5
I’m Scarlett, You’re Melanie!
It was beyond annoying to Maura Beth that Councilman Sparks’s snide prediction that the group would end up rehashing the movie version of Gone with the Wind stuck in her craw over the next couple of weeks. That, and the lingering feeling that she might have been a bit too heavy-handed with the others at the organizational meeting of what was now to be called The Cherry Cola Book Club. It seemed that no one really wanted to read and review Gone with the Wind again except herself, but she had prevailed with authority. Yes, she had promised them that they could explore new angles and ideas regarding the time-honored classic, but she herself had failed to come up with anything viable, despite constant brainstorming. Was anyone else having any better luck?
In fact, she was about to dial Connie McShay’s number from her office one slack afternoon when Renette Posey appeared in the doorframe, holding the library’s DVD copy of Gone with the Wind and looking decidedly puzzled.
“I’d like to ask you a quick question. Don’t worry—there’s no one waiting at the front desk to check out. Even worse, there’s nobody in the library at all. Hasn’t been all morning,” she explained on the way to Maura Beth’s cluttered desk. “It’s about this movie I’m returning. I got curious when I read your Gone with the Wind flyer.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I watched it last night for the first time with a few girlfriends of mine, and we did the slumber party thing in pajamas at my apartment. I know, it sounds lame, like something out of high school. We fooled with each other’s hair, talked about boyfriends, popped popcorn, and ate all sorts of junk food. But after the movie was finally over—it went on forever, and thank God for that intermission so we could all take a bathroom break—we sat cross-legged on the floor in a circle and came to the same conclusion.”
Maura Beth straightened up in her chair. “And what was that?”
“Well, we decided that every one of us acted in real life like either Scarlett or Melanie, for the most part. We even wondered if every woman might fall into one category or the other. Do you think there’s anything to that, or is it just a silly, slumber party idea from a bunch of single girls on a sugar high?”
Maura Beth couldn’t help but snap her fingers and smile. “Renette, I’d give you a raise if I had the money!”
“Really, Miz Mayhew?”
“I wish I could, of course. But that’s a great idea you and your friends had. By the way, which character were you? Or should I say, are you?”
“Oh, everyone thought I was a Melanie,” Renette answered, growing quieter and hanging her head slightly. “I’ve been called a goody-goody too many times to be anything else. But that’s who I am—I like helping people.”
“You certainly do!” Maura Beth exclaimed. “You’re a star with our scanner, and you tell the patrons about their overdues with honey dripping in your voice. They never get mad—I’ve gotten so many compliments about you.”
Someone calling out, “Hello?” from somewhere in the library broke up their exchange, and Renette turned, dashing toward the front desk to attend to her duties. But Maura Beth made a note to herself to find a way to give her pleasant young clerk a little more in her paycheck, even if she had to juggle a line item or two in the books to get the job done. Landing in her lap from an innocuous slumber party was the perfect angle for the upcoming Gone with the Wind outing.
“Declare your allegiance!” would be the challenge she would issue to Miss Voncille, Connie, and Becca over the phone with supreme confidence. “How do you see yourself in today’s world—as a Scarlett or a Melanie?”
Suddenly, she could sweep aside the insecurities that had been plaguing her about her leadership style and choice of material. She could even tempt Periwinkle with the ploy, especially since her best girlfriend had already generously agreed to send some sherry custard along from The Twinkle as an extra dessert.
“If things start to go wrong,” she had told Maura Beth over the phone just a few days before, “you can at least get you a little buzz off the sherry. Sometimes, when I go home alone, that’s all I have to look forward to.”
“Now, come on, Periwinkle. Enough of the lonely, sherry custard-eating, sob stories,” Maura Beth had returned before signing off with a friendly promise. “I’m going to find a way to get you to take a break from that kitchen and into our book club if it’s the last thing I do!”
For the moment, however, she had to run Renette’s slumber party angle past her existing membership, and she decided that Connie would be the first she would dial up.
“Are you busy?” Maura Beth said after Connie answered. “You sound out of breath.”
“Well, you caught me. I’m out here on the pier grunting in a very unladylike manner with the fish scaler and hoping somebody will rescue me with a cell phone call like you just did.”
Maura Beth made a sympathetic noise under her breath. “Douglas isn’t pitching in?”
“Nope, he’s off to The Marina Bar and Grill for a round or two with his fellow fishermen. He did invite me to join him, but they’re all about watching sports on TV and telling off-color jokes out there. Not my style.”
Maura Beth changed the subject quickly, launching into the exchange she’d had with Renette. “So what do you think of the Scarlett and Melanie debate?” she concluded.
There was silence at the other end for a while. “Your idea reminds me of something,” Connie said finally. “I know. Getting a Girl Scout badge for something that’s really a stretch. Only this one would be for adults. You know, who gets the Scarlett badge and who gets the Melanie badge to sew on her blouse.”
“I wish I could see your face now,” Maura Beth added. “I can’t tell whether you like the idea or not from what you just said.”
Connie broke the modest tension with a generous laugh. “Of course I like it. Maybe I didn’t express myself so well. It’s probably these fish fumes poisoning my brain cells.”
“You’re too much. But thanks for the vote of confidence on my idea.”
Next up was Miss Voncille, who seemed to be in an unusually prickly mood. “Do we have to dress up in costume?” she inquired after Maura Beth had explained everything. “What I mean is, if I decide I’m a Scarlett, do I have to rent one of those antebellum dresses complete with hoopskirts? Actually, I suppose I’d have to do the same if I were a Melanie. And my hair isn’t long enough to be done up in ringlets the way they did back then. So that would mean I’d have to buy a wig. I can tell a woman wearing a wig a mile away. And men in bad toupees no matter what the distance.”
“This isn’t a costume ball, Miss Voncille.”
“Thank goodness!”
“So what’s your verdict?” Maura Beth continued.
“Fine with me,” came the reply, though with little enthusiasm. But a sudden infusion of warmth soon followed. “What I’m more excited about is my friendship with Locke Linwood. We’re starting to go out on dinner dates and such. Of course, it’s all very innocent at the moment, you understand, and I’m trying very hard to soften my image on these occasions.”
“That’s lovely to hear, Miss Voncille. You keep at it. We’ll expect both you and Mr. Linwood at the meeting in your regular clothes and hair.”
Then it was time to speak with Becca. Seemingly not to be outdone by her unpredictable friends, she offered an off-the-wall proposal once Maura Beth had given her all the facts.
“I think it’s a really cute idea,” she began, “but why don’t we make it even more of a theme than that? Everyone could make up a recipe that they think Scarlett or Melanie might have preferred to make or eat, and we could all compare notes.”
Maura Beth took a deep breath and tried her best to smile through the phone.
“I’m pretty sure neither Scarlett nor Melanie did much cooking in flush times. And after the Yankees came through and burned up all the crops, recipes were a fond memory for a while. Getting anything at all to eat was the goal. I appreciate your creativity, Becca, but let’s just stick with the personality angle this time around.”
After they’d hung up, Maura Beth sat frowning at her desk for a few moments. Tricky stuff, this book club business. It was a delicate balancing act once people were in the fold, but it had to be worth the trouble. A kaput library was simply unacceptable.
The next day, Maura Beth decided she would keep Councilman Sparks in the loop, too. Of course, he hardly qualified as either a Scarlett or a Melanie. However, she could easily picture him wandering into the library smelling great, looking spiffy, and smiling from ear to ear to perform his irritating kibitzing act with aplomb to throw her off her game. Well, even though there had been no course at LSU in Dealing with Politicians 101, the truth was that she was living it now, like it or not, and there was no better way to learn her lessons than to face the politician in question without fear. Perhaps she could even throw him off his game.
“We’ll be reading and commenting on Gone with the Wind from a particular perspective,” she began, sitting across from him in his inner office one afternoon. “All our members are women so far, as you know very well from the organizational meeting.” Then she explained the Scarlett versus Melanie theme to him and waited for his response.
Councilman Sparks took an awkward amount of time before answering while staring her down, but Maura Beth made a concerted effort not to fidget in her seat or otherwise indulge nervous body language. “Are you going to go feminist with this club, Miz Mayhew?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, no.”
“Because I was going to say that you might just be ruling out fifty percent of the population of Cherico with a girlie-girl approach,” he continued, flashing one of his dazzling, but completely insincere smiles. “Some men like to read, too.”
“Are you a reader, Councilman?”
He produced a peculiar laugh that came off more like an intrusive sound effect. “When it suits my purposes.”
“No doubt.”
He calculated a moment longer, tightening the muscles of his face further. “You’re so full of unexpected visits these days. So, was this one to prepare me to do well at the upcoming book review and ‘all you can eat’ buffet? Or was it to suggest that I stay away because I couldn’t possibly fit in?”
“Oh, I don’t think wild horses could keep you away. But I did think it was worth mentioning that I intend to give this project my all. When I first came here, I promised myself that I would make a success of the Cherico Library, and by that I meant to turn it into the type of facility that people just couldn’t do without. I admit that it’s been hard, slow going these past six years, but you may have ended up doing me a favor by challenging me the way you have. I trust you’ll bring out my best professional instincts.”
Councilman Sparks shrugged his shoulders and seemed to relax his posture. “You have a penchant for soapboxing, Miz Mayhew. Maybe you could moonlight in my next election and write speeches for me. That is, in case this library thing of yours doesn’t work out.”
At that point Maura Beth knew it was time to leave. She had summoned her courage to face her adversary once again and dealt with him aboveboard. Yet, he always had an answer or a clever quip for everything—a master of one-upmanship. She knew his intention was to wear her down, but she just couldn’t let that happen.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Councilman,” she said, rising from her chair. “I have a library to run.”
He rose across from her without smiling. “But for how long, Miz Mayhew? For how long?”
After what seemed like two months instead of two more weeks, the August 17th inaugural meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club finally arrived. Once again, Maura Beth had chosen to stage the festivities in the library lobby instead of the meeting room; but she had gone online and ordered some decorative touches to offset the drabness of the premises. As before with the flyers, Connie had been delighted to step up and fund them. Surrounding the refreshments table laden with the various dishes all the women had brought were blow-up movie posters of the stars of Gone with the Wind—Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable, Leslie Howard, Olivia de Havilland, and Hattie McDaniel. Maura Beth, Renette, and the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday front desk clerk—the amiable, hardworking Mrs. Emma Frost—had reinforced the Technicolor stills with cardboard backing and had spent the previous afternoon standing them up against some of the folding chairs. There in the background, the five Hollywood legends would bear silent witness to the drama that would be unfolding.
At one point Maura Beth had thought about blowing up balloons and tying them to the shelving here and there to add a more festive party accent. She had even gone out and bought a big bag of them with every color of the rainbow showing through the plastic. But she had backed off at the last minute, opting for the gravitas of the library instead. So much better, she had reasoned, that her literary trial balloon not be interpreted so literally.
As for the food, it was a smorgasbord of tempting aromas, colors, and appealing presentation. Becca had done an admirable job of coordinating the menu, keeping egos in check seamlessly. She herself had offered to cook up her chicken spaghetti casserole for the evening’s entrée, and everyone was fine with it. Connie had been quite adamant about her contribution: “Assign me anything but fish—nothing with gills and scales, please. If I never cook another fish in my life, it will be too soon!” So the two women readily agreed that a frozen fruit salad would be in order from the McShay household. Miss Voncille thought her jalapeno cornbread would complement Becca’s spaghetti and revealed that she would be bringing Locke Linwood as a guest once again; and Maura Beth’s chocolate, cherry cola sheet cake in conjunction with Periwinkle’s sherry custard would satisfy everyone’s sweet tooth there at the end.
“I see you’ve taken my comment to heart, Miz Mayhew,” Councilman Sparks offered after briefly schmoozing the others and surveying the posters and buffet just past seven. He was, in fact, ridiculously overdressed for the occasion, falling just short of black tie apparel, and his cologne announced itself the second he entered the room.
Maura Beth took a sip from her plastic cup, filled to the brim with Becca’s summer cola drink recipe swimming with cherries and a tart twist of lime. “And what comment would that be? I don’t exactly memorize all your pronouncements.”
They walked together past the photo capture of bug-eyed Hattie McDaniel, distancing themselves a bit from the others. “I’m referring to Mammy here,” he pointed out. “Looks to me like you’re just rehashing the Selznick production with this bigger than life approach. As in ‘the movie was so much better than the book.’ I believe I mentioned you might end up doing that.”
Maura Beth refused to bristle, giving him the most serene of her smiles. “Ah, but I assure you, we’ll be exploring uncharted territory tonight with our Scarlett versus Melanie debate—right after we’ve all enjoyed this delicious repast. So, shall we make our way back to the table and help ourselves? I’m about to tell everyone to dig in. We eat first, then discuss.”
At which point she did just that, and a line began to form by the stack of serving trays, paper plates, plastic silverware, and napkins next to Connie’s saucers of frozen fruit salad. “I hope you don’t mind the informality.” Maura Beth continued to the gathering. “I thought we could balance our trays on our laps. The Cherry Cola Book Club won’t be about putting on airs.”
In fact, no one seemed to mind the balancing act once they had helped themselves and claimed their chairs, and the chatter that bubbled up between bites and sips was natural and friendly. Even Councilman Sparks was on his best behavior, concentrating on Connie with his banter; then it came to Maura Beth in a flash that the McShays were potential voters now that they had moved to Cherico permanently.
“I was thinking that the City Council ought to consider a Welcome Wagon concept,” Councilman Sparks was telling Connie at one point. “Perhaps we could convince a few civic-minded ladies to visit new residents with brochures and flowers—that sort of thing.”
Connie nodded in noncommittal fashion as she broke off a piece of jalapeno cornbread. “I’d be more interested in a chapter of Fisherman’s Anonymous. You don’t have one, do you?” She chuckled and then began explaining her husband’s recent addiction to spending most of his time casting his line out on the lake. “I expected my Douglas would be out there now and then, but it’s turned into an obsession with him. That, and tossing back a few at The Marina Bar and Grill.”
Then Becca joined the conversation with vigor. “Husbands and obsessions—no greater truth exists in the world today. Take my Stout Fella. I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, Connie, but my Justin single-handedly developed all those home sites out by the lake. I’m sure you bought your lot from him.”
“Don’t get jealous, but I do remember a big, good-looking man,” Connie revealed.
Becca waved her off. “Believe me, anyone who built out on the lake dealt with my husband. His real-estate projects are his oxygen. All he does is eat and talk on his cell phone. Eat and e-mail people. Eat and text, eat and Tweet.”
There was polite laughter at the last comment, but Becca’s demeanor remained serious. “I wish I could find the humor in it, I really do. I’m sure you all know by now that I do my cooking show weekday mornings, so I’m always in the kitchen trying out new recipes. I suppose you could make a case that I’m obsessed with food. But not the way Justin is. He eats everything I fix him and even wants to lick the spoon. He’s insatiable. When we were first married, he was tall and trim—quite the athlete.” She hesitated as she blushed. “I know I shouldn’t have started calling him Stout Fella, but, well, he’s gained so much weight that I couldn’t help it. Maybe I thought I could shame him into eating less, but he got to the point where he admitted he actually liked being referred to as Stout Fella. He said it made him feel like he was a big comic book superhero.”
Miss Voncille put down her fork and gave Becca an engaging smile. “I haven’t had the chance to say this to you yet, but I would have gotten around to it eventually tonight. I’ve been a huge fan of your Becca Broccoli Show since you first came on the radio. I’ve copied down all your comfort food recipes, and they’ve turned into staples for me.” She paused for a second and put her hand on Locke Linwood’s shoulder. “Why, I fixed your macaroni and cheese with bacon bits just the other evening for myself and my gentleman friend here on one of our dinner dates, didn’t I?”
Locke acknowledged her remark by patting his stomach with a contented little smirk on his face. “It was so irresistible I had an extra helping, and I don’t normally do that. I like to stay in shape.”
Becca rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Oh, I wish I had never invented all those rich, comfort food recipes as my main focus. It’s what’s really gotten Stout Fella in trouble. That, and the recent explosion of ice-cream flavors!”
“There’s so much emphasis on eating smart these days,” Miss Voncille added, pausing for a thoughtful frown. “I don’t want to tell you how to run your show, but maybe you could put the broccoli back in The Becca Broccoli Show. After all, you’re in charge of the recipes.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Becca replied, nodding enthusiastically. “I can change the equation if I want. I could put together some episodes that would definitely put the broccoli back and then follow through by fixing the same recipes at home for Justin and myself. Now, let me see, what should I call them? Anyone got any ideas?”
“Calorie-Conscious Comfort Food?” Miss Voncille suggested.
Becca screwed up her face and then smiled diplomatically. “Thanks, but maybe too much of a tongue twister.”
“Comfort Food without Calories?” Connie offered.
Becca laughed. “That would be outright fraud. There’s no such thing.”
“Don’t I know it!” Connie exclaimed.
Then Miss Voncille tried again. “Downsizing with Comfort Food?”
Becca perked up immediately. “Oh, I like that. I think it just might work. A clever play on the state of the world today. I’m indebted, Miss Voncille.”
“Oh, happy to help out. Perhaps you could keep us informed about these new episodes and let us know when the first one will be broadcast so we can all be sure and tune in. In fact, I’ll be upset if I don’t hear from you.”
The mutual admiration society continued throughout the rest of the meal, and not even Councilman Sparks could disturb the camaraderie that was developing among the group. Then, after everyone had raved about the sheet cake and custard and stacked their trays, it was time for the serious business of The Cherry Cola Book Club to get under way.
“By now, I’m sure all of you have had plenty of time to think about our theme tonight,” Maura Beth began, standing behind the podium. “So, who wants to be the first to tackle ‘I’m Scarlett, You’re Melanie!’?”
Councilman Sparks quickly raised his hand and did not wait to be acknowledged. “I just wanted to assure everyone here that I’m definitely not in the closet, so I’m neither.”
“Your contribution to our meeting is very amusing, Councilman,” Maura Beth said, as brief, muted laughter broke out. “But now it’s time for some real thought.”
“I’d like to go first, if you don’t mind,” Connie said. And as there were no objections, she took the floor but remained seated. “I just wound up a long career as an ICU nurse at a hospital in Nashville. I know I went into that occupation in the first place because I felt I could do all the vital, detailed things that nursing requires. But despite all this moaning I’ve been doing tonight about my husband and his devotion to fishing, I really do have an empathetic personality. One of the things I did best when our daughter, Lindy, was growing up was to stroke her forehead patiently when she felt bad or had a temperature. It takes that kind of touch and tendency to be a good nurse, I believe. And that’s why I think I’m a Melanie. Maybe a somewhat firmer Melanie at times. But still a Melanie.”
There was a ripple of polite applause, but Connie held up her hand like a school crossing guard shepherding children. “I had something else to add, though. There’s a sequence in Gone with the Wind where Scarlett tries to tend to the maimed and dying soldiers at the field hospital. But she just can’t stomach it, apologizes to Dr. Mead, turns on her heels, and runs away. She just doesn’t have the temperament for it. Reading that passage this time around, I had a frightening vision of a high-tech Scarlett working as a nurse in a modern hospital. I envisioned her going around to all the patients that annoyed her and pulling the plug on them in one of her ongoing hissy fits. I love that expression, by the way—even though I couldn’t find it in my dictionary.” She waited for the subdued chuckling to subside.
“Maybe you think I’m being too extreme in my observations about Scarlett. But remember, she told Mammy she didn’t want to have any more children because of what giving birth to Bonnie Blue had done to her figure. That’s not a life-affirming instinct. It’s completely self-absorbed. Melanie would never be capable of that kind of behavior—at least not as written by Margaret Mitchell. So, I think you can definitely count me in Melanie’s soft, sweep camp, and I’m proud to be there pulling people back from the edge.”
More polite applause followed. Then Maura Beth said, “I think we’d all agree with your analysis, Connie. Very thoughtful. So, let’s score one for Melanie. Now, who wants to be next?”
It was Becca who volunteered from her seat. “I don’t know about going around pulling the plug on people,” she began, “but I have to say that I’m a Scarlett. I suppose I have the sense of entitlement that she always had because she was born at Tara, but mine comes from a different source. I think I’ve earned mine through hard work. I don’t think our culture recognizes merit enough these days. This radio personality of mine, this Becca Broccoli I’ve become, materialized out of nowhere. I went to bed one night, knowing I had this fifteen-minute radio show to produce after a chance meeting with the program director of WHYY at The Twinkle. We were sitting at adjacent tables, raving about the food to our waitress, and he happened to lean over and say to me, ‘I wish there was somebody in Cherico who could teach my wife how to cook like this!’ And something inside just egged me on, and I flat out told him I probably could since I loved cooking. One thing led to another, and somehow we came up with the idea of my doing a radio show. Finally—something to do with my degree in communications. Anyway, the very next morning I woke up with a doable gimmick.” Becca paused for a coy giggle.
“I liked the possibilities of this character immediately, plus my married name has always been impossible for people to spell. I discovered that Becca Broccoli was a different side of me—she was the take-charge person I’d always wanted to be. Scarlett was like that from the beginning. When she wanted something or someone, such as the incredibly dull Ashley Wilkes, she went all out. What Scarlett wanted to be was mistress of Tara, but she never really achieved it. On the other hand, I wanted to be mistress of the airwaves, and now I have the most popular show on radio station WHYY, The Vibrant Voice of Greater Cherico. That last part always makes me laugh. What are we—maybe five thousand people counting any pregnant women waddling around? Oh, believe me, I know I’ll never get a Grammy for being Becca Broccoli. People in the Beltway or out in Hollywood will never hear of me. I live in flyover country. But I’m still proud of what I’ve done. So perhaps I’m Scarlett, but with a well-adjusted, saner attitude.”
After a brief round of applause, Maura Beth put an exclamation point on Becca’s testimony. “Now that’s the sort of Scarlett I wouldn’t be afraid of meeting up with at the top of a dark landing!”
It was Miss Voncille’s monologue a few minutes later, however, that had the group riveted to their seats. “I know I started out with Scarlett’s fire and headstrong personality,” she was explaining. “It was my intention to have it all—a loyal husband from a good family, however many children we decided to have, a fine house with all the trappings. You name it, I didn’t see why I couldn’t have it if I applied myself. That, of course, was very much the essence of Scarlett. But like Scarlett, I made a crucial error”—she broke off suddenly, putting her hand up—“give me a second, please.”
Sensing what Miss Voncille might be about to reveal, Maura Beth spoke up in code. “We value your privacy above everything, Miss Voncille.”
“I appreciate that,” she resumed, taking time to catch her breath. “But I’m fine. I don’t intend to go into a lot of detail here. What I was about to say was that Scarlett made the crucial error of falling in love with the wrong man. Or at least thinking she was in love with him. In my case, I fell in love with a soldier who went missing in action in Vietnam. We were engaged to be married, and when he didn’t come back, I found myself embracing Scarlett’s rougher edges. It’s hard to forget that Margaret Mitchell’s first description of Scarlett on the opening page is that she was not beautiful. But she ultimately fell back on her strength and the more cunning aspects of her personality. What I fell back on was being a tough, no-nonsense schoolteacher, and lately I’ve been running ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’ like a Third World dictator. I know I’d like to try and be more like Melanie, but for the time being, I have to say I’m camped deep behind the front lines in Scarlett Territory.”
This time there was no applause. For some in the room it was the first time learning of Miss Voncille’s long-held secret about her lost love. Suddenly, they understood why she was the way she was, and that seemed to have inspired respectful silence with gentle smiles.
“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Maura Beth said at last. “That can’t have been easy for you.”
But Miss Voncille immediately put everyone at ease by chucking Locke Linwood on the shoulder. “Life goes on, people. In fact, he’s sitting right next to me in a coat and tie and a twinkle in his eye.”
Locke actually seemed to be blushing even as he smiled. “I reserve the right to remain silent.”
The laughter that followed cleared the way for Maura Beth’s finale, which began with unexpected praise as she remained at the podium. “Before I give my take on this premise of mine, I’d like to thank you, ladies, for being so candid about your lives. You’ve held nothing of importance back in letting the rest of us know who you are. It occurs to me that maybe we’ve got something more than a book club going here. I hope this is just the start of our meaningful friendships.”
Aside from a skeptical expression from Councilman Sparks, Maura Beth saw nothing but approval reflected in everyone’s face as she proceeded. “As for myself, I know that Melanie has always been part of my library personality. In Gone with the Wind, she would have been the first to help any lost soul find their way. I grew up thinking it would just be terrific to help people find the right book to read on a stormy evening or locate the perfect source for a report they were doing. As a child, I loved scouring the shelves for something fun to check out, and I can still amuse myself that way as a grown-up and the director of this library.” But her easy smile began to fade as she continued.
“There’s another side to Melanie that I must mention, however. She was often naïve and a bit too trusting, and I do believe I’ve been guilty of that here in Cherico. I haven’t always stood up for myself the way I should have. A good dose of Scarlett’s determination is what I really need. Unfortunately, there are those in this community who feel that a library is a luxury for bored housewives who are too cheap to buy their own copies of best sellers at the nearest bookstore. And that’s one of the milder sentiments I could conjure up for public consumption. Those people don’t see the library as the educational and job-hunting resource it’s always been. But at this juncture of my life, I feel that this little library—corrugated iron siding and all—is my Tara, and I intend to fight for it with every ounce of my strength. So the truth is: I’m in the midst of transforming myself from a Melanie into a Scarlett while trying to retain the best qualities of each. To my way of thinking, both characters ultimately represent what all women should strive to be. The right blend of kindness and ambition never goes out of style.”
Amidst muted but genuine applause, Councilman Sparks spoke up loudly. “My goodness, Miz Mayhew—that reminded me of the scene where Scarlett gets down on her knees in the dirt, berates a carrot, and declares that she’ll ‘never go hungry again!’ Why, you left not a dry eye in the house with the intensity of your monologue!”
Maura Beth, however, rose to the occasion. “Maybe it was a bit on the hammy side, but then, I was trained to be a librarian, not an actress. My milieu is shelving, not the stage. Or biographies, not Broadway.”
“Touché!” he exclaimed, actually appearing to enjoy the repartee and even blowing her a kiss.
“This was the most fun I’ve had in ages!” Connie added. “And that includes all those years with The Music City Page Turners up in Nashville. We never mixed our reads with our lives quite like this. It’s a different approach, but I like it.”
“I have a point to make, though,” Locke Linwood put in suddenly. “The food was mighty delicious, but I think the discussion was apparently for ladies only. I mean, nobody asked me if I thought I was a Rhett or an Ashley.”
Miss Voncille gave a little gasp as she looked him in the eye. “Now, Locke, you told me you weren’t even going to bother to read the book. You said I could do all the yapping, and you were just coming with me for the big spread.”
He hung his head, sounding a bit sheepish. “I lied. I’d never read it before. Never saw the movie, either. I guess I wanted to find out what all the hoopla was about.”
“Imagine that,” Miss Voncille replied, sounding pleased and surprised at the same time. “I thought everyone had seen the movie at least once. It’s like admitting you’ve never seen The Wizard of Oz or heard of Judy Garland.”
“Well, Miz Mayhew?” Locke asked.
Maura Beth was puzzled. “Well, what, Mr. Linwood?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m a Rhett or an Ashley, or do you have to be a woman to make these important literary connections?”
The request met with laughter throughout the room, after which Maura Beth popped the question. “Okay, by all means. Which are you, then?”
“Of course, I think of myself as a Rhett. My late wife, Pamela, always told me I was her hero.”
“You were certainly that,” Miss Voncille offered. “Anyone who ever saw the two of you together could confirm it. I saw it at every meeting of ‘Who’s Who?’ that you attended.”
“Does this mean that you consider yourself a bona-fide member of The Cherry Cola Book Club, Mr. Linwood?” Maura Beth said, seizing the opportunity.
“Why not?” he answered quickly. “I agree with Miz McShay over there. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.”
“Wonderful, and welcome aboard officially!” Maura Beth then glanced over at the front desk clock and decided to test the waters. “I see we’ve been at this business of dining and discussing for an hour and fifteen minutes now. Does anyone have any other thoughts about the novel? They don’t necessarily have to be related to Scarlett and Melanie.”
“I’m just curious,” Becca said. “What was the final total on that? I mean, how many Melanies and how many Scarletts did we end up with?”
Maura Beth scanned the notes she had scribbled throughout the proceedings and emerged chuckling under her breath. “It’s not all that clear, actually. I have Connie down as a Melanie, Becca and Miss Voncille as Scarletts—although with reservations in my estimation—and myself as a work in progress.”
“That’s hedging,” Becca insisted. “Here in the South we always take a stand. It’s in the lyrics of ‘Dixie,’ you know.” She began humming the tune until she got to the proper spot in the chorus and then began singing. “ ‘. . . in Dixie Land I’ll take my stand, to live and die in Dixie . . .’ ”
“Point well-taken,” Maura Beth replied. “Very Gone with the Wind, as a matter of fact. Okay, then, I’ll err on the side of Melanie for myself. Just for the time being, though. I have lots of things to accomplish before I’m thirty.”
“Tell me everything, girl!” Periwinkle exclaimed after her last customer had left a little past nine. She had just flipped the blue-sequined sign hanging on the front door of The Twinkle from OPEN to CLOSED. “Did anybody get tipsy on my sherry custard? It’s actually happened before. Some precious little ole lady had two of ’em one night, and it took a coupla grown men to escort her out the door. Maybe I should put a customer warning on the dessert menu.”
Maura Beth laughed as they claimed a table in the middle of the room. “No, I think your custard went down smoothly. No hiccups, just raves. My ooey, gooey, chocolate, cherry cola sheet cake was a winner, too.”
Periwinkle settled in, leaning forward with her gum going a mile a minute. “Okay, enough about the food. How did the meeting go? Was Councilman Supremo there throwing off his usual sparks?”
“Oh, yes. Dressed to the nines, too. He looked like he was going to a wedding. Or maybe he was supposed to be the groom. But he behaved, for the most part. Or let’s just say, I handled every curve ball he threw me. He even blew me a kiss, believe it or not. He’s an odd duck, that one. Anyway, I’m here to tell you that The Cherry Cola Book Club took flight without a hitch this evening. Everyone contributed in a meaningful way, and we ended up with two Scarletts and two Melanies. Oh, and a Rhett!”
“As in Butler?”
“As in Mr. Locke Linwood demanding that I ask him if he was a Rhett or an Ashley. It was so cute, and he’s now officially a member.”
Periwinkle eyed her intently. “Well, I guess you know I’m in the bunch with Scarlett branded across their foreheads. I’m too feisty to be anything else.”
“Scarlett on steroids, perhaps?”
Periwinkle drew back playfully. “Now, sweetie, I’m one of the good guys, remember?”
“Just kidding, of course. I definitely need more of your spine. Anyway, we got a lot accomplished tonight, including all the important decisions for the next meeting. Before we adjourned, we put it to a vote and decided that we’d be reading To Kill a Mockingbird this coming month. We’ll be getting together on the evening of September 19th, as a matter of fact.” Maura Beth gave her friend a hopeful look for emphasis.
“I still don’t see how I can swing it, honey,” Periwinkle insisted, reacting instantly to the unspoken appeal. “Let’s put it this way. If my restaurant bid’ness is going great guns and I’ve got standing room only all the time, then I simply won’t have the time to participate in the club. And if I have so much slack that I can loll around reading and choosing which fictional characters I most resemble, then I’m in deep . . . well, let’s just be ladylike about it and settle for the term . . . financial trouble. Does that make sense?”
“Of course. But I was thinking just the other day about your restaurant and my library—particularly about how busy you are. Not to mention that long drive you make round-trip every day to and from The Twinkle. I mean, your house is halfway between Cherico and Corinth. Don’t you get bored at times?”
Periwinkle shrugged. “Just part of making a living, honey.”
“What if I could spice things up a bit for you?”
“What do you suggest? Cumin, paprika, or something stronger like cayenne pepper? I’ve got ’em all on the shelf.”
They both laughed. Then Maura Beth said, “I was thinking that you could use our audio books to liven up your travel. Our selection is modest due to our budget, but the patrons that use them swear by them. So, what do you say? How about joining the club officially by being a good listener?”
Periwinkle was all smiles. “I think you should recruit for the Army, girl. I’m all ready to sign up under those circumstances.”
“Wonderful!” Maura Beth exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “We’ll finally get you a card, and we can take it from there.”
“And how about if I send over something extra to the buffet this time? Like my aspic.”
Maura Beth cut her eyes to the side with a saucy smile. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Of course, I’ll keep handing out your flyers to my customers. I assume you’ll be printing up a new one for the Mockingbird book?”
“That’s the plan.”
Then Periwinkle grew serious, briefly stopping her gum and leaning in. “So do you think all this’ll be enough to keep those weasels at the City Council from shutting you down?”
Maura Beth sighed plaintively. “Too early to tell. It’s very hard to predict Councilman Sparks. All I can do is plug away.”