The Madhatter's Guide To Chocolate

by Rhett DeVane

  A twitch flickered beside his left eye. “No one around here knows this, and I trust you not to spread it. My mama was rich in her self-imposed title only. When she died, all that was left of the family money was that drafty rundown monstrosity of a house, and a pile of bills. It wasn’t only that I didn’t want to live there; I couldn’t afford to.” He paused and inhaled deeply. “I had barely enough to pay off her extravagant debts and buy this business and that half-dead van out back.”

  “Betsy Witherspoon? Poor? I would never have believed it!”

  Jake shrugged. “I’ve spent my entire life protecting her good name. Moved away to save it. On some level, I suppose I loved her. I’ve never told anyone how broke she was when she died….until now.”

  “Weird, isn’t it? My parents lived simply and died rich. Your mother lived richly and died a poor woman.”

  “That’s the sum of it, yep. So, I need a business partner. It’ll be all legal and binding. I’ll have a power of attorney drawn up for you to use in case I get hit by a bus or something.” He lurched toward me and enveloped me in a bear hug. “We’ll practically be family! I can book your massage-therapy clients when you want them, and run the shop!”

  “Don’t you think it’ll be a bit odd to have a massage-therapy room in the back of a chocolate shop?”

  His hands undulated in a wave-like motion through the air. “Just think of it as constant aromatherapy. What better smell to relax by than the scent of sweets and freshly-brewed coffee?”

  “There’re so many details, Jake. I’ll have to get city and Gadsden County business licenses, as well as a massage-therapy establishment license from Tallahassee. We’ll have to have a handicapped-accessible bathroom, too. The doors are wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair…” I paused. “Why are you grinning like a goat eating briars?”

  A wide smile spread across his smooth face. “You have it in your mind’s eye, just like I do.”

  “I don’t know, Jake. I don’t really want to live over here full time.”

  “Don’t have to. I’ll book your therapy room when you want me to. You can come and go as you please. I can always hire someone to help with the sweet shop.”

  I imagined that my life was like an old Jason and the Argonauts movies. The Gods floated on high, moving me into position like some kind of chess piece, shifting the surrounding pawns to fit things in as they planned.

  “I have one condition, Jake.”

  “Name it.”

  “You have to move in with me out on the Hill.”

  Jake stared at me. “Oh, that’ll get tongues wagging!”

  “I’m serious. We’ll need the space where your cot is now, for storage. If I’m not over here all the time, I’d feel much better with you out on the Hill to watch over things. It’s a huge old house. I take up one end. You can have the other. Plus, you can even redecorate.”

  Jake’s eyes twinkled. “Really?” The corners of his mouth turned up.

  “What about Bobby?”

  “It is my house.”

  “I’m game if you are.” Jake watched for my reaction.

  I had the money. That certainly wasn’t an issue. Dodging the cellphone-distracted drivers on Apalachee Parkway the previous day, I had decided to resign from the paper-pushing state job I loathed. I still wanted to maintain my massage-therapy practice, but I could do that with no trouble.

  Oddly, Garrett had provided the final push. Though our discussion had formally ended our floundering love affair, the meeting had laid the groundwork for a tentative friendship. Garrett knew me well enough to understand my need for change, and offered a workable solution that would allow me the freedom to split time between Tallahassee and Chattahoochee. Jillie, his daughter from his first marriage attempt, needed a place to live while attending Business College at Florida State. She could take the second bedroom in the townhouse. Like her father, she was a very driven, serious-minded, bookworm type. I could leave the townhouse in her care, staying in the city overnight whenever I wished. With Jillie in the townhouse in Tallahassee, and Jake on the Hill to watch over Shammie and Spam, no obstacles stood in the way. The big God-hand picked me up and moved me into place.

  “Well?” Jake asked.

  Sometimes you just have to trust what has been provided, hold your nose, and take the plunge.

  “Deal!” I said.

  Jake flopped down on the end of my king-sized bed, removed his fuzzy blue slippers, and sprawled on top of the comforter.

  “Why don’t you put a smaller bed in here, sister-girl? Say—a queen. It’d give you more room.”

  I glanced up from the mystery I was attempting to read. “I’m not ready to redecorate this part of the house yet, Jake. I promise, when I am, I’ll let you have your way with it.”

  I paused to look around the master bedroom. Since my mother’s death, it had remained unchanged. Jake had helped pack her clothes and personal items for charity, a task I couldn’t have tackled alone. I wasn’t ready to remake the one room of the house where I still felt her and my father’s presence.

  Jake sniffed. “Okay, sister-girl. You’re the boss of the Hill. I guess this room does have a certain…umm…’50s ambiance.”

  “Jakey, I don’t mean to sound bitchy, but I’ve had a long week, and I’m not in the mood, really, for one of our little sisterly chats.”

  Jake boxed me on the head with a fringed throw pillow. “You can be positively evil when you’re tired. I came to bare my soul to you—impart some critical information—and you’re being heartless!”

  I laid the book face down, careful to mark my place. “Okay, what?”

  “Well, you know I do so love you dearly—like the sister I never had…”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been thinking. I want to set my legal house in order. You know—will, power of attorney, that sort of thing.”

  I studied his face. His expression was neutral.

  “I’d like to designate you as my medical surrogate and executor of my, somewhat measly as it is, estate. That way, you could make decisions in case I’m not able to.”

  An inkling of fear stabbed at me. “What’s going on, Jake?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” He waved his hands in dismissal. “I’d just feel better if I had everything all nice and tidy. You know how I am.”

  Did I really! The food pantry was alphabetized with the canned-food labels facing forward. I’d never had surroundings as clean and organized as the few weeks Jake had lived at the Hill.

  “I’ll need to get the name of your attorney in Tallahassee,” Jake continued.

  “Don’t you want Hank Henderson to handle this for you?”

  Jake shivered. “Gah! No! That guy gives me the heebie-jeebies! He’s never even set foot in the shop. He has Janice call in flower orders for him. The few times I’ve been around the man since I’ve moved home, I’ve just gotten the rolling creeps. There’s something not right about him.”

  I nodded. “He’s been a little weird all along. I didn’t like him much when we were kids, either. As to legal matters, I have a great attorney in Tallahassee. Her name is Claire Dutchman. You know, I need to update my will, now that I have this house and property. Why don’t I call her, and we’ll ride over together next week?”

  Jake flashed a toothy grin. “That’s just dandy! Like me!”

  I brushed his hand. “I’m touched you want me to be your executor.”

  “You are my family, sister-girl. And, I’m yours, whether you like it or not!”

  “As long as you don’t start to borrow my clothes.”

  “Pu-lease! Not to be mean, but your wardrobe is way too conservative for my tastes.” Jake rolled off the bed and grabbed his slippers. “I’m making some chocolate chip cookies. Want some?”

  I glanced at the antique wall clock. “At 10 o’clock at night?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of the calmative powers of cookies and milk?” Jake lifted one eyebrow.

  “I’ll be right there.”
/>   Excerpt from Max the Madhatter’s notebook:

  October 30, 1961: Heaven puts a person where he needs to be. No use fighting it. I’ve been here at the mental hospital for as long as I can recall – since I was real little, I suppose. Seen some folks leave. Most stay right on. Especially ones like me who need help battling demons all the time.

  I don’t hold ill will against my family. Not at all. Don’t even remember them much any more. I reckon I was a hand full – falling down, flaying about on the floor talking about visions and such.

  My chosen family is right here – Nurse Marion, Dr. Bruner, Dan Davis, his wife Tillie and little Hattie, and a few of the other patients who live long enough on this side of reality to have small talks with.

  I’m right where I belong. If I wasn’t, God would see to it I was moved along. Just like He does for every single one of us.

  Chapter Six

  THE GRAND OPENING

  Officer Rich Burns poked his head through the back door of the Dragonfly. “Jake? Hattie?” he called as he stepped inside. “Y’all burnin’ the midnight oil?”

  “Just making sure we’re ready for tomorrow!” I called from the Sweet Shop. “Come on in and we’ll give you a preview.”

  Jake admired Rich’s pressed uniform. “You on duty?”

  “Just comin’ on. I have night shift now through the end of July.”

  “Bet Carol loves that,” Jake said.

  “Probably does. She gets the whole bed to herself. She swears on a stack of Bibles that I snore. I don’t. I just breathe hard.”

  “Sooo,” Jake said, motioning to the room. “What’d’ya think?”

  “You’ve really fixed this place up nice.” Rich said, glancing around. “It’s better’n any of those fancy shops over in Tallahassee!”

  The Madhatter’s Sweet Shop and Massage Parlor was script in Old English lettering across the glass entrance door. Evelyn’s ceiling-to-floor red gingham curtains hung in four vertical drapes, creating the illusion of separate windows dividing the sheet of plate glass. The drab concrete floor had been tiled with alternating black and white linoleum squares.

  Three white enameled bistro tables covered with red and white tablecloths stood in the far corner next to a spring-water cooler. Small clumps of daisies, ferns, and baby’s breath sprigs in cut crystal vases adorned the tables. The sparkling glass and chrome sweets display case spanned the entire length of the room. On one corner of the counter, a white wicker basket was filled with bound copies of The Madhatter’s Guide to Chocolate. A separate table held a double self-service Bunn coffeemaker, two tall aluminum iced-tea urns, and an assortment of cups, utensils, sweeteners, lemon wedges, creamers, and freshly cut mint.

  Rich studied the rows of chocolates and sweet rolls. “Could I possibly sneak a sample?”

  “Sure!” Jake placed a chocolate-iced cake brownie on a waxed paper square. “Sorry we don’t have any coffee made.”

  Rich shrugged. “I’ll get some of that mud Denise Whiddon has at the station. Won’t be as good as what you’ll have in here, but I’m used to it.”

  “Come see the massage therapy room.” I slid the pocket door open to reveal my clinic space. “I can’t officially open until I get my site license in the mail, but it’s ready for people to see.”

  The massage table stood in the center of the room, draped with pastel sheets and a white dust ruffle I had paid Evelyn to create. The plush carpet was forest green, and an open counter running the length of the room held a small sink, professional lotions and oils, herbal creams, and a display of white candles. Armed with a few sponges and several cans of acrylic paint, Jake had created the illusion of a stand of tall trees on the surrounding walls.

  “It’ll feel like you’re getting a massage in the middle of the woods!” Rich chuckled. “Good thing you didn’t paint a big buck’s head stickin’ out from behind one of those trees. It’d be hard for some folks around here to relax if they saw that!”

  Jake and I laughed.

  I tilted my head. “You really think the men in this town will come in?”

  “I know I will. This gun belt rides low and just kills my lower back. It may take some time for the fellas to warm up to the idea, but it’ll come. It’s the womenfolk that’ll make the difference. Once they see how professional this all is, they’ll make their men come in just to stop them from complaining about their aches and pains!”

  Rich’s radio scrabbled to life. He cocked his head to listen to the receiver on his shoulder. “I better get goin’. By the way, Jake, you need to keep that delivery entrance door locked when you’re up here working at night.”

  Jake swatted his hand. “This is Chattahoochee, Rich.”

  “I don’t care. There’s meanness everywhere. Well, goodnight! Good luck tomorrow!” The leather gun belt squeaked as he walked to the back door.

  Jake’s long face clouded over. “Hattie, there’s something I need to show you.” He ducked behind the flower shop counter and pulled out a plain white envelope. “I got this in the mail yesterday.”

  A sheet of copy paper held the typed message: “ENJOY YOUR DAY, YOU FAGOT. IT WON’T LAST LONG.”

  A cold chill ran the length of my spine. “Oh my God, Jake! You think somebody’s planning something for the opening tomorrow?”

  Jake shook his head. “It’d be pretty stupid with all the people in and out.”

  “I think we need to alert the police just to be safe. It won’t hurt to have an officer seen here. Chris and Kathy may ride over from Tallahassee. They won’t be in uniform, but they can keep an eye out for trouble.”

  Jake waved an imaginary magic wand “I’m not worried. I live a charmed life!”

  “What did this weirdo, or weirdoes, do to you before?”

  Jake motioned to the counter. “In my usual sphinctered fashion, I have kept records and photo evidence.” He pulled out an 11 x 13 manila envelope and spread out a series of glossy magazine centerfolds and Polaroid pictures.

  “These vulgar things were scotch-taped to the back door the morning after I worked a large wedding for the black community a couple of months back. Even if I was straight, this wouldn’t appeal to me! I never could understand why a view of a woman spread-eagled with the camera lens practically crammed up her wazoo could appeal to anyone!”

  He pulled two Polaroid snapshots from the pile. “And, this was a little artwork for my already tacky delivery van.”

  NIGGER LOVER and FLOWER FAGOT were sprayed in crude block letters across the Dragonfly Florist logo.

  “You’d think they’d at least learn to spell,” he said. “Faggot has two g’s.”

  “You told me you had informed the police.”

  “Right.”

  “You shouldn’t be up here anymore by yourself at night, Jake.”

  Jake stamped his foot. “I will not be run off from my rightful place of business by an ignorant redneck bigot!”

  “I just think—“

  “No, Hattie. This town’s too good and kind to allow this kind of trash!”

  He held my chin in his hands. “Sister-girl, I promise I’ll be careful. But, I can’t just run off and hide. I did that once before.”

  The late June summer morning dawned with a flawless pink and rose-painted sky. Jake and I stood sipping hot black coffee on the cement sidewalk in front of the shop.

  “Hard to believe that dust and ashes from some distant volcano could cause such incredible colors,” Jake said. He took a loud slurp of his cream-laced coffee. “If I was God, I’d take my best pleasure in giving folks a mornin’ like this one!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We stood side by side in the shared silence.

  “Jakey, can I ask you something personal?”

  Jake smiled crookedly. “Oh, Jeez-o-Pete! Here it comes, some weirdo sex question. I knew you’d come out with one, sooner or later.”

  “No, it’s not that. Give me a little credit, will you? I’m not naïve, and I have a pretty fair imagination. Besides, I wou
ldn’t ask you to give details about what goes on in the privacy of your own bedroom, for God’s sake.”

  Jake’s left eyebrow shot up. “Well, Excuse-mm-wah!”

  “I was just wondering—when did you know you were gay? I mean, did you know when we were sort of dating, back in high school?”

  “First of all, I’d hardly justify what we did as dating. We just kinda hung out together, really. Heck, I wore your sweaters more than you did!”

  A faint smile played across his lips. “We did get in some pretty good kissing practice, from what I recall. Thanks for that. Second, I’ve always felt like I was, shall we say, cut from a different bolt of material, from conception practically.”

  “So, you’ve never…”

  “Slept with a woman? Yes, for your information, I have. Tried it once. A dismal mistake.” Jake sipped his coffee and stared into space for a moment. “Ruined a perfectly good friendship.”

  “This was after you moved to New York?”

  “Um-hmm. I went through this whole gay-boy crisis for a while. Thought I could will myself straight. Didn’t take—I felt like I was trying to wear somebody else’s old worn jeans—might’ve fit them like a second skin, but they hung on me like socks on a rooster.”

  I smiled at the familiar Southernism. “You miss the city at all?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. The plays, oh heavens, the plays! And the restaurants! There’s a lot to recommend living there. But, my heart has always belonged to the Hooch.”

  “I’m kinda shocked how people, in general, don’t seem to mind your, um …”

  “Keen sense of fashion? Other-worldly boyish charm?” Jake’s blue eyes sparkled. “Funny about little towns like this. Folks will be bigoted in the most strict sense of the word, swear up and down they just can’t tolerate someone, or something—well, like me bein’ gay, for example. But, if they like a particular person, know him pretty well, respect him as a stand-up kinda guy, then they’ll fight, tooth and nail, anyone who says a bad word against him. It’s the darndest thing I’ve ever witnessed!”