by Keziah Frost
Carlotta, whose head was beginning to ache, said, “You have to understand the spirit of the game, Mabel. Literary Quotes is about literature. You were about to rhyme ‘Jana’ with ‘banana.’ Limericks are not literature, I’m afraid.”
“So, if it’s funny, it can’t be literature?” asked Mabel, who really wanted to know. “Because if that’s the rule, I’m not playing Literary Quotes. Because I like funny things.”
Margaret burst out, “So do I!”
Lorraine said, “We all do! Think of Mark Twain, Carlotta. Think of Oscar Wilde. Even Shakespeare wrote comedies—you know that.”
Carlotta remained firm. “Comedy is one thing. But limericks--.”
“Were popularized by Ogden Nash,” finished Birdie.
Margaret said, “Hold on! I just thought of a poem! Let me say it before I forget!” And Margaret began to recite:
Make new friends, but keep the old;
One is silver and the other, gold.
Carlotta questioned, “Title and author, Margaret?”
Margaret frowned. “Well, I guess it must be called ‘Make New Friends.’ And the author is … Anonymous, I guess.”
“Well, hey,” said Mabel. “If one poem by Anonymous is okay for Literary Quotes, I don’t know why another one isn’t.”
Margaret tried to help Mabel. “You do know that Anonymous wasn’t an actual person, don’t you, Mabel?”
“Wrong!” cried Mabel. “Anonymous was a woman. I read that on a bumper sticker.”
Although Norbert and Lorraine hadn’t had their turns yet, the group unanimously decided that Literary Quotes was over. There were so many thrilling things to talk about. Mabel had been teaching Spanish to Norbert, Lorraine, Birdie and Margaret twice a week, and they were full of praise for the fun-filled lessons. No books or papers. (Carlotta thought of the books and papers she had required for her French lessons.) Just salsa music and easy-to-pronounce words. They felt so successful with Mabel’s Spanish. They’d also been playing poker. Carlotta had been invited but she had been busy each time.
And now, Mabel was researching where they could go for a hot air balloon ride.
“So I took the bus over to Upper Claremont, where they fly the hot air balloons.” All eyes were on Mabel. “The young fella there says you have to book months in advance. They’re all booked up until the end of October already. So I say, what about November? And he says, yeah, in November the balloons can fly, and there’s some space in the calendar, but it’s their slow season. Most people don’t want to be freezing up in the sky on a cold winter’s morning, he says. ‘You probably want to wait until May,’ he says, talking real slow and kind of loud, ‘older people don’t usually fly in the cold.’ So I told him, me and my friends, we don’t like to wait for things. We can take the cold. Then, he looks me up and down and asks me how old I am. So I told him, you want to know what I said? This will kill you. This is what I said: I said, ‘You can kiss my ass in Macy’s window!’”
Norbert and Birdie chuckled, while Lorraine screamed with laughter, wiping her eyes. Margaret looked on at her “twin” with awe.
Anyone can get a cheap laugh by using coarse language.
“That surprised him, I guess, and he started talking to me more normal. ‘I don’t like people making assumptions about what I can’t do,’ I told him. He apologized. He was a nice young fella, I can’t say he wasn’t.”
Lorraine, still snorting with laughter, asked, “So did you book a flight for us for November?”
Mabel opened her eyes wide in mock astonishment. “Aw, hell no. Who wants to freeze?”
The room filled with laughter again, and Carlotta thought she would explode with aggravation.
The moment had come for Carlotta to throw a bombshell into the group. It would give her a sense of power, and a sense of power was what she had been missing for some time now.
“Norbert,” announced Carlotta during the first lull in the conversation. “I think it’s time we made you a member of the Club.”
Carlotta waited for the impact of this announcement to register on the faces of her friends. She was fully prepared to defend her decision.
“Oh,” said Birdie, distractedly, “I thought Norbert was a member already.”
“Well, it’s about time you made it official, Carlotta!” said Lorraine.
Norbert put his hand to his heart. “I am honored, Carlotta. Thank you very much. I humbly accept.”
Mabel said, “I’ve been thinking about becoming a member of the Club myself. How much are the dues?”
-26-
Carlotta had ever been a believer in the popular wisdom of forgetting one’s own troubles by getting involved in other people’s. And Hope, in her imprudence, was willfully descending into trouble. If Carlotta could not stop her, she could at least find distraction by getting a close view of the wreckage that was about to ensue.
Upstate New York was refreshing in late summer, and there was a cool breeze blowing down Main Street. A couple of merchants—Maria from the salon and Dennis from the antique store--were sweeping their sidewalks, and Maude from Maude’s Boutique was putting out a large pot of pansies and standing back to evaluate its effect. Carlotta knew all of these people and businesses: Flowers on Main across from the Art League, Jake’s Bike Shop, Goofy’s Ice Cream, and Butler’s Books, which was just kitty corner from The Good Fortune Café. She greeted and was greeted by everyone who was out, and some shop owners waved to her from beyond their plate glass. If her Club had forgotten her, Gibbons Corner had not. Carlotta noticed everything with avid attention: the London plane trees lining the street, the new displays in the shop windows, and the mixed aromas of damp earth and brewing coffee.
Hope looked up from behind the counter as Carlotta entered the shop.
“Hey there, Aunty!” she called. There was warmth and gaiety in her voice.
Carlotta felt a surge of gratitude to think that she had not lost her place in someone’s heart at least. Then she checked herself sharply for self-pity. Self-pity had one thing in common with the limerick. In Carlotta’s world, there was no room for it.
The coffee shop was decorated with encouraging messages such as “Peace to all who enter here,” and upbeat, popular music was playing softly. A few customers sat at booths, or in chairs by the fire, looking like subjects of hypnosis, their heads hanging and their faces lit by screens. Norbert sat in the back of the café, reading cards for a customer, who was looking at Norbert in deep concentration and awe, as if he were the Dalai Lama himself. Carlotta would have snorted, if she were the type of person to snort.
“Hello, Hope!” Carlotta approached the counter. “Any word on the--.” Carlotta raised her eyebrows in lieu of finishing the sentence, because there were customers in the store.
Hope grinned. “It’s not that top secret,” said Hope in a low tone. “Yes, there is some movement there.”
Carlotta sat down at the counter where she could enjoy a cup of peppermint tea and a little chat with Hope.
“I finished the ‘Parents as Healing Hearts’ course. That was an eye-opener. And then there were the parent panels to listen to. I’ve learned a ton, and it scared me, maybe a little,” Hope admitted.
“Tell me all about it,” said Carlotta, comfortably.
“They have this two-pronged approach. There’s all this inspiration from parents who have made foster care and adoption their dedication, like, their way of life. And then there’s all this warning about how hard it will be.”
“How hard will it be?” asked Carlotta, innocently.
Let Hope be the one to say it.
“Well, I kept hearing, ‘all of these children are damaged.’ And ‘There will definitely be behavior problems.’ These parents and social workers talk about the kids’ ‘relentless pursuit of negative attention,’ like, the kids keep on testing you even when you’re trying to give all positive attention.”
“What are the children testing the foster parents for?” asked Carlotta.
&n
bsp; “To see if the foster parents will give up on them, like everyone else has.”
Carlotta felt a pang. If there was one thing that Carlotta did not like to feel, it was a pang.
Hope went on, “The program keeps reminding you that your kid will almost for sure be far behind in school. And possibly aggressive.”
“Ah,” mused Carlotta. “It almost sounds as if they’re trying to discourage you from doing it.” She looked with intention into Hope’s eyes.
“They’re just trying to take the idealism out of us. While still being inspiring. I guess. There are two social workers. I have nicknames for them—not to their faces, of course, but in my head.”
Carlotta nodded.
“One, I call Thundercloud. The other, I call The Wish Fairy. Thundercloud is all, ‘don’t say we didn’t warn you.’ The Wish Fairy is all, ‘you’ll never do anything in your life as meaningful as this.’ The Wish Fairy says that sometimes these kids will surprise you, and make incredible gains. Then Thundercloud says not to bet on that.”
Carlotta inhaled the aroma of her tea. Peppermint was so soothing.
“Well, dear, you know, you are not committed to this yet, are you? You could stop right now, and chalk it up to a learning experience, these seminars and panels and so forth. I mean, you didn’t sign anything, did you?”
“Aunty.” Hope put two plump elbows on the counter and looked into Carlotta’s eyes. “I am going forward with this. With or without your blessing. But I do wish it could be with.”
“Hope, I’ve already told you I support you. One hundred percent.”
“Thank you, Aunty.”
“I just wish you would think about it a little longer.”
Hope sighed.
“I’m just saying. Once you have a child, you’re going to need to be able to get away from this café occasionally. Yes, you can find sitters for the child, but you must realize, when you are the mother, sometimes, especially after school and on weekends, you will have to leave work. Children create all kinds of inconvenience. You’re always at the Good Fortune, taking care of everything yourself. You don’t have anyone to rely on to handle things here in an emergency.”
“That’s true. I’ve been looking for someone trustworthy, someone who can take instruction. But I can’t pay an assistant manager’s salary. Someone who, as you say, can work after school and on weekends. I haven’t found the right person yet.”
Carlotta felt the pleasant hum she always felt at the beginning of any new project, large or small. If the Club was going to desert her now for Mabel, she would need to begin running something new. Perhaps she would find a way to insert herself into Hope’s life. She needed to be indispensable to someone.
-27-
If Carlotta had remained the uncontested leader of the Club for fifty years, it was because she, and she alone, had had the energy and intelligence to satisfy the Club’s insatiable appetite for excitement, learning, and new experiences. Mabel’s effortless coup d’état was as unprecedented as it was inexplicable. She had marched in like a general and assumed the Club’s full attention as if it were her due. Her audacity matched Carlotta’s own. Carlotta would respect her if she did not despise her. If Carlotta would have looked beneath her despising, she would have found fear. But Carlotta did not like to delve too deeply into feelings. She preferred instead to observe how people managed to get what they wanted.
Studying Mabel’s tactics from afar—for Carlotta refused to participate in any of the Club’s activities which were not her own idea—Carlotta noticed some differences in the detestable woman’s leadership style. Mabel had a cunning manner of appearing not to mind whose idea it was to have a poker party (Margaret’s) or to go to have a picnic in the park by the beach (Lorraine’s). She took up everyone’s ideas with the cry, “Try anything once!”—as if poker parties and picnics were exotic adventures--and soon they were all crowing her trademark phrase like simpletons. Meanwhile, Carlotta abstained, hoping to set an example of disapproval. Her old friends encouraged her to join them, but when she didn’t, they went on without her. Carlotta had the humiliating presentiment that they thought she was sulking.
When, at the Art League, they discussed their plans, Carlotta expected that her friends would ask her what was keeping her so busy these days, that she didn’t seem to have time for them anymore. When they did ask, she would tell them that she needed “time for her writing,” and wait for them to inquire with excitement, “What are you writing about, Carlotta?” And then she would smile and demur, and she would have to withhold the secret of her heart. And their curiosity would be ignited. And then she would have them back in hand once more. But none of this ever happened.
Instead, Lorraine, Birdie, Margaret and Norbert told Carlotta, in unnecessary detail, about all the things they were doing, and how much fun it was to have people everywhere looking from Margaret to Mabel.
“Whenever we go out,” said Mabel, “people just can’t stop gandering at us!”
No one corrected Mabel’s malapropisms. They seemed to love her all the more for every silly thing she said.
Norbert reiterated, “Those two attract so much attention, you wouldn’t believe it!”
The need some people have to attract attention is so…pitiful.
Birdie told the group, “There’s an Escape Room in Buffalo. I think we should go.”
What was this? Birdie, head-in-the-clouds Birdie, suggesting an activity? She never had, before. What had gotten into her?
“What’s an Escape Room?” everyone wanted to know.
“It’s a new thing,” Birdie informed them with a lilt in her voice. “They’re spreading all over the country. You go into a room, which is then locked, and you and your friends have to use your brains to get yourselves out. There are clues and things.”
“That sounds fun!” approved Lorraine.
“What if we can’t figure it out?” worried Margaret.
“Then they just leave you there!” mocked Lorraine.
“No,” smiled Birdie. “It’s timed. They give you one hour.”
Norbert said, “Putting our heads together, we’ll figure it out!”
“You all are something else! I can’t even phantom where you come up with your ideas!” exclaimed Mabel. “Let’s make the reservation! I’ve never done an Escape Room before!”
And the group took up the cry, “Try anything once!”
Although the idea for the adventure had been Birdie’s, Carlotta observed that Mabel was still somehow in the position of leader. The group would have hoisted Mabel up on their shoulders, had they been younger.
-28-
Summer stopped by the studio after an oil painting class to walk her grandmother home. She’d had dinner with friends and wanted to walk in the fresh air, clear her head and poke fun at her revered ancestor.
As the artists were packing up, Summer saw Liam Hennessey’s ginger head turned away from her, and she knew he was trying to hide.
“Hello, Liam! I didn’t know you painted.”
“Hi, Miss Moon,” muttered Liam.
“Can I see your work?”
Liam stood aside, mutely, and let Summer study his underpainting of a bleeding eyeball.
“Just starting this one,” he apologized.
“Well, I’m no artist, but I can see where you’re going with this already. I guess my grandmother is a good teacher, huh? And you have talent.”
Liam blushed fiercely and snapped his supply case closed. Grabbing his gear, he hurried to the exit.
“See you at school tomorrow!” called Summer.
“See you,” mumbled Liam.
After all the class had left, Summer confided to Carlotta, “That boy Liam? He’s got it pretty tough at school. Last week I saw a kid shoulder him real hard and push him against the lockers.”
Carlotta frowned.
“Didn’t you do anything to help him?”
“No, I pointed my finger and laughed. God, Gramma. Of course, I wrote the kid a deten
tion slip and called the social worker to give her a heads up about it. What do you think? That I don’t know my job?”
“Of course, Summer, I know you are an excellent teacher. It runs in the family. I think you get your instructional abilities from me. I’m just surprised that this kind of thing is going on in Liam’s life at school. He seems very comfortable and even confident here.”
“Yeah, with a bunch of old people, I guess he feels safe.”
Summer might have been speaking of herself. She was never more at her ease than with Carlotta and her friends.
“Summer, not everyone in the class is old. You know that.”
Summer looked around the studio, taking in the physical space, but also the ineffable feeling there, something her Aunt Birdie would notice, a sense of creative bliss and security. It was an atmosphere that her grandmother created, with her focus on her love of art, and her non-judgment. In the rest of her life, Gramma might be the most judgmental person Summer ever met, but when it came to painting, she was completely open and accepting. She truly enjoyed assisting others in the development of their gifts. Of course, a kid like Liam would be able to find comfort here.
“I’m glad you told me this, Summer.” Gramma was getting that laser look she always got when she was coming up with a new idea. “What Liam needs is a real confidence-booster of some kind. Something to give him a sense of identity…. Let me give this a little thought.”
Summer regretted having told her anything about Liam. Gramma was going to interfere with this kid’s life.
-29-
Birdie materialized on the doorstep of Norbert’s small stucco ranch house the following morning. As he let her in, Norbert was reminded of the day the year before, when she and the Club came to his home with their scheme to turn him into a fortune-teller. When at last he agreed, there followed tutoring from Birdie, Lorraine, Margaret and Carlotta in turn, to get him ready for the happiest career of his life. It was Birdie who had noticed his financial struggle in the first place, leading the Club to brainstorm this unique solution. He was grateful to her—and to all of them.
