by Judy Fischer
“Good night, you two. Sleep well. We’ll talk some more another time,” Irma said.
We walked back to our guest house and like all the other nights, we showered, changed, kissed and then went to our own separate beds to sleep.
I set my alarm to six in the morning to wake up almost earlier than the sun. I tried to be quiet as not to wake or disturb René’s sleep. There was no reason why he had to get up as early as me. Irma and I had planned to start the day’s dinner early in the day, so we could give a proper orientation to the family who was to be arriving at some point during the day; the exact time had not been predesignated.
I snuck over to the main house without even distracting or disturbing the birds who were doing their first feeding of the day down on the beach, feasting on the abundant banquet the sea supplied daily for them.
Irma was already in the kitchen with two cups of coffee in front of her on the counter, waiting for my arrival. She had also left Fred in bed to sleep off the previous night’s spirits.
“Good morning, Missy. I hope you slept well. We have a big day ahead of us. Sorry we have enlisted your help so vigorously. By tomorrow, you will have more free time to enjoy the place. I will go over the plans with you and then you can make Fred’s and my life easier with the guests. I believe their intent is to stay for the two weeks as we had prearranged.”
“I really don’t mind the work. I actually prefer it to not having anything to do. René and I did not make any long-term plans. I did, however, upon seeing your beautiful estate, decide I would like to write in my free time. If you have a spare typewriter in the house, I would like to borrow it if you’d let me,” I asked, off hand.
“What would you be writing, Missy?”
“Wow. There are so many ideas in my head but with the multi-sensory stimuli that is provided here, I can write about anything and everything.”
“Have you written before?” She was wondering about my ambitions.
“I used to write poetry and many compositions. But it was always the teachers who gave us the topics. Now, I am free to be as creative as the inspirations allow.”
“Good for you, dear, I hope you will stay with us for a while so that I can read some of your work.”
“If you’ll let us.”
Irma got up to go to make another pot of coffee, knowing the two men would need some immediately after waking. The caffeine was a must to manage the after-effects of the beers they guzzled down the night before.
"Did you have a chance to reflect on our conversation of last night, Missy?
"I did. I don’t quite understand your stance, I do, however, recognize that my relationship with René is far from great. Right now, I will be satisfied for a mere friendship. That is all what we have been able to achieve until now. I am still very young and inexperienced when it comes to love and men. I love René and I know he loves me too. Maybe the trouble is we can’t shape the form of the love we give to each other.
“I told you last night we have had a strange kind of connection but what I didn’t mention was that René was living on the streets of Montreal when we first met. I loved him from the very first moment and it took me a while to make him trust me. Out of that trust, he started to show me too, he loved me.”
“Quite a story, Missy. You know, I have a friend, Father Williams. He is the pastor at the local church in Hampton. I’ve known him for most of my life. We went to school together. He is very judicious and sensitive to emotional struggles and conditions of the heart. He counsels many people in these areas and has helped many to deal with their own demons. If you ever feel like talking to a spiritual stranger with many credentials, I can arrange a meeting with him for you. He can even have a man to man with René if it’s something René wants.”
“René does need help of some sort, some form of counselling, I guess. His parents and sister died in a tragic turn of events, forcing him onto the streets three years ago. I don’t think he has ever talked about it to anyone but me.”
“Now it makes more sense, Missy. That poor boy. I can’t even dare to imagine what he had gone through in his young life until he met you. You see, I was right. You are his saviour and his mother. It is you who has given him a new life. He loves you like that, Missy. I’m sorry but a romantic love cannot come from gratitude. I think you will need to talk with someone who is better qualified to give you guidance.”
“Thank you, Irma. You have been a great help,” I said. I had tears in my eyes upon hearing René was never going to love me like I wanted him to.
“Maybe when your guests have left, we will have more time and then perhaps I would like to meet Father Williams. Would that work, do you think?”
“I sure do, sweetheart, now, let’s get cooking,” Irma said taking my hand.
She led me into the kitchen, where we started to peel potatoes, wash vegetables and marinate a few roasts of pork. There was so much to do in our final stretch before the arrival of the lodgers.
Fred appeared at the door to the kitchen with René right behind him. Irma shoved the mugs of coffee and a plate of toast into their hands and shooed them out to the porch.
“Go, we need the space and quiet.” They left without daring to make any comments or smart remarks. Fred knew his wife well, there was no use in bickering with her when she had chores to do.
Fred and René sat under a huge sun umbrella that protected the table on the balcony and those who sat there from the rays of the sun, which was at its brightest just before noon. They both looked as if the building of the fire pit and the beers had a toll on their mood that morning. The beers had helped them to be creative, but their after-effect was brutal. The headaches and the sour breath were sure signs and they hid them well.
“Those pints sure crawled into my head and bashed my brain about, how about you?” Fred looked at René with a slightly confused look on his face.
“I didn’t drink as much, Fred, but yes, I did sleep well and long.”
Fred fidgeted with a piece of toast and took a few gulps of his coffee and in-between bites, he almost said something but then stopped. After a few more swigs on his coffee, however, he finally got up the guts to ask his long-awaited question.
“I don’t want to pry but what is the deal with you and your girl?” Fred looked at René and turned his head to look him straight into his eyes.
“Missy means everything to me,” René said without hesitation.
“My mother means everything to me, René, what the hell are you saying?”
“I love her, dearly,” René tried again.
“That is not an answer, son. Do you love her like a woman?”
“I have tried but it isn’t what she wants,” René hung his head low.
“What do you mean by that? Has she told you to keep your hands off?”
“No, but I don’t know how to make my approach. We’ve been through so much together, I really don’t know where we stand in the romance department.”
“Okay. Son, we’ll talk later. I’ll have to think about this when I’m more alert. I can’t handle a serious situation as yours in the middle of a hangover. So, let’s walk. Come on René, let’s walk around and recheck everything before the company arrives.”
They took their breakfast dishes back into the kitchen and then slithered out through the front door to make their rounds.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, on November 24th, 1979, the Roberts family arrived in a RV packed with all their household belongings, a dog and a cat.
Fred and Irma went out to greet them and to guide their massive vehicle into the large parking lot that stretched out, covering the whole grounds in front of the three houses on their estate. René and I had stayed in the main house; me in the kitchen and he in the den. I was doing the final touches to the dinner and René was building a fire in the fireplace. The main house had an enormous wood fireplace and as the evenings had become cooler than normal in the last few days, Fred wanted the warmth of the fire to heat up the dining area.
There was a dining room table in the main dining hall large enough for 12 people. We had joined forces before the arrival of our guests to set and decorate it. Lavishly. First impressions were imperative.
I was allocated the job of serving the dinner and René was chosen to help me. We were told we could have our dinner before or after the rest of them.
Irma told me before dinner, she would be introducing René and me as some friends who voluntarily stayed to help. I appreciated her choice of words to explain our role, she could have chosen a more demeaning description of our function. No matter what, I really couldn’t complain. Fred and Irma treated René and me as family from the day when we first arrived.
We had barely enough time to run home, shower and return in proper attire for 6:30, when dinner was to be served up.
Almost to the minute, the Roberts family filed into the main house in a single file, led by Mr. David Roberts, who appeared to be a man in his late 40s. Mrs. Sheila Roberts was a pretty woman, lean and tall, with shoulder-length blonde hair. A young man in his early 20s was introduced as Bob and his somewhat younger brother as Michael. The youngest sibling, a girl, was called Sally. They looked as an average, very suburban, upper-middle class family.
When everyone had found their seat, Irma called on René and me to appear from the kitchen, and as she had said she would, she introduced us.
“This is Missy and René, her friend. They have come to help me to make your stay here wonderful and a memorable one. They are two of my favourite people. Please accept them as part of my family,” Irma said. I listened with tender emotions stirring in my heart. She had this genuine way of making a person feel special and loved. Although René and I were strangers, we felt like Andersons.
Irma came into the kitchen with us and helped us to hand out the first course, a Caesar salad. Fred served the wine to all the adults and a root beer to Sally. The course of the evening went off without a hitch, everyone loved their meal and thanked the hosts for their wonderful first meal of their vacation.
I overheard Fred tell them about the rules of the property. There were not too many, René and I had already been given the same ones soon after our first night.
The main rule was simple and obvious: nature had to be respected. They were given access to the grounds behind and in front of their beach house, including one mile in both directions of the beach. Fred told them about the marina that was two miles by car to the south. There, boat rentals and deep-sea fishing was available for a reasonable price.
In the same way they filed in, they filed out, following Fred’s speech. It was still early in their stay. A certain formality was evident in the way everyone was behaving. Cordiality and no nonsense was the tone set for the first dinner. I saw Fred making the difficult task of holding back his corny jokes. It made me giggle silently.
I stayed to help Irma to load the dishwasher, to put away the leftovers and to have a glass of wine when we were finished. Fred and René went outside to offer their help with unloading the RV and to show them how to operate the different gadgets in their cottage. It so happened, according to René, their cottage had two bedrooms, a much larger living room with a pull-out couch and two separate bathrooms, one with a full bath and the other with a marble shower stall. While Irma and I were about to sit down, René and Fred came back in to join us. Fred had a Pinot Noir set aside for us and with some leftover cheese pieces, we sat outside on the patio and finished the whole bottle within minutes. We chatted about the Roberts family. Without malice, Fred said some nasty comments about certain members. It was the wine, I swear. Fred was a warm soul but easily uprooted by wine. The Pinot Noir turned him from Mr. Hyde in to the ugly Doctor Jekyll. Needless to say, René and I returned to our own quarters soon after and passed out on our beds without taking off our clothes and without saying another word.
Muse
It seems everyone was in need of rest and sleep because the scheduled breakfast at 9am the following morning was ignored by everyone. The only visitor to the vicinity of the kitchen was the family dog, Rufus. He came to sniff around the outside of the back door leading to the storage area near the kitchen. I was on my way there when I spotted him scratching at the door. He was a big, red Irish Setter and I immediately fell in love with him. He came over to me and started to give me wet kisses on my face when I bent down to pat his head and to grab his collar to lead him back to his family.
“Let me help you with him,” someone said behind my back.
I stood up and found Michael, the younger brother, standing behind me.
“Sorry, I was going to bring him back to your cottage. We were just getting acquainted,” I said to him.
“I will take him now. I believe he wants to be fed. We have his food in the RV. Thanks for helping. My name is Michael, by the way, and you are?”
“I’m Melissa, Missy for short, you choose.”
“Missy. I like that. I’ll see you at breakfast?”
“See you soon, Michael.”
I went into the house, where Fred and Irma were already frying bacon, flipping pancakes, pouring orange juice and brewing coffee. I made my apologies for being late and jumped right into the assembly line at the stove. René came in soon after to help Fred set the patio table for the breakfast buffet. Finally, at 10, everyone came to join us for the first buffet-style brunch.
The food was spread out on the kitchen counter on platters and the plates and silverware were placed neatly beside them. The juice and coffee were on the table. Irma was a master of the art of entertaining, she thought of every trick, which, she confessed she had read in Southern Hospitality, an entertaining-at-home book. René and I were asked to join them at the breakfast table and we started to get to know the kids better. Due to the conversations led mainly by David Roberts, the head of their family, too much information was being shared. Every detail about their lives was disclosed proudly and without filter by David and Sheila. They were not too interested in our stories; however, they were more intent in talking about themselves. It was evident from the expressions on Bob and Michael’s faces, they were somewhat annoyed with David’s narcissistic personality. Michael, who was sitting beside me, kicked me gently under the table to indicate his anger toward his father. He made faces too. The only one who seemed to be immune to the topics at the table was Sally. She seemed to rise above them. She wasn’t really paying any attention to them, despite the fact her name was mentioned several times. She was feeding scraps from the table to Rufus who was pestering her from under the table.
As soon as each person finished the meal, they all excused themselves, except for David and Sheila, who lingered on. Finally, Irma and Fed excused themselves with a valid explanation. They had to carry on with their other duties. René and I left as soon as the boys of the family did. We went to clean in the kitchen, to get another cup of coffee and to drink in silence. The Roberts family secrets were still tickling our imaginations.
When David and Sheila found themselves without an audience, they too left.
“I can’t believe that guy. He sure thinks highly of himself,” René said quietly so only I could hear.
“Yes, there are people like him, more than we have met, I’m sure.”
“Are you happy being here, Missy?”
“I’m okay for now. Things will change when these people leave,” I reassured him. I could see he was somewhat overwhelmed by the responsibilities we were given and by the elaborate venue we were in. His surroundings and his environment, until we arrived in Virginia, were so atypical; I was not surprised he felt out of place.
We both had a few hours off after the breakfast shift. Once everything was put away from the breakfast rush, Irma and Fred usually relaxed somewhere on the property. The members of the visiting family went about their own individual activities, while René and I did likewise. Sometimes we went for long walks along the shores, sometimes we went back to our house and did our own personal chores. Those few hours when we were alone were welcomed. The ones on dut
y were very hectic.
I encouraged René to find his own leisure interests. Living on the streets for three years, as difficult as it was, did not give him the opportunity to build a wealth of personal pursuits. Fending for himself was his foremost focus. He did, however, like to read, and there were many books lying around the house, the ones previous guests had left behind. There was a bookshelf in the main house, packed with best-selling paperbacks old and relevant.
From the day when I finally located the typewriter, I started to write and preferred the solitude of some tranquil place where I could concentrate on my own thoughts. During those times, René took his book and either went to the beach or found a quiet spot on one of the many porches around the house. He sat or lay down on a comfy chair to read.
A few days later, when the Roberts family were more relaxed and their new home became familiar, a more normal schedule evolved and we found ourselves better adapted to the routines of our days. I started getting up earlier and going for long jogs along the beach while everyone else was still dreaming. Rufus started to join me to keep me company and to get his morning exercise as well. One morning, I was doing my regular run when I realized there was another set of running shoes making tracks on the sand behind me. When I turned, I saw Michael catching up to me. I acknowledged his presence with a slight nod and we ran together in silence, trying not to disturb the natural flow of our tempo.
Running is not a team sport and we kept it as the individual sport it was meant to be. There was a sandbar stretched out into the ocean at the end of my intended finish line and I had recently enjoyed sitting down on it, facing the ocean and absorbing the gentle rays of the early morning sun.
When I stopped there again I sat down on the cool dry sand. I invited Michael to join me in doing just that. Rufus always brought his favourite ball along. His jaw gripped it and never dropped it until the appropriate time.
We sat there together, Michael and me, throwing the ball into the gentle waves, laughing at Rufus, who had a very interesting way of retrieving it.
