The Land of Mango Sunsets

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “And what brings you to New York?”

  “A fresh start. I work in the banking industry and I just decided that since I’m single—”

  “You’ve never married?” I didn’t believe that for a minute.

  “Oh, well, yes, but a million years ago. I got married right after high school and had a baby six months later, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh!” I thought I might have kept that detail to myself.

  “But that didn’t last long.”

  “Young marriages usually don’t.”

  “Yes. Anyway, I went to college, got an MBA, and my mom helped me take care of my daughter, who is now all grown.”

  I drained my cup and reached over to pick up the teapot. “More?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She held her cup out and I refilled it.

  “And you never married again?”

  “No, I didn’t. I had a long-term boyfriend. You know, married. I always thought he would leave his wife, but he never did. He broke my heart.”

  My hands started to shake. The floodgates swung open and panic swarmed my brain. She was exactly the kind of woman who had ruined my family. Right here in my living room! What made them tick, this breed of woman who thought it was perfectly fine to sleep with another woman’s husband, steal his affection, and destroy a family? My cup rattled against the saucer, but I managed to place it on the tray. Even though I became completely unglued in the space of less than a minute, I wanted to know how she justified her life.

  “And, so tell me, Jean…”

  I couldn’t find the words to ask the questions. I could feel my throat constricting and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as my blood pressure rose. I knew my face was red and suddenly I began to perspire.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Swanson? Can I get you a glass of water? Call someone?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you. I’m just getting over a nasty flu—fierce! I’m sorry. Now you were telling me about your friend?” I pulled a tissue from my pocket and blotted my face, composing myself.

  “It was the same old story. I was young and pretty, he was married and bored with his fat wife. Every time I asked about her he always rolled his eyes and said she was just the most predictable, boring, and unsexy woman in the world.”

  Had not my own mother called me dull?

  “Right. So, you just thought, Oh, what the heck? Or what?”

  “Are you kidding? I never thought that. God in heaven, I can’t believe I’m actually telling you all this!”

  “No! Please tell me! I’m always so curious how these things get started, you know? Please, continue…”

  Bathsheba looked around the living room and continued her sordid tale.

  “Well, it’s hard to remember, it was so long ago. But he pursued me. I wasn’t interested in him like that, but he was smart and funny. Even though he was fourteen years older than I was, I got so used to being around him all day, the age difference disappeared. He was just Mark. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I think I do.” Harry came hopping out from the kitchen, whistled, and arched his wings. The Banking Slut nearly jumped out of her jacket. “This is Harry. Harry likes to be a part of things.”

  Harry continued to stare at her and wagged his red tail feathers. Even Harry knew an easy mark when he saw one.

  “Oh! Well, he sure is a good-looking bird. What kind?”

  “Thanks. Harry’s an African gray. So what happened?”

  “The usual thing. Wife found out. I got fired. He said he was sorry and gave me a bunch of cash so I could start over again in another city.”

  “Charles is a horse’s ass!” Harry said.

  “Did your bird just say, ‘Charles is a horse’s ass’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Who’s Charles?”

  “Charles was the love of my life until a gal like you came along…and well, you know the rest of the story. But I suppose things worked out better for her than they have for you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I couldn’t believe this tramp would dare to take umbrage with my words, but I answered her anyway.

  “Just that she and Charles have two children and a nanny and scads of money and that they are seen all over New York together having a wonderful time.”

  “Jeez. If I were in your shoes, I’d move. Who needs it?”

  I imagine she thought she had evened the score.

  “Excuse me for just a moment. I’m going to put Harry back in his cage.”

  I wasn’t angry. If anything, I felt a little sad. She had been duped and I wondered if there had been others that Charles had duped. How many women were there like her who had been taken past their childbearing years with no promise of a future?

  I remembered then that Judith had once sent me a message. It said she didn’t want to take Charles away from his family, she just wanted to share him. What was Charles? A summerhouse in the Hamptons?

  I gave Harry a piece of cucumber and went back to the living room. She was standing and had on her coat, which she was buttoning.

  “I’m assuming we won’t be neighbors?” she said.

  “I’m sorry. You seem like a very nice woman but I just couldn’t…”

  “I understand,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”

  I let her out and from behind my curtains I watched her walk down the street all the way to the corner. She didn’t want to live with someone who would always be judging her and I didn’t want a reminder of Judith in my home. At least she understood that. She was the kind of woman who would be better off in a high-rise apartment building with the degree of anonymity it offered.

  I looked in the other direction and saw Kevin just barreling down the block, carrying a sack that I guessed was his lunch.

  “Hi! What’s the rush?”

  “Thank God you’re home! Come inside. You’re not going to believe what I have to tell you!”

  “What on earth?”

  We all but jumped through the door and into my apartment.

  “Want to split a chef salad?”

  “Sure. I’ll get plates.”

  “Okay. Here’s the skinny. You know that nice man you interviewed yesterday?”

  “Yeah. I was just going to call him. Why? What?”

  “Miriam? He’s a registered sex offender.”

  “Stop! No way! How did you find out so fast?”

  “My friend in HR? She dates a detective. He looked him up for her. He even double-checked it. Miriam, we almost had a perv living with us! She ran to me as soon as there was no doubt.”

  “Merciful mother!” My heart was racing again. This was too much for one day.

  “Miriam? He has a criminal record!”

  “No! He seemed so nice!”

  “Nice? Nice? Miriam Swanson! Didn’t I tell you he gave me the willies?” Kevin opened my refrigerator and stared inside.

  “Yes. You surely did. Thank the good Lord and all His angels and saints that your radar works, Kevin. What do you need, hon?”

  “Salad dressing. They forgot to put it in the bag.”

  “Here,” I said, and scooted him aside. “Blue cheese okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  I dumped the chef salad into a bowl, spooned in some salad dressing, and started tossing it all around. Then I ground some pepper over it and gave it a sprinkle of salt. Kevin handed me two plates and I mounded the salad in the center.

  “Voilà,” I said. “And thanks for saving our lives.”

  “Voilà, indeed. You’re welcome. So call the guy today and tell him no thanks so that he can start forgetting where we live.”

  “No kidding. Right after lunch.”

  “Want to know what’s even more bizarre?”

  “Go on…”

  “That he was a friend of Mr. O’Hara.”

  “Oh! I hadn’t even thought of that! Well, it just goes to show you.”

  “That you never know about people, right? Let’s sit at the dining-room
table. A change of venue. Do you think O’Hara was a deviate?”

  “Heavens! Absolutely not! I mean, he subscribed to National Geographic, for goodness sake.”

  “Right. Harmless. Hmmph. National Geographic. When I was a young lad—”

  “Kevin, you’re not going to tell me stories about gaping at photographs of topless Aborigines, are you?”

  Dead silence. I giggled.

  “Well, he’s dead,” Kevin said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “And, I’m sure it’s not true. Are you home for the day?”

  “No, but you could twist my arm. Don’t you have another candidate this afternoon? Oh! I forgot to ask. How was that woman this morning?”

  “Unsuitable.”

  “You’re not sharing, Miriam. Come on, honey, let’s have it.”

  I told Kevin the details of Jean’s interview and he shook his head. “I’m definitely sticking around for the afternoon. I want to meet this gal from Birmingham. What’s her name?”

  “Liz. Liz Harper. Works in admissions at Hunter College.”

  “That can’t pay much. Does she come from money?”

  “I think not. Turns out she’s the daughter or niece of a friend of mine.”

  “And we care, why?”

  “Exactly. I mean, does she think I’m running a day-care center for adult children? I raised my kids, thank you.”

  “Well, maybe she’ll be okay.”

  “We’ll find out at four.”

  By three forty-five that afternoon I had made the dreaded phone call to the pervert and lied very nicely that my niece was going to be using the apartment. Kevin was upstairs painting and blasting an old recording of La Bohème. The doorbell rang. She was early, which I took as a good omen. I flipped on the gas burner to heat the kettle for tea and buzzed her in.

  Kevin was bounding down the steps as she was coming in and I was opening the front door to my apartment. We nearly collided head-on in what would surely have been an auspicious beginning to our relationship.

  “Oh, golly! Sorry! Hi! I’m Liz Harper.”

  “Yes, you are!” Kevin said, grinning like a cat. “Didn’t mean to scare you half to death.”

  “My goodness! Won’t you come in? I’m Miriam Swanson. I think my tiny vestibule is violating your personal space.”

  “Oh! No bother at all! Thanks!”

  “May I take your coat?”

  “Thanks.” She pulled off her gloves, stuffed them in her pockets, and handed her coat to me in kind of a wound-up wad. Perhaps she thought I was going to stuff it in a cubby.

  “I’ll get the tea going,” I said.

  Kevin was enthralled with her. I could tell by his solicitous remarks.

  “Don’t you just love living in the city? I knew someone from Birmingham once; they say it’s such a beautiful place! Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Cameron Diaz? You’re thirty-one? Nooooo! Impossible. I would have guessed you weren’t a day over twenty-five. I should be twenty-five and know what I know now…”

  I heard her say, “And I’m just thinking how wonderful it would be if I did know what you know!”

  They burst into a fit of laughter and I felt a twinge of annoyance. I was actually a little jealous and it surprised me. In the next breath, I asked myself what was I thinking to be bothered by Kevin’s easy rapport with a girl young enough to be my daughter? But only technically. It was ridiculous of me and I got over it.

  I hung her coat in the closet, checking the label. It was a classic, single-breasted black merino-wool tuxedo coat made by Searle. Sensible. Investment dressing. Not covered in cat hair. After all, my Harry was not fond of cats. Her hand-crocheted scarf was at least ten feet long, which I imagined she needed because her neck rose from her shoulders like a swan’s.

  I fixed the tea and carried the tray to the living room, where they were chatting away like magpies.

  “Tea, anyone?”

  “Oh! What a great idea! Thank you!” Liz said, smiling.

  “Why don’t I pour, Miriam?” Kevin said. “You sit right there like the regal creature that you are.”

  Attention! My ego was healed.

  “We’ve just been talking about Liz and her work at Hunter College…”

  “And I said that I like my other jobs just one whole heckuva lot better.”

  “And what are your other jobs?

  “Bartending and nannying. I like kids.”

  Bartending?

  “And where do you tend bar?”

  “Oh, I work for several caterers and we work private parties and benefits…”

  I wondered if she had ever worked at the museum. I’ll admit that I liked her appearance and her taste. She was tall and blond, not with classical good looks, but rather angelic in an angular way. She was dressed in moderately expensive clothes, a sweater set and a wool skirt. And pearls. She wore pearls. How bad could she be?

  We chatted on for a while, and after Kevin and I were satisfied that she wasn’t dangerous, that she could afford the rent, and that she lived rather quietly, we led her upstairs to see the space.

  “Oh, my…! Y’all! This is so freaking beautiful! It looks like something from a magazine! I love these colors! It’s so…I don’t know…cool!”

  Freaking?

  “I’ll have it all finished by the weekend,” he said. “Except the closets.”

  “Oh, who cares about some dumb old closets? I can do them myself!”

  Kevin was shooting me his best see-I-told-you-so look and I just shook my head.

  “Kevin? Why don’t you get your eyebrows off the ceiling and let’s let Liz have a few moments here alone?”

  “For what?”

  “You know…to see herself in the space?”

  “Please. She’s seeing just fine. No props needed for this one.”

  Liz was pacing off the floor in the bedroom, squealing with delight every thirty seconds.

  “Y’all! My bedroom furniture will fit perfectly! And my towels match the tile!”

  “Wonderful!” Kevin said.

  Her exuberance was contagious. I have to say I hadn’t felt so optimistic in a long while, but that same exuberance was a little much.

  “So what do you think, Kevin?” I whispered to him. “Don’t you think she’s maybe a little gauche for us?”

  “Let her have the place, Miriam. She’s not gauche. She’s, I don’t know, young and full of life!”

  Then Liz appeared at my side and made the impassioned speech that sealed the deal.

  “Mrs. Swanson? I know you could have any tenant that you want. Anyone. But this apartment is the absolute maximum dream I could ever have. If you’ll just give me a chance I’d like to prove to you that I can be the ideal tenant. Really. Seriously. I mean it, y’all. I just…I mean, I don’t know what else to say…”

  Oh, pass the Kleenex, I thought. From the moment I saw Kevin’s delight I knew that I was going to let her move in.

  Chapter Four

  MIZZ LIZ

  Dear Mrs. Waddlesnotte,

  Many thanks for recommending Liz Harper as a possible tenant. I have met with her and found her to be a perfectly lovely young woman who will no doubt contribute much joy to my town house. Mr. Dolan and I look forward to her arrival with enthusiasm and we only have your excellent judgment to thank. What would the world be if we did not help each other? All best wishes to you!

  Cordially,

  Miriam Elizabeth Swanson

  The February misery of blasting cold wind was preceded by the snowiest, coldest, iciest January on record in many years. It didn’t seem to matter how many logs I burned, the house was drafty and chilled. But I had a new tenant coming and that was a great relief. Finally, finally, February and Liz Harper arrived.

  It was around ten o’clock in the morning when Liz and all her worldly possessions pulled up in front of the house. I was surprised at how compact the rental truck was. She wasn’t even using a moving company. Were friends helping her? And who were her friends? Would s
he entertain a lot? Good heavens! I certainly hoped not.

  I went out to the front steps to greet her.

  “Good morning! Situation in hand?” Of course I had no intention of doing anything more than saying hello.

  “Hi, Mrs. Swanson! Yeah. I just need the keys. Cold, huh?”

  “Cold is a fact of life in the big city, hon. No matter the season.” I reached in my pocket and handed the keys to her. “Make an extra set. You know, in case your purse gets snatched. I mean, that kind of thing usually never happens in this neighborhood, but it does happen.”

  Liz smiled and said, “I’ll do that, but don’t worry. I always keep my keys in my pocket. My purse has my driver’s license in it and that would lead them to a home address in Birmingham. Can you imagine? Too far for thieves to go to torment my mother!”

  Kevin was coming down the steps and threw in, “Or tramps and gypsies!” He did a five-second Cher impersonation and we rolled our eyes and moaned.

  “Going to work?” I asked him.

  “Nope, just around the corner for the newspaper. Miriam’s a worrywart. You ladies need anything?”

  “Advice on how to lay out my furniture?” Liz said.

  “Soon as I return, sunshine!”

  “If you need me, let me know,” I said and closed my door. Sunshine, indeed. Sure, go help her lay out her furniture.

  Harry was in the kitchen imitating the doorbell. Somehow Harry had escaped meeting Liz, but I would make a point of introducing them over the next few days. After all, Liz had to sort through boxes of dishes and everything to organize her new home. I didn’t want to seem meddlesome.

  I made myself a cup of hot tea and tried to imagine how many trucks it would take to move all of my possessions. For years I had collected china, crystal, a tonnage of sterling silver, and all sorts of things. Then, with the decline of Mother’s good sense, I came into a considerable amount of family memorabilia. I was the keeper of all the old photographs, my father’s christening gown, my grandmother’s tea service, and so on. My apartment looked like a retail store. It was jammed to the rafters with goodies and curiosities.

  I had the family’s portraits and a few beautiful landscapes of the Lowcountry. Many of my museum friends collected contemporary art. I wouldn’t hang angst art in my basement. It’s all that modern business that looks like the artist was furious or miserable or both when he slapped his paint on a canvas. No. I liked tradition. I walked on rugs that had been in our family since the Revolution, and that would be the BIG Revolution, not the industrial, the women’s, or the sexual. My embroidered linens were the handiwork relics of aunts and cousins from a time when women took pride in the creation of such things. And my sets of silver flatware were more weighted and intricate than anything available on the market today. I treasured all these things not just for what they were but for what they represented—gracious living. History. And yes, they were all testimony to the ashes of my privileged background.