Much Ado About Mother (12 page)

“Sure,” Eric said. “I'll put some out on the counter. They should sell themselves.”

Piquant started barking loudly. He rushed into the Nook, apparently dead set on ferreting out Virginia. Eric and Blu turned to her and she smiled weakly.

“There's nothing quite like a good graphic novel,” Virginia said.

It was clear to her that Blu's work here was done.

“I'd better get going,” Blu said to Eric. “I'm shooting this afternoon with your sister-in-law, and you know how she can get if you're late.”

“I'm going to be in Santa Monica this afternoon myself,” Virginia said. “Maybe we'll run into each other.”

Blu was already out the door. Apparently, women's voices didn't register.

Later that afternoon, Virginia and the men stood regarding the Miramar Fig, more formally known as the Moreton Bay Fig Tree and more formally still as the Founders' Tree. It stood outside the Miramar Hotel on Ocean Avenue, in the hotel's circular parking lot. Cars and people swirled around it in constant motion, 24/7. She could see why it was granted landmark status. In a frenetic world, it stood, a thing of beauty in every sense of the word—massive yet graceful, reassuring yet majestic.

“Christopher, I don't think this tree is going to help our . . . I mean
your
cause after all,” Virginia said as Christopher took out his sketchbook. “Our tree is too ugly duckling to this swan.”

Christopher pocketed his sketchbook.

“Let's head up to Fifth Street,” Virginia said, as if she were a local.

“OK,” Bernard replied. “But if we're going up to Twenty-second Street, we're taking the car.”

“We're not. I don't think you can whip up any enthusiasm for a landmarked eucalyptus.”

As they headed up Ocean Avenue, a small film crew was suddenly in their sights.

“Is that Erinn?” Christopher asked, watching a woman with a camera backpedaling toward them while keeping a tiny woman with multicolored hair in her lens. They were too far away to make out very much detail, but Virginia was sure it was Blu. You could only see the back of the camerawoman, taking the deliberate steps that all camera people learn in order to avoid stumbling when they walk backward.

“You can tell my daughter by her backside?” Virginia asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Christopher looked at his feet and Virginia and Bernard burst out laughing.

“We're on her block,” she said. “And she's working on a show.”

A man wearing earphones and carrying some sort of large microphone on a pole steadied Erinn while keeping the microphone poised over the woman she was shooting.

People who live in and around Southern California seem to understand the mechanics of TV and film crews almost by osmosis. As Erinn walked backward towards them, being led by the man with the microphone, no pedestrian even glanced their way.

Virginia felt a swell of maternal pride as she watched Erinn at work. Her daughter seemed so confident, even from the back. The little group took in the woman Erinn was shooting. She was walking down the street, looking right and left, flipping her hair and deliberately ignoring the camera and microphone, touching flowers on fences and walls as she walked by. Erinn stopped walking and put the camera down.

“Blu,” Erinn said. “Just be natural.”

“I am being natural,” Blu said.

“I don't think you are. I don't think you walk down the street touching flowers.”

“Well, I do in my fake life!” Blu insisted.

Virginia thought she should not butt in, but she could tell by Erinn's posture that things were about to get ugly. How was it that this wraith of a woman could stir up so much trouble in her family?

“Erinn!” Virginia called out.

Erinn turned around. She lit up, which surprised Virginia. She thought another surprise visitation from her mother, no matter how coincidentally—and with no mac and cheese—might not be welcomed by her eldest daughter. Then she realized that Erinn was glowing because she was looking at Christopher.

Virginia was explaining their mission when Blu interrupted.

“We've been shooting for two hours. Can we be done?”

“Yes,” Erinn said to her and then looked at the audio guy, who looked equally relieved. “Let's wrap for today. Call time ten a.m. sharp tomorrow, my house.”

“Don't you mean
my
house?” Blu giggled.

Erinn appeared to turn to stone at Virginia's side. Without waiting to be introduced to Virginia's band of tree avengers, Blu slipped off her five-inch heels and headed up Ocean Avenue. Virginia felt Erinn shake off her anger. She was glad to see that she hadn't forgotten her manners.

“Mother, this is Opie,” Erinn said, introducing the red-haired man with the microphone. “Opie, this is my mother, Virginia. And this is Bernard and his nephew.”

“Christopher,” Christopher said, shaking Opie's hand.

Virginia tried to hide her smile. Erinn obviously knew damn well that “the nephew's” name was Christopher.

“OK, boss,” Opie said. “Ten sharp. See you at . . . the house.”

“We're heading over to Fifth Street . . . ,” Christopher said.

“I know all about it,” Erinn said.

Virginia was surprised.
She
certainly hadn't said anything. Was Suzanna complaining about her?

“If you're not busy,” Virginia said, “maybe you'd like to come with us.”

“Yeah,” Christopher said. “I mean, if you aren't busy, I'd love to compare notes on composition. Your mother is expecting miracles on these shots.”

Virginia could tell that Erinn was flattered.

Erinn decided to accompany the troupe on their Fifth Street pilgrimage. Virginia noticed that Christopher, very casually, took the heavy camera from Erinn. Virginia wasn't sure if she was joining them because she didn't want to go home or because it would give her time with Christopher. Virginia didn't really care, as this was a wonderful way to spend time with her eldest.

“Now we're talking,” Christopher said as the little band of would-be tree savers stood staring at the Fifth Street cedar. It was the same species as the tree at Mr. Clancy's but much larger and rivaled it in unattractiveness.

The tree sprawled across a long, narrow lot. There seemed to be no symmetry to the thing, branches sticking out awkwardly at all angles. They were gnarled and touched the ground only to curve up again toward the sky. If any tree could convey arthritis this would be the one.

“Thank God,” Virginia said. “If Santa Monicans found it in their hearts to save this guy, I think you've got a chance.”

“This has got to be the ugliest tree in the world,” Erinn said.

“Our tree is way better-looking than this one,” Bernard said. “No comparison!”

Virginia exchanged a look with Erinn. It hadn't occurred to her that Bernard actually saw the tree through eyes of love. Wasn't he just clashing with Mr. Clancy out of habit?

“Of course your tree is beautiful,” she said.

“Well, now, I wouldn't go that far,” Bernard said, a tinge of color spotting his cheeks above the stubble of his beard. “But it sure as hell is a lot better-looking than this one.” He stabbed a stubby finger toward the offending cedar.

“OK, Bernard,” Virginia said. “Please take some pictures. Lots of angles.”

“I don't know,” Bernard said. “Maybe Erinn should take the pictures. She's the professional.”

Bernard started to hand over his camera to Erinn.

“Thank you, Bernard,” Erinn said. “But I'm just going to observe.”

Virginia wasn't sure if Erinn didn't want Bernard to feel slighted or if she didn't want to steal anyone's thunder. You could never tell with Erinn. Virginia turned her attention back to Bernard.

“I want to convey every emotion. Drama, solitude, anxiety, hopefulness. . . ,” Virginia said.

“Hold on there,” Bernard said. “This is a tree, not a Greek tragedy.”

“That's where you're wrong!” Erinn said. “This IS a Greek tragedy. Or a Greek tragedy in the making. We've got all the elements: the potential for loss, the abuse of power, and the tenuous relationship between humans and their gods.”

“Wow,” said Christopher, already sketching the behemoth before them. “Who knew?”

Although Virginia laughed along with the men, she slipped a protective arm around Erinn. A reassuring squeeze just in case Erinn didn't get the fact that this was a good-natured joke. She was relieved that Erinn, who didn't exactly laugh, at least smiled. She felt her stiffen and was about to remove her arm when she caught her daughter's eye. Erinn wore the same expression that she had when she was little, brave and a little confused. Virginia left her arm where it was until Erinn finally shrugged her away.

Virginia thought back to Erinn's childhood. She remembered standing on the back step of their little home, and Erinn, who was just shy of three years old, standing by herself along the back fence. The toddler was walking quietly among a few scraggly pumpkins and their vines, studying them from all angles. She was too young to actually know how to count, but she took her tiny finger and touched one bright yellow gourd after another, deep in concentration. Virginia was new to motherhood, and, like all first-time mothers, thought her child was the most exceptional being on earth. But Virginia also knew that this truly was a very special child, one who looked at things in her own way. One who would not have an easy path.

Virginia wondered what Eric's response would be if she and Erinn officially declared an allegiance with the pro-tree people? Virginia knew that Erinn always took an interest in historic preservation; she fought the good fight in New York City when she lived there and had helped save several old buildings. So it wouldn't surprise Virginia that her daughter would get involved saving this little loser of a tree. And as for herself... well, this battle had started to get her blood pumping!

Virginia watched Erinn watch Christopher. Virginia knew that her daughter wasn't comfortable with people in general, but if she had an interest in a man she became even more awkward. So this was a brave step on Erinn's part, putting herself out there. Virginia watched as she took a tentative glance over Christopher's shoulder to peek at his drawing. But when he turned his attention toward Erinn, she ran off to take pictures with Bernard.

Virginia's heart once more swelled and she jammed her fists into her pockets to keep herself from hugging her eldest daughter. She tried not to get her hopes up—she would love to see Christopher and Erinn together. But Erinn was not an easy woman to get to know. Virginia looked over at Christopher, drawing away and chatting easily with any curious onlooker.

Will he take the time?
she wondered.

CHAPTER 13

SUZANNA

S
uzanna did not rush immediately to Rio's studio bearing scones and lemon cream. She was a happily married,
busy
woman with a business to run, a baby to raise, and a mother visiting from out of town. She had too much responsibility to toss it all up in the air for a visit with a hot man who had whispered that he needed to speak to her alone. He could wait. The question was: How long could
she
wait?

In a parallel universe kind of way, Rio being in the neighborhood had actually been a benefit to Suzanna's life. She had lost a few pounds and had started to tone up the rest. She had soaked up the ins and outs of local politics, was beginning to understand what it took to get a local landmark designation, and knew the difference between a cedar, a Douglas fir, and a Canadian hemlock. She knew that her husband, her mother, and her neighbors scoffed at the mighty and not-so-mighty eucalyptus. She still could not understand what the fuss was about; in her opinion Mr. Clancy's tree
was
a hazard.

But she would keep that to herself.

Suzanna was clearing out the assorted flotsam and jetsam that had managed to accumulate in her foyer. She picked up a stack of flyers and realized they were from the artist who was going to be showing at Willow Station. She had forgotten to put them in the Nook. As she headed into the bookstore, Christopher almost collided with her.

“Hey, Christopher,” Suzanna said. “What's up?”

“Not a whole hell of a lot. I was just wondering if Eric was around? I need help moving a desk I just made. It's heavier than it looks.”

Christopher seemed to do a double take when he saw the flyers in Suzanna's hand.

“What's this?” he asked, taking one.

“Some new artist in town,” Suzanna said. “I told her I'd spread the word.”

“Oh,” Christopher said. “I'll take one of these, OK?”

He headed back out the door, much to Suzanna's confusion.

“Should I send Eric over to help with the desk?” she called after him.

Virginia had come back from her research expedition to Santa Monica and told Eric and Suzanna that she felt it her duty to fight for the tree. She would keep it out of the Rollicking Bun and Book Nook, but her conscience told her she had to fight the good fight. Suzanna and Eric then had their own battle.

“This is just what my mom needs,” Suzanna had said.

“This is not what our family needs!” Eric replied.

“You mean, this isn't what
you
need!”

The upshot was that Virginia was free to hold her meetings in the Bun but had to give the Nook a wide berth.

Virginia jumped in with vigor. She collected an odd assortment of women of all ages who felt honor-bound to look after the tree. She was preparing several of them for a new campaign. These volunteers would canvass the neighborhood, sniffing out registered voters who would sign their hotly worded petition. Suzanna was happy to have the extra business; the would-be petitioners spent hours in the tearoom. She felt the extra revenue would be something to show off to Eric, but she kept all mention of the pro-tree volunteer meetings to herself. As amped up as her mother was, Suzanna was drained.

Erinn came in. Suzanna was not at all happy to see her. She was treading lightly with Eric, and adding Know-It-All Erinn to the mix just seemed too much to bear. But Erinn seemed as tired as Suzanna felt. The two sisters sat drinking tea and watching their inexhaustible mother explain how to get the attention of jaded Venetians.

“Don't forget, your neighbors have seen it all and heard it all,” Virginia said. “You have to do whatever it takes to get their attention and once you have it, don't let go until you get that signature.”

“How do we do that?” a worried-looking lady named Clare asked. She seemed younger than most of the other women but equally committed to the cause.

“How many of you have dogs?” Virginia asked.

Suzanna looked up from her tea to see the show of hands. Where was her mother going with this? Of the eight women in the shop, five of them raised their hands.

“Five of you,” Virginia said. “Good. Take your dogs with you. Southern Californians love dogs. Let them do the work for you.”

Suzanna noticed that Clare looked downcast. Apparently, she did not have a dog.

“Clare, you may borrow Piquant,” Virginia said.

Erinn and Suzanna exchanged a look. Poor Clare.

Erinn started picking at her sweater, which Suzanna saw was covered in long fur. At first Suzanna thought Caro must be shedding, but on closer inspection, the fur was longer and finer and blonder than Caro's. Suzanna started helping to groom her sister.

“Those damn Angora rabbits,” Erinn whispered, so as not to disrupt her mother's zealous speech. “Their hair is everywhere.”

“Speak of the devil,” Suzanna said, looking toward the door as Dymphna wafted in.

Erinn saw her, too, and closed her eyes.

“It's either Blu or Dymphna driving me crazy,” Erinn said. “I thought I could at least get away from them here.”

Dymphna silently threaded her way toward the strategizing women.

“As Marcus Aurelius said, ‘The object of life is . . . to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane,' ” Erinn said while rubbing her eyes. “And I am in the ranks of the insane every minute of every day.”

Dymphna sat down and Virginia broke into a huge grin.

“Hello, Dymphna,” she said, greeting her with a hug. “Glad you could join us.”

Erinn and Suzanna both were taken by surprise by the warm greeting. Virginia had been up to Erinn's house and met both Blu and Dymphna, but so had Suzanna, and she didn't feel as if they had any special connection. She knew it didn't take her mother long to bond with people, but this seemed quick even for her.

Virginia introduced Dymphna to the crowd.

“Ladies, this is Dymphna,” Virginia said. “She lives in my daughter Erinn's guesthouse and is raising Angora rabbits to make yarn. She is new in town and I thought she'd like to be part of our community.”

Everyone in the room seemed interested in her story. Shy Dymphna tucked her head into an intricate scarf she was wearing. It was light blue with flashes of darker cobalt and had a chunky texture accented with tiny pearlescent beads. Suzanna found herself mesmerized by the scarf and by the time she was listening to the conversation again, Virginia was catching Dymphna up on the petition and the idea that everyone should bring a dog as an icebreaker.

“But we don't have dogs for everyone,” Clare said, firmly putting herself back in the dogless camp.

“What about rabbits?” Dymphna asked softly.

Everyone in the room strained to hear her. Suzanna saw Erinn lean in, caught up in the discussion.

“What was that, dear?” Virginia asked. “Could you speak up so the class . . . I mean, so everyone can hear you?”

“My rabbits are very friendly and they are all leash trained,” Dymphna said again, although still very softly. “Maybe they could go out and help.”

“That is a great idea.” Erinn's booming voice shot out of nowhere. She joined the group, leaving Suzanna at an outer table by herself. “As a matter of fact, every one of you should lead a rabbit on a leash. We'll get some press that way. It will be our signature look.”

Suzanna almost laughed out loud at her curmudgeonly sister using the expression “signature look.” Must be Blu's influence.

Virginia was beaming at Erinn.

“I can't help it,” Erinn said to her mother. “It's the producer in me.”

“It's a wonderful idea,” Babette, another of the dogless women, said. “I think the rabbits will get us a ton of attention.”

“We need a catchy name, too,” Erinn said. “I propose Cause Courtyard.”

Suzanna was about to say that the word
tree
should perhaps be in this catchy name, but the group seemed perfectly happy with Cause Courtyard, and Erinn was practically glowing from the murmurs of appreciation.

As Dymphna explained how best to walk an Angora rabbit in order to keep it healthy, calm, and knot free, Suzanna took the opportunity to slip out of the room. She peeked in on Eric in the Nook. His feet propped up at the counter, he was reading some sort of document. Lizzy was sound asleep on his shoulder. She leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight of her family. Eric looked up and she smiled at him but he didn't smile back.

“Are you OK?” Suzanna asked.

“I'm just worried that this whole thing is going to blow up,” Eric said. “Your mom seems to have taken over as lead tree advocate, and I'm afraid we won't be able to stay out of it.”

He sounded like he was running for office.

“She just wants to be part of things,” Suzanna said, feeling silly that she was defending her mother when she was as annoyed as Eric. “She's all stirred up about the petition.”

“The petition is just the first step,” Eric said. “If they get past that, they're probably going to have to go to court to fight Mr. Clancy—which will be bad for community relations and cost money nobody has.”

Suzanna wanted to stand in solidarity with her husband. They really hadn't had anything to bond over in such a long time (well, after Lizzy, of course). She was a little confused as to how you became an activist when the point was to remain neutral, but she would think of something. OK, so her mother and sister were movers and shakers—each in her own way—but Suzanna could be, too (she hoped). She could be so easily knocked out of orbit by the other women in her family. It was time to stand up and be counted. Suzanna studied Eric, who had gone back to his reading. She wondered if he'd miss her if she did get knocked out of orbit.

Time to go over to Mr. Clancy's Courtyard and scope out the situation for herself. She'd been immobilized because of the Rio situation. Frankly, she was hoping he'd show up again at the Bun, begging to see her, which had not happened. She now had a higher calling. She would prove to Eric that she would be his helpmate and find a way to keep the peace. She just wouldn't tell her mother. . . .

Donell, on his phone, silently offered her a bouquet of sage as she walked by. She declined. The Wolf women walked the fine line of accepting just enough of his offerings so that he was not insulted but leaving him with plenty of sage to sell. It was late afternoon and the merchants of the courtyard were packing up their sidewalk tables. She wanted to go look at a green-and-orange skirt that Mr. Clancy had thrown over his shoulder but thought better of it. Would doing business with Mr. Clancy be fraternizing with the enemy? Whose enemy? Certainly not Eric's! Her mother's? She tried not to catch his eye but he caught hers.

“Hi, Suzanna,” he said, continuing to pack up his wares. “I wanted to talk to you, but I'm pretty sure I'm not welcome at the Bun any longer.”

“That's not true, Mr. Clancy!” she said, although now that she thought about it, maybe it
was
true! “I'm sure everyone on the block is going to be able to work this thing out!”

Mr. Clancy waved her soothing words away.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I was just wondering how involved your mother is in this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?” Suzanna asked. “The tree thing?”

“What other thing is there?” he groused. “I was thinking about asking her to go get a beer, but if I'm the bad guy . . .”

“I'm sure my mother does not see you as a bad guy,” Suzanna replied, although she wasn't sure of that at all. Maybe her mother would be horrified by the idea of getting a drink with a man who would chop down a helpless tree. “But . . .”

“But what?”

Mr. Clancy stopped packing and looked straight at Suzanna. She was shocked to see the wariness and fear of rejection in his blue eyes.

“But . . . my mother doesn't drink beer. Better make it wine,” she said as she turned into the courtyard.

Christopher was leaning against the outside wall of his art gallery. Suzanna realized how tiny the courtyard actually was. She had just turned away from Mr. Clancy and here was Christopher, just ten feet and yet a thousand miles away from Mr. Clancy.

“Hi, Christopher,” Suzanna said. “Good day?”

“Not bad. My uncle sold a lithograph and I sold a birdcage, so we'll have the rent. Can't ask for more than that.”

Suzanna felt guilty. She could ask for more than that. She always did.

“Hey, listen,” Christopher said. “I'm going to check out that new art installation at Willow Station tonight. I was wondering if your sister might want to go.”

Suzanna hoped she didn't appear as surprised as she felt by this question. Before she could formulate any words, Bernard came out of the gallery and locked the door.

“I was thinking about heading over to Willow Station myself,” Bernard said. The look he gave his nephew had a definite challenge to it, Suzanna noticed. “I thought I might ask your fine-looking mama if she wanted to go.”

“Well,” Suzanna said, “they were both over at the Bun a few minutes ago, whipping up support for the cause. They're probably still there.”

The men grinned at each other. Suzanna watched them leave the courtyard. It suddenly came to her. Willow Station! That woman . . . what was her name? . . . Alice . . . were they going to see her show?

Mr. Clancy was still on the sidewalk. He didn't exchange any sort of greeting with his tenants. Suzanna felt bad about this turn of events. Mr. Clancy and Bernard were always sparring but until recently it had been good-natured. She worried that Eric was right, that the animosity would sour the neighborhood long after someone declared victory about the tree. And now to have Christopher asking her sister on a date (was it a date? Or just one artist alerting another to the wonders of a local art installation?) and two old codgers vying for her mother's attention—it was too much to contemplate!