by Keziah Frost
“If it’s a seedy joint,” reasoned Carlotta, “then why would you—”
“That’s not the point, and you know it!”
Carlotta and Lorraine regarded each other with dismay.
And then Carlotta heard the cruelest words that Lorraine had ever said to her.
“Carlotta, I’m disappointed in you.”
Carlotta considered how to make her apology to Mabel. She sat in her living room, with Toutou on her lap, trying first one phrasing and then another. Now that she was trying it for herself, she realized what a difficult thing it was she had asked Queen to do, when she had made her apologize to Lorraine. Apologizing was so humbling.
Toutou looked gently into her mistress’ eyes, encouraging her to keep trying.
“Mabel,” said Carlotta to Toutou, “I am sorry for accusing you. No. For asking if you had taken my…. Mabel, I apologize. It seems that I....” Carlotta stopped and sighed.
Oh, Mabel probably did not need an apology. She had probably forgotten the whole thing already. She was one of those non-thinking, forgiving types. Ah, but even if she had forgotten, Carlotta’s friends had not. The apology was for them, really, and not for Mabel. As Queen said, the Club was Carlotta’s family. What they thought of her mattered more than she liked to think.
Should she call Mabel at the Harbor Home and Breakfast to make her apology? Or pop over there to do it in person? It was just down the street, only a block away. She’d take Toutou and walk over. Dogs were useful for lowering people’s defenses. Maybe she’d catch the lovebirds at home. She was just taking Toutou’s leash off the hook when the house phone rang.
It was Margaret.
Asking to be bailed out of jail.
-94-
Carlotta found the Gibbons Corner Police Department to be very interesting. With the cool objectivity of a writer, observing everything, she reported to the jail to bail out her friend.
But when she saw Margaret, ashen, shaken, and weak with the overwhelming emotions of the previous two hours, Carlotta’s dispassionate view evaporated. Margaret, always effusive and bubbly, now seemed a different person, a traumatized person, with no words.
Carlotta drove her back to her condo and let her be silent.
They rode up in the elevator and went into Margaret’s home.
Without asking, Carlotta put the kettle on and made them tea, while Margaret sat in her sunny living room, alone with her thoughts.
Myrtle lay in the sunniest spot on the carpet, blinking lazily. She rolled on her back and covered her eyes with one paw. Carlotta would not think about her. Margaret needed her attention.
As they sat with their tea cups, Margaret at last began to talk.
“My shattered nerves!” was the first thing that Margaret said.
It seemed that the mother of some teenager, on finding marijuana in his room, had pulled from him the description and location of his pusher. The boy did not know the name of the little old lady who sold the weed, but he was forced to tell what he did know to the police. He knew what she looked like, and he had been to her condo to make his purchase.
Two hours ago, the police had come to Margaret’s door and asked if they could search, and she invited them in and offered them lemonade.
“Oh, Margaret! Don’t you ever watch police shows on TV? They can’t come in without a warrant.”
“I know that, Carlotta. But they were such nice young men. And I have nothing to hide. Or, at least, I thought I had nothing to hide.”
It turned out there was a baggie filled with “something that looked like oregano” in a backpack that Mabel had left in Margaret’s spare bedroom. The police didn’t seem convinced by Margaret’s claim that she had a double. They took her into custody, assuring her she could explain it all to the judge.
She had to sit in the back of the cruiser, and walk into the police station with the officers, and they made her stick her fingers in black ink to make prints, and…. Oh, she shuddered to remember. The shame! She wished she could forget. Like Myrtle, she covered her eyes. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life.
Mabel, accompanied by Walter, went cheerfully to the GCPD, confessing to be the owner of the small stash of marijuana they had found in Margaret’s condo. She and Margaret appeared together in court on the charge, where the judge, suppressing a smirk, soberly told Mabel that in view of her advanced age, she would merely pay a fine and promise to stay out of trouble.
Regardless of Mabel’s assumption of responsibility, the Club had now undergone a distinct shift in its view of her. They were all deeply concerned about the shock and humiliation that Margaret had suffered because of Mabel.
It would not be going too far to say that the Club now urgently desired to get rid of Mabel.
They did not want to hurt her feelings. She had been a good friend. They couldn’t say she hadn’t. It was her very fun-loving nature that they had enjoyed, which had now become the problem. Mabel was just a little bit too much fun.
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Queen’s Baby Picture Essay for School:
This is not me when I was a baby this is some other Girl who has a different life but be that as it may wherever she is I hope she grows up to be happy I am glad I’m not her because to me there is nothing better than being the Girl I am. When I look at the baby in this picture I hope she felt loved cause that is what everybody needs. She probally liked to be held and talked to. Her mama probally held picture books up to her face and talked to her about the illustrations and the storeys. I think that is what happend. A lot of things happend both good and bad. But if that Girl has a mama and a fambly it can work out good. That Girl is probally haveing a good life. And I am haveing a good life. Thank you for your attention.
On the long ride home from the Compton Walker Correctional Facility, Queen’s eyes became heavy. Soon, her head was resting against the car window, and she was snoring softly.
Summer, in the front seat, whispered to Carlotta, so as not to wake the sleeping child.
“I really felt for Queen’s mother when Queen showed her that essay she wrote about the baby picture.”
Carlotta stage-whispered back, “And she had Queen read it to her twice… I’m actually very impressed with that young mother, going to college in prison and bettering herself. It’s just what I would do, if I were in her circumstances.”
“It’s hard to imagine you in her circumstances, Gramma…. Hope thinks she would have had a lighter sentence if she were white.”
“Hope said that?”
“Yeah. Racial inequality in sentencing, it’s called. It’s a ‘thing.’”
Summer yawned and stretched.
They rolled along in silence through the most exquisite state in the union, their hearts uplifted by the fields, farms, woodlands and hills, all covered in a blanket of white, under a pale sky.
Finally, Carlotta said, meditatively, “She’s been in that awful ugly place for four years and she’s lost custody of her children. She sees her mistake now in getting involved in selling drugs. How much more can she be expected to pay?”
Summer, recognizing this as a rhetorical question, shrugged her shoulders and closed her eyes.
They cruised on, and Carlotta continued to think.
Every time Dahleeya Jones thinks of her three children, thinks that she cannot see them and hug them and help them, she pays for her crimes all over again. What if we all had to pay over and over again, for years, for mistakes we’ve made, after we’ve already learned our lessons?
... I wonder if there’s anything about racial inequality in sentencing on Google? Or…maybe I could consult an attorney?
Carlotta saw herself, dressed in a smart business suit and stylish pumps, consulting an attorney. She would like that. She could empty out one of her little rainy-day funds. She’d never miss it. Her late husband, Ed, as disappointing as he was, at least was not disappointing in the financial sense. He had left her plenty of money, and she had always been a good steward of it. Now,
she would put a bit of it to work. And if this should turn out to be an irresistible project that would send her Club running back to her, well, so much the better. Everyone would see how altruistic she was, and how unmotivated by self-interest. It would be thrilling.
As they drew close to the Gibbons Corner city limits, Queen stirred from her dreams and opened her eyes.
“Almost home.” She yawned. She gazed out at the snow-covered landscape. “Next month is Christmas,” she observed.
“Yes, it is.”
“If it’s not a rude question to ask, will I get presents?”
“You very likely will,” said Carlotta mildly, knowing full well she had been having a wonderful time shopping for all the delightful things one can buy for creative and intelligent little girls.
“By the way,” asked Queen, “where does Hope hide her Christmas presents, usually?”
-96-
Aristotle philosophized while walking, and so did Carlotta. This was called the peripatetic method, from what she could recall of her introductory college philosophy course. As Aristotle had his followers, Carlotta had her poodle.
Toutou’s curly ears were flapping and she wore a wide doggy grin as she trotted along. Carlotta, more sober, was deliberating her personal philosophy of life and leadership. Her Club would soon return to her; somehow, she knew it. She sensed in the breeze that blew that a change was coming. She shivered. Whether she shivered from the wind or from the thought of changing, she could not discern. One thing was clear: when her Club returned, she would have to rule it differently.
Maybe I was a bit bossy. Maybe I didn’t always allow input.
It was Carlotta’s nature to bend life to her will. Her nature would never be extinguished entirely—nor would she desire it to be. As Mabel might have said, “You can’t change the spots on a tiger.”
Carlotta laughed softly.
However, she could learn to occasionally share her power and let others shine, at least some of the time. Carlotta paused at Ontario and Main. She’d just turn right and pop into the Village Shoe Repair to pick up her black pumps. But Toutou sat down stubbornly and looked to the left. She wanted to go north—toward the beach.
Carlotta sighed, and turned left.
After a stroll at the beach, Carlotta was inspired to stop in at the Good Fortune Café, and consult with her niece about her new social justice inspiration. She picked up her little dog, and tucked her under her arm. Who would complain about a little dog in a coffee shop, especially if her paws never touched the floor? It was mid-morning, and there was a lull in business.
“I could pay for legal assistance, if you wanted,” Carlotta told Hope.
“Do you think it would make a difference?”
“Maybe not. We’ll have no idea until we talk to a good lawyer. I’m sure it depends on the narcotics charges. What’s needed is a top-notch attorney who has already had success with similar cases.”
“That could run into serious money, Aunty. And maybe even after spending a lot of money, it wouldn’t help.”
“Don’t let that be part of your decision, Hope. I’ll take care of the cost. Consider it a gift from your Uncle Ed.” Carlotta paused. “You decide, and let me know.”
“It’s not that I need time to think. I know that it’s the right thing to do. It was just the cost that held me back. But if Uncle Ed is footing the bill, well, that’s really generous of him.”
“Money’s nothing to him. He can’t use it, where he is,” Carlotta quipped. She turned serious. “Have you thought what it would mean if Miss Jones were released, as far as your adoption of Queen is concerned?”
“Of course! I’ve lived through all of that in my head already. Many times. She’s signed away parental rights, and I’ve adopted Queen. Legally, Queen is my daughter. But of course, they’d want to be together. I think we’d wait some time first and let Miss Jones get on her feet. Maybe we could even help her a little. Maybe she’d live close by. Maybe we’d have some arrangement that develops. Maybe I’d adopt more children. Maybe I will adopt more children either way.”
“Maybe,” said Carlotta, “we cross those bridges as we come to them?”
“Exactly. You know what John Lennon said.”
“Ah yes. Michelle, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble, très bien ensemble.”
Hope laughed. “No! I’m pretty sure that was Paul McCartney’s song. John Lennon said, ‘Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.’”
-97-
Mabel created one last sensation for the Club.
“Wedding bells!” she shouted joyfully at Birdie’s watercolor class. “I’ve been married before, of course, can’t say I haven’t! But this time it’s for love! I thought I’d skip the virginal white, you know. It’s not like I’m fooling anybody. Ha ha! This might be my last wedding. So I’m wearing red! Margaret’s my maid of honor. And Norb is best man. Queen is the flower girl. And of course, you’re all invited!”
“Who are you marrying?” asked the young mother.
“Who else? Walter Strand! What a man!”
“Where is the wedding going to be, Mrs. Paine?” asked young Liam.
“At the Center for Deeper Understanding, of course. With the Reverend Edith Butler giving the last rights, or whatever they call it.”
“Oh, wow!” said the teenage girl. “And when did you say it will be?”
“Right now! Come on, everybody!”
It wasn’t as sudden as it seemed.
Margaret, Norbert, Hope, and Queen had had a day’s notice. That was enough time for Margaret to create a lovely and simple wreath of red roses for Mabel’s curly white head, for Norbert to go to the library and read up on best man speeches, and for Hope to buy a lacey pale pink dress for Queen.
Edith Butler fittingly reserved the Harmony Room for the nuptials. She had the room set up with chairs in rows and an aisle down the middle. The room filled with Carlotta, Birdie, Lorraine, Hope, Arnie, Liam, the teenage girl, the young mother (and her two irrepressible toddlers, who were pulling each other’s hair and screaming), and the bartender from the Alibi, whose heart had been softened by the old couple getting married and who had already let bygones be bygones.
The couple had not required a wedding rehearsal.
“I’ve always just done what comes naturally, you know?” Mabel had said to Edith, who nodded and said she was a wild spirit child, or some such thing.
As the wedding march played on the sound system, Queen stepped with regal daintiness down the aisle, sprinkling red rose petals right and left. She took her place to the side of the altar, where the Reverend Edith signaled her to stand—next to Margaret in a pastel pink knee-length number and opposite Walter in a khaki-colored suit, and Norbert in his dignified grey suit.
That Edith was in her glory, officiating at a wedding with her mail-in reverend license.
Then, the strains of “Here Comes the Bride” announced Mabel’s entrance. All heads turned.
“Ohhhh,” everyone sighed.
When Mabel had said she would wear red, Carlotta had imagined her in an awful flamenco gown. But she had to hand it to Mabel for once. It was a long satin dress with a full skirt, and the only question in Carlotta’s mind was, How did a woman with such awful taste find such a beautiful dress on such short notice?
As if reading her mind, Mabel paused in her march to call out to Carlotta, “It was the only thing they had in my size at the Goodwill!”
Everyone laughed.
This was Mabel’s wedding, after all, and this was how it was going to go.
Edith opened a book, but before she could open her mouth, Mabel sprang her next surprise.
“Dearly beloved,” she cried. “The groom and I have written our own vows! Haven’t we, hon?”
Walter beamed at his bride and stepped forward to hold her hand, and the two of them faced the gathering.
Mabel cleared her throat.
She looked charming, with her rose head wreath an
d her crimson dress, Carlotta thought, generously.
Mabel began: “There once was a devil called Walter,”
Walter picked up: “Who took Mabel Paine to the altar,”
Mabel continued: “She thought he was fine,”
Walter recited: “Their friends drank some wine,”
Mabel concluded: “And he became her rock of Gibraltar!”
Edith lost only a millisecond in confusion, before adding, “I now pronounce you man and wife!”
Norbert, standing with a gold ring in his hand, seemed to realize he had somehow missed his moment, and rushed forward to give the ring to Walter, who, wiping a tear of sentiment from his eye, placed the ring on Mabel’s finger.
Lorraine, at Carlotta’s side, was sobbing into a tissue.
Mabel raised Walter’s hand into the air and shouted, “Meet you all at the Alibi! The drinks are on us! Up to a point! Ha ha!”
The bartender turned down the pulsing music, and Norbert unfolded his paper and read his swiftly written best man speech:
“Mabel, you’ve brought us a lot of joy, and I can’t say you haven’t.”
(Laughter.)
“Walter and Mabel, I know I speak for everyone here when I say that the two of you are perfect for each other. I foresee many years of marital bliss for you both. It was in the cards.”
(Laughter.)
“Wherever you go in life, Mabel and Walter, know that you take with you our love and our sincerest wishes for lifelong happiness.”
Did Norbert just say “wherever you GO?” Are they leaving? Carlotta sat up straighter. She turned to Hope for verification but Hope, like everyone else, was paying rapt attention as Margaret stood up.
Margaret began her speech:
“I’m not so good at speeches…. Even though you’ve made me a television personality. At eighty-seven!”
(Laughter.)
“I’m so grateful to you, Mabel, for all the good times. You’ve taught me español. Un poco. Un poquito. I love you like a twin sister. Happy travels to you both, Walter and Mabel. Don’t be strangers. Come back to our little town. Vayan con Dios. Go with our blessings!”
