by Riley Adams
“Yesss, that’s pretty much it. Pretty much.”
“What else is there, then?” asked Sara.
“As a reader of Gordon’s blog—that’s his name, Gordon—I’ve found that he’s a really nice-looking guy. Nice looking for a man, I mean. And he’s older—not too old. Actually, he’s in his sixties, just like Mother, and seems really active. He’s obviously real sharp, too, to be doing all this stuff online at his age. So I thought maybe he and Mother would hit it off a little bit. I told him that Mother would be pleased as punch to show him around Memphis, seeing as how he’s new in town,”
Sara shook her head. “Ohhhh, no you didn’t! You know your mama is perfectly happy by herself! If she was interested in going out with people, Ben, I think she’d be able to handle setting herself up on her own dates.”
“She needs some prodding,” said Ben firmly. “Mother needs to try to relax and have a little fun. She’s so serious all the time. And she doesn’t seem to do anything with her appearance; she looks like a little old lady with her hair in a bun and her flowered dresses. I think she needs a little shaking up.” He thought about this for a moment. “Maybe Mother needs a makeover. She’d look cute as a button if she updated her look a little bit.”
“Humph,” said Sara.
“I had my own makeover a few years ago, remember? The before-and-after was real dramatic. I think it made a real difference in the way I looked and felt, too. I felt younger and more energetic, so I was more energetic.”
Sara sighed. She wasn’t sure that Ben’s comb-over, which made his hair resemble a helmet, and his mustache, which conspired to make him bear a startling resemblance to Captain Kangaroo, qualified as a makeover. But she loved him too much to point that fact out. “Ben, I think you better let your mother do her own thing. If she wants to update her look, she’ll do it. Besides, I’m sure that Gordon is going to like your mama anyway.”
Ben brightened. “I’m sure he will. Think of all they have in common—food! The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I’m going to make sure it’s an expressway right through it. I’m cooking up a plan to give him some real, mouthwatering southern cuisine—and tell him Mother made it.”
“So you’re thinking that this guy isn’t just going to move Aunt Pat’s into the twenty-first century—you’re thinking he’s going to move your mother into the twenty-first century.”
“I can dream,” said Ben with dignity.
“I’ve got a funny feeling about this,” said Sara as she, Steffi, and Lulu walked up to Tristan Pembroke’s front door for the art benefit. “You know that feeling you get when you know you’re going to get some bad news?”
“Now, Sara, it’s not like you to be silly,” chided Lulu, smoothing down the new floral dress she’d gotten from Dee Dee’s shop. “You’re going to have a wonderful time and sell a ton of paintings,” she said with determination as she plastered a smile on her face and walked in with what felt like throngs of people.
Steffi said, “Thanks for the ride over, Sara. I know I wasn’t on Mother’s guest list, but I wanted to see the auction. What time were you saying for us to leave, Sara?”
By the look on Sara’s face, Lulu could tell she was ready to leave right then. “Maybe thirty minutes after the auction, if we could. That’ll give me enough time to talk to the guests who bought my paintings. I’m thinking that should be around eight o’clock. I’m already worn out and want to get back home and hit the sack.”
“No problem,” said Steffi. “I have a feeling I’ll be ready to escape Mother by then. She’s sure to be shooting me looks for being here.” And Steffi disappeared into the crowd of guests.
“I don’t understand why that child wanted to come,” clucked Lulu. “It’s not like her mama didn’t give her a clear enough message that she wasn’t welcome. Poor baby.”
Sara shrugged. “Teenagers. She’s being passive-aggressive and proving to her mom that she can do whatever she likes. Besides, there’s safety in numbers. No wonder she wanted to go with us. What I don’t understand is what I’m doing here. I’m already ready to head back to the car.”
“This will probably be a great night for you, Sara. These folks look like they buy art. You’ll probably even unload that portrait of Tristan. And I know you’ll be glad to get it out of your house.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” said Sara, looking balefully at the covered painting she was lugging in. “I didn’t even know all these people were going to be here.” She set the portrait down to rest a moment before picking it up again. “Tristan has this many friends?”
“She probably doesn’t—people are just looking for a fun evening out, and the tickets weren’t even all that expensive at fifty dollars a person. And you don’t have anything to worry about, Sara—folks are probably going to come up to you to chat about your art. It’s not like you have to go up and make a speech or anything.”
“Except,” said Sara in a low voice despite the loud party going on around her, “that I’m planning to unveil this portrait of Tristan that she hates.”
“I wouldn’t worry my head over it, Sara. Maybe it’ll sell at the auction. If not, you’ve not lost anything—and you’ll have filled your tummy with some scrumptious food.”
Unfortunately, thought Lulu as she took a big sip from her punch glass, the food wasn’t so scrumptious after all.
Cherry took a big bite of the chicken, then proceeded to chew, and chew, and chew, making a face at Lulu.
“Cardboard. That’s what this stuff tastes like. She should have gotten Aunt Pat’s to cook for the party,” said Cherry, finally giving up on the chicken and discreetly depositing it into a napkin. “This is the worst food I’ve ever put in my mouth! Tristan must have gotten the hospital to cater this benefit.”
“What a shame,” said Lulu, sadly surveying her plate. “The food looks good. It smells good, too. Nice presentation—they just overcooked it. And undercooked it. And overseasoned it and underseasoned it. I missed lunch today, so I’m starving. I might slip into Tristan’s kitchen and find something to spice it up a little bit.”
Cherry’s face brightened. “Maybe you can sneak in the kitchen and snag some salt and pepper. I was going to toss my food in the trash, but I think Mama would haunt me. She was always worried about those starving children in . . . well, wherever it was that they were starving back when I was little.”
So Lulu walked right into the kitchen on a rescue mission, and no one paid attention to her being there at all. The catering staff was too focused on producing more of their culinary disaster.
Lulu finally tracked down some salt and pepper. What catering company would underseason food and then not even have salt and pepper out to resuscitate it all?
Lulu was heading out of the kitchen when she heard Tristan’s voice, high-pitched and annoyed, coming alarmingly close to her. She glanced around the kitchen and didn’t see a good place to hide—until she noticed that the door to the large pantry was open wide enough to stand behind and be shielded from the rest of the room.
“Get more plates cleared out there! Everywhere I look there are plates and glasses and forks—stacked up on all my tables. It’s not just about putting the food out there, people! It’s about getting the dirty plates out of there, too!” She gave a gusty and exasperated sigh, and the catering staff that Lulu could see were nodding their heads and rushing back out to the other part of the house. In seconds, it was quiet enough in the kitchen for Lulu to hear Tristan’s tapping heels. Lulu clutched the salt and pepper shakers until her fingers turned white and prayed that Tristan Pembroke didn’t find her cowering in her pantry gripping seasoning for the tasteless food.
Although Lulu couldn’t imagine how things could possibly get worse, they did when Lulu heard Tristan make a startled, un-Tristan-like yelp and then heard a deep voice chuckle. Oh no. Not some romantic interlude in the kitchen. What misdeed was Lulu being punished for?
Lulu peeked out cautiously and saw Tristan push the man away. “
What in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing, Loren? For heaven’s sake.” Tristan had her hands on her hips, staring angrily at a tall man with dark hair and a love-struck expression.
“You know exactly what I think I’m doing! And you used to be all happy about it, too, Tristan. What’s going on with you? You don’t return my texts or my phone calls. It’s time to do some catching up.” He pulled Tristan roughly toward him again.
She jerked back and straightened her dress. “It’s not time, and it’s not going to be time. It’s over. The end. Get over it. And—get out of my benefit.”
The man said angrily, “No, I don’t think it is over—” but he was cut off by a shriek of absolute fury that made Lulu jump.
“I knew it! Knew it!”
Lulu peeped through the crack at the door hinge and saw another woman there—a woman who, judging from the look on her face, must have been the man’s wife. She was dressed in a sweat suit, wore no makeup, and didn’t look like she’d planned on being at a party.
The woman picked up a glass of white wine and threw the contents right at Tristan, who cursed loudly. And the man, Loren, was hearing it from both of them now. Tristan’s voice was icy as she wet a wad of paper towels and said, “You’re welcome to Loren—I never want to see him again. I should have known that when you lie down with dogs that you’ll wake up with fleas.”
The man with the dark hair was stomping out of the kitchen with his wife berating him as they left. ”I knew you were up to no good! Telling me that you were going out to the coffeehouse to work all these nights. But no, you were sneaking out to see somebody who doesn’t even like you. And who thinks I’m not even good enough to join her club! Wasting your time!” This, then, must be Pepper. Cherry had said they’d both been upset at being banned from the Memphis Women’s League.
As soon as the two were out of earshot, Tristan abandoned her futile attempt to clean up her dress, and Lulu heard her heels quickly tapping off in the direction of the staircase. Lulu quickly left the kitchen right as the caterers were coming back in with stacks of dirty dishes.
Cherry sidled up to her. “Honey, I’m sorry; I just gave up on that food. I figured you must have started talking to somebody and forgot about the spices. I think the caterers took your plate away, too. I was talking to Sara and the next thing I know, your plate was AWOL.”
Lulu’s stomach made protesting noises over the missing food. “It’s okay—I’ll load up on dessert.” She was still thinking about the scene in the kitchen when she heard the auctioneer calling for everyone to gather for the auction outside.
“I’m sure,” said Lulu to Cherry and Sara, who’d come up to join them, “that the Back Porch Blues Band is more than ready to finally take a break. That woman has run them into the ground.”
Sara made a face. “Where is Tristan, speaking of the devil? She’s usually a whole lot more on top of the party than this. I haven’t seen her for a while.”
They walked out into Tristan’s heavily landscaped yard. “I think she may be changing clothes,” said Lulu innocently.
Sara’s eyes widened, “You’ve got some insider information? What happened?”
Lulu didn’t think this was the place to get into it. All she needed was to have Tristan come up behind her right when she was demonstrating the way the wine had splattered over her. Instead she said, “She spilled something on her dress.” Then, looking around her, she said, “Isn’t this the most beautiful yard you’ve ever seen? I just love all these flowering bushes everywhere.”
“This yard?” asked Cherry derisively. “I’ve got a nice yard myself right now.”
Lulu knit her brows. “You know, I drove by your house a few days ago and it was really nice. I don’t remember you being such an avid gardener, Cherry.”
Cherry preened. “I’ve discovered the secret to gardening.”
Lulu said, “Well, spill it—I sure would like to hear the secret. Is it choosing native plants? I keep hearing about these invasive plants that are trying to take everything over. Or planting heat-resistant plants? Mine keep turning brown faster than you can shake a stick at them. I’m about to order myself a load of cacti.”
Cherry shook her head. “It’s none of those things. No, girls, the secret to gardening is plastic flowers.”
Sara blinked. “Don’t you mean silk?”
“No, I mean plastic. Silk would ruin out there in the sun and rain. No, plastic is the way to go, and it’s amazing how lifelike these flowers look. You’d be amazed. My next step is Astroturf. I’m amazed by how real that looks. And just think—I wouldn’t have to worry about mowing ever again!”
Cherry looked triumphant, as if she couldn’t imagine Lulu and Sara doing anything but wholeheartedly agreeing with her. However, Lulu couldn’t imagine not seeing Cherry ripping around her yard at a tearing speed on her riding mower with her Elvis helmet firmly in place. It simply wouldn’t be the same.
Cherry said, “Now I’m not one to gossip . . .” Lulu bit her lips to keep from smiling, “but have y’all seen Steffi tonight? I know her mama didn’t invite her to come to this party. And she’s been looking pitiful. That girl is so messed up, y’all. I hate to say that about anybody, but it’s the truth.”
“She’s got a lot on her mind right now, that’s all,” said Lulu. “Think about it—she just moved out of her mother’s house, she’s living with someone she doesn’t really know”—Sara rolled her eyes, and Lulu hurried on because she knew Sara thought that her being a bleeding heart was going to come back to bite her later—“and she’s learning how to wait tables and hasn’t done a lick of waitressing in her life. To top it all off, her mother throws a huge benefit, and she’s not even on the guest list. I don’t blame her for gate-crashing. She rode with Sara and me tonight.”
Cherry said, “I gate-crashed this soiree myself. Who cares? I paid the money for the ticket and wanted to support Sara—I decided I didn’t need a personal invitation. And I still say Steffi’s a mess. She’s been floating around this event like some ghostly creature—face pale, eyes big, not smiling. There is no expression on her face, and that’s a face that needs all the expression it can get to help it out. I’d like to grab her and give her a makeover.”
“Do you think it would help?” asked Sara in a hushed voice. “I’m not trying to be ugly, but I think that makeup and a more flattering haircut would only go so far to help Steffi.”
Lulu sighed. “Bless her heart.”
Sara looked a little queasy, and Lulu didn’t think it had anything to do with the unseasoned food. “Sara, what’s wrong? You getting butterflies about the auction?”
Sara fanned herself with her auction catalog. “Does it show? I’ve done shows before and sold some paintings at those, but an auction is really different from a show. You’ve got a painting that you spent a lot of time on put in a spotlight and then having bids called out for it—it’s nerve-wracking.”
“But Sara, Tristan wouldn’t have asked you to be part of the art auction if she thought your paintings weren’t going to sell. And the people here seem really responsive—I’ve seen them previewing the art, and the buzz is sounding good.”
Sara said, “I think I’m also having second thoughts about giving the auctioneer that portrait at the end to sell. I know it’s silly—I mean, Tristan did renege on the deal and I did put a ton of work into it.”
“Exactly.” Lulu nodded.
“But she has been nice to set up this auction and give me all this exposure.”
“Sara, she’s not finishing paying you for something you created especially for her. You’re using the opportunity to sell the painting and make a little money for yourself as well as the charity. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Sara twisted a spiraled lock of red hair around her finger. “I know that. But she really seemed to hate the portrait. Like she was ashamed of it or something. She’s going to be livid when she finds out it was unveiled in front of everyone.”
Lulu said, “If you’re g
oing to worry about it, then you should ask her about it. Better to find her and tell her what you’re planning. I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Lulu.” Sara gave her a grateful hug. “So let’s go track her down—she’s got to be done changing clothes by now, right?”
“Oh, for sure. She’s probably checking on the food and the band. I know the band is ready to take a break.... Actually, it sounds like they’ve stopped.”
Sara frowned and listened for a moment. “Have they started the auction? But that was supposed to be at the end of the evening!”
Chapter 4
Sure enough, the auctioneer was already de - scribing the first painting. Sara rolled her eyes. “Now my stomach really is doing flip-flops. And now I’m out of time to hunt her down and tell her I’m planning on putting the picture in the auction.”
“Maybe it won’t go as badly as you think. Tristan might not even realize it’s being sold. That would really be the best outcome—for you to sell the portrait and for her not to be the wiser.”
“Or maybe it won’t sell at all,” said Sara glumly. “You know? I wonder if there’s a chance that Steffi will want the painting if no one offers to buy it. I know she and her mom had a big falling out, but it’s a good painting—and I’d let her have it for free if nobody buys it tonight.”
Lulu winced. “I don’t know about that, Sara. This was more than a little falling out—I think this is a major break between them.” She shrugged. “But maybe she would want it. I’m sure she’s got to miss her mother on some level.” Lulu scanned the yard. “I don’t see her around, though.”
It was easy to get caught up in the excitement of auctions, thought Lulu. The auctioneer flew through his clipped delivery, the paintings all looked beautiful, and the guests were attentive.
Sara should be happy, thought Lulu. Her paintings seemed to be selling really well and for higher amounts than the other artists’. But instead, she looked more anxious than anything else. Her mind was clearly on Tristan’s portrait.