“Ah, the wonders of the digital world!”
Farlie’s door opened and Beth spun around in her chair to face her. Barbara Farlie had a grin on her face as wide as her facial muscles could stretch. It was clear from her watery eyes that she had been laughing.
“What’s funny?” Beth said.
“You are. My glory, I haven’t read something so impassioned since I was involved in an antiwar rally back in my college days! Whew! We’ll run it the next issue. What else have you got?”
“The pictures?”
“No, honey, I mean another article for me. What else do you want to write?”
“Gee, I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“Figures. Well, leave the pictures up. Identify the bodies for me and then you go on home and think about it. And leave me your receipts. Come by next Thursday and you can pick up your check.”
“So you liked it?”
Barbara shook her head and smiled with all the wisdom of her years.
“Yes. I liked it. Very much, in fact.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And you know, you can email your work in too.”
“Geez, why didn’t I think of that? Thanks!”
“It’s okay. So, have a nice weekend.”
“You too! And, thanks again!”
Beth didn’t know which pictures the paper would use or if the article would be buried somewhere but she was feeling very good then. She had accomplished something of real worth. When the paper came out she would send her mother a copy, and her aunts. And perhaps her old professors too, she thought. It was sort of amazing to Beth that someone would pay her money to express her opinion or that they would trust her to gather facts.
She was feeling like a bona fide success story when she pulled into the yard at home and spotted the Georgia tags on her cousin’s SUV. She got out and bounded up the steps, two at a time.
“Mike? You here?”
Lola, incarcerated in her crate for a while, began yelping at the sound of Beth’s voice.
Mike, whose head was in the refrigerator, looked up to see her. “Hey, cuz! Whoa! What happened to you?”
“Well, you sweet thing! I’ll just take that as a compliment!”
She gave Mike a hug. Now Lola yelped and banged against the side of her crate so much so that it moved.
“For real! You look like a babe! Well, I mean—”
“Shut up, jerk. Momma’s coming, baby.” She released Lola and held her in her arms, attaching her leash. “So, where are your friends?”
“Phoebe! Woody! Come meet my cousin!” Mike yelled for them so loudly that Beth jumped, startled. “They’re on the porch taking in the view. That ocean’s making a lot of noise.”
“I know. It’s high tide.”
“Right. You live here. Where should we put our stuff?”
“Anywhere downstairs. I am assuming that Phoebe will be staying with you?”
“If it’s okay with you,” Mike said.
“Listen, Romeo, I’m not getting in the middle of this. I don’t care what you do in the dark.”
“It would be extremely odd if you did.”
Mike wiggled his eyebrows and Beth giggled.
“Perv! I’m gonna go walk my dog.”
Passing through the living room on the way to the porch, she could see Mike’s friends leaning against the rails. Woody looked benign enough, tall and lanky, knit shirt and khaki shorts. But even from a distance she knew that Phoebe was of the ilk with whom Beth would never have associated unless they were stranded on a desert island, and even that would have taken some time to get a conversation going. She was an overly cheery, petite blonde who probably traded on her looks to get through life.
“It’s gonna be a long weekend,” she whispered to Lola. “Let’s go be nice.” She walked out onto the porch and they turned to greet her with curious expressions. “Hey! I’m Beth! Welcome to Sullivans Island!”
“I thought Beth had really crazy red hair and glasses,” Phoebe said. “Doesn’t she?”
“I did.” Beth sighed. “I changed things.”
“Oh,” the little moron said.
“I’m Woody,” he said, extending his hand and smiling. “It’s really nice to meet you. Thanks for having us.”
“Glad to, but you know, this is Mike’s house too. I’m just going to take my dog out and I’ll be right back.”
“Oh! She’s so cuuuuute! Is she a girl? Come here, precious! What’s her name?”
Lola recoiled, burying herself in Beth’s neck. Lola was a dog of discriminating taste when it came to humans. Basically, she was a one-human dog. Phoebe probably had a big fat Persian cat named Marilyn who sat on a white satin cushion. With tassels. And a diamond collar.
“She’s got a pink leash, Phebes. Of course she’s a girl!” Woody said.
“Lola,” Beth said. “Lola and I will be back in two minutes.” Beth cut her eyes at Woody, who crossed his arms and shook his head as if to say that he agreed that Phebes was a little thick between the ears.
“Cute!” Phoebe said. “Y’all hurry back! Mike’s making margaritas!”
“Lola’s trying to quit,” Beth said over her shoulder, knowing she had probably left Phoebe in a state of confusion but that Woody got the joke.
Poor Mike, she thought as she walked Lola across the yard. It was hard to understand why he always went after that certain type. They were sweet and pretty but never very smart. What was he afraid of?
Beth was of the opinion that there was nothing on the earth sexier than a guy with great brains and a good sense of humor. Looks were a secondary consideration. But then that wasn’t exactly her current situation because Max was way off her normal list of choices. They were having dinner on Sunday! Just the thought of being across the table from him gave her a thrill.
Beth wondered if Woody thought she was his date for the weekend because he had looked at her in the way men do when they want to let you know that they’re available and that you appeal to them. What kind of expectations did he have? Maybe he was just friendly. She hoped that was it, because he surely wasn’t her type. Too skinny. Besides, she had Max. No, she didn’t have Max. She had her fixation on Max and her fantasies of Max but she did not have Max. Maybe Sunday would change that.
Back in the house, the blender was working overtime and Phoebe was cooking some kind of taco chip/canned chili/salsa combination in the microwave that smelled like burned dog food. Mike poured the first round of cocktails and offered one to Beth.
“Thanks, but I have to work tonight so it’s probably best if I hold back.”
Woody, who was seated at the table glued to his BlackBerry, checking email, looked up and stood when he heard Beth’s voice.
“Right!” Mike said. “So, how’s the job going?”
“Sit! Sit!” Beth said, making note of his good manners. Someone had raised him right. “Jobs? I’ve got two for some stupid reason. Um, the job at Atlanticville is really a little insane. And it’s tiring. You know, cranky patrons waiting for a table. I’m on my feet all night. This heat doesn’t help anybody’s mood.”
“What’s Atlanticville?” Phoebe said, taking a sip of her drink. “Oooh! This is so good!”
“It’s a restaurant down the island,” Mike said. “Hey! Can we get a table for tomorrow night?”
“Party of three? Of course you can!”
“What’s your other job?” Woody said.
“Writing for the local newspaper,” Beth said. Woody wasn’t bad-looking at all, really, she thought. “I just wrote an article for them.”
“About what?” Phoebe said.
“On the gentrification of funky old beach communities between here and Myrtle Beach.”
Gentrification was a pretty big word for Phoebe, who wrinkled her brow.
“Would you like some of this?” Phoebe said, offering the platter of guaranteed gastrointestinitis to each of them. She had added chopped jalapeños, mayonnaise, and sweet pickles to the top. Only Beth,
the wiser one of the lot, refrained.
Mike pushed a glob into his mouth, struggled to swallow, and smiled at Phoebe. Woody snickered at Mike and was more judicious, pulling plain chips from the bottom of the gooey mass. Mike reached for another wad.
“Think you’re hungry, Mike?” Beth said. He must have a cast-iron stomach, she thought.
“Mmm, mmm,” he said. “My girl Phoebe is the cocktail party queen. Aren’t you, sugar?”
“I like to make up different kinds of finger foods,” she said, and actually batted her eyelashes at everyone.
“I like to cook too,” Beth said, lying for no good reason and thinking, What can I cook? She would have to learn to make something besides cereal and sandwiches. At some point. “Well, actually, I like to eat. More than I like to cook, that is.”
It was after three o’clock before she knew it. Woody, Phoebe, and Mike had gone off to the beach for a swim and Beth was alone in the house. She had put Mike in the newly un-haunted bedroom, explaining privately that ever since Cecily and the priest had done their best, the room had been dead quiet, no pun intended. It was the best bedroom in the house as it was large, had its own bathroom and the best ventilation. Knowing its history all of his life, Mike was initially suspicious. But then Mike had said, No problem, if the room starts going nuts, Phoebe’s gonna be all over me. Beth looked at him with a straight face and pretended to be holding back vomit.
“You need to get a man in your life,” he said. “It’ll make your coat shiny.”
“Very funny. But in fact, I am seeing someone.”
“Really? Well, that’s good. Hey, what do you think of Woody?”
“He’s nice enough. What’s his story?”
“He works for Uncle Henry the slave driver, and he’s the guy in charge of your trust account.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, one of the reasons he wanted to come was to meet you. So see? It’s just business.”
“Good.”
What did that mean? Did Mike think she was unworthy of someone like Woody? Nah, she decided. He probably just never gave her social life one iota of thought. And Beth did present herself as serious. Sort of. Besides, she knew that Woody found her to be attractive.
She dressed for work, straightened her hair, and left them a note.
If you all want to come by the restaurant, I’ll buy y’all some drinks! Otherwise, I’ll see you around eleven. xx Beth
Somewhere around nine-thirty that night, Beth spotted Max at the bar. He was alone. The second seating was well under way so she was able to slip out to the porch to say hello. Max was looking very good and his face brightened when he saw her.
“Well, hi there!” he said. “You’ve been one very busy girl tonight!”
“No lie! I didn’t even see you come in!”
“Can you sit for a minute? Can I buy you a glass of wine?”
“Oh, I wish I could but my boss would probably object.”
“Well, you look awfully nice. What time are you getting out of here?”
Beth felt a poke in her shoulder and turned to see Mike, Woody, and Phoebe standing there.
“Somebody said the drinks were on the house in this joint,” Mike said.
“Well, hey y’all! Max, this is my cousin Mike from Atlanta and his friends Phoebe and Woody…”
They shook hands and began chatting away about Atlanta and all the spots they knew in common as Beth ordered two beers for the guys and a Cosmopolitan for Phoebe, asking Lidia to put it on her tab.
“I have to go back to work,” Beth said. “Drew is giving me the hairy eyeball.”
“Okay, we’ll see you later on,” Woody said.
Max was busy talking about his development project to Mike, who was listening and asking questions. Phoebe asked for directions to the little girls’ room and Beth showed her where it was. Throughout the remainder of that night’s work, between answering phones and seating customers, Beth kept an eye on them from the podium where she stood most of the time. Every time she looked out to the porch she could see Woody watching her, just kind of quietly observing her. In a nice way. He would smile, a little sheepish for being caught, but it was all very aboveboard and polite. Max, on the other hand, was hanging on Mike and flirting with Phoebe, wagging his finger at her and making comments to her behind his hand. Beth felt uncomfortable with Max’s behavior because she didn’t understand why he was being so chummy, too familiar with her cousin and his friends. Maybe the cause was too much alcohol. Yes, that was probably it. And the next time Beth looked out at the bar area, they were all gone.
“Lidia? Where did my cousin go?”
“He said to tell you either they’d be right back or he would see you at home later. They were going off with that guy Max to look at his construction site. You want to settle your tab? I can keep it open if you want.”
“Yeah, leave it open. They might come back.”
They did not return, and when Beth got home Max’s car was there in her yard. He couldn’t wait for her or come back to the restaurant to say what they were doing? She quickly checked her cell phone. There were no messages from him or from anyone. It was pretty late. She was ready to drop in the bed and sleep until noon, but when she went up the steps and into the kitchen, she saw that it could be hours before she could close her eyes. She didn’t like what she found. The sink was filled with dirty dishes, food was all over the counters, the garbage can was overflowing, and Lola was whining her little head off from her crate. She could hear them all out on the porch, laughing and having a great old time.
She opened the crate, attached Lola’s leash, and said, “Don’t ever let your family visit too often, miss. They’ll just walk all over your welcome mat.”
She walked Lola on the street side of the house to avoid seeing them. The truth was that though the house really belonged to the whole family, she felt pretty territorial about it. Who did they think was going to clean up their huge mess? Her? She was livid. And just what was Max doing hanging around with them late into the night like old friends? Well, maybe it wasn’t so late, but it irked the devil out of her anyway. She felt abused and overlooked.
When she got back inside, there stood Woody at the sink, rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher.
“Hi,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.”
She meant nothing of the kind and intuitively Woody knew that she was annoyed.
“Sorry about the mess. Uh, I guess things got a little out of control.”
It was difficult for her to be angry with him, seeing him there cleaning her kitchen and apologizing.
“I guess y’all cooked, huh?”
“Yeah, Phoebe wanted lasagna and salad and garlic bread and a pie—man, that girl can eat!”
“And make a mess. Is there a single pot that she didn’t use? Wow. Looks like a bomb went off in here.”
It was easy to lay the blame at Phoebe’s feet because she didn’t like her anyway.
“I’m afraid we all had a hand in this disaster. Don’t worry. I’ll clean it all up.”
Good grief, he’s so nice, Beth thought.
“Tell you what,” she said, “I’m gonna go put on some shorts and I’ll come back and give you a hand.”
“That’d be great,” he said. “We can shoot the breeze—something we haven’t really done yet.”
Beth gave him a thumbs-up and started for the front steps. Lola skittered behind her, joyously, just so happy to have her back in her line of sight.
Out of the darkness of the porch came Mike.
“I’m hitting tha sack. N don’t let anyboda wake me up tomorrow. I’m sleeping late.”
“You’re bombed.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and pointed his finger at her. “BTW, we need more scotch so you might wanna make a node a that.”
“Don’t tell me you drained Simon’s twenty-five-year-old single malt.”
“Yup. Was it that old? Hell, thas older tha Phebes!”
“Go to bed, Mike.”<
br />
Before going upstairs to change, she stepped out onto the dark porch. In the pale light there was Phoebe climbing into the hammock with Max. Before she could stop herself, she spoke.
“Can I get y’all anything else? The bar’s closing.”
“Oh!” came the voices of the guilty.
Her mother would have been proud of her, she thought. Probably. But Beth was on the verge of bursting into tears.
9
Cheap Talk
[email protected]
Susan, haven’t heard a thing from the island. You?
[email protected]
Mag, probably time to let them grow up? But you might email Cecily? Just a tiny query? On second thought, don’t. Let’s leave them alone. xx
“OUR FRIENDS DID not show well tonight,” Woody said when she told him about stumbling on Phoebe and Max. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Not your fault.”
Beth was in the kitchen with him, cleaning up and trying to pull herself together. She was so upset she doubted she would sleep a single wink that night. Max made an awkward, hasty departure, saying he would call her in the morning. Phoebe simply disappeared to her room without a word. Beth was left to wonder, Why weren’t they ashamed? There had been no apologies. Didn’t anyone have a conscience anymore? A sense of propriety? Beth had not said anything else to Phoebe or Max but the few words spoken on the porch, but she nearly talked the ears off the sides of Woody’s sainted head.
“What a couple of idiots!” she said. “Can you believe them? And Mike is as drunk as forty goats!”
“Stupid,” he said. Woody tried to improve her mood by injecting humorous anecdotal stories into their cleaning streak.
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