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

Chapter 9





Clarice and Odette moved in with Barbara Jean after Lester died. For the last bit of July and on into August, they made sure she

got dressed and ate something every day. They slept on either side of her in bed for the first few nights. Not that Barbara Jean

slept much. Every night, they heard her creep out of her room and down the stairs to sit alone in her library. She would return to

the bed just before sunrise and pretend later that she’d slept through the night.

Barbara Jean hardly spoke at all. And, when she did, not a word of it was about Lester. Most of her time was spent pacing the

house, stopping in her tracks every so often to shake her head like a sleeper trying to wake up from a nightmare. She was in no

shape to be left alone or to make any decisions. And there was so much that had to be done.

Clarice and Odette were surprised to learn that, although Lester had spent many years fighting off various near-fatal illnesses,

the only preparation he had made for his passing was a short will leaving everything to Barbara Jean. So while Odette saw to

Barbara Jean, Clarice could be depended on to organize the service and interment. She planned everything from Lester’s burial

suit to the menu for the funeral dinner. She accomplished it all with a gracious smile, even swallowing her temper when dealing

with the pastor and higher-ups of First Baptist Church—a piss-elegant crowd if ever there was one, all of them eager to

demonstrate to his widow just how deeply they adored the wealthy deceased. It was quite an undertaking, but burying any signs of

contention and making sure that everything moved smoothly and looked exactly as it should was what Clarice had been raised to do.

And Clarice was glad that her unique skills, gained at considerable personal expense, could be put to use to help her friend.

When a rich man dies, the vultures descend quickly. And Lester had been wealthier than anyone had imagined. He’d been Plainview-

rich back when he was courting Barbara Jean. He became Louisville-rich not long after they got married. And, it was learned, he

died Chicago-rich/New York–comfortable. Lester’s greedier relatives were knocking on Barbara Jean’s door for a handout well

before the first fistful of dirt hit the lid of Lester’s coffin. One previously unknown cousin came by claiming Lester had

promised to fund her Hawaiian vacation. A great-niece wanted to interest Barbara Jean in “a surefire business opportunity” that

just needed “a little start-up money.” Several of Lester’s leering male relations dropped by, basted in Old Spice, all prepared

to provide guidance and a strong shoulder for the beautiful widow to weep upon.

This sort of situation, Clarice thought, was precisely why God made Odette. When the corners of Odette’s mouth turned downward

and her eyes narrowed, nobody stuck around to see what was coming next. She stood guard over Barbara Jean, sending anyone who

posed a potential threat running for their lives with just a glance. And she did it all while battling through hot flashes that

set her on fire almost every night.

The Supremes were in residence at Barbara Jean’s for three weeks. Odette left each day to spend time with James, but always came

back to be with Barbara Jean at night. Clarice went to check on Richmond a few times that first week, intending to cook his dinner

and monitor his diabetes. But the fifth time she stopped by the house and failed to find him in or see any sign that he had come

home at all since she’d been at Barbara Jean’s, she asked herself why she was doing it, and couldn’t come up with a good

answer. So that day Clarice made sure the freezer was stocked with a month of meals, then she left Richmond a note saying she

would return when Barbara Jean was okay. She stayed away for the next two weeks, limiting her contact with Richmond to one daily

phone message that always went unanswered.

The morning after declaring temporary independence from Richmond, Clarice sat down at the piano in Barbara Jean’s sitting room

after breakfast. The piano was a Victorian beauty, a Steinway square grand with a rosewood cabinet. Clarice had ordered it herself

during the initial renovation of Barbara Jean’s mansion. It was a fine instrument and Clarice thought it was a shame that its

role of late was merely decorative. She ran a finger over the white keys and then the black and was pleased to discover that it

was in tune. She began to play.

The music drew Barbara Jean to the room, closely followed by Odette. They listened and then applauded when she finished. “That

was nice,” Barbara Jean said. “Sort of happy and sad at the same time.”

“Chopin. Perfect for any occasion,” Clarice said.

Barbara Jean rested her elbows on the piano. “Remember how Adam used to imitate you?”

“I sure do,” Clarice said, twisting her mouth to feign offense.

Barbara Jean turned to Odette. “Adam used to do the best imitation of Clarice after his lessons. He would hunch over the keys and

sway and moan. It was the funniest thing in the world, watching him work up all that passion while he played—what was it?

‘Chopsticks’?”

“ ‘Heart and Soul,’ ” Clarice said.

“That’s right. ‘Heart and Soul.’ The first time he did it, Clarice and I both laughed so hard we ended up on our knees crying.

It was a hoot.”

Odette had heard that story on the day it happened and hundreds of times since, but Barbara Jean was laughing and it sounded too

good to put a stop to it.

Barbara Jean said, “He loved music. I bet he could’ve been really good.”

“Absolutely. He was musical. He had a natural facility. Adam had it all.”

“Yes, he did,” Barbara Jean said.

Barbara Jean talked about Adam for the rest of that morning. “Remember how he loved to draw? He’d spend hours up in his room

with his crayons and colored pencils.” “I’ll never forget how he taught Odette’s boys to dance like James Brown. I can still

see Eric shuffling across the floor in his training pants.” “Wasn’t he the most dapper little boy you ever saw? Never knew a

boy to fuss over his clothes like he did. One scuff on his shoes and he’d pout all day.”

The following morning and the next few began the same way. They had breakfast, and then Clarice played the piano. Then Barbara

Jean talked about Adam, allowing memories of him to pull her back into her life. Eventually, there was so much conversation and

laughter that it seemed as if the three of them were guests at an extended slumber party. Except, at this party, talking about men

was carefully avoided. No Lester Maxberry. No Richmond Baker, which suited Clarice fine. And definitely no Chick Carlson, whom

Clarice and Odette were both pretending they hadn’t seen at Big Earl’s house after the funeral.

In spite of the circumstances, on the mid-August morning when Barbara Jean thanked Odette and Clarice for their support and

kindly, but firmly, ordered them out, Clarice was sorry to leave. She told herself at the time that her reluctance to end the

slumber party was because she’d had such fun with her friends, reliving a part of their shared youth. Later, she admitted to

herself that she was frightened of what she knew in her heart she would find when she got home.

When Clarice stepped inside her front door after two weeks away, she called out Richmond’s name to empty walls. None of the food

she had prepared for him had been touched. And the sheets on their bed were as fresh as they’d been when she had put them on over

a fortnight earlier.

When Richmond came home two days later, he gave her a peck on the cheek and inquired about Barbara Jean.

“She’s better,” Clarice answered. “Are you hungry?”

He answered yes, and then kissed his wife’s cheek again after she told him that she would prepare ham steak and roasted potatoes,

one of his favorite meals.

Richmond showered while Clarice hummed “Für Elise” and cooked his dinner. He never offered an explanation about where he’d been

sleeping, and Clarice never asked him for one.