The Land of Mango Sunsets by Dorothea Benton Frank Read Free Book Online Page A

five-second Cher impersonation and we rolled our eyes and moaned.
    “Going to work?” I asked him.
    “Nope, just around the corner for the newspaper. Miriam’s a worrywart. You ladies need anything?”
    “Advice on how to lay out my furniture?” Liz said.
    “Soon as I return, sunshine!”
    “If you need me, let me know,” I said and closed my door. Sunshine, indeed. Sure, go help her lay out her furniture.
    Harry was in the kitchen imitating the doorbell. Somehow Harry had escaped meeting Liz, but I would make a point of introducing them over the next few days. After all, Liz had to sort through boxes of dishes and everything to organize her new home. I didn’t want to seem meddlesome.
    I made myself a cup of hot tea and tried to imagine how many trucks it would take to move all of my possessions. For years I had collected china, crystal, a tonnage of sterling silver, and all sorts of things. Then, with the decline of Mother’s good sense, I came into a considerable amount of family memorabilia. I was the keeper of all the old photographs, my father’s christening gown, my grandmother’s tea service, andso on. My apartment looked like a retail store. It was jammed to the rafters with goodies and curiosities.
    I had the family’s portraits and a few beautiful landscapes of the Lowcountry. Many of my museum friends collected contemporary art. I wouldn’t hang angst art in my basement. It’s all that modern business that looks like the artist was furious or miserable or both when he slapped his paint on a canvas. No. I liked tradition. I walked on rugs that had been in our family since the Revolution, and that would be the BIG Revolution, not the industrial, the women’s, or the sexual. My embroidered linens were the handiwork relics of aunts and cousins from a time when women took pride in the creation of such things. And my sets of silver flatware were more weighted and intricate than anything available on the market today. I treasured all these things not just for what they were but for what they represented—gracious living. History. And yes, they were all testimony to the ashes of my privileged background.
    Like everyone, I was subject to mood changes, and on another day I might tell myself that I had too much junk and needed a yard sale in the worst way. That was because I hated to polish silver, to starch linens, and to dust everything that needed dusting. Maybe I would give some things to my sons. Someday. When they remembered how to be nice to their mother.
    I peeked out of the window and watched Liz’s movers struggle under the weight of her king-size mattress. It was curious that a single girl in the city would want such a large bed when every square inch of living space came at such a premium. Maybe she liked to toss and turn. It was a little sad that everything that Liz owned was in one orange and white U-Haul. If I ever moved I’d need a convoy of eighteen-wheelers. I laughed at the thought of them roaring down a highway to somewhere. But, as you know, I had no intention of ever moving. Where? Florida? Never. Where then? Nowhere. I was leaving horizontally in a permanent, breathless recline.
    People came and went, bringing in boxes and pieces of furniture. Theracket overhead was almost intolerable. Kevin must have been up there with her by then.
    I said, “Harry? Do you hear all that noise? Shhh! Right? Can you say ‘shhh’?”
    Angel that he was, Harry said, “Shhh!” And then gave a wolf whistle. Maybe he had already sneaked a peak at Miss Liz.
    “Let’s call Miss Josie, shall we?”
    Harry gave me a look and I dialed Mother’s number. She had changed her recording on her answering machine.
    We mean this in the nicest possible way. If you are selling something, there is no point in leaving a message because your call will not be returned. We are not kidding. Have a nice day and please wait for the tone. Thank you.
    Well, it was considerably better than the other one, but it was still