Convincing Mama to let me take her to lunch took some doing.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said when I invited her. “I have so much to do at Lucy’s. And what about your daddy’s lunch?”
“I’ll help you finish packing and pricing stuff at Lucy’s,” I said. “And I’ll bring Daddy a sack lunch when I come pick you up. Tomato sandwich on white bread with Blue Plate mayonnaise. Right?”
“And chips,” she said, giving in. “He likes the potato chips with ridges. And maybe some cookies. You know his sweet tooth.”
After I picked her up I parked the truck across from the restaurant, a quiet little place called Arabella’s that BeBe had recommended. It was only a short walk, but we’d had a brief rainfall in midmorning and now the air was like a steam bath. Mama’s face was pink and dripping with perspiration by the time we pushed open the heavy red door at Arabella’s.
Cool air welcomed us into the foyer, which was painted a restful dark green. The floors were polished wood, and chintz drapes at the windows looked out on Monterey Square. Charming. Just the place for a little family intervention.
Mama smiled apprehensively, looking around.
“Isn’t this nice?” I asked, tucking my hand in the crook of her arm. “Just us girls. BeBe says the seafood is especially good.”
“It’s not spicy, is it? You know my diverticulitis.”
“We’ll ask them to leave off the garlic and onions,” I said, patting her arm.
The maître d’ walked quickly across the room toward us. He was tall and model thin, with razor-cut hair, apostrophe-mark sideburns, tortoise-shell spectacles, and hips I’d die for. He was wearing clogs.
“Ladies?” He looked a little puzzled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I said. “We have reservations. The name is Foley.”
He looked down at his book on the maître d’ stand, leafing through the pages. “For dinner?”
“No,” I said. “Lunch. One o’clock. We’re just a little early. Is that all right?”
“Whatever,” he said, pursing his lips. He ran a finger down the page until he found what he was looking for. “Foley. Here we are.”
He picked up two menus, then looked at me, and at Mama. He slid his bifocals down onto the end of his nose. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “Sisters. You’re sisters—right? The resemblance between you two girls is really startling.”
Mama giggled a little. “Oh, you’re sweet. But this is my daughter. Eloise.”
He wagged a playful finger at her. “You must have been just a child bride when you had Eloise here.”
Mama didn’t get it, and it wasn’t just because of old age. I doubt if she’d ever had a flirt gear.
“No,” she said seriously. “I was forty when I had her.”
He pretended to look shocked. “Come right this way. I’ve got a cozy little table by the window that I think you’ll like.”
We followed his swaying hips through the restaurant. The place was full, but there was something different about the clientele. They were all men. And not your usual downtown courthouse crowd of loud shirtsleeve-clad lawyers or salesmen chatting on their cell phones.
These were nicely dressed men. The room was hushed. It dawned on me. Arabella’s might have been a fun couples place for dinner, but at lunchtime, at least on Wednesdays, Mama and I were a distinct minority, and not just because we were women. Not even the wallpaper was straight at Arabella’s.
Mama, thankfully, was oblivious.
“This is so fancy,” she whispered, tugging at my arm. “I hope it isn’t too expensive. I don’t want you spending a lot of money on me.”
“It’s fine, Mama,” I reassured her. “I feel like giving you a little treat.”
“You don’t have a husband to support you anymore,” Mama fussed. “You need to be saving your money instead of frittering it away on fancy lunches.”
She really knows how to set my teeth on edge, Mama does.
“I want to buy you lunch. OK? I can afford it.”
“Well, all right,” she said, her voice going all quavery. “But we’re not having a salad if it’s extra. Do they have a senior-citizen discount?”
It was a good thing Mama was busy giving me financial counseling. Because the last booth we passed was occupied by a familiar face.
Uncle James. And he wasn’t alone. Sitting across the table from him, gazing fondly at my uncle, was Jonathan McDowell, the chief assistant district attorney I’d had dinner with at Merijoy Rucker’s house.
In a flash I knew who James’s special friend was. And I knew who was feeding him all the local gossip too.
“Mama,” I said, stopping and turning her around so that her back was toward James. “You’ve got lipstick smeared all over your upper lip.”
“I do?” She put her hand to her face. “I checked before I left the house.”
“It’s all smudged now,” I said sympathetically. “You go on back to the ladies’ room. I’ll order us something to drink. Is iced tea all right?”
“No lemon,” she said quickly, and she hurried off to fix her lipstick.
I grabbed the arm of the maître d’. “I think it would be better if you gave us a table up front.”
“There isn’t another table,” he said, his tone turning icy. “We’re all booked. Wednesdays are our busy day.”
“So I see,” I said dryly. All the couples in the room looked like they’d come directly to Arabella’s from a discreet little nooner.
I glanced over at Uncle James’s table. He chose that moment to turn around. Our eyes met. I gave him a little finger wave. His face went white. He looked like he might faint. Jonathan McDowell noticed the look on James’s face and swiveled to see what was giving James such a fright. Now Jonathan was looking pale too.
They had a hurried conversation. James motioned the maître d’ over to his table. Two half-full plates were at each setting, but it appeared they’d had a sudden, drastic loss of appetite.
James scanned the check and put money on the table. Both men stood up. Jonathan scurried toward the door, deliberately skirting the room to avoid passing me.
As James started to follow him, Mama chose that moment to reappear.
“Why, James,” she said, spotting him and stepping into his path. “Are you having lunch with us too? I thought Weezie said it was just the girls.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Mama planted a happy lipsticky kiss on James’s cheek. “This is so nice. And it’s not even my birthday. Is Joe coming too?”
“Well, no,” James said. “I had a business lunch. With another lawyer. But I’ve got to get back to the office now. Clients to see, and all.”
“Can’t you stay a little while?” I asked, pleading in my voice.
But the rat was swimming for shore. “I’d love to, another time. But Janet will skin me alive if I keep this client waiting.”
Mama sat down in her chair and unfolded her napkin in her lap. “All right,” she said placidly. “Bye, James.”
“You go ahead and order for us, Mama,” I said. “I’ll just walk Uncle James to the door.”
I waited until we were out of her earshot. “You could have told me about Jonathan, you know.”
“I couldn’t, actually,” he said. “He asked me not to.”
“He seems nice.”
“He is. Very nice. And he likes you too. Also, he likes your friend. Who you haven’t chosen to tell me anything about.”
“I get your point,” I said. “I guess we both like to play things close to the vest.”
He draped an arm around my shoulder. “I want to see you happy, Weezie. Does this Daniel fella make you smile?”
“Yeah. He makes me smile, and he makes me laugh, and he makes me so mad sometimes I think I could happily choke him to death.”
“He sounds great.”
We were at the front door. I could see Jonathan standing outside, a worried expression on his face.
“Did you talk to Daddy?”
“Right before I got here. You were right. He had no idea things had gotten so bad with your mother. He’s worried.”
“But he agrees? That she needs to get help?”
“Reluctantly. He still remembers that last time she was in the, uh, hospital. How unhappy she was.”
“But that was fifteen years ago,” I said. “They have all kinds of programs now. She might not even have to stay in a hospital.”
“I mentioned that. I have a friend, a priest, who runs a program at Candler-St. Joseph’s. I’m supposed to talk to him this afternoon. See if that would be a good fit for your mother.”
“I’d better go,” I said, squeezing his hand. “She’ll think I’ve disappeared.”
“Go easy,” he said.
“James? Don’t worry about Mama. She doesn’t have a clue about you and Jonathan. Tell him I said bye. Maybe the two of you could have dinner with Daniel and me. If things work out.”
“A double date?” He grimaced. “Don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet. Arabella’s took enough nerve.”
“The shrimp salad is the special today,” Mama said when I sat back down. “It’s five ninety-five. For shrimp. Can you believe that? But it was the cheapest thing on the menu. I’ll leave the tip.”
“That sounds fine,” I said, taking a sip of iced tea.
“This is very nice,” Mama said, looking around the room. “I wonder if this would be a nice place for our altar guild luncheon?”
I put the tea glass down. “Maybe dinner would be better,” I pointed out, thinking about the altar guild ladies mingling with the Wednesday lunch crowd at Arabella’s.
“Oh no,” Mama said. “A lot of the girls don’t like to drive downtown at night. The crime, you know.”
I’d rehearsed my little speech over and over the night before. I’d even tried to write it down. Now I didn’t know how to bring up the subject. We talked about the weather, and family stuff, and Daddy’s garden until the waiter brought our shrimp salad.
Mama was just buttering a yeast roll. And I just blurted it out.
“Mama? I know about the Four Roses. I know you don’t really drink iced tea all day. I know you have a bottle hidden over at Cousin Lucy’s. I know you’ve been taking her Xanax. And I know you’ve been sleeping over there.”
She went on buttering her roll, tearing off little chunks of bread, spreading butter on each tiny piece, then sitting the chunks around the edge of her plate. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look up. A tear rolled down her face and splashed on the front of her blouse.
“Mama,” I whispered. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. We’re going to get you help.”
She looked up, frightened. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t go back to that place. Never, never, never. I won’t go.”
“Not that place,” I said, reaching for her hand. She jerked it away.
“They have other places. You can come home at night. They don’t lock you up. But they’ll help you. And Mama—you need help. You know you do. Taking those pills, you could kill yourself.”
“Does your daddy know?” She looked at me pleadingly.
“He knows,” I said. “And he wants you to get help too.”
“You told him?” Her face twisted into a tight white mask of anger. “You had no right!”
“He already knew about the drinking. We all knew.”
Her face crumpled. “Even James?”
“Yes.”
“I hate you!” she cried. “You’ve been going around, talking about me behind my back. To my own family. Telling them lies. I don’t need you. And I don’t need to go to a hospital. I can take care of myself.”
“But you can’t,” I said, leaning forward. “Those pills you were taking are a powerful tranquilizer. And you were taking them with liquor. That’s why that statue was talking to you. You were having hallucinations, Mama.”
She sat up straight in her chair, outraged. “I was having a religious vision.” Her eyes were blazing. “And it’s your fault. Because you are a sinner. An adulterer. That’s why I drink. Because of you. All because of you!”
She started weeping loudly and pushed back her chair to stand up, and the chair tipped over onto the floor.
The maître d’ came rushing over, oozing concern. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” I said, digging in my pocketbook for my billfold. “We won’t be staying for lunch. My mother’s not feeling well.”
“I am not drunk,” Mama hollered. “And I do not have hallucinations.”
She snatched up her purse and bolted for the door.
Our waiter appeared just then too, holding a tray of pastries.
“No dessert?” he asked.
“Not this time,” I said. “We’re trying to quit.”