it.”
“I do,” snapped Big Barbara. “I drink because I like it.”
“I like to drink too,” said Luker, “but sometimes I put the bottle down before it’s empty. Barbara, you didn’t drink this way when Leigh and I were little.”
“That’s when I started though,” said Big Barbara, “when you and Leigh were little.”
“Why? Why did you start?”
“Luker, when I got married, I was just a sweet little Southern girl, and I had never even been north of the Mason-Dixon line. I had two children and a happy marriage. Lawton used to like to go fishing, and I liked to drink. I had three reasons for drinking. Two children were the first two reasons, and the third reason was I liked to go off . About six o’clock every evening, I’d be sitting out on the patio among the magnolias and the gardenias—gardenias all in bloom and stinking to high heaven!—and I’d be thinking, ‘I won’t have a drink’ and then you or Leigh would come up and say ‘Mama—’ and I’d say, ‘Oh, Lord, got to get me a drink’ and I’d run in the house. Then by seven-thirty, I’d be off somewhere else, I’d have gone away . . .”
“But I grew up,” said Luker, “and Leigh grew up. And Lawton stopped fishing ten years ago.”
“Oh, but Luker—I still like to go off . . .”
“Going off’s great,” said Luker. “It’s a lot of laughs, but Barbara, you don’t have control over it any more!”
For a minute, Big Barbara McCray sat very still and tried to control the anger she felt against her family for their high-handedness in this matter. Giving up drink had become, since her daughter and husband had begun to speak of it, an itching responsibility; but Luker, by tricking her out to Beldame without an ounce of spirits, had deprived her of the glory attendant upon voluntary renunciation.
She could not in fact be angry with Luker, for she knew how little he liked to be away from New York—and how much of an effort it must have been to coax India down to Alabama for some indefinite period. He came then entirely for love of her; but Big Barbara’s frustration and dread of the coming days and weeks—when she was already nervous because it was six o’clock and she hadn’t tasted scotch since noon—necessitated some outlet for her resentment.
“It was Lawton,” she said at last, “who asked you to come.”
“Yes, he did. But I came because of you, not because of him. You know that.”
“I do,” said Big Barbara grimly, “but I am furious with Lawton for going about it like this. You know why he did it, don’t you?”
Luker didn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you why he did it. He did it because he didn’t want me embarrassing him during the campaign. He didn’t want me passing out with my face in a plate of chicken salad at a church picnic. He didn’t want to see me carried out of a bar on a stretcher—”
“Barbara, that’s exactly what happened last week. How do you think I felt when Leigh called me up—in the middle of a dinner party—to say that you were in the Mobile General detox? That didn’t make any of us happy.”
“That wasn’t because I was drinking. That was because I had just heard that Marian had died. Lawton doesn’t care about me. It’d be fine with him if I would just lock myself in the closet and tilt a bottle down my gullet. He’d say, ‘Oh, sure, that’s fine. She’s having a great time in there, don’t nobody go in and disturb her when she’s having such a great time!’ That’s what he thinks. He thinks I’m a liability to his campaign. Like that representative from Kansas whose wife beat their two-year-old to death a week before the last election. She was a liability to him and he lost. Lawton makes me furious. That man wouldn’t be anything if I hadn’t pushed him! I still have to watch him! I was the one who taught him not to talk about hog butchering in front of the vice-president’s wife! That man wouldn’t be anything without me today, Luker. We
“I do,” snapped Big Barbara. “I drink because I like it.”
“I like to drink too,” said Luker, “but sometimes I put the bottle down before it’s empty. Barbara, you didn’t drink this way when Leigh and I were little.”
“That’s when I started though,” said Big Barbara, “when you and Leigh were little.”
“Why? Why did you start?”
“Luker, when I got married, I was just a sweet little Southern girl, and I had never even been north of the Mason-Dixon line. I had two children and a happy marriage. Lawton used to like to go fishing, and I liked to drink. I had three reasons for drinking. Two children were the first two reasons, and the third reason was I liked to go off . About six o’clock every evening, I’d be sitting out on the patio among the magnolias and the gardenias—gardenias all in bloom and stinking to high heaven!—and I’d be thinking, ‘I won’t have a drink’ and then you or Leigh would come up and say ‘Mama—’ and I’d say, ‘Oh, Lord, got to get me a drink’ and I’d run in the house. Then by seven-thirty, I’d be off somewhere else, I’d have gone away . . .”
“But I grew up,” said Luker, “and Leigh grew up. And Lawton stopped fishing ten years ago.”
“Oh, but Luker—I still like to go off . . .”
“Going off’s great,” said Luker. “It’s a lot of laughs, but Barbara, you don’t have control over it any more!”
For a minute, Big Barbara McCray sat very still and tried to control the anger she felt against her family for their high-handedness in this matter. Giving up drink had become, since her daughter and husband had begun to speak of it, an itching responsibility; but Luker, by tricking her out to Beldame without an ounce of spirits, had deprived her of the glory attendant upon voluntary renunciation.
She could not in fact be angry with Luker, for she knew how little he liked to be away from New York—and how much of an effort it must have been to coax India down to Alabama for some indefinite period. He came then entirely for love of her; but Big Barbara’s frustration and dread of the coming days and weeks—when she was already nervous because it was six o’clock and she hadn’t tasted scotch since noon—necessitated some outlet for her resentment.
“It was Lawton,” she said at last, “who asked you to come.”
“Yes, he did. But I came because of you, not because of him. You know that.”
“I do,” said Big Barbara grimly, “but I am furious with Lawton for going about it like this. You know why he did it, don’t you?”
Luker didn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you why he did it. He did it because he didn’t want me embarrassing him during the campaign. He didn’t want me passing out with my face in a plate of chicken salad at a church picnic. He didn’t want to see me carried out of a bar on a stretcher—”
“Barbara, that’s exactly what happened last week. How do you think I felt when Leigh called me up—in the middle of a dinner party—to say that you were in the Mobile General detox? That didn’t make any of us happy.”
“That wasn’t because I was drinking. That was because I had just heard that Marian had died. Lawton doesn’t care about me. It’d be fine with him if I would just lock myself in the closet and tilt a bottle down my gullet. He’d say, ‘Oh, sure, that’s fine. She’s having a great time in there, don’t nobody go in and disturb her when she’s having such a great time!’ That’s what he thinks. He thinks I’m a liability to his campaign. Like that representative from Kansas whose wife beat their two-year-old to death a week before the last election. She was a liability to him and he lost. Lawton makes me furious. That man wouldn’t be anything if I hadn’t pushed him! I still have to watch him! I was the one who taught him not to talk about hog butchering in front of the vice-president’s wife! That man wouldn’t be anything without me today, Luker. We
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