The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder

  “That’s not going to be very easy,” I said.

  “Look, you want this man or not?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do want him. I’ll figure out a way.”

  “How much cash you got?”

  “Well, I got twenty-seven dollars, but I could get more if I absolutely had to.”

  “Well, Madame Marie Love Powder will be twenty-seven dollar even. A onetime special for you, today only.”

  I ran straight home, thinking: Now I’m all set! Ricky will be mine for life!

  I had my dried newt and burdock root. So next I decided to invite Ricky over to my apartment for dinner. That way I could mix the powder into his food, and he’d never know.

  A couple days later, I finally got up the nerve to invite Ricky, and his answer was yes! Yes, Ricky Chalon would have dinner at my apartment that Friday. I spent my nights after class planning the menu. After much thought and study, I ruled out chili bean macaroni, because this was not an evening for anything but the most seductive of smells. Definitely said no to wild duck in a Crock-Pot, because I didn’t know where to get wild duck in New Orleans, and besides, I didn’t own a Crock-Pot. Finally, I called up Aunt Helen to get her ideas.

  “Calla, hon,” said Aunt Helen, “you can always win a man’s heart with TNC—you know, tuna noodle casserole. I will light a candle on Friday night at eight to make your romance come true. And be sure you get Noah’s, not Lay’s, potato chips to crumble on top.”

  I wanted my special dinner to be elegant but easy. For hors d’oeuvres, I rolled a cheese log in pecans to serve with Ritz crackers. Then I made a Sunshine Salad—shredded carrots with raisins and mayonnaise and a little sugar, with some dried newt and burdock root. Then I fixed my casserole, so all I had to do was slip it in the oven. I actually got a tad bit nervous when I went to mix more of the dried newt and burdock with my melted butter for the tuna noodle casserole. That Madame Marie Love Powder stank to high heaven. But I knew if I threw in enough garlic, it would disguise any odor. That man would never know what hit him!

  I planned to serve English peas with the casserole, the little LeSueur Petit Pois, not the big fat squishy ones. Then, for my garnish, I’d serve Del Monte pineapple rings on a bed of lettuce, with a cherry on top of each one. I knew Ricky would appreciate that little touch of color.

  For dessert, I made strawberry shortcake. I had to go to three different stores to find those little sponge shells, but I finally got them at Langenstein’s. I thawed out the strawberries, which I planned to put in the sponge shells at the last minute, so they wouldn’t get all soggy. Then I’d squirt on the Reddi-wip.

  At seven minutes after eight, the doorbell rang and there he was!

  “Good evening, Calla. Thank you again for having me over.” Ricky looked so stylish in his baby blue Nehru jacket and matching socks.

  “Well, I’m just so thrilled you could come.” Be still, my beating heart! “Could I get you something to drink? I’ve got wine from Martin’s Wine Cellar and beer and Cokes, too.”

  “I’d love a Coke.”

  Damnit! This would be so much easier if only he would drink. But it doesn’t matter. Liquor might be quicker, but voodoo is pronto.

  As I fixed him a Coke over ice, all words fled my brain.

  “Sure is different seeing you outside the salon,” I finally said.

  “Yes, it’s always different outside of the workplace.”

  “How about some cheese log rolled in pecans?”

  “I’d love to, Calla, but I don’t eat pecans. I am allergic to them.”

  “Well, I guess if the good Lord meant cheese logs to have pecans on them, He would’ve made cows with nuts all over them!”

  Then I broke up laughing at my own joke, but unfortunately my laugh turned into a snort. Not good. Ricky just gave a tiny polite laugh, and I tried to calm myself down. It’s no fun to sit at your dinner party and laugh at jokes you make all by yourself.

  “What a sweet little place you’ve got here, Calla.”

  “Thank you, Ricky. It’s just a sublet until I find my own place, but it’s home.”

  “I really like all the houseplants.”

  “Maybe I could send you home with a cutting from one of them.”

  Oh, I would’ve cut off anything of mine and given it to him, I thought. Then I glanced down at my watch and excused myself to get the casserole out of the oven.

  “Tuna noodle casserole!” I announced, bringing it to the table. “Old family recipe. Have all you want. I made two. I could even wrap some up in aluminum foil—or put it in one of my Tupperwares for you to take home. You could just return the Tupperware the next time you come over.”

  “It looks like a real feast,” Ricky said, ignoring my rambling and unfolding his napkin carefully.

  “Be sure to have a little Sunshine Salad, too. And here, can I butter a hot roll for you? I like my butter dripping off a roll, not stuck on there like a hard little plastic pat, you know what I mean?”

  “Calla, I never knew you were such a good cook as well as a career woman.”

  “There’s a whole lot you don’t know about me, Ricky.” Then I gave him a long, slow smile.

  “What is that special seasoning in this casserole, Calla? I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.”

  “Oh, that’s just my little secret seasoning . My aunt Helen would kill me if I told. That secret seasoning is what makes her recipe so special.”

  He touched his hand to his chest. Good Lord, I thought , that is a sign—that is definitely a sign the newt is working.

  “So what are your plans, Calla?”

  “My plans?” I was stunned. Oh sweet Jesus, he knows I’ve asked him here for a reason. “My plans for what?”

  “Your plans for after graduation.”

  “Oh, after graduation,” I said, and laughed like I had never even given it a second thought. “Graduation’s not for a whole six months. You never know what could happen in six months, do you? By the way, Ricky, do you by any chance like strawberries?”

  “I love strawberries.” He smiled at me.

  “I knew it! I said to myself: ‘Self, Ricky Chalon is a strawberry man.’ That is very, very good because I just so happen to have made you a strawberry shortcake for dessert. But I need your help, Ricky. Could you do the honors later by squirting on the Reddi-wip?”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  “And do the Supremes happen to strike a chord in your heart, Ricky?”

  I stood up to put on the record, and then he actually asked me to dance with him. Hot dog! I thought. This newt stuff is working for sure.

  Being in his arms felt as good as I imagined. I floated in his arms like chiffon, like the Reddi-wip on the berries. I could smell Ricky’s good clean scent topped with a touch of English Leather cologne. And I was getting warm and runny myself, just like the Reddi-wip.

  “Calla, I hate to eat and run, but I really have to go.”

  “Go? Now?”

  “Yes, I’m really sorry,” he said, backing up. “But I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to meet some friends down in the French Quarter.”

  “Oh, I see. Yeah, I guess things are just getting started down there about now.”

  “Thank you for going to so much trouble with dinner,” he said, getting ready to leave. “It was wonderful.”

  “Oh, don’t mention it. Well, I guess I’ll just see you on Monday, then.” I felt defeated as I opened the door for him to let him out.

  “You bet you will.”

  “Okay. Well, bye-bye.”

  I shut the door and just stood there, staring at the table, at the cherry on top of my garnish. Ricky didn’t even touch them, let alone comment on how red and perky they looked.

  I could hardly sleep that night. I couldn’t believe that Madame Marie’s magic powder had failed. I was going to have to take the rest of that powder and sprinkle it all over Ricky’s body somehow, just as Madame Marie instructed. I’d do it if it killed me.

  The nex
t morning I remembered Ricky saying that he was giving a cut to a friend on Sunday afternoon. Probably a man-friend, but I didn’t care because I was determined: this was for the good of both of us!

  Sunday afternoon I got to L’Académie and sneaked in through the back, working my way quietly into the laundry room. Then I climbed on top of the dryer to peek through the vent into the training salon. Sure enough, there was Ricky, kneeling in front of a man in one of the chairs! My heart was pounding out of my chest, but I knew what I had to do. As quietly as I could, I reached down behind the dryer and jerked the dryer hose out of the wall, then ripped open the love powder packet. Standing on that dryer, I cursed myself for wearing platform heels instead of more practical shoes. Then, with the dryer hose in one hand and holding the open love powder packet in my mouth, I reached down and turned on that industrial dryer to high—and whoa! The hose assumed a life of its own. It blew my hairdo to pieces and even blasted off an earring.

  Not a minute to waste! I regained control of the dryer hose by holding it under my arm, turned it down to low, stood up on tiptoe on the back edge of the dryer, and started to blow out the love powder onto Ricky through the vent.

  In struggling to get the dryer hose higher and pressed against the vent, my platform shoe slipped and my right leg plunged into the crack between the wall and the dryer. The dryer hose got loose again and started blowing up my dress. Desperately I tried pulling my leg out of the crack, but it would not budge! I tried again. No luck. I took a deep breath and gathered all my strength for one last attempt. No way.

  I tried to calm myself and somehow managed to turn off the dryer. This stopped the dryer hose in its tracks. But there was no getting around the fact that I was stuck.

  I’m going to have to call out for help.

  “Ricky?” I called out real softly. Nothing. Then, a little louder: “Ricky!”

  Still nothing.

  Eventually Ricky and the man would leave. I’d just stay trapped with my leg against the wall, my magic love powder covering my face, my hairdo blown to smithereens, and count my blessings. M’Dear always said, “What matters today, won’t matter tomorrow. Count your blessings instead of your sorrow.”

  I could be stuck the whole night, and Ricky would be the one to come and find me first thing Monday morning. By then my leg could have gangrene. My right leg would have to be cut off! A one-legged beautician. Well, at least then maybe he would notice me.

  Snap out of it, Calla! I told myself. I yelled at the top of my lungs: “Riiiiiiiicky!!!!!!!!! Help!!”

  Ricky finally ran back to the laundry room and pulled me up from the crack. I had bruised my leg a horrible blue, tore my brand new lime-green pantyhose, and ripped off the strap on my platform shoe. I couldn’t stop crying and all the mascara gooched up under my eyes. Once again, don’t you ever believe it when they tell you it’s waterproof, because it is not.

  Then the old man came in and put his shoes back on. “Can’t thank you enough, Rick,” he said in an old Cajun voice. “If it wasn’t for you, them old toenails of mine would still be cutting into my feet. You get so old and stiff, you can’t bend over and cut them yourself, non.”

  Ricky was cutting that old man’s toenails. And there I was, trying to blow a spell over Ricky while he was performing an act of kindness.

  When the old man left, Ricky said, “What do you want from me, Calla?” He handed me some Kleenex.

  What does a girl have to lose, after being pulled out from behind a dryer with the yuck-o smell of newt and burdock hanging in the air? “I want for you to fall in love with me,” I told him, “and I want us to get married and open up a shop together. Ricky, it’d be real fun, because you’ve already got the experience and you know all the finances and city codes and all the beauty ins and outs. I’m a real hard worker, and I’m very, very good with people and—oh, shit.” I tried my best to stop crying, but I couldn’t. “What I mean is, Ricky, you are the one with the magic hands.”

  Ricky lifted my hands up in his. “Calla, dear young girl, you don’t need me. You have all the magic in your hands that I’ve got in mine.”

  I couldn’t believe that he was turning me down flat. I stood there, too numb to move, then I ran to the ladies’ room and locked myself in the stall. I just sat there, so ashamed I didn’t think I could even open the door. What was Ricky going to think of me—a girl who tried to seduce him but instead fell into the crack between a dryer and a wall, covered in stinky voodoo powder?

  I don’t know how long I was in there, dying of embarrassment, before Ricky called out, “Are you okay, Calla?”

  There was no way to escape. “Yes, yes,” I blubbered. “I’ll be right out.”

  I tried to get the mascara and burdock root off my face and fixed my blown-away hair as best I could. Then, feeling like I was under a death sentence, I opened the door.

  Ricky was standing there with kindness on his face. Though I’d made a fool of myself, he seemed concerned.

  I took a deep breath. “Ricky, I’m so embarrassed. I hate myself for doing this.”

  “Don’t ever say you hate yourself. It’s like jabbing your heart with a sharp stick. And besides, I don’t imagine you were raised to hate yourself, or else you wouldn’t be able to touch people the way you do.”

  I couldn’t say anything for a minute. This is a person to trust, I heard M’Dear say. Raising my eyes to meet his, I said, “I apologize.”

  He looked at me, smiling. “No need to,” he said, as he straightened my hair. “C’mon, let’s go grab some lunch.”

  Ricky took me uptown on the Charles Avenue streetcar to the Bluebird Grill. While we waited for our burgers, I tried to let Ricky know how much I enjoyed school. “Every day, I learn more and more. I love that you build a world that I can step into, so that now I can actually envision being a cosmetologist. I love that word ‘cosmetology ’ because it is like ‘cosmologist.’ And yes, I am a girl who loves the cosmos. I love the heavens, the stars, the constellations, and hair. My mother first opened the door, and now the universe of cosmetology is opening up for me.”

  It was only by the time our food came that I worked up the courage to say, “Ricky, I want to apologize. You know, you’re so handsome and all, and your fingers are so beautiful. I don’t know if I should tell you about my life before New Orleans. But I think it has something to do with me going after you like I did.”

  “Calla, go ahead and tell me. I want to hear about you.” And Ricky seemed like he really meant it.

  So I told him about Tuck, and about M’Dear and her dying.

  “Calla, I’m sorry that your M’Dear died when you were so young.”

  “She had breast cancer.”

  “Oh, I’m so awfully sorry, Calla! You know, I have a special friend named Steve. His cousin Louise died of breast cancer. He visited her every week, and he took me sometimes, so I know a little bit about it. I am so sorry, Calla.”

  I said, “I’d like to meet your friend, because meeting somebody else who knows—well, it would go a long way.”

  “Yes,” Ricky said. “Steve and I are very close.”

  There was silence for a while. I thought for a minute. “He’s your love, isn’t he?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Ricky said as he picked up a French fry. “He’s my guy.”

  “I’ve never thought about it much,” I said, “two men together. But my parents had a dance studio—maybe you’ve heard of it—Will and Lenora’s Swing ’N Sway?”

  Ricky took a sip of his ice tea. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

  “On the first Saturday of every month, we threw open the doors to music, dancing, and gumbo, and M’Dear and Papa didn’t care one bit about two men dancing together. So nobody else gave it a second thought. Anyway, I’m glad you have someone close. I thought I did. But Tuck left, went off to college, and never called or wrote or came home, even though he promised he would.”

  “He never contacted you at all?”

  “Never,” I said. “Not on
e bit.”

  “Oh, Calla, it just breaks my heart to hear that happened to you.”

  “I waited and waited while I was working for a year to get the money and the nerve to move to New Orleans. He broke my heart—and then I met you! You were teaching, you were just so handsome, and you just had such a way with your hands. When you gave me the Nutra-Kit, the way your hands touched me, it seemed like you weren’t just teaching me, but you were doing something else.”

  “Well, I was, Calla.”

  I said, “You were? I mean, because it seemed like, well, I’m kind of embarrassed to say it…but it seemed like you were trying to turn me on.”

  I could feel my face turning beet red. I had to put my hamburger down.

  “Oh, Calla,” Ricky said. “I understand. In fact, I’m flattered!”

  “You are?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m flattered that somebody as lovely as you felt that, somebody who knows about the healing that a beautician can do. Not everybody gets that.

  “Calla, what I was trying to do wasn’t to turn you on, but to calm you down. I was trying to let my hands send a message to you. A message that everything was good between us. You can do that through your hands, you know.”

  “You see, I was afraid I might never fall in love that way again, and then when I felt your magic hands—”

  “It’s okay, Calla, I really do understand.”

  “Well, I’m afraid there’s more to the story.” I took a sip of my Coke and told him about Madame Marie and her potion.

  “Calla! Honey!” Ricky reached for my hands and looked at my palms. Then he said, “I want you to take a vow right now to put your past behind you. Become friends with me, and open up to your new life in this city. Can you make that vow?”

  I thought for a moment, remembering how sad I’d been. Then I said, “Yes, I, Calla Lily Ponder, do vow that I will let go of the past. And I vow to let this lunch be the beginning of our friendship. To launch it like a rocket!”

  Then Ricky was dead serious. “And now I want you to do something else,” he said. “Remember I said you have the same magic in your hands as I do in mine?”