I hope I’ve made my point.
“Nancy, I swear, if you have one more terrific idea, I’ll scream,” Claire said. “And it’s only two weeks until the reunion. We don’t have time to add one more thing to the agenda.”
Nancy chose to ignore Claire’s outburst. “Things are coming together very nicely. I knew using that template from High School Reunions For Dummies would help us. And the staff at Dockside Living is doing a fantastic job converting our school to a senior living facility, too.
“What did I say that was so funny?”
The rest of us had doubled over laughing at Nancy’s unintentional use of the word “converting.” Hey, it’s a Catholic thing. Saving pagan babies and all that stuff.
Never mind.
Nancy finally got the joke. “You’re all terrible,” she said. “Now, let’s get back to business.”
“Having Neecy on the reunion committee certainly made the building project hum right along. There’s nothing like having the boss’s wife involved to make things happen,” Claire said.
“It’s too bad she had to resign from our committee,” Mary Alice said. “But when Tony officially announced his run for state senate, he asked her to limit her other commitments and devote her time to helping get him elected.”
“Do you think Tony has a real chance of winning?” Mary Catherine asked. “His opponent is the incumbent, and from what I’ve read, he has the advantage.”
“Tony Prentiss is one of the most determined men in town,” Claire said. “Look at how he built his business up from nothing, and how successful he’s become. And Larry says that making prescription drug abuse a cornerstone of Tony’s campaign is giving him a load of positive publicity. It’s such a huge problem all over the state, even in towns like Fairport. Whether the media attention will translate to actual votes, well, we’ll find that out in November.”
“Do you know that Tony and Neecy’s only son died of a prescription drug overdose in high school?” Mary Beth asked. “It was a terrible time for them. Mary Ann, Mary Catherine and I did our best to help the family, but I can’t imagine how someone gets over losing a child like that.”
“This is Tony’s way of fighting back against drug abuse, I guess,” Mary Alice said. “And honoring the memory of their son. I can see why Neecy would want to help.”
“I can, too,” I said. And I realized how lucky Jim and I were, to have two wonderful children who still wanted us to be an important part of their lives.
“Let’s go over the final spreadsheet for the reunion one more time,” Nancy said.
There was a chorus of groans from the rest of us.
“Nancy,” Claire objected, “we’ve been over this thing a million times. We have the catering completely under control. Saturday night will be at Maria’s Trattoria, so you know everything will be perfect. The caterer at the school has designed a wonderful menu. It’s low fat, but doesn’t look or taste like it. Everyone will love it. The decorations are fantastic – and the tablecloths are ruby red, just like you wanted. The nametags are being made as soon as people respond. We already have enough people who’ve paid in advance that we’re in the black.”
Claire gave Nancy a cheeky grin. “I assume the budget is the one thing you didn’t want to have in the red.”
“Very funny,” Nancy said.
“We also have the souvenir goody bags already prepared, thanks to Mary Catherine and Mary Ann,” Claire continued, looking at the spreadsheet and ticking off each item in turn. “The contact list is up to date as of now. We may get some more information before the reunion, so it won’t be printed until two days before the event, right, Mary Alice?”
She nodded. “The list is all laid out and we’re ready to go. It’s fantastic how many of the class we’ve been able to locate. Sister Rose was a wonderful help with that part.”
“Don’t forget how many people I’d already found thanks to the Realtors network,” Nancy reminded us.
“Did we ever make a decision about the baby pictures?” Mary Beth asked. We all groaned again. One of the most stupid ideas Nancy had gleaned from High School Reunions for Dummies was to ask all our classmates, even the ones who weren’t able to come to the actual reunion, to submit a baby picture of themselves. The idea was to put them all on a bulletin board at the check-in table and have people try to identify each infant.
“Good lord,” I said, “I thought we shot down that idea a few weeks ago. We’re not going to do that, are we? And it’s two weeks before the reunion. I think it’s too late to ask people.”
“Not with the magic of e-mail,” Nancy said. “We can still send out a blast and see how many people want to do it.”
“Oh, puhleeze, no,” I begged. “We agreed not to do it. We voted not to do it, for heaven’s sake.”
“Oh, all right,” Nancy said. “We won’t do it. But what about the awards? Mary Beth, do you have those under control?”
Mary Beth nodded. “I’ve made certificates for the classmate who traveled the farthest to get to the reunion, who has the most children and grandchildren, and who’s been married the longest. Did I forget anything?”
“I thought we were going to give an award for the person who’s been married the most times,” I said with a straight face.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Nancy. “That’s just ridiculous.”
“No,” Claire said. “I love that idea. Think of the fun we’d have with that award.”
Nancy huffed. “Let’s wait another week before we make that decision.”
“So should I make up a certificate for that category?” asked Mary Beth.
“Oh, what the hell. Go ahead,” said our esteemed chairperson. “And now, it’s time for my terrific idea. Are you ready?”
We weren’t, but I knew from personal experience that Nancy was on a roll and there was no stopping her. And I was very afraid of that look in her eye. I’d seen that look before. It always got me into trouble, even when we were kids.
“I think we should stay overnight at Mount Saint Francis the night before the reunion. After all, we’ll be exhausted from the party at Maria’s Trattoria, and we have to be at school early Sunday to set up for the lunch. Isn’t that a great idea?”
Nancy was bouncing in her seat, she was so excited.
Good grief. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. I knew I’d never sleep, and if I did, I’d have nightmares.
But instead, I said, “Ok, I’m in. Sounds like fun.”
I am truly a glutton for punishment.
Chapter 20
I believe in planning ahead. I’ve already told my family that, at my funeral, I want a 21-nun salute.
Less than one week remained until the reunion. So much left to do, and so little time to get it all done.
Or so I tried to explain to Jim on the Sunday morning before the Saturday night get-together at Maria’s Trattoria. To which he was not invited, since the committee (that would be Nancy) decided that Significant Others of any persuasion would cramp our bonding potential.
Jim was not at all pleased at being left out of the party, despite the fact that I pointed out to him, in my most reasonable tone, that he and I didn’t meet until college, and the only people he really knew from my high school class were Nancy, Claire and Mary Alice. All of whom he saw on a regular basis.
You’ll notice I left Meg off the list. Hey, I’m not completely crazy, and besides, she hadn’t bothered to send in a response so we were assuming she wouldn’t show up.
What a shame. She certainly would be missed.
Not.
Jim laid his CVS pharmacy weekly sale flyer beside him on the kitchen table. Which meant that he had something really important to talk to me about. Because he treasures that weekly flyer more than a first edition of the Guttenberg Bible.
“Carol, I’m
not trying to horn in on your fun,” he said in a reasonable tone. “And I wouldn’t even stay for the meal. I’d just like to poke my head inside the restaurant and see if I recognize anyone from the old days. I don’t see anything wrong with that. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal, dear,” I replied, “is that nobody else’s significant other is doing that. Because the committee voted unanimously not to allow it. And, as you may recall, Mount Saint Francis Academy was an all-girls’ school. I think you’d be noticed.”
“Humph,” Jim grumped. “I still don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Neither do I, dear,” I said, trying to pacify him. “But that’s the way it is. And there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”
Honestly, the whole situation was pretty comical. Because I was sure that if I’d asked Jim to come to the party, he would have told me, “No way. I don’t want to be stuck in a room of post-menopausal women who are gabbing about their glorious high school days. Forget it. I won’t go.”
What is it about boys that, when you say no to something, that thing becomes even more attractive? Oh well.
Then I had a brilliant idea. A compromise. The kind of thing that long-term marriages are built on.
“How about this?” I said. “I’m going to be staying overnight at school after the party, and it’s silly to bring my car when Nancy, Mary Alice and Claire will be driving theirs, too. Why don’t you drop me off at Maria’s Trattoria? And if you should just happen to walk by Maria’s private dining room when the party is going on, and sneak a peek into the room, well, there’s nothing anyone can say about that, right? What do you say?
“But you have to be discreet,” I warned him. “And you have to get out of there before Nancy spots you.”
“I’ll think about it, Carol. Maybe I will. But it might not be worth it, after all. I probably won’t know anybody. Maybe I’ll call Larry and see if he wants to take in a movie instead.”
And he left the kitchen, whistling.
I realized I’d just been snookered. All Jim wanted was an invitation so he could turn it down.
Men!
“You have to make me blond and beautiful by Saturday,” I said to Deanna, proprietor of Fairport’s leading hair salon, Crimpers, and my own personal lustrous locks magician. “I want a completely new hairstyle. And if you could figure out a way for me to lose ten pounds in the next few days, that’d be a bonus. It’s my fortieth high school reunion this weekend, and I’ve got to be dazzling.”
I plunked myself down in Deanna’s chair. There was only one other customer in the salon, and she was under the dryer getting blasted with hot air. So I was able to speak freely without worrying about being overheard.
Deanna regarded me with a certain amount of annoyance. “Just out of curiosity, Carol, why did you wait until almost the very last minute to come in and want a makeover? I’m not a miracle worker, you know. Just a hard-working, underpaid hair stylist.”
I was properly chastised. And chagrined. “You’re absolutely right. I should have planned ahead more. Is it too late to do something a little different? It’s really important to me.”
“We could shave your head,” Deanna said, grabbing some electric clippers and coming in my direction. “That’d be a real conversation starter.”
I attempted to throw a towel at her. And missed, as usual.
“I know you’re just kidding, Deanna. You are, right?”
Deanna laughed. “Of course I am, Carol. But I get pretty annoyed at people who come into the salon, especially brand new customers, and expect miracles. For you, though, I’ll make the effort. But only with your hair. As far as losing ten pounds goes, you’re on your own. Go put on a smock and let me get to work.”
For the next half hour, Deanna concentrated on doing my color while I bored her with the details of the upcoming Ruby Reunion. Fortunately, she didn’t nod off while she was putting foils in my hair.
“Ok, time for you to sit under the dryer for a bit,” she said, leading me to a nearby chair and handing me some magazines to pass the time while she finished up her other client. I settled down to read some trashy magazines that I would never even glance at when I’m standing in line at the supermarket checkout counter.
Honest.
I started by skimming an issue of Yelp!, a magazine not known for challenging its readers’ brain cells. I found myself drawn to a full-page advertisement for a brand new book.
“Forget 50 Shades of Grey!” the teaser proclaimed. “Check out 50 Shades of Navy: Memories of a Catholic Girlhood. Coming this month from Tell-All Books to a retail store near you. Also available as an e-book. Learn new and very creative ways to use knee socks! Hint: They’re not just to keep your tootsies warm. For pre-publication ordering information, check our website, www.50shadesofnavy.com.”
I checked the magazine publication date. Yikes! It was the October issue. That meant 50 Shades of Navy would be released at exactly the same time as our high school reunion was being held.
And you’ll never guess what Nancy had decided to put in all the goody bags. Ruby red knee socks with our school logo on them.
Chapter 21
I’m in the initial stage of my golden years:
AARP, SS, and IRAs.
“Fifty shades of navy?” Sister Rose asked. “I never realized there were so many. Here, Carol,” she said, leading me over to a rack of blazers, “take a look at these.” And she pulled four or five jackets out for my inspection. “Perhaps one of these might work with whatever it is you’re trying to match.” Then she frowned. “But if there are fifty shades to choose from, you’d better bring in your slacks or skirt to be sure it really matches a blazer or a sweater. The eye can be so deceiving. Are you looking for something to wear for the reunion? ”
I gave Sister Rose a questioning look. Because I wasn’t sure if she was putting me on or not.
I’d gone to Sally’s Closet, to give her a head’s up about the hot book being released this month. And instead of reacting as I’d expected – that would be shock, horror, etc. like any other normal nun would – she was giving me a fashion lesson.
Good grief.
“Thanks, Sister,” I said, handing her back the jackets she’d selected for me. “But the fifty shades of navy I’m talking about have nothing to do with fashion choices.”
I paused, not exactly sure how to proceed. How does one discuss a book like this one with a Catholic nun? No class in high school – or college, either, for that matter – included tips on handling this kind of situation.
I took a good look at Sister Rose and realized that she was pressing her lips together tightly. I wasn’t sure how to read that. Disapproval? Annoyance? Impatience that I hadn’t bought one of the darned navy blue blazers to wear to the reunion?
“Good gracious, Carol,” Sister said, “do you think I’ve been living under a rock for the past year or so? I’ve heard of Fifty Shades of Grey. Disgusting. And the fact that people are paying good money to buy that filth, well, words fail me.”
Not for long, of course.
Sister took the navy blazers and rehung them in the proper size classifications. Slammed them into their proper sizes, in fact. I felt sorry for the blazers, but better them than me.
“And, yes, I know about this new piece of filth, too,” she said, emphasizing the word filth. “I see no need to talk about it, with you or anyone else. It’s just some person trying to capitalize on the success of what is basically a pornographic book. Making up titillating stories about her Catholic adolescence to sell her own book. Disgraceful. Nobody is going to buy it.”
“Sister, with all due respect, I think people are going to buy it,” I responded. “Not me, of course,” I added to diffuse Sister’s shocked look. “I agree with you that it is filth. But what if the book is about a school for girls and people t
hink it’s Mount Saint Francis? It could impact our entire reunion.”
“That is complete rubbish, Carol,” Sister Rose said with such vehemence that she made me cringe. Just like the bad old days. “You’re anticipating a problem where none exists. And for your information, the publisher had the nerve to send me an advance reader copy of this book and ask me for a comment. So I know what I’m talking about.”
“You have a copy of Fifty Shades of Navy?” I asked, to be sure I’d heard correctly. “I can’t believe it.”
I resisted the urge to ask her if I could take a quick peek.
“I don’t have it anymore, Carol,” Sister Rose said. “Once I realized what the book was about, I threw it right in the garbage. Which is exactly where it belongs. Now, please excuse me. I have extra work to do today. We’re short on volunteers.”
She gave me a hard look, which I read loud and clear. Note to self: Either avoid the thrift shop entirely or get back on a regular volunteer schedule pronto.
“I’ll see you Saturday night at Maria’s Trattoria for the welcome cocktail party,” Sister Rose said, indicating that the subject of Fifty Shades of Navy was closed. And not likely to be reopened anytime soon. Like, never.
I started to respond that I might be able to lend a hand in the shop for an hour or so (Catholic guilt – I’ll never get over it), but Sister Rose didn’t give me a chance. In fact, the good sister made such a hasty exit that she almost collided with a volunteer who was on her way into the shop with a cart full of donations.
“Sorry, Sister Rose,” said the volunteer, immediately assuming the blame for the near collision. “I didn’t see you.”
“Not a problem,” said Sister, disappearing through the door and closing it firmly behind her.
Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery Page 10