“What?”
“Challenge what he says. Like if he starts talking about why he’s single, point out that men who marry before age fifty live ten years longer.”
“Is that really true?”
“Yes ma’am! It was in some big study a few years back. But between us they can do a study to prove anything, right?”
“Probably.”
“No, I’m telling you. Studies are skewed all the time.”
“Speaking of…how did the studies go on your vitamin business?”
“The studies went fine but—and this is for no one’s ears but yours—my crazy twin is losing her mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we have been trying them out ourselves, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, they seem to agree with Allison, except that they make her a little weirded-out. I mean, in ways you don’t want to know. But I don’t like them because they make my heart race. She says that Geoffrey is adjusting the formula. And, he had better do it PDQ because this stuff goes on the market pronto. I can just see it now. Thousands of people get deathly ill, go to the hospital, and bang, we’re out of business and in court for the rest of our lives.”
“Don’t worry, Aunt Sophie. Aunt Allison is like, sorry, but she’s a crank. But she’s not going to endanger the public.”
“Let’s hope not. Anyway, back to your hunk of burning love?”
“Yeah, oh Lord. Max.”
“Listen to me, sweetie. Blow out your hair. Put on some perfume and makeup. Wear something that shows what you’ve got, but not so provocatively so that you look like a tramp…”
“Aunt Sophie!”
“Just kidding. I’m telling you, let him talk about himself. Now, tell me, have you heard from your mother?”
“Yeah. Like twice a day. Email. You know her. She’s too cheap to call. Anyway, she’s having a really great time.”
“Well, I hope so. It was the only dream she ever had, that is, besides having you.”
“Oh, that is so sweet, isn’t it? Mom’s like fiftysomething and living her dreams.”
“Yeah, it sure is. Okay, now if you need me, call me. Call me anyway to let me know how this hot date goes, okay?”
Beth promised that she would, and just as she hung up, Phoebe and Mike came slowly into the kitchen, looking bleary-eyed and frayed around the edges.
“Morning, cuz. We got any coffee?”
“In the pot. Milk’s on the counter. Where’s Woody?”
“In the shower.”
“Oh. How’d y’all sleep?”
“He slept like a log, but not me, honey. I was up all night,” Phoebe said.
“Why? Were you sick?”
Phoebe looked at Mike and then back to Beth.
“Just tell her,” Mike said.
“Well, this is kind of screwed up, but did anyone ever say that this house is haunted?”
“Gosh, no!” Beth lied. “What happened?”
“Somebody was breathing in my ear. Every time I fell asleep, somebody would whisper in my ear and I would wake up. Then I would drift off again, and two minutes later, I swear someone was breathing in my ear. As long as I stayed awake it didn’t happen, but the minute I would drift off into a dream, here came the daggum breathing on me again!”
“Well, maybe you should sleep in the hammock tonight,” Beth said, unsmiling, looking Phoebe straight in the eye.
“Why would Phoebe want to sleep in the hammock?” Mike said.
“Why don’t you ask her? I gotta go walk my dog. And Phoebe, it would be really nice if you lay waste to the kitchen again, clean up after yourself. Woody and I washed y’all’s dishes for an hour last night.”
“Oh Lord. I was just wondering what happened to all that mess. The last thing that I remember, I was gonna come in here and clean up. Then I woke up in bed about a thousand times. And then I just forgot. I know what! Let’s make blueberry pancakes!”
Beth caught Mike’s eye and rolled her own at him as if to say, You’ve got a real genius there, cousin.
“Let’s not,” Beth mumbled.
Mike sighed. “Why don’t we go out for breakfast, Phebes? Then no one has to clean up anything.”
“Now that sounds like a plan,” Beth said, and scooped up Lola under her arm.
“Sorry,” Mike said, and then under his breath he mumbled to Phoebe, She sounds just like my mother.
“Don’t call me she. She is the cat’s mother,” Beth said to Mike as she passed him.
“See you later, Maggie,” Mike said, smirking. “Unless you want to come with us? I was thinking maybe the Sea Biscuit on the Isle of Palms?”
“Up yours,” Beth said quietly, giving Mike the finger.
“She’s such a lady,” Mike called out, making sure Beth wouldn’t miss his wisecrack. “A simple no thank you would do, you know!”
“Up yours sideways!” Beth called back, having the final remark, passing through the living room. She opened the front door and crossed the front porch to take Lola toward the beach. “Come on, miss. Let’s go chase a seagull.”
It was about nine-thirty and too late to take Lola out on the beach for a long walk. All the dogs had to be off the beach by ten so that people wouldn’t be terrorized by them, not that any dogs ever truly terrorized a human on the beaches of Sullivans Island. But there were occasions when large wet dogs, Labs and goldens in particular, would shake off their water and sand right next to a stranger with a napping infant. Or these same lovable mutts were known to occasionally pilfer a sandwich from someone’s picnic. And sometimes they would commandeer a Frisbee game by jumping in the middle, grabbing the Frisbee out of the air, and taking off down the beach just lickety-split!
So, okay, Beth thought, maybe there was a reason for the stringent dog laws. Not that Lola was interested in any of those pursuits, but if she had been caught on the beach at the wrong hour, it would be difficult to explain to the Canine Cops that Lola was different from all other animals. On the planet. Ever.
By the time Beth returned the house was empty and she passed the rest of the day quietly, answering emails from her mother and catching up with her friends on Facebook. That night Beth went to work and there was no sign of Mike, Woody, or Phoebe. When she returned home, still no one was there. Had they left for Atlanta? Beth checked her grandmother’s room and saw that Phoebe and Mike’s things were there, in piles all over the room. No, they had simply passed like proverbial ships in the night. She took a book out to the porch to read for a few minutes and thought about what Phoebe had reported that morning about the breathing and whispering in her ear. Maybe her grandmother was on her side, telling Phoebe to get her skank butt out of their house. It was a happy thought. Around midnight, she heard their car pull into the yard, music blaring.
Oh great, Beth thought, the neighbors are probably on the phone with Aunt Maggie right now and any minute the phone’s going to ring. It’s going to be Aunt Maggie saying she knew this would happen and why did she trust her with the family’s reputation? Was anything broken? Had the police been called in to settle the problem?
Well, if that happens, Beth thought, I’ll just tell her she needs to talk to her crazy-ass son and his love machine, not to me. I haven’t done a damn thing to compromise anything. Not that I wouldn’t like to if I had the chance, she thought.
Beth was working herself into quite a little snit when the music suddenly stopped. She heard the kitchen door slam and from there the noise became more reasonable. She could hear them talking but she was far enough away that she could not make out their words. A few minutes later, they were all on the porch with her, beers in hand. Woody, as expected, was obviously the most sober among them.
“Hey,” Beth said, not getting up from her rocker. “Where’d y’all go?”
“We went downtown. Mike wanted to give Phebes a trip down memory lane.”
“Yep!” Phoebe said. “We cocktailed all over Charleston.”
Thinking
that was obvious and that her Sunday departure couldn’t arrive fast enough, she said, “Gee, did they check your ID?”
“How did you know that? Y’all! How did she know that?”
Because you should add expert in juvenile behavior to your résumé, Beth thought. “So, big shot, where’d you take them?”
“Oh, my cynical little cousin! I can see the wheels turning in your precious head!”
“Meaning what?”
“That you’re worried I dragged them into the dives I used to frequent, but no, I did not. I took them to the rooftop bar of the Vendue Inn for a little sunset viewing, and then we went to the dives.”
“Like Big John’s?”
“Excuse me, Paris Hilton, but the halls of Big John’s are hallowed,” Mike said with a laugh.
“Did we go there?” said Phoebe, obviously confused and nodding off in her chair.
“Yeah,” said Woody, “that’s where you ate the pickled egg.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Then we went to AC’s, the Silver Dollar, and Beer Works.”
“And the Blind Tiger,” said Woody.
“Well, you did get the grand tour,” Beth said. “Did y’all eat dinner?”
“Eat? Dinner? Man! I knew we forgot something. Is there anything in the fridge?”
Mike was not as bombed as he had been the night before, although the prior night they had set the bar pretty high. Maybe he was just noisy, partially intoxicated, and in love with loud music. But Beth didn’t want to feel responsible for them being hungover the next morning because they had not eaten. She did feel a little guilty, but only slightly so, about slipping the verbal knife between Phoebe’s ribs earlier in the day. Clearly, she thought, Relais & Châteaux was not stopping by to present me with the Hostess of the Year award.
“Would you like me to make some scrambled eggs and toast?”
“Ah, geez, Beth. We don’t want you to mess up the kitchen, do we, y’all?”
Beth could see Woody smiling at her. He said, “Well, for me, I could always go for some scrambled eggs. You cook and I’ll clean and we won’t let them anywhere near us.”
“Deal.”
They were all fed, and as expected, drowsy from a full stomach, the hour, and the alcohol. Mike and Phoebe held Woody and Beth to their word and did not help at all. They simply rose, said thank you, and moseyed down the hall. But this time, Beth didn’t care. She liked the idea of having Woody’s company for a little while. He was terrifically pleasant to be around. In the parlance of her peers, Woody had his merde together.
They were leaving after morning coffee, and as they loaded the car, Beth sighed in relief. Woody saw her face and said that he would bet that she was glad to see them go, wasn’t she?
That was when Beth realized that she liked Woody a lot, but still, only as a friend. Without a second thought that he might misinterpret her words, she said, “Woody? You can come and visit me and Lola anytime you’d like. You don’t even have to come with Mike.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Okay, y’all drive safely and call me to let me know you’re not dead in a ditch.”
“We will,” Woody said.
“Don’t work too hard!” Mike called to her.
Beth just waved to them from behind the screen door. Her mind was already traveling to her dinner that night with Max. He had called to say that he would pick her up at seven. She thought that she might like to go somewhere to watch the sunset with him too. It surely sounded like the perfect way to start the night, but first she had to work.
One hundred and forty-odd brunches and who knew how many Bloody Marys and mimosas later, Beth was back at home getting dressed for her date.
“So, miss, Mom’s got a hot date tonight. Should I wear this or this?”
Beth was holding up two dresses for Lola to consider. Lola just made a noise that sounded like ark ark and walked around in circles on Beth’s bed. Finally, she plopped down and looked at Beth as if to say, How the hell should I know? I’m a dog, not Anna Wintour.
“Okay, you’re right. I’ll wear the white one.”
10
Tabasco Night
[email protected] Susan, Just, FYI, don’t get mad but Beth spent a bunch of money on contact lenses and a professional hair rescue. Cecily says she looks terrific. xx
[email protected] Well, good! She has two jobs, doesn’t she? Why would I get mad about that?
[email protected] Because you ain’t spent a hundred dollars on your own hair all your life?
[email protected] Unlike some people! xx
BETH STYLED HER hair in long fat ringlets held back with combs. It took some effort to keep them from frizzing out because of the humidity but she managed with the help of long clips, pinning them up until the last moment. Then she sprayed herself with a sample of cologne she found in the bottom of her makeup bag. She wished that night had already arrived so the heat of the day would have been on the wane. In addition, there was something peculiar about dressing for a date that would begin in broad daylight. But she relaxed knowing the cool air of night and the right atmosphere would all come soon enough.
At the last minute she was uncertain about wearing white. It seemed too young and virginal, not at all the image she wanted to convey. She put the dress on and looked at herself in the large living room mirror from as many angles as she could. It was the newest and most flattering dress in her closet, and so in the end she decided to wear it after all. Maybe darker lipstick and more mascara would make up the difference. So she worked on her makeup a little more and thought to herself that she had done all within her power to make herself attractive. If he didn’t think she was, well then, perhaps he was not so smart after all. She turned on the stereo and streams of “At Last” sung by Etta James drifted through the rooms. Although it was written and recorded long before Beth or even her mother was born, it still sounded contemporary. And very seductive.
Unlike their first dinner date, where Max arrived late to find her on the floor with a bloody lip and half strangled in stereo wires, on that particular evening Max was prompt and Beth was vertical. This time he would find her in the kitchen, folding the last of the laundry from her company and replacing a dish towel neatly on the rack. As she tried to make the old funky kitchen look like a magazine layout, she laughed to realize she had a strain of the Maggie Gene. Mike may have been right. Truly, she was becoming more and more persnickety about the tidiness of the house just like Maggie.
She heard his car and went to the screen door, opening it. It delighted her to see him coming up the back steps with a fistful of flowers for her. They were obviously from the grocery store but what did it matter? The florists were closed on Sundays, he had gone to some effort and she had to give him credit for that.
“Wow, look at you!” he said, standing back appraising her. “You look like a vision of…I don’t know…who’s the artist that painted that gorgeous woman rising from the sea in a clamshell?”
“Botticelli. A family favorite. Yeah, actually people tell me that all the time.” Beth giggled and took the flowers. “Thanks. Gosh, they’re so pretty!”
“Can I have a squeeze or something?”
“Uh, sure!”
She hugged him lightly in a fraternal way but somewhere in that moment more than fraternal feelings passed between them. Well, for Beth especially, whose head was swirling in the ethers of what it would feel like to sleep with him. Just as quickly she chided herself for considering giving the mattress a shake just because he showed up with five dollars’ worth of flowers and threw her an Art History 101 compliment. Nonetheless, she was warmer all over, not so sure about how he was feeling, but since he couldn’t read her lascivious thoughts, the night was off to a good start.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Sure. Why not? Did your cousin and his friends go back to Atlanta?”
“Yep. T
hey left this morning.” Beth searched the cabinets under the sink and counters for a container.
“I really liked your cousin Mike. And that Woody is a real straight-up guy too. Very smart.”
“And Phoebe?”
Max sighed and looked at her in all innocence.
“Beth? The woods are crawling with Phoebes. And just so you know, she’s the one who pushed me into the hammock. I know that it must have looked bizarre to you, but believe me, not my type.”
What she had seen with her own eyes didn’t line up with his explanation but she decided to let it go. What was the point of making an issue? She didn’t own him.
“I wouldn’t think so. It’s okay.”
Finding a dusty relic from the last time someone had flowers delivered, she rinsed it, filled it with cold water, and placed the flowers inside, fluffing them around as though she was trying to make them comfortable in their sudden chill.
“Is it really okay?”
“Of course!”
“Good.”
“Would you like a glass of wine or something?”
“If you want one, or we could just get going.”
She put the vase on the kitchen table and took a step back to admire it, buying herself a second or two to decide on whether to stay for a while or to depart. Flowers or no flowers, Lola was in her crate, eyeballing them from below her eyebrows, showing zero enthusiasm for Beth’s visitor. Beth noted that but then thought perhaps Lola was just worn out from the heat.
To stay or to go? Part of the decision was based in vanity. In that weather and at that time of day, Beth’s hair had about a thirty-minute window of perfection before it would begin to droop. Individual strands would soon lift up to resemble a frothy halo. Should he see her curls in the sunset from the widow’s walk with a glass of wine? Or should she save that for later? She decided. Save the hair. Hie thee coif to the restaurant. Surely, wherever he planned to take her had to be air-conditioned.