All the Single Ladies (17 page)

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day for me,” Suzanne said. “I'm usually too busy to eat lunch and eating at night makes me gain weight.”

“That's why we really chow down in the morning,” Carrie said.

“Did you bring your juicer with you?” Miss Trudie asked. “I've never had a drink of carrots and vegetables except from a can of V8.”

“It's still in my car but I'll bring it in. I'll make you some tomorrow morning,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said.

I made a note to pick up tons of things that could go in the juicer. Maybe lots of healthy juice would help Miss Trudie regain some strength. It always made me feel reenergized.

“Let me do the dishes,” I said. “I'll see y'all tonight at some point.”

“Would you really?” Suzanne said. “I'm starting to have a panic attack about being on time for the first wedding.”

“Stop worrying!” Carrie said. “It's all set up! Besides, we've got four extra girls coming to help us. We'll be fine. But let's get going.”

“Go! Go! Y'all have a great day!” I said.

I began to clear the table and run the hot water. Miss Trudie got up to leave the room. I understood then that they all liked to cook but they didn't like to clean. Neither did I, but someone had to do it. And I was better at cleaning than cooking anyway. It was a very fair trade.

“Thank you for breakfast, Miss Trudie. It was really wonderful.”

“You're welcome. Don't throw out the grits. I'll make Geechie french fries with them tomorrow. Just spread them in a brownie pan, okay?”

“Where's a brownie pan?” I said.

She told me where to look. Pickle padded out of the room right behind her and I scoured all the pots and pans. It felt good to be in a bright, sunny kitchen. For the first time in I didn't even know how long, I felt calm.

Then Marianne crossed my mind. My relationship with her was the most troubling thing on my heart.

If only she would come around and see the immorality of what she was doing. She wouldn't even take my phone calls. Maybe I should call Mark and tell him that she wouldn't speak to me. Mark was a mule but he understood parental respect. Even though he hadn't done much to help me in all those years, he was grateful for my sacrifices and told me so on the rare occasion that we spoke. I couldn't decide. It didn't feel right to pick up the phone and call him. Not then and not about this. Not yet.

As soon as I was satisfied with the state of the kitchen, I called Paul.

“Hey! I'm staying with some friends on the Isle of Palms until I can find something else,” I told him.

“Great! So, where are you? The address, I mean.”

I told him and he said, “I'll pick you up around six?”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Where are we going? You know, I have to figure out what to wear.”

“Well, actually, I was planning to cook for us, if that's okay with you.”

“I think that sounds fabulous. What are you going to make?”

“Spaghetti. I make killer spaghetti, if I say so myself.” I could feel the laughter in his voice.

“Well then, if we're going to your place, why don't I just drive myself there?”

“Because the gentleman comes calling for the lady. At least that's what my momma always said.”

“Is your momma gonna be there to chaperone?” I giggled.

“No, unfortunately, she'll be watching us from heaven. Don't worry. I promise not to try any funny business.”

“Then maybe I
don't
want to come over and eat spaghetti,” I said. What the hell was I saying? Since when was I so flirtatious?

There was a lengthy pause.

“Oh, come on, Paul! I'm just messing with you!”

“Um . . .” he said. “This is going to be fun.”

I couldn't have agreed more.

I told Miss Trudie I was going to the store and asked her if she needed anything.

“Yes!” she said. “I need shoes and clothes. Remember?”

“Of course. Well, would you like to come shopping with me?”

“Are you kidding me? I'm ninety-­nine years old, for heaven's sake. I don't need to be shuffling around a shopping mall bumping into ­people and their nasty germs! Besides, Pickle and I are watching a Snoopy movie at ten this morning. I already promised her.”

“Oh, okay.”

She gave me her sizes and said, “Bring me my purse.” I got it for her from the closet. She took her Belk card from her wallet and handed it to me. “If they want me to authorize a purchase, tell them to call me. Suzanne shops for me all the time.”

“Okay. See you later! Pickle?”

Pickle looked up at me.

“Be a good girl, okay?”

I have to admit my head was spinning, between thinking about shopping for Miss Trudie and getting tossed out of my house. I really had to do something to stabilize my life. The very idea that someone could just walk in my house and throw me out with no warning was not only demoralizing, it was horrifying. But was a man the answer? It just seemed like prostitution somehow. Unless I found a man who made me a better person, someone I didn't want to live without. And what were the odds of that?

I went through the sale racks at Belk's and chose a number of things I thought Miss Trudie might like. Pull-­on linen pants with pockets, loose shirts and tank tops that matched. And in the shoe department I found some adorable sandals that looked comfortable and cool for the hot weather and a pair of athletic shoes and low socks for chilly nights. If she liked what I bought she could keep it, and if she didn't I'd return it. I just have to say, I never thought a crusty ninety-­nine-­year-­old lady would be my shelter from a storm. I was so happy to be able to do something for her.

I paid for everything with her card without a problem and next I went to Lowe's. The plumbing supply houses were closed on Saturdays. I thought I'd just have a look at what they had in stock. I roamed the aisles as though I was walking a labyrinth, awed by the mountains of merchandise. Five hundred kinds of lightbulbs, hundreds of colors of paint, countless chandeliers and ceiling fans, doorbells, ladders in every size. I finally reached the bathtubs, toilets, and sinks and knew I was getting close. I spotted the fixture aisle a mere football field away and hurried over.

“Not too bad,” I said out loud to no one.

Of course they had the utilitarian big fat grab bars made from PVC to every combination of chrome and brass you can dream up. I tried to remember if Miss Trudie's cabinet pulls were silver or gold and brushed or polished, and of course I could not. But I looked at the prices and decided they were very fair. It wasn't a wasted trip. At least now I knew that we had options.

Next I went to Publix and bought fruit and vegetables to make juice. I passed on the kale and opted for spinach instead. I hated kale and I didn't care who knew it. And I knew there wasn't a cavernous refrigerator back at the house, so I tried to be judicious regarding the bulk of my choices, thinking it would be best to see if the others even liked raw juices.

Suddenly I was getting shaky. I looked at my watch. Two thirty. Good! I had an excuse to buy a piece of Publix's chicken, which is so good it makes my mouth actually water when I think about it. I ate it in the car with the engine running and the air-­conditioning going full blast. If my car smelled like chicken for a week it would be okay with me. The smell of fried, baked, or roasted chicken was my Chanel No. 5.

By the time I got back to the Isle of Palms and unloaded the car, it was almost time for me to shower and dress for my date with Paul. But I knew that out of simple courtesy I should show Miss Trudie each garment, wait for her to try them all on, and see what she thought. So I did.

“I look like a red-­hot momma!” she said, looking in the mirror, grinning from ear to ear.

“That's your color, Miss Trudie. You should wear aqua all the time. It will look so great with your turquoise jewelry.”

“I think you're right,” she said. “I love all the clothes but I can't tell you that I love these sneakers. I mean, I understand why I need them. But I don't love them.”

“Well, good. We'll take that for now. It makes me very happy that you like the clothes.”

“I do. Thank you, Lisa. Pickle and I had a grand time while you were gone. And . . . well, it's awfully nice to have you here.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. Yesterday wasn't exactly—­”

“Lisa? There are bumps in everybody's road or else you're not really living.”

“I think that's right. I'm just saying I don't know what I would've done if you and Suzanne hadn't stepped in to help me.”

“It's all right now. So, don't you have a date tonight?”

“I sure do,” I said. “At six.”

“Well, then shouldn't you be getting ready? Or doing something?”

I started to laugh and she did too.

I showered and blew out my hair and made some attempt at cosmetic enhancement. By five forty-­five I had the thirty-­six questions in my purse and I was ready. Suzanne and Carrie weren't home yet, but I knew they'd had a very long day in front of them. I was sitting on the porch with Pickle and Miss Trudie when Paul pulled into the driveway. Miss Trudie sat up in her chair and looked over the banister. She gave him the once-­over as he got out of his Audi.

“Good car,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, and stood up.

He saw me.

“Hey there! Don't you look nice? You ready to go?”

“Yes, but come meet my friend!”

“Sure!” he said, and came up the front steps onto the porch.

Pickle, of course, ran to him and sat waiting for his praise and a little love. Paul immediately leaned down and gave her a good tousle and some sweet words.

“That's such a sweet girl!” he said in a baby voice. “Yes, she is!”

“Pickle, give Paul some breathing room,” I said. “Paul, say hello to Miss Trudie. Miss Trudie? This is my friend Paul Gleicher.”

“Hello, Miss Trudie,” Paul said. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“It's very nice to meet you too,” she said. Then she smiled. “Lisa? Would you be a dear and bring me some olives before you go?”

Olives. That glass of clear liquid next to her was gin. And she wanted a moment alone with Paul. I wondered why.

“Sure! I'll be right back.”

I hurried inside and scooped a handful of olives into a little dish and brought them to her.

“Here we are,” I said, and put them on the table next to her. “Okay, so I guess we'll see you later?”

“Try to get home at a decent hour,” Miss Trudie said. “I don't want the neighbors to talk.”

I knew she was just teasing me, so I said, “Well, if we start running late should I stay out all night?”

She looked at me and laughed. “Yes, you certainly should! I don't want the neighbors to think I'm running a cathouse!” She paused for a moment and added, “Go have fun. And have fun for me too!”

“Okay! We will!”

We got in the car and Paul started backing out of the driveway.

“She's a character,” he said. “Do you want to know what she said to me while you went to the kitchen?”

“I sure do.”

“She said, ‘Now you listen to me, young man. Lisa is a nice girl and I don't want to see her get hurt, so you'd better mind your p's and q's.' ”

“Oh! That is just about the sweetest thing I've ever heard! My mother would've said, ‘I don't understand why you're not taking me with you. I'm more fun than my daughter!' ”

“Really?”

“Yeah, definitely. What does ‘p's and q's' mean? Do you know?”

“Actually I do. Well, this isn't the only explanation. But there was an expression that came from seventeenth-­century English taverns referring to a method for how the bartenders calculated the alcoholic consumption of their patrons by counting their pints and quarts. Or it might have been for figuring out the tab. But today it just means, ‘you'd better behave.' ”

“That's what I thought,” I said. I most certainly had not ever heard that explanation and I wondered how he knew all these weird things. “If we ever play Trivial Pursuit, I want to be on your team. So, you live downtown?”

“Yep, I have a loft on Chisolm Street. It's a great location but it's probably too small for more than one person. I bought it a long time ago with the intention of flipping it, but I can work from home, so it's pretty convenient.”

“Well, I can't wait to see it,” I said.

We made pleasant conversation for the remainder of the fifteen-­minute ride to his house. Not to sound too sappy but there was definitely some voodoo in the air between us. I thought I was too old for my hormones or pheromones to start itching for a scratch. Nonetheless, I had this ridiculous smile on my face that was more than a smirk and less than a full-­on gum-­baring grin. So did he. I think the term is “giddy.” Yep. That's it. We were giddy.

What can I say about where Paul lived? It was one hundred and eighty degrees different from anyplace I'd ever called home; that was for sure. The loft was open and airy and very modern. It was a tiny industrially finished man cave. Exposed pipes crawled the walls and expanding tubular silver ductwork was draped through the air like the dragons that appear during Chinese New Year celebrations. No amount of fabric, artwork, or rugs could hope to soften this place. Nope. You could bring in trees and ceramics until the cows came home with the sheep and I'd still swear that no woman I'd ever known would want the credit for the decor. Its one redeeming furnishing was a gorgeous, lacquered black piano.

“So, what do you think?” he said, spreading his arms out and turning around.

“I think it's . . . um, it's sort of incredible!” I smiled and hoped I had sounded complimentary.