The Land of Mango Sunsets

  “Interesting?”

  “Yeah. They have personalities.”

  “If you say so.” I looked at my wristwatch. Mother had been upstairs for what seemed to be a very long time. “Criminy! She sure is taking her time, isn’t she?” I went to the base of the stairs and called out. “Mother? Let’s go, Miss Josie!”

  “Coming!”

  I waited there for her, and when she appeared, I watched her come down each step, holding the rail for support. Something was not right.

  “Are you feeling well, Mother?”

  “I’m feeling exactly like I’m supposed to be feeling. Just a little tired today, that’s all.”

  “Then let’s take the golf cart. Come on, Liz.”

  All through lunch Mother wasn’t herself. She didn’t seem feverish but she seemed exhausted and distracted and just picked at her food. Liz and I did most of the talking. You could guess that the windfall of the silver sale, the wedding plans, and the history of my hot-and-cold relationship with Dan and his family dominated most of the conversation. Mother must have said at least three times how pleased she was that Dan and I were reconciled and that she couldn’t wait to meet Priscilla. As off-kilter as Mother seemed to be that day, I thought it was so good that she had something to look forward to. As people aged, it was important for them to have plans and events lined up. It seemed to keep them more optimistic, especially if they knew they were needed in the lives of others. It was true even for me. As I continued crawling out of my post-Charles-departure slash museum-fiasco funk, I had to admit that I felt more alive and truly useful than I had in years.

  “Can I box that up for you?” the waitress said to Mother when she saw that her chicken Caesar salad was barely touched.

  “No, thanks. That’s okay,” Mother said.

  “Y’all want to look at the dessert menus?”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “We’ll just take the check when you have a moment.”

  “I need a nap,” Mother said, on the ride home.

  “I think I could use a nap myself,” Liz said. “Maybe it’s the salt air, but I’ve never slept so much or so well in my whole life!”

  “Or maybe it’s a combination of salt air and severe bodily damage?”

  “Right. I knew there was a reason I felt like somebody beat the crap out of me, pardon me.”

  “Yes, because somebody did. I’m sure Kevin still thinks you should’ve pressed charges.”

  “Only for the fun of reading about it in the paper. Truman Willis is not exactly a menace to all of society.”

  “Just to his paramours. You’re right. He wouldn’t do well in jail. I can just see him looking around for the gentlemen’s squash courts at Rikers Island and trying to find a partner.”

  Even Mother smiled at that remark. Maybe I should stick to dry humor.

  I pulled the golf cart into its parking spot. Mother and Liz went inside the house through the garage entrance, but I went outside to have a look at Mother’s barnyard.

  Cecelia, Mother’s Nigerian dwarf nanny goat, wandered over to the edge of the fence where I stood. Looking at her face and eyes was a little bizarre. Her eyes were too far apart. Her ears stuck out and up so much that I wondered if they caught rainwater and if that was bothersome for her. Cecelia was the patron saint of music. But if you asked me, the sounds that came out of her namesake’s mouth were not terribly liturgical.

  I could understand why people had dogs, cats, and birds. In my life, I had given shelter to them all. You could even add gerbils, guinea pigs, turtles, and fish to the list. The desire to possess goats or chickens had never crossed my mind for a nanosecond.

  “You’d better watch yourself. If my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Priscilla, doesn’t like you, Miss Cece, you could wind up turning on a spit.”

  I was actually talking to a goat who did little to impress me with her personality or intelligence. Yes, I talked to my Harry, but there was a difference. He answered me. And I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he knew exactly what he was saying.

  I continued to watch the chickens pecking around inside their run. They didn’t seem to be very nice to one another. Cecelia moseyed over to her shed and feeder of grain. Yes, I enjoyed the eggs and the yogurt that came from these animals, but raising them did not hold one iota of interest for me. Wasn’t it enough that I had ceased using hair spray and Velcro rollers? That my cosmetic applications were reduced from Spackle to a little mascara and lip gloss?

  When the horrible day arrived that my mother died, I knew this place would come to me. What would I do with Cecelia and all her feathered friends? I could not see myself milking a goat or putting my hand under a chicken’s backside for the mere reward of an egg. It made me laugh just to think of it. No. Bomb or no bomb, I’d take my chances that the grocery stores would stay in business.

  I heard a car coming and turned to see Harrison Ford pulling up in the driveway, and my heartbeat trilled. He was growing on me. That was for sure.

  “How’re you?” he said, and closed the door gently.

  Just as an aside, I liked the fact that he did not slam doors. There was enough noise in the world.

  “Well, I’m just fine! Out here talking to Cecelia…you know, having a conversation with a goat. One-way, I might add. What’s new with you?”

  “I’m here to collect Miss Josie and take her to our regularly scheduled tango lesson. Did she tell you about that?”

  “Yes, and I think it’s great. But you know, I think she may have forgotten because she told me she needed a nap and I think she might be in bed.”

  “Not feeling sprightly?”

  “She’s very tired today, for some reason. Would you like some tea or a cup of coffee?”

  “No, I’m all set, thanks. Well, she has her good days and her not-so-good days.”

  We pushed the sliding-glass door open and the house was as still as a tomb.

  “Why don’t I just slip up to her room and see if she’s awake?”

  He nodded. I went upstairs as quietly as I could, peeked in Mother’s bedroom, and there she was, snoring gently. I pulled a blanket up and over her shoulders and closed her door without a sound. I quietly opened Liz’s door and she was sleeping, too, propped up on pillows. Poor thing. I still felt so guilty about her injuries and I imagined I always would.

  When I got downstairs I found Harrison on the porch, staring out across the marsh.

  “Look! There’s an osprey.”

  “Where? Oh! I see him now!”

  “Incredible, right? Just magnificent. DDT almost killed them all, you know. But now they’re back.”

  “Yes, they certainly are. But back to the subject at hand, there will be no fandango or tango lesson for Miss Josie this afternoon, I’m afraid. She’s snoozing.”

  “Oh. Well, then will you come to stand in for her? It’s only an hour.”

  “Oh, Harrison, I can’t tango. Or at least I haven’t since I took ballroom-dancing lessons when I was a child.”

  “Ten years ago or so…oh, come on. I’ve only had one lesson, so I’m still in the walking-and-let-the-music-fill-your-soul stage.”

  He gestured so dramatically with a fake Spanish accent that his invitation was irresistible.

  “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

  I left a note on the kitchen counter. Gone to tango with Harrison. Back at five.

  Fifteen minutes later we were in a dance studio in Mount Pleasant. It was classic—ballet barres along the mirrored walls, dust motes in the air, and a lone instructor, a small man with black slick-backed hair who waited on a piano bench, reading the newspaper. The veneer of the upright piano was chipped and abused. I suspected it probably had not been tuned in years. But the instructor stood as we entered and smiled.

  “I am Manuel,” he said, and extended his hand. His accent was beautifully and authentically Spanish.

  “This is my friend Mellie,” Harrison said. “She’s pinch-hitting for her mother today.”

  “It is a ple
asure,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

  This fellow wasn’t wasting any time. He started the music on a small boom box.

  “Now. Please stand straight, close your eyes, and let the music fill your soul.”

  “I thought you did that last week,” I mumbled.

  “Ms. Mellie? We do not talk while we tango.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Now. Listen to the music. Hear the beats. ONE two THREE four. The first and third beats carry the weight of the rhythm of the dance.”

  He was right. They did.

  “Now, as you feel the beats, I want you to put your weight on the balls of your feet and walk to the music, like a great tiger from the jungle. Walk slowly, just toward me.”

  I tried very hard not to snicker and walked with my partner, Tony the Tiger, toward Manuel. You may call me Sheena.

  “Very good! Very good!”

  The next thing I knew we were walking around the perimeter of the entire room like two big cats. Then we walked backward to the music. Meow. Suddenly, Manuel turned off the music and became solemn.

  “Now we will learn the embrace! Mr. Harrison is the leader, and you, Ms. Mellie, are the follower.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s an equitable arrangement.” I pouted and Manuel smiled.

  “It is the essence of the dance, Ms. Mellie. You will see. Now stand together, facing each other.”

  Something happened to me when Harrison pulled me toward him by the small of my back. I felt a flutter in the pit of my stomach. There was no denying it was, well, an urge. An urge about the size of the custom house in downtown Charleston.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Manuel said. “Now we will walk in the embrace with our heads turned slightly to the side. Ms. Mellie to the right and Mr. Harrison to the left. I will play for you the famous ‘Libertango.’ Are we ready?”

  For the next forty-five minutes or so, Harrison and I danced some very rudimentary version of the Argentine tango and it was about the sexiest forty-five minutes of my life. We even learned a few variations on a two-step pattern that made it look like we actually knew what we were doing. I was addicted.

  “You two are naturals,” Manuel said. “You should dance together all the time.”

  Oh, ha-ha, that’s not possible, no, we’re not, but thanks anyway.

  When Harrison dropped me off back on the Island, I was still dazed.

  “That was amazing, Harrison, thanks.”

  Do you see how nonchalant I was about what had actually transpired? I mean, what the devil was I supposed to say? That being next to him created a flammable situation?

  “Well, your mother is determined to tango at your son’s wedding, so by golly, we’re going to tango.”

  “Heck, I might even tango myself! That was great fun.”

  “Old Manuel is from Buenos Aires, where the tango began. He’s something, isn’t he?”

  “He sure is. He sure is.”

  Harrison and I were stuck in each other’s eyes once more. It made me very uncomfortable to think that again and again, intense feelings for my own mother’s boyfriend were cropping up. What was the matter with me?

  I said, “Well, listen, thanks again.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes. I have to.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “As fast as I can,” I said, and realized how that sounded to him.

  He smiled from ear to ear, and said, “Okay, well, travel safe and hurry back.”

  My face must have been bloodred when I came back in the house. Liz was making a peanut-butter sandwich. She was alone in the kitchen.

  “So how was your tango session?”

  “Amazing. I’m going to make Kevin take lessons with me when I get back to New York.”

  “I saw you and Harrison out there staring at each other. What are you messing around with Manny for?”

  “What are you talking about? Harrison is the meaningful other of my dear mother.”

  “No, he isn’t. They’re just friends. Harrison lost his mother when he was just a kid. Then his wife dumped him. But good. Then his daughter moved to Costa Rica, and he says they have a good relationship and all, but do you or anybody else ever hear any news about her?”

  “No. But I know my mother is supersweet on Harrison. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Whatever. I’m just telling you what I think. Harrison’s heart has been shot full of more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese, but I’ll bet you two months’ rent that he’s way in love with you.”

  “Girl? You’ve been watching too many soaps.”

  “Probably. Or maybe not!”

  “Manny is picking me up at six. I have to get cleaned up.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Something’s not kosher with Manny. That’s all.”

  “Liz? Do you know something that I don’t?”

  “Nope. Absolutely not or I would tell you. It’s just that I’ve known enough creeps in my life.”

  I showered, put on a little makeup for the occasion, and decided to wear gray slacks and a black cashmere turtleneck sweater. Instead of loafers, I wore a pair of black suede mules with a low heel. I glanced in the mirror and decided I looked too dull. Thinking Mother might have something to liven up my outfit, I went down the hall and knocked on her door.

  “Come in!” she said. “I’m just reading.”

  In the corner of her room, near the sliding-glass door to her mall balcony, she was sitting in her club chair and ottoman covered in the palest shade of yellow velvet, piped in the same green of Granny Smith apples. The light from her floor lamp combined with the fading light of the afternoon illuminated her face. She had never looked lovelier than she did at that moment.

  “Hey, Miss Josie! How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t you look nice? Going out?”

  “Yes. Manny the Man said he wanted to make dinner for me. I won’t be out late. Anyway, do you have a scarf or something I can borrow to do something exciting for this boring outfit of mine?”

  “Sure. Look in the middle drawer. There’s a red paisley scarf in there that might look nice. But just take whatever you want.”

  “This one?” I held it up for her to see.

  “Yes, that’s the one. You know, I still have my mother’s locket there in my jewelry box. Why don’t you take it? I never wear it. It has my daddy’s baby picture in it.”

  “Oh, Mother! Are you sure?”

  I lifted the lid of the silver chest and there it was. It was beautiful, hand-engraved in Old English on one side with my grandmother’s initials, and a tiny ruby chip was set in the other side.

  “Well, try it on and let’s see how it looks.”

  It slipped easily over my head and the round gold locket hung perfectly in the center of my chest. The perfection of its craftsmanship stood out against my black sweater.

  “It’s really sweet, isn’t it?” I said, opening it to look at the faded tiny photograph of my grandfather. “How precious was he in that little cap?”

  “My daddy was a darling man. You keep it, sweetheart. It’s not worth a fortune but it has great sentimental value to me.”

  “I will treasure it, Mother. Thank you.”

  “How was your tango lesson? Did you let the music fill your soul?”

  She giggled and I just shook my head.

  “It was so much fun I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Harrison’s a gem, isn’t he?”

  “Probably one in a million…” I heard the door open downstairs and knew Manny was there. “I guess that’s my hot date. I’ll see you later.”

  He was in the kitchen talking to Liz.

  “Something smells awfully good!” I said. “How’re you?” I said to Manny, and gave him the tiniest of kisses on his cheek.

  “Somebody smells good,” he said.

  I said, “Thanks.”

  “Vegan chili,” Liz said. “I found
it in the freezer. You kids have fun tonight!”

  On the ride to Manny’s house, we were awkward with each other, conversation coming in bits and pieces. For some reason, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to talk to him about. All I could think about was the tango music, and yes, him. Harrison, that is.

  When I told Manny about my dance lesson with Harrison, he said, “Well, I’ll bet he wouldn’t look as good in a sombrero as I do, right?”

  I wanted to say, Harrison Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in a sombrero, and if he was, it would be Halloween, and he’s about a thousand times more appealing than you anyway.

  But I didn’t say that.

  I thought I said, “Manny, no one looks quite like you in a sombrero.”

  But what he heard me say was “I’ll bet you have the better kitchen.”

  “Kitchen? I definitely have the better kitchen. What’s that got to do with a sombrero?”

  You see, this is what happens at a certain stage in your life. You have to become vigilant so that your tongue and brain stay connected. Obviously I needed more than crossword puzzles to stay sharp.

  “Oh, my goodness! How silly of me! I was just thinking what a fabulous kitchen you have, that’s all.”

  “Oh, thanks. I’m pretty proud of it. Harrison’s got a nice house, though. Ever been there?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I have not. Where is it?”

  “Old village. On the water. He never really furnished it, though. I think he was so blown out by his wife dumping him that he can’t think about stuff like curtains and rugs and all. But it’s a great house. Lots of character.”

  “Like him.”

  “Yeah, like him.”

  I could sense some annoyance from Manny, as though he was a wee bit jealous of Harrison, which of course was completely a waste of energy. I decided some flattery was in order or else the evening was going to fall to pieces.

  “So, Mr. Manly Man, what are we having for dinner? You’re such a divine cook, I’m sure it’s something heavenly.”

  This brightened him right up.

  “Well? I’ve got rack of lamb all ready to pop in the oven, little red potatoes roasted with garlic and rosemary, and a pear-and-endive salad with Roquefort crumbles.”