by Linda Apple
“Hi, Lexi.”
“Ty, hi. Listen, I’m in a hurry.” I air kissed him and took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. I rushed to my desk, tossed my briefcase on the file cabinet, and plopped in the chair. The computer took forever to boot up. Why in the world didn’t this paper get Macs for heaven’s sakes?
After what seemed like forever, Gmail loaded. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Over three hundred emails. “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my gosh.” My heart hammered as I scrolled through the subject lines. Did I hit a nerve or what? I had to tell Vince. I pulled my laptop out of my briefcase, strode to his office, and walked right to his desk without bothering to knock. He peered at me over his glasses and laid his proofing copy down. “Well, good morning, Lexi. Come on in.”
“Sorry for the intrusion, but I have something you’ve gotta see.”
He removed his readers and sat back. “Okay, shoot.”
I showed him the emails on my laptop. His face blanked. “I didn’t know there were that many single women in their fifties in our small circulation.”
“I haven’t read them all yet. Some might be from people who know someone, or kids about their parents. Some might even be from men. Right now, all I know is that I hit a nerve.”
“This is great.” Vince had that above the fold look he sometimes got when he thought our little paper might possibly hit the big time. “I have a suggestion. While you read, organize the emails in groups, like the ones from women, kids, friends, men, like that. Then organize each group into similar experiences or issues.”
“Good grief, Vince.”
“No, now, hear me out. This will let us know where to focus. I might want you to write articles, do interviews.”
“I can do that, but what I’d really like is to get my column syndicated.”
“If this thing sprouts legs and starts sprinting, then yes. We will look into that.” He stood and motioned for me to follow him. “Good job, Lexi. How about I buy you a double-shot at Molly’s?”
“You’ve got a date. I skipped my morning cup.”
“I figured as much. You are never here this early.” Vince slid one brow up. “In fact, you are rarely on time.”
I popped him on the arm. “Oh, stop it. That’s not true.”
But it was.
All morning I read my emails and did as Vince suggested, grouping them into categories. Most were from women over fifty. Some were from children about their parents.
A tap sounded at my door. Ty sauntered in and flopped on the chair.
“Busy?”
I tore my gaze from the computer. “Like a one-armed paper-hanger. What’s up?”
“I need your opinion.”
“Sure.” Being the opinionated sort, I was always ready to weigh in with my undisputed wisdom. “Shoot.”
“It’s about Avalee.”
Okay, now he had my complete and undivided attention. “What about Avalee?”
“I’m interested in her. Real interested.”
No big surprise there.
“Do you think the age thing is going to be a problem with her? Because it sure isn’t with me.”
Now I had to decide if I was going to be honest or placate him and hope it all worked out. I decided to be honest.
“Yes, I do.”
He frowned and tented his fingers over his chest.
“However, age isn’t your biggest obstacle.”
“What is?”
“Marc.”
He leaned his head back and blew air through his lips. “I might have known. It’s always Marc. Even with my parents.”
“You look just like him, Ty.”
“So, I’ll dye my hair purple and wear green contacts.” He slapped his hand against the chair. “If she’d just give me a chance, she’d see I’m nothing like my brother.”
“I think there is something else to it. I can’t say what, but when we talk about him I get this weird vibe from her. Like something is hanging over her head.”
“Do you think she still loves him?”
“No, I don’t get that feeling. It’s more like regret, or guilt.”
He leaned forward and crossed his arms on my desk. “Do you think I’m crazy for pursuing a relationship?”
I took a long sip from my salted caramel latte. “No.” Our gazes locked. “I think you are crazy if you give up.”
A slow smile pushed across his face. “Thanks, Lex.”
“No problem.” I shooed him off. “Now go away. I’ve got work to do.”
“You’re a doll.” He jumped up, leaned over, and kissed my forehead. His luscious Armani cologne caught me in its grasp.
When he disappeared out the door, I propped my head on my hands and sighed. Why couldn’t something like that happen to me?
I clicked on the next email.
Dear Lexi,
The day before our daughter’s wedding, I learned that my husband was having an affair with a married colleague twenty years younger than him…
That rat!
Dear Lexi,
My dad and mom were married forty years. He got a job in a university in Paris. Mom was happier than I had seen her in a long time. They bought a house and started renovating it. Six months after moving there, Dad left her and moved in with his secretary who is thirty-one. Now Mom is alone in a country where she can barely speak or understand the language in a house that is in shambles. Dad makes her payments but refuses to pay for any more renovations...
The jerk!
Dear Lexi,
My husband left on our tenth anniversary. We were supposed to meet for a romantic supper, but he never showed up. I started to panic thinking something bad had happened to him. Finally he texted me. He said he had found someone new. By the time I’d gotten home he had cleaned out his closet, taken all the electronics, and some of the furniture. The next day I called the bank, but he’d beat me to it and had cleaned out all of our accounts.
Later I found out that his new love was the wife of his bowling buddy. She is thirty. He’s fifty-six.
My head started aching, and I realized it was from clenching my jaw. By the time I finished reading these emails, I’d need a stiff drink, hold the fudge. Those poor women. Righteous indignation burned inside me. I stood and started pacing the floor. Something had to be done. But what? I remembered a Mark Twain quote, “A drop of ink may make a million think.” That was something I could do. Sound the alarm. Serve notice. Empower these women. But a million? The only way I could reach that many was by syndication.
A soft knock sounded on my door and Avalee peeped in. “Hey, Lexi.”
“Hey, Avalee. Come on in. You came at just the right time. I could use some advice.”
“I wondered if you’d like to go to lunch. I wanted to pick your brain, too.”
“Lunch?” I glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty? Where had the time gone? But, as if on cue, my stomach rumbled. “Sure, where do you want to go?”
“Have you been to that little tea room on Magnolia Drive?”
“No, I haven’t. It just opened. I hear the orange rolls are to die for. Let’s try it.” I grabbed my purse.
We passed Ty’s cubicle. I wanted to talk to Avalee about him, but not until a few martinis had softened her defenses. Every time she spoke about Marc, an undeniable sadness shadowed her eyes and voice. I wanted to know why and then warn her if she didn’t deal with the problem, she just might miss out on what could very well be the greatest opportunity of her life. She’d been robbed of love long enough. So had I for that matter.
A thought hit me like an arrow. She wants to talk about Ty. Of course! I’d bet my entire Elvis Presley movie collection. Probably about something that happened when he went to their house for supper. Oh, this was going to be good.
The Magnolia Tea Room buzzed with business. I sure hoped this place wouldn’t affect Molly’s business. But then again, Moonlight’s tourist trade had grown so fast, to fight over customers would be like two ants fighting over a dead elephant. Ther
e was plenty of business to go around.
A chubby sweet-cheeked gal, who looked as if her name should be Pitty Pat greeted us at the door. “Come on in, y’all. Welcome to the Magnolia Tea Room.” She looked around. “My goodness, but we are busy today. Would y’all mind sitting over yonder in the corner?”
“Suits me,” said Avalee.
“Me too.” Frankly, I preferred it. Might cut some of the noise out.
We followed Pitty Pat to our table and sat. “My name is Birdie.”
I liked the name I gave her better. But Birdie would do. She handed us menus that looked like fans.
“Today’s special is fruited chicken salad, a croissant, roasted tomato soup, and a fruit cup with cantaloupe, strawberries, watermelon, grapes, and mandarin orange slices. Does any of this butter your bread?”
“Does mine. I’ll take it.” I closed my menu. “Oh, and I want one of your famous orange rolls, too.”
Birdie patted the air. “Oh honey, let me tell you something. You haven’t lived till you have tried those.” She pursed her lips together, squeezed her eyes shut and shrugged. With a broad smile she said, “Those orange rolls are so good your tongue will slap your brains out.”
Avalee tried to hold in her giggle. Unsuccessfully, I might add. “Well then, I’ll have the special, too.”
Birdie scribbled on her pad. “Orange roll?”
“Of course.” Avalee handed Birdie the menu.
“You girls want hot tea? Our orange pekoe is yummy with this special.”
“I would.” I glanced at Avalee. “How about you?’
She nodded.
“All right, y’all. I’ll be back with your tea as quick as a wink.”
“Well, if she isn’t as cute as a bug’s ear.” I looked around. Whoever decorated the place had done a fabulous job. Sort of shabby chic but not outdated. None of the dishes matched. Neither did the cloth napkins or silverware. “And so is this place.”
“Both are darling. I love the idea.”
Birdie returned with cups, saucers, and two small teapots with tea tags hanging from under the lids. “Here y’all are. Tea should be ready to pour in a jiffy. I’ll be back with your specials. Cook is taking out the orange rolls right now. They’ll be good and hot for you.”
“Thanks Pit—er—Birdie.”
“So.” Avalee poured her tea from a pot shaped like a sitting elephant, his nose being the spout. Sorta grossed me out. “You go first. What did you want to talk about?”
My teapot looked like a cupcake with a cherry on top. “I got an amazing response to my column. Even with our teensy circulation area, I got over three hundred responses.”
“Wow.” She lifted a white porcelain cup decorated with tiny yellow rosebuds to her lips. Blowing the steam away she asked, “How wide is your coverage?”
“We cover Union, Tishomingo, and Lee Counties.” I reached in a pink glass bowl holding Melba toast packages and took one. Small pats of butter shaped like magnolia blossoms were arranged on a white dish trimmed in gold. I almost hated messing one up by spreading it on my cracker. Almost being the operative word. I scooped one up with my knife and spread it on the toast.
Avalee did the same. “Aren’t these little magnolia butter pats cute? I wonder if they sell the molds?”
“I noticed a little gift area when we walked in. Let’s check it out before we leave.” If they did sell them, I had decided to buy one for Miss Cladie.
“Have you read all the emails?”
“A lot of them.”
“What kinds of things do they say?”
“Some of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard. Most are from the women who were dumped. Several are from the children of divorced parents. I even have a few from the children who wrote about their moms leaving their dads. But from what I’ve read, I have to wonder if those women had good reason. I didn’t get any from men.” My tea needed another dollop of honey. While stirring I asked, “What I’m wondering is what direction I should take with this? How should I develop it? And how I might get it into syndication.”
She thought a minute. “I, personally wouldn’t know. But I do have a contact at the New York Times who might be willing to advise you.”
I nearly choked on the cracker I’d just popped in my mouth. “New York Times? Are you kidding me?”
Birdie arrived with our lunches. “Here y’all are.” She set our plates in front of us, then the fruit cups and orange rolls that were as large as the saucers. Oh my goodness. Those rolls were sin on a plate, fat and fluffy, with orange glaze smeared over the top and dripping down the sides.
“They are hot out of the oven.” Birdy put her hand on her breast. “If I were you, I’d put butter on them now and let it melt while you eat your lunch.”
“Good idea, Birdy.” I stabbed another magnolia butter pat. “I’ll just do that.”
Avalee grinned up at her. “My problem is forcing myself to wait until I finish lunch.”
“Oh sugar.” Birdy patted the air again. “Go ahead. We’ve got plenty more. Y’all enjoy your lunch, and if you need anything, just give me a wave.”
When our waitress left, Avalee dipped the corner of her croissant into her soup. “Back to my contact? His name is Nathan Wolfe.”
I nodded and shoveled a bite of chicken salad in my mouth. If taste buds could dance, mine would be doing an Irish jig.
“Well, you certainly don’t seem impressed.”
“Should I be?”
She hiked her eyebrows, smiled, and shook her head. “I guess not.”
“Did you date him?”
“I got to know him from meeting at several social gatherings. But he wasn’t my type. He was a little too much of a wise guy for me. We did become pretty good friends though.” She poured more tea. “I have his card somewhere. I’ll text his contact info to you.”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I’d prefer a woman. If he’s a smart-ass, then he will probably get all self-righteous and think I’m male bashing.”
“I don’t think so. He likes controversial subjects.”
“Of course he does. He works for the Times. Go figure.”
“So, do you have any ideas about how to approach this can of worms you’ve opened?”
“Well, not really. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“What about getting a guy’s perspective.”
I broke my croissant in half. “What do you mean?”
“Why not have them explain why they cheated. Maybe even invite the mistresses to tell their side.”
“Are you crazy?” Actually it was a fantastic idea. “I hate you.”
Avalee blinked. “And just why is that?”
“Because I wish I’d thought of it first.”
“Well, these are just suggestions. I feel sure Nate will have better ideas.”
Time for our little chat about Ty. “Okay, enough about me. Now what did you want to talk about?”
“I have an idea I think will save Preston Gardens.”
I put my fork down. “That’s it?” Rats. I hoped for a juicy conversation about Ty.
Avalee glanced up. “Yeah, why?”
Somehow I needed to crawdad this conversation back. “Never mind the woman sitting across from you. She is too focused on gulping down her lunch so she can eat her orange roll. Now tell me about your idea.”
“We’re going to reinvent the family business. I’m thinking of putting on a weekly flower market, you know, like a farmers’ market.”
“Sounds like a plan. It sure would be a hit with tourists. What day are you thinking?”
“Saturday mornings. I’m going to find plants folks can’t find in the local area and then showcase them. And on the first Saturday of the month, we will make it a big festival, give demonstrations for cooking, flower arranging, things like that.”
“The Chamber of Commerce will certainly love it.”
Finally, I finished my lunch. Now for that orange roll. When I picked it up, melted butter ran over my
fingers. I licked them and decided the best plan of attack would be to pull the spiral apart and eat down to the soft middle.
“I think this will drive business to Preston Gardens during the week. Momma will have an edge because she’ll have something different from the big box stores.”
The best answer I could manage with a mouth full of sweet dough heaven was to mumble an enthusiastic, “Um hm.”
“And with my contacts, I could bring in some big names for demos.” She picked up her fork and knife and actually cut her roll in half. She obviously had no idea of the proper procedure for eating an orange roll. “So what do you think?”
I held up my finger because I’d reached the center, a tender jewel dripping with butter and tangy orange glaze. This magical moment shouldn’t be interrupted. I put it in my mouth and closed my eyes. It practically melted on my tongue. Nothing my ex-husband had ever done brought me to this kind of ecstasy or satisfaction. I opened my eyes and smiled at Avalee. “Sorry. But that was fabulous.”
She sat back and smirked. “I could tell.”
“Anyway, I love your idea, and you should talk to Ty about taking shots for advertising.”
“We did talk, and he had some pretty wonderful suggestions.” She finished her roll, but not with the same out-of-body experience as me. Poor girl.
“I’ll run your idea by Vince. Maybe he can do some articles about it, and I know the Chamber will be more than happy to exploit it all over the web. You’ll have such a huge crowd none of us will be able to get out of our driveways.” My last remark made me think of something. “By the way, what about those zoning laws?”
“All taken care of. Just as I thought. She is grandfathered in.” Ava checked her watch. “Guess we’d better go.” She turned and waved to Pitty Pat.
After we paid our bill, we stopped by the gift shop. Bingo! They had the molds. I bought one for Miss Cladie and one for Molly Kate. On our way out I put my hand on Avalee’s shoulder. “Don’t forget to send me that guy’s email.”
