“Okay.” She unwound the twist tie on the bread and placed two slices in my toaster oven. I could tell from the curl of her lips that there was something brewing in her frosted blonde head. “Don’t you know that when a southern woman has unintentional sex, it doesn’t count?”
“Really? And for men?”
“It probably doesn’t count for them either—at least it shouldn’t! After all, it’s the twenty-first century! You have to let go of that old double standard thing, Linda!”
“That is the most stupid thing you have ever said. But! I like it. And, I may adopt the philosophy.”
It was so easy to have breakfast with my sister, and just plain old regulation fun had been scarce in my personal life. For years! Until recently, how many times in the last ten years had we shared a meal? Two? Three? What had been a rarity had now become something I could have almost any time I wanted it. That tiny benefit lifted some part of me that I couldn’t explain.
I set the table for us with place mats and paper napkins and she came right behind me, folding the napkins and rearranging the flatware. I cannot help a little sidebar notation on the fact that if I lived under the same roof with her permanently, it wouldn’t be long before she would witness the deep furrowing of my brow.
As we sat down and began to eat, the skies began to rumble. The first crack of lightning burst over the water of the harbor and it began to pour. The storm was so loud we could hardly hear each other speak. The rain was coming west to east and sliding down the terrace doors in sheets. I kept watching the floor around it to see if water would seep in and it did not. Well, I thought, this may not be the grandest palace I have ever lived in but so far it doesn’t leak. In Montclair, I had a collection of special plastic buckets stacked in the basement for heavy rain.
“I can’t believe Gracie is sleeping through all this,” Mimi said as the storm raged on.
“No kidding! It sounds like Zeus and Hera are having an intergalactic domestic dispute, but that’s what you get for marrying your sister!”
“Redneck mythology? Where’d you get that tidbit?”
“Gracie did a paper on Greek myths last year so actually—”
“You did a paper on Greek myths?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I got an A. Listen, speaking of Gracie, maybe you can give me a little help here. I’m worried about her.”
“Honey? That girl is gonna be just fine!”
“Easy for you to say,” I said. “You want more coffee?”
I started the water running and picked up our dishes to scrape.
“No, thanks. Don’t run the water and the garbage disposal when it’s lightning!” Mimi said. “You might get electrocuted!”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Don’t you remember Momma used to unplug the television and make us say the rosary? Don’t you think it’s dangerous?”
“She was crazy too, okay? Anyway, back to Gracie . . .”
“Yeah, and what happened last night. She came home a little toasted?”
“Yeah, but she was drugged too and she got very sick.”
“Drugged?”
“Yes, at least I think so. She went out with Alex—”
“Brad’s Alex?”
“Yeah, they were supposed to go to the movies but apparently the show they wanted to see was sold out and they met up with some football players from school and—”
“Football players are the worst! I mean, their whole thing is about physical aggression! But drugs and alcohol? I would think they would be worried about getting kicked off the team! School coaches are super strict about curfew and everything! Even grades!”
“Well, anyway, Alex brought her home and she was in quite a state. After I got her to bed he said he thought the girls had set her up because she’s new and they were jealous and didn’t want her to think she could just march in and be one of them or something.”
We talked about Gracie and Alex for a while and Mimi almost had me convinced that what had happened to Gracie was within the range of normal. She reminded me that when we were Gracie’s age, we had our share of fun and mishaps. But that didn’t mean that accidents couldn’t happen and I didn’t recall any teenage girls I knew who were willing to feed pot brownies to another girl without her knowledge.
Mimi was quiet for a few minutes and then she said, “God! Girls can be so mean. Is Gracie all right?”
“We’ll see when she gets up. Brad came over to pick up Alex. When he left it was a little strange.”
“What was strange?”
“Because Alex hung around saying he stayed because Gracie’s condition had frightened him and he called Brad. I mean, I think he was trying to let me know that someone had tried to maybe take advantage of Gracie. He socked this guy in the jaw and got Gracie out of this party as fast as he could and a friend of his drove them here.”
“But he didn’t tell you exactly what had happened?”
“I don’t think he knew. But his knuckles were all cut up. And he was pretty upset.”
“Good grief. Oh Lord! Raising a child in this world today is so complicated! All this glamorized sin on television . . .”
“You said it. Well, I’ll get the whole story from Gracie but I just wanted to tell you this so that maybe you could just say to her that she really needs to be more careful with herself.”
“So, what did Brad have to say for himself?”
“We actually had an interesting conversation—well, mostly the conversation went on between him and Alex, but I got an earful on Loretta. I think he came in case it was necessary to go to the emergency room or something and anyway he had to drive Alex home. Speaking of which, remember he was just there himself for that racing heart thing? You got him the cardiologist? Men! He thought he was having a heart attack but what he was really having was a twenty-two-year-old former secretary.”
“Oh, swell. What’s the matter with men?”
“They don’t like getting old. Neither do we. Anyway, he hung around and left.”
“What’s the matter with that? Hmmm? Did you want him to stay?”
“Oooh! You are so bad! Hell no! He’s not for me! Good grief! Mimi!”
“Well, good, because Jack has someone he wants to introduce to Brad.”
“But he doesn’t even know Brad!”
Mimi got this very strange expression on her face and I thought she was about to say something and then she finally did.
“Look, available men are pretty hard to find. This gal is the widow of a young doctor who died last year from an aneurysm. According to Jack, she’s about your age but she has three small children and she’s supposed to be really, really beautiful.”
“Well, that’s nice, but I don’t think Brad wants to meet anyone yet. Anyone serious, that is.”
“Linda? Are you maybe a little bit sweet on Brad yourself?”
“Who are you sweet on, Momma?”
We turned to see Gracie in all her early morning splendor—terry shorts up to here and down to there, a T-shirt up to here and pushed over there and hair going every which way but where it should.
“I ain’t sweet on nobody!”
“Hey, baby! Come give your Mimi a kiss!” Mimi said.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“Terrible! My mouth tastes like crap. . . .”
“Couldn’t we say something like my mouth tastes like the bottom of a bird cage?” Mimi said, trying in vain to instill a little gentility in Gracie.
“Ooooooh, Momma!” Gracie groaned and fell into old Mr. Epstein’s recliner, curling up into a ball. “Last night? Thanks.”
“Hey, I’ll hold your head over the john anytime, kiddo, but we have to talk. Why don’t you go brush your teeth and I’ll make you some pancakes?”
“Okay,” she said and turned to Mimi, “then I’ll give my Mimi a smooch. Who can sleep around here anyway? Between the storm and y’all yakking at the top of your lungs?”
Did Gracie say y’all?
We di
dn’t respond to her complaint about us and the storm was on its way to Georgetown by that point. The rumbles were less frequent and in the distance. There were small razors of lightning in the sky, dancing like swizzle sticks—not the earsplitting crackles of the last hour. The rain had softened but was still coming down in a steady pace. I went back to the business of the kitchen, putting together some instant batter for Gracie’s pancakes, wiping the grease from the bacon pan and soaking the pan from the eggs.
“Look!” Mimi said. She pulled a credit card from her wallet, dumped the water from the frying pan and scraped it clean with her Visa card. “It’s a little trick I learned from a cooking program.” Then she rinsed it off and put it back in her wallet.
“Will wonders never cease?” I said and put three strips of bacon in the pan for Gracie. “You kill me.”
The phone rang, scaring me half out of my wits. It was Gretchen Prater, my real estate broker from Montclair.
“I think we might be getting an offer for your house!” she said.
“Really?”
She told me that a couple had seen it, liked it and wanted to see it again.
“The wife’s pregnant with their second child and he works in the city,” she said. “He does very well. And listen, I just got a contract for the Hollanders’ house—”
“Larry and Denise? They’re moving?”
“Oh! You probably didn’t hear. He took a job in L.A. Anyway, their house was built in the same year as yours. Same amount of bathrooms and an old kitchen and guess what? They had it listed for four eighty and they got four eighty!”
“No kidding!”
“Yep! I told you that the train station location makes all the difference. Anyway, as soon as I know something, I’ll call you right away. I’m showing it to another family this afternoon too.”
“Okay, this is gonna sound really stupid but what did we list the house for?”
“Well, that’s the thing. You and I are so thickheaded and all, we spent all our time thinking about what we were gonna do about decorating the front entrance. I have to fax you a seller’s agreement to sign.”
“Oh Lord! And, I owe you money too! For the Pier One stuff, right?”
“Yep. I can fax you receipts for the wicker and the painter’s bill and the plants and you can send me a check. It all comes to about six hundred dollars for the whole shebang! Or, if we sell this house as soon as I think we will, you can just pay me back from the sale.”
“Whatever you think. Listen, how much should we ask?”
“Based on the Hollanders’ sale? I’d ask for five ten. I mean, why not?”
“Holy mother! Well, why not? We can always come down.”
“Give me a fax number. . . .”
I didn’t have one so I gave her the one at the restaurant. We talked for a few more minutes and then we said good-bye. I was a little dizzy from the astronomical amount she thought we could get for the house. Fred would break out in a sweat if it happened. That thought cheered me immeasurably.
I turned to my sister, whose eyes were as big as bagels.
“Are we selling the ranch?” she said.
“Looks like a solid maybe,” I said.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and went to powder her nose.
I thought for a moment. My insides felt a little seasick. If I sold the house, I was letting go of New Jersey forever. Was that what I wanted? Yes, I told myself, it is what I want. There was no longer any reason to go back. Even Fred had said nothing about us leaving.
Despite last night’s incident, Gracie’s friendship with Alex was a consolation to me. At least she finally had a friend who seemed to care about her welfare, a young man with a sense of morality and the courage of his convictions. And, Gracie had an after-school job that would help to keep her out of trouble. Of course, there was Mimi. Finally, there was my job on the lovely sparkling waters of Shem Creek with the sun and wildlife and oh, what was I doing? This constant inventory was enough to drive anyone right out of their mind.
“Whew! You sure are deep in thought! What is going on in that head of yours?”
I poured some batter in the skillet for Gracie’s breakfast. “Well, it’s like this, O wise and wonderful sister of mine. I’m about to cut my umbilical cord with Yankee territory and I’m a little bit nervous.”
“Honey? You can always go back and shovel snow and throw bundles of newspapers any time you want.”
“Life there wasn’t that bad.”
“Life there wasn’t this good.”
And, that was the whole point.
Lucy & Douglas’s Wedding Menu
COCKTAIL HOUR
Gamberi Grille
(marinated, grilled shrimp)
Tuna Carpaccio Duane
(raw tuna)
Pettini Seared del Mare
(seared sea scallops)
Funghi Cotti di Portobello
(grilled portobello mushrooms)
Crab Cakes Fra Diavlo
(deviled crab cakes)
MINESTRA DEL GIORNO
Cioppino
(Italian fish stew)
INSALATA
Tricolore Insalata con Silenzio Cuccioli
(tricolor salad with hush puppies)
PIATTO PRINCIPALE
Pollo Champagne
(chicken with grapes in champagne cream sauce)
or
Fritto Misto
(assorted fried seafood)
DESSERT
Cannoli-Filled Wedding Cake with Lemon Glaze
SIXTEEN
HERE’S LUCY!
MIMI left after breakfast and I hurried to the restaurant to pick up my fax. When I arrived, Louise was standing by the new fish display case with O’Malley, holding the fax in her hand.
“Hey! Well, will you look at that?”
“I don’t like the way that red snapper is looking at me,” O’Malley said. “He looks sneaky. Maybe I should check his ID.”
“Humph! Glad you came in,” Louise said. “We got that wedding today and four waiters, including the Zone Man, called in sick. Here.”
The Zone Man was a guy named Mike Evans who we had just hired away from The Trawler, another restaurant on Shem Creek. He called himself the Zone Man because he said that when he was in the zone, which we thought was a Transcendental Meditation or yoga/Zen term to mean what in the alpha state meant to the rest of the world, he was the best waiter on the planet. His absence was not a good sign.
She handed me the paper and I glanced over it, trying to understand what I was about to sign. “Four waiters?” I said. “Thanks. Are you joking?”
“Do I strike you as the joking kind?”
“We have to do something about them.”
“I agree entirely, but today is not the day.”
“You’re right. Okay, no problem, I’ll work this afternoon. But I have to go home first. I can be back by three.”
“Thanks, Miss Linda,” Louise said. “At least the weather is clearing up.”
“Yeah, that’s a break,” O’Malley said. “I still can’t believe that Brad gave them the sunset deck for their cocktail hour.”
“Yeah, that was rather stunning,” I said. “He’s losing money left and right on this deal.”
“See?” Louise said, smiling wide. “Y’all don’t know all there is to know about him! No, sir!”
“Like what?” O’Malley said.
“Like he’s romantic, that’s what!” Louise said. “He got to talking to the bride, that Lucy woman, and she says she wants to serve Eye-talian food, because that’s the first thing she ever made for her honey. Although she can’t be much of a cook if she puts taco chips in a casserole.”
“That sounds more Mexican but she didn’t strike me as a gourmet either,” I said, “more like an aging cocktail waitress.” I wiggled my eyebrows at Louise and she covered her mouth, hiding her laugh.
“Don’t be so cynical, Miss Jersey,” O’Malley said. “If there’s a lid for her pot, there might e
ven be one for yours!”
“When my pot wants a lid, I’ll let you know.”
“Anyway, Mr. Brad, he says, I think you should absolutely have the sunset deck! I mean, it’s a wedding and how many times do you get married? I was so surprised, I almost dropped my drawers! He knew I was listening to them talking and I hate that—when I get caught eavesdropping—you know? Anyway, he knows I never miss a thing around here. . . .”
“Girl? Everyone knows you don’t miss a thing around here!”
“Well, I just be telling y’all that this man gots more romance in he head than he know what to do with and he ain’t even knowing he got it! And that, my friends, is all she wrote!”
I loved when Louise got excited and lapsed into a kind of Gullah.
“He’ll figure out what to do with it,” O’Malley said, “as soon as Loretta’s been cold long enough.”
Louise and I stared at O’Malley for a second and grinned. It was rare to get anything that smacked of catty from him.
“You’re a little late,” I said. “I think that his old—and I use the term to mean former—secretary already took a swing at that ball—no pun intended.”
“You bad,” Louise said.
“But in a good way,” O’Malley said.
“Thank you very much!” I folded the fax, put it in my purse and took out my sunglasses. “You know what? I could go for months and months in New Jersey and never need sunglasses.”
“Well, if you don’t wear them here, you’d have cataracts in about an hour!” O’Malley said.
“I’ll see y’all later,” I said. I turned to leave and then stopped. “Hey, Louise? Do we need my sister to help?”
Louise and O’Malley looked at each other, remembering what I had forgotten at that moment—how Mimi had lectured the patrons on caloric content. They looked at me, neither of them quite sure of what to say.
“Uh . . . uh . . . ,” they said, in a chorus.
I just said, “Well, if you’re desperate, let me know.”
They smiled in relief and gave a little nod.
I picked up the dry cleaning, went to the gas station and returned home. Gracie was in front of the television set, flipping channels with the remote.
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