The Art of Arranging Flowers (11 page)

D
O
you have a dress?”

I have finally told Nora about my invitation from Captain Miller. She keeps calling it a date. I keep calling it an outing. Nora will look after Clementine while I'm gone.

“I have the one I wear to the weddings.”

We are delivering flowers to the country club together. It's a retirement party for the golf pro and the order was for twelve arrangements of mums, footballs, yellow and white. The club manager placed the order and I didn't offer any alternative suggestions. He sounded quite confident about his choice.

If it had been Carl Wyatt, the catering manager, the arrangements would have been a little more creative and a lot more colorful. He has great taste and I always love planning events with him. Joe Maddox, the manager, has never ordered flowers from me before. I didn't even recognize his name when he made the call. His secretary, Nancy Beadle, usually orders flowers for his wife on her birthday.

“The pink one?” Nora asks. “The one from 1988?”

I have to stop for a minute to remember what we were talking about. Oh right, my dress. “It was from the early nineties, but yes,” I reply. “That's the one.”

“Oh no, Ruby, you cannot wear that thing to meet the president. You shouldn't even be wearing it to the weddings anymore. It's old. It's too big for you. And there's a yellow stain on the right side, down at the hem. And if I know Captain Miller, he'll be in a tuxedo, a classic one, with a black silk bow tie and a perfectly creased cummerbund. His shoes will be polished to a mirror shine and he will be wearing a new pair of socks. No, no, no . . .” She shakes her head. “The pink dress will not be making an appearance on this date.”

“It's not a date. And how do you know there's a yellow stain on the right side of my dress? And how come you never told me?”

“Darling Ruby, I know how little you care about what you wear, and when you're slogging baskets of flowers across a church sanctuary the age and fit of your dress doesn't really matter. To answer your question, I noticed the stain a year ago. I hoped you would discover it and get it cleaned. The fact that you haven't is even more of a reason you cannot be trusted with wardrobe details for your date with the astronaut.”

We pull into the country club parking lot and I stop the van by the front door. I put the engine in park and turn to Nora. “When do I have time to go shopping?”

I realize I sound a little defensive. But now I have to wonder, does Nora talk to other people about what I wear to the weddings I attend? Has anyone complained about how I look? Does it matter what the florist wears?

I don't even want to know. I shut off the engine and pull out the key. We both get out of the van and I walk around to open the back door. I glance down at what I'm wearing. It's my favorite pair of army green Dockers. I have on hiking boots and a red flannel shirt, one I bought at a yard sale last year. I look over at Nora and she pretends she doesn't notice what I'm thinking.

“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” she asks.

I hand her two arrangements.

“I'm working on my taxes,” I answer, pulling out two more and moving toward the front door.

“Well, you can work on them until noon. Then we're going to Nordstrom's.” Together we head in the direction of the dining room and then she walks around me, leading the way.

We've both done numerous events at the country club. Nora and I know exactly where the dinner will be.

“Nordstrom's? Nora, I can't shop at Nordstrom's. The last time I went in there the only thing I could afford was a pair of panty hose, and they cost more than the shoes I was wearing them with.”

She stops and turns around. We have just entered the main dining room. The tables are not yet set.

“You are going to a dinner with an astronaut. The man walked on the moon. You will be in the company of the president of the United States. We are going to Nordstrom's and we are buying you a suitable dress for the occasion and if I have to open up an account and pay for this dress for the rest of my life, we are making the purchase tomorrow.”

“Yellow football mums?” Carl has joined us at the head table. He is clearly unhappy with the flower order.

“I know, Carl,” I say sympathetically. “I tried to tell him you make great floral decisions, but he had his mind set on the mums.”

“It's going to look like a high school booster club meeting,” he responds, taking the arrangements from Nora. He moves around the table and we follow him as he places one of the bouquets at the center. He stands back and shakes his head.

“I have some yellow cushions, pink buttons,” I tell him, naming the other flowers I have in stock that would go with the large mums. “But your boss seemed to think these would add the perfect touch.”

“Oh please, Ruby, my boss thinks carnations are exotics. He hasn't a clue about the perfect touch.” He spins the large vase around, searching for the best angle, which I can see is the one he just had.

“I knew leaving on vacation without going over the calendar with him was a mistake. His wife and I both know not to leave him in charge of decorative details.” He spins the arrangement back around.

“Do you mind?” He faces me. “Maybe just a couple of medium to tall vases of the white cushions and green buttons?” He turns back to the football mums. “And how about asters, do you have any bunches of yellow and pink?”

I smile.

“I believe I do,” I answer. I glance over at Nora and she's adding up the cost of the new bouquets in her head. I can tell that she's already figuring out how we'll pay for our shopping adventure.

“How many more of these did he order?” Carl asks.

“There's ten others just like these,” Nora replies before I can.

“Oh, my.” Carl hasn't stopped shaking his head since he's seen the flowers. “Well, just bring those in and I'll figure something out. Bring me four of the new arrangements. Ruby, you know what I like.”

He reaches out and grabs me by the arms, and I lean down and put the bouquets I'm still holding on the table.

“Just charge the club whatever the cost,” he continues. “Joe will never notice. Even if he does, I will talk to Velma. She will totally understand and make him pay for this disaster. She would be mortified if she finds out we hosted a party for members of the club with yellow and white football mums.”

“You know, Carl, Ruby should charge you extra,” Nora chimes in with her two cents. “She's been working all day.”

Carl turns to Nora and then back to me. “A surcharge. I totally agree. I do the same thing if a customer changes his mind within twenty-four hours of an event. And believe me, it happens more times than I care to talk about.” He raises an eyebrow. “Add ten percent to the bill.” He turns to Nora, who is frowning.

“Ruby needs a new dress,” my assistant responds. “She's got a date with an astronaut and the president.”

I feel my face flush.

“Then make it twenty-five,” Carl replies, clearly impressed. He touches his chest delicately. He has such a flair for conversation. “And for heaven's sake, let's go to Nordstrom's.”

Nora looks at me and winks.

I can see there's no way out of this shopping trip now.

T
HE
van is full. Jimmy put the seats back in so that the floral delivery vehicle is now transporting six people and one canine to Spokane to buy me a dress. This is not at all what I had in mind for my Sunday afternoon. Nora is riding up front with me. She told Jimmy about the shopping trip and he said he wanted to come and make amends for whatever happened at the bar when he was arrested. I have no idea how he's working that out except that he plans to spend his afternoon in the park across the street from the mall while we're shopping.

Carl decided Nora and I couldn't be trusted to pick out a special-occasion dress by ourselves, so he's in the seat behind us with his mother, Lucy Wyatt, who is visiting from Seattle and wanted to return a blouse. Will is the sixth person in the van. He's sitting in the back with Clementine. He came by the shop as we were getting ready to leave and asked if he could come along. His grandmother agreed, so he's the official dog walker, planning to stay in the park with Jimmy while the rest of us sort through racks of dresses and pants, shirts and jackets, sales and seasonal. I'd rather be in the park with Jimmy and Will and Clementine.

“So, Ruby, when did you start dating an astronaut?” It's Lucy Wyatt asking.

We've finally gotten everyone in the van and are heading south.

“I'm not dating Captain Miller,” I answer, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. “It's just a special event that he invited me to attend with him.”

“Well, when I was young, that was what we called a date,” she replies.

Nora turns to me, her eyebrows lifted in a way to tell me she's not the only one who thinks what she thinks, her own unique way of saying
I told you so
. I've seen that look before.

“Will you be staying the night together?” she asks.

I can tell that everyone is waiting for my answer.

“Well, of course not,” I say, trying not to sound offended even though I do feel a little affronted.

“You know, Mother, Captain Miller is the best-dressed man in Creekside,” Carl chimes in, trying to change the subject, I presume.

“He is a sharp dresser,” Nora adds.

“And he's not gay?” Lucy asks.

“Unfortunately, no,” her son answers. “But he does order his shirts from Brooks Brothers and his silk ties from a designer in Paris. He has his suits made in San Francisco, where he goes twice a year to visit his brother. His shoes are custom made in Italy with a slightly padded footbed and a square toe. Oh, and his cuff links are created by a Cuban jeweler living in Miami.”

The van is silent. We're all staring at Carl.

“What?” he asks, surprised to have all the attention drawn in his direction.

No one responds.

“He's a regular at the club and I asked him where he shops,” he follows up. “He told me,” he continues. “I'm not a stalker, if that's what you're thinking.”

Nora has raised her eyebrows again. This time her look means something totally different from the
I told you so
one she gave me earlier.

“I think it's nice you're going on a date, Ruby.” Jimmy has joined the conversation.

I had almost forgotten that he and Will were sitting back there.

“It's not a date,” I reiterate to those riding in the van, but it's as if no one is listening.

“Why don't you date?” Lucy asks. “You're a good-looking woman, own your own business. Are there no eligible bachelors in Creekside?”

Before I can answer, she turns to her son. “We should fix her up with your cousin Stanley,” she says.

“Mom, Stanley got married last summer.”

“Oh, that's right,” she responds. “They had the wedding in a barn.”

“It was a stable,” Carl notes. “Some new venue on the coast,” he explains to the rest of us. “It was quaint.”

“It was a barn,” Lucy repeats.

“You'd have liked the flowers, Ruby,” Carl says as he leans up closer. “They had long-stemmed oriental lilies, pink and white ones, purple iris, and a kind of tulip I'd never seen before. The petals curled in on themselves; the edges were almost like feathers.”

“Parrots,” I say. “Parrot tulips. They usually bloom later in the season. What color were they?” I ask.

“Yellow and pink,” he replies. “And she had them everywhere.” He sits back. “You'd have been pleased.”

I smile. It's satisfying to be known for who I am, for my artistry to be honored, for Carl to know what I would think is tasteful.

“So, why don't you date?” It's Lucy again.

I was hoping that we had moved on from this topic.

Everyone is waiting.

She sits up now, shifts in her seat so she's very close to me and Nora. “You're not a lesbian, are you?” she whispers.

Carl answers for me. “Mom, no, Ruby is not a lesbian. As far as I know, I'm the only gay person in the van.”

Lucy sits back. “It's a legitimate question,” she responds. And I can feel her watching me from behind. “Well?” She is still waiting for an answer.

I shrug. “I haven't thought much about it,” I answer. “I started my business, created my life, such as it is, and I just never have much time to socialize.”

“Frank Goodrich tried to get you to go out with him when you first opened the shop.” Nora remembers everything.

“Frank Goodrich tried to get
you
to go out with him when I first opened the shop,” I say back.

She smiles. “We went out,” she responds.

I see Jimmy glance up.

“You dated Frank Goodrich?” Carl wants to know.

“A couple of times,” Nora answers. “He's interesting.”

“He gets around, I'll give you that,” Carl responds. “He brings someone different to the club every weekend.”

“He does like the ladies,” Nora adds.

“Is that why you don't date him anymore?” I ask.

“Oh, we still date,” she replies.

Jimmy turns to look out the window.

“It doesn't bother you that he sees other women?” Lucy asks.

Nora waves away the question. “We're not engaged,” she answers. “We just enjoy each other's company from time to time.” She pulls down the visor and checks her makeup in the mirror. She slides her lips in and out and I see her catch a glimpse of Jimmy. I'm not sure of the meaning of this brief eye contact; it's not a look from Nora I know, but it is easy to see the spark between them.

“Well, I'm dating someone,” Lucy announces, and it appears as if she has dropped a bomb in her son's lap.

“Who?” Carl asks. “Who are you dating?”

“Mr. Eldwin,” she replies.

There is a pause.

“The plumber?” Clearly, Carl has placed the man.

“He's retired, but yes, he made his living as a plumber,” his mother answers. “He owned his own business, too.”

This, I believe, is for my benefit. I nod.

“Well, when did this happen?” her son wants to know.

“About a year ago,” she says.

“Mother.” Carl sits up and turns to face her. “You've been dating someone for a year and you didn't tell me?”

I can see them both from the rearview mirror. She is fingering the collar of her silk blouse and he is waiting for her answer.

“He moved in last month.”

There is an awkward silence. Everyone suddenly seems uncomfortable.

“You're living with the plumber?” He is shaking his head. He blows out a long breath.

“Carl, I'm a grown woman. I have needs.”

“Oh, I do not want to hear this,” her son responds.

Nora pipes up. “I kind of do,” she says.

“Are we there yet?” comes the little voice from the back. “I think Clementine has to pee.” The rest of us sigh and smile, especially Lucy. I think we are all glad for the interruption.

“Almost,” I answer, making the turn toward the park, and when I look in the back I can still see the surprise on Carl's face. No doubt Lucy will have a lot of explaining to do when they get home tonight.