Sweet Tea Tuesdays

by Ashley Farley

“You can’t do that,” Kara said. “You have to tell her. Wouldn’t you want Georgia to tell you if Bennett was sleeping with another woman?”

  She sank farther down in her beach chair. “I guess you’re right.”

  #

  Midge was due to meet Bennett’s family for the first time that night. She had no idea what to expect—burgers on the grill or a seven-course seated dinner in the formal dining room—and she was too embarrassed to ask. His family played in a totally different league than hers. They represented money and power. With the exception of Bennett, the Calhoun men had been providing legal counsel for Charlestonians since his great-grandfather established the family firm, Calhoun and Sons, in the early 1920s. Bennett had broken the mold by going into commercial real estate. The town gossipers claimed he’d failed the LSAT, that he wasn’t smart enough to attend law school, but Midge thought him better suited to building things than tearing them apart.

  After changing outfits four or five times, she decided on her best pair of white jeans, a pale-blue silk tunic, and strappy pewter-colored sandals. She teased her hair to give it some volume and gave it a heavy coat of spray to keep it in place. She was waiting on her front porch when Bennett swung by to pick her up a few minutes before six.

  Midge hadn’t communicated with him all weekend, and as they drove three blocks south to his parents’ stunning four-story home on Legare Street, she made no mention of his redheaded business associate or of their argument on Friday. She would take her brother’s advice and keep an open mind and heart while she searched for her answers.

  Bennett’s sisters-in-law, Virginia and Sara, could have passed for his sisters they looked so much like his mother, Lucille. All three women had blonde hair and blue eyes and wore casual dresses that accented their boyish figures. Recognizing the styles, Midge assumed the labels were the real deal—Herrera, Ortiz, Oscar de la Renta. The women greeted Midge like an old friend with warm hugs and kind smiles while Bennett’s brothers—dressed in khaki slacks and knit shirts—offered token kisses on the cheek. Bennett’s father, every bit as handsome as his sons, gave her shoulder a pat and handed her a glass of rosé. Eager to see the inside of the house, Midge was disappointed when they led her to a side porch instead. Bee, a black woman in a maid’s uniform, with a crop of gray hair and folds of fat around her neck, appeared with a tray of canapés.

  For the next hour, they discussed the leisure-time summer activities of the wealthy—golfing, boating, and extended trips to Maine and Martha’s Vineyard. Midge listened intently but had little to add to the discussion. The conversation continued over a four-course dinner—white gazpacho, mixed green salad, blackened mahi, Key lime pie, and a different wine to go with each dish. Dinner was served at a farm table—set with casual linens, china, and glassware—at the other end of the porch. After dessert the men excused themselves to smoke cigars in Bennett’s father’s study, and the women gathered at one end of the table to linger over coffee.

  “Disgusting habit, if you ask me,” Virginia said about the cigars.

  Lucille smiled at her daughter-in-law. “Good luck getting them to quit. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Speaking of cancer,” Sara said, even though no one had mentioned cancer, “did you hear about poor Betty Washington? Stage four pancreatic cancer. They’ve given her two weeks to live.”

  Midge didn’t know Betty Washington, so she remained silent while the others talked about how lost Betty’s husband and their two sons would be once she was gone. When they finally exhausted the subject of Betty Washington, Lucille rose from the table. “I’m going to say good night. I have an early day tomorrow,” she said, and then floated through the french doors with the grace of a ballerina.

  “Now that it’s just us girls,” Virginia said, and both sisters-in-law scooted their chairs closer to Midge, sandwiching her in.

  “You seem like a nice person. We’d hate to see you get hurt.” Sara’s tone sounded sincere, but her stony expression suggested otherwise. Midge understood she’d been set up and wondered whether Lucille was aware of the conspiracy.

  Virginia folded her hands in her lap. “You do know that Bennett’s been married before.”

  “Three times in fact,” Sara added. “He cheated on the first. Grew tired of number two pleading for children he didn’t want. And stole money from number three’s father.”

  “He stole money from her father?” Midge repeated to confirm she’d heard Sara correctly.

  Virginia cut her eyes at her sister-in-law. “That’s not entirely accurate. Number three’s father caught Bennett breaking into his safe, the one on the wall of his study behind the portrait of his beloved daughter where he keeps stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Bennett never actually got away with the money.”

  Sara tossed her hands in the air. “A technicality. But you get the point.”

  “I’m aware of Bennett’s somewhat colorful past. But none of that has anything to do with our relationship. He’s older now, more mature,” said Midge.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Virginia muttered under her breath.

  “Bennett and I have talked about his failed marriages,” Midge continued, “and I’m convinced he’s learned from those experiences. Otherwise we wouldn’t be together. That’s not to say I have no concerns. But he’s agreed to wait as long as it takes for me to be comfortable with the situation.”

  Sara leaned across the table toward Midge. “Then why are you wearing his ring if you’re not comfortable with the situation? That ring belonged to their grandmother. You’ll have to give it back if . . . when . . . you become uncomfortable with the situation.”

  Midge twisted the ring on her finger so the stone was facing inward. “What I’m uncomfortable with is this conversation. You are out of line sticking your nose into our business. I’m a grown woman, not some debutante you can bully into running off with her tail between her legs. Of course I’ll give the ring back if I decide not to marry him. Until then, I’ll wear it as a symbol of our commitment to each other. And we are committed to each other.”

  Sara shot Virginia a look that Midge didn’t miss. They were tag-teaming her, and now it was Virginia’s turn.

  “Calm down, Midge, honey,” Virginia said, stroking her arm. “Sara didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just . . . well . . .” She lowered her voice. “Can I be frank with you? I need to trust that this conversation won’t leave the table.”

  Gritting her teeth, Midge nodded her head. She had no intention of telling Bennett about this conversation. To do so would make her appear weak, as though she couldn’t handle these women, as though she believed anything they’d said.

  “The truth is, Sara and I are worried sick about Lucille. She’s not as strong as she looks. She falls apart every time Bennett has one of his crises. And I don’t just mean the divorces. I’m talking about the other scandals. I trust you know about the other scandals.”

  Midge knew of no other scandals, nor was she in the mood to handle any more bad news tonight. “Bennett and I don’t keep secrets from each other,” she blurted even though she suspected it was a lie.

  “Good!” Sara said. “Then you won’t have a problem signing a prenuptial agreement.”

  Midge held her gaze. “I have no problem with it. In fact, I insist on it. Bennett and I both plan to sign prenuptial agreements.” They’d never discussed it, but after this conversation, Midge would protect her assets at all costs. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I have just as much to lose as Bennett.”

  Virginia’s eyes lit up. “That’s great news! I’m glad to know you’ll be able to put food on the table. Because Bennett’s broke. I assume you already know that, though, since you don’t keep secrets from each other. He does, however, stand to inherit a lot of money. Old money that needs to be protected.”

  It sounded to Midge like that old money needed protection from Bennett, not from her. She didn’t want his money. She wanted the Bennett who had courted her with flowers and romantic dinners out. S
he wanted the Bennett who loved to run marathons and window-shop on King Street and go to Saturday afternoon matinees. She wanted their dreams of owning a boutique agency to come true. She wanted to forget all that had happened in recent days—Bennett opening her mail and showing up at the Lelands’ cocktail party uninvited, Bennett’s lovely redheaded business associate. She wanted to forget about this conversation, this night, these tacky women and their condescending attitudes.

  An hour later, when he parked the car alongside the curb in front of her house and killed the engine as though preparing to go inside with her, she slipped the engagement ring off her finger and held it out to him. “I have some serious concerns about our relationship, Bennett. You better hold on to this until I’ve sorted out my issues.”

  He stared at the ring, but he didn’t appear surprised. “Please don’t do this.”

  She pressed the ring in the palm of his hand and wrapped his fingers around it. “Just give me some time.”

  He hung his head. “I understand. With my track record, I don’t blame you for not trusting me. Take all the time you need. I want you to be comfortable with your decision to marry me. But you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Midge

  Midge fell into a depression like she hadn’t experienced since the days of trying, and failing, to conceive a baby twenty-some years ago. For the most part Bennett respected her need for space, but he still called and texted her with requests to join him for drinks and dinner. She hoped that by taking a step back from their relationship she could rediscover the qualities that had attracted her to him in the first place. She declined all his invitations except the one for the Fourth of July. They made plans to spend the day on the water with his parents in their new Hinckley Picnic Boat and then drive out to Sullivan’s Island for Lula’s party. Midge had no clue what a picnic boat was, only that Bennett was as excited as a boy with a new toy over the recent addition to the family’s fleet. As far as she knew, his evil sisters-in-law had other plans for the holiday.

  Midge had lost five pounds in the two weeks since she’d had dinner with Bennett’s family. Which was a considerable amount for a woman of her small stature. Her time-out from Bennett wasn’t the only source of her angst. Harboring the knowledge of her best friend’s husband’s extramarital affair was eating away at her like Betty Washington’s cancer cells were eating away at her pancreas. With no appetite, she’d all but stopped eating. Running was the only thing that relieved the tension in her body and the constant queasy feeling in her gut. She spent her free time spying on Georgia from her bedroom window, watching for signs of unrest in the Murdaugh household.

  Reluctant to get involved, she hoped Lang would confess his infidelity or Georgia would discover it on her own. In the ten days Midge had been on surveillance, Georgia seldom deviated from her schedule. Morning walk at seven. Departure for work at nine. Return home around six thirty with a grocery bag from Harris Teeter tucked beneath each arm. Glass of wine on the porch while she opened her mail. Inside by eight. Bedroom light on at nine. Bedroom light out at ten. Lang’s schedule was nearly as predictable. Morning run at five. Departure for work by six thirty. Home around five, dressed in tennis attire on four of the ten days. Out of the house again by five thirty wearing khaki slacks and a knit shirt. Midge had no idea what time he came home at night. She was never awake.

  Georgia had sent five separate group texts inviting Midge and Lula for tea on different days at different times. For each one, Midge waited for Lula to respond first, and when Lula declined the invitation, Midge texted: “I can make anything work.” The most recent invitation had arrived that very morning, a Tuesday three weeks after their last tea date. Georgia had arranged to have the afternoon off in the hopes they could get together before the busy holiday week. Lula once again texted she couldn’t make it for tea because she was too busy getting ready for Brooke’s visit. Even though Midge’s afternoon was free, she followed with a text that read: “Sorry. Busy day. Maybe next time.”

  Midge knew she was behaving like a coward. What was she so afraid of now after all their years of friendship? True, Georgia had intimidated her when they first met, for Midge, an uneducated girl from McClellanville, had nothing in common with a Charlestonian socialite. But Georgia had spoken freely with her and treated her as an equal, thus putting her at ease and helping her come out of her shell. She knew that although Georgia had recently given her a hard time about Bennett, calling him a rotten rascal, she had done it only because she didn’t want to see Midge hurt.

  Any more than Midge wanted to see Georgia hurt.

  Stop being ridiculous, Midge! You’ve waited long enough. March yourself on over to Georgia’s house and tell her about your encounter with Lang at the Embassy Suites. You know Georgia would do the same for you if the situation were reversed.

  Midge sucked in a deep breath. She would break the news and then offer Georgia a shoulder to cry on. She expected Georgia to get angry. She might even take her anger out on Midge. But Georgia was a reasonable person, and when she calmed down, she’d realize that Midge was merely the messenger. Midge wasn’t the one breaking Georgia’s heart. That was all Lang’s doing.

  She waited until Georgia emerged from her house, dressed for work in a colorful print skirt and white cotton blouse, before bolting down the stairs and out the front door like she’d done a dozen times in the past few days. As had happened in those previous dozen times, she made it to the end of the short sidewalk before she lost her nerve. She picked up her newspaper and waved to Georgia. “I miss seeing you,” she called. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make tea work today. We really need to figure out a time to get together.”

  Georgia gave her a thumbs-up and hollered back, “I’m working on it.”

  As Midge started back toward the porch, the burden of Lang’s affair weighed her down, making every step akin to plodding through marsh mud. She stopped in her tracks. She lacked the guts to break the news to Georgia, but there was nothing preventing her from confiding in someone else. Lula would know how to handle the situation. She tossed the newspaper on her porch and strode across the yard.

  She found Lula on her hands and knees weeding in her garden. “Morning,” Midge said. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee? I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Can we talk while I work?” Lula said without looking up. “Brooke is flying in tomorrow, and there’s still so much to do.”

  “I would prefer to see your face when we talk, Lula, not your fanny. This is important. It’s about Georgia.”

  Lula sat back on her haunches and adjusted her sun hat. “Is it so urgent it can’t wait?”

  Midge was horrified when her lip began to quiver. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I should have told you two weeks ago.”

  “Aw, honey. It can’t be all that bad.” Lula held out her hand, and Midge helped her to her feet. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

  They walked arm in arm to the house and made small talk about Brooke’s visit while the coffee brewed. But once they were sitting across from each other at the table, Midge described her encounter with Lang at the seedy hotel on the north side of town, explaining she’d been there to work up a contract with her out-of-town clients.

  “And you’re sure this man was Lang?” Lula asked when Midge had finished talking.

  “Yes, of course, Lula. We’ve been neighbors for twenty-six years. I’m sure it was Lang. We even acknowledged each other. He introduced the woman to me as Mrs. Jones.”

  Lula tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows merging with her hairline. “Mrs. Jones?”

  “Original, right? For a brilliant surgeon, the man is slow to think on his feet.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Lula set down her mug. “Langdon Murdaugh is too handsome for his own good. I suspected he was a womanizer. I’ve felt his eyes on my backside a time or two.”

  “Really?” Midge do
ubted if this was true. Lula was a lot of things, but a sex object wasn’t one of them. “He’s never been anything but a gentleman to me.”

  “He’s no gentleman. He’s a snake in the grass. I’m surprised he hasn’t called you or shown up on your doorstep begging you not to tell Georgia that you caught him red-handed with his lover. Men are not to be trusted. With the exception of Phillip, of course.”

  There was something to be said for trust and security, but Midge questioned how much excitement existed in a marriage to a do-gooder like Phillip.

  Lula’s eyes dropped to Midge’s hand. “Why aren’t you wearing your engagement ring?”

  Midge placed her right hand over her left to cover her bare ring finger. “We’re taking a break. Marriage is a big step. I want to get it right this time around.”

  Lula leaned across the table toward Midge. “Listen to me, honey. Marriage is a journey filled with peaks and valleys and tidal waves. If you’re having problems now, tying the knot will only make them worse down the road.”

  “I’ve been married before, Lula. I understand all too well how vile men can be.”

  “That was so long ago it hardly counts,” Lula said, dismissing her five-year marriage.

  All Midge’s nerves stood on end. “Like hell it doesn’t. Taylor was my childhood sweetheart. I planned to grow old with him, but he abandoned me at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Please! Lower your voice. I have a headache.” Lula lifted her hand to her forehead, her face pinched in pain.

  Midge studied her friend. Lula’s skin was one shade lighter than the gray roots sprouting along her part. And it wasn’t just her physical appearance. She seemed off in other ways as well. “Are you okay?”

  “I keep getting these stabbing pains. Nothing a little aspirin won’t cure.” She grabbed the bottle of Bayer on the table in front of her and shook out two pills into her hand. “This party is causing me too much stress. I don’t know what I was thinking about when I decided to have it. In my younger days, I could throw a party together at the drop of a hat.”