The Hurricane Sisters: A Novel

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Well, this has been very nice, but I have to get back to the hospital to see about Maisie,” he said and gave me a kiss on my cheek. “We’ll talk in the morning?”

  “Of course!” I said. “Love you!”

  “Love you too, Ashley River,” he said and pressed the elevator button.

  I thought, What happened here?

  Porter paid the tab and a few minutes later, we went downstairs to dinner. He ordered a bottle of red wine because he said we were sharing chateaubriand and Caesar salad, which in my mind was the perfect dinner. But what was supposed to be an amazing night seemed like it had already gone to hell in a handbasket, as Maisie liked to say.

  “Okay,” I said. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Ashley. What could be wrong?”

  “Well, your jaw is twitching, for one thing. It does that when you’re nervous.”

  “Look, I’m a high-profile guy, representing the people of our state. Your family is just a lot more colorful than the folks I’m used to, that’s all. Give me a little time to process the llama farm and Maisie and battered women and Ivy, okay?”

  “What is there to process?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.”

  He finished the wine in his glass and refilled his and mine before the waiter could get to him.

  “Sorry, sir,” the waiter said.

  “No problem,” he said and then turned back to me. “Okay, here’s a really superexaggerated example of how I see it. Do you remember the television show called The Munsters?”

  “I think so, why?”

  “Well, everyone is either Frankenstein or a vampire or a werewolf except for the niece, Marilyn. She’s blond and beautiful, just like you. And she doesn’t realize she’s surrounded by a family that’s very odd. That’s all.”

  “And I’m Marilyn?”

  “But in a much more subtle way. How’s your salad?”

  I had not realized that the salad was in front of me. I took a bite and smiled at him. I drained my wineglass and he refilled it. Did he think I came from a family of freaks? Was he trying to tell me that my family flunked the interview? Oh my God! He was going to dump me. He was going to try and sleep with me because I had said we’d go to bed together on this, our next date. Then he was going to dump me! I was supposed to be his wife and eventually the first lady of the United States of America! Now it wasn’t going to happen? What were my options? I had to think fast!

  While I sliced and ate my roast beef, and he talked about himself and his important political future at the national level while I nodded in agreement, I had this thought. It had probably been a long time since he had sex with someone my age. I was sure I had more stamina than that last one, what was her name? I couldn’t remember. Cindy something? And my generation of girls was a lot wilder than his. We’d do anything. The wine was definitely going to my head but I was still feeling pretty damn bold. Whoops! I used a curse word.

  I hardly remember the drive back to the island but I remember thinking I was going to have to seduce him because he was acting pretty chilly. I’d get him out on the portico. That portico was my secret weapon. Yeah, baby! I mean, yes, baby!

  We pulled into my yard and he stopped the car.

  “Want to take a look at the moon with me?” I said and thought I sounded like a sultry temptress.

  “Ashley? I don’t want you to ever think that I would take advantage of a tipsy girl. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Porter? I’ll let you know when I think you’re taking advantage of me and besides, I’m not tipsy.”

  I could barely make out the details of his face.

  “Right. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.”

  So he helped me out of the car and he walked me up the front steps. I fiddled with the key and finally got the door open.

  “Thanks for a nice evening,” he said.

  “Don’t you want to come see the ocean with me?”

  “Okay. For one minute. Then you need to go sleep it off, honey chile.”

  I thought I was being clever to pull him down the hallway to my bedroom instead of out to the portico.

  “Stop! Ashley, stop!”

  He got pissed and pulled away, which under normal circumstances wouldn’t have amounted to anything. But because I was wearing some really high heels I lost my balance and fell, hitting my head on the edge of the door on the way down to the floor. I could feel something warm running down my forehead and I knew I was bleeding.

  “If you weren’t so aggressive, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said. “Besides, I make the call on who I sleep with and when it happens. I’m sorry.”

  I remember him handing me a face cloth and I remember the sound of the front door closing. And I remember that I started to cry.

  CHAPTER 14

  Liz—Headed North

  The hospital moved Skipper to a regular room yesterday, which was much less stressful for him. And it was nicer for us because we could come and go as we pleased. It was late in the afternoon, and I had just arrived at MUSC after a long day at work. A very nice young woman, a speech pathologist, was taking Skipper somewhere for a session. I just caught him for one second on the way out the door, but that brief moment was long enough for him to dazzle me with a clear and coherent greeting with only the smallest hesitation.

  “Well, hello, Liz! Are those nice flowers for me?” he said.

  I nearly clutched my bosom and gasped like Melanie from Twelve Oaks. But of course I didn’t. Still, his words were a wonderful surprise.

  “Yes, they are! How are you feeling today, Skipper?”

  “Right as rain,” he said and smiled.

  “Let’s go, Mr. Dempsey,” the pathologist said.

  “Later!” he said and shot me a peace sign.

  He left, walking with just the support of her arm. I was left to talk about Skipper’s recovery with Maisie and Ivy, who had probably been there all afternoon.

  “Hello, hello!” I gave them both a peck on the cheek. “This room is so much more cheerful,” I said, putting the vase of flowers I had brought on his chest of drawers. “At least now he doesn’t have to feel like his life is hanging by a thread.”

  “Hard to be cheery in an ICU anyway,” Ivy said. “How was your day?”

  “Just fine. My Sister’s House got a gift from All Air today for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not a bad day’s work. Thanks for asking. How are you, Maisie?”

  “Fine, thank you. Here’s the really good news. I think his doctors are going to release him tomorrow,” Maisie said. “Then he’s going to have to endure a lot of physical therapy until he’s strong enough to have the carotid artery surgery. What an ordeal he’s facing!”

  Did Maisie say congratulations? No.

  “Like he hasn’t been through enough?” Ivy said. “And so have you! That’s why I’m here, Maisie. I can drive him wherever he needs to go. And you too. Ivy’s Limo, at your service! And I can stay for as long as you can stand me.”

  “Stand you? I adore you!” Maisie said.

  “That’s awfully nice of you, Ivy. You’re so dear!” I said.

  “You’re just finding that out?” Maisie said. “Humph! I’ve known that for years!”

  “Now, now, girls, don’t fight over me,” Ivy said and laughed. “So, Mom? I met Ashley and Porter Galloway last night for a drink.”

  Maisie could be so persnickety.

  “Oh? I didn’t realize she was seeing him for sure.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ivy said. “I think she’s pretty sweet on him.”

  “Oh, dear. What did you think of him?” I asked. I could tell from his face that it didn’t go well.

  “He wouldn’t be my first pick for a brother-in-law,” Ivy said. “That’s for sure.”

 
“He’s nothing but a scallywag,” Maisie said.

  “And it was pretty clear that I made him uncomfortable,” Ivy said.

  “Why?” Maisie said.

  “Please, Maisie,” I said. “We don’t have to spell it out, do we, Ivy?”

  “No. First, I wasn’t wearing a seersucker suit and, second, I’m probably the first gay man he’s ever engaged in conversation. He was a nervous wreck, like it’s contagious or something.”

  “Son? Don’t worry about him. He’ll be out of her life before you know it.”

  “One can only hope,” Maisie said. “I don’t like him for our Ashley.”

  “Me either,” Ivy said. “Too conservative for my taste.”

  “Hmm. I’m sure he’d be crushed if he knew,” I said.

  “Probably not,” Ivy said. “Have you heard from Dad?”

  “Not really. We’ve only had the briefest conversation earlier this week about Skipper. You know, when the stroke happened.”

  Ivy and Maisie looked at each other with the strangest expression and I knew I was about to be on the receiving end of news I didn’t want to hear.

  “Don’t y’all have a habit of calling each other at least once a day or something?” Maisie said.

  What business was that of hers?

  “James and I totally have a bed check every night.”

  This conversation had been rehearsed without me. Obviously.

  “Why would we?” I said.

  “Because if he’s not obliged to check in with his wife, it makes it easy to forget he’s got a wife.”

  “Mom, all I’m saying is there might be too much slack in his leash,” Ivy said.

  “I really don’t want to discuss my marriage with my mother and my son,” I said. “It’s completely inappropriate.”

  “Well, you can’t live your whole life in a state of denial,” Maisie said. “It just isn’t a mentally healthy thing to do.”

  “Denial?” I said to her. “You’re going to lecture me about denial? You’re kidding, right?” I could feel my temperature rising.

  Maisie didn’t take the bait. She said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that. I’m just suggesting that you might like to take a few days and go see what’s going on in New York. That’s all.”

  “I couldn’t possibly go now. We’re just in the middle of a new campaign at work and Tom needs me. Besides, Clayton will be home tomorrow.”

  “Well, then, next week or the next,” Ivy said. “I agree with Maisie and I just think you should slip into Manhattan unannounced and drop in on Dad’s life to see what he’s up to these days.”

  “Unless work matters more than your marriage,” Maisie said.

  “Yes,” Ivy said. “That’s completely your call.”

  I couldn’t expect Ivy to understand how critical my work was but it would’ve been nice if Maisie acknowledged I made a real contribution toward making the world a better place for a helluva lot of terrified people with nowhere to turn.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “Well, I’ve got to get moving.” Because this conversation had gone on long enough. I stood up and went to the door and stopped, turning to face them. “Listen, I know y’all mean well. This is just so personal . . .”

  “It’s okay, Mom.”

  “It’s because we care about you, Liz. Just think about it, all right?”

  Why did I feel like every time my mother said something like that that she was being disingenuous? She just sucked the soul out of me. And why did it not bother me that Ivy was a partner to this sudden gush of marital advice?

  “Sure. I will.”

  When I stopped at Ted’s Butcher Block and picked up steaks to cook on the grill for Clayton’s supper, it occurred to me that we probably ate more red meat than we should. But Clayton loved his steak and truthfully, I did too. And, when he came in from running around Manhattan all week, the last thing he wanted to do was go out to a restaurant. He was exhausted. Truth? So was I. So on Fridays we usually stayed at home and I’d prepare something simple. We went out on Saturdays. And he usually left for New York on Sunday evening. Sometimes if we had something we had to do that night, he’d leave at the crack of dawn on Monday. But it was odd that he was coming home consistently on Fridays and had been for months. In the dead of summer he always came home on Thursdays. At least he used to. That gave me a serious moment of pause.

  After the butcher’s, I zoomed over to Whole Foods in Mount Pleasant for everything else I needed. Somewhere between the parking lot of MUSC and the parking lot of the grocery store, I began to hatch a plan. I was going to organize a dinner for him that would be so gorgeous it would astound him. And while he was busy drinking too much wine and overeating, I would look for any kind of nuance that might betray his secret, if he was keeping one that is.

  On further reflection, I seriously doubted that Clayton was having an affair. His hair was thinning on his flaky scalp, he had a paunch and bad posture that came from too many client lunches and too much time at a desk, and his teeth were yellowed. Bleaching teeth would never occur to someone like Clayton. He would say it wasn’t manly. He squinted, he wore his reading glasses on top of his head, and he rarely wore anything other than a dark suit, a white shirt, and some kind of silk tie. He always had coffee breath and I had to remind him to clip his fingernails and his nose hairs. So let’s be honest about his pretty profile. Who would want him besides me? I mean, listen, I knew Clayton could be an obnoxious ass but he was my ass. I reassured myself again that Clayton wasn’t fooling around. It just wasn’t his style. When he would tell me about one of his friends stepping out on his wife, he’d say, Can you believe him? Then he’d call the guy a sleazy bastard. He knew a lot of sleazy bastards. Was it possible that my Clayton had become one too? No way.

  At Whole Foods, after I picked up three bunches of flowers and everything I needed for a great salad, I worked my way through the cheese section, choosing two small pieces. They had so many choices it was always a bit of a conundrum to decide, but finally I chose a soft wedge with blue veins that was encrusted with crushed walnuts and a small block of an aged Gruyère that I’d serve with a special fig jam from some exotic place like Madagascar or Pasadena. They grew figs everywhere these days. Then I debated the merits of smoked Pacific wild salmon versus gravlax marinated in ginger and green tea and decided on the gravlax. More interesting and refreshing. By the time I got to the checkout counter with a fresh roasted chicken for my own dinner that night, I had convinced myself that Clayton would do no such thing. An affair was a tawdry business and beneath his dignity.

  Later on at home though, while I dined alone with my prewashed lettuce, sliced chicken, and a healthy shot of vodka over tons of ice to console my restless mind, I was deep in thought. I was unnerved by Maisie’s and Ivy’s opinions, and I began to doubt my convictions. I told myself that I should listen to them. No matter how they acted, especially when they didn’t have their behavior in check, I knew they cared about me. And we were a family. A small but interesting collection of somewhat peculiar characters, but a family all the same.

  They would not make me suspicious unless they had a good reason. And most of all, why would Ivy take the incredible step of telling his own mother that she had better go see what his father was up to if he didn’t already know something? Something that he had already told Maisie. That would explain why they confronted me together. I poured a small shot of vodka over a ton of fresh ice. The fact that he went to Maisie first and not me was very annoying and troubling. Why had he done that? Well, the obvious answer was that he thought he should. This running to Maisie business was long overdue for an intervention. It had to stop.

  Was there anything about Clayton that really set him apart from other men? Was he a candidate for sainthood? Hardly. If his friends could fall victim to their fading prowess at a certain time in their lives, couldn’t he? And when wa
s the last time we had a night of big-time ooh la la? Ages. Oh, Lord, I thought, not Clayton too.

  Anything was possible, so the next day I did what any normal red-blooded woman would do. First, I called Tom and told him I needed the day off from work for personal reasons.

  “No problem,” he said. “Vicki and I are entertaining the Malcolms tonight and I thought we might try to find another date with the Karols over the next two weeks.”

  “I’ll make the call first thing Monday,” I said. “Thanks, Tom. Give my best to Annie and David. And Vicki, of course.”

  Next, I begged my hairdresser to squeeze me in so I had my hair done and my nails too. Later in the afternoon, I showered, shaved my legs, creamed my skin, and sprayed perfume up one side and down the other. Then I put on a pretty summer dress and sandals. I turned on some music we both loved and arranged the flowers in a low bowl for the dining room table. I put one flower in a bud vase in his bathroom along with a fresh bar of his favorite soap. As a final touch, I turned down the bed and put on low lights. All this should give him the message that, yes, his wife had expectations.

  The phone rang. It was Maisie.

  “So we brought Skipper home. I thought you’d like to know.” She was irked. Well, two could play that game.

  “Okay, good. Can I do anything?” I had forgotten to call them and it was nearly five o’clock. So kill me.

  “No, thank you. Ivy and I have it all under control and Ashley is bringing dinner.”

  “Well, that’s lovely. Tell me, how is Skipper doing?”

  She began to calm down. Skipper’s well-being was all that mattered to her then (besides the number of her minions) and the relief in her voice was nearly palpable.

  “Talking like mad with some hesitation here and there and walking just fine.”

  “That is such wonderful news.”

  “I haven’t prayed so hard since, well, when Juliet . . .”

  “Me too, Maisie. It just wasn’t Skipper’s time, I guess.”

  “Liz, it certainly wasn’t Juliet’s time either. You know that.”

  I didn’t say anything for a moment or two and then I cleared my throat and spoke.