by Keziah Frost
Do what you have to do.
-62-
The enthusiasms of young people were fleeting, as Carlotta well remembered from her own youth. Her granddaughter Summer, who had seemed thrilled at the prospect of Hope’s plan to foster a child—or even a mob of children—had become strikingly unavailable since Queen’s actual arrival. Summer’s promise of support had apparently been an empty one. She was dating several young men; she was living her life. Meanwhile Carlotta, who had been much more cautious about the foster care idea, was now sharing a significant portion of the responsibility for the child with Hope. It was funny how these things evolved. If Summer thought that her social life was more important, so be it. That just left Carlotta with more time to study—and influence—this interesting child.
“We’ll just stop by and see Mrs. Birdie Walsh today,” said Carlotta as they walked down Washington Street toward Birdie’s house.
“Mrs. Walsh is the one with the parrot,” said Queen, with a skip in her step.
“That’s right,” said Carlotta. “We’ll visit for a little while, and then I’ll let you stay with her while I pop over to the bank.”
“Did you bounce a check?” asked Queen, knowingly.
“Oh, heavens, no!” laughed Carlotta. “I just go and chat with the banker sometimes and we move money around. It would be boring for a child. Much more fun for you to talk to Tetley the parrot.”
“Moving money around? Like, you have piles of coins and dollar bills in there, and you and the banker just move it all around? You mean, with a shovel or something? Actually, that sounds fun. I think I’d rather go with you.”
Carlotta let out a hoot. She, who was not prone to hooting.
“You do paint a picture with your words, Queen. Unfortunately, it’s not at all like that. You never see the money. It’s just two adults talking, and looking at numbers on paper.”
“Oh. In that case, I do prefer the parrot.”
Tetley, who could be temperamental, was in rare form that afternoon. When Queen approached him, he cocked his head at her and sputtered, “Pretty Birdie! I love you! Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!” finishing his speech with kissing noises, and sending Queen into gales of giggles.
Trying to catch her breath, Queen said to Birdie, “Is he talking to you? Does he call you Birdie?”
Birdie laughed softly, seeming to delight in Queen’s laughter. “He does call me Birdie, I guess, but only because I call him Birdie. ‘Tetley’ seems so formal.”
Carlotta and Birdie spoke while Queen walked around, exploring.
“Behave yourself, now,” reminded Carlotta, raising her eyebrows with meaning.
“Of course,” said Queen, with dignity. “I’ll just go to the powder room, if you don’t mind.”
After a nice chat with Birdie, Carlotta was on her way out the door, she called to Queen, who came running.
“That’s a pretty powder room.”
“You were in there quite a while.”
Queen folded her arms, offended by Carlotta’s air of suspicion.
“Be good, now.” Carlotta gave one meaningful nod to the child, making direct eye contact with her. “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
When Carlotta returned for Queen, the child had some thoughts to share in the car.
“Mrs. Walsh said a whole bunch of stuff.”
“I’m sure she did,” acknowledged Carlotta.
“She told me to open my hands up.” Queen sat stretching her fingers back from her palms. “I usually hate it when people act like they got to tell me what to do, but Mrs. Walsh isn’t like that, like a boss cow. She said, ‘open your hands to receive life’s blessings.’ She said, ‘when you keep your hands clenched, those blessings can’t get in.’ Mrs. Moon, what is she talking about?”
Carlotta smiled. “You just have to get used to Mrs. Walsh. She means no harm. She says funny things. Not ha-ha funny. But, well, a little strange. Her heart is in the right place.”
Queen put her hand to her chest.
“Could a person’s heart be in the wrong place?”
Carlotta laughed—not the tinkling, false laugh she tended to use with adults—but a real one.
“No, honey. I just meant to say, Mrs. Walsh is a very good lady. However, she may say things that don’t make sense to you.”
“But I feel like it does make sense, and I just don’t get it. Do you get it?”
Carlotta, who typically ignored Birdie’s whims, took this question as a challenge.
“Well, let’s see. Clenched hands block blessings; open hands receive blessings…. Well, maybe it’s not really about how you hold your hands. It’s how you hold your mind. Open to receive—that means you have a positive and hopeful attitude, and you are ready to consider new ideas. Clenched—that means, your mind isn’t available to any new influence. You already know it all, or so you think, and so, you miss out.”
Carlotta found herself loosening her tight grip on the steering wheel. Funny, she had never realized how tightly she held the wheel. There was no need. She allowed her hands to hold the wheel more lightly. That felt better.
An excerpt from Queen’s notebook:
Mrs. Walsh says wierd stuff and I sware she gotta be on drugs but I didn’t find any. Not in the medicine cabinet and not on the floor in the back of her closet either.
When you visit old ladies, try to look around at there stuff cause you will be supprised. Mrs. Walsh has some old timey brooches and some of them sparkel so pretty.
Wierd stuff Mrs. Walsh says: You can dream anything you want into the world. I said I want to dream a tree with a beeting heart into the world and she said if you wanted you could but thats not what you really want think of what you really want. I said I know what I really want but I’d ruther not say.
She said see it in your mind and feel it in your hart the happiness as if you already have it. I did it.
Then she taught me how to paint with watercolors the pretty way, the way real artists do. You shouldnt push hard on the brush that mashes down the hairs on the brush but hold it at an angel and kind of loose and I felt happy when I saw the water melt the blue and green lines into a blueish green stream.
Tonite when Hope said turn out your lite I said I will keep painting because I am inspired. Don’t let your forster mother get her way all the time.
Sometimes Hope don’t know what to do with me.
-63-
Mabel, wiping the beer foam from her lips, said, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I don’t talk about people. Never have. But there’s one thing I wonder about. How come Carlotta never joins in the fun with us? I’m not trying to gossip, because I hate that. I only want to know if it’s something I did.”
After another successful filming session of In the Kitchen with Margaret, the Club—minus Carlotta—was at the Alibi Bar. Below the glowing beer signs beaming from brown paneled walls, and country music playing from speakers, the little group was shifting uncomfortably. Norbert swirled his wine glass; Birdie looked in an unfocused way at Mabel as if she were seeing her aura.
Margaret tried to change the subject.
“Anyone want to order a sandwich? Or split one?”
Birdie reminded Margaret that they had all just eaten a delicious meal that she herself had prepared.
It was up to Lorraine.
“You wanna know what’s bothering Carlotta? I’ll tell you what’s bothering Carlotta. And then maybe you can help us solve the problem and get her back in the Club.”
Everyone looked at Lorraine. They were all loyal to Carlotta. No one wanted to tell Mabel, the newcomer, about Carlotta’s insecurity and bossiness. But Lorraine encapsulated in a few words what the problem was, and appealed to Mabel.
“We’ve tried talking to her. It don’t work. Whadda you got?”
“Well,” said Mabel, “I’ll do what I can. But don’t get your hopes up. I always say, ‘you can lead a dog to wander, but you can’t make him’—oh, what is it you can’t make a dog do? Anyway. Carl
otta’s gotta wanna come back to the Club herself, or nothing anyone else does is going to work. Now, I’ve never been much of a problem solver. I’m more of a problem maker!” And here she laughed heartily, but the Club regarded her soberly.
Mabel added, “I bet Carlotta’s good at solving problems, though. She’s a smart one, and I can’t say she isn’t.”
Meanwhile, Carlotta was reading over the manuscript of How Sharper than a Serpent’s Tooth. She held in her hands a stack of blue paper that had the power to decimate relationships; the power to burn bridges. If she were to publish this version of her life with the Club, she would have to be prepared to let go of her friends forever. It made her nervous to think of it. But the prose was so beautiful, so elegant and literary, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy it. Not yet.
-64-
Hope stood in her kitchen after dinner, and held the landline to her ear.
A robotic male voice said, “You have a collect call from (pause, followed by a female voice) Dahleeya Jones (returning to the male recorded voice), an inmate at Compton Walker Correctional Facility. This call may be monitored. The cost for this call is $2.40 for the first minute, and $1.55 for each additional minute. To accept this call, please press zero. If you do not wish to accept this call, press five, or hang up.”
Hope pressed zero.
The recording said, “Go ahead with your call.”
“Hello? Is this Miss Hope Delaney?”
“Yes, it is. Am I speaking to Dahleeya Jones?”
“Yes. I’m Queen’s mother.”
“Yes, I know. I was expecting your call. We. We were expecting—I’ll call Queen.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I want to just thank you for accepting my call. I appreciate it. Is she all right? Is she behaving herself?”
The robotic voice interrupted the call to intone, “You are speaking to an inmate at the Compton Walker Correctional Facility.”
Hope hesitated. “Hello?”
“Yes! Hello! You’ll keep hearing that recording. They just feel the need to keep letting you know. Queen—how is she?”
“She’s fine! She’s doing well! She’s a very good girl!”
“Oh, thank the Lord. Thank you, Miss Delaney. Do you think you could bring her out to see me sometime? I know it’s far, but, it seems to be good for her to see me. If you could--.”
“Yes, we’re already looking at which day we could do it. I know you want to talk to Queen. Here she is.”
Queen had come out from her room when the phone rang, as she did every time the phone rang, anticipating that it might be her mother.
Hope stepped out of the kitchen to appear to give Queen the privacy to talk to her mom, but stood in the dining room listening, with her lips pressed together.
“Yes, mama. I’m being good.” There was a pause, during which Hope could hear animated tones coming through the line, from the prison to the little girl.
“Lasagna, garlic bread, and a green salad,” Queen was naming the items in the dinner she and Hope had just eaten.
The voice on the phone went on, and then stopped.
Queen answered, “The Secret Garden. A lady here gave it to me. It’s about a little girl that no one likes, and she finds a garden that no one takes care of. I know it sounds boring, but it’s really good. Did you get my hand in the mail? I put a ring on every one of my fingers, like a rich lady.” Queen laughed, and the tinny voice from prison laughed with her.
“I love you so much, Mama…. I will…. I will…. I do…. Yes, ma’am…. Can you talk longer?... Oh…. Okay…. I love you…. I will…. Bye, now. I love you…. Bye-bye.”
-65-
When the Club was gathered for Birdie’s watercolor class, Mabel put forth the proposition that she—Mabel—of all people—do a makeover class for all the ladies. She could give them a color analysis, telling them whether they should wear warm or cool colors, and she could do their nails and dye their hair, too.
“Now this is an idea that Carlotta, especially, is going to like!” declared Mabel, looking around at all the Club members and nodding, as if giving some sort of signal.
“And heck, Norb, you can be in on it, you know! I’ll bet I could come up with something I could do to you!” Mabel winked at him, first one eye, and then the other.
Carlotta turned her appalled expression toward Lorraine at this bald innuendo, but Lorraine was filling brown pigment into the eyes of a dachshund, and did not break focus to look up at her.
“Oh, no,” demurred Norbert. “You ladies go on ahead without me this time. I’ll be content to sit this one out.”
Margaret said, “Do you mean a makeover like they do on TV, when they give women a new hairdo and put eye shadow on them?”
Mabel nodded. “Yep! Did I ever tell you I used to be a beautician? In the seventies, I’m pretty sure it was.”
Lorraine, with her eyes still on her painting, said, “It’s an interesting idea, Mabel.”
This was as good as a refusal, and Carlotta nodded her agreement, but again, Lorraine did not look at her.
Birdie said, dreamily, “Makeovers. Yes. Do-overs, re-imaginings and re-inventions. We get to keep re-inventing ourselves all our lives long.”
Carlotta broke out, “What a dreary thought. Do we never get to stop?”
Lorraine, ignoring that remark, said, “Oh, why be closed-minded, right, Carlotta? Like Mabel always says, try anything once! Right? I’ve never had a cosmetic makeover before. It actually sounds like fun. Yeah, I’m in.” Swirling her brush in a pot of water, she added mischievously, “But only if Carlotta’s in, too.”
Margaret joined her voice to Lorraine’s, “Yes! Carlotta, even if you are writing a book, you still have time to get your hair done!”
“Come on, Carlotta,” pushed Lorraine.
“Oh? Is Carlotta joining in, too?” asked Birdie, whose mind had wandered away into the mists.
“Yeah,” urged Mabel. “It’ll be just us girls this time! We need you, Carlotta. You’re the most important one! Because I know I can make the most dramatic improvement in you. Come on, Carlotta! Let me see what I can do for you. I bet you could be a very attractive woman. You just need some help to make the most of yourself, that’s all!”
Had Carlotta uttered such words, she would have intended them to cut. However, Mabel, as everyone knew, was as direct as a child, and meant no harm. That did not lessen Carlotta’s irritation. In fact, it increased it.
“Mabel, don’t be idiotic. Look at yourself.”
Mabel looked down at her grey sweats and clunky sneakers.
“What? This is my casual look. I do know how to get dressed up, you know. If you ever came to the Alibi with us, you’d know how I spruce myself up for a night on the town. Isn’t that right?” Mabel looked around the group for support.
The room was quiet.
“I have a beautician’s license. Or used to.” Mabel was losing steam.
“Mabel,” said Carlotta with firmness, “I don’t mean to minimize your qualifications, but frankly, your qualifications are minimal.”
There followed another awkward pause, during which Carlotta could feel the group’s sympathy rushing toward Mabel. Mabel had been open and fun and had shown them all acceptance and a good time, and here was mean-spirited Carlotta. Being made to look mean-spirited.
Oh, it made her want to just spit.
“Okay,” said Mabel cheerily. “Not every idea’s gonna be a homerun, you know?” In an under breath, she added, “You can lead a dog to wander, like I said.”
Why couldn’t the woman get her idioms straight? In spite of Mabel’s linguistic limitations, Lorraine and Margaret were smiling and nodding encouragement at her.
Mabel said, “Well, if Carlotta’s not in, the whole makeover thing falls flat. What else have we got, gang?”
Incredibly, Mabel was just going to accept that the vetoing of her idea. Mabel would not keep cycling back with it until they agreed. The makeover idea was finished. Carlotta continu
ed her painting, but her mind was on Mabel’s personality, and her way of working with the Club. For all her loudness and uncouthness, there was nothing forceful about Mabel. She respected the will of others to do as they pleased, and did not find the Club’s independence a threat to her power. In fact, she did not seem concerned about power at all. She just wanted to have friends, and have a good time.
Carlotta recognized, in the privacy of her own mind, that she herself was forceful. She was sometimes even described as “a force of nature.” She felt it a threat to her power when any of the Club members made a suggestion that was as good as her own. And in an epiphany, it became clear to her that it was her very forcefulness and insecurity that was forcing the Club away from her and into the arms of Mabel, who held the Club gently. Mabel, coarse and ignorant as she was, had respect for individual differences and wishes.
Damn the woman. Why had she ever come to Gibbons Corner?
“Okay,” said Mabel amiably. “So I got a joke for you. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. It’s about this nun. Don’t worry, Carlotta, it’s clean.”
Carlotta felt called out for being a prude, and her resentment simmered.
“So this nun goes into a cloister and takes a vow of silence, okay?”
The Club was looking up from their work expectantly, ready to be amused. All except for Carlotta, who began to hum softly to herself, to show she wasn’t listening. But she was. She was listening and humming at the same time.
“So the Mother Superior says, with the vow of silence, you can only say two words a year, and that’s on your one-year anniversary. Other than that--.” Mabel made the sign for zipping the lip.
“So the nun goes off to join the other nuns and lives in total silence for a year. On her one year anniversary, she comes back to the Mother Superior, who says to her, ‘Today you get to say your two words. Is there anything you want to say?’ and the young nun says, ‘Cell cold.’”