Bulls Island

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Sandi removed her eyeglasses and stared at me while she cleaned them with a tissue.

  “I have no knowledge of your personal life,” she said. “No knowledge whatsoever.”

  “Right. Okay, it’s after five-thirty. I’m going to meet my father for an early dinner at O’Farrell’s. Why don’t you get out of here and go have a nice evening?”

  “Good. Thanks.” She pulled open her bottom drawer to remove her purse.

  “And Sandi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for everything—the office, the makeover, the lunch, your discretion…”

  “Look, this is a great deal for me. I get to stay with my brother, even though he lives like you don’t want to know. And decorating was actually fun. Who doesn’t love to spend somebody else’s money? But your makeover? That was like doing a rescue mission—”

  “Stop! You’re so fresh!”

  “Ha! Gotcha! Lunch was just a phone call, and that discretion thing? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I gave her a wave and left the office for the first time that day. The heat had broken and the skies threatened to burst. Classic. I knew we would be bombarded by rain and crackles of lightning for an hour or so and then it would seem like midday again. I couldn’t have cared less.

  I drove Sela’s car over to the parking lot closest to her restaurant. As I made the turn onto King Street, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a man in a car across the street staring at me. What the hell? Was I being followed? Was this the long arm of Vinny following me around through the cell-phone camera of some hired thug? How stupid! What did he expect to learn? I told myself it was all my imagination and to get over myself.

  The first pelts of rain began to fall as I pushed open the door to Sela’s place. She was behind the bar.

  “Hey!” she called. “I haven’t heard from you all day! How’s it going?”

  I climbed on a bar stool and gave her a half hug across the bar.

  “Whoo! I came early because Daddy’s meeting me here at six. I thought we could grab a fast glass of wine or a Coke or something.”

  “‘Daddy’s coming at six.’ Um, you said that like this is an everyday occurrence for you. So you called him, huh? White wine? Bottle with a straw?”

  I laughed at that and nodded in agreement. “Sure. White’s good. Anything. I don’t care as long as it’s got a big splash of alcohol in it. Oh, Sela. What a day. I feel like I’ve been here for a year.”

  “I’ll bet. So, start from the beginning. How was your dad on the phone?” She put the goblet in front of me and filled it with an unfamiliar Chardonnay. “Do I have to beat it out of you?”

  “You know what? It’s a big fat mess, but we’ll get it straightened out. He was a sweetheart. Cheers!”

  “Cheers, yourself! See?”

  “Yep. You were right, as usual. But we have a lot of fences to mend and it’s not all going to happen over one dinner.”

  “No, I imagine not. So, how’s the new office? I can’t wait to see it.”

  “J.D. liked it. At least I think he did.”

  “Um, I think I’ll have that scotch now.”

  “I’m telling you, Sela, this has been a day out of Hollywood.”

  “Details, please?” Sela poured two fingers of a rare eighteen-year-old single malt into a tumbler. “I’m just gonna sip this if that’s all right with you.”

  “Sip. Yeah, he called, I called him back, he came over for pastrami on rye, and we went over the plans.”

  “JMJ, girl. Aren’t you the cool customer? So how was it? Electric? Terrifying? I mean, is there heat?”

  “What the hell do you think?”

  “I think that this is gonna be the hottest summer on record.”

  “If I can get through this assignment with my virtuous reputation intact, it will be a miracle.”

  “Holy crap. Did he put the moves on you?”

  Her face looked so solemn and her wording of the question was so dated that I burst out laughing.

  “Put the moves on me? Heavens, no! He was the perfect gentleman, I’m happy to report.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “I’m not. Being in the same room with him was just about all my nerves could handle. You know, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Truly. So what did you think?”

  “I think—” I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  It was Daddy, shaking out his umbrella and smiling from ear to ear.

  I jumped down from my seat and threw my arms around his neck. He hugged me back so hard I thought he might have cracked a rib. At that moment nothing mattered, all the years, all the lies…we would figure it out. Sela had stepped away, probably to give us a moment’s privacy, I thought.

  Finally, we stood back and had a look at each other.

  “You look wonderful, Daddy. Really wonderful. I can’t believe my lucky eyes are finally so filled with you! Oh my God! How are you?”

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve become an old coot. But look at you! You’re a woman…” His eyes filled with tears and he reached for his handkerchief. I had forgotten that he used handkerchiefs. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to…”

  “It’s okay, Daddy, I cried all last night. Oh! Gosh! It’s really you! This is a very big deal.” Thankfully, Sela returned at that moment.

  “Come on, Mr. Vaughn, I’ve got a special table for you two.”

  We followed Sela through the restaurant, back through the kitchen, and to a storage room that served as her wine cellar. She had quickly set up a small table for two with flowers in a Coke bottle, votives, and cloth napkins spread out to serve as a makeshift tablecloth.

  “Well, it’s not exactly Per Se—”

  “Oh, Sela! It’s perfect!”

  “Can an old man give a young woman a hug?” Daddy said, and hugged Sela politely.

  “Mr. Vaughn? I’d love a hug! I’ll be back,” she said, and left us alone.

  “It’s a little chilly in here,” I said.

  “I guess it has to be,” he said as he held my chair for me.

  “Still the gentleman…thanks.”

  I snapped my napkin across my lap and looked at him as he took his seat. He had aged quite a lot, but the changes in me were probably much more profound in his eyes. As J.D. had observed, the last time we had seen each other, we were practically children.

  “Always a gentleman,” he said with a smile. “Some things such as good manners still matter. Well, to me at least. So tell me, my beautiful Betts, where do we start?”

  I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. “I think I’d like to start by saying how sorry I am, Daddy. I am so sorry and I hope somehow, by God’s grace, you will find a way to forgive me—”

  “No, baby, I’m the one filled with regret. That I let all these years pass and never came looking for you. Well, it’s just completely reprehensible and—”

  Just then, the door opened and a waiter put a bottle of champagne in a cooler on our table. He quietly removed the cork with barely a hiss and poured for us. Another waiter followed with a platter of some very yummy-looking hors d’oeuvres, broiled shrimp impaled on toothpicks with tiny onions, crab cakes nestled on toast points, garnished with tartar sauce and a minuscule sprinkle of mustard sprouts, and baked marinated citrus olives stuffed with almonds. This was very fancy fare for O’Farrell’s, even if we were in Sela’s cellar, the newly appointed hideout for extremely dysfunctional-family reunions.

  “Well, Daddy, either we’re going to spend the whole evening apologizing for things we can’t change—”

  “Or we’re going to make a fresh start. What do you say? I think we should make a fresh start.”

  “I say we have both been a couple of knuckleheads and we should leave the past—”

  “Behind us where it belongs!”

  We touched the edges of our glasses and silently toasted the future.

  “So, what about Joanie?” I asked. “I take it she didn�
�t want to come?”

  “Joanie is the other knucklehead in the family. I don’t know what to say about your sister.”

  “Well, as I hear tell, she has some concerns about your health.” I popped an olive in my mouth and was surprised at how good it was. “Here, try one of these. It’s incredible!”

  “Thank you.” He took one, ate it, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Imagine that! I thought olives were only for martinis!”

  “Live and learn, right? So, you were telling me about your health?”

  “Betts, the reports of my ill health are greatly exaggerated. I’ve never felt better in my life. My only problems are the normal ones that accomp’ny advancing years. I creak a little in the morning, but as soon as I get moving, I do just fine. As a rule, I walk her crazy dogs down to the Batt’ry. You know, to take the air?”

  I loved that he said “Batt’ry” instead of “Battery.” And “accomp’ny” rather than “accompany.” He had traces of that old Charleston accent that I had not heard in ages, and on hearing it again, I was flooded for the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours with waves of nostalgia and sentimental feelings.

  “Joanie is complicated, Daddy. She always was and she always will be.”

  “I think she would be a lot happier if she fixed herself up, you know, made an attempt to dress like a lady. Then she might actually find a romantic interest, you know what I mean?”

  “Well, romance isn’t for everyone, is it? You’re still single; in fact, we all are.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I mean, I can understand in some ways why you never married. Your mother’s death was very traumatic for you and for all of us. But like most parents, I had always hoped to have grandchildren, you know? A little scamp to take fishing? A little girl to take to the fair or out for an ice-cream cone?”

  I was so close to telling him about Adrian that I had to clench my jaw.

  When he saw me withdrawing, he said, “Oh, listen to me rambling on…what’s the difference? I have you back and that’s more than good enough for me! This is a night for celebrating what we have, not for wanting more.”

  “It’s human nature to always want more. It’s okay.”

  “So, tell me why you’re here? You didn’t tell me.”

  The door opened again.

  “Menus? We have a couple of specials tonight that are not on the menu…”

  The hyperpolite waiter rattled off a pasta dish, some kind of mahi-mahi concoction that sounded awful, and a special stuffed pork belly that I wouldn’t eat for love or money.

  “Do you know what you’d like to have, Betts? I’m going to have the chicken potpie.”

  “Me, too.”

  “It’s the best thing on the menu,” Daddy said. “Sometimes, when I can escape your sister’s eye and Sela’s disapproving glares, I sneak in here, sit by myself in the back, and have one. Although I must say, I usually don’t wash it down with champagne.”

  “What do you normally have?”

  “Oh, you know me…or you’ve probably forgotten…”

  “Or I never knew. Just tell me. Let’s not dwell…please?”

  “You’re right. Well, I like a Manhattan, but I like mine made with Maker’s Mark and two cherries. After that, I usually just drink water or tea. But I still like to have a cocktail.”

  “A Manhattan. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “So, you haven’t told me.”

  “Told you what?” I thought, told you a thousand things that would probably send you right into cardiac arrest?

  “Why you’re here?”

  “Oh! Gosh, yes. There are a few stories to tell. Well, I work for ARC Partners, which is a…”

  I gave him the general picture of what I did and he seemed quite proud. Most importantly, he absolutely seemed to understand every aspect of my business. Joanie was a liar. Daddy was not senile in the least.

  “So what exactly are you doing in Charleston?”

  “Do you want the long answer or the CliffsNotes?”

  “CliffsNotes first, details later.”

  “Developing Bulls Island with the Langleys, J.D. specifically. How’s that for weird karma?”

  Daddy leaned back in his chair, inhaled for a long time, and then exhaled even more slowly.

  “Well, that’s one way to enter the city. I hope you weren’t expecting a parade in your honor.”

  “Daddy? That’s pretty chilly coming from you, especially given the occasion. Seriously, if what you rely on for facts and information comes from what you read in the papers, then you would be grossly uninformed.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  I told him how I had been chosen for the project in the first place so that he understood that declining the assignment would’ve meant certain death for my career at ARC. Then I went through what J.D. had presented to me.

  “Look, they could ruin the whole island if they wanted to, but they don’t. Out of the two thousand plus acres they could develop, they’re only developing housing on two hundred right now.”

  “You’re gonna expect me to believe that they could put up four thousand houses, but they’re only going to build four hundred? How’s this boondoggle supposed to pay for itself? I think you may be naive on this one, Betts. You know the Langleys. They are the greediest sons of bitches I ever knew, pardon the expression. And that ‘sweet boy,’ J.D.? Hmmph. He’s just like his old man. Big Jim Langley could talk a dog off a meat truck. I wouldn’t believe a daggum thing he says.”

  All my alarms went off again and I became suspicious of J.D. Maybe his intentions were honorable, but would Louisa override them?

  “And that’s exactly why I’m here. To protect my company’s investment.”

  “Well, you sure have one deep and tough row to hoe. Hmmph. Anytime you need a sounding board, and I mean this, call me. I can smell Langley bull like a boykin can flush out a dove.”

  “He swears they’re not touching the wetlands.”

  “Perhaps, but this is a bottom-line game here and either they’re building more houses than he’s telling you or they’re going to charge some exorbitant membership fee for the golf club. Or something. I’d be very wary if I were you. And you realize how seriously unpopular this entire development is. Public sentiment despises developers, even if Al Gore himself is a paid consultant.”

  “Bringing Gore in might not be a bad idea. At least to ask him to give it all a cursory glance.”

  “What was that?”

  “I said, bringing Gore in might not be such a bad idea, you know, just ask him to give it all a look.” Apparently Daddy was a little hard of hearing, but who wasn’t?

  “I thought that was what you said. Well, I don’t think so. It’s not what he does best. Besides, if you love Al Gore, as I suspect you do, you wouldn’t want to jeopardize his reputation with any of the Langley shenanigans.”

  There and then we had found a sliver of common ground. My father would be my resident guru if I needed one. Maybe.

  We made our way through the potpies and then picked over two slices of apple pie à la mode until it was obvious it was time to say good night.

  “Do you want to come back to the house?” Dad said.

  “Joanie’s there?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Know what, Dad? I just saw you for the first time in almost twenty years, and J.D., too. If Joanie wanted to see me, she would’ve been here.”

  “Now, don’t go starting trouble with your—”

  “I’m not starting anything. I’m exhausted.”

  He looked at me and saw me not as the ill-tempered woman my sister had become but as a reasonable adult who had taken enough bullets for one day. As the old warriors would say, the day had been “target rich” for the other side.

  Outside on the sidewalk, after Sela refused to let us pay for dinner and we had thanked her profusely, Daddy and I hugged and lingered in the embrace long enough to be satisfied that we were on the road to some kind of certifiable reconciliation. Hope
fully—hopefully—it would improve with each day. Until he found out what I had been hiding from everyone, that is. I hoped with everything I had in me that I could build a base of love and trust that would be solid enough to support me when Adrian eventually arrived.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow?” he said.

  “Sure. Here’s my cell, and the office number’s there, too, and my e-mail…”

  He looked at my card and then looked into my eyes.

  “Your mother would have been very proud of you, Betts. I know I am.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. I love you, you know.”

  “I know you do. And in my own stubborn way, I love you. Oh, my goodness! It’s been such a long time since I spoke those words.”

  “It’s okay.”

  The rain had cleared up and night was finally on our heels. Somehow, when it was dark I gave myself permission to relax and I could feel my shoulders drop back into their natural position. I watched my father walk away. I had offered him a ride home, but he had declined, saying the exercise was good for him, and it probably was. He strolled up the empty block, tilted a little to the left, but he did not lean on the umbrella for support. Suddenly, as though he could feel my eyes on his back, he stopped in the middle of the next block, turned to me, and blew me a kiss. I blew him one back and thought I had been through all I could take for one day without dissolving into a pool of my own tears.

  On the drive back to the Isle of Palms, I thought of calling Adrian. What would I say to him? That I had seen his father and grandfather that day? The ones he thought were dead? That they were fine and happy? There was a lump in my throat and I knew I was going to have a hard time sleeping that night. But to my surprise, I woke at seven, having slept the sleep of the dead.

  I threw back the rubberized blackout curtains and was nearly blinded by the sun’s reflection on the water. It was going to be a gorgeous day. Groundbreaking, in fact. What to wear to a groundbreaking ceremony?

  Wardrobe fiasco.

  If I wore something like black trousers, a white T-shirt, a jacket, and loafers, I would look like Miss City Slicker who in all likelihood did not know diddly-squat about what I was doing except ruining Bulls Island to make money for some unseen suits up north. And I would perspire myself into a dangerously low electrolyte count. Fainting at a press conference would not do.