Mark Dunn - American Decameron

For over two hours Mrs. Trestle looked for her friend, having not quite believed it when Mrs. McLatchy said she might stop coming. Mrs. Trestle wondered if she should telephone her. Why should the two of them limit their friendship to only watching the Walkathon together?

The next day Mrs. Trestle did that very thing: She called Mrs. McLatchy. The maid who answered the telephone said that Mrs. McLatchy was unavailable and would call her back.

She never did.

Four days later, sitting by herself, Mrs. Trestle watched as Tom of Couple Number 62 was stabbed in the shoulder by Pavel of Couple Number 88. Pavel had convinced himself that Tom had made a pass at his wife Katrina, also of Couple Number 88. It wasn’t true. Pavel had only imagined it in a sleep-deprived brain that often played tricks on him these days. Mrs. Trestle would have been happy to explain to Pavel that Tom would never have done something like that. Tom and Gloria were good kids. She would have been happy to have them for her own children. Tom collected stamps. Gloria lived with her sister, who was a beauty operator.

The following evening Mrs. Trestle came back. Both of her couples were out of the competition now, but still she returned. There were nineteen pairs barely moving on the dance floor. After that evening’s grind there would be eighteen. The couples stumbled and staggered. The sight of it saddened Mrs. Trestle. She didn’t know why she’d come.

Later that night, someone sat down in the chair next to her. It wasn’t Mrs. McLatchy. It was the girl, Gloria, previously of Couple Number 62. She came with her sister Lulu. Lulu, standing next to Gloria, was wearing her beauty parlor smock. Gloria gave Mrs. Trestle a hug. “I came to tell you that Tom will be okay. They’re hoping to send him home from the hospital in a couple of days. I thought you’d like to know.”

“I did want to know. Thank you so much for telling me, honey,” said Mrs. Trestle, who was touched by Gloria’s thoughtfulness.

“So this is what it looks like,” said Gloria, studying the couples still left on the ballroom floor.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Trestle.

Lulu bought a bag of popcorn. The three women munched in silence and watched the show. The band was playing “I Won’t Dance” by Jerome Kern, Dorothy Fields, and Jimmy McHugh.

The bandleader had a sense of humor.

The older of the two women set the tea tray upon the table.

“Oh, it’s right lovely!” exclaimed the younger, who was a guest of the older.

“The set was my great-grandmother’s, and it was passed down to me. I made sure to pack it very carefully when we moved west. As you can see, not a single piece was chipped.”

Lois held up her cup and turned it slightly to give it a full inspection. There wasn’t a chip or scratch anywhere on it. Nor were any of the other porcelain pieces damaged in any way. Arrayed between the two women was a teapot, sugar bowl, and creamer, each with the same colorful, hand-painted design as could be found on the teacups: violets and ferns set off against an almost perfect white background.

“Not a scratch,” said Lois. “And the tea — it’s very good. Did you bring it with you from back East?”

“Yes. I can find nothing like it out here. It’s a special English blend that my family has been drinking for years.” Millicent took a sip of tea, the steam rising up from the cup and half-clouding her eyeglasses. “Where are you from, dear?”

“Booker and I come from Arkansas. He says he’s got folks in the state that go back to the original Arkansas Traveler. I guess you can say me and Booker and the kids, we’s the Arkansas Travelers now.”

Millicent picked up a serving plate upon which she’d placed several diminutive slices of shortcake. She held it out to Lois.

“Thankee,” said Lois, taking the slice resting on the top.

“Lois, my dear, how long have you and your family been here in California?”

“Not long at all,” replied Lois, shielding her mouth with her hand as she spoke, since there was masticated shortcake in there. “I reckon it’s been about two weeks.”

“And do you like it here? Do you think you’ll put down roots?”

“It’s awfully purdy. All them orchards and vineyards. I ain’t never seen a place as purdy as Californy. But it all depends on where Booker can find work.”

Millicent patted Lois’s dormant hand. “I’m sure everything will work out for you, dear. You didn’t think you’d be attending a tea party today, now did you?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t.” Both women took a sip of tea.

“More tea?”

Lois peered into her teacup. It was half drained.

“A splash perhaps — warm it up a little?”

Lois smiled. “That would be right nice.”

As Millicent poured, she said, “Clarence and I have traveled quite a bit. We’ve been to Arkansas. The mountains are lovely there. Everything so green.”

“We lived in the southern part of the state,” said Lois. “It’s purdy flat. We had us a cotton farm.”

“Did you lose your farm, dear? I’m hearing that some of our farmers these days are losing their farms from all that wind and dust. You can’t grow cotton or anything else, I’d imagine, in fields of dust.” She smiled, then sighed contentedly. “Of course, there’s no dust out here. Smell how clean the air is. You just toss a seed over your back, and voilà! An orange tree sprouts up just as easy as you please. Have you ever had a California orange, dear?”

Lois shook her head.

“Juiciest, tastiest orange there is.” Millicent licked her lips and closed her eyes. “I wish I had orange slices to put out today, but they aren’t quite in season yet. Have you ever smelled an orange blossom, Lois?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t reckon I ever have.”

“Most luscious scent in the world. How many children do you have?”

“I got the two boys, Oren and Les. They’s six and eight. And then a little girl, Viola. She’s five.”

Millicent bent slightly forward in her seat, intrigued. “Is she that new little girl I’ve seen running around — the spittin’ image of Miss Shirley Temple?”

“Some folks say Viola looks a little like Shirley Temple, though I cain’t quite see a hard resemblance.”

“If that’s the little girl I’m thinking of, she’s just as cute as a button. You and your husband ought to be very proud. And while you’re here in California, you should try to get her seen by one of the studios.”

“Studios?”

“ Movie studios. I’m sure that’s what Miss Shirley Temple’s mother and father did — just marched her right up to the gate of Twentieth Century Fox and said, ‘Well, here we are. Open up that gate, if you please!’”

Millicent chuckled. Lois laughed along with her. “I’ll talk to Booker about it. Be nice not to have to worry about money for a change.”

Millicent’s expression suddenly turned solemn. “Has the Depression been hard on you and your family, child?”

Lois nodded. “We don’t need much to get along, but it’s a real trial tryin’ to get along with nothin’ .”

“Poor dear.” Millicent patted her guest’s hand again.

“Well, I best be gettin’ along now,” said Lois. “Booker’ll wonder what’s happened to me if I’m not around when he gets back.” She stood up and reached out to shake Millicent’s hand. “It was very nice. It was the nicest tea party I ever been to.”

“I’m glad you liked it. We should do it again.” Millicent poked her cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth.

“I’d like that, but I don’t think we’re gonna be here much longer. If Booker comes back and says there ain’t no work in these parts, we’ll have to be movin’ on to someplace else.”