Curtiss Matlock - Little Town, Great Big Life

Having slept a peaceful night in her own bedroom, Paris Miller was putting on her eye makeup while listening to her boom box set to low volume. She smiled at the Wake Up call. She loved sweet Willie Lee and Munro, and Mr. Winston, too, who had always been so kind to her. Sometimes she imagined her grandfather was like Mr. Winston; he could be, if only he would stop drinking. Turning off the radio, she tiptoed to the kitchen, carefully closing the door to her grandfather’s room as she passed. She prepared the coffeemaker, and set out an orange and a packaged sausage biscuit, all in readiness for her grandfather when he got up. If she could just love him enough, he would quit drinking.

Two miles away in her king-size bed with the leather head-board, Belinda slept soundly beneath fine Egyptian 1200-count cotton sheets and down comforter, head cradled on a soft pillow, with earplugs and a violet satin eye mask. A few feet away to the right, on the night table near her head, was a small decorative plaque, which she had purposely placed there the previous night. It read: Today I will be handling all of your problems. I do not need your help. —God.

Belinda had found the plaque stuffed in the back of a cabinet while searching for a bottle of aspirin. She had thought that she was only too glad to dump all of her problems on anyone who would take them. And with that, she rejected all responsibility if Arlo did not open the store on time, and she herself would get there when she got there.

She was still asleep past all three reveilles and did not hear the telephone ringing.

Lyle did, though, as he came in the back door. The caller was Arlo, saying that he had overslept and was sorry. Lyle went in and saw his beautiful Belinda sleeping peacefully, and was a little hesitant about awakening her. While fearless in the face of armed robbers, dangerous illegal-alien smugglers and desperate crack dealers, the deputy was definitely wary of waking his wife. After gazing at her a moment, he solved his problem by turning around and going down to the drugstore himself. Any mistake he could make behind the soda fountain counter could not be as great as waking a soundly sleeping Belinda Blaine.

Despite all the years he had been with Belinda, he had never in his life worked the soda fountain counter. Belinda never would let him do anything. But opening the door was easy, and he had help from a few customers to get the coffee and latte makers going.

Andy Smith, who needed shaving supplies and who had heard that Blaine’s Soda Fountain had the only latte in town, and that it was good, hopped over there to get a cup. He was a little disconcerted to find a deputy sheriff, with a gun protruding on his hip beneath the white apron, waiting on him.

“Hi, man. I’m Lyle Midgette.” The tall man with boyish eyes offered his hand with a friendly grin. “What can I get for ya’?”

“Uh, nice to meet you. I’m Andy…Smith.” He shook the man’s hand. “I’ll have a latte, if you please.”

Growing Up

“WEAR A COAT!” CALLED AUNT MARILEE FROM the kitchen.

“O-kaay!” returned Corrine, who was in the foyer and had no intention of complying. She leaned into the hall mirror, put on lipstick. Aunt Marilee was not likely to approve of either the lipstick or the Wonderbra underneath Corrine’s blue sweater. Her aunt was bound and determined that Corrine was not going to follow in the footsteps of her mother, who, as Aunt Marilee put it, “has lived a life more difficult than she had to.”

Aunt Marilee was Corrine’s mother’s older sister. Corrine had come at a young age to live with her aunt because her own mother had had “difficulties”—those being men, drinking and destitution. Aunt Marilee had been known to say, “Put men and drinking together and you get the third without a doubt.” Corrine had never known a father, until Papa Tate.

While her own mother had been for some time “on her feet,” as it was said, had a solid job and a stable relationship with a prominent, well-to-do man, and she and Corrine got on well, Corrine chose to remain with Aunt Marilee and Papa Tate. For one thing, that Corrine’s mother had still not married but lived with her boyfriend drove Aunt Marilee nuts. The main reason, however, was that Corrine could not bear to leave her aunt. Her own mother said that Corrine and Aunt Marilee were two peas in a pod. Corrine supposed this was true, and oftentimes did not like it. But she knew that Aunt Marilee needed her in a way that her own mother never had.

“Love you,” she called out to Aunt Marilee as she grabbed up her backpack and raced out the front door in her blue sweater.

“Good morning,” said Rosalba, coming up the steps.

“Good morning,” Corrine answered, halting her racing and walking more sedately. Her gaze surreptitiously went to the side, down Rosalba’s legs to her feet, watching her movements. Corrine tried to move the same. Rosalba was a sexy woman. And she was probably the only nanny-housekeeper who wore fishnet stockings and high-heeled pumps. No one could figure out how she could go all day in those shoes.

A big gleaming blue tow truck waited in the driveway. The door flew open, and her friend Jojo extended her hand. Corrine grabbed it, put her foot on the chrome step and hauled herself up into the tall vehicle. It was not easy to remain a graceful lady doing that.

Over behind the wheel, her friend’s elder brother, Larry Joe, said, “How you this mornin’, Miss Corrine?” and winked at her.

“Just fine,” she said. Stupid. Couldn’t she think of something more clever?

The big truck backed out and started off for the school. Corrine, her gaze on Larry Joe’s hands on the steering wheel, tried to think of something to say.

“Did you hear Granddaddy and Everett this mornin’?” Jojo asked.

“No. After we told them goodbye, me and Aunt Marilee went back to bed.”

“You must be the only ones in town. They were really funny. Willie was good, too,” she added loyally. “He’s speakin’ more clear.”

Jojo Darnell was Winston’s real granddaughter and Corrine’s best friend. They shared a love of horses.

Larry Joe Darnell, who had been driving them to school most mornings that year, was Winston’s oldest grandson, manager of the Texaco, a hunk, twenty-four and the love of Corrine’s life.

Corrine said, “Yeah, I know. It’s that new speech teacher they hired at the first of the year. Aunt Marilee says she’s a miracle worker.”

“You mean Monica Huggins?” Larry Joe said.

“Uh-huh,” Corrine replied, wondering at the left turn Larry Joe took onto Porter. That was not the way to school. She saw him looking over at her with a curious sparkle in his eyes. Larry Joe had these blue eyes that just shone out from his face. “Do you know her?”

“Well, that’s who we’re pickin’ up this mornin’,” put in Jojo.

Corrine looked at her, saw a pointed expression on her face.

“I’ve known Ms. Huggins for a few years,” said Larry Joe as he drove on down the street and pulled into the driveway of a small bungalow. “I went to junior college with her brother. I got her car in my shop….” He shoved the shifter into Park and hopped out. The truck rumbled.

The teacher came out the red front door. Larry Joe met her on the walkway and gave her a quick kiss. Corrine felt Jojo elbow her, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want Jojo to see her face.

Larry Joe escorted Ms. Huggins over to the driver’s side of the truck and helped her get in to sit right next to him.

“Good mornin’, Ms. Huggins,” Jojo said.

Corrine didn’t say anything. The lapse did not appear to be noticed. Jojo and Larry Joe were busy talking to the teacher.