Now the movie flipped to the fifties. He was standing in front of the Masonic Temple Drugstore, jingling change in his pockets. The feel and sound of folding money never appealed to him; he was not cursed with a driving desire to break his back earning the green stuff. He was just as happy with a pocket full of shiny dimes and quarters, won in the elusive game, known in the back alleys as the Galloping Dots, Seven-Come-Eleven, Snake-Eyes. But more times than not, the change was a gift from some grateful partner in passion.
When he finally lost his activities at age eighty, due to the natural deterioration and the normal wear and tear, there was many a disappointed lady in Slagtown. He was that rare and precious commodity: a woman's man.
The movie speeds up, and sights and sounds start coming faster. Three-hundred-pound women, shaking and screaming in church . . . and in bed . . . "OH JESUS, I'M COMING!" . . . Mr. Artis O. Peavey and a number of women exchange nuptial vows . . . sitting in the Agate Cafe, talking to his friend Baby Shephard . . . "That woman done busted my head" . . . "I heard tell it was the husband". . . "I would have fought for you, Odetta, but when a man's got the difference in his hand, loaded and cocked, there ain't no use in being a fool" . . . "Give me a pig's foot and a bottle of beer". . . "I've got the world in a jug and the stopper in my hand". . . "You're not the only oyster in the stew”. . . . Blue Shadows and White Gardenias . . . amber-colored plastic cigar-holders . . . Professor Fess Whatley's Jazz Demons. . . . Got the miseries? Feena-Mint. . . . Princess Pee Wee Sam and Scram . . . Fairyland Park Ballroom . . . Hartley Toots Killed in Bus. . . . I married her without my consent, so to speak . . . "That woman domineered over me". . . . Nobody knows you when you're down and out . . . Watch out . . . Don't be coming down here . . . Oh no, you gonna get them white folks all mad . . . all riled up . . . . No, no, I ain't one of 'em, boss, they's just troublemakers . . . Yes suh . . . "Get off that bus!"
Artis tapped his foot on the floor three times and, magically, the movie changed. He is a little boy now, and his momma is cooking in the back of the cafe. . . Oh, don't get in Momma's way, she slap you out the door . . . There's Naughty Bird and Willie Boy . . . and sweet Jasper . . . Grandma Sipsey's there, dipping her cornbread in honey . . . Miss Idgie and Miss Ruth . . . they treat you white . . . And Stump . . . and Smokey Lonesome . . .
Then, the old man, who had been agitated just a moment before, begins to smile and relax. He is out in the back of the cafe, helping his daddy barbecue . . . and he is happy . . . we know a secret.
His daddy gives him a barbecue and a Grapico, and he runs way back up in the woods to eat it, where it's cool and green and the pine needles are soft . . .
The pockmarked man in the hotel lobby walked over and shook the smiling Artis O. Peavey, who was now quiet and still. "What's the matter with you?"
The man jumped back. 'Jesus Christ! This nigger is dead!" He turned to his friend at the counter. "Not only that, but he's done peed all over the floor!"
. . . But Artis was still way up in the woods, with his barbecue.
MONTECITO, CALIFORNIA
DECEMBER 5, 1986
Evelyn had been at the lodge almost two months now, and had already lost twenty-three pounds. But she had gained in another area. She had found her group, the group she had been looking for all of her life. Here they were, the candy snatchers: chubby housewives, divorcees, single teachers and librarians, each hoping for a new start in life as a slimmer, healthier person.
She had not known how much fun it would be. To Evelyn Couch and her cronies in poundage, the most important thing on their minds was what exciting low-cal dessert would the cooks come up with tonight? Would it be Chiffon Pumpkin Pie, 55 calories per serving? Or Nonfat Fruit Whip, only 50 calories? Or, maybe tonight they would have her favorite, Fitness Flan, 80 calories per serving.
It had never dawned on Evelyn that just knowing it was Boots and Mitties Day could make her heart sing, nor that she would be the one who was always early for Water Fun.
But something else had happened here that she could never have dreamed of. She had become a much sought-after, popular person! When new people arrived at the lodge, they were soon asked, "Have you met that darling woman from Alabama? Wait till you hear her talk, she has the most adorable accent, and is she a character!"
Evelyn had never thought of herself as being funny or having a cute accent, but it seemed that every time she said anything, the other women would scream with laughter. Evelyn enjoyed her newfound celebrity and played it for all it was worth, holding court at night by the fireplace. Her special friends were three housewives from Thousand Oaks, one named Dorothy and two named Stella. They formed their own, private fat club, and vowed to meet once a year for the rest of their lives; and Evelyn knew they would.
After stretch and flex class, she changed into her new royal-blue jogging outfit and stopped by the desk to get her mail. Ed dutifully forwarded all the junk mail, and usually there was nothing important; but today she saw a letter postmarked Whistle Stop, Alabama. She opened the letter and wondered who could be writing her from there?
Dear Mrs. Couch,
I am sorry to tell you that on last Sunday, around 6:30 A.M., your friend Mrs. Cleo Threadgoode passed away at her home. I have several things she wanted you to have.
My husband and I will be happy to bring them to Birmingham, or you may pick them up at your convenience. Please call me at 555-7760. I am here all day.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Jonnie Hartman
Neighbor
Suddenly, Evelyn didn't feel cute anymore, and she wanted to go home.
APRIL 8, 1986
Evelyn waited until the first warm day of spring before she called Mrs. Hartman. Somehow she could not stand the thought of seeing Whistle Stop for the first time in the dead of winter. Evelyn rang the doorbell and a pleasant-looking brown-haired woman came to the door.
"Oh Mrs. Couch, come on in. I'm so happy to meet you. Mrs. Threadgoode told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you already."
She took Evelyn back into a spotless kitchen, where she had set two places with coffee cups and placed a freshly baked pound cake on her green Formica dinette set.
"I was so sorry to have to write you that letter, but I knew that you would want to know."
"I appreciate that you did. I had no idea she had left Rose Terrace."
"I know you didn't. Her friend Mrs. Otis died about a week after you left."
"Oh no. I didn't know . . . I wonder why she didn't tell me."
"Well, I told her she ought to, but she said you were on your vacation and she didn't want you to worry. That's how she was, always looking out for the other fellow . . .
"We moved next door right after her husband died, so I guess I've been knowing her for over thirty years, and I never heard her complain, not once, and she didn't have an easy life. Her son, Albert, was like a child. But every day, she'd get up, and shave and bathe and powder him, and put on his hernia belt—treated him just like he was a baby, even after he was a grown man. . . . There was never a child more loved than Albert Threadgoode. Bless her heart, I miss her so much, and I know you do, too."