Back to Madeline Island (6 page)

“I didn't know our cottage,” Johnny says, “used to be a log house. There's a picnic table in the back and the coals in the grill are glowing. Jesus, what detail.”

“Yes,” Ruby explains. “There was a log cabin exactly where your place is now. It burned to the ground long ago.”

“I just love this,” I gush. For some reason old places and their stories fascinate me. “Look, behind the barn is a little cabin. I was wondering about that. Certainly it must be gone.” I point to a cabin hidden away among tall pine trees.

“I have never…” Howard comes over next to me to look. “I didn't know that was there.”

“That is the original Prévost place,” Ruby loves history lessons. “When Gustave and Adeline first came to the island, that was where they lived for a time, until the main cottage was built. It's a rather lonely spot, isn't it?”

“Wow, no kidding,” I add, recalling a story Ruby had told me. “You and Ed got a little creeped out when you peeked into it years ago. I mean, something
really
weird must have happened 'cause didn't you tell me the place was like they just washed up the dishes and left?”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks Ruby, as a dusty Rocky leaps into his arms. “Hey, buddy.” He gives him a squeeze, Rocky farts, and we all move away a step.

I light a match and wave it around.

“Oh, man.” Johnny sets Rocky down like he's going to break and then gives him a little push away. “What have you been eating?”

“Perhaps, darling—you should ask
whom
?”

“Sometime,” Howard says, “I'd like to have a look around in there.”

“Me, too,” Johnny adds.

“Me three,” I say. “But today—let's clear these canvases off all the mirrors and make a space for the future belly dancers!”

“Such a spoilsport,” Ruby fusses. “Always has to bring down the fire a bit, doesn't she?”

“Get over here and help me with this,” I order. “Johnny dearest, how about winding up that old Victrola over there and get some tunes going.”

“Yes, Eve darling,” Johnny sasses. “Anything for the spoilsport.”

He blows a cloud of dust off a big round platter-sized record (in Howard's face, no less) and puts it on. Soon good old Edith Piaf is singing “
Les Trois Cloches
.” That's according to Johnny; I have no idea what it means, though. But oh, does it sound lovely. Ruby later informs us it's French for “The Three Bells.” Ding-a-ling.

We clean and tidy and eventually end up with an enormous space and one entire wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. There's even a ballet barre running waist-high through the middle. Not that belly dancers
need
one, or do they?

 

The four of us are over at the boys' cottage, out back on their patio, gathered around a crackling fire they've built in one of those Kiva Hut things. It's a huge clay pot with a chimney going up and a hole in the side for the fire. Darndest thing I've ever seen, but it's putting off a lot of heat, so what do I care? The cool damp air really does seep into your bones.

“This is roughing it,” Johnny comments, refilling our wine goblets. “Hope you like your brats well done, 'cause that's the only way Howard does them.”

“That's my favorite,” I say and Ruby agrees. “Thanks for your help today, you guys. Only thing is—now we haven't any excuse
not
to get these bodies in shape.”

“I think that”—Johnny pulls over a tree stump on wheels that's actually a chair of sorts—“Howard and I will keep on with our weight-lifting regime and leave you ladies to the belly
bouncing
.” I shoot him a look.

“You've a gym here, darling? Why, I had
no
idea.”

“We've got a nice setup in the lower level. Not a ton of stuff, but it does the trick. You can use it whenever you want.”

Ruby raises her eyebrows high, takes a puff and sends a perfect smoke ring over toward Johnny. It encircles his face. He flits it away among a barrage of “gross” and “disgusting.”

When he calms down, Ruby says, “How
kind
of you to offer, but I think we'll stick to the bouncing.” We giggle.

“T
here you are.” Ruby pours and then hands me a mug of coffee. “Did you and Rocky sleep well?”

“Like stones in a river,” I reply, thumping down onto a wicker stool. “I don't think I moved an inch.”

“After all that fussing, up in the loft, I was bushed, too.” She sits opposite me at the stump table. “So nice of the boys to whip up a lovely supper.”

“Those brats were killers. I should really stay away from sauerkraut, though. You think Rocky had gas—oooh, Mama.”

“So kind of you to share, darling.”

“Don't mention it. Did you catch, from Howard, how many orders came in yesterday afternoon?”

“No, do tell.” Ruby gets up and starts cooking us breakfast. She never sits for more than a second, I swear.

“Apparently our website traffic is growing like crazy, thanks to you and Howard literally cooking up the recipe-a-week idea.”

They're posting an original recipe on our website that either Ruby or Howard or both of them first try on the crew—smart, huh? 'Course, that's what has led us all to the conclusion that we need a little less
bounce in our bellies
.

“It simply stands to reason that—”

Just then, the phone rings. I automatically tighten my robe and then pick it up.

“Good morning,” I announce.

“Hello there—oh good morning—hello, is this Ms. Prévost of Ruby's Aprons?”

“No, this is Eve Moss of Ruby's Aprons, may I ask who's calling?” I hear an echoing sound, like I'm on a speakerphone or something.

“Oh yes, sorry—my name is Monica Wheeler and I—”

“By any chance”—I swing the cord around and Rocky takes a swipe at it—“are you selling something?” Hate salespeople calling whenever they damn well—

“Oh no, I
am
sorry for the intrusion, but I'm not selling a
thing
. I represent…” Monica stammers a bit. “Look—I'm lead buyer for Target's kitchen and bath department and we're very interested in—”

“You won't believe this, but yesterday it was Martha Stewart and now—”

“Martha
Stewart
! That
bitch
—why—”

“My my, why, Miss Monica, I believe you just said a bad word,” I chuckle and I hear this huge sigh.

“God, sorry, I'm having a bad start here. I
do
apologize. I don't know where that came from. It's just that she is impossible to keep up with and…why she didn't just sign on with us is
beyond
me. But getting back to—you didn't contract with her—did you?”

“Monica.” I roll my eyes for Ruby and she shrugs her shoulders. “We are a little cottage industry with all the business we can handle, and in all honesty, we want to stay that way.”

“How can you say
no
to Target? I mean, well…don't you want to be the next Michael Graves or Mossimo?”

“Let me give you a little advice, Monica—how old are you?” Ruby shakes her head; she knows I'm in “lecture mode.”

“I'm…I'm in my thirties, why?”

“Someday, when that cubicle becomes a
stall
and you're tired of being just another cog—no offense—hopefully you're going to wake up and realize life is marching by and what do you have to show for it? Some fancy graphs and a
hefty
bottom line?”

“Well, I
don't
see where this has anything to—”

“Ruby's Aprons is not just another business, it's a group of people who've come together to not just make money, we—we're finding our way—together. You know?”

“I—I don't know what to say. I have to admit, from your website's pictures…you really do look like such a happy group and that woman in the yellow gown, the black lady?” Monica's voice has become softer; I can almost feel her smile.

“That's Sam, our resident psychic jazz singer.”

“She looks so powerful, just the way she's singing and the others on that boat-thing, what a hoot. You know, I think I get it now. This isn't just another money gimmick thing—you guys are for real. I mean, you're the real thing.”

“I guess you could say that,” I say. “Listen, sorry to be such a nudge, you just came on so strong and—”

“Forget it.” She pauses. “I, ah, listen…thank you. Thank you for reminding me of something I seemed to have forgotten.”

“Sure, but I'm curious. What did you forget?”

“That there are still people out there with integrity.”

“I wouldn't go
that
far. We're just a group of people who really are happy with how things are.”

“I like that. Well, listen, gotta go. I think I need to take a walk outside.”

“Good thinking,” I say ready to “good-bye.”

“One more thing—does Ruby really
cook
like that? Her weekly recipes are fabulous. Everyone is talking about them.”

“She really does. I have the waistline to prove it!”

She laughs, “Wow, well—good-bye—and thank you.”

I hang up the phone. Ruby looks up from her cooking; we grin. Sometimes it takes others to remind me, I have just enough. I wonder, will Barbara Walters call next or Diane Sawyer? Wouldn't it be fun to put
Miz
Walters on hold? Oh, that's right, we don't have hold.

 

After a short workday, the boys head home and the four of us ladies are filing into the loft for our
initiation into the world of belly dancing
. The last part Lilly proudly proclaimed; she's our fearless leader. I fear. We've changed into roomy workout clothes and are already planning on making more adventurous outfits in the future. Lilly and I are in simple grays, Sam's in purple, and Ruby, she's fancy in a zebra-striped affair—matching top and bottom no less.

“My lord.” Sam huffs into a chair. “Those stairs are a workout right there. You ever consider putting in a lift?”

“Won't be long,” Lilly comments, setting down a large round teal suitcase. “And you'll be taking those steps—two at a time.”

“Damn.” Sam gets up and walks over to inspect the mirrors. “This here wall lookin' back with all a' that
me
in there is enough to scare any decent person—but good. 'Course I do have first-rate skin.” Sam tucks a stubborn braid up under her purple headband.

“This is a perfect setup for us,” Lilly says. “All this light and space in here, it's a wonderful studio. Now, Eve, do we have a tape deck up here, do you know? I brought all sorts of things for us to get into the mood. It's all about
mood
, you know.”

“Howard brought this over.” I point to a paint-spattered machine and Lilly drops a tape in.

“That's lovely, darling,” Ruby comments. “Sounds like angels with drums or
some
sort of percussion instrument and I
do
think this is going to be jolly good fun.” She models a veil Lilly has handed her.

“Now,” Lilly begins, “I'm going to start us off with basic belly moves. But first we need to each pick out a coin belt, for effect, and a hip scarf. I've a ton of them, so dig in and try a few on.”

The room turns into a rainbow of colors as we wave around scarves of the lightest silks. Reds, blues, yellows, bright orange, fuchsia pinks and every green possible, all fluttering around as we try this and that one on and then fuss with each other until we're satisfied. On to the noisy belts of coins, they clatter a fabulous chiming sound that's a music all its own.

Eventually, we get properly fit and line up in front of the mirrored wall, Lilly's up front looking rather chic, her swirled hair wrapped high with a silver scarf. We each have a different “hip scarf” and over that a coin belt. Rocky has a violet scarf around his neck, but I can see it's not going to stay there long.

“Did everyone,” Lilly asks, “remember to wear a sports bra?” We all nod or say “yes.” “Eventually we'll whip up something fancier, but for the time being it's important to—well—have support!”

“Girl,” Sam drawls, “with what I got to support here, ain't no bra strong enough.”

“Consider yourself fortunate,” Ruby adds. “My little twins hardly qualify for a bra, let alone a sporting one.” We chuckle.

“Oh shoot—I almost forgot.” Lilly dashes back over to her suitcase and rifles around. “Here,” she runs around, handing us each little cymbal things. “These are called
zills
. Put them on your thumbs and the other two on your middle fingers.”

We cling them and soft cymbal sounds fill the room. All these props, the fun scarves and belts, what a riot. Lilly resumes her place up front. As she looks at us in the mirror, pride ekes out of her eyes.

“These are to keep the beat. Now, today we're going to learn some basic alignment and figure eights, maybe try some circles, definitely isolations, along with arm and hand coordination. I hope to get to shimmy control, but traveling steps will have to wait. Let's begin.”

After about forty-five minutes (Lilly's tough) we're seated in a grouping of chairs and an ancient sofa, off to the side of the huge window facing the lake.

“I had
no
idea”—Sam swallows a big gulp of water—“this was going to be all so damn en-joy-able. You can count me in and
good
, girl. I'm thinkin' we need to keep on with this belly dancing.”

“I concur.” Ruby clangs her zills and then we all do. “To Lilly!”

We raise our water glasses and clink.

“You all made great progress,” Lilly says, beaming. “If we keep this up, why in no time at all we'll be able to really cut a rug—so to speak.”

“I, for one, am game,” I offer. “I haven't had this much fun working out—well—
ever,
and we all were sweating up a storm; that must mean
something
.”

“Belly dancers”—Ruby juts her chin out—“do not
sweat
.” She dabs at her moist forehead. “They perspire, darling.” We chuckle.

Getting up, I say, “You guys have got to check out this model that Ed made of Madeline Island.”

The ladies follow me over to a far corner where the model now lives.

“Just amazing,” Lilly lisps and oohs and ahs. “Look—there's even tiny little people and food in the cupboards, oh lordie.”

“I'm getting all sorts of vibes off this thing,” Sam says, shaking her head. “Feels like more than lookin' in folks' windows to me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask and move over next to her. “Do you
see
something?”

“I feel,” she offers, “
more
is all—it's better now—but there's so much here's all. If I focus on…let me try and explain better. See that little house there, the mint green one?” We nod.

“That there is Bonnie's house over in LaPointe and I can see what that man—Al—I can see what he used to do to that poor child. Him dead and all, you'd think that would up and clear out, but the earth is a funny place and some things jus' hang on, you know?”

“So all you have to do,” I say, my eyes wide, “is focus on a model of a
house
and…you see things?”

“Not all, no, some just give off warmth, like things is right, and others, they don't.”

“Very peculiar.” Ruby scrunches her brow. “Tell me, darling,” she says carefully. “This little cabin, the one hidden back here, behind the barn, this barn—do you see anything there?” Ruby points to it.

“Lord have mercy,” Sam whispers. “Sure do.”

We lean in closer and watch Sam.

“Unrest…I see…there's two. One's familiar, why her name's same as my great-aunt—Adeline. She's there trying to help the other. Trying to…funny, but I can't see the second spirit too good, but there's definitely two that's stuck on this side.”

“That was Ed's gran, Adeline,” Ruby explains. “This was her dance studio and they used to live back there. Poor dear. But
two
spirits?”

“That just creeps me out!” I say. “If you're saying there's not one—but
two
—ghosts on this property—well, that just plain sucks!”

“
Ghosts
never hurt nobody,” Sam explains with a snort. “Besides, I may have just caught something that's done and long gone, seeing as this model was made a while back.”

“What,” I counter, “like
dated impressions
?”

“Years ago,” Ruby half whispers, “Ed and I poked about that old place and I felt something there—we both did. It gave us the creeps. I felt like I was being watched.”

“Child,” Sam says, “we
always
bein' watched.”

 

“We don't spend,” Ruby remarks, indicating the long, narrow room with a sweep of her arm, “near enough time out here on the porch any longer, do we?”

“I can't imagine,” I say, laughing, “what in the world anyone would think if they caught us like this, it's so
un
economical.”

“Oh
dash
it all, if it weren't for all these heaters—why, we'd catch our death out here.” She reaches over to an ancient space heater, its red coils pulsing expensive heat, and cranks it up a notch.

“I do love this wraparound porch,” I comment. “Or is this a verandah?”

“Either is correct, darling. Pour me some more tea, would you?”

I do. “Must have taken years to collect all this wicker and the cushions are too cool. What crazy patterns. Wish we could find some old art deco fabrics like these, to make aprons out of.”

“That
would
be cool, dear.”

“It'll be nice to see Helen again,” I mention. “Haven't heard from her in a bit. I didn't expect that we'd be, like, calling every day, but you'd think that—”