“Only high-dollar brands sold at Goldsmith’s.” Gertie pressed an elbow into mine, raising her eyebrows sky-high. “Say, would you mind picking me up a can of Aqua Net Super Hold while you’re there?”
“No ma’am. Need anything else?”
“I don’t suppose.” She moved over to her purse, hidden under the checkout counter. Gertie made a swishing sound when she walked. I didn’t know if it was her thick-as-mud hose or her thick-as-mud girdle, but I’d know her anywhere, even with my eyes closed.
When she bent down to riffle through her wallet, I held my breath, afraid her skirt might split.
As soon as she stood up, two quarters in hand, her gaze dropped to my legs. It wasn’t the first time.
Before she started the lecture, I cut her off at the pass. “I know what you’re thinking, and I appreciate your concern. Truly I do. But I don’t wanna wear support hose. They’re hot.” I stopped short of sayingThey’re ugly.After all, Gertie wore them. Suntan was her shade, sold right there in the lingerie department. You couldn’t even see your hand while tucked inside the tester.
Gertie lifted a finger to punctuate her words, then singsonged, “You’ll besor-ry when varicoseve-ins pop out all over those pretty littlele-gs.” The way her voice rose and fell sounded like she was performing a recitative in an opera.
I sang back. “Varicoseve-ins aren’t high on mywor-ry list.” I plucked the quarters from her palm. “See you in anhou-r.”
“My, you have a nice voice,” she said, hands pressed against hips. “Have you considered a major in musical theater?”
Of course I’d considered a major in musical theater. I thought about music almost every hour of the day. My senior year in high school I’d played Amaryllis inThe Music Man, and the year before, I’d played Aunt Eller inOklahoma!Not lead roles, but I’d enjoyed them. Immensely. Nonetheless, a major in musical theater would have been impossible. Dad would have never allowed me to major in anything that might take me to a lewd place like New York City, full of sinners bound for hell. I settled on liberal arts.
“No ma’am, I have not.” I spun around hastily, hoping Gertie would take the hint and drop the subject.
As I wove through the bra racks toward the escalator, the sound of her heavy Southern drawl rang out through the department. “If you reconsi-dah, you could become a star on Broadway.”
I ignored her. Although I had to admit hearing Gertie mention the wordstarstruck a major chord. My true life’s calling—the passionate one Dad forced me to bury—was to become a folk-rocker like Mary Travers from Peter, Paul and Mary. Or a pop rock singer like Dusty Springfield.
But that was before my Beatles disaster. The worst, most shameful day of my life, inflicted upon me by my very own father.
“Why don’t you go somewhere fun this weekend so you can wear that new cologne?” Gertie called loudly, even though customers in the next department could hear. That’s another thing. Gertie considered it her job to construct a social life for me. And find me a boyfriend. She’d been shocked when I told her I’d never had one.
I tossed her a wave without turning around and headed straight for the escalator.
Kress Department Store
Memphis, Tennessee
Friday, July 25, 1969
A front parking spot was waiting on me as soon as I drove up. Even though Dad told me to park as far away from other cars as I could, I didn’t. Have no doubt, I adored my Mustang, but Dad was out there about cars. He demanded that mine be kept pristine, just like everything else in our military household.
After my Beatles disaster, Dad bought me a brand-new, pastel yellow ’66 Mustang for Christmas. Although he never admitted it, nor asked for my forgiveness, Mama claimed he felt terrible about pushing me to my breaking point that fateful day in front of the Mid-South Coliseum. The doctor said it was probably a heatstroke or maybe even an anxious episode.Baloney.It didn’t take a medical degree to know it was, in fact, a consequence of Dad publicly humiliating me like I was Hester inThe Scarlet Letter.
Buying me the Mustang was his way of apologizing. Apology gifts were nothing new. Ron and I had several of them. Ron’s ’63 Plymouth Barracuda, affectionately called “Cuda,” was one of his I’m-sorry presents. It came after Dad humiliated him in front of the Central High football team by calling him a “gutless chicken liver” during practice.
Ron’s Martin guitar showed up two days after our father shamed him into believing—Dad’s words, not mine—“your late arrival to puberty, and lack of facial hair, is in truth a lack of masculinity. You need to man up, boy.”
My bright-red Schwinn bicycle with the white banana seat showed up the day after he called meplumpin the seventh grade and questioned who would want to marry me if I didn’t get a hold of my weight problem. I was thirteen. A little chubby. A husband was the last thing on my mind. But his comment stuck.
Just once I would have loved to hear Dad come out and say “I’m sorry for hurting you” and forgo the present.
Once inside the store, I headed straight to the cosmetics aisle. Donovan’s voice rang inside my head, “Wear Your Love Like Heaven.” When Love had come out with that ad, every teen in America who loved Donovan’s music bought a Lovestick. Love had the prettiest lipsticks I’d ever seen. Sunlit was my shade. Their fragrance was just as luscious. The second I smelled it on a girl in the Goldsmith’s break room, I knew I had to own it.
Scanning the shelves up and down, side to side, I found everythingbutLove cologne.Where the heck is it? It must be right in front of my face.Sensing a salesclerk behind me, I whipped around for help. “Excuse me. Where can I find ... Oh, sorry. I thought you worked here.”
Hardly an old-lady Kress clerk, the girl was young and pretty.So pretty.She wore cool aqua-tinted round sunglasses, even inside the store. Her waist-length, straight blond hair and bangs were parted in the middle. Freckles sprinkled her nose. A pale shade of frosty lipstick colored her lips.
“Suzannah!” the girl exclaimed, pushing her sunglasses atop her head. “It’s me.”
My mouth dropped open.
