Chapter 54

54
PURDY PLACES MOBILE HOME ESTATES, SAN DIEGO

Martha Stratton leaned forward in her chair as her neighbor, Betty, applied color to her hair. "Betty, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I know you were careful not to use all this hair color just so there'd be enough left for me. Buck don't care if I color it. He just don't like for me to take any money out of the food budget for color."

"Martha honey, you told me yourself that the ministry was beginning to pick up a little bit, that people was beginning to send in money. One would think that some of that prosperity, as least a little dab, might've rubbed off down into your spending money." Betty and her husband lived on Social Security. When there was extra money, Betty knew it. She also got her cut.

"Buck has gotten enough contributions that he's making five radio shows a week now, Betty! The ministry has to be the highest priority in our budget. Praise the Lord, carrying the word of God is what Buck is all about! When we get ahead moneywise, I'm sure he'll give me a little more. Heavens, I'd like to spend a little more just to feed him better. Lord knows, he must keep his strength up." Martha said with an air of positivism.

"Martha, you told me that he got over fifteen thousand dollars last week, and I know them radio shows only cost four hundred a piece. Now that he's on the big station, he'll have more listeners and he'll get even more money. Who knows how much he'll get this week?" Betty continued to work as she spoke. "The reason he don't give you more money right now is 'cause he a slimly little pole cat who treats women like dirt."

"Now Betty, that isn't so. Buck can get a little short sometimes, but in his heart he's as good as gold. I'm lucky to have a man of God for my husband. When he treats me like that it's because he has so much on his mind. Takin' care of the Lord's business and all can be a mighty taxin' affair." Martha looked up.

"There. You're gonna be a beautiful, knock 'em dead blonde, my dear lady! You just sit there for fifteen minutes, and I'll help you rinse in the sink. Meanwhile, I'll just make you a nice cup of coffee." Betty filled the small coffee maker with water.

Martha looked over sheepishly. "Betty, just leave the grounds in there and put in a couple spoonfuls of the fresh. It's almost as good as fresh coffee, but it makes it go farther." She leaned around to check the clock on the kitchen wall. "Fifteen minutes will be good. Buck will be comin' home in half an hour, and I want to be sure we're done by then."

The sarcasm in Betty's voice was thicker than the coffee she was making. "Of course, we wouldn't want to inconvenience the little prince while its time for him to drink whiskey and boss everybody around."

"Oh, you'll see Betty. When Buck gets a glimpse of all this beautiful blonde hair it'll put him into a good mood for sure. No man can be too excited seeing his missus with a head full of gray!"

Just at this moment, Buck burst through the door. Glaring at Betty, he turned to Martha. "Did you get the mail yet?"

"It's only four fifteen, Buck. I doubt if Harry has been here yet. He usually doesn't even bring the mail until five or so." Martha answered nervously.

"So I got the OPINION of a woman, or is it two women? That's what I got. No mail. Just a damned OPINION! Just how do you figger I'm gonna find out if I got mail or not? Huh?" Buck, still muttering to himself, landed hard in the recliner and thumbed up the volume on the football game.

Martha spoke quietly to Betty. "I better go check. Harry might've been here by now."

But as she rose to leave, Betty said firmly -- firmly enough that Buck could hear, "No honey. While I'm colorin' your hair, you're under my supervision. That there's the law about cosmetologists! While the cosmetologist is workin' on your hair, you don't go nowhere and you don't do nothin' without the cosmetologist's approval. Otherwise, the chemicals could burn your scalp. There's exact steps you hafta' take to perform this, and honey, we're going to take 'em!"

Buck's voice boomed back across the trailer. "I want that mail now!"

Betty's voice boomed back, "I figger if you want it that bad, you'll get your fat ass movin' and go get it! Martha ain't goin' anywhere until I'm through workin' on her hair!

This last exchange got Buck out of his chair. He stormed over with his hands on his hips. "What did you say to me, woman?"

Betty stared the Pastor squarely in the eye. "Which part didn't you hear, Pastor Buck? The part about your fat ass or the part about gettin' your own goddamned mail?"

For a moment it seemed the preacher would slug the older woman. Then, after that threat was past, she spoke again. "That's pretty smart for an illiterate fake! Of course I'm married to a man who worked for a livin'. If you try to bully me around the way you do Martha, my Andy'll come over here and kick your fat ass over to the mail box so's you could get your own goddamned letters! So either take a poke at me, or shut up!"

Martha's face was white. Buck's face was red. Betty's face was homicidal.

Buck Stratton slammed the door on his way to the mail stop.

"Oh Betty, my goodness! I don't know what to think." Martha blubbered.

"Don't think nothing, honey. It's time for your rinse. Then you and me are goin' on a date. We're walkin' down to the Quickie Shop for coffee. This stuff ain't fit for sloppin hogs." Betty laughed, sniffing the pot. Noticing the concern on Martha's face, she added, "Don't you worry none. I'm buyin'."

"What about Buck's supper, Betty? He'll be home alone when he comes back from gettin' the mail. I should be there." Martha spoke disconsolately as she accompanied her friend down the mud street and out of the trailer park.

"See, that's just it, Martha. A marriage between a decent man and a decent woman is a give and take deal. All you got goin' on with Buck is a give-give deal. He tells you what he wants and you give it to him. I'll bet there ain't been much givin' on his part in the sack, neither." Betty rambled on.

"Betty, we have a Biblical marriage. Buck has explained that to me over and over. I am supposed to submit to him. He is the spiritual authority of the home. I am supposed to please him when he wants it, and not bother him otherwise. And, I guess you're right. He hasn't wanted it much lately. He says I look like a clown, that I've let myself go. That's why he sends me into the livin' room and stays in there with those awful magazines!" Martha was crying, but she spoke further, "I've been trying to loose weight, but I don't think I can ever get as skinny as I was when he married me."

"Okay, Martha. Does it say in the Bible that the man just throws away his wife when she matures. Hell, honey, we all put on a little weight when we get older! For Christ's sake, look at him!" Betty stopped and turned Martha's tear soaked eyes toward her own. "You got so used to him treatin' you bad that you forgot what you were doing. You don't deserve all this! I want you to start standing up for yourself, start out just a little, but you stick to your guns! You seen that creep cave in just now. He ain't invincible!"

"Oh, Betty! I couldn't! But you know I feel real excited just talkin' to you about it. Nothin' better'n a good cry to get a girl back on track, is there." Martha wiped her eyes.

"Won't you just think about it? Just open your eyes -- look at what's happenin'. Look at how he's treatin' you. Won't 'cha just think about it? Just a little?" Betty insisted.

"Okay, Betty, I will just think about it a little." Martha had finished crying, but still spoke in gasps.

"Promise?" asked Betty.

"Yeah. I promise." Martha answered slowly.