Into the Woods Page 9

  Now that we were in Florida, we both relaxed a bit. At one point we even pulled to the side of the road, where we had a beautiful view of the ocean, and just sat gazing out at the breakers.

  "It's funny," Mommy said. "We were a naval family, but we didn't do all that much sailing or have that much contact with the water. Oh, we visited ships and were there at the docks to greet or to say goodbye, but as for being out there ourselves..." She laughed. "Your father once got very seasick. Did I ever tell you about that?"

  "No," I said, wondering how something like that was not told to me.

  "He had some exercise that involved being in a raft for a prolonged period, and the sea was rough that day. When I saw him, he was as white as the inside of a potato. 'I'm staying up there,' he said, pointing at the sky."

  She sighed. "Maybe now that we're here, we'll learn how to sail or spend some time at the beach. Wouldn't that be fun. Grace?"

  "Yes."

  "Dallas and Warren have a motorboat, but they both work so hard they don't get to use it that often. Maybe with us here they will,' she said, and started the car.

  A little more than three hours later. I saw a sign indicating that we were entering Palm Beach County.

  "We're going right to their restaurant first," Mommy explained. "Dallas is going to take us to the apartment. It's in an area known as Palm Beach Gardens. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"

  I nodded. Now that we were really here, it was hard to keep my heart from pounding and my stomach from feeling empty. The only similar experience I had had in my life was when I was in a play for the first time at school and had to walk out onstage in front of hundreds of people. I thought my throat would close or I would freeze and have to be carried off like a log. Once out there, however, my lines came to me and I did okay. To Daddy, who had came, I had deserved the Academy Award.

  There was so much traffic and so much to look at once we turned onto Dixie Highway. Both of us began to recite the street numbers until finally the Tremont Inn came into view. It certainly stuck out because it was a larger building than the ones beside it, but it was in so much better condition. It looked as if it had just been built, while some of the others looked seedy and wind-worn, their colors faded, their windows cloudy, and the grounds around them unkempt.

  The Tremont Inn looked as if it had once been a house. Later we would learn that it had. There was even a small front porch. It had its own parking lot, which at the moment had only half a dozen or so cars in it We pulled in and parked. After she shut off the engine Mommy just sat there, catching her breath. She gazed so long at the steering wheel I thought something was very wrong.

  "Mommy?"

  She lifted her hand and swallowed hard, nodding as she did so. "I'm all right." she said. "I'm all right." She closed her eyes and then took a breath and forced a smile. "Let's go, honey." she said, and opened the car door.

  I stepped out, still concerned. She came around and looked at the building.

  "It's open only for dinners," she said. "Isn't it nice?"

  Cars whizzed by on the highway as we walked around to the front. We found the door locked. It was a decorative paneled oak door. The front of the restaurant had a rich-looking wood cladding with cream-colored shutters. Mommy tapped on the glass. There were some lights on within. but they were dim. She tapped again, and we could see a door in the rear open, the light from the kitchen spilling out and silhouetting the figure of a woman who paused a moment in the kitchen doorway and then hurried toward us. In fact, she looked propelled.

  Seconds later the door was unlocked, and we faced a woman about Mommy's height with light brown hair styled in medium length, curling just under her chin. She wore a headband pulling her bangs back to reveal a smooth but very lightly freckled forehead. She had large hazel eyes that brightened with happiness at the sight of us. Her smile puffed out her cheeks around her cheekbones. but I thought she had a pretty face with very soft, feminine lips and a graceful jaw line. She was a little slimmer than Mommy and actually so many years younger I wondered if it was Dallas.

  "Jackie!" she screamed, ending any doubt I might have had. They embraced. She held on to Mommy, her eyes closed, and they rocked in each other's arms. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. So..."

  Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly. They looked as if neither would be the first to let go, so they would be holding on to each other for days. Finally Mommy pulled herself upright. and Dallas Tremont turned to me.

  "This can't be Grace. It can't be. Look how beautiful you've become, and grown-up."

  "I guess you know this is Dallas. honey."

  I started to nod, but she surged forward and embraced me tightly, popping a kiss on my cheek.

  "Welcome to Florida," she cried. "Come in, come in. Warren's in his office pounding the computer keyboard to get it to come up with more favorable numbers. How was your trip?"

  "It was fine." Mommy said. "We're actually both too numb to remember anything about it." she added to bring that topic to a quick end.

  Dallas paused in the entryway and nodded,

  "I'll bet." Her moment of concern collapsed quickly into a wide, bright smile that centered around those big hazel eyes. It was the kind of smile that could put a prisoner on death row at ease. 'But you're here now, and you'll take some time to rest and put Florida on like a new set of clothes. Come in, come," she urged.

  We stepped forward. The entryway had a hostess desk on the right with a telephone on it. Behind it was a large painting of a green-tinted lake set in the lap of two heavily wooded mountains. Deer were at the rim of the lake, most drinking but two with their heads lifted as if they had just heard us enter the restaurant.

  "You remember this," Dallas said. "Greenwood Lake. our magic mountain retreat in North Carolina. To this day Warren moans and groans about our selling that cabin. Like he would take the time off to spend a summer there anyway," she said, shaking her head.

  After the entryway, there were two good-size dining areas, each with two large windows. The floor was a lighter oak, the tables darker, but all with tablecloths and vases of pretty artificial flowers. There were more paintings of mountains and lakes on the walls in each room.

  "This isn't your typical Florida restaurant." Dallas explained quickly. "But that's the secret of our success, that and having the best chef on the southeastern coast. And the best service, of course." she added. "People. our regulars, whom you'll get to know quickly." she added, making the first reference to Mommy actually working there. "tell us the decor makes them feel cooler, as if they've left Florida for some mountain village. It's all smoke and mirrors when you get right down to it, isn't it? Image, decor, a show. The most successful restaurants, other than the chains, are little happenings. Warren always believed that going to a good restaurant was like going to the theater or stepping into a movie.

  "He must be right. He's a successful

  restaurateur. Wait until you see the quaint uniforms the waitresses and waiters wear. The waiters have these great vests, and the waitresses have little aprons sewn onto their skirts and bodices with lace collars. We look as if we're situated in the Alps or something. You'll love it," Dallas added.

  I looked at Mommy. She was holding her smile, but I knew her well enough to know that smile was becoming a little plastic by now. The thought of her taking orders from people, wearing a costume, rushing about this place, filled me with a deep, dark sense of dread. Daddy would be so upset. I thought. From the wife of a naval officer to this. It wasn't that the job was beneath us or wasn't probably a good job. It was just so abrupt and so dramatic a change in lifestyle.

  "We have four small private dining rooms in the rear for special parties or clientele. We get some very important people here, celebrities, wealthy Palm Beach residents who cross the moat to mingle with the masses."

  "The moat?" I said.

  Dallas laughed, "That's what Warren calls the Hagler Bridge. You cross it to enter Palm Beach."

  "I thought we were in Palm Beach." I s
aid, looking at Mommy.

  Dallas laughed again. "Oh, no. honey. Don't ever let a Palm Beach resident hear that. This is West Palm Beach. Palm Beach is a country unto itself, another planet. Some of the wealthiest people in the world live there. They think it's one level below heaven."

  She smiled at Mommy and shrugged. "Who knows, maybe it is." She turned to me. "After you guys get settled in, you'll do some touring and go to Worth Avenue, and then you'll understand. Don't worry about it," she said. "In a matter of days you'll be like an old-timer here, and when you meet people with flies up their noses you'll laugh them off.

  "Let's say hello to Warren, and then I'll show you to your condo in Palm Beach Gardens. It's only about twenty minutes away, which will make it really easy for you. Jackie. I was thinking Grace might enroll in the school Phoebe attends, Unless you were thinking of a private school for her. They are pretty expensive."

  "No. Grace has always attended public schools," Mommy said.

  "You're going to love it. honey," Dallas said, reaching out to touch my hand. "I'll make sure Phoebe shows you around and helps you get settled in when the school year starts. She's a senior, and you know that seniors are biz deals."

  "Where is she? I haven't seen her in so long I can't imagine what she looks like," Mommy said.

  "She's at the beach with her friends. They went to Singer Island today. You'll love the beaches here. Grace. There is so much for a young person to do."

  "She never lacked for that," Mommy said.

  "I imagine not." Dallas said. "Living on naval bases among all those sailors and ships and planes. Come on," she said, seizing my hand and pulling me ahead of Mommy. "Let's disturb Warren."

  I looked back at Mommy, who laughed and followed us to the door in the rear simply marked Office. Dallas knocked and then opened it before anyone inside could have time to say, "Come in."

  Behind a desk that was far too big for the small room sat a man with curly dark hair and two black pearls for eves. He was round-faced, cleanly shaven, with a nose a little long and a strong pair of lips that sliced sharply above his slightly protruding jaw. When he saw us and stood up. I saw he was stout, leaning toward pear-shaped. His smile settled in his face like a strawberry in cream, pulling his lips in and bringing out the glimmer in his ebony eyes.

  "Jackie!" he cried, and came around his desk as quickly as he could. Mommy stepped forward, and he hugged her. "We're so sorry for your trouble. What a horror," he said.

  Mommy just nodded. "It's nice to see you, Warren. It's been too long."

  "Yes, but how I wish it was far different reasons." he replied.

  "Not any more than I do." Mommy turned toward me. "This is my daughter. Grace."

  "Hi," Warren said. "I only knew you from the pictures your mother sent us from time to time, but I can see you've got a lot of your daddy in you."

  Hearing that brought tears of happiness and sadness to my eyes.

  "Pretty girl," he told Mommy. "We're going to have to teach her the martial arts."

  "Oh, she can take care of herself." Mommy said proudly. "Sit down, sit down. There's so much to tell you," he said.

  "I want to get them right to their place. Warren." Dallas said."Get them settled in and let them get some days of rest before you start converting Jackie Lee to the restaurant business."

  He laughed. "Hey, this is far from a walk in the park. You build up a clientele, and then some novelty restaurant starts down the street and you lose everyone for a while. or at least until they realize what quality means. Peaks and valleys, that's the business. The trick is how to smooth it all out."

  "Wonderful." Dallas said dryly, and turned to Mommy. "Don't be shocked when he comes to you and complains about the rise in the price of butter."

  "It's all the bottom line. Jackie. Someone has to watch it, and there's no one better than you, yourself, to watch your own affairs. Everyone I know who has a manager running his affairs is either out of business or well on his way to it."

  "Oh, please." Dallas said. "Give the woman a

  chance to get a tan." -Warren laughed and retreated behind his desk. Okay, okay. I'm here if you need anything, anything whatsoever, Jackie."

  "Thank you, Warren." "You just let me know when you're ready." "I will." Mommy said.

  "Are we excused now?" Dallas asked him. "See? See the abuse I take?"

  We laughed again and followed Dallas out. She paused to introduce us to some of the kitchen help. including their chef. Christian Von De Stagen, who was from Belgium and had been a chef in Napa Valley in California before Warren enticed him to come to live and work in West Palm Beach. Dallas revealed that Warren had given him a piece of the business.

  We got into our cars, and we followed her to Palm Beach Gardens. Our condo was in a small development off Holly Drive on a street called Fuchsia. There was a small pond in the center of the complex and, as Dallas painted out, a nice walking path around the area It was far enough off the major highway to be quiet. Both Mommy and I were pleasantly surprised by the condo, which was a ground-floor unit. It had two bedrooms, a nice-size kitchen and living room, and a small dining area that had a patio door facing the pond.

  We had a garage and a small storage room as well. Dallas explained that we had no maintenance to worry about because it was taken care of by the home owners' association. We were subletting from the condo owner, so it was stocked with kitchenware, dishes, and silverware.

  "I did same basic shopping for you." Dallas revealed. She had bought bedding for the two beds, stocked the kitchen cabinets with some basic foods, and had even bought us soap, detergents, sponges, and bathroom tissue, "I just tried to think of anything and everything I would want the day I moved into a place."

  "This is so nice of you, Dallas." Mommy said. "It's lovely. Thank you so much for making these arrangements."

  "It's the least I could do. Jackie. It's a nice little place," she said.

  "Until you find something bigger."

  "Right now I can't imagine wanting anything bigger. The biggest home I've lived in was the house we had when I was a little girl. Quarters on a naval base were never that elaborate. The nicest home we ever had since we were married was the one we just left."

  Dallas nodded, biting down on her lower lip. "Well, let me help you guys unload the car."

  "Oh, you've done so much. You should probably get back to the restaurant."

  "Are you kidding? Warren will have me working twice as hard back there. Please." she said. "let me take advantage of your arrival."

  Mommy laughed, and we all seemed to relax. I was amused by them anyway, especially when they started to unload the car and talk about their early days. Every once in a while they would both stop and develop a reminiscence, wondering what had happened to this girlfriend or that bay. They took a break, opened a bottle of white wine, and continued chatting. Listening to them. hearing Mommy's laugh, was fin for me. I felt as if I was watching a movie replayed. It was all light and playful until their rendering of history brought them to Mommy's first meeting Daddy.

  "I just can't believe he's not coming home. Dallas." Mommy said.

  They hugged. and Mommy let herself cry, let those pent-up tears loose.

  I left them because watching her being comforted by her old friend made my heart ache too much. Instead I slipped out the patio door and walked down to the pond. A pair of ducks were so still in the water I thought they were fake, until one ruffled its feathers and the two started across the pond toward me. It brought a smile to my face.

  "They're expecting you to feed them

  something." I heard, and turned to see a tall, lanky boy with a shock of reddish brown hair, the long strands down over his eyes, coming slowly toward me. He wore a T-shirt with a cartoon on it. It showed a fish holding a fishing pole. A hairy, potbellied man looked as if he had taken the hook and was being pulled from the sea. Underneath it read, "How do you like it?"

  "I throw them pieces of bread sometimes,' he said as he continued toward m
e. When he swiped his hair to the side. I saw he had aqua blue eyes and a lean face with a very distinct jaw line. He wasn't handsome, but he had an interesting face. As he drew closer, his eyes were penetrating, his gaze so fixed I felt a little uncomfortable. I noticed he was barefoot.

  "Here," he said, pulling his right hand out of his jeans pocket and opening it before me. There were bread crumbs in his palm. "It's their favorite." he added. 'Rye bread, You give it to them, and they'll be your friends forever. Go on, take it." he practically ordered.

  I plucked some from his hand and cast the pieces into the water. The ducks hurried to them and began to bob. When they were finished they looked to me again.

  "Best friends already." the boy said. "Quackie and Queenie, meet... tell them your name. Go on, they understand more than you think."

  I shook my head and smiled. "I'm Grace Houston," I told the ducks. They looked as if they bobbed their heads,

  "You might as well give them the rest." the boy said, taking my hand forcefully, turning it palm up, and depositing the remaining pieces of bread in it. "Go on, don't tease them." he urged when I looked at him, a bit annoyed. I didn't like being ordered about so much, especially by a stranger.

  I turned and tossed the pieces, and the ducks went for them again,

  "Great. You're now an official duck feeder."

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "On a summer day not unlike this one." he said, gazing around. "my parents decided in their infinite wisdom to name me Augustus Brewster. Anyone who wants to be friends with me calls me Auggie. My mother hates that and never fails to correct anyone. Fortunately, few listen. Now here's the funniest part. My dad calls me Gusty unless he is angry at me, which is quite often. Then he calls me Augustus. even Augustus Brewster, as in 'Augustus Brewster, what were you thinking when von put a firecracker in Miss Wilson's garbage pail last night?'