The Garden of Small Beginnings, page 17
There was a pause as we all struggled to reconcile this piece of information with the assumptions we’d had about Mike. Angela eventually said what we were all thinking. “I’m sorry, you have a portfolio? I thought you were a surfer? I thought surfers lived for the water, man, hanging ten and living for the moment?”
Mike was a serious guy, despite the haircut. Like his BFF, Gene.
“Look, Angela, if you don’t plan for the future, you can’t afford to live in the moment, that’s what my old man taught me. He was an economics professor, but he was careful when he was young, and retired at sixty with money to spare. I think that’s cool.”
“It is cool. My old man is still working like a dog, and he’s nearly seventy, but he never made enough to put anything aside. It’s easy to save when everyone is fed, but if you don’t make enough to do even that, then saving is just impossible.”
There was an uncomfortable pause, but Angela didn’t seem upset. She was stating the truth. Mike didn’t look bothered, either. He nodded. “Luck has a lot to do with it, I guess. We’re about the same age, so our parents are probably about the same age, and they got different breaks, is all.” The two of them looked at each other and smiled, shrugging. “And yet here we are, meeting up at a gardening class.” Mike seemed amused.
“And our parents will probably never meet,” Angela said.
“Except maybe at your wedding.” Rachel laughed.
There was a pause, and then, surprisingly, both Angela and Mike blushed. I looked at Rachel, then at Eloise. Both of them raised their eyebrows at me.
Mike mumbled something and wandered off. Bash called to Angela, giving her an escape route, too.
“Hmm,” said Rachel, “that was interesting.”
The kids came running over, with Angela trailing after them.
“Bash ate a worm,” Clare informed us. “But he says he can’t feel it wriggling anymore.”
Angela opened Bash’s mouth and peered inside. “Did you swallow it, really?”
Bash nodded.
“Are you worried about Bash, or the worm?” I asked.
“Both,” said Annabel. “Although the worm is probably dead. He chewed.”
We all looked at Bash with renewed respect.
Lisa was right behind them.
“OK, is anyone else ready for lunch?”
It turned out she was referring to the pizza Gene had promised, but for a minute it wasn’t clear.
• • •
I was worried, driving over to Gene’s, that we were all going to get parking tickets, but it turned out that Gene’s driveway was bigger than my street, and therefore we had plenty of room. It was the kind of house you normally see on travel shows about the French countryside. Yellow stone, terra-cotta roof, the whole thing looked as if it had been there for centuries.
“Nineteen seventy-two,” Gene told me, in response to my question. “Built by a set designer, for he and his partner to live in for the rest of their lives, which sadly turned out to be much shorter than they hoped, AIDS being what it was. And is, I suppose. I’ve lived here since the mid-nineties, and I hope I die here, too.”
Inside the house it was lightly and simply furnished, with a great deal of space. Big bouquets of flowers stood everywhere, and as you walked through the house, it was as if you were moving through clouds of perfume.
Clare and Annabel were running ahead, following Gene. The rest of us formed a sort of tour group. I looked out for a gift shop.
Angela kept Bash close, maybe scared that he would break something, but to be honest there was nothing to break. It was a remarkably uncluttered home. Actually, it was the polar opposite of my mother’s house, where every surface is cluttered with photos, books, magazines, and children’s artwork. Only my mother knows where everything is, and she isn’t telling.
At the back of the house, through an enormous living room, three sets of French doors opened into the garden. Lisa Vellinga just stopped dead in the doorway, and I was tempted not to go through myself. It was like Brigadoon, or the forest in that movie Legend, in which a young Tom Cruise cavorts about, embarrassing himself, and there are leaves and flowers in the air all the time. Often, in my head at least, these Beverly Hills gardens are formal and elegant, staffed by gardeners dressed as playing cards, but this one was nothing like that. Tall, flowering hedges and old brick walls covered with vines formed the borders, which stretched off quite a way before meeting as a curved wall at the far end. Tall shrubs covered in fragrant flowers formed irregular edges in front of the walls, so you felt like you were in a forest glade. Flower beds and lawns were mixed all over, with large, flat paving stones broken up with moss straggling across. Here and there were benches, swings, mosaics set into the grass, ponds, and other things to draw the eye.
Gene came to stand next to me. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Like I said, the guy was a set designer, and he told me that he wanted to create the garden he’d been dreaming of since he was a child. He did it, too. He said this was exactly as he’d wanted it, and I think they basically spent most of their time out here.” He pointed alongside the house. “And even though it looks somewhat wild and organic, it’s actually brilliantly planned, with state-of-the-art irrigation and a little outdoor kitchen over there.” He shrugged. “My kids played here constantly, and it’s lovely to see other little ones here now.” He grinned. “And in a few years, baby Emily, and hopefully a few others, will be dashing about. I am a lucky man, Lilian, yes, I am.” And with that, he rubbed his paws together and went off to let in the pizza guy.
It was true, the kids had run yelling into the garden and were beside themselves with joy. Bash was swinging on a rope swing, Annabel was peering into a pond, and Clare was nowhere to be seen. I looked around. Ah, she was talking to Eloise about something. Worms, probably. I wandered over, close enough to hear but not close enough to interrupt.
“But then my daddy died, so I don’t have one anymore.”
Eloise nodded. “My daddy is dead, too.”
Clare looked sympathetic. “Do you still have a mommy?”
“Yes, but I don’t see her very much.”
“I’m going to stay with my mommy always. She needs help.”
Eloise met my eyes over Clare’s head. Hers were twinkling.
“Really? She seems very organized and together.”
Clare shrugged. “She is, but she’s only got one pair of hands, you know, she can’t do everything herself.”
Eloise’s mouth twitched as I died a little of embarrassment, hearing my own complaints parroted back.
“And,” Clare added, definitively, “she’s not a magician. Or an octopus.”
Which was true.
“Aunty Rachel says she needs a boyfriend, but I don’t see why. Boys are just trouble.”
Eloise nodded. “Some boys are nice.”
Clare looked dubious. “Really? I don’t know any nice boys.”
“What about Bash?”
Clare snorted. “Bash doesn’t count. He’s my friend.” She looked around. Edward was helping Bob carry flats of flowers into the garden. “Edward is nice. Maybe Edward can be her boyfriend.”
Oh great. This is the irritating thing about kids. Most of the time they appear to be completely deaf. Ask them to pick something up, ask them to pay attention, ask them what they want to eat, and you’re met with the sound of waves breaking in the distance. Speak in a low voice to someone on the phone, and you’d better confidently expect to hear it broadcast through the neighborhood. A good friend of mine had a hysterectomy, and her five-year-old told the assembled company at Baby Gap that her mommy couldn’t have another baby because of her rectum. Apparently, the store assistants were all very sympathetic.
Eloise was no longer meeting my eye, so I turned and wandered off. Gene had brought the pizzas out and was busy opening the boxes and wielding an expert pizza wheel. I was hungry, which was just as well, because he’d literally bought a dozen pizzas.
“One each, Gene?”
He shrugged. “Isabel’s away for another day, and I’ll need something to eat.” Ah. Forward-thinking, not wastefulness. Standing around eating pizza, we looked at the spot Gene had picked out for the flower garden. It was nestled between two larger trees, and sort of hidden from the house. He’d found a lovely old bench somewhere, and a pair of small tile-topped tables for either end. The trees met overhead, dappling the Southern Californian sunshine. I imagined Gene’s wife would sit there embroidering pillows for the poor of Beverly Hills, but that was just envy. I wanted a bench. Gene had already cleared the soil, or had someone do it for him, who knows, and brought in a load of plants and flowers, which were sitting around in their pots. The colors were all over the place, no great scheme there, but he’d gone for scent in a big way. I only recognized a few of the flowers, but they all smelled wonderful. Lisa ticked them off for me, her mouth full of pepperoni.
“Jasmine, freesia, lavender, sweet peas, alyssum, night-scented stock, scented phlox, clematis of course, and some fancy tuberose.” She looked over at Gene. “You picked well. These should give her fragrance for most of the year, in turns. And some nice evening scents, too.”
Gene looked pleased. “Isabel grew up with lots of lilacs, she says, but the guy at the garden store said they won’t grow here, ’cause it’s too hot.”
Lisa shrugged. “There may be varieties that would work. I can look into it for you. But remember, you can add and take out plants all year. That’s the nice thing about gardening: It’s never done.”
Rachel turned to me. “Or it’s the maddening, frustrating, soul-destroying part of gardening, that it’s never done. Either way.” She seemed tired, and I thought maybe she should blow this off and go home for a nap. I was about to say so when an old-fashioned bell phone rang, back in the house. Gene set off.
We started moving the pots around, trying different combinations. Edward started explaining that one of the problems with having a lot of fragrant plants was a lot of interested bees, so we were debating that when Gene reappeared, looking freaked out. “She’s coming! She’s coming! Little Emily is doing great, so she’s popping back for a day or two to do something in town—I have no idea what—and then she’s going back. That was her, at the airport in Santa Barbara. We only have a couple of hours at most. What shall we do?”
Mike stuffed the last piece of his pizza in, and dusted off his hands.
“Chill, there’s plenty of time. Let’s plant these pretty ladies and have it all ready when she arrives.”
Eloise nodded. “We’re almost done arranging them, Gene. It’ll only take us a little bit to stick them in the ground.”
“She’ll never know we were here,” added Angela.
Gene seemed a little flustered still, by this turn of events, so we put him in charge of the kids, who followed him off to the ridiculous swing set on the other side of the lawn. Honestly, my first apartment was smaller than that swing set.
It really didn’t take more than an hour, seeing as there were seven of us planting and the hardest part was not squashing someone else’s work. But Lisa got us organized, and we planted from back to front, and in no time at all we were standing around admiring our handiwork. It looked really pretty, and it smelled amazing. I sat on the bench and closed my eyes. All I could hear was the sound of the children playing, the buzz of about fifty thousand overjoyed bees who’d just realized Christmas had come early, and a random conversation about Sex Wax between Frances and Mike that sounded like it was based on a simple misunderstanding that neither realized had happened. It was heavenly, the sitting and listening part, not the strange conversation. The scents of the flowers filled my nose, the sunlight was warm . . . Isabel was one lucky lady.
Gene spoke and I opened my eyes. “How is it?”
I smiled. “I was just thinking how lucky your wife is. It’s a great spot, and you’re a very thoughtful husband.”
He went pink, again. “Well, she deserves it.”
Then we heard the scrunch of wheels on gravel, and Gene jumped like a hare.
“Shit, Isabel’s here already.”
We all started giggling, like naughty kids. “Do you want us to hide?” asked Rachel.
Gene looked quizzically at her. “No, of course not. There’s no need for that.” He seemed about to say something else, but just shot off into the house instead. We stood about and waited, apart from the kids, who just swung and swung and swung, as children will.
After a moment, he reappeared on the terrace. I frowned—was this his daughter? Didn’t she just have a baby? The woman was talking nineteen to the dozen, in a strong London accent.
“Honestly, Gene, she is the smallest little treasure you ever saw. I couldn’t put her down. I thought Jane was going to wrestle me over her.” She laughed, her face lighting up. She was beautiful and had one of those vivacious faces that you just want to watch and watch. But honestly, she couldn’t have been any older than I was.
Suddenly she spotted us all, and shrieked. “Blimey, Gene, you didn’t tell me we had company.” She basically rushed down the steps and held out her hands to us all. “Hey there, I’m Izzy! I’m going to guess you’re the gardening class. How lovely of you all to come and visit. Did you hear I’m a grandmother?” She laughed, a wonderfully loud laugh, and was among us, shaking our hands and hugging the children. Up close, she was even cuter, with smooth skin and shiny blond hair piled on her head. Her blue eyes sparkled with naughty good humor. I looked at Gene, but he was looking at her and smiling like the cat that got the cream.
Suddenly she shrieked again. “Gene, you naughty bugger, what’s all this?” She’d found the bench and threw herself down on it. “Ooh, it smells lovely.” She looked up at him as if he were a movie star instead of a sixty-year-old retired banker. “Did you put this here for me?” We all swiveled to look at him, and were rewarded by seeing him blush like a hot pepper. Mike burst out laughing and slapped him on the shoulder. And then we were all laughing.
• • •
Isabel was actually the one who cleared it all up for us.
Rachel, Frances, Angela, and I were sitting on the grass near the swing set, watching the kids and eating pizza, when she wandered over and joined us.
She grabbed a slice from the box in front of us, and spoke up.
“So, which one of you has the balls to ask me the obvious question?”
Rachel never needed asking twice. “So, how is it that you’re clearly so much younger than Gene but have grown children?”
Isabel laughed. “Well, that’s one of the obvious questions, although I was thinking you were going to ask me how a brainless tart like me had caught such a shiny fish.” I looked at her closely; she wasn’t joking. She thought Gene was a prize, and hey, maybe he was. But she was explaining.
“I met Gene ten years ago, when he was fifty and I was twenty-eight. His first wife deserted him, did you know that?” We shook our heads. She took another bite of pizza and talked around it. “Yeah, she left him when his two daughters were young, around the ages yours are now.” She looked at me. “And he raised them himself. The silly cow disappeared, you know, she just went off one night and never came back. He spent months hunting for her. The police and FBI were involved. They thought she’d been kidnapped or something. Gene had lots of money, an important job, but there was never a ransom note. It was dreadful, a real nightmare. And then suddenly, out of the blue, he gets a call from her that she’d had enough of being a mother and a wife, and needed to find herself. She’d spent the previous months bumming around India, without a second thought for those she’d left behind, and now she wanted a divorce so she could marry this guy she’d met in an ashram, or some such nonsense.” Isabel’s eyes were glittering. “When I met him, the kids were in high school and he’d done an amazing job, but he was so lonely, you could see it across the room.”
She dusted off her hands. “I snapped him up before you could say Jack Robinson, and I make him very happy, if I do say so myself. And I, of course, thank my lucky stars every day.” She looked over to where Gene was sitting on the grass with Mike, drawing on a piece of paper and clearly explaining something. “He likes that young guy a lot. We should have him over for dinner.” She leapt up and went over, presumably to invite him. I swallowed my pizza and found my voice.
“Well, I, for one, am utterly in love with her, but I don’t know about the rest of you.”
“She’s awesome.” Rachel nodded. “I was expecting a woman in sensible slacks, not a foxy blond MILF in tight jeans and a T-shirt, but hey, life’s full of surprises.”
“I’d do her,” confirmed Frances, airily.
How to Grow Zucchini
Zucchini likes warm soil, so wait until early summer at the very least. Planting in mid-summer might be even wiser, as you avoid vine borers, and other pests with names like cartoon villains.
• Zucchini need full sun, moist, well-drained soil, and lots of verbal encouragement.
• Mulch plants to protect their shallow roots and retain moisture.
• Water deeply once a week, applying at least one inch of water. Make sure the soil is moist at least 4 inches down.
• If your zucchini blooms flowers but never bears actual zucchini, or it bears fruit that stops growing when it’s very small, then it’s a pollination issue. To produce fruit, pollen from male flowers must be physically transferred to the female flowers by bees. If you do not have enough bees, you can manually pollinate with a Q-tip. Awkward.
Chapter 14
Another Monday. They kept coming around with irritating regularity, and none of them were any easier than the last. How about we start on a Tuesday just for once? No? Fine.
I’d never used a headhunter, seeing as I’d had this job forever, but one of my old college friends, Melanie, had gone into that business, so I’d called her the day Roberta had let us go. Something had come along, apparently, because my phone rang and there she was. The headhunter, not Roberta. Roberta was too scared of Rose to show her face.
