Bitty and the Naked Ladies by Phyllis Smallman

BITTY AND THE NAKED LADIES
    In late September Florida is a giant sauna. Just walking from my car to the Pig and Whistle set sweat popping out all over my body, so the cool air inside the grocery store was a blessing. I stood by the shopping carts, holding out the bottom of my cotton blouse and gently fanning the cloth to dry my damp skin.
    â€œSherri!”
    I turned at the sound of the familiar voice. “Bitty!”
    Bitty got her name because her husband, Davis, said she was just a little bitty thing when they met. Not anymore. It had been a long time since she was even normal size.
    I flew into her open arms, breathing in the soft smell of vanilla talc that always surrounded Bitty. “I’ve been meaning to call.”
    â€œYes, yes, Lovey, I know,” Bitty soothed away my lapse, always ready to forgive and make excuses for my failings. “Things just get so busy, don’t they?”
    We braved the heat to make for the restaurant a few doors away. With each step she took soft huffing sounds escaped from Bitty. When we’d settled onto the orange plastic chairs, my life poured out as quickly as the coffee. It always did around Bitty, who listened and made encouraging noises over my worries, disappointments and high spots. It was easy to fall back into my old habit of confiding in Bitty. She’d been my refuge through a troubled childhood, my haven from parental wars, and later, when my father was out of our lives and a new man had moved in, I escaped next door to Bitty’s trailer to hide from the stranger’s hands. Bitty never probed my pain or harried me for details. She just held me close to her plump body and made soothing sounds, stroking my hair and rocking me gently while she crooned, “There, there, child, everythin’s gonna be alright.” Those words became my mantra, words I still whisper to myself when trouble comes calling.
    Over the second cup of coffee a worm of misgiving crawled into my consciousness. “Are you all right, Bitty?” I leaned towards her. “I mean really okay. Don’t just be nice.” My palm covered the soft brown hand curled on the turquoise table. “Tell me.”
    â€œI’m well enough.” She scrunched up her face. “Suppose as well as a person can be who’s losing her mind.”
    â€œWhat? Not you! There’s no one as quick as you.”
    The smile she gave me was fleeting. “Things change, Sherri. I’m either losing my mind or things have been walking out of Miss Jane’s house over the last few months. It’s doing my head in.” Since Davis died, a dozen years before, Bitty lived in, cooking, cleaning and looking after Miss Jane. One way or another, Bitty and Miss Jane had been together more than forty years so it was hard to imagine one without the other.
    â€œI don’t know where to turn,” Bitty said.
    â€œWhat do you mean things are missing?”
    â€œDidn’t pay much attention at first. Tell the truth, I thought I might have misplaced them. Only small things, no great value. But it keeps happenin’.”
    â€œWhat kind of things?”
    She gave a small lift of her shoulders. “Things like a cup and saucer, or once a small plaster statue of a woman with a guitar. Like I said, nothin big. ’Til yesterday. Something awful happened yesterday.” Her eyes swam with tears.
    â€œTell me what happened.”
    â€œThis big glass vase that Miss Jane is real fond of disappeared. It’s called La Lake or something like that, just kinda cloudy white glass with naked women on it. Can’t say I think much of it, but Miss Jane’s real proud of it and she tells me it’s valuable, says if the house burns down I’m to grab that vase before I run out. Now it’s gone. I’ve looked everywhere.”
    â€œDoes Miss Jane know?”
    â€œNo, and I can’t tell her. She’s not herself anymore. Some days she hardly knows me.