Queen Bee

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Yes. And I think it’s pretty dry here, too, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Yes, you’ll have great hair here.”

  He drove, talking the whole time about all the things he loved about Las Vegas.

  “I rented an apartment, too. Wait until you see it. It’s very tiny, but until I get to know the town, it’s very centrally located to the Strip and all that.”

  “You rented an apartment? Charlie, we have a house in Ohio.”

  “I’m aware,” he said. “But I have to tell you, you couldn’t pay me any amount of money in the entire world to shovel snow again.”

  “You never shoveled snow. Not once. I did. And salted the walkways and steps.”

  “Well. It was a pain in the neck to deal with all your complaining about shoveling it then.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” What was he saying? “Are you saying we should sell our house in Glenwillow?”

  “Not today. But if my plan works, yes, we should. You’ll like it here so much better. We’re close to Sedona, you know. A mere four-hour drive. We can go sit on the vortex and meditate.”

  “The vortex?”

  “Yes, the vortex. Sedona, Arizona, is in the Verde Valley, which is one of the most spectacular places on this entire planet. Think Wile E. Coyote. But there is the spot called the Red Rock that some people think is an alien spaceship or a portal to another dimension. It’s very popular with psychics and artists. Sedona used to be full of old people and hippies, but now it’s got more private jets coming and going than you can count.”

  “What makes it a vortex? I mean, isn’t a vortex something that’s moving? Seems to me that the desert is pretty still.”

  “I think you’re right, and I don’t know why they call it that, either. But it’s supposed to be a place where you meditate more deeply and maybe the cosmos speaks to you.”

  “Yeah, well, right now the cosmos is telling me that you’re losing your grip on reality.”

  We were driving along the famous Strip, where all the big casinos and hotels are located. It was very garish and loud. Not historic Charleston one teeny bit.

  “No, I’m not. Isn’t this something?”

  “You know, maybe it’s the Catholic girl in me, but I feel like if I look this place square in the eyeball, I’ll be turned into a pillar of salt.”

  He laughed and then I did, too. All Las Vegas was, really, was an adult Disneyland, where new crazy dreams were born and other, old, worn-out dreams came to die. Treated with the right amount of self-control, it might be fun.

  “A pillar of salt, indeed!”

  We were then on West Flamingo Road and we turned on Arville Street.

  “We’re almost home,” he said.

  I thought, Yes, your home. Not mine. Yours.

  Finally, he turned onto West Rochelle Avenue and into his apartment complex, called Rancho del Sol. The landscaping was really beautiful. And the buildings were lovely. No one ever said Charlie had bad taste.

  “This looks very nice, babe,” I said. “You have a pool, I hope?”

  “We have a pool!” he said. “And tennis courts and a gym and a party space and a beautiful terrace where we can sit outside in the shade or the sun and have a glass of some wonderful California agricultural product.”

  He pulled into a parking space. We got out, and Charlie got my bag and rolled it up to his front door. He unlocked it and went inside. It was fully furnished. In white. And chrome. No plants. No artwork. But a huge television over the fireplace. And a lot of mirrors.

  “Where did you get all this?”

  “It’s all rented until we make up our minds,” he said. “Except for the television. I bought that. And the stereo and some linens and kitchen stuff. What do you think?”

  “I think it could benefit from a woman’s touch. It’s a little cold.”

  “Yes, but considering I’ve only been here for ten days, it’s not bad, right? And it’s only temporary. At some point, we’ll want to look for a house.”

  I looked all around and said, “No, it’s not bad at all.”

  As usual, Charlie was operating on a lot of assumptions. I thought about strangling him for making all these decisions that truly did not include me, and I thought about telling him that this felt like I had moved from wife and lover to friend status. But maybe that’s what he was telling me. Anyway, I had come here to support him in his performance, and that’s what I intended to do. I could choke him before I left on Sunday.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I have to be at the club by six. Competition starts at six thirty.”

  “Okay, are you ready for this?”

  “I’m ready and I’m excited. You see, this is all part of my master plan. Instead of working retail or working in my family’s business, I’m going to make it on my own as a female impersonator. I’m going to get a full-time gig doing this and support us with money I earn.”

  “Charlie, you know I love you, right?”

  “I depend on it.”

  “Let’s just take this one step at a time. Let’s focus on tonight.”

  And we did. Charlie put on his full Cher costume, complete with false eyelashes, enough makeup for ten women, and fake-diamond bangle bracelets over his elbow-length gloves. The dress was pretty simple, a long gown of black jersey knit shot through all over with tiny black jets that shimmered. It was the wig that did me in. When Charlie put the wig on, he was more Cher than Cher. After we practiced his routine four times at his apartment, we went to the club.

  “I’m nervous,” he said.

  “Listen, make your nervous energy work for you and keep your eyes on me.”

  “Okay.”

  I took a seat in the audience and watched: Cher, Cher, Judy Garland, Judy Garland, Diana Ross, Barbra Streisand, Gaga, Gaga, several Bette Midlers, and ten more Barbras. Finally, my Cher came on. “Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves” was a great choice because it had more soul than a lot of Cher’s other hits. And Charlie had everyone on their feet clapping and whistling by the time he was done. I gave him a thumbs-up from the audience and he blew me a kiss.

  It was another Cher who took the prize that night lip-syncing “Believe,” which was perhaps more of a crowd-pleaser, but Charlie came away with a thousand-dollar prize for best new talent.

  “What did you think?” he said, hungry for praise.

  “I think you’ve got a whole new life in front of you, Charlie, and I love you and only wish every good thing in the world for you, but . . .”

  “You’re going back to Charleston.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “There’s only one queen bee in each hive,” I said.

  “How come?” Hunter said.

  “Because somebody has to be in charge.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Wigged Out

  I knew it was the boys’ last day of school. How did I know? I knew because I paid attention, that’s why. Was Sharon there to help the boys clean out their lockers and cubbies? Of course not. Did she ask me to go help? Nope. Was every other parent or nanny there to help them? With little gifts for the teachers, and taking pictures, and bringing treats for the end-of-year class parties? Of course! So when Sharon got a call from the school that she was remiss in her duties, she had to leave her office and go. According to Tyler, she wasn’t too happy.

  I knew this because she dropped the boys off at my house. She was going back to her office. And, as it can be in May, it was an unusually hot day. That kind of weather drives the bees from the hives because it’s too hot in there. Generally, what they do is find a cool spot and hang together in a formation that looks like a beard. That day they were hanging on the live oak tree in our backyard. If Sharon had seen them, she might have gone running and screaming to the police station.

  “Come in! Come in!” I said when I answered the door. Tyler and Hunter ran by me, headed straight for the kitchen. There on the table was a cake that said Congratulations Tyler and Hunter! Another Great Year in School! Happy Summer! Of c
ourse, it was a full sheet cake, because I needed the room to write all that I wanted to say.

  I had a big flat-bottomed basket, and in there were plates and napkins and plenty of small cold bottles of water, stacked up, ready to go.

  “Want to take all this over to the playground and see who shows up?”

  They were twitching and moving their weight from one foot to the other.

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay, but go to the bathroom first, okay?”

  “Okay!”

  They scampered like puppies, bumping into each other to see who would get there first. I was very pleased with myself in that moment.

  This time we took their golf cart since we had so much to carry. Don’t you know half of their classmates were there at the playground? Tyler and Hunter were so excited. I pulled over and stopped, and they jumped off the cart and ran ahead, emptyhanded, I might add.

  The kids were literally jumping up and down like mad and screaming, “No more school until August!” and “It’s officially summer!” We, the adults, looked to each other, remembering our own youth and how exciting it was to consider the promise of summer and all it might bring—vacations, days at the beach, flip-flops, sleepovers with friends, barbecues, fish fries, baseball games—there was an endless list. For me, I could remember trying to get the perfect tan without burning. Leslie, of course, had a tan after one afternoon on the beach. I used to be jealous of all those things, but these days I just remembered them and said, I’d so rather be me.

  I took the cake over to the picnic table, went back for the plates, napkins, and water, and got it all organized. Tyler came running over with a couple of boys.

  “We’re ready!” Tyler said.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” I said.

  “I’m Tommy and this is Brian,” Tommy said, before Tyler could respond. “Are you the nanny?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’m the next-door neighbor sort of aunt and sort of really great friend.”

  Tyler gave me a huge hug and Tommy threw him a little grief.

  “Hugging your best friend?” Tommy sang it in baby talk.

  Tyler spun around on his heel and said, “Oh, yeah? Well, who bought you a cake?”

  “No one! I see your point, sir!” Tommy said.

  “I’m Brian,” Brian said. “And I would like a piece of cake, please.”

  “Brian has the best manners in our class,” Tommy said solemnly, as though this was simply a goal beyond his reach.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. If you boys will go tell everyone there’s cake and water bottles, I’ll give you the corner pieces! They have the most icing.”

  It didn’t take two minutes for every kid on the playground to appear, hovering like locusts.

  “Okay! Anybody got a peanut allergy?”

  No one said a word.

  “Anybody gluten free or vegan?”

  Sounds crazy, but you had to ask these days.

  There being no allergies or health concerns that fessed up, I had one last announcement.

  “When you’re done, what are you going to do with your plate and napkins?” I pointed to the giant trash barrel to help them out with the answer.

  “Put them in the garbage!” came the loud response.

  Two of the other women there supervising their charges stepped in to help me.

  “Hey, I’m Alice,” one of them said. “This is so nice of you. How can I help?”

  “I think we need more cake in our lives,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you. Pass out cake to all these varmints?”

  “Happy to! More cake in our lives sounds excellent!”

  “I can give out water bottles? Hi! I’m Maureen Thomas,” the other woman said.

  “That would be great,” I said.

  I thought to myself then that these were two ladies I’d probably like to know. They had just stepped right up to help. I liked that. It wouldn’t kill me to have a few friends. But, as we all know, ever since Leslie married Charlie, I’d been captive. Well, enough of that. Momma was completely ambulatory. She didn’t need a nurse. What she needed was the same thing I needed—more fun. Plain and simple. We both needed more fun.

  “So do you live on the island?” I asked Maureen.

  “Yes. My husband and I just moved here from Nashville. He’s working for Boeing.”

  “Wow, that’s a heckuva commute for him.”

  “Well, we wanted Matthew to be able to attend Sullivan’s Island Elementary School,” she said. “You know, you make all sorts of unbelievable sacrifices for your kids, right?” She sort of laughed.

  “Yeah. Living on the island is a terrible sacrifice.”

  And she added, “And I inherited this big old house on the beach when my grandmomma went to her great reward.”

  “How cool is that? Well, the school is absolutely idyllic, like something out of a dream.”

  “It is. So, are Tyler and Hunter yours?” she said.

  “Sadly, no. They’re my next-door neighbor’s children. Their mother was killed in a terrible car accident . . .”

  I told her the story because she seemed to want to know the details.

  “I heard about this. How awful. And he’s already married again? Pretty quick, huh?”

  “I thought so, but it’s really none of my business,” I said.

  “Well, what’s she like?”

  I thought about it for a moment before I spoke because I didn’t want the story to travel. But on the other hand, why not stick it to Sharon with a total stranger? Just a little.

  “The real reason I brought this cake to the park is because Tyler’s birthday is next Thursday and he’s not having a party because she doesn’t believe in them.”

  “So she’s a big ol’ bitch?”

  “Kind of the biggest one I ever met,” I said. “She’s having her parents and her aunt and uncle over for cake on the Sunday after his birthday.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Poor little guy! Oh, I just hate that story,” Maureen said.

  “Me, too.”

  We stood there and watched as Tyler ran around with Brian, Tommy, and her Matthew. And twenty other kids were playing tag, shooting hoops, and just generally having the time of their lives. On further inspection, I saw Hunter was hanging upside down on the jungle gym.

  “Hunter!” I called out. “Get down from there!”

  “He’ll break his neck,” Maureen said.

  “No, he won’t. He’s part monkey. Hunter! Get down this instant!”

  Hunter climbed down by grabbing the bar from which he was hanging and doing a flip, squarely hitting the ground like a junior Olympic gymnast.

  “Kids,” she said.

  We both grinned and shook our heads, but I hoped Hunter did not see that. He didn’t need an ounce of encouragement.

  There was a magical Lowcountry mood that afternoon, as though the invisible sirens of Sullivan’s Island were poised to swoop down from the tops of all the bushy palmetto trees on the island to claim the boys of summer as their own. It made my heart swell to see all their energy and happiness. It was a snapshot I’d never forget.

  Maureen said, “His birthday is next Thursday, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why don’t we throw him a surprise party at my house?”

  What an amazing idea. Amazing.

  “Maureen? I think I want to be your best friend. Brilliant idea! When Sharon finds out, she’ll kill me. But this would be the first year of his life without his mother, with no real party and no friends to celebrate with. So let her kill me.”

  “I’ll be your best friend. And, just so you know, I’m not afraid of her.”

  Maureen was right. What could Sharon do?

  “All righty then. Let’s do it! I’ll bring the cake.”

  “I’ll get pizza and sodas,” she said. “We should invite a few parents, too. You know, to supervise.”

  “And a teenager who’s a
certified lifeguard?”

  “Excellent idea!”

  Over the next half hour our plan came together. Tyler and Hunter would think they were just going over to Matthew’s for a swim and maybe supper. They should arrive at three. The other kids would get there at two. They would hide in the bushes, jump out, and yell surprise! Tyler was going to lose his mind! I was getting excited. And I loved having a secret. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to talk over the next week.

  We chugged slowly along Middle Street as we tried to take the golf cart home. The battery was dying.

  “As soon as we get home, I’ll put it on the charger,” Tyler said, sounding very much like an adult.

  “You are such a good helper, Tyler!” I said.

  “I’m a good helper, too,” Hunter said.

  “Of course you are, sweetheart!”

  It was somewhere around five o’clock. Archie and Sharon’s cars were in the drive. I was carrying leftover cake and surplus plates and napkins over to our house. Sharon met the boys on the porch.

  I heard her say, “Dinner is at five o’clock. You know that. It’s five thirty. The kitchen is closed. Sorry. There will be no dinner for either one of you.”

  “But we can’t tell time!” Tyler wailed.

  “Then I suggest you learn how.”

  She had to be the worst woman in the whole entire world to step into Carin’s shoes. What in the name of everything holy did Archie see in her? I went inside and called Domino’s, paid for a pizza with my credit card, and told them to deliver it anonymously to Tyler. It was really my fault that they were late. I didn’t know about the dinner rule. But a pizza would send a strong message.

  I waited and watched. Fortunately, it was Archie who opened the door when Domino’s arrived. He took the pizza and went inside. I wondered then if he knew it was from me. He was so dense these days, he probably thought it was a gift from the heavens, like manna.

  Next Thursday couldn’t get here fast enough. But Sunday came first, and that meant Leslie’s return. She came rolling in around four in the afternoon. Momma and I were in the kitchen, drinking tea and waiting for her.

  “So? How was it?” I asked.

  “It was insane, just as you’d expect. Charlie won a special award for emerging talent. A thousand dollars and a trophy. He had a ball. I was completely overwhelmed by the spectacle of the whole thing.”