Porch Lights (19 page)

“That’s nice,” I said. “What did he say?”

“Oh, you know, ‘How’s your mom? Where is she?’ You know, that kind of thing.”

“Um-hum,” I said thinking, Yeah, sure, he probably said, “Is the old bag home?”

“You should’ve seen him with Charlie. He’s really mellowed.”

“You know, with him it was always all one way or the other. Either he was so mellow that you felt like sticking a compact mirror under his nose to see if he was still breathing. Or when he didn’t like something he was so sarcastic it made me want to curl up in a corner and cry. I don’t miss that part at all.”

“I don’t remember him ever acting like that.”

“Then, my dear, you have a very, very selective memory.”

It did not serve anyone well to remind her of all the times her father had insulted her in public to voice his displeasure instead of taking her aside and speaking to her with respect.

“Maybe. Well, he was a doll today.”

“No one could be happier to hear that than I am.” I drained my glass.

Charlie returned right as they put our food on the table. “What are y’all talking about?” he said.

“About your day with Guster,” I said. “So y’all had a good time?”

“It was the best possible day, Glam. It really was.”

Just as Charlie was about to launch into a recitation of everything that had happened that day, Marshall appeared with yet another cocktail.

“Don’t worry! This one’s considerably weaker.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well, it’s from David Kenney and Mike Richardson. It’s a Salty Dog.”

“That’s the name of Glam’s house!” Charlie exclaimed. “What’s in it?”

“Well, it’s got some vodka and some grapefruit juice and some salt around the rim.”

“How do you get the salt on there like that?” Charlie asked.

“When you’re all done with dinner, you come and find me and I’ll show you! How’s that?”

“Cool,” Charlie said and began to scoop his fish away from the bones and eat it with gusto. Marshall’s flounder was always exceptionally fresh and sweet. “Can y’all pass the ketchup? I could eat flounder every night of the week.”

“Me too, sugar,” I said.

I waved and blew more kisses to my old childhood friends, and Charlie caught me.

“Glam?” He looked toward the bar and then back to me with the funniest expression on his beatific little face. “Are those decrepit old dudes flirting with you?”

“No, darling, we are
pretending
to be flirting,” I said.

“Yeah, and they just pretended to send you three cocktails!” Jackie said and rolled her eyes.

“They’re some of my oldest friends on this island and would never step one toe over the line of propriety.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, and I think he got the gist of it. “So they’re just fooling around?”

“Exactly!”

After dinner, Charlie got a lesson in how to sugar or salt the rim of a glass, Jackie went to the ladies’ room, and I gave every one of my old friends a good smooch. Lord have mercy on my soul and body, there’s nothing like a native island prince to make a girl feel good.

It didn’t take long to wind up dinner and return to our porch. Charlie was so full of flounder and cake and so tired from the day that he put himself to bed. When Jackie and I went to his room to tuck him in, he was already fast asleep.

“I doubt if he even brushed his teeth,” she said.

“Oh, phooey on that. His teeth aren’t going to fall out tonight!”

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m too rule-driven.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I get that from you! Come on. Let’s sit outside for a bit.”

The tide was changing, and there was a nice breeze as we settled into our rockers on the porch.

“Let’s leave the lights off so we can see the ocean,” I said.

It took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the night, but soon we could see brilliant stars and the silver sparkling of phosphorescence all over the water. The birds were asleep, and all there was to hear was the occasional music of the rustling of palmetto fronds against one another and the lazy water washing the shore. It was as idyllic a paradise as even a honeymooner could want.

“So tell what else your father had to say for himself,” I said.

“Well, he met Steve.”

“Oh, really? How did that go?”

“Okay, I guess. Daddy practically invited him to go fishing on the hope of getting invited to a RiverDogs game.”

“Well, that’s typical. Always trying to get something for nothing.”

“Whatever. And he’s got some lame idea that Steve has his eye on me, which is the biggest waste of time in the world if he does.”

I realized right then and there that it was true. Not only was Buster no longer interested in me, Steve
was
attracted to Jackie. Without a thought in the world that the news might upset me, she’d confirmed what I already knew. I could feel myself blushing, and I was grateful for the darkness.

“Maybe I’d like a glass of wine. Can I get something for you, Jackie?”

“No, thanks. If I want something, I’ll get it.”

“Okay.”

I went inside quietly, and in the kitchen I poured myself a goblet of some kind of Merlot that I found in the pantry left over from the other night. I stood at the sink and took a long sip, wondering if I would be able to redo my makeup the same way in the morning. Probably not. What did it matter anyway? There was no one to look at me for any other reason than basic social pleasantries. Oh, it had been fun at Station 22 to have all my old pals hoot and holler and buy me drinks, but they were either still married or divorced and dating someone half their age, and besides, we all knew one another too well for romance. Not to mention, even if it was only on a technicality, that I was still legally married to Mr. Britt.

I heard a car coming. I looked out the window and saw Steve pulling into his driveway. There was someone with him. A woman. I hurried back out to the porch.

“Jackie?” I was almost whispering. “Want to see something? Look over there.”

By then they were in his kitchen, and because we were in the dark we could see them through his windows quite clearly. She was tall and blond and young, perhaps even younger than Jackie. My heart sank, and for the umpteenth time I reconciled myself to the life of an old crone whose womanly worth was negligible to the world, a trifling thing unworthy of notice by the opposite sex, a burden to society. It could be worse, I thought. In many cultures, women my age were already dead.

“Holy crap!” Jackie said.

“What?”

“She’s a dead ringer for his dead wife.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“That’s probably normal,” I said. “I wonder how old she is.”

“It’s hard to tell, but I doubt if she’s even thirty. She has really thick hair.”

In our family, thick hair was a coveted attribute.

Suddenly the lights in his kitchen went out, and moments later they were outside on his deck. He turned off his porch lights and lit the candles in two of the big lanterns that bordered the edges of his deck, probably so that she wouldn’t go walking off the edge and break a leg.

“Well, isn’t he the Casanova with his mood lighting and all that,” Jackie said. “Next thing we know he’ll have Sinatra streaming.”

I imagined that streaming meant playing.

“And here I thought he was lighting the lanterns for safety reasons. Shows you how far out of the loop I am.”

“Oh, Mom,” Jackie said in sympathy. “We’ve got to do something about your romantic life at some point, don’t you think?”

“I’m afraid that’s a hopeless cause,” I said. “But that’s okay. I have you and Charlie to fill my heart.” To my way of thinking there was nothing less dignified than a middle-aged woman crying the blues about men.

We continued to watch them. They were standing together with a glass of something. He was pointing up to the sky, showing her some constellation or a UFO. Then they turned around and appeared to be walking in our direction.

I crouched down in my chair a little.

“God, Mom, what if they see us?”

“Oh, so what if they do? Steve Plofker doesn’t own the beach any more than I do.”

They did not notice us. Steve sat in one of his deck chairs and she stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. I watched as she leaned down and kissed him on his head. Even though I knew it was an inappropriate thought, something in me ached to slap the hell out of her.

“Well, look at that,” Jackie said.

“I thought you had no interest in him,” I said.

“I don’t, it’s just . . . look how she’s acting!”

“Hush! They’ll hear us. You know how voices travel on night air!”

But it was true. She was a no-good low-down depraved animal. They were standing, and she laid one on him that would’ve made Hugh Hefner gasp in shock. The next thing we saw was her leg crawl up around his hip and he put his hand squarely on her backside.

“Get a room, you two,” Jackie whispered in disgust.

As though they read her mind, they stopped and went inside. Were they going to his bedroom? Just as the lights went on, they went off. Steve and his harlot left the house, got into his car, and drove away.

“He’s taking her home, and he should be back in less than an hour. You can get to anywhere in Charleston and back at this time of night in less than an hour. Otherwise they’re having a little screw.”

“I’m gonna go with
big
screw, and who cares?”

Jackie looked at me with a kind of sad face. Did she think that I was disappointed to see Steve with someone more age-appropriate and presumably legally available than I was? Did she think I had gone through this makeover for him? Well, I was and I did and it was pathetic, but at that moment I didn’t care. I had never uttered one word about him I couldn’t defend, and there was nothing wrong with trying to feel good about myself.

“I’m going to go check on Charlie,” she said. “You want anything?”

“No, now that the lovebirds have flown the coop, I’m just going to sit here and enjoy a little more of this beautiful night.”

She went inside and left me to marinate in my sullen soup.

What was it about daughters that they could practically smell your thoughts? Of course I could feel her confusion about her feelings toward Steve. It
was
too soon for her to get involved with someone else. That would destabilize Charlie’s entire existence. But she was attracted to Steve in an odd kind of way. She didn’t even know it yet. Lord knows, Steve was the opposite of Jimmy McMullen. Jimmy had been a rough-and-tumble man’s man. Gregarious, clever, resourceful, generous—he was the kind of man who made you feel protected and safe. And somehow, at the very same time, the Devil danced all over the place in his beautiful eyes. You never knew what kind of surprise he had for you, just to make you laugh. He was not above the occasional placement of a whoopee cushion.

Steve was, well, serious. But he was a dermatologist, and his entire orientation to the world was naturally reserved, methodical, and more cerebral, because that was what was required to practice medicine. I had often observed his restraint to speak up or tell jolly stories about his practice or his childhood. He always wanted to hear your story, your news, your concerns. Steve’s eyes were not filled with merriment and caprice, but they were the kindest eyes in the world. Our doctor next door held his cards close to his chest, which, of course, made him that much more interesting.

It was time to turn in for the night, but I just didn’t want the day to end quite yet.

Jackie reappeared with a glass of water.

“Seafood makes me thirsty,” she said and sat down next to me. “Or maybe it was the fries.”

“Salt.”

“Probably. What’s up for tomorrow?”

“Hopefully another day like this one. Hopefully that storm turns and goes out to sea. Did you check the weather?”

“No, but I will. Whatcha thinking about?”

I stood up, stretched, and walked to the edge of the porch to look out over the dunes. “I was thinking, well, I was thinking what I always think when I’m standing here on a night like this.”

“Which is?”

“That this must be the most beautiful place on Earth. Don’t you agree?”

“I think this island has bewitched us all, Mom. I really do. Come on, let’s lock up the house.”

In the morning I began the impossible process of trying to duplicate the face I’d had the day before, and I decided at least I’d gotten my money’s worth with my hair. My hair was still looking very good. I decided to forgo makeup until I got back from my walk with Deb. I put on an old pair of Bermuda shorts and a baggy old T-shirt and called her.

“You ready to rock and roll?” I asked.

“Oh, Annie, I’ve got to take Vernon to the emergency room. He’s having chest pains.”

“Lord! Don’t tell me this! Do you want me to come with you? What can I do?”

“Not a thing. He’s already in the car. Listen, you and I know it’s just the low pressure from this silly storm, but what if I’m wrong? Anyway, I’ll call you when I get back. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“All right. I’ll say my magic novena.”

“Thanks.”

We hung up, and I thought about how the low pressure of hurricanes seemed to make so many babies come into the world early and how many poor souls depart unexpectedly. I didn’t know if there was proof of it, but if you asked any OB-GYN or geriatric nurse, she would nod her head in agreement. I hoped Vernon would be all right.

I poked my head inside Jackie’s and Charlie’s rooms. They were sleeping like logs, which is a stupid metaphor if there ever was one, but you get the picture. I decided to make a nice breakfast for everyone, and afterward maybe I could convince my grandson to take a walk with me. We’d bring the dogs and have fun.

I decided to make watermelon juice and French toast from a loaf of brioche and fry up some extra-thick bacon I’d bought to make red rice. And for some reason, maybe I had seen it on some cooking program, I decided to add a sprig of rosemary and a cinnamon stick to the coffee grinds basket. Once the water started to drip through the coffee, the whole room smelled divine. The bacon was sizzling in my cast-iron skillet, and the French toast was ready to turn.