Biggie and the Devil Diet - By Nancy Bell Page 0,4
yard around eleven.
As soon as I came in the back door, I noticed something was wrong. There was no smell of lunch being prepared, and Willie Mae was not even in the kitchen getting ready to cook anything. I went to the back stairs and yelled, "Biggeeee!"
Biggie appeared at the top of the stairs in her slip, her hand at her throat. "My soul, J.R., what's the matter?"
"Willie Mae's not cooking lunch," I said.
If looks could kill, I'd have been a dead duck. "J.R., you scared me half to death. Willie Mae had an emergency. Miss Rosa Dorsett, who goes to her church, has passed on, and Willie Mae had to go to the funeral home to fix her hair." Then she took a good look at me. "What on earth have you been doing? Get up here and get in the bathtub this very minute— and take off those shoes and leave them on the back porch. Willie Mae will have your hide if you leave a mess in her kitchen."
I left my clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor. I was just slipping into a clean tee shirt when Biggie tapped on the door, then without waiting for an answer, pushed it open and poked her head in. She had changed from her old sweat pants to a pantsuit with a scarf.
"How come you're so dressed up?" I asked before she could speak.
"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about." She leaned against the door frame. "I'm meeting some of the girls down at Mattie's Tea Room for lunch. You can come along if you want." Then she spotted my clothes on the floor and pointed. "Were you planning to leave those there?"
"Well, I didn't want to put them in the hamper with Willie Mae's clean dirty clothes."
"Probably a good idea," she said. "Take them out back and hang them on the clothesline. When we get back, you can wash the mud off with the hose."
"I might not go, Biggie."
"Suit yourself," she said, "but today's Tuesday, and Mattie's special is always fried catfish on Tuesday. Still, if you want to stay here, there's some leftover cornbread and turnip greens in the fridge. Just be sure to clean up after yourself."
"I guess I'll go." I picked up my muddy clothes and started down the backstairs. "I sure hope nobody sees me though."
Lately, I've been getting a little embarrassed about being seen all over town with my grandmother. I don't know why; I didn't used to feel that way. And that's not all. A lot of other things have been bothering me recently, like girls. All of a sudden, the girls in my class at school have taken to wearing lipstick and eye shadow and stuff. And the way they dress is real stupid, too. Half the time you can see their bare skin sticking out from between their pants and tops. And they're always whispering and looking at you out of the corners of their eyes. I don't know why that makes me nervous, but it does. Thank goodness my friend, Monica Sontag, doesn't act that way. If she ever starts, she can just kiss our friendship good-bye.
* * *
Mattie's Tea Room sits on the square right across Pecan Street from the courthouse. It is between Dossie's New and Old Antiques & Massage Parlor and Mr. Beamis's law office. Mrs. Mattie Thripp and her husband, Norman, run it, although if you ask me, I'd say Norman Thripp is nothing but a slave around there the way his wife orders him around all the time. If I ever get married, which I'm not going to, I'll never let my wife treat me the way Mattie treats Norman.
The tearoom is one of those girly places, if you know what I mean. Ruffled curtains hang on the windows, and the tables are covered with peach-colored cloths with little vases of fresh flowers in the middle of each one. Butch Hinckley, who owns Hinckley's House of Flowers, changes the flowers every day or so. The chairs are all antiques, according to Miss Mattie, and I think she's telling the truth because most of them are pretty rickety.
A little silver bell tinkled when we pushed open the door and went inside. Mrs. Muckleroy, Miss Julia Lockhart, and Butch were already seated at the round table in the middle of the room. A long table under the windows had a white card in the middle that said RESERVED.
"Yoo-hoo, Biggie. Here we are,"