The Art of Arranging Flowers

by Lynne Branard

  She brought rose petals and lavender for a tepid bath since a hot one would make me sweaty; a special moisturizer for my legs, which she said would render them silky smooth; and she had arranged for Cora Salisbury, the local hair salon owner, to drop by before two o’clock to wash and style my hair. She even brought sparkling water for herself and a small bottle of champagne for me.

  She waited with Clementine in the living room while I soaked, giving me two slices of cucumber, which I thought was an odd snack but was just about to eat them anyway when she snatched them from me, explaining that they were to place on my eyes. She lit a vanilla candle before she left the room, turned on my radio, the jazz station already programmed, and then reappeared after about twenty minutes with a small plate of cheese and grapes. When she knocked on the door and told me why she was there, I worried that she might want to feed them to me, which I must admit made me a tad uncomfortable, but then she entered, carefully placed the saucer by the tub, and quietly backed out.

  “You don’t have to walk on your tiptoes,” I said, “I’m not asleep.” But she didn’t respond and simply closed the door behind her.

  After the bath and my home hair appointment, Carl arrived and did my makeup. He worked for a cosmetics company when he was in college. He came in carrying two suitcases, and I thought he was spending the night, but it turned out he still has a cosmetologist’s discount and enjoys purchasing cosmetics and supplies from the headquarters of Estée Lauder.

  He started me in corals: lipstick, eye shadow, blush, all of them from the same color format, but then once he got a good look at me he shook his head and made me wash it all off, starting over with what he called his “rosy palette.” It was rooted in pink, and after he finished I felt like I had been sprayed down in Pepto-Bismol, but both he and Nora seemed pleased. After all the color, Carl applied mascara. At first there was so much I was afraid my top and bottom lashes were going to stick together and I wouldn’t be able to open my eyes. I told him that I didn’t really want to miss having a good look at the president because of an overabundance of eye makeup, and he stormed out of the room and then stormed back in, handing me a tissue and telling me to blot it gently against my lashes. He must have said “gently” ten times. So I was careful and it seemed to help.

  Jimmy came over to the house as well and took pictures. Now I know how a girl must feel getting ready for the prom. Since I never attended the high school socials, I don’t have anything to compare this experience to, but I do know that I feel polished and shined. And now I think I know what Daisy meant when she used to say she was “done up and going out.”

  Nora has even made me a pearl wristlet. I had shown her the boutonniere I had arranged for Captain Miller, and somehow she found a way to sneak behind my back and make a corsage that matched it. I had used a purple dendrobium with three small white roses, and a sprig of ivy, tying them all together with a silver-gray grosgrain ribbon. She found a matching orchid and added white spray roses with tiny rhinestones strategically placed so they accented the blooms. She must have worked all morning on it, because Nora doesn’t do corsages or nosegays. She claims her fingers can’t handle the small bouquets, so I don’t know how she managed it, but she did. It’s beautiful and when she hands me one of the narrow white boxes that I have given out more than a hundred times to other girls, I am completely surprised. I feel special.

  Finally, after all this time, they tell me I am finished and can see for myself their magic-making. Carl makes me close my eyes, and he and Nora guide me to the living room, where Carl has brought and set up a full-size mirror from home. Somehow, he knew I wouldn’t have one. And then I feel them both jump behind me.

  “Okay, open your eyes!” Carl instructs me, and just for fun, I act like I can’t pull them apart.

  I am laughing when I catch the first glimpse of myself. Jimmy snaps a picture and I swear I almost cry. I look like no one I have ever seen in a mirror before.

  Nora, of course, does cry. She can’t stop blubbering about how beautiful I am, and she and Carl embrace. Then Jimmy and Nora embrace. And then it’s Carl and Jimmy. And then Clementine wants a hug. And I’m just standing here, thinking maybe I need to start paying more attention to my appearance day to day, because obviously this is a very big deal.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, waving away their emotional outbursts.

  Jimmy takes a few more photos. I tell them all good-bye, give Clem a snack, grab the silver and black purse I borrowed from Kathy Shepherd, and head out the door, leaving my friends to clean up the mess.

  “Text us to let us know what he’s wearing,” Carl says as I get in the van. “I’m thinking it’s a classic tuxedo but Nora thinks he’s bought something contemporary.”

  I roll my eyes. Like I will know the difference, I think.

  “Don’t make a face,” Nora yells. “You have on too much makeup for that.”

  I turn on the engine and back out of the driveway, having no idea what that sentence means.

  When I get to the airport, I see a plane pulled out on the runway, and a man dressed in coveralls directs me to an opening in the hangar, where I see another vehicle, which I recognize as Captain Miller’s. I park beside it, turn off the engine, pull out the keys, and drop them in my purse, and when I reach for the handle to open the door, the Captain is standing beside me, holding out his hand.

  I don’t know if he’s wearing a classic or a contemporary suit, but he looks very snazzy. I’m sliding out, trying to be as ladylike as possible, when I remember the boutonniere and then quickly duck back in the driver’s seat. When I emerge the second time, Captain Miller looks confused.

  “I thought you had changed your mind,” he says, reaching out once more.

  I’m stumped. “Oh, because I sat back down,” I say, nodding and taking his hand. I grasp a little too tightly when I suddenly remember Carl showing me over and over again how to shake the president’s hand.

  “Delicate, Ruby,” he told me when I demonstrated what I would offer. “You aren’t arm wrestling.”

  I loosen my grip on his hand. When I stand up, he is smiling.

  “As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

  I assume that’s some famous quote, but I know nobody has ever said it to me.

  “It’s Neruda,” he explains. “Pablo Neruda.”

  “I like him,” I say, and I hand Captain Miller the boutonniere.

  He takes it from the box, notices the corsage on my wrist, and smiles. “You have brought me flowers,” he says. “I am indeed a lucky man,” and then asks, “You’ll assist me?”

  I glance around for a place to put my purse and he politely offers a hand.

  I pin the orchid on his lapel and then stand back to admire my work. It’s lovely, and while studying it I notice a tiny sprig of jasmine that’s just behind one of the roses. Nora had sneaked into the box and added a little extra touch. It is, of course, our own private florist joke, so I do not mention it to the Captain.

  “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm, which I take as delicately as I can.

  •TWENTY-FOUR•

  WHAT was the main course?”

  “What was the First Lady wearing?”

  “How was the flight over to Seattle?”

  There are way too many questions thrown at me at once. They are standing at my door like Jehovah’s Witnesses or trick-or-treaters, waiting to be invited in. I wonder if they’d settle for a piece of candy.

  Clem and I move aside, making room for all three.

  “I brought a cheesecake,” Carl reports. “It was left over from an event at the club last night.” He shakes his head as he places the dessert on my kitchen counter. “It was the Spring Ladies’ Golf Social. They brought silk flowers, Ruby,” he says to me, shaking his head. “Hideous.”

  Carl hates artificial arrangements almost as much as I do.

  “But they did select the best dessert choices and since most of the women at the club are anorex
ic, we have leftovers! The cheesecake has a fresh cherry topping so it’s perfect for breakfast. Where are your dishes?”

  “The plates are right above the stove. Should I make coffee?” Nora has made her way to the kitchen.

  “Hey, Ruby.”

  “Hey, Jimmy. You can sit if you want.” I motion to the sofa and he takes a seat.

  We both listen as Nora and Carl go through all my cabinets, taking things out, putting things back, discussing my brand of coffee. Apparently I buy the cheap kind.

  “You have a good time?” he asks.

  “I did,” I answer, and yawn, wondering what time it is and how somebody like me got to do what I did last night. I feel like Cinderella after the ball, only I don’t have to clean up after a mean stepmother and I came home with both shoes.

  “Is Captain Miller a good pilot?”

  I think of the long, slow way we took off, the strength of his hands, the calm manner in which he spoke into the radio microphone spouting off speeds and latitudes, the polite means by which he transported me.

  “Very good,” I answer. And I sit down in the chair across from Jimmy, lean back, and close my eyes, recalling how our conversation in the cockpit began. “Do you like to fly?” he had asked.

  I had my arms wrapped around my knees and I was leaning against the door, staring out the window. It was spectacular, the narrow tops of trees, the winding rivers and creeks, our movement in and out of clouds. The late-afternoon sun. I was transfixed. It was actually my first airplane flight, so how could I answer? I simply nodded, and as if he understood my enthrallment completely, he didn’t ask another question. He did not try to take me from where I had ascended.

  “It is beautiful,” I finally said, sitting back, breathing deeply, and he nodded knowingly.

  “Wake up there, missy.” It’s Carl standing over me with a piece of cake. “It was a classic tux, right?”

  “Does classic have a narrow satin ribbon along the side of the pants?”

  “Was there one on the lapel of the jacket?”

  I think for a second and then get up from the chair, walk over to the kitchen counter, and get the purse I used last night. I open it and take out a piece of paper, which I hand to Carl.

  He unfolds it and reads, “Two-button black satin with an edge notch lapel, pleated pants with a Venice champagne cummerbund, vest, and tie. An ivory microfiber point collar shirt and black patent leather round-toe shoes. Versace.” And he clasps the paper against his chest like it is a love letter. “Perfect,” is what he says in response, “Absolutely perfect.”

  “What is he reading?” Nora wants to know as she makes her way out of the kitchen and onto the sofa next to Jimmy.

  “Dan wrote down what he wore because he knew Carl would want details.” I walk back, take the piece of cake Carl is holding, and plop down cross-legged on the chair. I smell the coffee brewing.

  “Dan?” Nora asks, lifting her eyebrows in a huge question mark.

  “Yes, Dan,” I answer, feeling my cheeks start to burn.

  “Okay, give it to us all, and don’t leave out a thing,” Carl says, going back for his slice of breakfast cheesecake.

  I chew and swallow. “It was like a fairy tale,” I reply. “In all my life I have never felt so pretty, so elite, and such a part of something so glamorous.” I put the fork on the plate and put the plate down so I can better explain.

  “On every table there was an arrangement that I can only call a masterpiece. I only wish I could afford to make such exquisite art. There were pink orchids, pink tulips, the blooms just dusted in a hint of blush, pink hydrangea, white roses, lavender roses, pink and white spray roses, pink alstroemeria and lavender button spray chrysanthemums with just a few stems of viburnum. There were so many flowers I couldn’t even count them and they were perfectly arranged, at just the right height for table conversation, overflowing these thick mercury glass bowls. It was . . .” I stop and close my eyes, recalling these floral works of art. “It was like little gardens of rhapsody on every table. They were divine.” I shake my head with the memory of such beauty.

  When I open my eyes, all three of my friends are staring at me as if I just grew another head.

  “What?”

  “That’s what you got?” Nora asks. “You go out with an astronaut, you meet the president, you’re having dinner at an event where people paid thousands of dollars to attend, and you tell us about the flowers?”

  “Well, the mercury bowls sound pretty special,” Carl says, and I don’t know if he’s being snarky or if he really means it.

  He rolls his eyes at Nora and I know he’s being snarky.

  “We had salmon, wild king salmon, grilled with a kind of tangy sauce that made the fish melt in your mouth. There was champagne and these perfect little desserts. It was the best meal I’ve ever eaten. The president was charming and smart and seemed to like a good grip with his handshakes.” I smile at Carl.

  “The first lady wore a pink dressy dress. She matched the flowers on the tables; I guess her people called the governor’s people and made sure she would shine. She is tall and beautiful and kind and she said she loved my wristlet.”

  I wink at Nora.

  “We sat with three other couples; the men were all astronauts. Dan was the only one of the four who walked on the moon. The women were sweet to me but I wasn’t so comfortable with the small talk. Dan is an excellent pilot, very knowledgeable, and prefers flying piston twin engines, and he is partial to the Cessna 337. He was married once but she was a behaviorist and could not understand how an astronaut could give up being in the space program to delve into the world of noetic sciences. They didn’t have children and he sometimes regrets not having a family with him in his retirement years. He was the perfect date, attentive but not clingy, formal but not stiff, a true gentleman in every detail.”

  I pick up my cheesecake. “We left at three o’clock, arrived at the Seattle airport at five thirty, and had a car pick us up and take us to the dinner. We were back in Creekside by midnight and I hurried home before my perfect Nordstrom’s dress turned into an apron and rags and my truck turned into a pumpkin.” I take a bite and await the questions even as I know what I will and will not tell.

  •TWENTY-FIVE•

  THERE are things that happen between two people that, no matter how you try to duplicate the conversation or replay every detail, will always be something that only those two people understand.

  That’s the way it was with my date with the astronaut. I can tell my friends all the facts and even share all the pleasures. I can paint the picture of the room where we ate, the sky at sunset, the flowers on the tables—but I will never be able to explain what it was to feel so special, to dine and dance in such opulence, to have someone hold out his hand for me. The sheer delight of flying above clouds, the intimate way our conversation shifted. . . . The entire night was magical and perfect and I cannot explain it to anyone who wasn’t right there with me; even to try and relive the event with Dan or even myself, I’m not sure I can tell it exactly like it was.

  Nora, Jimmy, and Carl left when they had exhausted their questions, when they had gotten as much as I could give. Now it is just me and Clem sorting through what happened. I have coffee and I am still wearing my pajamas. There is sunshine pouring through the window and jazz on the radio.

  “Dan has cancer,” I tell my dog. “He’s healed himself twice already but he’s not going to do it again.”

  Clementine stares up at me.

  “He thinks it is his time.”

  There is a nod from my dog, and then she decides to take a nap. She jumps up on the sofa to join me, settling at the other end.

  “I didn’t try to change his mind,” I continue, even though it’s clear my companion has heard all she wants to hear. “With him, I didn’t feel like I needed to. As odd as it sounds, I think he’s right.”

  I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table, close my eyes, and remember the night.

  “Tell me
about the moon,” I said after we were back in the plane, after Dan had taken off from Seattle, the lights of the city dancing below us.

  He engaged the autopilot and I watched as we climbed in the sky.

  “It is full and silent,” he replied. “It is like a woman with a secret.” He looked at me and winked.

  “Was it dark?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Very dark.”

  “And how did it make you feel to step out on it? Were you afraid? Did it change you?”

  He shook his head. “No, not afraid,” he replied. “I was mentally and emotionally ready for the exit from the shuttle and how I needed to ambulate once I got outside. We had spent a lot of time preparing for that door to open, for that jump out; and no, the moon itself didn’t change me, but I was different after the landings.”

  I waited.

  “I had an epiphany on my second mission.”

  I turned in my seat to be able to listen more intently. I was still a little tipsy from the champagne, but I was alert enough to know this was important, this was something I didn’t want to miss.

  “What kind of epiphany?” I asked, remembering what I had read in his book and wanting to hear it all in person.

  “My work on the missions included getting us to the moon, and then I had tasks once we landed. On the way home I had very few responsibilities, so I just sat and watched the sky out of the big window in front of us. And every few hours I would have the same view. I would see the sun and the moon and the Earth all lined up, like three balls in a row.” He rested his hands on his knees and stared out the windshield. “There was a perfect order to them.”

  I know so little of planets and suns and moons, I cannot even imagine how such a thing must appear. I made no comment.

  “And the stars . . .” He shook his head, recalling the sight, I suppose. “They were so bright, so big and bright.”

  I stared straight ahead as well, trying to get an idea of what he must have seen flying in space, returning home after walking on the moon.