made the papers. Darling, is your granny alone out there right now?”
“No, ma’am, she’s with Benjy. Benjy’s from the trappers live out that way—real crazy people, you know??? The kind that live in those shacks all made out of pieces of tin, and windows from salvage and even cardboard? I pay him below minimum wage to watch Granny and to cover the phones, but I don’t take out any deductions.”
“So what?” said Mona. “He’s an independent contractor.”
“You sure are smart,” said Mary Jane. “Don’t you think I know that? I was actually biting my lip on another little tidbit right at that point, you know??? That Benjy, bless his heart, has already discovered how to make some easy money in the French Quarter down here, you know?? Peddling nothing but what God give him.”
“Oh my Lord,” said Celia.
Michael laughed. “How old is Benjy?” he asked.
“Twelve years old this September,” said Mary Jane. “He’s all right. His big dream is to be a drug dealer in NewYork, and my big dream for him is to go to Tulane and become a medical doctor.”
“But what do you mean, cover the phones?” asked Mona. “How many phones have you got? What are you actually doing down there?”
“Well, I had to spring for some money for the phones, that was an absolute necessity, and I’ve been calling my broker, naturally enough. Who else? And then there’s another line that Granny can talk on to my mother, you know, my mother is never getting out of that hospital in Mexico.”
“What hospital in Mexico?” asked Bea, utterly aghast. “Mary Jane, you told me two weeks ago how your mother died in California.”
“I was trying to be polite, you know, save everybody the grief and the trouble.”
“But what about the funeral?” Michael had asked, drawing close enough most likely to sneak a look down Mary Jane’s tightly laced junk polyester blouse. “The old lady. Who
did
they bury?”
“Darlin’, that’s the worst part of it. Nobody ever found out!” said Mary Jane. “Don’t worry about my mother, Aunt Bea, she thinks she’s on the astral plane already. She might
be
on the astral plane for all I know. Besides, her kidneys are shot.”
“Now, that’s not exactly true about the woman in the grave,” said Celia. “They believe it was …”
“Believe?” asked Michael.
Maybe big breasts are markers of power, Mona had thought as she watched the girl bend nearly double and laugh and laugh as she pointed at Michael.
“Look, that’s all very sad about the woman in the wrong grave,” said Beatrice. “But, Mary Jane, you have to tell me how to reach your mother!”
“Hey, you don’t have a sixth finger,” said Mona.
“Not now, precious,” said Mary Jane. “My mother had some doctor in Los Angeles chop it off. That’s what I was going to tell you. They did the same thing to—”
“Enough of this talk, really,” said Celia. “I’m so worried for Rowan!”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” said Mary Jane. “I mean—”
“Same thing to whom?” asked Mona.
“Now that’s another thing. When do you say ‘whom’ instead of ‘who,’ exactly?”
“I don’t think you’re at that stage yet,” Mona had replied. “There are a lot of other basic things….”
“Enough, ladies and gentlemen!” Bea had declared. “Mary Jane, I’m going to call your mother.”
“You’re going to be so sorry, Aunt Bea. You know what kind a’ doctor cut off my sixth finger in L.A.? It was a voodoo witch doctor from Haiti, and he did it on the kitchen table.”
“But can’t they dig up the wrong woman and find out once and for all who she was?” Michael asked.
“Well, they have a very good suspicion, but …” Celia had started.
“But what?” Michael had asked.
“Oh, it has to do with welfare checks,” Beatrice had declared, “and that’s none of our business. Michael, please forget about that dead woman!”
How
could
Rowan just ignore these proceedings? And here he was,
“No, ma’am, she’s with Benjy. Benjy’s from the trappers live out that way—real crazy people, you know??? The kind that live in those shacks all made out of pieces of tin, and windows from salvage and even cardboard? I pay him below minimum wage to watch Granny and to cover the phones, but I don’t take out any deductions.”
“So what?” said Mona. “He’s an independent contractor.”
“You sure are smart,” said Mary Jane. “Don’t you think I know that? I was actually biting my lip on another little tidbit right at that point, you know??? That Benjy, bless his heart, has already discovered how to make some easy money in the French Quarter down here, you know?? Peddling nothing but what God give him.”
“Oh my Lord,” said Celia.
Michael laughed. “How old is Benjy?” he asked.
“Twelve years old this September,” said Mary Jane. “He’s all right. His big dream is to be a drug dealer in NewYork, and my big dream for him is to go to Tulane and become a medical doctor.”
“But what do you mean, cover the phones?” asked Mona. “How many phones have you got? What are you actually doing down there?”
“Well, I had to spring for some money for the phones, that was an absolute necessity, and I’ve been calling my broker, naturally enough. Who else? And then there’s another line that Granny can talk on to my mother, you know, my mother is never getting out of that hospital in Mexico.”
“What hospital in Mexico?” asked Bea, utterly aghast. “Mary Jane, you told me two weeks ago how your mother died in California.”
“I was trying to be polite, you know, save everybody the grief and the trouble.”
“But what about the funeral?” Michael had asked, drawing close enough most likely to sneak a look down Mary Jane’s tightly laced junk polyester blouse. “The old lady. Who
did
they bury?”
“Darlin’, that’s the worst part of it. Nobody ever found out!” said Mary Jane. “Don’t worry about my mother, Aunt Bea, she thinks she’s on the astral plane already. She might
be
on the astral plane for all I know. Besides, her kidneys are shot.”
“Now, that’s not exactly true about the woman in the grave,” said Celia. “They believe it was …”
“Believe?” asked Michael.
Maybe big breasts are markers of power, Mona had thought as she watched the girl bend nearly double and laugh and laugh as she pointed at Michael.
“Look, that’s all very sad about the woman in the wrong grave,” said Beatrice. “But, Mary Jane, you have to tell me how to reach your mother!”
“Hey, you don’t have a sixth finger,” said Mona.
“Not now, precious,” said Mary Jane. “My mother had some doctor in Los Angeles chop it off. That’s what I was going to tell you. They did the same thing to—”
“Enough of this talk, really,” said Celia. “I’m so worried for Rowan!”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” said Mary Jane. “I mean—”
“Same thing to whom?” asked Mona.
“Now that’s another thing. When do you say ‘whom’ instead of ‘who,’ exactly?”
“I don’t think you’re at that stage yet,” Mona had replied. “There are a lot of other basic things….”
“Enough, ladies and gentlemen!” Bea had declared. “Mary Jane, I’m going to call your mother.”
“You’re going to be so sorry, Aunt Bea. You know what kind a’ doctor cut off my sixth finger in L.A.? It was a voodoo witch doctor from Haiti, and he did it on the kitchen table.”
“But can’t they dig up the wrong woman and find out once and for all who she was?” Michael asked.
“Well, they have a very good suspicion, but …” Celia had started.
“But what?” Michael had asked.
“Oh, it has to do with welfare checks,” Beatrice had declared, “and that’s none of our business. Michael, please forget about that dead woman!”
How
could
Rowan just ignore these proceedings? And here he was,
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