Odette leaned toward Clarice and said, “Is this a wedding party or a police lineup?” Clarice responded, “You are just awful,”

even though she had been thinking the same thing.

The doors opened again and Veronica’s mother walked out on the arm of her favorite granddaughter’s husband, a heavyset young man

who stopped every few seconds to wipe perspiration from his eyes with his free hand. Glory’s green dress wasn’t very flattering,

but she seemed unaffected by the heat. In fact, she looked far healthier and cheerier than when Clarice had last seen her. Glory

and Clarice’s mother, who was boycotting Plainview until Clarice left “that Unitarian cult” she had joined, hadn’t spoken in

several weeks due to yet another theological spat. From the looks of things, not talking to Beatrice had been good for Glory.

There was, Clarice thought, a lesson to be learned in that.

Minnie McIntyre strutted down the aisle after Glory. In keeping with the color scheme of the wedding, Minnie wore a kelly green

suit, making it the first time in months she had been seen in anything other than one of her fortune-telling outfits. She slowly

walked, unescorted, down the brick path toward her chair in the front row. On her way, she acknowledged acquaintances in the crowd

with a slight dipping of her head. She frowned each time she did it. It was clear to all spectators that her signature move was

unsatisfying to her without her turban and bell.

The groom’s parents, Ramsey and Florence Abrams, came next. Ramsey grinned as if he were filming a toothpaste commercial.

Florence smiled, too, though it was difficult to tell with her. For years, Florence had twisted her facial features into an

expression more suggestive of having encountered an unpleasant odor than experiencing joy. The muscles responsible for smiling had

atrophied long ago. However, her customary pained smirk seemed to be less agonized than usual that day.

Just after Ramsey and Florence were seated, the music changed to Handel’s “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba,” which had been

Clarice’s suggestion for use as the bridal march. Veronica appeared.

Clarice was forced to admit that Veronica looked nice. Green wasn’t a good color for anyone else in the wedding party so far, but

it looked good on her. Veronica smiled, waved, and occasionally mouthed hello to guests as she proceeded down the aisle with her

jerky, fast gait. When she passed Clarice, Veronica made a show of pointing her chin toward the sky to remind her cousin that she

had not forgotten the clash they’d had on Veronica’s backyard deck when Clarice passed along the story of catching Clifton in a

compromising position with another woman.

Veronica’s grand procession was marred by a sudden outburst when she was nearly at her seat. Florence Abrams began to scream and

run back and forth in front of the bridal arch. No one could hear what she was yelling at first. But the cause of the commotion

became evident when Florence ran past Reverend Biggs, who was outfitted with a lapel microphone. She yelled, “I’m stung. I’m

stung!” and she clutched her left forearm where a bee had just stung her. A few seconds later, Florence was down on the ground,

still screaming. It was very frightening because everyone who knew Florence at all well knew that she was severely allergic to bee

stings.

Ramsey promptly fetched his wife’s EpiPen injector from her pocketbook and administered a shot of epinephrine so Florence wouldn

’t choke on her tongue in front of three hundred wedding guests. After tending to his wife, he walked over to Reverend Biggs and

shouted into the pastor’s lapel that they’d been through this many times before and that Florence would be just fine. Florence

remained on the ground for a while, though, until the injection took effect. All anyone could see of her was her feet sticking out

from a bed of sky-blue phlox.

Odette leaned across Clarice, who had the aisle seat, in order to get a better look. Always immune to hysteria, Odette said, “I

sure do like her shoes.”

To a round of applause, Florence was hauled up from the ground and helped back into her seat. Then the reverend, groom, and

groomsmen took their places and the speakers came to life again, blasting out a loud drumroll.

The doors opened and suddenly the scent of lavender overwhelmed the fragrance of the flowers. Out came the pink cloud. It wasn’t

quite the round, cottony ball it had appeared to be in the brochure advertising the Cloud Nine Wedding Package. Because of the

fans blowing on it, the cloud looked more like an undulating blob of fiberglass insulation, tendrils of which flailed

threateningly in the hot air and then evaporated.

One at a time, Sharon’s sisters filed out of the fog. Each of them wore the same neon-green crushed-velvet dress with balloon

sleeves and puffy bows ringing the waistline. Only Veronica would conspire to make those homely young women wear such terrifying

monstrosities. Watching the bridesmaids lumber down the aisle, Clarice thought, I know I can’t be the only one here thinking

“Gorillas in the Mist.”

The bridesmaids were followed by the flower girl, Veronica’s nine-year-old granddaughter, Latricia. Veronica had chosen Latricia

because she was the prettiest of her three granddaughters and consequently her favorite. Clarice had tried, as diplomatically as

she could, to talk Veronica out of that decision. Latricia was a cutie, but no one would ever accuse her of being the least bit

intelligent. Latricia’s flower girl technique amounted to running several quick steps, then stopping suddenly. Every time she

stopped, she dug her hand deep into the green toile-covered wicker basket she carried, took out a fistful of green carnation

petals, and flung them as hard as she could directly into the face of whoever sat nearest to her. She kept this up until her

mother, the matron of honor, bellowed, “Latricia, cut it out! Now!” Latricia completed her walk at a steady pace. But along the

way, she glared at the wedding guests and stuffed flower petals into her mouth.

Odette said, “That is not a bright child.”

A trumpet fanfare began and Reverend Biggs raised his arms to let the guests know that they should stand for the entrance of the

bride. Sharon emerged from the pink cloud on the arm of her father, Clement.

Her appearance was greeted with oohs and ahhs from the guests.

“My goodness, she’s so thin I wouldn’t have recognized her. She looks adorable,” Barbara Jean said.

It was true. Sharon looked divine. With the aid of her hypnotist, Sharon had wiped fifty pounds off her figure in just a few

months. The gown her mother had purchased several sizes too small for her now fit perfectly. Though Clarice had sworn to herself

that, as a part of her new life, she had given up on diets forever, she couldn’t help but think that when she and Veronica

started speaking again she would have to ask for that hypnotist’s phone number.

The trumpet music ended and a syrupy, string-heavy tune began to stream from the speakers as the doors closed behind Sharon and

her father. A few steps beyond the pink cloud, Sharon slowly raised her bouquet to her veil-covered face and began to sing “We’

ve Only Just Begun” into a microphone that was hidden among her flowers.

The song was clearly a Veronica touch, Clarice thought. A girl of Sharon’s age would never have chosen an old Carpenters’ song,

popular long before her birth, to sing at her wedding. And Sharon certainly wasn’t singing it as if it were a personal favorite.

All around the courtyard, people squirmed in their seats and grimaced in response to the bride’s voice. The newly slimmed Sharon

may have looked like an angel in her ivory-colored, form-fitting bridal gown, but she sang like a screeching demon freshly

released from the deepest pit of hell. Clarice thought, Why, oh why, didn’t Veronica spring for a few voice lessons in addition

to Sharon’s hypnosis?

Right on cue, a dozen white Bostonian doves fluttered away from a cage hidden behind the spitting fish fountain as Sharon wailed,

“A kiss for luck and we’re on our way.” About ten feet up in the air, the doves formed a circle and flew in formation in

response to whistled cues from the bird wrangler, who crouched behind one of the taller pseudo-Roman pillars. The effect was

impressive enough to draw scattered applause.

Unfortunately, that impressive moment didn’t last long. As Sharon caterwauled her way toward her groom, a dark blur appeared

overhead and streaked toward the doves. In a scene reminiscent of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, an enormous gray-and-brown

falcon snatched one of the doves away from the formation and zipped off with it clasped in its talons. The dove wrangler began

frenzied tooting, presumably calling the other eleven birds back to their cage. But the doves kept flying higher. They had already

sensed the arrival of the second hawk. It descended upon them an instant later and reduced their number to ten.

The remaining birds, shrieking loudly, returned to their trainer. He secured them inside a large cage and then hustled them away

from the courtyard. The location of the two missing doves was made clear to the assemblage by the twin streams of white feathers

that lazily drifted down from a tall maple tree just on the other side of the wall. Occasionally a feather floated onto the

courtyard and was struck by the red light of the laser that spelled out “Sharon and Clifton,” imbuing the white feathers with an

eerie, bloody-looking tinge.

Shocked, Sharon gave up on her vocalizing and walked the rest of the way down the aisle with her father to the sound of the

instrumental accompaniment of the song.

Reverend Biggs tried to get things back on track. He began his homily with a brief reference to the circle of life. Then he

artfully segued into his prepared speech.

But, like so many things that day, the reverend’s remarks went unfinished. Not long after Reverend Biggs began speaking, the big

oak doors creaked open once again. All of the guests turned their faces toward the back, hoping they might feel the sweet breath

of cool air escaping from the indoors for a moment. No one got any relief from the heat, but they did get another look at the pink

cloud. Then they saw four uniformed policemen step through the fog and onto the brick path. The policemen appeared to be

embarrassed when the doors shut behind them and they realized that hundreds of wedding guests sat staring at them. The policemen

moved off to one side, trying to make themselves less conspicuous. But they’d been seen, and their effect was immediate.

One of the groomsmen shouted, “It’s the cops, man!” Then he and the unsavory-looking character next to him took off running.

The groomsmen leaped over shrubs and bushes, finally escaping the courtyard through an emergency exit. Opening that door activated

an alarm, and the thick air was filled with shrill screeching. Clarice turned toward her friends and said, “I don’t know about

you, but I prefer this to the singing.” Odette and Barbara Jean nodded in agreement.

The police didn’t make a move to pursue the groomsmen. They stared directly at the groom. Clifton Abrams responded to their

attention by shoving Reverend Biggs out of his way and running through the tea roses and across a perennials bed. He made a dash

for a clematis-covered trellis that stood against an outer wall. Once there, he began to climb. The police chased after him. They

grabbed him by his ankles before he could make it over the wall and wrestled him down into a patch of black-eyed Susans.

Florence Abrams let out a loud cry and fainted. She crumpled to the ground so that, once again, all that could be seen of her was

her feet sticking out of the phlox bed. Clarice said, “You’re right, Odette, those really are cute shoes.”

The policemen handcuffed Clifton and carried him out. Sharon followed them, howling, “Clifton! Clifton!”

Little Latricia skipped along after Sharon, tossing green petals high into the air.

Odette said, “They really should get that child some help.”

Veronica let loose a stream of obscenities the likes of which none of the Supremes had heard since Odette’s mother passed.

Veronica cornered Minnie McIntyre near the bridal arch and made quite a scene shouting about the faulty information her oracle had

provided. She yelled, “Where’s my perfect day, dammit?!” Veronica’s husband and daughters had to restrain her while Minnie

escaped, running into the pink cloud after the cops, the groom, the bride, and the flower girl.

Rather than stick around Garden Hills for canapés and quiet gossip, Odette, Barbara Jean, and Clarice decided to adjourn to the

All-You-Can-Eat for ribs and loud gossip. They stuck around just long enough for James to put on his law enforcement hat and get

the lowdown from one of the cops who had arrested Clifton. Then they walked to their cars in silence, each of them trying to

digest what they had just witnessed.

They were in the parking lot when Barbara Jean interrupted the quiet that had fallen over the group, saying, “Well, that just

goes to show you what happens when you don’t have a church wedding. It was bound to end badly.”

Clarice said, “No, that’s what happens when you’re foolish enough to listen to Minnie McIntyre’s advice.”

James said, “No, that shows you what happens when the groom is dumb enough to mail a wedding invitation to his pissed-off ex-

girlfriend when she knows he has outstanding felony warrants for drug possession and grand larceny in Louisville. The detective

said some girl named Cherokee walked into the police station last night waving the invitation in the air and saying, ‘If you’d

like to apprehend a fugitive felon, I know where he’ll be tomorrow at three.’ ”

Clarice stopped where she was standing and began to laugh. She said, “I feel sorry for Sharon, I really do. But I’ve been

holding in a giggle ever since Florence got stung by that bee.”

The floodgates opened. Barbara Jean joined Clarice, laughing so hard that she cried. Richmond chuckled into one hand and held his

stomach with the other.

They all stopped laughing when they noticed that Odette had slumped against James. The two of them slowly sank down onto the hot

pavement. Odette appeared to be only half-conscious. And James looked even more stricken than she did as he cried out her name.

Clarice and Barbara Jean rushed to Odette’s side and saw that her eyes were flickering open and shut. Before she completely lost

consciousness, Odette mumbled something that they could have sworn was “Back off, Mrs. Roosevelt.”