Chapter 4: Mrs. P
Walter, our van driver and general handyman looked puzzled when I said I would ride along to the flower wholesaler. Priscilla had not arrived so I left her a note to explain that we would be back soon.
I told Walter that I had not had time to prepare a list of what we needed. I had not slept well and had trouble concentrating.
"You don't look so good Kid," Walter said. "What happened?"
I did not want to talk about my misfortune of getting slung from the bosom of a female. "I got beat up for telling the truth," I said jokingly.
By the time we got back to the shop Wendy had called twice to check on my condition. Priscilla was dumbfounded by Wendy's line of questioning. She eyed me with suspicion; I could tell the questions had made her curious.
I went into the house to call Wendy; wanting to forestall further conversations about me. "I'm fine," I said. "Now stop talking to Pris. about it."
"Cotton, I'm so relieved. I feel badly about what happened. What can I do to make it up to you?"
"Humm..." I answered. "I'll think of something."
"You're Frisky," She giggled. "Did Ellen really say that? The timing seems so, well, inappropriate."
"About being prepared?" I had a feeling that was what she was referring to.
"Yes," she said, in the raspy high pitched voice that drove me crazy.
"I know what you mean about timing. It took me by surprise. I was shocked to hear her bringing it up at this point. We had spent the afternoon going over the steps in detail and the subject of protection had not come up. I was pissed!"
There were sounds coming from the other end of the line that I could not place. It could be the from the phone cord rubbing against something, I thought. Then it came to me. Wendy was making a soft noise at the base of her throat.
"Ah, Cotton?" She said hesitantly. "Were you pissed last night?"
"What do you think?" I joked. I considered telling her about the date I had missed with Sandy. I wondered what I had really missed.
"Did you stay pissed at Ellen?"
"Oh my No! She was just stalling. That's what she told me later. She handed me a condom and told me to put it on. She was stalling because she needed some time to recover. That's all. The being prepared part was just her fulfilling her role as teacher. I bought condoms the next day. Ellen told me about a guy she knew who carried one in his sock so that is what I've always done."
"Which sock?" She said with enough rasp to make her sound sexy.
"Why don't you try to find out some time?"
"Are you really okay, Cotton?"
"Sure," I said. "That's not the first time I've taken a knock on the head while trying to get laid."
"Oh?"
I should have kept my mouth shut. I knew what was coming.
"Tell me," she said.
It was Saturday morning, our busiest day of the week. I was needed to help take phone orders and to answer questions to customers. Walter and Pris would be swamped and mistakes would be made. Chaos would rein!
I extended the telephone cord out as far as it would reach; stretched out on the couch and considered how to begin. I would have to be careful. Mrs. P was well known in the town. She may have even been a client at the law firm where Wendy worked. I had always referred to her as Mrs. P but even that could be dangerous. Recklessly, I began.
Mrs. P called one night and wanted our display picked up. Marcie spoke to her at length. She first suggested that Walter could go first thing in the morning. There was chatter from the other end. Then Marcie said we could get by without it until the weekend. More chatter. Marcie yielded, saying she would send me.
"I'm sorry, Cotton, you'll have to go. She doesn't want us coming tomorrow for some reason. It's just the display, Walter picked up everything else this afternoon. She wouldn't let him bring the display because she wanted her kids to see it when they got home from school. Now she wants it out of her house." Marcie was holding back but I knew by her tone that she did not like kowtowing to this women.
It was the 11th of April. I later recorded it in my journal because it was the first time Marcie had called me by the nick name Ellen had given me and it was the first time I was permitted to drive the van alone. These events were minor compared to the real reason the journal entry was made.
"Cotton," Marcie called to me as I was leaving, "be polite but don't let her give you any Shit!" That would also go in the journal, I thought.
Mrs. P had held a women's gathering at her home that day and we had handled the floral arrangement. We had delivered the various pedestals, vases and baskets early that morning. There were enough pieces to fill the entire down stairs, including a giant center piece for the dining room table.
Once everything was inside Marcie sent Walter back to the shop and me to school. She would remain to set everything up and arrange the flowers.
I was glad to be excused because there had been some discussion between Mrs. P and Marcie concerning the placement of the items we had brought. I overheard Mrs. P complain that one of the baskets we had brought did not match the others. As I went out the door I heard Marcie say that basket was slated to go in front of the fire place.
"The display is to go there." Mrs. P said with a tone of finality. I nearly went back to remove the odd basket but thought better of it.
The 'display' was one of a kind. Marcie had designed it and a blacksmith had fabricated it for her. It was made of wrought iron and had been painted white. It stood over four feet high and barely fit in the van. A large number of cut flowers could be placed in the slots in the circular top and the spokes that extended from the center. It was in demand. We got wedding jobs because we were the only company with such a lavish piece. It only weighed about forty pounds but was awkward to handle.
