by Lisa Samson
“If the description fits.” Flannery raked her fingers through my hair, then began snipping at the ends. “Actually, I’ll stop by the beauty supply place tonight, and I can give your hair a nice frosting to cover your gray. It would look beautiful with some lights running along the strands.”
“Oh, Flannery.”
“Come on, Mother—”
Mother. Crud. The formal M word. I had good as lost this one.
She combed from the front of my head to the back. “You really need to get with it here, Mom.”
Where did she learn to be so headstrong?
Ha-ha!
“Okay. I know when I’m beat. Next thing you know, you’ll be giving me a complete makeover.”
“That’s another thing. We’ve got to go shopping and get you some more clothes. You’ve hardly bought anything since the fire. And then there’s the good doctor to consider.”
I snatched the scissors out of her hand. “No thanks then. If I wanted a makeover, I’d have asked for one.”
“But, Mom, you’re so pretty! Why won’t you let yourself look more attractive?”
“I don’t have the time. And I don’t have the time for this.”
Not a bit put off, my daughter. “Everybody has time for a haircut. And getting some new clothes is something you need to do. Since you’ve got a clean slate, you might try wearing something other than those depressing polyester clothes the fire destroyed. Sheesh, I bet the flames literally sought out those gaggy clothes on behalf of the fashion world.”
“Gaggy clothes?” Honestly, I don’t know why I acted so offended. Of course they were gaggy clothes. They were 100 percent polyester, had elastic waistbands and fabric-covered buttons. I’d just never thought of them as gaggy before.
“Yes. Please, Mom? Please let me do your hair today. I’ll run to Sally’s right now and get the stuff. Let me help perk you up. Please?”
“I honestly don’t have the time right now, Flannery. Let’s do it this weekend, okay?”
“Promise?”
“I guess so.” I was actually relieved she didn’t ask what activity was so pressing today. Because I didn’t have a good answer.
“No. Not I guess so, Mom. Either you promise or you don’t.”
I didn’t quite know what to say. I guess I’d become used to life as the polyester Flair witch.
“Please?”
Oh, Flannery.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Saturday morning?”
“Okay.”
“Maybe we can go even shopping for a Wonderbra next week.”
“Now that is going too far, Flannery.”
“Oh, Mom, you’re such an easy target.” She ran out of the bathroom. “I’ve got to go tell Prisma! She’ll be so excited.”
Oh, Jesus, my Jesus, what have I let myself get into? And am I really as dismal looking as my daughter suggests?
No woman wants the fact confirmed that they’ve let themselves go. But maybe Flannery made a valid point. Dressing plain and cheap all the time can’t be good for a woman. We all need to live a little every once in a while.
Right?
PRISMA
I CAN’T BELIEVE MRS. SUMMERVILLE actually asked that horsefly over for a good home-cooked meal. On a Thursday night.
“You should see where he lives, Prisma. Horrible.”
“You’ve seen it, Mrs. Summerville?”
“Well, I had a headache and he just took me up for some aspirin, and why in the world do I need to explain myself to you, Prisma Percy?”
“Oh, I’m not the one you need to explain anything to.” And I swiveled back to the stove and grumbled. “Bringing a strange man to Greenway.”
“It’s my home and I’ll bring anyone I like into it.”
“H’m.”
“M’m.”
Leslie
OF COURSE LARK BEGGED OUT OF DINNER TONIGHT, and Flannery is working, so it will be just Jake and myself. But what to wear? Caught somewhere between dazzling him and not wanting to scare him off either, I finally decided on a black pantsuit that ties around the waist, with a cream-colored shirt. A simple ponytail with a tortoiseshell clip, and I deemed the reflection before me presentable. At my age it’s all I can hope for.
Prisma outdid herself despite her disgust at the entire situation.
Leg of lamb, fresh peas, red bliss potatoes, and for dessert, this caramel truffle affair that sent me right over the moon. Earlier, when I saw Prisma preparing it, I gasped. “Can I eat that?”
“You shouldn’t. But every once in a while won’t hurt, will it, Mrs. Summerville? And let’s face it, men love to see a woman with a healthy appetite.”
“They do?”
“Oh yes. Nothing worse to a man then listening to a woman go on and on about her diets and all. Fork it in. That’s what they like!”
“I never knew. And don’t say, ‘You don’t know much, Mrs. Summerville,’ or I’ll pop you one!”
We laughed and laughed.
Jake and I drank more coffee out on the porch. Despite the heat. “You clean up real well,” I laughed.
“Well, thanks, ma’am.”
No Western accent here. He’s a Maryland boy. They say ma’am here, too.
Then we discussed about the only thing I soon realized we had in common. Horses.
And after the stress test and all, I realized that a lot more important things in life defined me, and the rest of the evening bored me silly.
What had I been thinking? Honestly, if I was going to get that sweater for Lark finished by Christmas, the night would have been better spent knitting.
He left around nine, and I sauntered into the kitchen to sit with Prisma.
“Well?” She dried the sink. “Was I right?”
“I hate to admit it.”
“You just liked his earthiness.”
“You got that right.” I rolled my tongue around Prisma’s dialect for the first time in my life and loved it.
Prisma and I laughed together, shaking our heads.
Lark
JOHNNY JOSEFOWSKI, MD, KNOCKED ON MY DOOR around 10 P.M. looking wiped out. “Hello, Lark. How are you?”
What was he doing here again? Wow.
“Fine.” Too bad I didn’t let Flannery do my hair. What an idiot you are, Lark. “Are you okay? You look a little peaked. Can I get you a cup of tea or something?”
“I could use a cup of tea.”
“Tough day in surgery?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I don’t know how you do that, day after day.”
“It’s like playing the organ.” He shrugged. “Just think of it as a different kind of performance.”
“At least my songs don’t draw blood.”
“There is that.”
“Come on back to the kitchen.”
Prisma walked by. “My, my!” And kept on walking to her room.
What else could I say except, “How do you take your tea?”
“Milk and sugar.”
For some reason that surprised me. Weren’t heart surgeons Spartan people with little regard for those comfy extras? Although he was chubby. He must have seen my eyebrows rise as I held open the flip-flop door because he felt it necessary to explain. “My grandparents on my mother’s side were from England. We all take our tea that way.”
“Have a seat.”
He scraped out a freshly painted red chair and sat down. “Wow, I like this kitchen!”
“Hasn’t changed for years. Prisma won’t let us do a thing in here.”
“Was that Prisma who just walked by?”
“Uh-huh. Technically she’s the housekeeper. But in all reality, she’s the heartbeat of the Summervilles.”
“You sure about that?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“H’m.”
“You and those ‘h’ms,’ Johnny.”
I put a filled kettle on the stove. “You look nice.”
“Staff meeting.”
“So your surger
y was earlier then?”
He eased his rear end down to a more comfy position. “Early. Emergency around 2 A.M. And then I just got busy and realized I should have come down earlier. I’m sorry I’m barging in so late.”
An apologetic doctor. So was I on Candid Camera or something?
“So how’s your mom coming along?” he asked.
“Fine, I guess. She hasn’t said much. She’s one of those private people. Who’s her doctor, again?”
“Dr. Medina. He’s in my group.”
“Really? So then maybe you could keep an eye on things? Leslie never tells me anything.”
“You call her Leslie?”
“Not to her face.”
“I see.”
I’m sure you do, I thought. The kettle screamed, and I poured the tea.
We sat in silence for a while, and then I asked if he wanted to watch a movie. He said sure, and so I turned on the television and found a movie called Tremors, and we laughed ourselves sick!
Two hours later I watched him go. He waved with a tired hand. You know something magical exudes from fingers like that. Fascinating in and of themselves, they perform miraculous wonders every day. Those fingers touch human hearts on a regular basis.
Human hearts!
Does he realize how blessed he is? I don’t know. It took a lot of work for him to get there. Makes me wonder if his own accomplishments deprive him of the blessings of his very work.
He sure seems like a nice guy though.
Wonder why he never married?
There must be a major flaw tucked underneath there somewhere. That thought actually encouraged me. Maybe there was hope for me yet. But Bradley was coming. In three days he’d fly into Baltimore, and then what?
I ran to the bathroom.
Flannery
I LOVE JAMES.
Is that like the weirdest thing or what? Here I’m thinking he is this total yuck, and he ends up really being anything but gag. I can hardly believe it.
He works on that skipjack on the weekends because he loves the sea! Is that romantic or what? He’s already got his degree in marine biology and spent a bucketload of summers training dolphins (“Not dolphins, Flannery, porpoises”) at amusement parks. Said he dated some of those variety-show dancers, but nothing serious since his freshman year of college.
He’s twenty-four, and he works with the porpoises down at the National Aquarium.
“So what’s with all the piercings?” I asked him during our second date when we finally got off the name thing and talked about our ambitions. We hadn’t quite made it to family. I love my family, but let’s face it, we’re oddballs.
“Just stupid, I guess. You know how there are people like you artistic types who have a concrete way of expressing things? Then there’s my type, who has so much inside trying to come out, and no good way to express it. So I do stupid things like piercing.”
“A little does go a long way though.”
“Tell me about it!”
“Do you ever feel kind of stupid? Like superficial or something?”
“Sometimes. But when you don’t have talent, like you do, it’s got to come out somewhere.”
“Wow.”
“Most people never think of it like that.”
“I guess not. It wouldn’t have dawned on me.”
“And it might just be that way with me. I can’t speak for everyone.”
“Yeah. I know a lot of kids up at art school that look just like you.”
“And here I thought I was unique.” He gave me a slow wink.
Oh man! My stomach rolled in butter at the sight of that!
We sat in the food court at Towsontowne Centre drinking a cup of Gloria Jean’s Kenya roast, and I kept hoping my boss wouldn’t walk by. “Do you think you’ll ever take some of those earrings out?”
He shrugged. “Give me a reason to.”
Did he mean literally, right then and there, just fork out a reason? Or did he mean it figuratively, like, “I’d do it for you, you gorgeous hunk o’ woman, if you take this relationship and run with it.”
So I just said, “I think I need a little more cream.”
When I sat back down, the sight of him sitting there, slouched low in the wooden chair, callous hand curled around the paper cup, touched me deeply. I can’t describe it other than that feeling I got when Mom read me I’ll Love You Forever for the first time.
We didn’t talk much about our families then. But we did talk about God. I told him I loved Jesus, and he said he went to mass every Sunday morning.
“Wanna come with me to my church one night?” I asked. “The younger-type service is on Saturday evenings.”
“You trying to convert me or something?”
“Nope. I’ll go to mass with you the next morning just so you know I’m not.”
He smiled. Oh man! There went my heart again.
Over the likes of pierced-boy.
I can’t believe it. I’m telling you, this is just too weird!
Prisma caught us in the back garden tonight. She walked out with some food for the bird feeder, and I could see her out of the corner of my eye as James and I started to kiss.
And old Prisma turned right back around, waving a hand over her head. But she caught the screen door right before it hit her on the butt.
What do I say about this man? Well, I love him. Pure and simple. He does something to me, inside and out.
We sweetly kissed until the sun went down with the red rage of the star it really is.
I’ve been meaning to ask him about his sexual past and figure the conversation should be soon. If he’s been all over town, I might want to call this thing quits before it goes too far. I mean, I’m not foolish enough to expect to go where no woman has gone before with this guy, but I’m hoping he’s done it with no more than he can count on one hand.
Will he be shocked to find out I’m still a virgin! Mom’s solitude after marrying young and then Daddy dying and all is enough to scare any girl away from frivolous sexual encounters! Not to mention that Top Gun scene too. Gag me.
But in all honesty, disappointing God like that means more than anything else. Jesus died for enough sins, unmarried sex included, but I try to do all I can to take care of some of them myself. A lot of people look at Christ’s blood and say, “Well, it will cover this one too.” And then jump right into whatever it is they want to do. And I do that too, sometimes. But this is a big one. This is one that matters to a lot of people, chiefly, the little ones I hope to come out of a clean womb someday.
The good thing is, if he’s very promiscuous, and with my luck he will be, he’ll dump me when he realizes I’m not an easy conquest.
And man, is that going to hurt.
Some girls think being a good girl is cowardly. But believe me—believe me—nothing is further from the truth. You have to learn to speak up, to speak out, to cull the jerks from the gems, and you have to do it year after year after year until the right one comes along and you decide you want to keep him around for good.
Lark
I LOCATED HIM ON THE INTERNET WITH PRISMA.
Sitting next to me, her face lit up in the ray of morning sun piercing the window glass, Prisma cocked her head back to examine the picture through her reading glasses. “That’s him all right, baby.”
She took a sip of her morning coffee.
“I know.”
I took a sip of my morning tea.
“He looks pretty much the same, doesn’t he? Only older.”
“Yeah.”
“Lot more wrinkled than you are, baby.”
“You think so?”
“Oh yes. Most definitely.”
“Do you think he’ll recognize me?”
“Uh-huh. You may have lost your curves, but your face looks just the same. Make sure you do up your hair and makeup though.”
Even a wacko like me knows better than to evoke his pity, to tip him off as to my sorry existence, to let him think the years have been as hard o
n me as they really have.
“And wear something pretty. But not too fancy. You don’t want him to think you went way out of your way.”
“Don’t worry, Prisma. I’m practicing before I meet him.”
“He meeting you at the church?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right then! I’d say you’re putting the situation right where it should be. At God’s house.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have too much to hang a hat on these days. I might as well make the most of what I’ve got.”
“You’ve got more than you think you do, baby, so stop whining.” Yeah, yeah. She’s right, of course. I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself for so long I’m not quite sure how to get out of it. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I pointed to the screen. “Click on that link. It shows those thumbnail pictures closer up.”
She did.
“Hey, you’re getting good with that mouse, Prisma.”
“Don’t I know it! Girl, I am a cyber queen!”
I’m sure Flannery’s definition for “cyber queen” meant something quite different!
Bradley’s face filled the monitor. Blue eyes pulsating with that life, that optimism that filled my heart years ago. “He’s still cute, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, baby, he is.”
My stomach soured. “I’m scared to death.”
“I know you are. Do you have any idea what you’re going to do with him?”
“None.”
Prisma put an arm around me. “I didn’t think you did, baby.”
“Do I let him see Flannery?”
“That’s the big question. And I don’t have an answer for it.”
“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see, won’t I?”
“You got that right.”
Prisma flicked a glance at her wristwatch. “You want some breakfast?”
“That would be nice.”
“Cereal with fruit?”
“Okay. Then I’d better get into the bath.”
We shuffled into the kitchen together.
“Sort of like getting ready for the prom?” Prisma poured us both some tea.
“Oh my word, Prisma. Let’s hope not!”
Sitting at the table, I pulled my Christmas stocking project out of the craft bag Prisma bought me to tote it around.
