The Land of Mango Sunsets

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Charles shook his head.

  “Oh, darlin’! Aren’t you nice? I cooked! If a woman can’t cook a little dinner for her family and friends, what’s she worth?”

  Judith couldn’t boil water in the microwave and I knew it.

  Anyway, as wildly successful as the evening was, by the time I got into bed, my legs were throbbing and I wondered how in the world I would survive tomorrow. Charles. I didn’t want him back; I just wanted him to be sorry and to say it. He had not said it, but it was all over his face.

  But the best reward was to come. My bedroom door opened and Mary and Penn crept in.

  “Think she’s sleeping?” Penn whispered.

  “Dunno,” Mary said.

  I opened one eye and they jumped back. But then they started to giggle like young children do and it sounded like a delicate, even angelic wind chime.

  “Wanna jump in your grandmomma’s bed?”

  “Yeah!”

  I threw back the covers and they hopped in, hugging me with their cherubic tiny arms. The smell of baby shampoo and the innocence of their affection was an opiate like no other. Why had I ever denied myself this? But no more.

  “Wanna hear a story about when your daddy was a youngster like y’all?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Well, when he was very little, even younger than you, we used to go to Sullivans Island down in South Carolina. And do you know what we called it?”

  They shook their little heads.

  “We called it the Land of Mango Sunsets.”

  “That’s a silly name,” Mary said. “Why’d you call it that?”

  “Well now, if you adorable little varmints can stop squirming around and settle down, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  They settled down almost immediately, Mary in the crook of my left arm and Penn in my right, with his thumb sheepishly traveling in and out of his mouth.

  “It’s a magical place where magical things, only good ones of course, but where magical and wondrous things happen every day…”

  I told them all about the olden days and the histories of the Indians and pirates and how their daddy would run all over the island with his brother, their uncle Charlie, gathering blackberries and playing on the forts, and about the enormous mango-colored sun. My voice got softer, as it might when you were telling secrets. Now and then I would hesitate from exhaustion or while trying to decide what part of the stories to tell them next. I would feel a little tug and they would say, “More, Grandmomma, tell us more!” But soon the tugging became less frequent, then stopped, and wonder of wonders, we all fell fast asleep.

  And what a night of sweet dreams it was!

  In the morning, I got up very early for two reasons. One, I had to make pancakes and muffins, and two, I had to help Kevin decorate the loft and do all the flowers. The wedding ceremony was to begin at six. I had packed my dress and shoes and everything I needed the day before, so all I had to do was cook and run.

  The children ate so many pancakes slathered with butter and drenched in syrup, I thought they might burst or have sugar episodes. Once Harrison, Mother, and Liz came downstairs, the muffins disappeared along with lots of hot tea and coffee with leftover ham on buttered toast. The kitchen looked like it had been under nuclear attack. I was loving the mess!

  “Look at all this!”

  Nan said she would clean it all up and I kissed her cheek.

  “Oh!” I said. “Did you see that big package in your room?”

  “Yes, is that for us?”

  “Yes! Gosh, in all this excitement I forgot to tell you! It’s a sterling-silver coffee service that once belonged to one of my grandmother’s sisters. I know they’re old-fashioned and everything, but I thought you might like to have something that belonged to the family. I can ship it to you if you can’t carry it, so don’t worry.”

  “Great heavens! Thank you! How amazing!”

  “Nan? Let’s settle something right now, okay? I need a name. You obviously don’t like calling me Mrs. Swanson and I think it’s too formal, too. You don’t like calling me Miriam and frankly I don’t like the name anymore either. Everyone seems to think these days that they should call me Mellie. Priscilla is calling me mom because she doesn’t have one. And you can call me anything you want but you have to call me something.”

  “Can we rotate between mom and Mellie?”

  “Golly, that’s so California…just kidding! Of course you can! Now I have to run!”

  I was in John Barrett’s chair at eight forty-five. I looked in the mirror and he looked at me in the mirror and smiled.

  “You’re going to be the most exquisite creature at the entire affair, Mrs. Swanson.”

  “I’ll settle for second place. There’s the matter of the bride.”

  “Ah, the bride. Well, you are generous.”

  “But there is the ex-husband and the horrible woman he married.”

  “Then I’m pulling out the big guns! Trust me, she’ll want to crawl under a rock.”

  “Perfect.”

  A woman did my nails while Mr. Barrett styled my hair, and then I spent a mere fifteen minutes in a makeup artist’s chair, almost not believing the difference it made.

  At the counter I took out my credit card and John Barrett shushed the girl who was ready to take it and charge me for the services.

  “Mrs. Swanson. Take this lip liner, lipstick, and gloss. This powder and blush. Here’s a light hair spray just in case. Do you have a comb?”

  “Gosh! No! I forgot…”

  “Here’s a comb, too! It’s all on the house. No tips, nothing! Just go! Kevin and I go way back. We all adore him!”

  “I’ll send you a piece of wedding cake! How can I thank you?”

  “You’re Kevin’s family and best friend. Every now and then, it’s nice just to do something for somebody, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I do!”

  The elevator door opened; I stepped in and blew him a kiss as the doors closed. What a fabulous man!

  I shouldn’t have worried about getting a taxi because one pulled up to the curb as soon as I put up my arm. I had some good karma going then. The cab lurched forward and we bumped our way downtown to the loft. When I walked in, I could hardly believe my eyes. The hideous space that I thought would be so depressing had become a sultan’s tent of thick ivory silk, hung with five chandeliers at different levels, ropes of the tiniest white lights, and multiple strands of pearls strung from the tops of the chandeliers to the edges of the walls and then down to the ground. Huge Asian carpets laid on the bias covered most of walking area except for the dance floor, which would be set up with the ballroom chairs for the ceremony. The false wall behind the long and wide riser was covered in curtains swagged with more fabric and a wide bough of fresh flowers of every shade of pink you could imagine. The little candles I had envisioned had become three-foot-tall, round, clear-glass containers filled with pearls on which rested thick ivory candle columns.

  I spotted Kevin at the back of the room, giving directions to a couple of the guys, and went over to say hello. And to deliver a dramatic gasp for the benefit of his vision and efforts.

  “Wow! Wow! Wow! How are you, genius?” I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “This is some glamorous miracle you’ve performed here!”

  “Mrs. Petal Puss! Look at you! What a transformation!”

  “Merci! But seriously! This is breathtaking!”

  “I overordered pearls for the store and I always have lights. Got the satin from a casket company, but don’t tell the bride.”

  “You’re terrible. Where can I hang my garment bag?”

  “Closet over there and all your flowers are in water behind the pipe and drape over there. We got a thousand votives and fifteen containers—twelve bowls and three cylinders. If there’s not enough greenery for the bowls, I can send one of the guys out.”

  “I’ve got my clippers and I’m going to work!”

  Kevin had been there since very early in the morning with six
visual-display directors we hired for the day who had worked with him for ages. They offered to shop the flower market for me, and the sweethearts picked up everything I needed because they had two vans. But I had to say over and over to Kevin that I could not believe what he had accomplished in that hideous place.

  “Well then, make me an honorary uncle!”

  “It would be an honor to claim you as a relative!”

  We stopped for lunch, and over sandwiches and sodas we made a list of what remained to be done.

  “If you need pearls for the tables, let me know,” Kevin said. “Ahem, I’m kind of long on pearls?”

  By four o’clock, I had completed what I thought were the most beautiful floral arrangements I had ever assembled and put them in place. The wedding party’s flowers had been delivered and I opened the box, wanting to have a look at Priscilla’s bouquet.

  It struck me that these were the most important flowers of the entire day. I lifted her bouquet up and held it in my hands. I said a spontaneous prayer for them, hoping the flowers would somehow absorb it and send strength to Priscilla and Charlie for the days when they would need it. I knew it was a sentimental gesture that would probably never have meant anything to anyone except me. So what? I was feeling sentimental.

  I was delighted to see that Charlie had ordered corsages for my mother, Liz, Nan, and Priscilla’s aunt Diana, and he had also chosen one for me with navy ribbons. There was even a corsage for the evil one, Judith. And he had remembered to include a basket of rose petals for Mary. There were boutonnieres for Charlie, Dan, Charles, Penn, and even for Kevin and Harrison. My Charlie was a thoughtful man. With a heart like his, he would be a great doctor. That was for sure.

  The caterers began to file in, the photographer arrived, and the band set up to do a sound check.

  All I had to do then was freshen up, throw on my dress, and wait for the good times to roll. Before I went to the ladies’ room to change, I caught Kevin.

  “Kevin?” I didn’t even know what to say. We stopped and looked around the whole room together and we both smiled as wide as we could. The only words that came out of my mouth were “Stunning. Amazing.”

  “The room? Well, I couldn’t have my nephew Charlie get married in a slum, could I?”

  “No, doll, I mean you are stunning and amazing. And so is the room. Obviously.”

  “Honestly? This one was a challenge. Now let’s put on our party clothes and have ourselves a well-deserved adult beverage.”

  By five-thirty the whole wedding party was there, except Judith.

  Wow! Look at this place! This is unbelievable! It’s like a fantasyland! Mellie! The flowers! Kevin! How did you do this?

  “It was nothing,” Kevin said, and pretended to swoon.

  I said, “So, Charles, where’s Judas?”

  “Did you say Judas?”

  “No! Heavens! I said Judith!” That tongue-brain thing was having trouble again.

  “Sorry. She didn’t want to be in the wedding pictures with the family. What can I say?”

  “Oh?” I paused for a moment then. “Perhaps that’s best.” Who wanted her anyway?

  “You sure look great, though,” he said.

  “Oh, thanks. So do you.”

  Harrison was listening to Charles and covered his mouth with his hand. When Charles slinked away, Harrison said, “You do look gorgeous.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said. “How’s Mother?”

  “She’s rallying. She’s really been looking forward to this.”

  “Well, I guess she must have been because she had her hair done and actually put on a pretty dress!”

  We completed the family photographs on the riser and I almost had to push Harrison up the steps to join us. Liz and Kevin were included and there was no reason Harrison shouldn’t be. He was Mother’s escort, and considering the sultan’s tent, all the palm trees and pearls, it wasn’t a strictly by-the-books event anyway.

  The photographer took other shots of Priscilla putting on her veil, of her aunt Diana standing beside Priscilla and her cake, which, by the way, was almost too beautiful to eat, but I also knew it wouldn’t take much to overcome that obstacle. There was a picture taken of Mary looking up to Priscilla and of Penn looking up to Charlie. One of Charles shaking hands with Charlie. Then with Charlie and Dan.

  I was wondering how many glasses of bubbly (or shots of whatever it was he drank these days) it would take for Charles to ask for a picture to be taken of us with the happy couple, when the musicians began to play chamber music and guests started to arrive. Waiters passed goblets of champagne, sparkling water, and white wine on silver trays. The bar was open and anyone wanting something stronger was welcome to step right up. In honor of our southern roots and the momentous occasion, Harrison, Mother, Kevin, Liz, and I all ordered mint juleps, clinked our glasses, and began to sip.

  “Here’s to Charlie and Priscilla,” I said. “Be happy always!” I could not help but indulge myself in the thought that beyond my children’s happiness, surely there was someone, someone available and willing that is, for me to love who would love me in return.

  “Here’s to marriage!” Kevin said. “The ultimate triumph of optimism over experience!”

  “Here’s to love,” Mother said. “A well-tended love can last forever!”

  “Here’s to love in general,” Harrison said. “The more everlasting, well-tended, optimistic, and happy? So much the better!”

  “Well, here’s to George!” Liz said.

  “Who’s George?” we all said at once.

  “Dickel. Didn’t George Dickel make bourbon?”

  There was a communal groan.

  “Well, Liz? Here’s to you, sweetheart! Let’s hope the next wedding is yours, to some magnificent man we all love!” Kevin said.

  Kevin was so sweet to say that. We all wished Liz would find some happiness, a good husband who would give her children and some security.

  “Here, here!” we all said, and toasted Liz.

  “It would be a miracle, but I’ll drink to miracles!” she said.

  Priscilla was secluded with her family and her girlfriend. Charlie was in another room with Dan.

  Then, in the midst of the arriving throng of Charlie and Priscilla’s friends and Charles’s friends or business associates or whoever they were, in stumbled Judith. Maybe it was her four-inch spike heels or maybe it was her pumps combined with a little prehydration. Whatever the case, she definitely stumbled around until she found Charles’s arm. I had to say, though, her dress was gorgeous. It was a short, flesh-colored silk georgette tank dress with a long jacket. The front bodice and hem of the dress and the cuffs and borders of the jacket were all embroidered with tiny crystals and beads that shimmered each time she caught the light. She was thinner than I remembered and still had those two rock-hard oranges from the produce section of the A&P inserted in the front of her chest. I was sure they had been a necessary investment for an unendowed lingerie model. Still. That didn’t mean they didn’t look stupid.

  At last, when it seemed that everyone was there, the chamber group stopped for a few minutes and started to play again. It was six o’clock. Guests began to take their seats. We executed the processional in a pretty traditional manner. First, Priscilla’s uncle the Reverend David Small appeared center stage and then Charlie and Dan. Harrison led Mother up the aisle. She was smiling and smiling. Kevin led Priscilla’s aunt Diana to her seat. Harrison did a return trip and led me to my place. And finally, Charles led Judith to theirs. The music rose slightly and the guests turned to the back of the aisle. Priscilla’s friend Allison walked slowly to her place. Little Mary and Penn were next. Mary, ever the older sister, yanked on the sleeve of his jacket to slow his pace. She dropped her petals as though she were a professional flower girl and Penn made faces to anyone who would look at him. I knew Nan was going to get to him later, but I thought he was adorable and punishment would have been undeserved. I couldn’t wait to spoil both of them rott
en.

  The music grew louder, we stood, and all eyes were on Priscilla and her father, Joseph. She could not have been more enchanting. Her simple ivory satin gown flattered every inch of her beautiful figure and she was wearing the pearls I had given her. As she passed my seat she reached out and squeezed my hand. I couldn’t help it. My eyes filled with tears.

  The ceremony was over in minutes or so it seemed. But I have always had this theory that once two serious people agree to marry, all the rest is just a formality anyway. Still, there’s nothing like a wedding.

  As soon as everyone left the chairs, the waitstaff began moving them to the tables, lighting all the votives, and the reggae music began to play on the floor below the riser, while the band itself, as discreetly as possible, moved their instruments and so forth back into place. People gathered around the bar on one side of the room and Priscilla and Charlie on the other. Some of the staff began passing drinks again and simple hors d’oeuvres. The room had taken on its own vibe—one of romance, but most importantly, of love and happiness.

  The waiters finally gave us the signal that dinner was ready to be served and the full orchestra began to play. There were at least ten musicians and two singers and I wondered where Charlie and Priscilla had found so much wonderful music. I would learn later that most of the musicians were friends of theirs and had agreed to play as a wedding gift. And for as long as they had known them, Priscilla and Charlie had seen that their friends, and their friends’ children especially, had always received excellent health care. It sure seemed like a fair trade to me.

  We found our way to our tables. Some were round, ours was a rectangle, and all of them were beautiful.

  Harrison was opposite me and next to Mother, Aunt Diana, and then Kevin. To my right was Uncle David and Liz and Joseph, Priscilla’s father. We had arranged it that way so the older members of the families would have a little time together. Priscilla and Charlie were seated with Dan, Nan, Mary, Penn, Allison, and another close friend of theirs from the hospital.

  The rest of the room held about eighty people, and of course, Charles had his own round table of twelve, just across the dance floor from ours. We watched as Charlie and Priscilla danced the first dance while we enjoyed a salad of mixed greens and conch fritters that was delicious.