The Makeover of James Orville Wickenbee Read online

  “It never hurts to learn new things,” I said at once. “And as religions go, I think the Mormon Church is one of the best. Its precepts make sense and it sets high standards for its members.” Who was I to dissuade Sadie? The Mormon Church could possibly do more for Sadie than hours with a top therapist. Look what one of its members had done for the students of a high school by a lake.

  “You took the lessons, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, I could tell Sadie wanted more information and I pushed at the remaining crust of my peach cobbler, then looked up. “I’m not religious. I’m not even sure that I believe in a god.” I opened my mouth again, but realized even if I’d wanted to,

  I couldn’t explain something I didn’t understand myself. In fact it was still a sensitive, hurtful area for me, one I tried not to delve into often.

  “Well, I believe in God and I pray every day,” Sadie said with intensity. “I’ve always believed in a god and his angels. I think God helped me become friends with you and Michelle.” She smiled then and there was such peace in her button eyes that for a few moments, I envied Sadie her simple faith.

  Now I became pensive as I thought about how she’d told me that Derrick might soon be deployed. “Maybe you should suggest that the Mormon missionaries contact Derrick too.” I was worried about his sensitive soul and guessed he would need all the spiritual comfort he could get.

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” Sadie said without hesitation. Then Sadie studied my face carefully for a few seconds. “If you want to win the election and get more votes, you need to smile more.” She pulled back, a corner of her mouth twitching with surprise at her courage.

  I giggled slightly. “Oh! Oh, okay, well thanks for the tip.” It was something James had neglected to mention when he’d had me face the mirror and pointed out all my flaws, but I recognized the comment might have some merit. “You may be right,” I said.

  “I am right,” said Sadie. “You have nice teeth and you’re beautiful and smart. You have everything to smile about.” Then she pulled back and grinned. “Maybe you should put masking tape on your wrist so you’ll remember.”

  That made me giggle more and then my giggling inspired Sadie to giggle and soon we seemed to be trying to outdo each other in a snorting contest. She, of course, won. I’m sure the other restaurant patrons wondered about our sanity.

  Yes, we’d become pretty good friends, Sadie and I. I was even thinking about talking to Jack, Adriana’s dad, about the possibility of hiring Sadie and cutting back my hours.

  So how could Alex insinuate I was turning my back on old friends? Still, I asked myself, what could it possibly hurt to also seek out people with clout and connections? My motivations in seeking the presidency of a school were not nearly as pure, altruistic, and unselfish as James’s had been, but I had some pretty good ideas and had talked to a lot of individuals about how we could improve Cleveland State. I hoped to guide the students toward a greater desire to serve in the community, the city, and the state, for one thing. In fact, I had some good ideas for society in general if and when I should enter an even bigger political arena.

  While Cleveland State wasn’t what you could call a prestigious school, it was a start and it was exciting to find myself for the first time in the highest echelons of an organization. Michelle was right. I was well- known and respected and I was socializing with others in the top echelons. I’d even dated a number of top- notch men who had their futures all planned out. There was Julian Gregorson, who planned to attend Duke for his MBA. There was Don Jessop, pre- med, and several others as well.

  Soon after I’d replied to my brother’s letter, however, Adriana introduced me to someone whose picture I could have sent to my brother with the caption: “The right kind of person.”

  “Miles is pre- law like you and he’s planning to go into politics,” she’d told me.

  “Who isn’t?”

  “Except this guy has connections. His uncle is Howard Reynolds.”

  “You mean the Howard Reynolds, Representative Howard Reynolds, head of the house subcommittee?”

  “That’s right.”

  I found myself rubbing my fingers together. “I guess that does give Miles somewhat of a toe in the door, doesn’t it?” A toe? I remember thinking. More like an entire leg.

  To my surprise, I soon discovered that for someone born with not only a silver spoon, but a full set of polished silverware in his mouth, Miles was a nice individual, decent and ethically intact. In fact, the more time I spent with him, the more impressed I became. Like James, Miles was president of his high school student body. Even better, in my estimation, was the fact that he was planning to run for student president of Ohio State University this next year.

  “I’m thinking he won’t need a makeover,” I joked with Adriana.

  “I’m thinking you’re right about that,” she responded with a chuckle and a double eyebrow lift.

  I was right. Miles already wore the right clothes; held himself properly; and his teeth were cloud- white. He had even had laser surgery on his eyes so he wouldn’t need contacts.

  “You don’t by any chance play chess, do you?” I asked him not long ago over a pleasant supper of pheasant under glass at the Lakeshore Country Club.

  “I do,” he said as he patted his mouth with his napkin.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He smiled mysteriously, humbly, yet confidently. “I’m glad we have so much in common,” he said as he took my hand, “because I have plans for us.” He paused and looked into my eyes with orbs that rivaled James’s in blueness. “Let me know when you’re ready to hear about them.”

  Yes, Miles was the walking definition of what I once considered class. He had all the important finishing touches— all “the right stuff.”

  After he dropped me off that night, I stayed up until early in the morning making an extremely long list of all Miles’s “qualifications” and all the advantages of thinking seriously about someone who had hitched his wagon to a star and had, in not so many words, invited me to hitch a ride with him.

  It wasn’t until about two a.m. that I stopped my frantic listing, sighed, crumpled up the sheet, and threw it across the room because once again it was no use! This session would end just as all the other sessions had ended. As perfect as Miles Reynolds seemed to be and as long as his list of qualifications might become, there was just one little thing wrong with him: He wasn’t James.

  My correspondence with James has confirmed to me that there is nobody I feel as comfortable, yet intellectually stimulated with. The letters have also reconfirmed that there is nobody funnier, more interesting, kinder, more sensitive, and more morally intact than James Orville Wickenbee, my true friend and confidant.

  Adriana thought I was completely out of my mind when I told her about my plans to let Miles know I consider him just a friend.

  “Look, I know you’ve pulled this on other guys and I thought you were crazy then, but Miles Reynolds is not just anyone, Jana. You just don’t run into someone like him more than once in a lifetime. And it’s obvious he’s crazy about you! You’d be an absolute fool to throw this one back. Do you know how many girls— including me— would give their eyeteeth to have him?”

  Her hair, which was a little more pink than usual, was sticking up at odd angles and she was wearing her dance clothes with a shawl over them. After I’d talked to her over the phone, she had immediately rushed over to my house to dissuade me in person from following through on what she considered a “ludicrous” plan. Now she was following me around Alex’s room as I fed his pets.

  “Think about what you’d be throwing away! There’s a good chance Miles will be president of Ohio State at the same time you’re president of Cleveland State college. How perfect is that? And do you understand what this guy could do for your political career afterwards? Not to mention the amazing personal life you’d have. Do you even have an inkling of how well- heeled and socially regi
stered his family is?”

  “I think I do,” I said, wincing only a little as I dumped the mealworms into the gecko cage, the most disgusting part of feeding Alex’s animals.

  After I’d filled the hamsters’ little water bin and had begun peeling off the latex gloves, thinking I was finished, I realized Adriana was not finished. She still had one last blow. One that hit me right where it really hurt.

  “I seriously hope you’re not getting rid of Miles because you think something is going to happen between you and James.”

  I left the gloves dangling from my fingers for a second or two as I stared at the hamster cage. When I didn’t respond, Adriana continued. “Look, Jana, I know— everybody knows— that James is a super human being. He proved that in high school and there’s no question about that.” She was speaking slowly and quietly now. “But, he’s a Mormon, remember? If you’re dumping Miles because you’re thinking there’s some future with a Mormon missionary, you need to wake up and smell the coffee, Lady. You do still drink it, right?”

  “I do,” I said, my throat dry. I finished pulling off the gloves, deposited them in the trash, and lowered myself to the edge of Alex’s bed.

  Adriana was completely correct. There was no future with James. Yes, it was true Phil had married my Aunt Ruthie before she was officially a member of the Mormon Church, but James had made it clear that it was extremely unusual for a Mormon missionary to come back and marry someone who was not even a member. Pretty much unheard of. Those had been the exact words. Oh, yes, I’d thought of those words often. Now I stared at Alex’s favorite hamster Kumo, who was ferociously circling his tiny Ferris wheel and I blinked slowly.

  “Point made?” asked Adriana.

  “Point made,” I repeated. I felt like crying.

  -B-

  I feel like crying here at the airport as I lay down my magazine and once again press my knuckles together. Now that I’ve reviewed everything, I’m feeling more confused and hopeless than ever. The fact that Dolly Devonshire, who did stop drinking coffee and was baptized last year, has just come out of the elevator isn’t helping much.

  Dolly’s hair is streaked just a little darker and she’s looking classier than ever in a blousy shirt and nice- fitting Levis that I would have picked out for myself. Yes, Dolly Devonshire, it turned out, isn’t such a goofus. She’s been accepted into the nursing program at Ohio State. Arriving with her is Shereen Quinn, who was recently crowned Miss Cleveland on an abstinence until marriage platform.

  The girls are creating quite a scene. Butch Torkinson has grabbed Dolly from behind and is swinging her around. My view is blocked by some Asian students with backpacks, seemingly hundreds of them, and when I finally catch sight again of the group waiting for James, I naturally assume that it’s Butch who has lifted Dolly to his shoulders where James will see her first thing.

  Only then I realize that it’s Terrance. I’m pleased that someone from our old committee group who I’d hoped would be here actually is here. Yes, it’s normally shy Terrance, all right, who has lifted Dolly high into the air. How did she get him to do that? But why am I surprised? Dolly has that effect on people. According to Cassie, Dolly helped inspire Bud to finally send in his mission papers with just three exuberant words: “You should go!”

  Why doesn’t Dolly find her own friends? I wondered then and I’m wondering now. In fact, I sit back down, blink slowly, and chew on my perfectly polished nails.

  When I look back up at the monitor, I see that Northwest Flight 107 has arrived.

  Chapter Thirty- One

  •••

  As passengers stream through the main airport corridor, I look around to make sure I’m clear, then stand and strain to see in the direction of the security gate. Rudolf is doing his best to hold Mary Jane back, possibly realizing that if she breaks through security, they’ll need to shut down the airport. She’s a mess. If my mother hadn’t been in charge of still another Relief Society service project, she would have been here to help Rudolf and James’s brother Felix restrain Mary Jane and keep her under control.

  I put on my glasses, then lower myself to my seat, and take them off. I stand again. Is he here? I step forward, move back again, advance several more steps, edging around a man in a kilt who’s struggling with a bagpipe. Again I hesitate.

  Terrance has lowered his shoulder so that Dolly can jump down, and now she’s moving forward with Shereen right on her heels. Others move forward as well. In fact I think for a moment that I see Garlia, but of course it isn’t Garlia. I wish it were, but she’s in rehab just like Lyla Fannen was at one time. Drugs apparently cross class barriers. No, it’s someone else who’s come with Terrance. A girlfriend!

  Okay, okay, this is it. I pull back my shoulders and lift my head as if strings are pulling me up. Smile, I think, and I do because I’ve been following Sadie’s advice. In fact, I smile as if I have all the confidence in the world. Act as if . . . Act as if . . .

  I can handle this. Dolly, Shereen? I can handle them. But I’ve only taken five or six additional steps in the direction of the group when an unusual yet somewhat familiar shade of red catches my attention. It’s a subtle fox- red, a one- of- a- kind color.

  The man with the bagpipe has moved forward along with me and has somehow maneuvered his way in front of me and is blocking my view again. I move around his bagpipe, slip my glasses back on and strain to see past him. I’ve met only one person with hair that exact color. When I’m finally able to see in that direction again, I catch my breath.

  Lyla Fannen, our formidable high school enemy, is standing pensively at an adjacent window. Looking as amazingly beautiful as ever, she takes an uncertain step or two forward toward the group, then a step back.

  My mouth has fallen open. I’m barely breathing as I realize that the girl who abused and harassed us in high school, the girl who caused James to fall on his face on stage in front of the entire high school student body, the girl whose aim in life was to destroy us, has had the audacity to come to the airport and is standing just a hundred feet away from me. But why?

  Of course I’ve heard the rumors that after hitting rock bottom, going through three rehab programs, she’s finally recovered and is back in the area, but what possible reason would she have for being here at the airport? I shake my head. My stars, don’t tell me she considers herself one of James’s friends!

  I pull back around the man with the bagpipe, who seems determined to always be in my way, and slit my eyes to look for Lyla’s telltale lifted eyebrow, but I don’t see it. Lyla’s body language seems to be indicating a lack, rather than an overabundance, of pride. The chin is lowered, not lifted.

  What is going on? I wonder to myself. Has the horrible but exquisite Lyla Fannen suddenly done one of those all too common inner overhauls? A magical flip through some revolving door? Has she too had some kind of a spiritual rebirth? Well, that’s conve nient, isn’t it? I shudder at the implications.

  Yes, it could be that Lyla somehow ended up on the list of people that Mary Jane sent James’s letters to monthly. It could also be that James has been writing personal notes of inspiration to this witch disguised as a beauty. He did feel sorry for her when he heard about her problems. Has he somehow, in some fashion, helped her get to this point?

  My stomach is churning and my throat is so tight I can barely get air. So Lyla has popped back alive and well and has returned from the dead to be right here at the airport. Well, this is too much! I can handle the Backus sisters being here and even Dolly and Shereen but this? No, not this! As I begin to move sideways I bump into a woman hauling a huge drawstring bag over her shoulders. “Are you here for James too?” I feel like asking her.

  My heavens, why on earth did I come? Why have I been sitting here this entire evening waiting for James when it’s completely obvious he doesn’t need me here. He has a half- dozen newly reformed young women here. He even has the new and improved Lyla Fannen here, of all people. Well that’s fine, just fine, because I don’t ev
en want to see him!

  Freeing myself of the bagpipe man and a lady dragging some kind of beanbag chair, I move sideways and begin sprinting down the long corridor. I’m an idiot! I should never have dumped Miles Reynolds.

  Anger has taken over the pain now and I throw the magazine on a nearby chair, loop my bag over my shoulder, and begin swinging my arms like a windmill as I hurry away faster and faster. Why would I even want to see James? He’s nothing but a . . . I shut my eyes and begin to slow down. What was I about to say? Was I really about to call James a Flashy Floyd? Was I really putting him in the same league as the scoundrel playboy ex- husband who nearly killed off Auntie Ruthie?

  I reach for the nearest chair and sit down and blow out air. Trying to make James appear less than he is, placing blame on him just because I can’t have him is completely lying to myself. As much as I’d like to be able to accuse James of being a vile, deceitful villain right now, the truth is just the opposite and I know it and if I believed in a god, he’d know it too. No, I can’t lie to myself. I need to accept facts.

  The truth is, I know James thoroughly and have for quite a while. There’s absolutely nobody less deceitful and more humble and genuine and kind. I may be angry and disappointed, but I can’t deny that. I sniff and push out a laugh of self- disgust as

  I admit that any expectations were of my own making, my own imaginings. James never once made any promises to me. He owes me nothing. If all kinds of people— even supposedly repentant villainesses like Lyla— are drawn to him, it’s just because . . . well, that was established a few years ago in a high school he helped make over. James is a spiritual makeover artist who draws out the good— the very best— in people.

  Yes, well, I get up and start moving again. The truth of the matter is he’s too good for me— that’s the whole problem here. James is pure and guileless and selfless and he’s, well, filled with light. Oh, he tried to help me. So did Alex. But you can only work with those basics you have to work with. Yes, I may look good and maybe my chin is no longer lifted and I’ve softened on the surface and improved my personality and definitely my people skills, and okay, I guess I’m even a little kinder, but when you delve deeper, I’m still that same shabby, fearful, resentful, ugly mess of a girl that I can’t seem to get away from.