The Supremes at Earl's All-You-Can-Eat

by Edward Kelsey Moore

saying so. But Barbara Jean wasn’t wearing it for Clarice. She was wearing it for Big Earl. When she was a teenager and was ashamed of having to wear her mother’s flashy, trashy hand-me-downs, Big Earl made a point of telling Barbara Jean that she looked pretty every time he saw her. Not in a dirty old man way or anything. He would just smile at her and say, “You look divine today,” in a way that made her feel as if she were wearing haute couture. Or he would see her come ...

look exactly like a flower.” Anywhere else in town, she might have been dirt, but inside the walls of the All...

Long after Barbara Jean had choices and knew better, she would occasionally pick one of the brightest and the tightest from her closet and sashay into the All-You-Can-Eat on a Sunday afternoon just to give Big Earl a reason to grin and slap his knee and say, “That’s my girl.” On those days, she left the All-You-Can-Eat feeling twenty years younger than when she’d walked in. So...

Barbara Jean always drank vodka, partly because whiskey had been her mother’s drink and she swore she’d never touch it. Also, vodka was safe because people couldn’t smell it on you. If you stuck to vodka and you knew how to control yourself, nobody talked trash about you, no matter how many times you filled your demitasse cup. She put the cap back on the vodka bottle and returned it to the liquor cabinet. Then she took her cup and saucer to the kitchen and left them on the counter for the maid to deal with in

When she returned to the library to turn out the lights, she contemplated reopening that troublesome Bible. She was in just that kind of mood, and it wouldn’t take long. After a few vodkas, Barbara Jean’s form of Bible study was to close her eyes, open the book on her lap, and let her index finger fall onto the open page. Then she would read whatever verse was nearest the tip of her nail. She had done this for years, telling herself that one day she would land on just the right thing to turn on some light inside her head. But, mostly, she spent countless nights learning who begat whom and reading of the endless,

She tiptoed past the bedroom she shared with Lester. Then she passed by the guest rooms. The door to Adam’s room drew her to it as surely as if it had stretched out a pair of arms and pulled her into its embrace. She opened the door and stared into the room at the familiar low shelves crammed with out-of-date toys, the small desk strewn with faded crayon drawings, the miniature chair with a pale green sweater slung over it as if its owner might dash into the room at any second to

Big Earl’s funeral was held at Clarice’s church, Calvary Baptist. He wasn’t much of a churchgoer himself, but his daughter-in-law’s family had worshipped at Calvary for almost as many generations as Clarice’s people. It seemed like the perfect

choice until the place started to fill up and it became clear that the university’s football stadium was the only building in town that could have comfortably accommodated everyone. Each pew of the church was packed with mourners. Hundreds of folks who couldn’t get seats crowded the outer aisles, leaning against the white plaster walls. Small clusters of people who weren’t able to squeeze inside the church stuck their heads into the opened side doors of the sanctuary,

Although the Calvary Baptist approach to faith was a bit hard-assed for my taste, I was glad the service was there. For my money, that church is the prettiest in town. Calvary is only half the size of First Baptist, but it has a dozen beautiful stained-glass windows, each one portraying the life of an apostle. The windows extend from the floor all the way up to the vaulted ceiling and, when sunlight hits the glass,

rainbow is projected through the sanctuary onto a mural of the Crucifixion on the wall behind the baptismal pool.

The highlight of the mural is the sexiest picture of Jesus you’ve ever seen. He has high cheekbones and curly jet-black hair. His bronzed, outstretched arms bulge with muscles and He has the firm stomach of a Brazilian underwear model. His mouth seems to be blowing kisses to the congregation and ...

Clarice kept looking over her shoulder, searching for the face of her youngest son in the crowd. But I was sure that, deep down, she knew he wouldn’t be coming. Carl could be anywhere. And wherever he was, he wasn’t likely to be alone.

Handsome

Carl was the pretty apple that h...

far from Richmond’s big, ...

I

had never understood why Big Earl married Minnie. They couldn’t have been more different in terms of their dispositions, and I never witnessed a moment of anything that looked like true affection between them. But looking at the old pictures of her that adorned the walls, the mantel, and just about every other visible surface, it made a little more sense to me. In those pictures, she was glamorous and

desirable, an exotic and magical creature with an air of mystery. We had all thought of Big Earl as a father figure and a friend. But hadn’t he been a man, like any other? Maybe when he saw Minnie, he didn’t see the spiteful old woman who now sat on the front porch greeting guests with “Thank you for coming. Did you know I’ll be dead in a year?” Maybe Big Earl looked at her and saw a gorgeous, smiling showgirl freeing a squirming rabbit from a hat. Maybe seeing Minnie that way ha...

A voice said, “Hard to look away, ain’t it?” I turned and saw Thelma McIntyre standing next to me. Ever the lady, Miss Thelma was dressed for her husband’s funeral in a tasteful black mourning dress. Her face was covered by a veil.

Another voice called out, “Over here, Odette” from the direction of the dining room. I turned, half expecting to see another dead friend. Instead, I saw Lydia, Big Earl’s daughter, waving me over to a ten-foot-long table of food

Mama was of the generation that believed you showed your respect for the deceased with a tribute of pork.

She turned to Big Earl, who seemed to be genuinely moved by the pork shrine in his dining room, and said,

“Six hams. Earl, you were tr...

not usually interested in people unless they’re about to pass over. She hovered around your daddy for an entire month before he died.” I recognized the woman then and let out a little squeak in spite of myself. Standing there in the living room in her fox stole was the regal former first lady, Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Mrs. Roosevelt. She moved in with my mother right after Daddy passed, so I heard about her antics nearly every day during the last nineteen years of Mama’s life. And I had no reason to believe they’d parted company. Still, there are some people you

eleanor roosevelt

of cinnamon and mahogany faces surrounding Minnie on the front porch, was one white face. It was a face I recognized, one that I never thought I’d see again. Almost thirty years had passed since Clarice and I had last laid eyes on him, but we both knew it was Chick Carlson. His black hair was streaked with gray and he was thicker around the waist now. But he had just grown out of boyishness when he’d left Plainview, so that wasn’t a surprise. Even from where I sat, I could see the pale blue of his eyes and see that he was, in middle age, a mature version of the beautiful kid Clarice had proclaimed “King of the Pretty White

Barbara Jean and Chick had loved each other deeply and foolishly, the way only young people can do. And it nearly killed them both.

Lester stood next to me now. His best black funeral suit was sopping wet and his sleeves were rolled up. He said, “I was just trying to fix that damn light in the fountain.” He looked down at himself, dripping water onto the carpet. “I guess I fell in.”

Barbara Jean ran to Lester’s side as Richmond threw the large statues off of him like they were made of cotton balls instead of stone. James shouted for someone to call 9-1-1 and moved in to start CPR. I knew it was too late.

“Well, you said Mrs. Roosevelt was good at picking out who was about to die.” “Oh, not that. I figured all along she was right about that. I just always assumed it would be Richmond who’d die underneath two naked white girls.” Mama walked away then, not interested

I went over and joined my friends. Clarice had her arms around Barbara Jean, both of them seated on the floor. I got down on my knees beside them and grabbed ahold of Barbara Jean’s hand. She stared at Lester’s body as it rocked under James’s futile effort to revive him. She shook her head slowly from side to side and said, in the soft tone of a mother gently scolding a much-loved, naughty child, “I can’t take my eyes off you, can I? Not for two seconds.”

Clarice and Odette moved in with Barbara Jean after Lester died. For the last bit of July and on into August, they made sure she got dressed and ate something every day. They slept on either side of her in bed for the first few nights. Not that Barbara Jean slept much. Every night, they heard her

creep out of her room and down the stairs to sit alone in her library. She would return to the bed just before sunrise and pretend later that she’d slept through the night. Barbara Jean hardly spoke at all. And, when she did, not a word of it was about Lester. Most of her time was spent pacing the house, stopping in her tracks every so often to shake her head like a sleeper trying to wake up from a nightmare. She was in no shape to be left alone or to make any decisions. And there was so much that had to be done. Clarice and Odette were surprised to learn that, although Lester had spent

many years fighting off various near-fatal illnesses, the only preparation he had made for his passing was a short will leaving everything to Barbara Jean. So while Odette saw to Barbara Jean, Clarice could be depended on to organize the service and interment. She planned everything from Lester’s burial suit to the menu for the funeral dinner. She accomplished it all with a gracious smile, even swallowing her temper when dealing with the pastor and higher-ups of First Baptist Church—a piss-elegan...

When a rich man dies, the vultures descend quickly. And Lester had been wealthier than anyone had imagined. He’d been Plainview-rich back when he was courting Barbara Jean. He became Louisville-rich not long after they got married. And, it was learned, he died Chicago-rich/New York–comfortable.

Lester’s greedier relatives were knocking on Barbara Jean’s door for a handout well before the first fistful of dirt hit the lid of Lester’s coffin. One previously unknown cousin came by claiming Lester had promised to fund her Hawaiian vacation. A great-niece wanted to interest Barbara Jean in “a surefire business opportunity” that just needed “a little start-up money.” Several of Lester’s leering male relations dropped by, basted in Old Spice, all prepared to provide guidance and a strong shoulder for the beautiful widow to weep upon. This sort of situation, Clarice thought, was precisely why God made Odette.

When the corners of Odette’s mouth turned downward and her eyes narrowed, nobody stuck around to see what was coming next. She stood guard over Barbara Jean, sending anyone who posed a potential threat running for their lives with just ...

The Supremes were in residence at Barbara Jean’s for three weeks. Odette left each day to spend time with James, but always came back to be with Barbara Jean at night. Clarice went to check...

to...

his dinner and monitor his diabetes. But the fifth time she stopped by the house and failed to find him in or see any sign that he had come home at all since she’d been at Barbara Jean’s, she asked herself why she was doing it, and couldn’t come up with a good answer. So that day Clarice made sure the freezer was stocked with a month of meals, then she left Richmond a note saying she would return when Barbara Jean was okay. She stayed away for the next two weeks, limit...

independence from Richmond, Clarice sat down at the piano in Barbara Jean’s sitting room after breakfast. The piano was a Victorian beauty, a Steinway square grand with a rosewood cabinet. Clarice had ordered it herself during the initial renovation of Barbara Jean’s mansion. It was a fine instrument and Clarice thought it was a shame that its role of late was merely decorative. She ran a finger over the white keys and then the black and was pleased to discover that it was in tune....

In spite of the circumstances, on the mid-August morning when Barbara Jean thanked Odette and Clarice for their support and kindly, but firmly, ordered them out, Clarice was sorry

leave. She told herself at the time that her reluctance to end the slumber party was because she’d had such fun with her friends, reliving a part of their shared youth. Later, she admitted to herself that she was frightened of what she knew in her heart she would find when she got home.

When Clarice stepped inside her front door after two weeks away, she called out Richmond’s name to empty walls. None of the food she had prepared for him had been touched. And the sheets on their bed were as fresh as they’d been when she had put them on over a fortnight earlier. When Richmond came home two

When claricehot hometo richmond

Odette, Clarice, and Barbara Jean became the Supremes in the summer of 1967, just after the end of their junior year of high school.

Clarice...odette...barbara jean became the supremes in 1967 after the end of their junior year

night at the All-You-Can-Eat was their first taste of adult liberty. In truth, they had escaped their homes and their parents to sip Coca-Cola and eat chicken wings under the most watchful eyes in town. They couldn’t have been more strictly monitored anywhere else on the planet. Big Earl and Miss Thelma had a talent for identifying and neutralizing troublemakers, and no kind of teenage mischief got past them.

Odette took the box from her mother and asked, “Who is Mrs. Perdue?” Mrs. Jackson said, “You know, your little friend Barbara Jean’s mother. Her funeral was today, so I baked a chicken for the family.” Clarice looked at the clock and felt that she had to say something. She had made plans to meet Richmond and one of his buddies at 7:00. It was only 5:30, but Clarice knew from experience

Clarice was indignant. She was a good girl. She got excellent grades. Hardly a season passed without her piano playing winning her a prize or affording her a mention in the newspaper that would join the articles about her birth that adorned the walls of her parents’ home. Still, she was monitored every hour of her day. All of her socializing took a backseat to the four hours of piano practice she did daily in

each week with Zara Olavsky, an internationally renowned piano pedagogue who taught at the university’s music school. She was required to check in hourly whenever she was away from home. And she had the earliest curfew of any teenager in town. Her parents grew even more vigilant that year, with Richmond in college and Clarice still in high school. There were no dates at all unless she double-dated with Odette. Clarice was certain that, with Odette’s gruff personality around boys and those horrible outfits she wore that growled “keep away,” her parents viewed Odette as walking, talking virginity insurance. Not that

But Richmond had a date for Odette that night and Clarice’s parents had agreed to allow her to stay out an hour later than usual. It was going to be a perfect evening. Now Odette’s mother

Mrs. Jackson narrowed her eyes at Clarice and said, slow and low, “Odette’s gonna take this chicken over to Barbara Jean to show that child some kindness on the day of her mother’s funeral. If you don’t wanna go, then don’t. If you’re worried about your feet, borrow some sneakers from Odette. If you’re worried about roaches fallin’ off of her, then step back if she gets to flingin’ her head around. Or maybe you should just go on home.” The only thing Clarice could think