Brickey, who plays the mountain matriarch in the Drama, bangs the floor with her walking stick. “Jack Mac, if you don’t marry this girl, it don’t make a lick of sense.”
The crowd calms down and waits for Jack’s response. “Folks, y’all know I’m a private person—”
Before he can finish, Sweet Sue pipes up, “The answer is yes. Yes!” She kisses Jack Mac all over the face. She shouts, “I love this man!” Her sons, still in mountain-boy costume, run up to the stage. The crowd cheers. The cold bottle of champagne I hold seems as though it’s in the wrong hands all of a sudden. So I make a stage-right cross and hand it to Jack Mac.
“Congratulations!” I say happily. The crowd goes wild.
Jack Mac leans into my ear and says, “Thank you.”
I look at him. “Call your mother.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jack Mac kisses my cheek. Sweet Sue grabs him away.
“Hey, Ava, he’s mine. Find your own man!”
The crowd laughs; it’s one of those long, rolling laughs. Now, when you’re the town spinster, jokes of this sort aren’t one bit funny. Around here, being married makes you a prize. No one has claimed me, and although it shouldn’t hurt me, it does. I could cry. Instead, I bend forward and laugh louder than anyone in the house.
Theodore, as if on cue, comes up behind me and puts his hands around my waist. Then he announces, “She has a man, Sweet Sue.” I look up at Theodore, the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I lean against him.
“Well, I didn’t mean to . . .” Sweet Sue stutters. Jack Mac cues the band, gracefully saving his girlfriend’s face. He shrugs at me.
Theodore takes me in his arms to dance. The music fills the theater. Somebody’s singing the lyrics, but all I hear is Theodore’s voice saying, “She has a man! She has a man!” onstage, in public, and loudly for all to hear! He looks down at me and smiles. I feel wanted, claimed, and—I can’t believe it—alluring. Instead of looking off as we dance, I look into his eyes, and they are as blue as the sky on the backdrop.
And then we stop. Theodore kisses me. It’s not the usual friendly kiss I have become accustomed to all of these years. So at first I don’t lock in. I’m confused. Then his lips, wordless and soft, persist. My spine turns from rivets of bone into a velvet ribbon spinning off its wheel and pooling onto the floor. I hold on to him like Myrna Loy did Clark Gable when they jumped out of a two-seater plane in
Test Pilot
. My waist is on a swivel as he dips me. But the kiss doesn’t end. Moments later, when it does, my body feels like it is full of goose feathers. Theodore holds my face while everyone dances around us, offering looks of approval.
“You need lipstick,” he says, squinting at me.
“You don’t.” I dab the Really Red I left there off of his face. We laugh. It’s one of those shared moments that can only come between two people who know each other so well that it borders on irony. Theodore pulls me close. I rest my head on his shoulder. He smells fresh, a mix of peppermint and spice. I look across the dance floor. Iva Lou gives me a thumbs-up.
“Let’s get out of here,” Theodore says with an urgency I’ve never heard before. He takes my hand and yanks me off the stage, and I skip down the stairs behind him.
Nellie Goodloe, president of the Lonesome Pine Arts and Crafts Guild, stops us. “Mr. Tipton, I need to speak to you about candidate John Warner’s visit to the Gap.”
“We were just leaving,” Theodore says firmly. Nellie turns to me.
“Ave Maria, tell him this is important,” she says.
“It can wait,” Theodore tells her with finality.
“It can’t wait. I got a call from John Warner’s press person, and they want a confirmation that the town is going to go all out for his campaign stump through Southwestern Virginia.”
Nellie’s mouth keeps moving, but I can’t hear her. Her lips and hair are orange, and she has placed her hand on Theodore’s
The crowd calms down and waits for Jack’s response. “Folks, y’all know I’m a private person—”
Before he can finish, Sweet Sue pipes up, “The answer is yes. Yes!” She kisses Jack Mac all over the face. She shouts, “I love this man!” Her sons, still in mountain-boy costume, run up to the stage. The crowd cheers. The cold bottle of champagne I hold seems as though it’s in the wrong hands all of a sudden. So I make a stage-right cross and hand it to Jack Mac.
“Congratulations!” I say happily. The crowd goes wild.
Jack Mac leans into my ear and says, “Thank you.”
I look at him. “Call your mother.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jack Mac kisses my cheek. Sweet Sue grabs him away.
“Hey, Ava, he’s mine. Find your own man!”
The crowd laughs; it’s one of those long, rolling laughs. Now, when you’re the town spinster, jokes of this sort aren’t one bit funny. Around here, being married makes you a prize. No one has claimed me, and although it shouldn’t hurt me, it does. I could cry. Instead, I bend forward and laugh louder than anyone in the house.
Theodore, as if on cue, comes up behind me and puts his hands around my waist. Then he announces, “She has a man, Sweet Sue.” I look up at Theodore, the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I lean against him.
“Well, I didn’t mean to . . .” Sweet Sue stutters. Jack Mac cues the band, gracefully saving his girlfriend’s face. He shrugs at me.
Theodore takes me in his arms to dance. The music fills the theater. Somebody’s singing the lyrics, but all I hear is Theodore’s voice saying, “She has a man! She has a man!” onstage, in public, and loudly for all to hear! He looks down at me and smiles. I feel wanted, claimed, and—I can’t believe it—alluring. Instead of looking off as we dance, I look into his eyes, and they are as blue as the sky on the backdrop.
And then we stop. Theodore kisses me. It’s not the usual friendly kiss I have become accustomed to all of these years. So at first I don’t lock in. I’m confused. Then his lips, wordless and soft, persist. My spine turns from rivets of bone into a velvet ribbon spinning off its wheel and pooling onto the floor. I hold on to him like Myrna Loy did Clark Gable when they jumped out of a two-seater plane in
Test Pilot
. My waist is on a swivel as he dips me. But the kiss doesn’t end. Moments later, when it does, my body feels like it is full of goose feathers. Theodore holds my face while everyone dances around us, offering looks of approval.
“You need lipstick,” he says, squinting at me.
“You don’t.” I dab the Really Red I left there off of his face. We laugh. It’s one of those shared moments that can only come between two people who know each other so well that it borders on irony. Theodore pulls me close. I rest my head on his shoulder. He smells fresh, a mix of peppermint and spice. I look across the dance floor. Iva Lou gives me a thumbs-up.
“Let’s get out of here,” Theodore says with an urgency I’ve never heard before. He takes my hand and yanks me off the stage, and I skip down the stairs behind him.
Nellie Goodloe, president of the Lonesome Pine Arts and Crafts Guild, stops us. “Mr. Tipton, I need to speak to you about candidate John Warner’s visit to the Gap.”
“We were just leaving,” Theodore says firmly. Nellie turns to me.
“Ave Maria, tell him this is important,” she says.
“It can wait,” Theodore tells her with finality.
“It can’t wait. I got a call from John Warner’s press person, and they want a confirmation that the town is going to go all out for his campaign stump through Southwestern Virginia.”
Nellie’s mouth keeps moving, but I can’t hear her. Her lips and hair are orange, and she has placed her hand on Theodore’s
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