Moon over Madeline Island

by Jay Gilbertson

  “Seems as though we’ve lived a lifetime up here.” I rise up carefully, smoothing my dress. “Has nothing to do with the fact that slave driver here worked me to death to clean this joint!” I jerk my head in Ruby’s direction.

  “Builds character, darling.” Ruby winks at me.

  We pack up the leftover casserole for the boys. It has to leave our fridge. Hug and kiss them like the friends they’ve so quickly become to me and wave them out the door. We stand on the veranda, dressed in gowns from another era and breathe the crispy night air. I’m thinking that all of life leads us to just the right place at the most perfect moment.

  We wander back into the living room and sit down on the sofa. In a sleepy daze we watch the last of the fire burn down to glowing red embers. It pulses as though breathing; the whispering sounds slowly disappear.

  “Such a weekend! So many things to consider!” Ruby says. “And you know, love? We are only building up steam for…well…something.”

  “Something,” I reply, agreeing with her. I haven’t strayed from my salon life ever, yet thoughts of letting it go are feeling more and more right.

  “I remember the day we met. You didn’t have a single client on your books. I stole a peek,” Ruby admits and I smile. “So…after you made me look so heavenly, I went and got us some lunch from Mona Lisa’s. You were quite surprised. It was worth it just to see your expression.” She sighs.

  “You’ve been so good to me. I wish you could’ve met my folks, they would have gotten such a kick out of you,” I say for the hundredth time. Some things you need to say over and over.

  “Let’s go out and bid goodnight to the moon. Shall we?”

  “I have a better idea. Grab a couple of coats off the back door and meet me out front.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Ruby darling…do as you’re told!”

  I blow around the corner of the cottage in the duck, stop to pick up Ruby, who’s standing on the stoop in the glare of the headlights with her thumb up for a ride, and down into the moonlit lake we splash. The stereo is blasting Billie Holiday singing “God Bless the Child” and we’re singing along. I couldn’t imagine it getting any better.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning I wake early, throw on my robe and head downstairs for a coffee fix. For some reason I’m rushing, so I catch myself halfway down the stairs and slow my movements, trying to notice everything for future reference.

  “Hello Rocky. I wondered where you ran off to last night,” I say as I walk into the kitchen. I pet his purring head and give him fresh water. Filling my mug full of java, a cat mug of course, I head to the dock. The day is beginning to take shape and it’s leaning toward the cloudy side. When the sun peeks out, it’s like a burst of color that quickly slinks behind bruised-looking lavender clouds.

  Sitting down at the end of the dock, I slip out of my furry slippers and dip my feet into the cold water, which sends a wake-up shock from my painted toes straight to my heart. Nice way to get it pumping and my mind thinking and freezing my ass off all at the same time!

  So much has happened. I’m feeling odd inside. This morning the cracked, chipped mirror in my bathroom upstairs reflected a different me. I look, well I can’t seem to put my finger on it, but there’s a change somewhere.

  I’ve read, in one of my many read-this-and-be-a-better-person books, that when you grow or try new things, that in turn can lead you to think new things. Which in turn allows you to do new things. Maybe “allows,” is a silly word; it’s more like you just have to or you’ll burst.

  I’m changing and it’s so nice. I’d actually like to seriously consider a life on Madeline Island. How’s that for being steadfast and true? Like saying, I’d love to do this or that, maybe, possibly, I’ll let you know. I’m ready to move, not really away from, though; it feels more like to.

  This new ritual of putting my feet in the water seems to clarify my thoughts. Sometimes I can get to thinking and doing about a zillion things all at once. Makes even me crazy. Something as simple as being connected to the water brings my internal rhythm down a notch or two.

  I hear the familiar clatter of dishes inside the cottage and realize it’s time to say good-bye to the lake. I’ll settle for “see you later.” Rising slowly, stretching up toward the sky, I slip my wet feet into my Pooh slippers. I dash up the dock and through the screened porch door, which slaps behind me. Stopping on the veranda, I turn and give the door a swing to hear that wonderful porch-door-slam noise again.

  We close up the cottage, roll all the shades down around the porch and then give every door and window a final check. After all the window-latching and door-pulling, we light up and sit down on the back-porch stoop for a good smoke.

  My Levi’s are turned up, showing off my flower-covered sandals. My hair is a mass of curls, knotted in back. I push up my nose, raising the Jackie O sunglasses that eventually slide back down. Ruby is in a long summer dress, her wrists loaded with bracelets. She reaches up to adjust leopard sunglasses, her green earrings glittering in the sunshine.

  We both took our sweet time getting ready, neither one of us wanting to go. So here we sit with the van all packed. Rocky’s asleep in the front seat surrounded by coffee-stained maps, lipsticks, an empty cooler and my music. Even the toenails are done. I look down and wiggle a few.

  “I guess we should hit the road—huh?” I make a smoke ring that catches in the wind, then disappears.

  “The sooner we do, the sooner we’ll be back, I should think,” Ruby adds with the gusto I need.

  “Do you feel anything weird? Or is it just me?”

  “I feel wonderful, actually,” Ruby says as smoke puffs out her nose. “Just wonderful.”

  “Me too, I guess. The weird feeling is actually the newness of finding all this here,” I say, opening my arms wide. “But I think we smoke too much and if we intend to live this cottage-by-the-lake life of God only knows what, well…maybe we should try to quit.”

  “I’ve smoked on and off for the last hundred years and I honestly can’t imagine quitting,” Ruby stammers uncertainly. “It is rather expensive though.”

  “Not to mention the smell. How about we quit?” I stand up, fling my cigarette butt to the ground and grind it out with my chunk heel. Hands on hips. Knowing full well Ruby loves a challenge.

  “I have so few bad habits left, darling, I just don’t know.” Ruby looks her burning cigarette over skeptically. “I think I need one horrid, icky habit—just one.”

  “If I’m quitting, you are too and that’s that.” My painted fingernails drumming on hips now.

  “Well…I could find some other terrible habit. I mean, if you’re going to put it that way.” Ruby drops her cigarette and stamps it out with the dainty point of her designer sandal.

  We hop in the van, pull the doors shut and off we chug. The van slips through the trees, down and around and back through the way we came, all to the sounds of Connie Evingson singing “Fever.” Snapping along to the beat, we ease through the gate, lock it behind us and head off to the ferry-boat landing. Not looking back once.

  In line ahead of us, waiting in designer fashions, are Fat Kid and Lipstick. This time he’s munching his way through a bag of potato chips while sipping soda out of a huge straw. She’s delicately worrying an apple, taking small, feeble nibbles so as to maintain her perfectly applied lips. I look over at Ruby and we bust out laughing.

  We’ve been driving for about an hour, smooth and easy. Rocky is still asleep in his basket. I’m sure he’s dreaming of all the creatures he munched, crunched, chased and then dragged into the kitchen to present as gifts.

  Right outside the city limits of Rice Lake, I turn to Ruby. “About this smoking thing…the quitting part, I mean.”

  “Let’s start stopping smoking…”

  “Next week!” We both say in a burst of energy that makes us laugh.

  Before you can say “Eau Claire, Wisconsin,” both of us are taking deep cancerous puffs while roll
ing down the windows. Chris Isaak croons over the speakers, “Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing.” I know that smoking is bad, but hell—it’s not that bad. Is it?

  “So…what’s the plan?” Ruby asks, smoke slipping out her nose.

  “Feels weird huh?” I say and Ruby nods. “Like we’ve been gone for weeks.”

  “You know, I haven’t felt this sure in the longest time. It’s really very simple. Moving…starting over, but at my age it’s usually to a nice assisted-living apartment.”

  “For God’s sake, you’re not that old.”

  “So true, so very true.” She hands me a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup all unwrapped, then pops one in her mouth too. With goo sticking to her gums, she admits, “These are really very tasty. I’ve never been partial to chocolate with peanut butter, but I see the appeal.”

  I nod and smile. “Are you really going to sell your house? I mean, you could rent or—”

  “Oh I suppose I could.” She opens another Reese’s. “But really, I’m not the landlady type.”

  “Me either. It’s really the best time to move on, while the iron’s hot, so to speak. My business is great, clients are wonderful but I click into autopilot and drift through the days. Must explain why so often lately I haven’t the foggiest idea what day it is. I hadn’t realized it until I got away from it. You know what I mean?”

  “Do I,” Ruby says with vigor. “When you’ve mastered a thing, eventually it becomes second nature and you stop being there. I certainly know what that feels like. I felt that daze when Ed died. I knew how to be ‘Ed and Ruby’ so well, I forgot who I was.”

  “I would love to not be in a business that has my varicose veins under pressure, not to mention those chemicals.”

  “Let’s unhook,” Ruby says slowly. “Sell out and pack up as soon as possible. Why not?”

  “I don’t know…. I haven’t any loose ends, I guess,” I say, thinking. “Maybe Watts would consider managing the salon. Or Dorothy. No, she’s not the salon-manager type. Then again, neither is Watts, but I’d love to help her out. Dorothy’s got a husband and all those kids to feed and fuss over, but Watts—I know she could use the extra money, but more importantly, this will give her some responsibility, the boost into being independent. I’d really like her to have that.”

  “How that Watts dresses, all those torn clothes, but I must say, she’s a feisty one—and you need that to run a salon.”

  “I love how she dresses; it’s her style. Besides, I’ve been saving since junior high school. I do have an IRA and a little money invested, thanks to that handsome man at Bank One. Damn, it’s sick how much it takes to live. How much is enough?”

  “Money. You know, it seems to mean more to people all the time. “More” certainly is the word of the hour, week…whatever. But as far as my money goes”—Ruby pats my arm—“I have a little savings, the house and cottage both paid for, but—I’m not actually dripping with cash; I only dress that way. Having all this class is such a burden at times.”

  “You smell something? Really though, what better motivation for finding some sort of income source than food, cigarettes and property taxes? We’ll simply have to…rob a bank.”

  “Even though Ed’s grandfather ran a successful trucking company and left his only son—Ed’s father—well taken care of, he was a big spender. Very showy, lots of fancy parties and such. So by the time it got to Ed, there wasn’t a whole lot left.”

  “Oh man—I want this to work, but we’d have to make some dough, ya know?”

  “Enough to cover the basics. Besides, I can’t imagine a little thing like money stopping the likes of us.”

  “You know, we’re just crazy enough…”

  “Certifiable…I hear you chatting it up with your clients. Chucking about all those encouraging adjectives like candy. Isn’t it about time you did some just-do-it, sisters? Hmmm?”

  I smile and nod—busted by the Brit. Again.

  I’ve dropped off Ruby at her place and am back upstairs sitting in my apartment, sipping a mug of Sleepy Time tea and thinking, while Rocky purrs in my lap. Looking around, I wonder if I’ll miss it here. I will. I won’t.

  Odd how small it feels. Closed in, and there’s not much of a view from any of my windows either. Unless you call looking at an alley or on to a busy street a view. Funny, I used to love these views. Now I’m wondering where the hell the trees are.

  It’s weird how quickly I fell into the magic of the cottage, the oldness of it, the lake, and of course, the dock. The sky up north seems so much bigger too—more vast and endless. Even in Eau Claire you can’t see nearly that many stars at night.

  I can’t imagine slipping back into the person I was just last Friday. I try to see myself not moving up to Madeline Island and there’s nothing. Besides, I’d always wonder what my life would have been like there. Here, I’m pretty sure it would meander on—nothing wrong with that. Oh hell, it sounds awful. “My life meandered on and so did I.” End of story. Yuck.

  I’ve missed out on not being closer to nature, too. I’d rather hear the call of a loon or be able to knock around in the woods. Take a moonlit boat ride or ice-skate right out the front door. Share wine and thoughts with the familiar glow of a smoke on the end of that wonderful dock.

  I put Rocky on my shoulder and go downstairs to my salon. It’s dark and the air is heavy with smells of hair spray and coffee. My old home. I put on Irene Kral. She softly sings, “It’s a Wonderful World.” I sit down at my station and ponder my reflection. I smile back and really see myself. I am pretty. Oh not your normal pretty, but I have a certain beauty. I do.

  I spin around and look at all the memories, hear the insanity of a typical hectic day here. I picture myself helping clients relax, laugh, share their lives—dare to change their lives—and now it’s my turn.

  I feel complete with my decision and sure now of how to proceed. I’m done with this; I no longer fit here. I’m ready. Besides, if I don’t make this change, Eau Claire will always haunt me in a way that I hadn’t wanted to realize. I think I’ve always held it in the back of my mind that Amy would come looking for me and so I couldn’t move—in case. But she never did. I take one more glance around, looking through different eyes. With Rocky at my heels, I head back upstairs to make a few phone calls, take a nice hot shower, a nibble, a book and head to my comfy bed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Good morning, Watts,” I practically sing. “I hope Dorothy’s not far behind you, I’m wanting to have a little chat with both of you. ’Course, Dorothy is always late, so—”

  “What did you and Ruby do up there, anyway?” Watts asks while tossing her bags into the break room. “You look…different. You change your hair color? No…it’s not that. Lost weight?”

  I wave off that one. “Thank you, for noticing something, anyway. To be honest, I do feel different. I’ve so much going on in my head right now, and I—”

  “Whatever it is, I sure would like some.” Watts moves her eyebrows up and down.

  “Let’s grab some coffee and go sit out back for a minute.”

  We fill our favorite mugs and head through the back door to sit on the patio furniture in the alley. I feel like a visitor here now and that seems okay.

  Rocky jumps into my lap, right on cue, to give me moral support. This is a major event for me and hopefully for Watts, too. I’m more excited than anything. I light up and blow a nice big smoke ring, Watts follows suit. She smokes those horrible clove things. As if my smoke smells nice.

  I study Watts, envying her in a way that catches me for a moment. What would it be like to be so young again. ’Course, I wasn’t ever that young. I’ve always taken things so seriously. Will I come back here in two weeks begging her to hand me back the salon? Have I lost my mind?

  “I’ve never learned how to do that.” Watts pulls me back as a clove cloud sweeps over me. “You getting married or something, Eve? I know! You did that artificial sperm thing.” She grins.

  I take a deep breath, then pl
unge in. “I’d like you to manage the salon; tell that landlord of yours to take a leap—move into my apartment upstairs.” I pull out a simple contract I drew up last night instead of cashing in on some much needed beauty sleep. Watts reads the salary I’m proposing and looks up with enormous, bulging eyes.

  “You’re going to pay me what? Is this some kind of a joke or something? It’s too early for this shit, Eve.” She plants both feet on the ground, about to bolt from crazy me.

  “I’m done doing hair and yes…I want you to manage for me. And since I own the place and if you hire another person…” I’m enjoying this. It is the right thing to do (I think).

  “What will you do? My God Eve, half of Eau Claire comes to you and the other half would die to get in and you’re just handing it over to me?” Watts asks, a bit confused but slowly catching on. “I don’t get it and I think it’s time you started on the medication thing, ’cause honey, you have lost your mind.”

  “Look, Ruby and I are—”

  “You know, if you ask me”—she straightens in her chair—“I think it’s really kind of weird, you hanging around with a woman old enough to be your mother and…well, I worry about you. When is the last time you were laid, for crying out loud? You and her—you’re not girlfriend-girlfriends, are you? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but—”

  “Oh Jesus, Watts, for heaven’s sake. Ruby is my best friend, you know that…I mean, she’s cute, but I only have eyes for Rocky.” I sing the last part. “As far as the last time I was laid…hell, must have been…Never mind.” It’s been that long.

  I wonder if other people wonder about Ruby and me. Who the hell cares? The thought of that scrawny woman naked makes me want to hand her a robe and show her to the kitchen!

  “My God, if I go more than a week…weekend…I can’t imagine. You poor thing, I had no idea. No wonder. Oh, Eve, if you just got out more. You know…I have this friend of mine. He’s not all that much to look at, but I hear he’s a real tiger in the hay and—”