Mermaids in the Basement

by Michael Lee West

  “Do you think our little plot will work?” Isabella lit a cigarette.

  “Don’t call it a plot,” I said, glancing out at the water. It was strangely quiet. “And when Shelby gets here tomorrow, don’t you breathe a word of this party.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be hasty. What if she’s meant to be with Louie?”

  “If she was, that time has slipped away. I know my son. And even if he left Bitsy and remarried Shelby, he would never forgive that dalliance with Kip.”

  “But why?”

  “Hubris.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Excessive pride. That’s Louie’s problem. And before it’s over, he will have punished Bitsy for Shelby’s crime. He will punish all of the women who will come after her. And there will be more.”

  “So, what are we doing, exactly? Matchmaking?” Isabella blew a smoke ring. “Or is Shelby a sacrificial lamb?”

  “That’s a harsh way of putting it,” I said. “But yes, she’s a sacrifice. That said, she will be free to love another man.”

  “You don’t know this for a fact,” said Isabella.

  “Oh, yes I do.”

  “Then where’s your crystal ball?”

  “Hidden,” I said “Quick, let’s change the subject before we’re overheard.”

  I looked past Isabella’s shoulder, and through the screen mesh, I saw Gladys and Renata coming up the sandy path, their metal buckets full of shells. Renata ran up the wooden steps and raced down the pier, toward the boathouse, her small heart-shaped face split into a grin.

  “Granny, look what I found,” she cried.

  “Come here, my precious darling,” I said, and crushed my cigarette. Then I leaned over and opened my arms. “Show me everything.”

  Shelby was sunbathing on the terrace, her taut brown legs glistening with oil. I mixed two stiff vodka tonics, then carried them outside. “Hey, there you are,” she said, cracking open one eye. I handed her a drink, then pulled up a chaise longue and sat down. I didn’t know where to begin. I’d had a difficult relationship with my mother-in-law. I didn’t know if the trouble was Solange or me; but I had to face the possibility that it was me, that I was the type who recognized the smell of her own pack and hated all others. I thought this might be a good place to begin. I took two breaths and plunged ahead.

  “I love you, Shelby.”

  “Ditto.” Her hand moved into the space between our loungers. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I shut my eyes, trying to find the strength to continue. In my head, I’d practiced this speech, but now it seemed manipulative. If I mentioned her ill-fated relationship with my son, she would know I was up to something. If I held my tongue, our friendship wouldn’t suffer any damage, even though Shelby herself was headed for certain disaster. If I spoke my mind, she might never forgive me. I adored her and Renata, but I also loved my future grandchild. It behooved me to balance my love and loyalties, because I was also growing fonder of Bitsy.

  No one could possibly know the outcome of this love triangle. I could make predictions based on the personalities and histories of those involved; but there was much I didn’t know. I wasn’t a psychologist. But Louie was the last DeChavannes male. He would not let the name die. On one hand, I was meddling, big-time, and that usually led to regrets. On the other hand, if I remained silent and all of these precious lives spun apart, I couldn’t live with myself.

  So I pressed on.

  “We need to talk about Louie,” I said.

  She hugged herself and smiled, sloshing a bit of tonic onto her leg. “What about the magnificent Louie?”

  “Bitsy had an ultrasound,” I said, rattling the ice in my drink. “Have you ever heard of that test?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not sure what it is, either. But apparently it shows the baby’s sex.” I paused. “They’re having a little boy.”

  Shelby flinched. Then she took a long sip of the vodka tonic.

  In the softest possible voice, I said, “He won’t leave her.”

  Shelby lowered her head. A tear fell into the vodka tonic. “You don’t know that he won’t.”

  “And Bitsy won’t leave him. Well, not for a while. She strikes me as the sort of girl who doesn’t give up easily. She’s more of a fighter than you.”

  “What are you saying? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I love you and Renata. And you are headed for an unhappy place if you keep things going with Louie.”

  “I’m sorry about all the gossip.” Shelby rubbed her eyes. “The last thing I wanted was to turn out like my mother.”

  “You’re not like Emma,” I said, but then again, maybe she was. Around here, radiation would dissipate quicker than gossip, and the damage was just as insidious.

  “Don’t worry.” I squeezed Shelby’s hand. “We’ll sort it out one way or another.”

  My annual Easter Egg Hunt and Brunch was an astounding success. Isabella’s idea of inviting Randolph “Andy” Filbert VanDusen III had been a stroke of genius. Andy was divorced and wealthy. “He’s well endowed in more than one way,” said Isabella. “If you get my drift.”

  Gladys and I dyed 988 eggs. It would have been 1,000 if she hadn’t accidentally sat down on one carton and crushed it. Then Isabella and I drove over to Mobile to rent an adult-sized bunny costume. It was the cutest thing you ever saw. Pink faux fur, tall ears held up with wire, and a gorgeous, phallic-shaped carrot attached to one paw.

  The day before the party, we purposely sent Shelby and Renata over to her daddy’s beach house in Perdido Key, Florida, with explicit instructions to work on her tan and not to return to Point Clear until the day of the party. Then Isabella and I rushed to the Mobile airport and picked up Andy VanDusen. We got him settled at the Grand, then bought him a drink in the bar. I had plenty of guest rooms, but we wanted to keep him hidden, in case Shelby turned up.

  On Easter Sunday, right after mass, I drove over to the hotel and fetched Andy, then Isabella and I fixed him some drinks. After three mimosas and one Cuban cigar, we cajoled him into dressing up in the costume. I was pretty sure that Shelby would be a sucker for any man who’d put on a stupid rabbit suit. Even with that cigar, Andy looked adorable. Isabella laughed, then whispered in my ear, “If Shelby doesn’t want him, I might just keep him for myself.”

  A buffet was set up on the terrace and featured garlic cheese grits, grilled sausage, beaten biscuits, fruit platter, made-to-order omelets, and eggs Benedict. And you could get anything you wanted to drink, but we also had huge pitchers of mimosas set up on the buffet. Isabella’s job was to keep the Easter Bunny sober. He was still reeling from a rather nasty divorce. Also, she’d sworn up and down that she wouldn’t tamper with the food. At the last moment, I tossed jelly beans on the table, then checked on the lawn decorations. We’d set up dozens of colorful egg-shaped balloons along the driveway, and giant, papier-mâché eggs in all colors.

  When Shelby arrived, clutching her small daughter’s hand, Isabella broke away from the bunny and ran over, kissing the air on either side of Shelby’s face, the way she does everybody. Shelby wore a lilac sundress that showed the barest hint of cleavage, and I wondered if she was hoping to see Louie at this party. I walked up and slipped my arm around her small waist.

  “Nice tan,” I told Shelby, then I turned to Renata. “And just look at your pretty dress!”

  My granddaughter curtsied, and the yellow hand-smocked dress grazed the stone path. She patted her hair, then adjusted the thick, lemony ribbon. She had beautiful little hands, Louie and Chaz’s teardrop nose, and Shelby’s eyes.

  We chitchatted a minute, then I pointed Renata toward the side yard, where the empty Easter baskets were lined up. She scampered off, her ribbon floating behind her. Then I turned back to Shelby. My plan was to introduce her to the Easter Bunny, and, as they say, let nature take its course. If they clicked, fine. If not, well, as Isabella’s old nemesis, Doris Day, once sang, que sera sera.

  “Dahlin’, there
’s somebody I want you to meet,” Isabella told Shelby and dragged her across the egg-strewn yard. I followed at a discreet distance. Isabella said, “He’s rumored to have one of the biggest you-know-whats in Hollywood.”

  “Rumored?” Shelby laughed. “Haven’t you checked it out for yourself?”

  “The father, yes, but not the son. Come on, dahlin’. He’s right over there in the bunny suit.” Isabella paused, waiting for a reaction. Shelby just blinked. Isabella made the introductions. Andy took one look at her pretty blond hair and her dimples, and he bit his cigar in half. It fell to the ground, red sparks arcing over the grass. Shelby stepped back, laughing.

  I folded my hands under my chin and thought, This is just brilliant. They will fall in love and move to California, and Louie can concentrate on his marriage and new baby.

  After the party, while the caterers packed up their gear, I found Shelby standing on the pier. She faced the bay, the wind lifting her hair. The tide was coming in, and far out on the horizon, a blue sailboat listed to the right. “You okay?” I asked.

  Shelby nodded, then dabbed her eyes with a napkin.

  “You look ready to throw yourself into the water.” I squeezed her shoulders. “Whatever is the matter? Why all these tears? Did the bunny hop off and leave you?”

  “No, he’s inside, changing. He wants me to go sailing this afternoon.”

  “Well, are you going?”

  “No. I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “What if Louie calls? Why wasn’t he at the party? I’ve tried calling him for days. I’m worried.”

  “He’s in Pass Christian for the holidays. He bought Bitsy a little beach house.”

  She sucked in air. “But why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but that man is gone. Not now. Not this minute. But soon.” I drew in a deep breath, wishing I had a mimosa, anything to bolster my nerves. What I was about to say was harsh, but true; at least, it was the truth as I saw it.

  “Shelby, honey,” I began, “I’m not a mind reader, and I’ve never been able to predict the future, but I know my son. The minute that baby boy is born, Louie will fall desperately in love. You cannot compete with a namesake. He will never leave Bitsy. So, unless you’re willing to be his long-suffering mistress, putting yourself and Renata through untold misery, I suggest you get on with your life. And the Easter Bunny is a good place to start.”

  She kept staring out at the bay, tears hitting the purple dress. Isabella walked up, holding a silver tray with three mimosas. As she handed Shelby a glass, she took in her blotched cheeks and swollen nose but made no comment. Shelby took a sip of her mimosa, then threw it into the water, and said in a wavy voice, “What’s L.A. like? Traffic? Smog? Gossip and glitz?”

  “You’ve got all that in New Orleans,” Isabella said.

  “Yes, but is California a horrid place to raise a child?”

  “Heavens, no,” said Isabella, “it can be whatever you want it to be.”

  At that moment, I began to regret my scheme. I almost said, Can’t she have that here? But I didn’t say anything.

  “It’s not me I’m worried about,” Shelby said.

  “Then who?” Isabella frowned. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “Exactly what y’all put there,” Shelby said. And I knew she was going to make Andy VanDusen fall in love with her.

  On May 21, 1979, she and Andy were married on my terrace. Andy’s parents were thrilled to see their son marry such a cultured, beautiful woman, and they kept thanking me and Isabella for introducing them.

  Isabella stepped over to me. “I would have let Andy’s father thank me in a more personal way,” she said, “but his manly parts aren’t working properly. Apparently he’s lost his big toe to sugar diabetes.”

  Renata was the flower girl and seemed excited about moving to Malibu. Andy’s house overlooked the Pacific. It had once been the Disney compound, and it even had stairs leading to a little beach cottage. Although the child’s sleepwalking had stopped, and Louie had gotten the child over her fear of water, Shelby wasn’t keen to live on the ocean. I pointed out the pluses. She would attend premiers and hobnob with Hollywood royalty, like Goldie Hawn, who’d been invited to the wedding, along with James Caan. It wouldn’t be a bad life.

  Personally, I think she saw what was inside that bunny suit. Well, who wouldn’t? Only a fool, that’s who. Just before the bride and groom left for their honeymoon, Gladys passed out beribboned packages of birdseed. The guests lined up along the curved walkway and untied the packets. Then Andy and Shelby were running down the path, dodging the seeds. Andy suddenly stopped and swept his bride into his arms and bent her backward dramatically.

  “Just look at that.” Isabella’s eyes misted. “Rock Hudson did that to me in a movie.”

  Andy swung Shelby to her feet, and they dashed off to the limousine. Little Renata put her hand in mine, and in the cutest voice said, “Well, they’re gone.”

  “They’ll be back,” I said.

  “We’re going to miss them, aren’t we, Granny?”

  “Yes, dahlin’, we will,” I said. “We surely will.”

  Not two months after the wedding, in early summer, Renata came down with a strange stomach ailment that she’d caught at a camp in Colorado. I offered to nurse the child back to health, and the VanDusens brought her to Point Clear. That whole summer, Bitsy taught Renata how to stencil, and together they spent hours on the porch, their heads inclined together. Bitsy gave the child her silver charm bracelet, and Renata wore it everywhere. When Renata got well, Andy and Shelby flew down to Mobile and spent a few days lolling on the bay. Then the three of them flew straight to Maui for a month of beachcombing and whale watching.

  In the hottest part of July, Bitsy lost her baby. When I reached the hospital, I insisted on seeing my grandchild, and I was awestruck by his beauty. Swirled brown hair, a cherub’s mouth, a beautiful head, and the DeChavannes nose. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he’d glimpsed something frightening. I imagined the three mythical Fates—spinning, measuring, and cutting the threads of life. The Fates sang with the sirens, their voices singing in unison of things in the past, present, and future.

  Louie teetotally collapsed. I was afraid to leave the hospital, but then Bitsy’s mother showed up and started acting crazy, so I drove back to Point Clear. I waited to see if Bitsy would divorce Louie.

  She didn’t. They managed to stay together five more years before she caught him en flagrante and left the country, cutting off all contact with us. Not that I blamed her, but I’d never seen Louie that upset, and I was beside myself with fear. I just knew he’d drink and end up in a car wreck, or accidentally overdose on tranquilizers.

  After Bitsy left for good, Louie formed no lasting attachments, but that didn’t mean he’d turned into a monk. I happened to know he’d been writing letters to Bitsy, professing his undying love, but he still managed to date an astounding number of floozies; I knew he would never change.

  Now, gripping the letters that Louie had brought, I gazed down at the beach. Renata stood at the bottom of the wooden steps, brushing sand from her feet. She set down the pail, then reached for her tennis shoes.

  “Did you have a pleasant walk?” I called.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Wait till you see my shells.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.” I pushed open the screen door, and Zap stepped out, wagging his stubby tail. “Your father was here.”

  “Is anything wrong?” A frown creased Renata’s face.

  “No more than usual,” I said, and handed her the letters.

  “What are these?”

  “Something from your father—and your mother. Something that might change everything.”

  Chapter 36

  EMPTY NEST

  I sat cross-legged on the floor, fanning the letters around me. The stationery was pale aqua engraved “Shelby VanDusen,” with a little shell motif in the top center. I picked up the first letter,
and the paper made a crinkly sound. The faded red postmark said 1979, approximately two months after she’d married Andy. I remembered that Bitsy had lost her baby after she’d caught Daddy in their private courtyard, fixing mint juleps for a naked woman. The woman was in the pool, not that the details mattered, but Bitsy had not been well, and the shock was too much.

  I squinted at the return address, blinking at my mother’s back-slanted handwriting. I raised the envelope to my face, thinking it still smelled like her—violets, tea roses, Chanel No. 5. Then I opened the envelope and pulled out the aqua paper.

  July 24, 1979

  Dear Louie,

  Honora told me about Bitsy losing the baby. I am so sorry. I know how much you wanted a son. I have not told Renata. I figured you’d want to tell her yourself. If you’d like me to fly her down to New Orleans, just say the word. Again, I send my prayers to you and Bitsy.

  Love,

  Shelby

  May 1, 1980

  Dear Louie,

  Andy and I will be spending the summer here in Nags Head, North Carolina. I’m sending you our address and phone number. Renata is doing fine. She is a strong swimmer. You’d be so proud. I remember how, after the swimming accident, you took her into the water and helped her get over her fear. I will always be grateful. Hope you and Bitsy have a lovely time in England this summer.

  Love,

  Shelby

  I leaned over to the night table and picked up the mermaid badge, scraping my fingers over the red letters. Something about that badge nagged at me, but I couldn’t remember anything. Then I sat down and opened the third letter. When I recognized my loopy, childish handwriting, I sucked in my breath.

  November 2, 1981

  Dear Daddy,

  I am writing to thank y’all for inviting me to New Orleans for Christmas. I would love to go but I’m spending the holidays in Italy with Mama and Andy. Maybe next year? Mama is helping me mail y’all’s presents next week. I will call you on Christmas Day, so don’t leave the house, okay?