another, growing into a crescendo until, boom! The lights came on and there was Char, back to the audience, and as she turned she looked more like Cher than Cher. People began to clap spontaneously, and Char hadn’t really done a thing. But she had that something, that special something that stars have. Presence. Stage presence.
“Good evening, everyone! I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not Cher. I’m Char, her identical twin sister! Isn’t that insane? I’ll bet she doesn’t even know she’s got one!”
The whole club was totally mesmerized. Even the club manager leaned against a wall to watch and the bartenders stopped taking drink orders. Char had them right in the palm of her hand.
She explained how her evil twin stole all her music and said that now, she was going to give us the real lyrics to “I Got You Babe.”
She was so damn good, I had tears running down my face. So did Momma, and Suzanne was about to pop out of her cocktail dress, her chest was rising and falling so fast. People were screaming and cheering, and when the song was over there were calls for more.
“Encore! Encore!”
“Oh, darlin’ little precious gems! I didn’t come here with just one story. Do y’all want to know who the real tramp in the family was?” Everyone laughed. “Uh-huh. You heard it from me! And how about the original lyrics to ‘Bang Bang’? Are we ready?” The lights went low and Char lip synced the Cher version but they had cut Char’s changes into the song so that it sounded like Cher singing Char’s song.
“How did they do that?” I asked Suzanne.
“I wouldn’t know, but then, there’s a lot of magic out here. Smoke and mirrors.”
When it was all over, the crowd stood and roared with applause and whistles. We clapped so hard, our hands stung.
Momma said, “Well, y’all, a star is born.”
“Honey never goes bad. Did you know that?” I asked.
Ted said, “I want to hear all about honey bees.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ding-Dong
Ted was picking me up at six. I didn’t have the good sense to be nervous about having a date. I just told myself I was going out with a friend, because in my mind that’s what he was. Nonetheless, I did all the things to prepare that I’d watched Leslie do in our youth. The date ritual. Shower, hair, shave, moisturizer, and a measure of cosmetic enhancement. I wore a simple sundress and flat sandals that were a natural color. I borrowed one of Leslie’s purses and a spritz of her cologne.
Promptly at six, the doorbell rang, and I wouldn’t say I sprinted to the door, but I got there quickly. I didn’t wait the suggested three beats that Leslie did, like her three rings on the phone before answering. What was the point in delaying the fun?
“Hey!” I said. “Don’t you look nice?”
“You, too! Are you ready to go?”
“Yep! So, what’s the plan?”
“Dinner at the Shem Creek Bar and Grill, watch the sunset, and then I don’t know. We’ll see how late it is, I guess?”
“That sounds lovely,” I said and locked the door to the house behind me.
“Great!” he said and held my car door for me, closing it when I was comfortably seated with the skirt of my dress neatly tucked under me.
Ted’s car was precious—a Japanese import, red and loaded with gadgets. The lights were on at Archie’s house and yes, I had a moment where I hoped he could see me going out with someone. That’s right, Archie! I have a date!
Now, that whole southern thing about gentlemen holding chairs and doors for ladies might seem dated to some people, that the fair sex couldn’t manage a chair or a door for themselves, bless their sweet little heart-shaped peach kernels. To me it said a mouthful of other things—that your momma raised you right, that you had respect for women and deferred to them by allowing them to enter a home, a store, a restaurant, et cetera, before the man and then to take their arm and fold it over yours to ensure steady footing, and finally, it was just a tiny bit of refinement that wasn’t hurting anyone and made you both seem like you didn’t grow up in a barnyard, even if you did.
We were passing over the causeway and couldn’t help but notice the water on either side was almost even with the road. One more inch and the causeway would be a washout. Then, for a