The Orange Blossom Special

by Betsy Carter

  “I had no idea you’d feel this way,” he said, then laughed the way you do when you’re trying not to cry. “For someone who can often see what’s going to happen, I really missed this boat.” He waited for her to laugh with him but she didn’t. “Maybe I can study theology here in Gainesville. Maybe I don’t have to go to New York City.”

  Even without the light, Charlie could see that her face was frozen. When he tried to kiss her, she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away.

  “Would you like me to go?” he asked.

  “You already have,” she answered in a bottomless voice that he would always think of as a night without stars.

  EIGHTEEN

  Maybe it was the greatest train ever. People, when they saw it, their eyes would bug out of their heads. It went as fast as one hundred miles an hour between Miami and New York, and oh, those colors. Florida on wheels—the yellow as yellow as the sunniest day, the green of a palm leaf, and of course orange, ripe and heavy and sweet with perfume. When the Orange Blossom Special rolled into view, folks would come out of their houses just to watch it hurtle through town, a giant parrot on the fly. It sped by in a heartbeat, leaving only its shrill whistle in the air and the memory of something so powerful and dazzling that a momentary glance of it was all the senses could bear.

  At least that’s how Reggie described it.

  It was Reggie’s idea to turn the liquor store into a saloon and Reggie’s idea to name it after the Orange Blossom Special. Victoria was the one who came up with the idea of carrying the theme into the décor. “If we’re going to do it, let’s do it all the way,” she said. From his memory as a porter, Reggie conjured up what the interior of the Orange Blossom might look like. Every day they’d sit at the dining-room table making lists, jotting down notes of what would go where to make it as authentic as they could. It was the fall of 1962, during the time that Reggie was getting his teeth fixed and Charlie was off to Fort Wadsworth in New York City, so the two of them were happy for the distraction. For Victoria, it was a return to a life she thought she had left behind: fabric swatches, paint chips, decorators, workmen to order around. She’d nearly forgotten how she thrived on all of it, how it got her creative juices flowing in a way that nothing else, not even Reggie’s makeover, had.

  For Reggie, all those hours in the dentist’s chair, watching his reflection in Dr. Simon’s spectacles as he slowly filled in all the spaces, was a time of rebirth. He would go from having no purpose to becoming a citizen of the world. Reggie, who’d always been on the other side from where he felt normal people were, was now closer than he’d ever been to not being different. He renewed the vows he made to himself after Maynard’s death, only this time with more vigor and determination. He would help Victoria. He would help Ella. No, he would take care of Victoria, he would take care of Ella. He would become the man of their odd little household and pick up where Charlie Landy left off. He’d work in the saloon and make it a success. He knew how to do lots of things that no one would guess he knew. All along he had things to say. He was just waiting for teeth so that he could say them in the way they needed to be said.

  Victoria hired Frank Bowman, the decorator who was responsible for the successful specialty restaurants like Sundowners and Pelican Point. She told Reggie that Bowman had a rare appreciation for thematic design. “He gives himself over to it like nobody’s business,” she’d said, in what was surely one of the understatements of her life.

  Bowman embraced the train theme the way he once had crab and lobsters. He even took to wearing a blue-and-white-striped engineer’s hat while he worked. His philosophy was consistent and surefire. “The moment a customer walks through the doors of one of my establishments, he should be transported to another time and place. If the establishment is properly executed, the customer will be in such a state of psychological disorientation that he will be oblivious to the usual restraints associated with spending money.”

  The doors to this particular oblivion would be made from extruded aluminum. They would be double swinging doors, as shim-mery as fish scales. Each door would have a round glass window the size of a man’s head and at eye level for most people. In the train itself, these windows served a useful function, giving the traveler the opportunity to see if someone was coming through from the opposite direction. On the streets of Gainesville, the daytime sun would bounce off the aluminum like lightning. At night, the reflection of the blinking orange and green neon Orange Blossom Special sign would beckon like the giddy entrance to a funhouse. How could you not come inside?

  The walls would be sheathed in crimson satin. Pale yellow Venetian blinds with slats the width of rulers would cover the windows. There would be rattan seats with high backs and broad arms, exactly like the handsome ones they used in the old parlor cars. Bowman had an obsessive eye for detail and faithfully reproduced the ornate counter with all its flutes and flowers, and the marble countertop, the marble veined with green and purple. Even the cash register would be from a time when cash registers were representative of art deco design rather than functional boxes. Overhead, two natural palm-leaf fans would churn the cool air. The light fixtures would be electric replicas of old gas lamps, and the soft light they gave off would bathe everything in sepia. Framed artifacts such as a white linen towel with an embossed orange and a menu featuring caviar, turbot, and crème caramel for five dollars would hang behind the cash register.

  The Orange Blossom Special was a perfect jewel, a treasure from another time tucked between Florsheims and the Fremac luncheonette. Even the drinks had train-related names like Full Steam Ahead and First Class Only. A sign above the bar invited patrons to “Chug Chug.” And just in case they missed the point, Bowman had another brainstorm. The coup de grâce, he called it.

  “The two of you will wear what the porters would have worn on that train. Modern, of course, but they’ll be reminiscent of the old uniforms. A soft melon-color. An A-line skirt short enough to accentuate your shapely legs.” He winked at Victoria. “The fabric will be lightweight and wrinkle resistant. A little capped sleeve and Peter Pan collar.” He touched Victoria’s shoulder. “Precious. Maybe a vest instead of the jacket.” He folded his hands together. “For him, white pants with the melon stripe down the side. A vest with ‘Sykes’ embroidered above the breast pocket. A hat perhaps.”

  It gave Victoria the chills to watch Bowman in action.

  “No porter’s outfit for me. No, sir, no, thank you.” Reggie broke the spell. “I’ve already worn that uniform. I’m a businessman now and that’s how I’ll dress.”

  Victoria flushed. “I’m certainly not going to be the only one prancing around here like a goddamned cantaloupe,” she said. “C’mon Reggie. It’ll be fun.”

  “I’ve made my decision and that’s that,” he said.

  “Never you mind,” said Bowman waving his hands as if to clear the air of confrontation. “I’ve come up with an alternative plan. Pins. You both will wear Orange Blossom Special pins. Subtle but authentic.”

  THERE WAS SO much buzz around the opening of the saloon that in the days leading up to it, everyone’s letters were filled with some news of it. Crystal wrote to Huddie at the Marine Recruit Depot on Parris Island:

  How I wish you could see what’s going on here. Everyone’s gone nuts over the redesign of Charlie’s old liquor store. They’ve turned it into a saloon. My mother is spending a fortune to make the place look like the replica of some fancy old train that Reggie used to work on. She’s hired that phony baloney decorator who does all the stupid fish restaurants with the fake nets and rusty anchors. If you ask me, the place will look more like a dance studio than a bar, but at least it gives her something to do. Reggie’s got a bunch of new teeth that are whiter than any Colgate ad you’ve ever seen. It’s amazing what a difference a set of choppers can make.

  I hope they are not working you too hard. In your last letter you said you’d lost a little weight. Don’t lose any more. I want as much of my Huddie to hold on
to as possible. I love you. Your adoring wife to be, Crystal

  Ella wrote to Charlie:

  Crystal joined a sorority at the University. She seems to be very popular. I saw Dinah a few weeks ago. She asked how you were doing. I told her you were doing the work you set out to do. She said she is working hard at the University. She asked to be remembered to you. Your mother and Reggie seem to have gone hogwild over the saloon. I never thought I’d live to see Reggie Sykes and Mrs. Landy fighting over the color of shelf paint. You wouldn’t recognize him. He hasn’t smiled this much since he was a boy.

  It is hard for me to picture the things you are seeing in New York City. I am glad to hear that you feel you are finally fitting into your own skin. I pray for you every day. Your friend, Ella Sykes

  Tessie wrote to Jerry:

  Dinah’s having a hard time going to college and living at home. Crystal’s whooping it up in her sorority house and seems to have no time for her. She has made one girlfriend—a mousy little thing named Hedda who is always apologizing for herself. Dinah says she’s a genius. There is no sign of a boy on the horizon. Her grades are good but her mood is horrible. Everything I do embarrasses her and we fight a lot. What am I supposed to do?

  The man is getting old. He’s sixty soon. Now that his wife has died he wants me to move to Miami Beach and be with him. How can I leave Dinah? My job? My life here?

  V is spending all her time with Reggie getting the new bar ready. They’re having a big grand opening next week. I bought a new shift to wear to the party. I envy how V can get so caught up in stuff like this. She doesn’t seem to be bothered with depressions and moodiness like some other people I know.

  Sorry to talk your ear off. I don’t expect you to have the answers to all my questions, but who else can I ask?

  And Barone wrote to Tessie:

  Of course I’ll be there for the party. It’s the biggest thing to happen in Florida since Jai Alai!

  The big bed in the big room is empty. The sound of the waves outside is sometimes so loud and hungry. Without you here, maybe I will feed the bed and the room to the sea. Dottie, you are my Orange Blossom Special.

  (Here, a drawing with Tessie’s face, arms, and legs sticking out of an orange that is rolling down a lane about to hit the pins.)

  Yours til’ the Orange Bowls, Barone (STRIKE!)

  ON THE NIGHT before the big opening, Dinah and Tessie had a fight. It started when Tessie asked Dinah what she was going to wear to the party.

  “Do you think I’ve given it a moment’s thought?” Dinah snapped.

  “Well yes, I thought maybe you had.”

  “Has it occurred to you that I don’t care at all about the party?”

  Tessie knew that tone of voice, filled with nettles. But this time it had something woeful and disappointed in it as well.

  “Sweetie, you don’t have to go,” she said.

  “Oh, yes I do,” said Dinah. “I have to go, all right. Not only that. I’m bringing a date.”

  “Wonderful.” Tessie’s eyes lit up.

  “I’m bringing Eddie,” she said hugging the cat close to her. She rested her head on his and started to dance around the room singing the pop song “Eddie My Love.”

  Silently, Tessie entreated Jerry. “Give me a hand here. Help me say the right thing.” Then, with some trepidation, she said to Dinah, “You’re not really thinking of bringing Eddie. That’s a joke, right?”

  “Hell it isn’t.” Dinah whirled around. “I go, he goes. Why’s that a joke?”

  “Honey, you know what they say about spinsters? How no one will love them but their cats?”

  The moment those words left her mouth, Tessie knew she’d said the worst thing possible. She tried to recover. “Of course, I’m not implying that you’re a spinster.”

  “Of course not,” said Dinah. “But if no one in the world loved me but Eddie, that would be fine too.” Eddie tried to writhe out of her arms.

  “That’s ridiculous. There are so many people who love you.”

  “Yeah. Name three.”

  Tessie hated being put in a corner like this. “Don’t be silly, I don’t want to play this game.”

  “It’s not a game,” insisted Dinah. “Name three. And they have to be living.”

  “Well me, naturally. Crystal. And Charlie. Charlie Landy.”

  Dinah got that tone in her voice again. “You’re my mother, so that doesn’t count. You have to love me. Crystal has barely said a word to me since she became a Tri Delt. And Charlie Landy will never speak to me again after how awful I was to him before he went to New York City. So that makes one.”

  Tessie stared at her little girl, all grown up now. Her body was all taut and sharp, at peace only when she was asleep. She still had the same large, searching eyes, but her expression had changed from one of a quizzical child to a wary adult wondering when the next blow would come. When she smiled, which didn’t happen often these days, the world was sunny.

  “Your dad makes two,” said Tessie. “Who says we can’t count the dead?”

  Dinah got a faraway look in her eyes and started singing again as she and Eddie waltzed out of the room.

  That night, Tessie went through her drawers looking for a pair of gold hoop earrings to wear with her new shift. Tucked way in the back of everything was a rumpled old red bandanna that she used to wear like a turban over her pin curls. Jerry used to say that she looked like the Maharani of Mars.

  The next morning, when Dinah came to breakfast, she found the neatly ironed bandanna folded into a square next to her orange juice. On top of it was a note in her mother’s squiggly hand:

  This is for Eddie. Tie it around his neck tonight and he’ll look like the coolest cat at the party. I love you, and it does too count. Mom

  When Tessie opened her sandwich later that afternoon at her desk at Lithographics, she found this note from her daughter.

  Thanks Mom. I’ve got you, dad, and Eddie. That’s more than enough.

  And early that evening, before Barone came to pick her up for the party, Tessie slipped this note into her Jerry Box.

  You are one shrewd son of a bitch. Pardon my French.

  TO TESSIE, CHRISTMAS in Gainesville always seemed like an apology. There were no fireplaces. Those fake Santas coming down the chimney and silly snowmen with their carrot stick noses and zigzag twig smiles seemed to be trying too hard. She hated the fake fir trees that looked to her like Fuller Brushes, and the pathetic carpets of white felt that were supposed to pass for snow. Christmas was the hardest time without Jerry. She knew that Barone would shower her with expensive gifts—including the little orange something that he promised in his note—and that Dinah would get her something, grudgingly and at the last minute. But all of it seemed like a record playing at the wrong speed, a warped reminder of a past that never stopped playing over and over in her memory. So Tessie was grateful that Victoria and Reggie had decided to hold their big opening bash on Christmas Eve. A lot of people in town thought it was selfish, even a little high-minded. But it didn’t keep any of them from showing up at seven P.M. when Victoria, splendid for this night in her white tight pants with a melon stripe down each leg and a matching melon-colored vest, threw open the shiny double doors and shouted to the waiting crowd “The Orange Blossom Special is open for business. Y’all step aboard for the ride of a lifetime.”

  Klieg lights blazed through the night skies beckoning everyone to the party. There was a band that included a kazoo, two fiddles, and a banjo, and it serenaded the crowd all night long. There were pretty girls dressed in short white skirts with melon-colored vests serving platters of crab cakes, thick pink slices of steak, and little black squares of bread with dots of sour cream and caviar. Of course the liquor, all of it free, was everywhere. In the background, the sound of a chugging train played nonstop punctuated occasionally by a tooting whistle. At midnight, everyone was told to step into the street for a special surprise. Fireworks cracked open the sky. The smell of sulfur and champagne
filled the air. People clapped and shouted out drunken accolades: “Holy Toledo!” or “What in the Sam Hill was that?” It was the kind of party that made people feel as if they were having a good time, even if they weren’t. Before they left, all the guests got gifts: cloisonné pins with the Orange Blossom Special diesel and the logo beneath it.

  Turned out that Eddie was more of a party cat than anyone imagined. He spent most of the evening calmly snuggled in the pouch that Dinah had fashioned for him with his head buried under her arm. Only once, when the photographer from the Gainesville Sun came around and said to Dinah, “Who’s the little guy?” did Eddie poke his head out and look up for a picture.

  The next day, under a photo of a smiling Dinah holding a solemn Eddie staring right into the photographer’s lens, there was a caption in large boldface type that said: “Is There Anyone in Gainesville Who WASN’T at the Orange Blossom Special Last Night? (see story, page 3). Dinah Lockhart on board with pal Eddie.” In the article, Victoria was quoted as saying, “It’s about time that Gainesville entered the Sixties. Keep your eyes on Landy, Bowman, and Sykes. You haven’t seen anything yet.” Frank Bowman told the paper that in all modesty, he thought that the Orange Blossom Special was his greatest masterpiece to date. Phil Ryan, owner of Ryan’s Bar and Grill, called the whole extravaganza a tasteless farce. “It was like a circus, for Pete’s sake,” he said. “Whatever happened to plain old elbow grease and hard work?”

  Ella clipped the story and the picture from the paper and sent it to Charlie.

  Your mother, bless her heart, is very happy. I believe that she and Reggie will be very successful with the saloon. It was a sight to see last night, Reggie talking and smiling at everyone he met. He is the toast of the town. I thought you’d like this article and picture of Dinah and her cat. She is such a pretty girl. Her eyes are sad. I pray for you every day. Your friend, Ella Sykes.