The Orange Blossom Special

by Betsy Carter

  Tessie hadn’t heard that dullness in her daughter’s voice since Car-bondale. She felt her own anxiety, the clutch in her stomach, the lure of getting back into her still-warm bed. It tugged at her like an old habit, and it took every form of will she could muster to resist it. Instead, she climbed into bed next to Dinah. “We can’t, you and me, go back to the way we were,” she said gently. “I know how you feel. There are some days I can’t imagine going on. It’s just a step at a time. You get up, you brush your hair, eat breakfast. And before you know it, you’ve gotten through an hour, and then another hour, and soon you’re not thinking about the time you put behind you. You just have to keep moving forward.”

  Dinah started to cry. “Sometimes it’s just too hard.” She wasn’t about to tell her mother about Eddie. “I miss Daddy so much.”

  Then Tessie told Dinah about her Jerry Box and how, whenever she had a question, he always seemed to answer. “I believe there’s a part of him that watches us,” she said. “I know him well enough to be sure he’d hate it if either of us was hiding in our rooms. Tell you what. Why don’t you have Crystal come over after school today. I’ll come home early and make you girls some french fries. I’ll buy some Coca-Cola with cherry syrup, too.”

  They lived on a strict budget; Dinah knew never to ask for any of the extravagances. Trips to the supermarket became lessons on indulgence. “Too rich for my blood,’” her mother would say, returning an item to its shelf after examining its price. “Some people can afford to kiss their money goodbye, I guess. Hooray for them.” Consequently, Dinah had never had Coca-Cola with cherry syrup until that first time at Crystal’s house. She turned on her side and rested her head on the inside of her mother’s arm. The familiar smell of stale cigarette smoke and last night’s Noxzema made her feel safe, as if she was a little girl again bundled in her mother’s lap. “Coca-Cola? Really?” she asked.

  Tessie could hear the life come back into Dinah’s voice. She thought about the teacher’s words a couple of months back. It broke her heart to realize how hard every day must be for her. “Yes ma’am,” she said to Dinah, mocking the Southern accents that surrounded them. “Don’t y’all think it’s time I get to try some of those potatoes you’re always carryin’ on about?”

  “You sure are unpredickable,” said Dinah, laying on the accent, thinking about her mother and that box, and how much worse off her mother was than she even imagined.

  They lay there for a while until Dinah rolled on her back. She thought that maybe she would write a poem for Eddie, the way her dad used to do for her. That way it could be a little funny, not all so serious.

  Tessie’s thoughts had also wandered to what she would wear today. The two of them came apart guided by their distractions. Tessie went back to her room and picked out a shirtwaist dress with orange lines that crisscrossed against a gray background. The dress was tight in the bust and accentuated her narrow waist and thin legs. She studied herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw, then turned the collar up and wrapped her fingers around the back of her neck the way she’d seen the fashion models do it in magazines. “What am I doing?” she worried, as she dabbed Jean Naté on her wrists. In her head, she had not yet decided whether or not she would meet Barone Antonucci for lunch today. As far as what she would wear was concerned, the matter was already settled.

  Meanwhile, Dinah had pulled out her notebook and was sitting on the metal folding chair in front of her small wooden desk. She opened her notebook and began writing:

  Dear Eddie Howell,

  The first day I saw you, you held up four fingers.

  I knew what you meant, and the memory lingers.

  Every day there you are, in Civics and Home Room.

  Now your chair is empty, I hope you’ll come back soon.

  Mr. Reilly said you were sick, then asked us why?

  For once, he didn’t have an answer. What a strange guy.

  She wanted to end with something like:

  You are the best friend that I’ve ever had.

  In so many ways you’re just like my dad.

  No, she could never say that. She crossed out the last two lines and tried:

  Get better soon, I hope your sickness is mi-nah

  Best wishes to you, from your friend Dinah.

  That sounded dumb.

  Just then her mother came back into her room. “So, what are you going to wear to school today?” Dinah looked up from her notebook. She saw that her mother’s face was flushed. Or was it dots of rouge? She’d put a barrette in her hair and there were slashes of blue eye shadow on each lid.

  “You look really nice,” said Dinah.

  “Thank you. And you, my little Boing Boing Girl? When are you going to get dressed?”

  “Mom, I’m too old to be anyone’s boing boing girl. Could we please move past 1956?”

  Tessie fought back tears. She’d been so pleased by Dinah’s compliment that she’d momentarily forgotten her daughter was fourteen. If I cry every time her tone is harsh or she pulls away, where will that leave me? she wondered. “Well young lady,” she said in a stiff voice, “you have a half hour to shower, eat breakfast, and get dressed. So I’d suggest you get moving.” She used her hurt feelings to push out the guilt she felt at rushing Dinah to school. After all, it wouldn’t be proper for a mother with a sick child at home to go off and have lunch with a married man. Besides, she didn’t want Dinah moping around the house all day. Even if her motivations weren’t pure, Tessie was sure she was acting in her daughter’s best interest.

  God, she really was unpredickable. Dinah stared after her mother as she headed toward the kitchen. She remembered how her father used to tease her mother. “Jo,” he’d say. “You have the temperament of a tropical weather pattern. It’s sunny. It’s stormy. You never know.” The other night, the Ritchie Valens ballad “Donna” was playing on the radio. From her bedroom, Dinah could see her mother dance by herself, one arm wrapped around her stomach, the other held in the air as though she was clasping the hand of an invisible partner. Her eyes were half-closed and her head was swaying to the music. There was something about the way she let her hair graze her bare back, from one side to the other—Dinah couldn’t put words to it but she knew she was watching something she shouldn’t.

  Now Dinah could hear her mother slam the cupboard doors and set the cereal bowls down so hard on the dinette table that they might have cracked. The emphatic noise usually meant, “I am the only one who does anything around here.” But this morning, the banging was more urgent than usual. Dinah shut her notebook and shoved it under her pillow. There was no use trying to finish her poem. School would be a relief after this place. Mother and daughter ate in silence. As she left, Dinah let the screen door slam. “See ya,” she said behind it, not “I love you,” the way she did every other morning. Tessie grabbed her unused napkin and the ballpoint pen by the telephone. “Damn you Jerry Lockhart,” she wrote. “What kind of a man dies leaving his wife alone with a teenage girl?” She pressed so hard that the napkin shredded. For the first time she allowed herself the notion that just because people are dead, doesn’t mean they come back to you wiser or better than they were in life. She balled up the napkin in her hand until it was no larger than a nub, then stuffed it into the box.

  “TESS LOCKHART, DON’T you look nice today?” said Glenn Jr. passing her desk. “Whatever you’re wearing, it smells real pretty.” Tessie pressed her lips together, trying to hide her satisfied smile. Her new Coral Ice lipstick felt waxy on her mouth, and she worried that she’d gotten some on her teeth. “Oh you,” she said, discreetly trying to remove it with her tongue, “it’s just toilette water, you can buy it in any drugstore.” What if the Glenns guessed she had an engagement? Worse, what if they figured out with whom?

  When Tessie told them, “I may need a little longer for lunch today. Doctor’s appointment,” she lowered her eyes as if to say, “enough said.” At precisely 11:45 she left the office. The lemony scent of Jean Naté trailed b
ehind her. The two men watched out the window as she drove off in the Plymouth. “Doctor’s appointment, my ass,” said Glenn Sr.

  “Yeah, really,” answered Glenn Jr. “What a crock of shit.” The two men flushed at their use of profanities. It was the one indulgence they shared when they were alone.

  The word Sundowner’s was carved into a plank of driftwood that was affixed to a royal palm; the letters were painted turquoise. A fisherman’s net was draped around the sign and a giant conch shell sat at its feet. Two weathered oars framed the front door of the restaurant, and inside, mounted sharks, marlins, and tarpons loomed over the rickety wooden tables and straight-back chairs. The cocktails had names like Planter’s Punch with a Porpoise and the Martini That Got Away. The Baron seemed more tentative than he had the first time they met. He ordered a gin and tonic and twirled the wooden end of the paper umbrella that came with it. His notes had been so intimate, yet sitting here inside the badly lit Sundowners, he couldn’t even meet her eye. They were virtual strangers with no history to turn into light conversation. Tessie pulled apart a roll, then set it on her plate. She lit a cigarette, then ordered a glass of Chablis. Finally, the Baron broke the silence. “So, the last time I saw you, you were covered with spots. Did you ever find the culprit?”

  Without thinking, Tessie blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “Fish,” she said. “I’m allergic to fish.”

  They stared at each other like two people who’d been underwater and surfaced at the same time.

  “You’re kidding me?” His eyes bulged.

  “No I’m not,” she answered, not wanting to break the tension.

  “Fish? I can’t believe it.” His face got red and a sound rumbled up from inside of him and exploded into laughter. Tessie laughed at the sight of him laughing. Tears rolled down his cheeks. She covered her mouth with her hand and fell back against the chair, helpless with her own laughter.

  “Fish,” he said, barely able to sputter out the word. Now they were heaving, gasping for breath.

  “Fish,” she screamed, wiping her nose. People from the other tables stared at them, unsure whether there was a fight ensuing or someone had gotten a bone lodged in their throat. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and with the other opened the folded menu. “Well, I guess you won’t be having”—he raised his voice as though he were a television announcer—“A FINE KETTLE OF SHRIMP.” His careful enunciation caused the two of them to collapse into more gales of laughter. Tessie, barely able to catch her breath, answered, “And NO to the FISH GOTTA SWIM CLAMS GOTTA FRY.” The Baron waved his arms as if offering surrender. “Please,” he gasped. “Please, stop, I can’t. I’m gonna faint.” Tessie could feel deposits of mascara settle into the lines around her eyes. “Oh God, I haven’t laughed this hard since who knows when,” she said. They slumped forward, elbows on the table. The inside of their arms brushed. Still caught in the hysteria of their laughter, the Baron reached across the table, pulled Tessie toward him, and kissed her hard on the mouth. Tessie lost her place. Her left hand grappled with the air, as if she was looking for something to hold on to. Her right hand traveled the span of Barone’s cheekbone, behind his ear to the back of his neck where his thick black curls met his baby soft skin.

  When they finally broke apart, he looked at her face as if for the first time. Her lipstick was smeared around her mouth; her eyes were streaked with makeup.

  “You look like a far-sighted clown,” he said using his thumb to wipe the lipstick off her chin. His cheeks were still covered with tear tracks; a thicket of hair stood up on the top of his head. She smoothed his hair and dabbed his cheeks with her napkin. “The two of us, what a sight,” she said.

  She ordered filet of sole; he had the stone crabs. He ordered a second gin and tonic and she another Chablis. Conversation came easy. Tessie told him about Dinah and Carbondale and how after six months, she still couldn’t figure out how to set up her hi-fi system. Barone explained the game of Jai Alai, and talked about his childhood in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. “There were five of us, all boys,” he said. “Every morning before he went to work, my father would smack each of us. ‘Why’d you do that?’ we’d ask. ‘Because I know you’re going to do something to screw up,’ he’d say. ‘Respect your mother today, or there’s more where that came from.’”

  He told her about Fort Lauderdale. “It’s a small redneck town now,” he said, “but the way the tourist business is going down there, things will soon be booming. I can’t wait to show it to you.” He never mentioned anything about his family. When it was time to leave, he said to her, “When will I see you again, Dottie?”

  She had been Tessie all of her life, except for those years when she was Jo. Dottie was someone new, someone she didn’t know very well and wasn’t even sure she liked. “I don’t know,” she said. “You know with Dinah and the job, I don’t have a lot of free time.”

  “Guess we’ll have to work around that,” said Barone.

  “Thank you for lunch,” she said, as he walked her to her car.

  “Next time we’ll have dinner at The Cattleman,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re allergic to beef.”

  By the time Tessie got back to Lithographics, she’d put on fresh lipstick and fixed her eye makeup. Glenn Sr. came by her desk later that afternoon. “Everything okay at the doctor’s?” he asked.

  “Oh sure, you know, just routine women stuff,” she answered. Glenn Sr. stiffened, afraid she’d give him more details. “Okay then, that’s good,” he said. But when Tessie tried to work, she thought of Barone. She leaned her chin into her right collarbone, pretending to be stretching her neck. In truth, some of his Old Spice had rubbed off onto the shoulder of her blouse. The smell of it made her lonesome and incredibly nervous.

  At around four o’clock, she remembered that she’d promised Dinah she’d be home early. The french fries and Coca-Cola; the fight, the slamming screen door. Was that just this morning? She knocked on Glenn Jr.’s door. “I know it seems as if I’m asking for a lot of time off today,” she said, “but I promised Dinah I’d be home early. It’s kind of important.” Glenn Jr. nodded. “Sure Tess, whatever you need.” Later, he and Senior would exchange conjectures about the nature of Tess’s “women stuff.” Glenn Jr., who had a bloodhound’s nose when it came to alcohol, said he could swear he smelled it on her breath when she came back from lunch. Senior laughed. “Do you think our Tess was having herself a nooner?” Junior’s voice deepened. “She’s a nice piece of ass. Probably hasn’t gotten laid since her husband died.” The two men shook their heads and made snorting sounds.

  By the time Tessie got home with the Coca-Cola, potatoes, and cherry syrup, the girls were already there. She could hear their voices behind the closed bedroom door. Tessie had never made fries. She cut up the potatoes into stick shapes that she thought approximated french fries, poured a cup of oil into a pan, waited until it bubbled then threw in the potatoes. It sounded right. She stirred up the drinks in two large jelly glasses. She put all of it on a blue metal tray along with a salt shaker, two plates, and two napkins, and carried the offering to Dinah’s room. “Okay, girls,” she sang out. “I have a little something for you.” Crystal opened the door. “Ta dum,” said Tessie placing the tray on Dinah’s desk. That’s when she noticed Dinah lying on her bed, tears running down her cheeks. “Thanks Mom, I’m not hungry,” she said, turning her face to the wall.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Tessie. Crystal sat next to Dinah on the bed. “It’s our friend from school, Eddie Howell,” she said in a hushed voice. “Mr. Reilly told us he died last night.” Dinah had never mentioned the boy, but clearly she was saddened by his death. Tessie sat down next to Crystal and rubbed her daughter’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry,” she said, but Dinah stayed facing the wall. Instinctively she knew that it would be Crystal, not she, who could comfort her daughter. She walked out of the room and beckoned Crystal to follow her. “She knows too much about death,” said Tessie. “Promise me you�
�ll help her get past this.”

  “Yes ma’am, of course I will,” she answered.

  For so many years, Tessie was her daughter’s everything. Now it was becoming painfully clear that there would be others who would take her place. She closed the door and left the two girls alone. Back in the kitchen she poured some wine into a ceramic coffee cup. It mattered to her that Crystal might tell Victoria Landy she’d seen Tessie drinking from a wineglass at five in the afternoon. Tessie took the drink and went into her bedroom. She closed the shades, angled the fan just right, and lay on her bed, placing the cup on her night table. She thought of Dinah, of Barone, of the Glenns and how none of this would be happening if she hadn’t gone to the Morris Library that day and been captivated by the black-and-white pictures of the old colonials and Spanish moss. “Oh my Jerry,” she cried, turning toward the wall. She envisioned Dinah on the other side of that wall, toppled by her own misery; the two of them like ends of a wishbone, snapped apart.

  She drifted off to sleep and awoke a half hour later determined to make things right for her child and herself. As was her habit when she made vows of renewal, she wrote a note to Jerry.

  It is all so hard without you. Today I kissed a man. You know who I mean. Dinah’s friend at school died. My darling, it might seem as though we are moving away from you. We will never do that in our hearts. It’s just everyday life that pushes us forward. I feel ashamed about the man. Can you forgive me?

  Sometimes Jerry’s answers seemed obscure, but she always recognized them when they came. Two days later, an ad in the Gainesville Sun caught her eye: “Don’t Get Caught Up Short—Or Long—By Summer,” it read. “We know just what to do with all your hair problems. J. Baldy’s. Bring this ad and get a 20% discount on a wash, cut, tease or perm.”

  As Tessie dialed the beauty parlor, she remembered how people used to say, “That Jerry Lockhart. What a wicked sense of humor.”