“Well, I’m not sure. Why don’t you just have a seat and I’ll find out?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Beth watched the receptionist move across the salon like a miniature leopard on a sprightly prowl. Click, click, click! She was fascinated by her body language and overall persona. Although she was easily old enough to be her mother, everything about her seemed childish to Beth. To begin with, her entire outfit, from her headband with the trailing long ties to her shiny strawberry red toenails, was a little bit too small and something Beth might have worn when she was fifteen—high platform sandals with multicolored straps? Except for her enormous diamond ring, Beth wondered, how much of her was real? And the way her hips seemed to swivel? She thought, who swivels their hips when they walk? Someone recovering from a long career in pole dancing? Perhaps, Beth thought, perhaps.
Here she came clicking her way toward her again. This time, she leaned forward and down and her prodigious breasts nearly popped her buttons. Beth gasped.
“Darlin’? Do you have five minutes to wait?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Do you want something to drink? You look flushed.”
“No thanks. I’m good. It’s just the heat.”
“Yeah, it’s as hot today as two rats getting it on in a wool sock. Right?”
Beth was unfamiliar with the expression and it took a moment to grasp its meaning. There was a momentary struggle to restrain a burst of giggles. Instead, Beth arched her eyebrow and said, “Yeah, it’s pretty hot out there.”
“Well, you make yourself at home and Anna’s gonna take you in just a minute. Her two o’clock canceled. By the way, what’s your name, hon? I need it for the ticket.”
“Beth. Beth Hayes.”
“Well, I’m Lucy and it’s awful good to meet you.”
“Thanks. You too.”
Beth had never encountered anyone quite like Lucy and she was bewildered by all her energized razzle-dazzle. Lucy was indeed something to behold.
Soon she was shampooed, combed out, and seated in Anna’s chair. Anna took a handful of her hair, held it up, and examined it.
“I know this hair,” she said, and looked across her shoulders into Beth’s reflection in the mirror. “Have I met you before?”
“Yes. My mom got remarried a few years ago and you did our hair for the wedding.”
“Who’s your momma?”
“Susan Hayes? I mean, Rifkin.”
“I should’ve known. And Maggie is your aunt. I know those two! Love ’em! I was at the wedding with my then boyfriend. How’re they getting along? That Aunt Maggie of yours is a bird now, ’eah? Part on the left or the right?”
“The left.”
Beth giggled. She had never heard anyone call her aunt a bird but she knew exactly what she meant. Maggie had exotic plumage to be sure, but only in a good way.
“So, Aunt Maggie’s in California…”
Beth told Anna probably a lot more than she wanted to know and Anna listened, nodding her head. Beth noticed that Anna was wearing a wedding band and a small but beautiful diamond.
“So, you’re married now?” Beth asked.
“Yeah, I married a big cheese. Tied the knot two years ago.”
“Yeah, he’s a big cheese, all right,” the stylist next to them said, and laughed.
“Go on and hush your mouth, Brigitte Miklaszewski! You know Arthur is! Beth?” Anna whispered. “My husband is a cheese sommelier. Big cheese is a little inside joke.”
“Oh!” said Beth, who had no idea such a thing existed in the entire world.
“Yeah, I’m Madame Fromage, honey, and I wouldn’t trade places with anybody!”
“Are you Beth Hayes?” said the woman in Brigitte’s chair.
Beth nodded her head.
“I know your momma too! Love her! I’m Caroline Wimbley Levine.”
Beth leaned across and shook her hand.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Gosh! This is like old home week! Wait till I tell my mom!”
“Yeah, I know your mother and I met you too when you were about sixteen? I came to your house with this guy I was seeing at the time. Are you already out of college?”
“I sure am,” Beth said.
“My my. Where does the time go?”
“That was back when you were dating that guy, Jack Taylor? Remember him?” Anna said. “God, he was cute!”
“Cute, yeah, but no spark. You know what I mean?” Caroline said.
“Well, if there ain’t no spark…” Brigitte said.
“He wound up with that Mimi what’s her name who makes the pound cakes, didn’t he?” Anna said.
“Yeah,” Lucy said, putting a bottle of cold water in front of Beth. “And her sister, Linda? She married that hunk Brad who owns Jackson Hole on Shem Creek after his wife Loretta died when she got hit by that car? Nasty mess that was. I heard her head got squashed like a watermelon!”
“Lucy!” Caroline said. “Some of us have delicate constitutions!”
“Well, they closed the casket, so it must have been bad,” Lucy said.
“Holy crap,” Beth said.
And the blow dryers screamed on for the length of time it took Anna to transform Beth into a poster child for fabulous hair. Her mother would have said she was a Breck Girl.
“Wow,” Beth said when Anna spun her chair around to observe the great difference in her appearance. “I needed this!”
Beth paid her bill and said goodbye to all of them a little reluctantly. It wouldn’t be so bad to be middle-aged if you could be like them, she thought. They weren’t even close to dead yet.
Beth got her shrimp, an Old Bay boiling bag of seasoning, and some cocktail sauce from Simmons and then drove across the connector bridge, racing for Whole Foods. Time was running short and she did not want to get caught in the rush-hour traffic that plagued Highway 17. Once she had purchased everything and was back in her car zipping across the causeway at the speed limit, she saw the red lights start to flash. She was going to be held captive by the bridge opening to let the tall-mast sailboats pass. She slowed down, rolled to a stop, and was the very first car behind the barrier, right on top of the bridge. Judging from the lineup of boats, she was going to be there for a few minutes at least. She turned off the engine and got out to have a look, standing right by the railings, unconcerned about her hair. The brilliant blue sparkling water against clear skies cut only by the vista of green marsh grass was spectacular at that time of day. Then there were the smells, plough mud and salt, the sweet heady fragrance of pittosporum and jasmine, thick and wild, enough to make you forget the world. And there was the seemingly orchestrated dance of the birds, seagulls, pelicans, and the occasional osprey, flying over the boats, squawking and gliding on the currents of breezes. One by one the boats passed under the bridge, waving hello to her, and as she waved back, Beth’s head was filled with memories of doing this exact same thing so many times with her mother when she was a young girl. Why had she never done this with her father? It was so beautiful, too beautiful to describe. Her father would have loved it.
She had heard, maybe from Cecily or someone at Atlanticville, that there was a growing consensus to replace the charming old Ben Sawyer Bridge with one of those hideous flyover bridges made of poured concrete. The thought of it made her want to cry. There would be no more closings and excuses to get out of your car and wave at the boats below. Of course the bridge closings were supposed to happen at appointed times to lessen the inconvenience to motorists and they never did. It seemed as though the bridge tender, who was in charge of such things, opened the bridge when he felt like it and sometimes kept it open longer than necessary. This riled up the old islanders, who would turn up at a town meeting and complain. What if they had to get to a hospital? What if it was a matter of life and death? But the truth was everyone loved the old bridge and any attempt to replace it would be a cause for furious public outcry. Maybe, she thought, she should attend the next meeting of the Town Council and see
what was going on about that. The longer she was on the island, the more impassioned she became to preserve every part of its original character. And, perhaps this could be another pitch for the Island Eye News. Why not?
By the time Max arrived with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, thrilled that Beth was cooking dinner for him, Beth was feeling closer to his age, more mature. She was in love with a wonderful man, a wonderful man who was so successful, charming, sensual, and who looked in her eyes with such desire that it made her lose her balance and her breath. And her life had suddenly taken on new purpose. She was not only going to help him finance his dream but she would become the people’s steward and public servant working against drastic change. She would take extremely prudent views on gentrification. Slowly, carefully, she would guide his decisions to fit the fabric of the island. She would applaud his choices in her writings and he would take pride in her support. And she would gain the esteem of all of her family members in doing so as well.
“What’s different about you tonight?” He stood in the doorway to the kitchen staring at her while she loaded a tray, hoping she had remembered everything she needed to grill outside.
“What do you mean?”
“Let me take that for you,” he said. “Maybe it’s just that you smell so damn good.”
“Well, thanks,” she said. “I’ll get the plates. We’re having dinner on the porch.” She handed him the tray, smiled at his beautiful face, and kissed him on his cheek. “Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”
“It sounds brilliant.”
Taking a page from her Aunt Maggie’s design obsession, Beth had decorated the small porch table with a crisp white linen cloth. Two oversized conch shells backed up to each other in its center and ivory columns of beeswax candles stood inside the spotless etched crystal hurricanes protecting the flame against any sudden gusts of night air. Starched white napkins were folded like bishop miters and the gleaming flatware was placed carefully at exact intervals. It looked modern but very inviting in its spare symmetry.
They had a sunset glass of wine on the widow’s walk. He helped her start the grill. She fed him steamed shrimp with her fingers and he turned the steaks. Frank Sinatra crooned through the French doors, and all through dinner, which began right after dark, he told her how beautiful she was, kissing her or merely touching her shoulder or fingers at every opportunity. Each time she looked in his eyes she realized exactly how right it was to be with him. It was where she belonged.
This! she thought, remembering her earlier conversation with her Aunt Sophie. This is romance.
13
Woody
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Maggie, I’m having pangs for Beth. And Simon and you. Like an old sentimental fool. I never thought I would miss y’all and the island so much. I don’t think I’m gonna make it through this whole year. xx
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Susan, I miss you so bad I could spit, except that I would never spit. If you’re really that homesick and it isn’t for you over there with all those baguettes and berets, come home! There’s no place on earth like our Sullivans Island, is there? xx
IT WAS PRECISELY six o’clock in the evening when Woody arrived at Beth’s home on Sullivans Island. He located the hidden key and held it up to the fading sun. Its brass edge caught a flash of light, leaving him to think for an instant that the key possessed some powers of its own. He stood there for a moment, duffel thrown over his shoulder, looking up at the house. He wished he knew the history of its generations because he had never known a family so vivacious and irresistible as Beth’s or a house like the Island Gamble. No one would have said that it was an architectural marvel but most people would have agreed that it had a personality, representing its locale and time well, but unique in that it seemed welcoming and forbidding at the same time. It was as though the house had eyes, was alive, and had its own opinions. It wanted to know about those who walked its rooms, whether a whole lifetime was spent there or just a brief visit. Was it alive? Something had certainly frightened Phoebe, he thought, but then Phoebe leaned toward the melodramatic.
Woody was not afraid of the house. In fact, his feelings were quite the opposite. He had thought of little else all week except being on that porch with Beth and how he had never wanted to leave. So when Beth suggested he should return on a business excuse he had all but jumped at the opportunity. He began to ascend the steps, taking them one at a time. He crossed the porch, slipped the key in the lock, and opened the front door easily. He could feel the emptiness. No one was at home.
He dropped his belongings in the same room where he had stayed the previous weekend and went to the kitchen in search of something to drink. Beth’s little dog Lola was fast asleep in her crate. Woody didn’t want to wake her so he tiptoed across the floor to the refrigerator. Inside was an abundance of water bottles and little else beyond a half-empty container of two percent milk, a few eggs, and an unopened carton of orange juice. And the beer he and Mike had left behind. It appeared that Beth had not gone grocery shopping since they had left, but that was fine with him. He wasn’t big on snacks anyway. The phone rang and he hesitated to answer it. After all, it would not be for him because if it was Beth calling she would have dialed his cell. He listened as the caller left a message on her answering machine, which was an artifact from the eighties.
Hi, Beth! It’s your Aunt Sophie calling. I was just wondering how you’re doing and wanted to say hello. And I wanted to know if you spoke to your mom about your investment idea and what she said. I wish I had the wiggle room to invest with you but every last centavo we’ve got is in the vitamin business right now, as you know. Anyway, they go on sale next week. Pretty exciting for us! I think I told you that we got a huge, but I mean HUGE, order from GNC and Whole Foods, and oh! Al and I got the cover of People magazine for next week, and what else? Uh, I guess this message is long enough, right? Call me back! Love you!
Well, that was nice, he thought. So her aunts Sophie and Allison were expanding their business into vitamins? Why not? People were desperate to live longer and feel better. Personally, he thought vitamins were a crock, but hey, if other people thought they felt better as a result? Go for it.
For some inexplicable reason, he felt like it was all right to make himself right at home and take a self-guided tour. After all, he had been in his car for hours. He opened a bottle of water and began to wander around to stretch his legs and see what there was to see.
There was nothing grand or mysterious downstairs, just a maze of bedrooms furnished with old chests of drawers, hooked rugs, end tables, and lamps. And the bathrooms, squeaky clean as they were, appeared to have been upgraded back in the 1950s. The spigots dripped, leaving a stain in the bathroom basins, and there was some evidence of corrosion on all the fixtures. But, as everyone knew, that was part of the joy of being a homeowner near the ocean. Salt ate its way through just about everything.
Someone had spent a lot of money on white enamel spray paint, he thought, and smiled to himself. This family was not frugal but they were clearly not throwing away anything that a coat of paint could rehabilitate. Everything reminded him of his own parents and how they lived. Organized, clean as a whistle, and money was spent with a sober regard for what it took to earn it.
Antique quilts decorated some walls, family photographs and poster art others. There was a charm in the way everything was arranged and the positions of the objects—alarm clocks, frames, pillows, and so forth—the way they were placed demonstrated thought and care, right down to the tomato-shaped pincushion on Beth’s deceased grandmother’s table next to her bedroom chair. Her sewing basket rested there on the floor. Woody thought that he might have believed she could arrive at any moment to darn a pair of socks. Everything was waiting, probably just as she had left it the day she went to sing with the angels. He wondered if that corner of the room was a sort of altar to Beth’s grandmother’s memory or if it had simply been too heart wrenching to put
her things away. How long had she been dead? He found himself standing there in that room for a long while, wondering what kind of a woman she had been. He picked up what must have been her wedding picture. There she stood, looking out of the picture straight into his heart. Her very serious groom wore a World War II army uniform, and without motive his heart softened to both of them. He felt himself actually choke back tears. She looked so vulnerable and he appeared so resolute. Then, before he left the room, he borrowed the two pillows from the bed for his own. He liked to sleep with a lot of pillows and didn’t think Beth would mind.
There was not a lot of extra anything to be found in the house except for family pictures and books. Every room had at least one hundred books whose topics ran the gamut. Mysteries, romance novels, political memoirs, historical naval battles, thrillers, biographies, and a slew of books on southern history, especially the Civil War.
Next, he found himself in the living room, examining the pictures in the silver-tone frames that stood in staggered rows on a large round table in the corner. The lives of all the family members were represented and he had to laugh when he realized he had come across one of his boss, Henry. There was Henry Hamilton with bony knees, dirty Keds, and a rusty bicycle at about the age of eight. Young Henry looked mean and cross, a real tough guy at forty-five pounds, as though he might hop out of the picture and deliver a sock to your jaw.
“Oh, man! This is priceless!”
After a good hearty laugh, he placed the photograph back on the table, exactly in its original spot. Then he examined his face in the large mirror. Should he shave for dinner? Probably a good idea, he thought as he rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, and decided to take a shower as well. It couldn’t hurt. Woody was not particularly vain, the kind of guy who never missed a chance to preen in a mirror or to take a sly glance at his reflection in a store window, but this mirror made him want to turn and check himself out from all possible angles. For no good reason whatsoever, he placed his hand on the mirror, and to his surprise the mirror felt warm, as though it had a pulse.
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