All the Single Ladies

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Great choice!” I said. “I love that place.”

  Coda del Pesce was a very popular oceanfront Italian seafood restaurant on the Isle of Palms that had opened about two years ago. The food was delicious and fairly priced. I’d been there once and I loved it. Better yet, it was close to Suzanne’s house, which made the evening’s full agenda more efficient.

  Soon we were seated at a table. The restaurant was full but still we somehow managed to land at a table by the windows. We ordered wine and were perusing our menus.

  Suzanne said, “Now listen, y’all. Before Carrie tells us the secret to finding true love, I talked to Miss Trudie and she wants Lisa to stay with us.”

  “What? Wonderful!” Carrie said. “What happened?”

  “Long story,” I said. “Suzanne, I can’t impose on you like that!”

  “No arguments!” Suzanne said. “Here’s why it’s a good idea. Pickle won’t have to be alone when you’re at work. It doesn’t have to be forever, of course. And you can help me keep an eye on Miss Trudie because I know that she’s . . .”

  “Getting frail,” Carrie said. “It just breaks my heart, y’all. It truly does.”

  The waiter put our glasses of wine in front of us.

  “Thanks,” Suzanne said. “So, Lisa? What do you say?”

  “Oh Lord,” I said. “Well, it’s unbelievably nice of you, so okay, thank you. Just until I find something. Ugh. After supper I have to get my things.”

  “Is anybody going to tell me what happened?” Carrie said.

  I regurgitated the awful story of Debbie with the fat lip, and Carrie was visibly disturbed because the story hit too close to home.

  “You see? This is what can happen to women like us! This is just like what John’s kids did to me. One day I’m a bride, marrying millions, and that afternoon, I’m a broke widow.”

  “Because we don’t have enough security,” I said.

  “Humph. We don’t have any. I’d like to yank Debbie’s hair right out of her head,” Suzanne said. “I don’t understand why ­people just can’t be nicer to each other. What’s the matter with a little personal consideration?”

  “Gosh, is that ever the truth. Listen, Lisa, we can help you get your things,” Carrie said. “Moving is my specialty!”

  We started to laugh.

  “And so you know?” Suzanne said. “Moving you in was Miss Trudie’s idea. Don’t let me forget to bring her an order of fried calamari. She’ll have my head.”

  “Thank you and here’s to Miss Trudie, who saved the day!” I said.

  We raised our glasses and clinked the edges.

  “She’s a helluva girl,” Carrie said.

  “Yes, she surely is!” I said in agreement. “So, Carrie? What’s the secret to love?”

  Carrie’s eyes began to sparkle. She took a deep sip of her wine and leaned in across the table to be sure we could hear her.

  “Okay, y’all. Did you ever hear of a guy named Arthur Aron?”

  We shook our heads.

  “Well, he’s a famous psychologist up in New York City.”

  Suzanne and I shook our heads again.

  “Okay, so about twenty years ago he devised this experiment where two ­people who never met each other got together in a lab. They asked each other a series of questions that took a ­couple of hours to answer and then they stared in each other’s eyes for like four or five minutes. It’s called gazing. Anyway, six months later they tied the knot!”

  “No!” I said. “No way!”

  “Yes, they did! I’m not kidding!”

  “That is unbelievable. I heard you talking about this earlier today but I was too busy to really pay attention,” Suzanne said.

  “I know,” Carrie said, pretending to be miffed.

  Suzanne leaned in then. “Not that I want to fall in love with anyone, but what kind of questions are they?”

  “See? I knew y’all would want to know. Well, they start out with really basic things, like, if you could have dinner with anyone in the world, who would it be? Then they get deeper and more personal as they go along. Y’all, there are only thirty-­six questions. We are only thirty-­six questions away from the possibility of everlasting love.”

  “It’s got to be based on some premise, like if ­people really talked to each other they’d be closer. Do you have a copy of these questions?” I asked.

  “You know I do. I made a copy for y’all.” She leaned down to her purse and pulled out some papers. “It’s how I fell in love with Michael John Kelly. And you know what?”

  “What?” Suzanne and I said.

  “He’s in love with me,” Carrie declared. She sat back in her chair and looked at us, smiling. “Y’all? These questions are a daggum gold mine!”

  Suzanne looked at me. “Go through them with Paul and let’s see what happens! I dare you!”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to hear his answers. Or mine.”

  “Who’s Paul?” Carrie asked.

  “Remember back at the house I told you I met someone too?” I said.

  “Oh my goodness, you surely did! And here I am running my mouth about me! I’ve got the me-­me’s tonight. I’m so sorry!”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said, and thought, okay, she’s a little self absorbed sometimes but she had taken a recent beating from her ex-­stepchildren and buried three husbands so who could blame her?

  I looked at the list of questions again. They seemed so innocuous.

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Suzanne said to me. “You’ll fall in love with a successful architect and be happy for the rest of your life? Besides, I’m telling you, when Miss Trudie goes to that big gin joint in the sky? We’re all on the street!”

  “You keep saying that and I hope you’re wrong,” Carrie said.

  Suzanne was right. I had nothing to lose. I was going to give it a whirl.

  “So who is Paul?” Carrie said again.

  “The tree hugger,” Suzanne said. “The guy Kathy used to date.”

  “There’s more to him than meets the eye,” I said.

  “Hell, honey, Suzanne and I want the best for you just like we do for each other. Ask him the questions and you’ll find out more about him in one night than you would in a year. I’m not kidding.”

  “I just might do it,” I said. “But I don’t believe I need a man to survive, do y’all?”

  “Obviously not,” Suzanne said.

  “I sort of do but I wish I didn’t,” Carrie said. “Who can live on a schoolteacher’s salary in the south?”

  “Anyway, after dinner we can all go to your house with all our own cars and load them up,” Suzanne said. “Do you think we need more than one trip?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I hope not. The less time I have to spend with that woman the better.”

  An hour later we were leaving my old house, our trunks and backseats loaded to the hilt. Carrie stopped in the driveway.

  “You know what?” she said.

  I threw another two armloads of hanging clothes in the back of my car and closed it.

  “What?” I said.

  Suzanne walked back to Carrie’s car after she closed her trunk at the same time I did.

  Carrie lowered her voice. “Listen, we might not have it so great, but that poor thing? Lord help her. She’s a mess.”

  She was referring to Debbie, who was sitting on the sofa drinking cheap beer and eating a bag of bacon rinds while she watched some terrible reality show about fat ­people.

  “No, she’s pitiful,” Suzanne said. “We are way better off than she is.”

  By ten thirty that night the move was complete. I was to occupy the extra bedroom on the first floor that apparently doubled as a storage room. The air inside was still and slightly musty. I didn’t care. We o
pened the windows and pulled the chain on the overhead fan. In minutes, salted night breezes filled the room. Every trace of stale air was a thing of the past.

  “Sorry about this little mountain,” Suzanne said, referring to the dozen or so cardboard boxes that held the last of Kathy Harper’s possessions. “I just haven’t had the time to sift through it all.”

  “Well, you do have a business to run,” I said.

  “Yeah, there is that,” she said. “You’ll have to share a bathroom with Carrie. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Gosh, I don’t mind that at all,” I said.

  “I’m cleaning out half of the medicine cabinet!” Carrie called from across the hall.

  “Thanks!” I called back.

  “Can I get you anything?” Suzanne said. “Towels? Sheets?”

  “No, believe it or not, I have sheets and towels. Good thing I did the wash this morning.”

  “Sorry the bed’s not queen-­sized. It’s ancient but it was my mother’s bed. We have a hard time giving up anything that was hers. In those days ­people had full-­sized mattresses, if they even slept in the same bed. Remember watching I Love Lucy?”

  “Twin beds. Yeah, I remember. The censors thought it was immoral for married ­people to be seen sleeping together on television,” I said, and hung some clothes in the closet.

  “Well, that sure didn’t bother Hollywood movie makers. Remember From Here to Eternity with Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster? That scene on the beach? That must’ve driven the censors crazy. I mean, for its time, it was practically porn!”

  “Oh gosh! I remember that! Must’ve been different censors. Yeah, it was pretty sexy. You know, Suzanne, I can go through some of this stuff if you’d like. It would be awfully nice to solve the riddle of Kathy’s landlady, wouldn’t it?”

  “Be my guest,” she said. “I’ve got three weddings this weekend and two next week.”

  “Let’s see what I can find,” I said.

  Carrie came in and said, “Y’all, I keep thinking about that poor woman. Lisa, I’m so glad you’re out of there. She’s a complete train wreck.”

  “She needs to wash her hair,” Suzanne said. “She must have had to escape something terrible.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” I said. “I hate drama.”

  We all said good night to each other. Pickle wandered in and got hugs and scratches from everyone. She hopped in her bed on the floor next to the dresser and curled up in a ball. The last two things I remember thinking about before I fell asleep were that my bad luck must have turned around because, even if it was temporary, I was falling asleep listening to the sounds of the ocean. And I wondered if the questions truly worked, did I want them to work on Paul Gleicher?

  The morning came with strong sun streaming in through the windows and the chirps and chatters of hundreds of tiny birds in the live-­oak tree right outside my room. It was all new music. I smelled coffee and bacon. Suddenly I was ravenous. After the fastest shower on record, I dressed and followed my nose.

  Everyone was in the kitchen, including my dog.

  “Morning! Pickle’s already been out,” Carrie said.

  “Thanks! Good morning!” I said, and poured myself a cup of coffee.

  Miss Trudie was scrambling eggs and stirring a pot of grits. Carrie was buttering toast. Suzanne was setting the table. Crispy bacon strips were piled high on paper towels. It was only seven o’clock and the house was already jumping.

  “Good morning,” they all said.

  We peppered each other with the usual polite questions of how did you sleep and how are you feeling this fine day. Everyone seemed to have a plan. It was Saturday. Suzanne and Carrie had to dash off to work early because of the weddings. I was excited to call Paul and tell him where I was staying. I had promised to go search for ADA-­compliant fixtures. Miss Trudie was going to dog-­sit.

  Miss Trudie spooned the creamy grits into a serving bowl, dropped in a slice of butter, and covered the bowl with its lid. Suzanne arranged the steaming scrambled eggs in the center of a platter and surrounded it with bacon. Carrie put all the buttered toast in a linen napkin that lined a sweet-­grass basket. Pickle was nearly delirious from the food perfume. I filled her water bowl and fed her. She danced and danced until the bowl was put down on the floor.

  “Lord love a duck!” Miss Trudie said, watching Pickle inhale her food. “She is too cute!”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I think she knows it.”

  We sat down to eat.

  “Now that I have a little charge to see about, my life has new purpose!” Miss Trudie said. “Will you please pass the jam, dear?”

  She nodded toward the elaborate cut-­crystal jar. A small sterling-­silver spoon protruded through an open notch in its lid. I passed it to her wondering if they ate like this every morning. It was just breakfast around an old kitchen table in a timeworn beach house, but it was genteel and unpretentious at the same time. I felt perfectly at home.

  “It’s so pretty,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It was a wedding gift from a million years ago.”

  “It’s so civilized to use a jam jar on the breakfast table, isn’t it?” Carrie said. “Hardly anyone does this anymore.”

  “Because the world is no longer civilized,” Miss Trudie said.

  “It’s true,” Suzanne said. “Most ­people wouldn’t know a jam jar if it jumped out of the bushes and bit them on the nose.”

  “Maybe I’ll make biscuits tomorrow,” Miss Trudie said. “After all, Sunday meals should have a little something extra, don’t you think so, Lisa?”

  “Miss Trudie, until this morning, my idea of a great breakfast was something out of my juicer, like a carrot and celery juice. For a really over-­the-­top, fabulous breakfast, I’d throw a little piece of ginger in the juicer along with the other stuff. This is like Christmas morning!”

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day for me,” Suzanne said. “I’m usually too busy to eat lunch and eating at night makes me gain weight.”

  “That’s why we really chow down in the morning,” Carrie said.

  “Did you bring your juicer with you?” Miss Trudie asked. “I’ve never had a drink of carrots and vegetables except from a can of V8.”

  “It’s still in my car but I’ll bring it in. I’ll make you some tomorrow morning,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I made a note to pick up tons of things that could go in the juicer. Maybe lots of healthy juice would help Miss Trudie regain some strength. It always made me feel reenergized.

  “Let me do the dishes,” I said. “I’ll see y’all tonight at some point.”

  “Would you really?” Suzanne said. “I’m starting to have a panic attack about being on time for the first wedding.”

  “Stop worrying!” Carrie said. “It’s all set up! Besides, we’ve got four extra girls coming to help us. We’ll be fine. But let’s get going.”

  “Go! Go! Y’all have a great day!” I said.

  I began to clear the table and run the hot water. Miss Trudie got up to leave the room. I understood then that they all liked to cook but they didn’t like to clean. Neither did I, but someone had to do it. And I was better at cleaning than cooking anyway. It was a very fair trade.

  “Thank you for breakfast, Miss Trudie. It was really wonderful.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t throw out the grits. I’ll make Geechie french fries with them tomorrow. Just spread them in a brownie pan, okay?”

  “Where’s a brownie pan?” I said.

  She told me where to look. Pickle padded out of the room right behind her and I scoured all the pots and pans. It felt good to be in a bright, sunny kitchen. For the first time in I didn’t even know how long, I felt calm.

  Then Marianne crossed my mind. My relationship with her was the most t
roubling thing on my heart.

  If only she would come around and see the immorality of what she was doing. She wouldn’t even take my phone calls. Maybe I should call Mark and tell him that she wouldn’t speak to me. Mark was a mule but he understood parental respect. Even though he hadn’t done much to help me in all those years, he was grateful for my sacrifices and told me so on the rare occasion that we spoke. I couldn’t decide. It didn’t feel right to pick up the phone and call him. Not then and not about this. Not yet.

  As soon as I was satisfied with the state of the kitchen, I called Paul.

  “Hey! I’m staying with some friends on the Isle of Palms until I can find something else,” I told him.

  “Great! So, where are you? The address, I mean.”

  I told him and he said, “I’ll pick you up around six?”

  “That sounds great,” I said. “Where are we going? You know, I have to figure out what to wear.”

  “Well, actually, I was planning to cook for us, if that’s okay with you.”

  “I think that sounds fabulous. What are you going to make?”

  “Spaghetti. I make killer spaghetti, if I say so myself.” I could feel the laughter in his voice.

  “Well then, if we’re going to your place, why don’t I just drive myself there?”

  “Because the gentleman comes calling for the lady. At least that’s what my momma always said.”

  “Is your momma gonna be there to chaperone?” I giggled.

  “No, unfortunately, she’ll be watching us from heaven. Don’t worry. I promise not to try any funny business.”

  “Then maybe I don’t want to come over and eat spaghetti,” I said. What the hell was I saying? Since when was I so flirtatious?

  There was a lengthy pause.

  “Oh, come on, Paul! I’m just messing with you!”

  “Um . . .” he said. “This is going to be fun.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  I told Miss Trudie I was going to the store and asked her if she needed anything.

  “Yes!” she said. “I need shoes and clothes. Remember?”

  “Of course. Well, would you like to come shopping with me?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m ninety-­nine years old, for heaven’s sake. I don’t need to be shuffling around a shopping mall bumping into ­people and their nasty germs! Besides, Pickle and I are watching a Snoopy movie at ten this morning. I already promised her.”