The Land of Mango Sunsets (17 page)

“Right. I’ll make sure to tell her. Um, Dr. Imber?”

“Yes?”

“There’s no charge here for your surgery?”

“Mrs. Swanson? Your son Charlie is one of the finest young doctors I’ve ever known. He worked like a dog for me. This one’s on the house.”

“Oh! That is so incredibly kind of you! How can I thank you?”

“Little kiss right here,” he said. His eyes twinkled as he pointed to his cheek.

I delivered a very polite smooch and thought the world wasn’t such a terrible place, after all.

Once I got her home, Liz slept all afternoon as the anesthesia made its way out of her system. That evening, Kevin and I shared a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese in my kitchen, waiting for her to wake up. Harry was on top of his cage, playing on a new jungle gym I had just bought him.

“She’s been through a terrible ordeal, hasn’t she?” he said. “I wish I knew a nice single guy I could introduce her to, but in my world? Well, there just aren’t many.”

“Well, she’s going to want to be all healed before she goes back on the prowl, don’t you think? Do you want some Parmesan?”

“Of course to both.” Kevin poured another glass of Chianti for both of us.

“Isn’t it funny that she hasn’t said anything about her family? I mean, she didn’t call her mother or anyone, at least not that I’m aware of. Did she say anything to you about calling her folks?”

“Not a word. It is strange.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something else, Kevin.”

“Please! You sound so serious! Are you raising the rent?”

I laughed and said, “No, how could I do that? No, no. I want to raise some cash to help Charlie and Priscilla with their wedding expenses. And heaven knows, Liz needed help with her bills. I put Ferguson’s bill and Imber’s anesthesiologist’s bill on my AmEx card. Points, right?”

“Well, that’s using the old bean. How was Imber’s bill? Through the roof?”

“How about zero?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. He did it for Charlie as a favor. And he’s just about the nicest man I ever met to boot.”

“Wow. That is unbelievable in this day and age. But how is Liz ever going to repay you?”

“I don’t even care if she does, Kevin. If she can, Liz can pay me back whenever. I don’t care. But I will have to pay the AmEx bill, which is why I have to sell some things.”

“Understood. But Charles not helping the kids? I don’t get it. Really. I just don’t.”

“Charles is a horse’s ass,” Harry said.

“God, I love that bird,” Kevin said.

“Me, too. Anyway, Charles is so disgusting to me sometimes. Charlie merely called him to announce his biggest news of his entire life and Scrooge just jumped all over him and told him not to dare ask for a nickel. So I’m not asking him either. Give him the opportunity to yell and scream at me? I think not.”

“Good grief. You’re right. Don’t call the bum. Too demoralizing. I agree. What is the matter with that man?”

“A lot. Charles has lots of issues. But why he’s so stingy? I don’t know.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense that you wouldn’t want to help your son get married. You know, honeymoon expenses or something?”

“Let’s not dwell on him and his peculiarities. Anyway, the only way I know to raise some cash is to sell some silver and so forth. I was hoping you might help me figure this out?”

“What? The Old Curiosity Shop is finally deaccessioning?”

“Yes. It’s about time, right? I’ve got boxes of silver stuffed under the bed, in the back of closets…Let’s just say that in my younger days I had a little thing for silver? And then my mother gave me all of hers, which was a lot, and well, all totaled, it’s an embarrassing amount of tarnish. But I’m glad I hung on to it because now I can use it for something worthwhile.”

“Petal? You always surprise me with your resourcefulness. I would be thrilled to help you. This Saturday I’m free. Why don’t we dig it all out, photograph it, and I’ll get an appraiser to establish approximate values. Have you thought about whether you want to auction it or just sell it straight out or what?”

“Well, I was thinking about a house sale like they have in the suburbs? You know? Garage sale but indoors?”

Harry imitated the doorbell sound five times in a row.

Kevin looked at me like he was certain my brain was a small wad of low-fat Swiss cheese.

“What?” I said.

“Petal Puss? Not happening. Even Harry knows it’s a bad idea. Let Uncle Kevin handle this for you. I’ve got so much attitude, I’ll have people thinking they’re getting bargain prices on Queen Betty the Second’s treasures. Seriously.”

He was right, of course.

That Saturday, Liz had removed her bandage because she had to clean the wound and apply a special ointment every four hours. It was hard to look at because it was angry and red and the stitches were unsightly, too. But we could see the line of the scar wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been and that was a blessing to be sure.

“It’s going to look much better when the stitches are out,” I said.

“I hope so!” she said.

“I still wish I could have wrung his neck,” Kevin said. “So, ladies? Let’s get this show on the road.”

Liz and I helped Kevin as he photographed each piece of silver I was willing to relinquish, including a separate picture of the hallmarks. Next, we cataloged the beer steins, and when we got to the Meissen, the nymphets caused no end of wisecracks.

“Charles loved these hideous things. There’s just no accounting for taste, is there?” I said.

“Why are all their bosoms round like little tennis balls?” Liz said. “Do you think they really were that perky?”

“Perky bosoms. I love it. Me? I like the britches on this fellow,” Kevin said.

It felt so good to be letting these things go. What had once seemed extremely necessary to a refined life now felt like nothing more than clutter and pretentious excess. I kept a few things—two trays, a breadbasket, candlesticks, one set of flatware, a pair of Chinese export vases, and some things I thought the boys’ wives might enjoy—but the rest of it held no meaning for me.

With Kevin’s small digital camera and the wonders of technology, he was able to print the pictures out on four-by-six-inch glossy stock. He arranged them all in a leather photograph album, and to my surprise, it all looked absolutely professional.

“I can’t believe you did this in one afternoon, Kevin. This looks so amazing, I can’t believe these gorgeous objects are all mine.”

“It’s incredible,” Liz said.

“Yes, it is incredible, if I say so myself.” He laughed. “Monday I will give this to my friend and he will tell us where we can get the best prices.”

“Who’s that?”

“Thomas Britt. The interior designer.”

“Why do I know that name?”

“Maybe because he’s all over
Architectural Digest
and he’s basically the king of good taste in the entire country?”

“Oh. That’s fine with me, but why would we take it to a designer and not somebody like a retail dealer?” I asked.

“Well, we could, but first of all, interior designers frequently accessorize their client’s homes. The wives of these new-money Wall Street hedge-fund types don’t want to have shiny new silver in their dining rooms. They want furnishings with a provenance.”

“You’re not going to tell anybody that she’s been forced to sell her grandmother’s tea service, are you?” Liz said.

“Actually, I’m keeping that,” I said.

“Yeah, okay, but seriously, Kevin. I mean, my God, between Charles and the coffee thing, hasn’t Miriam suffered enough embarrassment in this town?”

I started to laugh because as the old Miriam died and Mellie continued to emerge, everything was bathed in a new light.

“Why would I care one whit? It’s very liberating. Anyway, I wouldn’t be the first wife who sold her silver, would I? To be honest, I can’t even afford the polish! So how ridiculous is that?”

“Listen, no one says who owned it. It’s offered anonymously. The quality of the collection will speak for itself. And it may not all go in one swoop. So let’s just see what happens.”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” I said, feeling like a sack of rocks had been lifted from my shoulders.

That night, Kevin went to the theater with some friends and Liz moved back upstairs after thanking me a thousand times for all I had done for her. I couldn’t remember feeling so good about myself in years. The tragedy had brought us close together, if not exactly like mother and daughter then like aunt and niece. I felt so grateful to be able to help her, and not just financially. I had to say, she had been more stoic than a lot of other beautiful young women might have been. That made me think yet again that she had probably come from a life of some other kind of suffering. She had never spoken about it. I would not ask.

“Miriam’s happy,” Harry said from his perch.

I burst out laughing and said, “Yes! Miriam’s happy!”

I called Charlie because in all the hullabaloo, I had not had the chance to tell him about Gerald Imber’s gift.

“He was just amazing, Charlie. Seriously. You did the nicest and most charitable thing by calling in that favor. I mean, with a little concealer, Liz is going to be beautiful again.”

“Well, I’m glad it worked out. Hey, are you going to be home tomorrow night?”

“Where else would I be?”

“I’m going to give Priscilla the ring at dinner…”

“You are? Oh! How exciting!”

“Right? And I think it might be nice to come over and let you see it on her finger, you know, so she can say thanks and all? What do you think?”

“Oh! I would love that! Did you take it to Corey?”

“Yeah, and you should see this thing—it’s like a headlight now! And you know what?”

“What?”

“He said it’s worth like nine or ten thousand dollars.”

“Mother McCree! Give it back!”

Silence.

“I’m just
kidding,
Charlie.”

“I knew that.”

“Don’t lie to your mother. What time will y’all be here?”

“You’re right. You had me for a moment. How’s nine?”

“Sounds just fine.”

The next evening I had a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a nice bottle of champagne on ice. I bought a small wedding cake with white icing and a silver spun-sugar bow on top and placed it on my best crystal cake plate. I decorated my silver cake knife with thin pink and white satin ribbon streamers. I was ready for a happy occasion.

They rang the doorbell and I couldn’t open it fast enough. Priscilla was radiant. Charlie had never been so handsome or animated. We oohed and aahed over the ring, and hugged over and over. Priscilla sliced the cake, Charlie opened the champagne, and they toasted me.
They toasted me.

Priscilla choked up, and with her voice cracking with emotion, she said, “Miriam? I just don’t know what to say. I love your wonderful son, I love this exquisite ring, and I know I’m going to love you, too. I already
do. I’m going to be a good wife, and I promise, I’m going to be a good daughter-in-law, too.”

“And a good doctor,” Charlie said.

I wanted to weep. I looked at them, so in love, so happy, sitting close to each other on my old sofa, Charlie’s arm around her shoulder, squeezing her arm with pride, the fire burning…everything I could want for my son was right in front of me. An exotic, beautiful, brilliant woman who promised us her love and fidelity. I wanted to freeze the moment and hold it forever. Screw Charles Swanson, I thought. We didn’t need him in our lives anymore. And, by the way, it was permissible for Mellie to cuss from time to time.

While Liz paid a visit to Dr. Imber to have her stitches removed, I drafted three budgets for Charlie and Priscilla’s wedding, each of them based on seventy-five guests. The most expensive included the predictable—serious invitations, two bars with premium liquors and wines, Irish-linen tablecloths with damask overlays, ballroom chairs, rented trees laced with tiny white lights, velvet pipe and drape to disguise service areas, important floral designs and standing candelabra for either side of the riser, modest centerpieces for the tables with votive candles everywhere, and a rented parquet dance floor. I included an eight-piece band for dancing and a four-piece reggae ensemble for cocktails. The menu depended on what caterer they chose, but I threw in a round number. A photographer would take formal portraits of the wedding and candid shots during the reception. He would produce leather-bound albums for the bride and groom and smaller ones for the families.

The second option was to print the invitations on someone’s computer on nice paper and bring all the expenditures down a notch or two. Or three. For example, dinner could be served all buffet style. The third option was a down-home Jamaican-themed party with handwritten invitations, punch bowls, draped picnic tables with centerpieces in conch shells, palms on the riser for the ceremony, and whatever Kevin would beg, borrow, and steal from the display department at Bergdorf’s. The guests
could cook their own goat on skewers in a fondue pot. Oh, come on, that was funny, wasn’t it? A little? Anyway, I was leaning toward the third, as it sounded like the most fun to me.

In any and all scenarios, the wedding cake would be filled with rum-soaked fruit, as this was an important tradition to Priscilla. When I compared the possibilities, the differences in the costs were dramatic.

I called Charlie to discuss it.

“Hi! How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?”

I was still so surprised by our newly reestablished comfort with each other and I was ever so grateful to have it.

“Great! Listen, I put together a couple of different budgets for this wedding reception and I know you have to go over all the details with Priscilla, but I was just wondering if you had some range of money in mind. You know, that you could afford to spend and still have a nice honeymoon?”

I told him what I thought the differences were between the options I had come up with, and he said, “Go for it, Mom. Do it Miriam Swanson style. I’ll ask Priscilla, but I know she has always secretly dreamed of some kind of an elegant affair. It’s bad enough that we’re using a loft instead of the Waldorf, right? But we’ve got the money, we just don’t have the expertise to organize this. At least I
think
we’ve got enough money.”

I assumed that meant that Priscilla handled their finances, but I said nothing.

“Got it. Well, and I’m going to help you wherever I can. You know, I should really take Kevin down there to see the loft with me. He’s the über-fantasy design guy in this whole town. I know he would have some great ideas.”

“Well, here. Call this guy.”

He gave me the name and number of his loft-owner friend and I made an appointment for that evening. If Kevin was free, we would give it the once-over.

“I don’t know why I let you drag me into these things, Petal,” Kevin said, and we bumped and barreled our way downtown in a cab at six o’clock.

“Oh, come on. You just need a glass of wine and you’ll be fine. Tough day?”

“Please! I had this whole outrageous spring thing planned around
Alice in Wonderland
. I commissioned life-size papier-mâché white rabbits and Cheshire cats from a fabulous artist in Belgium. They came in so monstrous-looking that they’re sure to give every child in the city a psychotic episode. I swear. Headline:
KINDERGARTEN SUICIDES
. They look like they could eat you alive. In one bite. All those pointed teeth and redrimmed, evil eyes…”

“Well, that surely won’t do. What’s your fallback position?”

“Switch to Buckingham Palace and do something royal. Tea with the queen instead of Alice. I have things I can use. Oceans of pearls and so forth. But it’s so annoying. And I hate repeating themes.”

“Well, look, we’ll stay in this place for ten minutes and then I’ll take you out for dinner at some cool place in Tribeca. How about Odeon? I haven’t been there in ages.”

Kevin looked over at me and smiled. I knew he loved Odeon.

“I can’t do this without you, Kevin, and you know it.”

“That’s why I’m here, Miriam. That’s why I’m here.”

We walked around the loft with Charlie’s friend and Kevin jotted notes in his Moleskine. He paced the length and width of the large space, inspected the kitchen and the bathroom, and asked how many amps of power were available.

“Do you mind if I bring in chandeliers? I have my own electrician,” he said.

“I don’t know about that.”

“He’s union, from Bergdorf Goodman. I’ve known him for years.”

“I’m kind of funny about another electrician working with my wiring.”

“And I’m kind of funny about another electrician working with my Venetian chandeliers. How about if I gave your guy a couple of hundred bucks to be here just in case my man has questions about breakers and so forth?”

“That sounds fair. Sure. That’s good. I’ll give you his number.”

After a cocktail and over steaks and eggs in a booth at Odeon, I finally said, “So what do you think about the loft?”

“Only for you, Miriam. What do I think? I’ll get my guys in there and we will transform that dank, dismal hellhole of the most depressing warehouse I have ever seen in the entire world into Cinderella’s palace. Priscilla is going to feel like a fairy princess, like every girl should on her wedding day. The good news is there’s lots of room for a huge dance floor. So don’t worry about it. Now, tell me about Liz and when are y’all heading south? It’s just me and Harry again, right?”

“Oh, Kevin, you’re the best friend I have ever had.”

“That’s okay. You’re mine, too. But at some point, I want to go to Sullivans Island. And by the way, I gave the scrapbook of pirates to Tom Britt. Waiting to hear. But I have to tell you this.”

“What?”

“Mr. Britt was seriously impressed with the book. He said he hadn’t seen silver like yours in ages. I mean, Miriam, I think you’re sitting on a huge chunk of change.”

“Well, that’s good, because with everything that’s going on, I’m going to need it.”

I found the airline tickets for Liz and me at the right price and naturally I asked her again if she still wanted to go.

“Miriam—gosh, I still feel so funny to call you that—anyway, I would love to get out of here for a few days. I’ve got cabin fever, you know?”

“I imagine that you do! Well, the sunshine will do us both a lot of good.”

So I bought the tickets, and a week later, Liz and I were on an airplane to Charleston. Her arm was still in a sling, so I helped her with her lug
gage, which we gate-checked. As the plane circled over the rivers of Charleston, Liz couldn’t stop staring through her window. The view was, as usual, absolutely spectacular, beyond anything you could capture in a photograph.

“I can’t believe how
blue
the sky is and how
all
those little waterways just weave in and out of everywhere. The whole landscape looks like it was designed by Leonardo da Vinci or somebody!”

“Bigger.”

“Michelangelo?”

“No, hon, the hand of God sculpted this.”

Liz was quiet for a moment and then she said, “You don’t talk about religion much, Miriam.”

“What is there to say? You want proof? Look outside the window. And wait until you see the sunset.”

“Papaya?”

“Close enough.”

“You know, when I was a little girl I went to church every Sunday and to Bible study and all that. But I’ll bet you I haven’t been in a church, except for a wedding or something, in ten years.”

“How come?”

“Because, well, with all the ugly things that happened to me growing up, I just had a hard time believing there was a God out there who loved me.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, I don’t know. We can talk about it sometime, I guess. But right now I’m just wanting to think about happier things.”

So Liz had her demons bottled up and didn’t feel like giving them a forum. I certainly respected that. She hadn’t been that lucky since she’d met me, so I could only imagine what was in her past. Still, she had an optimistic streak in her, some stamina to survive. She didn’t want to dwell on the past and I sure could have taken a lesson from her on that topic, as I had done way more than my share of wallowing.

Liz continued staring at the Lowcountry as we circled, mesmerized by the vast and vibrant panorama. I white-knuckled the armrest during the descent and smiled as though nothing were wrong when she looked back in my direction.

“We’re here,” I said as brightly as I could manage, although I had just endured my classic out-of-body experience with the landing.

We got our bags and were on our way in minutes. I thought to myself that it surely was a good thing that not many people knew how easy it was to fly in and out of Charleston or we’d be overrun with tourists.

Liz had the same visceral reactions on the drive to Sullivans Island as I always did. Glistening water, short docks dropped along the water’s edge on tilted pilings, while small boats bobbed alongside them, the high-tide marks in the marsh grass, erosion lines in mud banks home to the white-and-gray craggy oyster beds, birds everywhere—only the coldest heart could have remain unmoved.

“Miriam, this is so beautiful you could just cry.”

“And, guess what? There’s no more land like this,” I said. “Well, maybe some here and there, but, boy, it sure is disappearing fast.”

“That’s a
major
mortal sin,” Liz said.

“You’re telling me? My mother and her friend Harrison are all involved in every environmental movement they have going on around here. You won’t believe this. Her latest thing is collecting Stonyfield yogurt containers and sending them off to this company called Recycline, which makes toothbrushes out of the containers.”

“You’re lying.”

“Honey, you can’t make stuff like this up. Something like fifty million pounds of used toothbrushes are tossed out every year.”

“Gross!”

“Seriously, right? Last time I was here she was making biodegradable plates and bowls out of potato starch.”

“Man, I can’t wait to meet them.”

“They’re pretty wild.”

When the taxi pulled up to our Sullivans Island home, it was nearly dark.

“We’ll catch the sunset tomorrow,” I said.

I heard the sliding-glass door open and looked up to see my mother at the top of the steps. Perhaps it was the light, but just in the few short weeks since I had seen her, it seemed to me that she was considerably thinner.

“Welcome!” she called out. “You must be Liz!”

She may have lost some weight, but she had given up no spirit. Her voice was just as young and full of energy as it had ever been.

“You girls hurry up now! Miriam? Let’s show Liz to the guest room.”

I gave my mother a kiss on her cheek. She gave Liz a hug and took her bag right from her hand.

“I’ll show you the goat and the chickens later,” I said, and winked at Liz.

“Laugh all you want, missy, but they serve a purpose!” My mother turned her attention to Liz. “Look at you, sweetheart! You’ve just had the bug-eyed devil of a time, haven’t you? Well, no matter. You’re here now and the salt air will have you doing cartwheels in no time! How’s that shoulder?”

“Collarbone, actually. And it’s a lot better, but it’s still hard to blow out my hair.”

“Six weeks to heal? I think that’s what they say, right? And we don’t worry about our hair at the beach.”

“Yeah, well, this is week three and my collarbone feels about half better, so I guess that’s about right.”

Mother went back downstairs and I helped Liz unpack.

“I didn’t bring much,” she said.

“Don’t need much,” I said. “And if you do, we have stores. It feels like the middle of nowhere, but there’s a Gap just three miles from here.”

“There’s a Gap three miles from
everywhere
.”

“Truly. I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

In my bathroom I was washing the airport/airplane/airport film of unknown bacteria and germs from my face and hands. I heard a car pull up and then another. I looked down through my bedroom window to see Harrison and Manny. Harrison had flowers, probably for Mother. Manny had flowers. Manny the Man had flowers for
me
? Well, that was pretty sweet.

I ran my fingers through my hair, pulled off my sweater set, threw on a white T-shirt, an oversize blue chambray shirt, those tight jeans of unknown origin from my last visit that my sweet mother had laundered, and my loafers. Here’s a news flash: the jeans were looser.
All praise the mighty treadmill!

I swiped a pink-tinted gloss across my lips and applied some mascara. No blush was necessary, as Mother Nature stepped in to help with a power surge and my cheeks were as rosy as could be. Look out. The lusty Daughter of the Dunes was back in town. I couldn’t get downstairs fast enough.

“Well, look who’s here!” I said.

They were all gathered around the island in the kitchen, getting to know Liz.

“Hey, girl! Welcome home!” Harrison said, and opened his arms for a hug.

I was so happy to see him that I thought, Oh, what the heck, and I hugged him in a sisterly way.

“What about me?” Manny said. “I brought you flowers!”

“So you did! Thank you!”

I hugged him, too, unexpectedly close, and he looked at me with a look of intent. Although I hadn’t seen it in eons, I knew exactly what that kind of expression meant. I returned his look with the boldest one I could muster. In other words, if you had to put the pheromones flying around between us in big sacks, it would have taken a couple of musclemen to carry them down to the edge of the marsh to release them back into the wild. It was utterly ridiculous and even trashy to entertain lusty thoughts
about him, because I really had only marginal feelings for him in any other area, except for the fact that he could cook.