The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay)

by Suzanne Kelman

  Ian had apparently offered it to him when he knew he would be coming down to pick up the car.

  “But,” he said with a chuckle, “he hadn’t expected me to turn up with five women.”

  He located the key and unlocked the back door.

  As we entered the house, its brightness and warmth were a cheery welcome. A rich, honey-toned wood floor, warmed by the late afternoon sun, stretched into every room. In the main room, a lively white-bricked fireplace was set for a fire and a line of antique wooden ducks greeted us from the mantle. A gilded mirror above reflected the afternoon sunlight that bounced off the lake, forming little silver ridges of light that danced playfully around the room. A sturdy pine coffee table heaped with colorful periodicals and nature books stood in front of a vast, well-stocked bookshelf. I drooled; I would definitely be hitting that before I went to bed to see if any of my favorite classics were hiding on the shelves.

  A charming blue-and-white kitchen opened out from the main room. Ornately carved cupboards displayed dainty blue-and-white English china and more little ducks that peeked out curiously from every corner.

  Dan offered to show us our rooms. He led us down a narrow corridor, where spotlights punctuated dazzling white light, reflecting a warm glow from the buttery-colored floor. The paneled walls were crammed with family photos taken around the lake: people in boats holding up fish, jumping off the dock, or seated around a fire pit at the bottom of the garden. We each took a room, Flora the last.

  I peeked in to take a look. It was smaller than the rest of ours, but extremely pretty, decorated in white wicker with a large patchwork quilt folded at the foot of the bed. It had a little door that led out onto the covered porch overlooking the lake. She blushed as she looked at Dan, and in a quiet voice said, “This is perfect.”

  Dan beamed down at her, saying in a soft tone, “You can sit right out here in the morning and write your poetry. The morning wildlife will be a great inspiration for you.”

  Her face upturned to his. “Where are you going to sleep?” she inquired gently.

  “There’s a little converted boathouse close to the water. I’ll be more than comfortable out there. I could join you in the morning for coffee out on your little porch here if you like.”

  Flora sounded enchanted. “I would love that.”

  Oh, was that girl in trouble.

  I joined Doris in the kitchen. “I’m getting a head start on dinner,” she stated, pulling out a bag of carrots and a vegetable knife.

  “Do you need any help?” I asked.

  Ethel scowled at me.

  “No, I have Ethel. We know each other’s kitchen rhythm. We should be fine.”

  “Okay,” I said, yawning. The new blast of fresh air had worn me out. “I think I’m going to take a nap before dinner.”

  “We’re eating at six o’clock sharp,” shouted Doris after me as I moved toward my bedroom.

  I was in a deep sleep when my cell phone rang. Thinking it might be Stacy, I forced myself awake and snatched up my phone.

  “Sorry to bother you, Janet, I can’t get Doris on Annie’s facey thingy. I just needed to ask her something.” It was Lottie.

  “Right,” I said trying to rouse myself back to the land of the living. “Hold on. I’ll go and get her.”

  Starting to climb out of bed, I heard Gracie’s sweet voice in the background, raised in excitement. “Found it!”

  “Oh, never mind! Sorry to have bothered you. Gracie and Lavinia have been up in the attic searching for some old gramophone for about thirty minutes. But it looks like they just found it. No need to bother Doris. Sorry, Janet.” I heard Lavinia’s voice shout down to her sister. “That’s that sorted. Now all we need to do is find ourselves some handsome single men.”

  I guessed Lottie covered the receiver with her hand, because as I lay back down and closed my eyes, I heard a muffled version of, “Lavinia!” right before she hung up.

  I yawned and turned over to finish my nap.

  I woke up feeling much perkier and in plenty of time to eat dinner, after which there was a mass exodus for various bedrooms and bathrooms as we tried to pull together an outfit from our overstuffed suitcases of creased clothes. Excitement crackled in the air. Annie put on some jazz music in the living room, and we moved about the house getting ready to the soft lilting sounds of Ella Fitzgerald reminding us, “It was just one of those things.”

  Passing Doris’s bedroom, I noticed her sorting through bracelets and earrings. Ethel was helping her get on her “sling-backs,” as she called them.

  Managing to find a little black dress that I’d packed just in case crumpled up in the corner of my suitcase, I hung it in the bathroom, and thankfully most of the creases fell out as I showered. I added black stockings to my outfit and the heart locket my husband had given me on our twentieth wedding anniversary. Holding it in my hand for a second, I felt a connection to my family.

  Inside, it had one of those silly pictures of our family that you allow a photographer to take to get all the nerves out at the beginning of an official photo sitting. We’d been trying to get a photo taken for our Christmas card. Stacy was about twelve, and we had all turned up in our Christmas sweaters for the session. We had been giggling about the fact that Martin had arrived for the sitting wearing a very humorous hat that lit up and said, “Ho, ho, ho” whenever he moved. We’d eventually gotten just the right photo for our card, but I’d always loved this natural one of us all being silly and laughing hysterically.

  Thirty minutes later, all of us were a pretty package, decidedly different from the bedraggled bunch we’d been earlier.

  Flora sat wringing a little lace hankie as we sat in nervous silence. It was as if we were all waiting for our first date.

  Chapter Nine

  AN OLD FLAME & A BROOM SALESMAN

  Dan arrived just after seven, looking dapper in a black suit and tie. We all jumped up in unison, as if we were on the same line-dancing team. He stopped dead in the center of the room and let out a long, low whistle.

  “Wow, you all look so lovely. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to trust myself tonight.”

  We laughed and that broke the awkwardness in the air.

  Flora beamed. She looked charming in a calf-length lace dress, white with little pink rosebuds running through it, and cream pumps. She’d managed to get her long hair into a chignon that suited her heart-shaped face. I also noted she’d been experimenting with makeup, just a little, just enough to define her gentle features. She looked like a very elegant china doll, and even though her outfit would have been more appropriate for an afternoon tea party, she still looked lovely.

  “Are you ready to tell us where we’re going?” inquired Doris. “My mind has gone from crab fishing to bingo.”

  “We could go and play bingo on my friend’s crabbing boat if you want, but I think you’ll like this a lot more. Also, I think I’d like to keep the surprise just a little bit longer. By the way, I have another one waiting for you all outside.”

  We all bustled out the door, grabbing hats and coats as we exited, intrigued to discover our latest surprise.

  It didn’t take long to figure out what it was. Instead of my Suburban on the driveway, there was a sleek, black limousine. I heard Annie whoop with joy behind me.

  “I’m afraid,” said Dan in mock sadness, “your car was still being worked on, so, as Ian’s family also owns a limousine company, we had to settle for this old thing to go out in tonight.”

  He opened the passenger door and produced a chauffeur’s hat that he then placed on his head.

  “I have more bad news. I was the only chauffeur we could find at this short notice.”

  He smiled broadly and held out his hand to help us into the car.

  Doris was the first in; she was wearing a long, flowery dress. The pattern was a little garish, but she still looked quite elegant in her hose and sling-backs. Her hair was coiffed neatly, and for the first time I’d ever seen, she was also wearing mak
eup, which, apart from rather brassy red lipstick, actually suited her.

  The rest of us playfully rushed to be next in line for the door, enjoying our own version of a middle-aged prom night, everyone scrambling and giggling, except Ethel, who watched disapprovingly as we became this frothing mass of teenage energy.

  Inside the limo, a polished walnut interior set off the smoked-glass windows and sumptuous black leather seats. In the center, the minibar came complete with a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket.

  We oohed and aahed as we took it all in. Then, as if we were a bunch of five-year-olds on their first field trip, we couldn’t resist the urge to press every button and open all the windows.

  “Help yourselves to a beverage,” said Dan in a very official-sounding tone as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Doris popped the champagne cork and started pouring it into the crystal glasses arranged on a silver tray. It gushed up and frothed out as Annie and Flora giggled uncontrollably. Once the glasses were filled, Annie raised hers, saying, “To our wonderful chauffeur. This has to be the best way to travel to bingo ever.”

  We all laughed and clinked our glasses together.

  Twenty minutes later, Dan pulled smoothly into a parking lot next to a large redbrick building. Excited groups of people milled about, decked out in their evening finery.

  Dan opened our door, and then in his deepest chauffeur voice, he announced, “I would be honored if you all would accompany me to the hottest event of the season here in Medford.”

  Linking arms with Doris and Annie, he then led us up broad stone steps and through stately mahogany doors.

  “Good evening, Ernie,” said Dan to one of two sixtyish men seated in front of a cash box. “How are you this evening?”

  The larger man jumped to his feet. “Well, if it isn’t little Danny Cohen. How good to see you.”

  The other man blinked twice. “Danny Cohen?” he asked in expectation. “Bob Cohen’s boy?”

  A light bulb came on behind the blank shutters, and he also jumped to his feet.

  “Little Danny Cohen!” he exclaimed. “You sure grew up fast. What the devil are you doing in Medford? I thought your mom and dad had moved north to open up a bed and breakfast?”

  “You thought right. I happen to be down here on a mission of mercy, saving damsels in distress.”

  “Enough of that,” said Doris, nudging him in the ribs. “You’re all full of hot air.”

  Ernie was drawn in immediately. “What do we have here?” he asked, eyeing Doris with a glint in his eye. “Seems you’ve got yourself a feisty one here, young Dan.”

  “Too feisty for the likes of you,” she joked back.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he responded, showing a row of pearly white teeth and a couple of gold caps. “I, myself, like a little chili sauce on my steak.”

  “Oh, get away with you,” quipped Doris.

  But I swear I saw her blush as she said it.

  “How much do we owe you?” asked Dan.

  “I think you can have your tickets on the house,” said Ernie, not taking his eyes from Doris. “But you’d better take your group, including this jalapeno, inside before she starts a fire out here in the foyer.”

  We laughed and thanked them, and Dan led us into the main ballroom.

  The room was vast, illuminated by dozens of sparkling white twinkle lights that dangled from the ceiling, casting a lively glow onto a highly polished dance floor. Arranged about the room were clusters of round tables elegantly draped with white satin ribbons and adorned with flowers. An enormous stage dominated the far end of the room, where a roving spotlight spun spirals of brilliant white light in hypnotic circles around couples dancing on the dance floor.

  On the stage, dressed in white shirts and black tuxedos, was an impressive-sounding thirty-piece jazz orchestra. Each performer was fully engaged, brass instruments glinting and glimmering as they stood tapping and swaying in the sparkling lights. The music was so incredible, its magical sight and sound brought tears to my eyes.

  A pretty, young woman approached to inform us she would help us find a table. But then her eyes widened.

  “Danny? Danny Cohen!” she squealed. “Is that you?” She threw her arms around his neck, demonstratively hugging and kissing him on the cheek.

  Dan’s face registered shock, then surprise.

  “Wow, is that you, Marcy? Little Marcy Campbell?”

  “Not so little anymore,” she gushed, bobbing her hair with one hand and thrusting out her voluminous chest. “How lovely to see you. I’d heard you’d moved up north to be by your parents.”

  The rest of us seemed to vanish as Marcy seemed to dominate the whole room. I looked over to Flora, who’d turned into her old, shrinking violet self. She stared at her shoes.

  “Yes. Yes I did,” said Dan, apparently aware of how uncomfortable it had become, and he appeared to want to stop the conversation there.

  Doris blurted out, “Hello, I’m Doris Newberry. I’m a friend of Dan’s. In fact, we all came with him this evening.”

  Marcy took a step back. She was having one of those “youthful” moments, where younger people only see anyone their own generation. Anyone over the age of forty was just window dressing, like old curtains.

  “I’m sorry.” She was obviously annoyed by the interruption.

  But Dan tactfully disentangled himself and began to introduce us one by one. She was polite, but there was a little more ice in her tone.

  “Oh,” she said as he finished, the disappointment obvious in her voice. “Let me see if I can find you all a table, then.”

  She wove us through and across the dance floor, where we took our lives in our hands.

  She did find us a really nice table with a great view of the band and then excused herself with a long, lingering glance back at Dan that none of us missed.

  The music that filled the room was a welcome relief from the need to converse. Flora had shrunk, looking awkward in her own skin.

  Annie leaned forward and spoke to Dan. “So, you used to live here? Have you been to this event before?”

  Dan went on to explain about the annual jazz dance in Medford and how he and his parents had attended it. He recalled the year when he’d been fifteen and had spent the evening sampling his parents’ punch only to be sick all the way home. We all laughed, except Flora, who looked miserable.

  An announcer informed us that the next dance would be “ask a new partner.” As the spotlight roved and the drums rolled, people got up from all over the room and walked to different tables, asking people to dance. It was fun to watch shy young men approaching girls they may have had their eyes on all night.

  A tiny man in an oversized suit shuffled up to our table. He had wisps of peach fuzz on the top of his head and circular glasses that emphasized his round face. He seemed incredibly bashful and hopped from foot to foot as he worked up his courage. Looking directly at Ethel’s feet, he stuttered out, “My name is Osborne. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

  Ethel was horrified and looked about the table for our support. Even though the woman spoke fewer words than a starling, the pleading in her eyes was obvious as she pierced Doris with her gaze.

  Doris opened her mouth to speak, and Ethel seemed relieved, thinking her friend would save her. That notion, however, was short-lived when Doris said instead, “Nice to meet you, Osborne. This is Ethel. She’s a little shy but would love to dance with you.”

  Doris then rocked Ethel’s chair back onto its back legs, causing Ethel to jump up to save herself.

  Osborne, now believing he was accepted, wasn’t slow. He took a firm hold of Ethel’s arm and started to lead her to the dance floor.

  She looked back at us pathetically, like a horse sensing it was about to be shot. I watched her as she disappeared. She was wearing a white frilly blouse, smart black pants, and sensible shoes. And as if she had had an afterthought, there was a little diamanté hair slide in her h
air. It actually made her look quite sweet.

  We were so engrossed in watching Ethel being led away to her execution that we didn’t see who was approaching the table from behind us.

  “On your feet, chili pepper,” someone barked from behind Doris.

  It was Ernie, the gentleman from the door. Doris didn’t miss a beat. She swiveled herself around and barked right back at him indignantly, “I don’t know how to dance!”

  But before she could object any further, he’d grabbed her by the arm and had her on her feet. “There’s never been a better time to learn than right now,” he said.

  “Well, I never!” sputtered Doris. And that’s when it dawned on me. Doris Newberry had just met her match.

  His eyes twinkled as he beamed a white-and-gold grin in her direction, adding, “See! You don’t scare me. I can be just as feisty as you.” And before she could say another word, he was leading, half-dragging her onto the dance floor.

  Obviously stirred into courage by the moment, Dan was on his feet.

  “Flora,” he said in a very official tone, “would you do me the honor of being my partner?”

  Flora looked as if she were going to crumble and disappear under the table.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said hesitantly. “You see, I don’t dance or anything. I would look silly and be awkward out there with all those real dancers.”

  She said it as if he were asking her to compete on Dancing with the Stars.

  “Those real dancers you’re talking about are people like you.” He cast his eye over the crowd and then lifted a finger to point out an awkward-looking man who appeared as if he’d been vacuumed-packed into an extremely snug-fitting suit. “People like Mr. Jefferies over there. He runs the local hardware shop.”

  Then he nodded his head in a different direction, toward a rather heavyset woman who was moving in a decidedly odd fashion, as if one leg couldn’t quite keep up with the other. “And there’s Mrs. Hendrix. She runs the cat sanctuary and is always complaining about her clicky hips.”