was a long-running tradition, going back to the first year of our marriage. The truth, even though he denies this, is that the first party was an attempt by James to prove to his friends that I wasn’t as bad a choice of a mate as I seemed. Richmond and Ramsey—and others, most likely—had warned James that a big-mouthed, hot-tempered woman like me could never be properly tamed. But James was determined to show them that I could, on occasion, be as domestic and wifely as any other woman. I suspect that he’s still trying to convince them.
What James has proved is that people will flock to a party hosted by a troublesome woman as long as she lays out a good spread. The party got a little bigger with each passing year, and lately we can count on seventy-five to a hundred folks showing up throughout the course of the day.
I normally cooked for a solid week in anticipation of my guests arriving, but that year James fought me, insisting that I conserve my strength and have the whole thing catered by Little Earl. We battled it out until we finally came to a compromise. Little Earl covered the savory. I did the sweet, with some help from Barbara Jean and Clarice.
My friends worked harder than I did to put the party together. Clarice even brought her mother by to lend a hand with the baking. Mrs. Jordan—who, with her bullhorn nonsense, was giving Mama a run for her money in the race to be considered the nuttiest woman Plainview had ever produced—was a real asset in the kitchen once she got past her revulsion over the cheapness of my serving platters. I appreciated her coming by to help, but her habit of stopping to thank Jesus at every step of the cooking process got old real fast. We thanked Him for every ingredient, the utensils, even the oven timer. Being around her reminded me of something Mama liked to say: “I love Jesus, but some of his representatives sure make my ass tired.”
On New Year’s Day, the guests started showing up around three o’clock. My sons, my daughter, and my grandkids did all of the greeting. Denise was bossy, ordering her older brothers around like she always had. Jimmy argued with his sister over the slightest thing: “The coats go in the middle bedroom.” “No, they don’t. They go in the guest bedroom.” Eric ignored them both and acted just as thrilled to be having company over as he did when he was six years old. I half expected him to grab one of the guests by the hand and demand that they accompany him to his room to see his train set. Seeing my fully grown offspring together, falling back into the roles they had played as children, was a load of fun for me, although I’m sure my son-in-law and daughter-in-law were counting the seconds until they could escape my house and get back the adults they’d married.
James’s police friends arrived first. The younger men who worked under James came at the precise moment the party was scheduled to start, like they were appearing for morning roll call. Mostly fresh-faced, beefy white boys—there were still no women in his unit—they came bearing flowers, in the company of skinny girlfriends who wore extremely low-cut blouses. As always, the first-timers looked stiff and uncomfortable until the good food, plentiful beer, and a few country songs mixed in with the R&B on the stereo loosened them up.
My brother stomped through the living room and threw himself on me like an overly friendly Labrador. Rudy spun me around and inspected me. “You don’t look much worse than usual,” he said. Then he gave me a brotherly punch in the arm and a kiss on each cheek.
Rudy’s wife, Inez, stepped closer, slapped him on the wrist, and chastised him for being too rough with me. Then she hugged me so tight she squeezed the breath out of me. Inez might be a dainty thing—she’s my height and no more than a hundred pounds—but every last bit of what’s there is muscle. Rudy likes to pretend his wife is helpless, and she plays along. But I wouldn’t want to be the one to make Inez mad. The three of us did some fast catching up before I passed them along to James and said hello to the newest guests.
Richmond, Clarice, and her mother, Beatrice, arrived at the same time as Veronica and