Fannie Flagg Read online

  Mrs. Arthur Rosemond was reached at the couple’s home in Pound Ridge, New York, and informed of her husband’s death.

  Moving Up

  New York City

  1973

  After Dena took the job at the local station in New York, she worked for three long years, smiling and nodding at the male cohost of the morning show with the bad wig, and interviewing authors of books about child rearing, interior decorating, and cooking, three subjects in which she had absolutely no interest. Finally, she landed what she wanted, and became cohostess of the network’s morning show. It had been an easy transition. Still, although it was network, she found herself sitting, smiling and nodding at another male cohost with another bad hairpiece and doing more or less the same sort of interviews as before.

  It was the best job most women could expect at the time and most would have been satisfied. But she had her eye on the new, hourlong prime-time evening news show that her old boss, Ira Wallace, had created and was now producing. Just as Sandy had predicted, there was pressure on the network to use a woman. Soon Sandy talked the network into letting her do several interviews on the evening show. Although they were fluff pieces used in between hard news, she was good at it and she was meeting some interesting and important people.

  And yet, after a year, she continued to be thought of as nothing more than a pretty girl who could fill in and handle a few lightweight interviews. Wallace or any other producer was not ready to assign serious, hard-hitting, news-making interviews to any woman. She knew if she was going to ever get one, she would have to go out and get it herself.

  She spent weeks searching, and then one day found her man. Everybody suspected that when Senator Orville Bosley switched political parties and became a Democrat, he was positioning himself for something big, maybe the vice presidency. The press were curious. Reporters had tried in vain to get to him, but he was, uncharacteristically, very discreet and not granting interviews. Ever since Woodward and Bernstein and the Watergate investigations had started, politicians were suddenly leery of reporters and started to turn down many interviews. Luckily for Dena, Bosley thought he was God’s gift to women. Dena thought him a complete and pompous ass, and right up her alley.

  She found out he would be at a reception for newly elected Democratic senators and congressmen at the Shoreham Hotel in Washington. That afternoon, she took the train to Washington and that night Dena timed her entrance for about an hour after it had started. She arrived alone, wearing a long black dress with a slit up the side. She knew her legs and her hair were her best features. The only jewelry she wore was a gold choker around her neck. She did not want to look like a senator’s wife and she didn’t.

  Bosley was over in the corner of the room surrounded, as usual, by a group of men who all had on the same suit and tie. He looked to be puffed up with his usual macho self-importance and was holding forth on trade policy when he glanced up.

  She stood in the doorway, long enough to stop conversation, then walked straight through the crowd toward Bosley. People stepped aside like the parting of the Red Sea and she did not stop until she was standing in front of him. Her hair was parted on one side and when she turned her head slightly as she spoke, it fell forward, enough to intrigue him. She looked him directly in the eyes, smiled, and said, “So, Senator, I hear you and I smoke the same brand of cigar.”

  Three weeks later he was sitting across from her in the studio with a microphone around his neck, preparing to give his first major interview since switching parties. Ira Wallace was impressed. The regular male anchors were furious Dena had been the one to rope him in and hoped she would fall flat on her Scandinavian face. But the viewing audience at home did not see all the eyes behind the scenes or know that up in the booth they were focused on her as if she were about to jump off a tall building. All the audience saw was this nice-looking young woman in a simple, neat red and black wool suit, with huge, clear blue eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion, who seemed, when they began, as calm and composed as if she were in her own living room chatting with an old friend. She smiled at her guest and appeared to hang on every word he was saying. She looked sympathetic when he told her about growing up in the Depression and having to eat pancakes for an entire year. She read a quote from one of his grammar school teachers, saying, “Orville was always a leader, even as a boy. I knew he would do well.” They laughed over a photograph they flashed on the screen of little Orville in tattered overalls. After he was completely relaxed, she said with a smile, “Senator, people have said that even though you are a Democrat, your voting record is … actually, more like a conservative Republican’s. Don’t you feel it would be fair to inform your Democratic constituency that, while your party has changed, your position has remained the same?”

  Bosley was caught off guard. He thought he would go on talking about his poor childhood and how he had worked his way through college picking cotton and digging ditches and he began to stutter.

  “Well, uh … I think that charge is completely unfounded. Everybody who knows me and knows my voting record …”

  Dena knew his record cold and she sat back and drew out his position, issue by issue. She was ready for him, carefully prepped by Ira’s team of researchers. When he had finished one, she proceeded to cite his every vote on that and eventually every issue he mentioned, chapter and verse, with the efficiency of a machine gun. The male interviewers’ hopes for her demise slowly faded. His voting record contradicted everything he had just said. She had busted him big time and she had done it in prime time on network television.

  It had been a tightrope to walk. She had to look good, be charming, have her facts ready, and yet make it seem as if they were almost a surprise to her as well. And she had done so in less than ten minutes.

  After the director had called, “Off the air,” Dena had the feeling she had just scored a touchdown at the last minute.

  As she was being escorted off the studio floor, being congratulated by a pleased Ira Wallace, and by Sandy, she glanced back at Bosley. It was only a second, but long enough to see his face. He sat there, completely devastated by what had just happened to him.

  A week later when she read that after the interview Bosley probably would not get enough votes to be reelected, let alone make a vice-presidential candidate, a wave of guilt flooded over her. She realized what she had done and understood even more now just how powerful the medium she worked in was. But it was too late. She could not look back, not now; she had to keep moving forward. Ira had hinted that if she played her cards right, in a year or so she might be the first female to be offered a permanent spot on the show.

  She was definitely on the way up. Yet there had been a price to pay for Bosley—and for her. His career was wrecked and she started to wake up in the middle of the night with terrible stomachaches.

  A Question for Macky

  Elmwood Springs, Missouri

  1973

  Aunt Elner was a roly-poly farm woman, soft as a pillow, with the sweet smile of a child. Her hair was gray but her eyes and her smile were still young. And she always smelled like a wedding cake, an effect caused by the Cashmere Bouquet dusting powder and the Dorothy Gray hot-weather cologne she wore, even in the winter, and her whole house smelled sweet. She had never had children of her own but she loved them and they loved her. Every Easter she would cut a pattern of a big pair of bunny feet out of a piece of cardboard and make bunny prints out of her talcum powder as if the Easter Bunny had hopped through her front door all the way through the house and on out the back door. Children would come from all over the neighborhood and find the little Easter baskets she said that the Bunny had left for them.

  It was 11:00 A.M. and Norma was just thinking about what to fix for lunch when Aunt Elner called. “Is Macky there?”

  “Yes. He’s out in the yard.”

  “Tell him to come to the phone, will you, honey?”

  “Do you want him to call you?”

  “No, yell out there and tell him
to come to the phone. I’ll hold on. I’ve got something important I need to ask him.”

  “OK.”

  Norma went to the back door and called to Macky, who was digging in the red-worm bed. “Macky, you have a phone call.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Aunt Elner.”

  “Tell her I’ll call her in just a minute.”

  “She wants you to come to the phone right now.”

  “Find out what she wants.”

  “Aunt Elner, he says to ask you what you need.”

  “Well … I need to talk to him about something.”

  “All right. Hold on. Macky, she needs to talk to you right now.”

  “OK.” Macky got up and brushed the dirt off his hands. He came into the kitchen and headed for the phone. Norma stopped him before he reached it. “Macky, wash your hands. I don’t want worm germs on my phone!” He went to the kitchen sink.

  “What does she want, do you know?”

  “No, I don’t. But it sounds urgent.” Norma pulled a paper towel off her rack and handed it to him. “Here, use this.” He dried his hands and picked up the phone. “Hi, what’s up?”

  Aunt Elner said, “Is Norma standing there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, don’t let on something is wrong, but I need you to come over here and look at what somebody put in my door and tell me what you think.”

  “All right.”

  “And look and see if there’s anything stuck in your front door and if there is, get it and don’t let Norma see it, she’s nervous enough as it is.”

  “Okeydokey.”

  Aunt Elner was standing on her front porch waiting for him when he came walking up. “Was there anything in your door?”

  Macky shook his head. “Nope, not a thing.” And stepped over her cat, Sonny, who was lying on the sidewalk.

  “Well, would you look what somebody put in mine? Take a look at this and tell me what you think about it.” She handed him a bright, strawberry-colored piece of paper with bold black print:

  BEWARE—ARMAGEDDON IS AT HAND. THE END OF THE WORLD IS IMMINENT! REVEREND CLAY STILES HAS HADA REVELATION FROM GOD REGARDING THE END OF THE WORLD. THIS INFORMATION IS BASED UPON INSIGHTS. INSIGHTS INTO THE FINAL EVENTS THAT HE RECEIVED FROM GOD THIS PAST APRIL AND HAS THE EXACT DATE. FOR FURTHER INFORMATION CALL 555-2312 FOR FREE BOOKLET.

  Aunt Elner said, “What do you think, should I give him a call?”

  “No, Aunt Elner, he’s just some quack trying to get money.”

  “Do you think so? It says ‘free.’ ”

  “They just want you on their mailing list, to ask for donations.”

  “So I shouldn’t worry that he knows what he’s talking about?”

  “He’s just some idiot. Throw it out. It’s just a scam.”

  “Oh, well, it’s a good thing I called you first because I sure don’t want to get on another person’s mailing list, even if he is a preacher. I get enough junk mail as it is.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Now that you’re here, sit on the porch with me for a little while.

  I’ll make some tea.”

  He walked up the stairs. “All right, I’ll have some tea with you.”

  Macky sat in the yellow-and-white-polka-dotted glider and pushed himself back and forth, waiting. Aunt Elner came back and handed him his glass. “Let me ask you this, Macky.”

  “What?”

  Aunt Elner sat down. “Would you want to know when the end of the world was coming? I don’t know if I’d want to know; I think I’d just as soon wait and be surprised, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Is that sweet enough?”

  “Fine.”

  “What would you do if you knew for sure the end of the world was coming next Tuesday?”

  Macky thought a moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. What could you do, really? What would you do?”

  “I wouldn’t clean house for a week, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Maybe I’d go to Florida,” Macky said. “Or something.”

  “I think it’s better that none of us know when it’s coming, or if it’s coming in our lifetime. That way life’s more of a gamble, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “People like to gamble, don’t they? I like to play bingo. Not knowing when it’s coming keeps us on our toes, keeps us guessing.”

  Macky agreed.

  After a while, Aunt Elner said, “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

  Macky leaned out and looked up. “God, I hope not. I want to go out on the lake this afternoon.”

  “What would make you want to go to Florida?”

  “What?”

  “If you knew the end of the world was coming.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Guess I’d like to get in some good fishing before I go.”

  “But, Macky, you don’t want to be around a bunch of strangers in Florida when the end comes, do you?”

  “Well …”

  “I think it would be better not to travel at a time like that. Best to be in your own home, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You’d want Norma and Linda to be there, in your family group, wouldn’t you? You know Norma would not go to Florida, you know her; she’d want to get the house spick and span. They say that will be Judgment Day. You want to be where you’re supposed to be, so He wouldn’t have to come looking for you. I think we better stay right where we are.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Aunt Elner.” He stood up. “Well, I guess I’d better head on back home, I’ve got some more stuff Norma wants me to take care of.”

  “OK, honey. I appreciate your coming over.”

  He went down the steps and Aunt Elner called after him. “Don’t tell Norma what we were talking about. The end of the world and all that!”

  “I won’t,” he said as he waved good-bye over his shoulder, and stepped over Sonny, who never moved.

  A Dilemma for Dena

  New York City

  1973

  Dena had met the Reverend Charles Hamilton at several charity fund-raisers and had been surprised. Every year Reverend Hamilton was named as one of the ten most admired men in America. His church in New York was not the largest but he had become well known nationally because of his books. Although he and his wife, Peggy, had both come from humble beginnings, a small town in rural Kentucky, over the years he had become known as the man who swayed and inspired millions and counseled presidents. Still, apart from his popular public appearances, he tried to keep a low profile in his personal life. Dena had no special interest in preachers, but found the Hamiltons to be exactly what they seemed to be, two extremely nice and genuinely kind people.

  At first glance Peggy Hamilton would not strike you as being beautiful, but she was one of those women who, after you spent some time with her, became more and more attractive and then, suddenly, became beautiful. When she talked she made you feel like you were the most important person in the room. Although she usually had only men friends Dena genuinely liked Mrs. Hamilton.

  For years now everyone had sought a personal interview with the Hamiltons and they had declined; but, for a reason dear to their hearts, they agreed to give Dena an interview in their home. Years ago, Peggy had quietly founded Children, Inc., an organization that had escalated into a worldwide operation and fed and clothed children. But contributions had slowed and Dena promised to devote half the interview, which would be aired on the network, to promoting Children, Inc., and the other talking about their family life, their marriage, and the secret of its success. Dena was excited. She knew they had picked her to do it because they liked her and it couldn’t have come at a better time. She knew Ira Wallace was getting closer and closer to a decision about possibly adding her to the major news show, and this would be another important interview she had brought in on her own.

  Four days before the taping, Wallace called Dena into his office. When she walked in, sh
e saw three men, two of whom she recognized as staff researchers. The third person, a ferret-faced man, was a stranger. For once, Wallace, who never bothered with introductions, said, “Dena Nordstrom, say hello to Sidney Capello; he just made you a star, kid!”

  Dena glanced at the man, who managed some sort of half smile in her direction. She nodded. “How do you do.”

  Dena sat down. Ira looked like a wolf licking his chops after a serving of Little Red Riding Hood. He was pleased over something.

  “I didn’t tell you this because I didn’t want to worry you but I’ve had my best people on this for weeks … and they kept coming up with zero, zilch, nothing. That son of a bitch was as clean as a baby’s ass.”

  Dena was confused. “Who … are you talking about?”

  “Who? Your reverend friend, Mr. White Bread. For the piece, whattaya think, we couldn’t find a thing, not even a parking ticket, for Christ sakes. But I didn’t give up. I knew this was probably the only chance we’d get to nail him and we’re gonna blow that dumb redneck right out of the water and we got him—thanks to Sidney here. I knew there had to be some crack we could get into and Sidney found it. Not Hamilton but the next best thing—better, if it’s handled right. The little wife, and we’ve got it, one hundred percent, on paper, sworn witness.”

  Dena felt a knot in her stomach, anticipating what might be coming next.

  “Sidney went down to Kentucky to nose around and he scored big. Before Little Miss Holier Than Thou married Hamilton, she went and got herself knocked up. Not only that, she gave the kid away and hasn’t seen it since.”

  “Oh, no, Ira, I can’t believe that,” Dena said, stunned. “Where did this come from?”

  Wallace picked up a paper. “Straight from the horse’s mouth, straight from the hayseed who knocked her up. I can’t wait. You’ll schmooze them along, get them going on that happy marriage routine, and then you slip it in. ‘So, Mrs. Hamilton, how long has it been since you’ve seen your first child?’ She’ll be confused, she’ll say whatever the name of her first kid is with Hamilton, and you’ll give her that innocent look of yours and say, ‘No, I was speaking of your daughter that, according to our records, was born in 1952, and you gave up for adoption.’ Then all we do is sit back and watch them sweat and wiggle like worms on a hook. Oh, I love it.”