The Hurricane Sisters

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  All the way down the island, Mary Beth’s plans for the night haunted me. I thought, Sure, if things get too nasty, you can always jump overboard and ride a dolphin back to shore. Better yet, a shark. Good luck, Mary Beth. You’re playing with fire.

  I pulled into the parking lot of SALT at Station 22 and gave my keys to the parking attendant.

  “Will you be dining at SALT tonight?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  SALT had its own parking lot. Apparently they had a bit of trouble with people parking in their spaces and then going somewhere else to eat. I mean, who would do that? There was a big sign that said PARKING FOR PATRONS OF SALT ONLY. You’d have to be as blind as a bat and raised by wolves to park in their lot if you weren’t going there. Worse, I could eat there every night of the week and the parking guy would ask me the same question, like he’d never seen me before in his whole life. Okay, I was nervous. I’ll admit that. I knew Porter was going to give me total hell and even though I thought I was ready for it, I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  I looked up and down Middle Street for oncoming cars and when traffic allowed I scooted across, marveling at how many cars there were these days. It never used to be so crowded but lately it seemed like the island might sink from the weight of them. SALT at Station 22 had just been renovated. The building was a classic island cottage complete with porches that gave it a breezy atmosphere that belied its serious kitchen. I thought the new changes to the interior were so pretty, especially the long bar. Mary Beth and I would stop here for a drink once in a while or brunch on Sundays when we had some extra money. Anyway, we came here often enough to know most of the staff.

  I climbed the steps to the porch and spotted Porter sitting at a table with Richard Stoney, one of the owners. It was nine fifteen on the nose.

  Richard stood up to greet me.

  “Miss Waters, I believe?”

  “Hey, Richard. How are you?”

  “Old but I’m still game.” He laughed and kissed my cheek.

  He was a big flirt but he didn’t really mean anything by it. Well, maybe he did but he was old enough to be my father. Honestly? I think his flirting was just habit. He just liked women and southern guys who were raised right always tried to say something nice.

  Porter remained seated, and I could tell immediately from his expression that he wasn’t happy. Well, he’d had a little time to marinate in his irritation.

  “What’s wrong?” I said to him.

  “I’ll let y’all have your dinner,” Richard said. “Sauvignon blanc?”

  “Yep. I mean, yes. Thanks!” I said to Richard and sat down across from Porter.

  “I’ll send that over right away,” Richard said and left.

  “You’re late,” Porter said.

  “No, I’m not. It’s nine fifteen.”

  “I said nine, Ashley. I hate being kept waiting.”

  “Porter, you said nine. I said nine fifteen. It’s only fifteen minutes. What’s the big deal?”

  “Okay, okay,” he said and looked across the room to see if he knew anyone. “Let’s not quibble over details.”

  “Okay. You’re right. It’s not important.” My favorite waitress, Trudy, put my glass of wine in front of me and I said, “Thanks!”

  “You’re welcome! I’ll get menus for y’all,” she said and walked away.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” I said.

  “However,” he said in a hushed voice, “we do have to address what was going on at your house.”

  “I guess so. Okay. What about it?”

  The night air was gorgeous on the porch. It seemed a shame to ruin the night over something that had already happened. It wouldn’t change anything.

  “You don’t seem to understand how you’ve jeopardized my reputation and career. Do you know how it would look in The State newspaper? ‘Senator Porter Galloway’s Girlfriend Caught in Raid!’ ”

  Did he think of me as his girlfriend? Wow! This was pretty fabulous news!

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I was really sorry. I didn’t want to jeopardize anything.

  “Why in the world would you do something so stupid?”

  “Why? I mean, how about none of us make any money? Everyone has a university degree and we all make something like ten dollars an hour because there are no jobs. Porter, I’m an artist and I’ve never been to Rome or Paris. I want to go so bad I can taste it in my mouth. It’s the same with Mary Beth. We have dreams. You know what I’m talking about?”

  “Yes, of course I do; but do you think it’s right for you to dream at my expense? You’re so young! Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked and the sacrifices I’ve made to get this far?”

  “Probably a lot?” I thought, He’s probably had to shake a million hands and kiss a million butts.

  “Yes, ma’am. A lot. Look, Ashley, I really, really like you. I’ve told you I even think I’m falling in love with you, but there’s not a politician left in this whole country who can weather a big scandal, especially a young guy like me.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said and thought, Yes, they do. They get reelected all the time. But there was no point in arguing with someone when they were furious. They won’t hear you. Maisie taught me that. “I’m sorry, Porter. I really am.”

  “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now let’s eat something. I’m starving. I can’t decide between the scallops and the shrimp. Why don’t you get one and I’ll get the other? Then we can share.”

  The verbal spanking was apparently over. His mind had moved on to dinner. Porter liked to order for both of us. I thought it was sweet, even though I wasn’t a big fan of scallops.

  “Sure. We’d better get our order in. It’s getting late.”

  We ordered and Trudy brought our food out pretty quickly. While we ate, we talked about what it was like to live a politician’s life. Maybe he thought he was giving me an orientation.

  “Well, your personal life has to be above reproach, for one thing. I’m sure you’ve heard enough stories about politicians and their zippers to hold you for a while.”

  “I’ll say. But gosh, Porter, no one’s perfect.” The list of philandering politicians was a long one, to be sure.

  “That’s right. There’s temptation everywhere you look. So it’s very stressful. You have to be so careful who you associate with, who they associate with, and who those people know. It’s endless. And being a politician’s wife isn’t any easier, you know.”

  “Porter Galloway! Are you asking me to marry you?” I laughed.

  He smiled and his dimples showed. God! He was so cute!

  “Oh sure, three dates and he proposes. Maybe on our next date, but I just think you should know what you’re getting into with me.”

  “Was Jackie Kennedy afraid of the White House? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Right. Jackie Kennedy?”

  “She’s my idol.”

  “Oh, well, look, I’m sure my life looks all glamorous and whatever but let me tell you, it’s not. There is tremendous scrutiny and terrible stress. Were you ever a Girl Scout?”

  “Yes. Why in the world would . . .”

  “People will want to know. And were you a good student?”

  “Oh, boy. Yes. I graduated in the top ten percent of my class at the college. Porter, are you playing with me?”

  He paused for a moment and took my hand in his.

  “No. Ashley? If we go the distance? I’ll take you to Paris and Rome. I swear.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Your innocence is such a beautiful thing to see. I’d love to see your face when you see the great museums. And I understand how impatient you must feel. I really, really do. Ten dollars an hour is tough to live on. But please don’t let what happened to
night repeat itself. It just can’t happen again.”

  “Okay,” I said, as I thought, Mary Beth is going to kill me because she was already planning another one. Needless to say, I decided not to ask him about getting a license.

  When the food arrived, I sort of devoured my half of my entree, which wasn’t a big portion. I had not eaten all day and I was feeling a little light-headed. Trudy brought me another glass of wine and I reminded myself to sip it. Porter ate all his scallops and then reached across and took my plate.

  “Sorry about the scallops. I forgot to share. It was delicious. We can order you something else if you want. I just want to taste your shrimp.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve had plenty.”

  He pointed to the french fries on my plate that was now his plate.

  “Here, have some fries. They’re good!”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said and ate them anyway.

  “Did y’all save some room for dessert?” Trudy said as she picked up our plates and handed us menus. “We’ve got homemade donuts with cinnamon vanilla ice cream. And, of course, all the other things on the menu.”

  “Donuts?” I said, my eyes growing wide.

  Porter laughed and said, “Please bring the lady donuts and ice cream. I’ll just have coffee.”

  Later, at home, he walked me to the door. Mary Beth’s car wasn’t there, which was good and bad. Good because we’d have a little privacy and bad because where was Mary Beth?

  “Want to go look at the water?” I said. “Maybe walk on the beach?”

  “You know I do! Look at the stars?”

  This was code for, Do you want to go make out like crazy?

  “Would you like something to drink? There might be some wine. Mary Beth caught a sale on some kind of red from Chile, I think.”

  “I will if you will,” he said.

  “Maybe a small glass,” I said, thinking he wants to get me all liquored up and take advantage of me.

  Nonetheless, I hurried to the kitchen and as I thought there might be, several opened bottles of wine were there on the counter, leftover from the party. I filled two goblets halfway and went out to the portico to join him.

  “Look at that moon,” he said and took a glass from me. “Thanks.”

  “Amazing,” I said. “You know, there is something very powerful about the moon. Come on. Let’s walk.”

  We went down the stairs toward the gate that opened to the beach. We kicked off our shoes and left them there. He rolled up the cuffs of his pants.

  “Watch your step. People used to think that full moons could turn you into a lunatic but I don’t believe that.”

  He held my elbow until we reached level sand.

  “Me either. If you’ve got the crazies, the moon’s not going to make it better or worse. But I love moonlight. When I dream, this is what the lighting is like. Just like this. Light enough to see but dark enough to make you uncertain about the reality around you.”

  “Really? You remember things like that?”

  “Yeah. I mean, yes, I do. It’s the details that matter, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Sometimes, the details make all the difference.”

  We walked a short distance down the beach and stood by the edge of the water as the waves washed over our bare feet. He had his arm around my shoulder. This is what it felt like to be falling in love and I knew it then. I was absolutely certain of it.

  “Let’s go back,” he said.

  “It’s getting late,” I said.

  When we reached the gate I put my heels back on and he slipped on his loafers. We went up on the portico to finish our wine. He looked at me and I knew the moment had arrived. The balance of the evening would be played by the damsel trying to hang on to her virtue while hoping her roommate would arrive in time to squash the ambitions of her lover. No such luck. He seemed to be completely overcome with the urge to hold me against the railings of the portico while the waves splashed madly against the jetties like in an X-rated version of Wuthering Heights or something. It would be seriously nasty to describe what the senator was attempting to do, but it entailed exposing parts of us to the elements and to, I think the most gentle description might be, go for it. He didn’t seem to care that we were standing. Luckily, I was just tall enough to escape the impact of his intentions.

  “Take off your heels,” he whispered.

  I panicked. “No!” I said.

  He stopped, made some personal adjustments in the area in which I had forbidden my eyes to travel, and then to my surprise he pushed me hard by my shoulders, nearly knocking me over.

  “You have to stop doing this to me, Ashley.” He was pissed.

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Telling me no. ”

  I was quiet for a moment and then I said, “You shoved me, Porter.”

  “I did. I’m sorry. But you can’t keep on teasing me like this.”

  “I’m not teasing. I’m just not ready.”

  “Well, get ready. Or maybe you think this is fun; is that it?”

  “Maybe we should say good night,” I said. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Maybe we should say good-bye,” he said.

  “If that’s what you want,” I said. Oh no!

  “I’ll call you,” he said. He started to leave.

  “Porter! Wait!”

  He stopped and turned to me.

  “What?” he said.

  “Look, I just didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted it to be romantic, not standing up, outside here on the portico like we were. And I wanted to have, I don’t know, I wanted some assurance from you, I guess.”

  “Assurance of what?” he said.

  “I don’t know . . . maybe that this wasn’t just nothing to you or something like that.”

  “I don’t have the patience for this, Ashley.” He was still angry.

  “Sorry,” I said. With that, traitorous tears began sliding down my face, and my nose began to run.

  “Look, either we want the same thing or we don’t.”

  “I want what you want,” I said. “I do.”

  I was practically whispering. I was not listening to my inner voice that was telling me to say good night and send him home. He had shoved me! But at that moment, I was so conflicted and miserable. I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted to marry him! But then he came back to me, put his arms around me, and held me against him.

  “You’re so young, Ashley. But you’re so damn smart that I keep forgetting just how young. I’m sorry too.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay, what?” he said.

  “Next time,” I said. “We can, you know . . .”

  We both knew what I meant.

  CHAPTER 12

  Liz—Bad News

  I could not believe my ears! It was Maisie on the telephone, calling me at seven thirty in the morning again. But this time it was for a very different reason.

  “Liz, Skipper’s had a stroke. Please. Meet me at MUSC.”

  Maisie was calling me from the hospital. Her voice was low pitched and had almost no inflection. That’s how I knew she was frantic with worry.

  “Dear God. Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  I had just called her Mom, something I had not done in recent memory.

  I was stepping out of my shower when the phone rang. My hair was soaking wet. As quickly as I could, I towel dried it and pulled it back in a rubber band. All I could think was, Oh Lord, please let Skipper be all right. I can’t handle Maisie by myself! Please help me dress and get out of here as fast as humanly possible. Please keep Maisie calm. Please don’t let there be traffic.

  Right before eight, I jumped in my car and backed out of our driveway, nearly taking out a couple of tourists and my neighbor who was walki
ng her dog.

  “Sorry! Medical emergency!” I hollered out the window.

  My neighbor called back, “Let me know if I can do anything!”

  I gave her a thumbs-up and turned left onto Church Street. I didn’t even know her name much less her phone number. All the way to the Medical University hospital my mind raced. Skipper was supposed to be taking care of Maisie. Was Maisie now going to take care of Skipper? What if he was paralyzed? She couldn’t lift him in and out of bed or a wheelchair! She can’t be a caretaker! She was too old! Did we now have to hire a driver for the driver?

  I called Clayton. No answer. I left a detailed message.

  “Clayton? Call me. It’s urgent. It’s Skipper. He’s had a stroke. Dear God, I wish you were home,” I said, knowing I sounded uncertain and probably a bit panicked.

  He would call back. It was the one thing he was pretty good about. I called my office and Tom answered.

  “Wow, you’re in early,” I said.

  “I’ve got a pile of stuff to get together that I promised David and Steve. What’s up?”

  “Well, I got bad news just now. My mother’s partner has had a stroke and I have to go to MUSC to meet her right now. She’s beside herself.”

  “She’s probably scared to death,” he said. “Of course you have to go! Call me later on, okay?”

  We talked a few more minutes about the very exciting gift from the Karols and from All Air. It was the best news we’d had in a long time.

  I called Clayton a second time. Voice mail again! I’d left a message to say it was a matter of life and death. Just how bad did it have to be for him to return my call or to take it in the first place?

  I pulled into the front drive of MUSC and left the car with the valet, hurrying into the lobby. I stopped at the information desk. There was an EMS worker there prattling on with the receptionist like it was a chat room instead of an emergency room.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m here to see Skipper Dempsey, my mother’s, uh, driver. He just arrived a little while ago with my mother, Maisie Pringle? He had a stroke.”

  “That’s your mother’s driver?” the EMS worker said with a big stupid grin that infuriated me immediately.