Elly In Bloom (27 page)

Gene moved aside and Isaac walked to the microphone. He pointed at Elly. “OH…ELLY… Elly….your supple flesh under my thumbs, your breath on my face. You are my February sky, my sensual croissant…the world is burning, but your flower is opening to me.”

Several seated in front of Elly turned to look at her. Elly felt her face burning.
Could this night be any more embarrassing?
Then Isaac ripped his shirt in half. Women screamed. The crowd seemed intoxicated by his voice, his presence. He was now swaying back and forth, strumming his guitar, sweat glistening down his ripped chest. He was the embodiment of sublime sexuality, and any minute now Elly wagered that panties would be thrown on the stage. They would NOT be hers.

A tiny waif of a girl spun around to face Elly. “OH my GOD, are you his girlfriend? You are SO lucky!”

Elly nodded, feeling pride, humiliation and confusion all at once. She
was
lucky. She
did
adore him. Their band might suck, but Isaac was a good catch. He was beautiful, charismatic and fun. He made her feel worthy. But she couldn’t quench the nagging doubts that had arrived with yesterday’s news. That evening, in a dimly lit club, somewhere in the middle of the Central West End, a mortified woman wondered how one man from her past could ruin every single thing in her life.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Elly sliced granny smith apples into thin pieces, and layered them on a cutting board, squeezing a lemon over them. She turned to the caramel that was simmering on the stove, testing it with her spoon and then pouring it into an empty pie shell. On top of that, she latticed the apples, streusel and pastry dough. Taking a whipped egg, she basted the top of the pie, finishing it off with large crystals of raw sugar.

She popped it into the oven, exclaiming to Cadbury, “Well…maybe that will kill me, then we won’t have to worry about a thing, will we?”

Cadbury yawned at her.

“Yeah, I guess it couldn’t be that easy.”

It was Sunday, Elly’s favorite day of the week. There were no weddings, no workers, no songs sang about her luscious breasts…it was just her, Cadbury and a caramel apple pie, her mother’s recipe. Elly felt a twinge of passive guilt for skipping church this morning, - and every Sunday, two years in a row - but she rationalized for today that if your boyfriend had ripped off his shirt in front of hundreds of people while singing about your comforting fat rolls, then you got a free pass.

Elly plodded to her couch, which was surrounded by used tissues. She had called Kim that morning to no answer. Almost every other Sunday, Elly headed to Kim’s house for swimming, movies or a nice dinner. As Kim’s voicemail turned on, Elly had almost felt relief. Since she had learned about Aaron, she had not been alone to properly organize her thoughts, to sort out her wide array of feelings. With the wedding a few short months away, Elly knew that she had to issue her response so that Sunny had enough time to book another florist. Today was a day to reflect, a day to be introspective and honest. A day to make pies. She sat down with the purpose of deep and revealing thought, but was soon distracted by her massive pile of unopened mail. Ripping open envelopes and clipping coupons, Elly mulled over her situation.
I can’t do the wedding. I can’t. Absolutely not. It would be admitting defeat. I can’t bear the thought of seeing Aaron with her. I’ll attack her if I see her. That, or I will hide in a corner until I cry myself to death. Even if I delegated the wedding
, she thought determinedly,
I would still need to meet with Lucia and Sunny. I can’t. It’s done. I can’t
.

Elly slipped a letter out of its envelope. She groaned loudly, followed by a short snort. She had forgotten to pay her quarterly state taxes again. She loved running the shop, meeting with the brides and designing the flowers, but bookkeeping was never her strength. Elly was on a first name basis with John, the tax commissioner for the city of Clayton. They would have lengthy conversations about their mutual love for live theater and English sheepdogs before getting to Elly’s late notice or many miscalculations. She found numbers and math in general overwhelming and intimidating, and really had no use for them. Kim constantly remarked that it was a miracle that she wasn’t homeless. Elly glanced at the bill, her mind momentarily crippled by the staggering amount. Surely she could cover it, but it would be nice to have a little extra. The shop desperately needed new carpet, air conditioning in the back and the van seemed one delivery away from dropping its engine on I-64.

The timer rang loudly and Cadbury barked. Elly quickly put her hands over his muzzle. The last thing the neighbors needed to know was that Cadbury was familiar with the sound of a perfectly cooked pie. Pulling on her large oven mitts, Elly was reaching for the pie when there was a knock at the door. She hastily shoved the pie onto the top of the stove and walked to the door, glancing wistfully back at the golden brown lattice steaming deliciously on the counter. Elly yanked open the door. Keith stood before her, a bag of sandwiches in one hand and a box of Kleenex in the other. He shuffled his feet nervously and stared at the ground.

“Hi Elly, how are you feeling? I just thought I would bring these by and see how you were feeling after your, your…”

“Hissy fit?” Elly offered.

Keith nodded, laughing. “I was going to say your
emotional day
.”

“That would be kind of you, considering I threw over an 80 pound glass table.”

“Yeah, that was more impressive than upsetting.”

Elly smiled and waved towards the couch. “C’mon in.”

Cadbury trotted over to Keith, tail wagging happily. “Hello buddy, how are you feeling?”

“He’s doing much better. You’ll be thrilled to know that there is not a trail of dog poop leading into the bedroom.”

Keith took his shoes off at the door and sat down on the couch. “Something smells delicious…”

Elly walked into the kitchen, “You are a lucky man, because I just made caramel apple pie.”

Keith rubbed Cadbury’s ears. “I planned it that way. That’s really the only reason I came over. Did you have lunch yet? I brought you my new sandwich. It’s a turkey, avocado, cheese and toasted foccacia with basil pesto.”

“That sounds amazing.” Elly sat down next to him and started to unwrap her sandwich. She peeled back the wrapping and stopped. She was so touched by this small gesture, but still felt restless and uneasy. “You know what? I’ve been in this apartment all day, and I really could get out of the house. Would you mind if we took a walk? It’s so beautiful outside. We could take our sandwiches.”

Keith jumped up. “Yeah, a walk sounds nice. Are you sure you don’t mind the company?”

Elly shook her head as she hooked Cadbury to his leash. “Nope, as long as you don’t mind taking a walk with a jaded woman who is going to eat her sandwich with equal parts anger and vigor.”

Keith smiled. “I don’t mind. I know somewhere we could go…have you been to Regal Park?”

Elly had not. “Is it far?” she asked, trying not to betray that an intense uphill hike was maybe not her forte.

Keith laughed. “No, you will not believe how close it is.”

Wet mist covered the ground, soaking the fallen leaves into a dark teak brown. The air was moist and thick, rolling in with the arrival of mid-autumn. Bright sunlight filtered through holes in the low lying clouds, illuminating spotted trees along the path, casting everything in a pale grey. Elly pulled her sweater tight around her, “I love days like this. They are so rare in St. Louis.”

Carrying the sandwiches, Keith led Elly up the street from the shops and towards the giant mansions that rounded out the block just behind the local college soccer fields. Regal Plots was Clayton’s richest neighborhood – a gated community where Elly frequently delivered large, gorgeous arrangements to old, preserved looking women. The mansions were mostly an ancient grey, with wrought iron fences that surrounded their expertly manicured grounds. They faced outwards, in an oval shape that circled around a cobblestone street lined with stately mailboxes and dark green pittosporum. On this chilly, damp afternoon, there was nary a filthy rich person to be seen, although Elly did spy a gardener trimming a bush into a giant fleur de lis.

Keith rolled his eyes. “You would think with this much money, they wouldn’t need to trim their bushes into status symbols.”

Elly laughed. “Maybe Cadbury can pee on it on the way back.” Her legs burned. “Are we almost there?” she tilted her voice up at the end, to make it sound that she was enjoying the walk.

“Yup – we just have to go through this.”

Keith made a sharp right into the side yard of a giant brown house, elegant and whimsical with dark teak gables and a bright red door. Elly stood trying desperately to hold on to Cadbury, who was trying to bolt toward Keith.

“Um, are we allowed in there? I don’t think we are.”

Keith grinned. “I don’t think they’ll mind.” He glanced towards the house. “I don’t think anyone is even home.”

Elly stood waiting.

“What’s the worst thing that can happen?” he urged.

“Aaron and Lucia have decided to consummate their love behind the house. That is the kind of week I’ve been having,” Elly replied snidely.

Keith sighed, walked toward her and grabbed her hand, pulling her and Cadbury through the small opening. They took a small brick sidewalk past the edge of the house and ducked under an arbor crawling with frosted white foxglove, dipping their heavy heads sadly. Thick dead leaves covered the end of the walk, and they stepped into the wet grass.

Under the arch, the path opened up into a large circle garden, about the size of a baseball field. There appeared to be no entrance to the park – it was completely circled in by the back of the mansions. Bushes, maples, sparse pines all rounded the edges of the clearing, tiny blue flowers tucked up against their trunks. All around the perimeter, decaying flower bushes crowded each other for room, and ivy ran wild over every surface. In the middle of the park was a single picnic table, a small wooden swing set and a tiny cherub fountain. The dilapidated angel stared towards the sky, hoisting a huge urn that poured out remnants of dead flowers and a small trickle of water. One of its wings was broken, and someone had placed a lopsided crown of dried wax flowers on his head.

Elly stopped. “This is…so...” She was rendered speechless. It didn’t happen often.

Keith nodded. “I love it. I come here to think. There is never anyone here. I have yet to see a single person use this garden.” He shook his head. “What a waste.”

Elly strolled over to the cherub statue. Some punk kid had carved his initials into the wings, but somehow, it only made the statue more luminous. She ran her fingers over the deep cuts. “Rich people never know what they have.”

Keith settled down on the picnic table and started unwrapping the sandwiches. “It’s not just rich people.” He responded, eyeing Elly. “
Most
people don’t know what they have.”

Elly kicked the leaves away from the base of the fountain. “Isn’t that the truth? These people don’t realize that they have this incredible garden right here in back of their houses. It would be perfect when it’s in bloom, but instead it’s all neglected.”

Keith squirted some mayo on his sandwich from a small packet. “Most true and good things are hidden things. Faith in trusting the unseen, that kinda thing.”

Elly agreed, tying Cadbury to the end of the picnic table, where he happily commenced rolling himself in the wet leaves. “Great,” she said, rolling her eyes and sitting down, “now I’ll have to give him another bath. He’s really a ball of fun in the bathtub.”

Keith grinned. “I can imagine.”

Elly dug in to her sandwich with vigor. There were a couple of minutes of comfortable silence as they chewed, savoring the herbs and avocado on their tongues.

Keith cleared his throat and broke the quiet lull in the garden. “So, how are you?”

Elly wiped her lips with a napkin. “Honestly? Not great.” She felt tears gathering on the edges of her vision and told herself that she would not cry during this conversation. “In my worst moments, I’ve wondered if God is punishing me. The shock of it has finally worn off, but I’m not sure what that leaves me with. Aaron – that’s my ex-husband’s name – is marrying his lover, and if that weren’t enough, I can’t even seem to look at Isaac lately without thinking of Aaron. I finally thought that I was over him, and here he comes, with wedding bells ringing and I’m getting emotionally trampled.”