Free Growl Power! by Deborah Gregory Page B

concert, to help raise money for Houston’s homeless population. The benefit, we are happy to report, is
completely
sold out, and we are expecting an estimated five thousand people to fill the Turtle Dome Arena out in back. You have been selected to sing one song each—sort of a tribute to Houston’s burgeoning undiscovered talent, and the possibilities that lie ahead of all of us.”
    Five thousand people!
I swallow hard just thinking about it. We’ve never performed for that many folks at once!
    “What’s the game plan now?” Galleria asks excitedly, as we head back to Ma’s car.
    “Well, I made some crawfish and potatoes stew for dinner, if anyone is interested,” Ma chuckles.
    “Yes, bring on Mr. Crawdaddy!” Galleria shouts.
    “Gentlemen, that invitation still holds.” Ma is talking to Fish ’N’ Chips, who are about to walk out of the parking lot. I’ll bet you they walk all the way back to Montgomery Shelter, since they don’t have a car!
    “We’ll be there, Ms. Junifred, don’t you worry,” Mr. Chips Carter says. Lifting his sunglasses, he gives her a wink. “Yes, indeed. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
    “Wow, this is
la dopa
!” Chanel exclaims, “It looks like right out of a magazine.”
    I guess we forget how pretty Ma’s house is. It’s so country and flowery—the exact opposite of Daddy’s apartment in New York.
    “Don’t mind the mess,” Ma says, moving some mail off the table. As she does, she looks at one of the envelopes. “I’ve got to mail this census form in,” she says, putting it aside.
    “The ones who don’t get counted are usually the really poor people,” Angie explains to Dorinda.
    “So what?” Dorinda asks.
    “Well, see, how much money the government gives Houston depends on how many people say they live here. So when poor people don’t fill out their census forms, the government gives less money to help the poor.”
    “Oh,” Dorinda says, and you can tell it makes her feel sad.
    We sit down in the living room while Ma starts getting ready to cook dinner. Fish ’N’ Chips will be coming over later, and she wants everything to be perfect, so there’s a lot for her to do.
    Meanwhile, Galleria wants to hear about the whole Skeeter business. I tell her about his red Cadillac being spotted on Sycamore Road.
    Ma hears us talking about him, and she reminds us of his last words to her: “He said he was tired of everything, and just wanted to ‘rest in peace.’ That’s why we are so frightened at what he might do.”
    “Don’t forget what India said, about Uncle Skeeter’s girlfriend having a name that’s softer than mink,” Angie adds, trying to be helpful. “And what Big Momma said about her last name being Wilkerson.”
    “Don’t snooze on the clues!” Galleria exclaims, and we can see the lightbulb going off in her head. “Get me a phone book—you’d be surprised by who has a listed number.”
    Angie and I just look at Galleria like, “What on earth are you talking about?”
    “Your mother says her last name is Wilkerson, right?”
    “Yeah … so?”
    “So, let’s see if she’s in the phone book.”
    “Galleria, do you know how many Wilkersons there are in the Houston phone book? That’s a
typical
Southern last name!” I’m starting to get exasperated by Galleria’s over-eagerness. Of course, I should have known she would have a plan.
    “Yeah, but how many of those Wilkersons have a first name that’s softer than mink?”
    Now we all look at Galleria in awe. Why didn’t
we
think of that?
    “Let’s look at every Wilkerson in the phone book!” Chanel says excitedly.
    We huddle around, going down the names of Wilkersons carefully and reading them out loud—“Annabel, Karen, Katie, Sandy, Sable, Twanda, Toinette—”
    “Wait a minute,” Dorinda says. “Go back—
Sable!
Remember what India said? ‘Soft as mink.’ Well, sable is a kind of fur, and so is mink.”
    “Omigod,” gasps Angie. “Look. She lives on