Moon over Madeline Island (7 page)

 

Standing beside the duck, we say a little prayer. After unplugging the charger, I climb up and sit down behind the huge steering wheel. A cloud of dust puffs up around me and I sneeze and sneeze.

“Bless you, bless you, and bless you! You have exceeded your sneeze limit for the day. Good heavens, it's filthy.” Ruby shows me her black fingertip.

“We're going to need a bath. Well, here goes nothing.” I turn the key. It sputters and coughs and then a big puff of smoke bangs out the back. “She lives! It works! The damn thing turned right over!”

“Sounds like it used to; purrs, doesn't it. Well, let's undo all these wires and take it into the sunshine,” Ruby says with obvious pride.

I shift into drive and with Ruby standing up behind me, edge slowly out of the barn into the glorious sun. Suddenly feeling brave, since it
was
meant to go in the water,
and
since we happen to have this huge lake right here in front of us, I zoom down the lawn and straight for the lake.

Ruby and I are screeching and laughing as we fly down the grass, across the sandy little beach and splash into the lake. We float out and then head west toward Bayfield. By studying the gadgets on the dash and flipping a few switches, I move the duck forward. Ruby sits down beside me. I turn a few more dials, tuning the radio, and soon some nice jazz is shaking the dust from the speakers.

I grab the microphone hanging from the rearview mirror, click it on and say in my monotone announcer's voice, “Good morning campers. Welcome to Ruby's Roving Duck Tours. Please notice the captain has turned off the no smoking sign.”

I light up, take a nice big drag, give the duck some gas and we're off. From this new vantage point, I can see the island is long and very narrow.

Tall, elegant white pines tower over the shoreline. They look ready to waltz right off into the lake at any moment. There are hills and inlets, creeks cascading over rocks and high stonewalls diving into sandy strips of land. Long wooden docks lead up to cottages of every shape and size; on some of the docks people stop loading their fishing tackle to look up. Some wave, trying to figure out what in the hell we're riding in.

“It's a beautiful day in Wisconsin!” I sing over the mike as Ruby waves.

A
fter tooling all around the island, we end up back at our cottage. Shifting into neutral, we glide up to the right side of the dock as snug as can be. Okay, so I smack into it a tad—but Ruby would
not
have fallen flat on her butt if she'd been sitting down and of course I told her this afterwards.

“I figure we can give it a bath right here in the lake.” I hop out, looking for some rope and a clue as to how to secure it to the dock.

“Let me do that darling—here.” She takes the rope and knots it to the dock in seconds.

We end up untying Ruby's complicated knots and pulling the duck as far onto the sand as we can since neither one of us has any desire to get soaked. We do anyway since the damn thing weighs a ton and we can only pull its tip out of the water. Oh hell. After giving it a nice scrubbing, we're on the sandy shoreline, all slathered in sun block, wearing straw hats and making sand castles. Mine is your typical mansion-by-the-lake complete with spires, moats, servants' quarters and a place for torturing guests that stay on too long or have bad hair.

Ruby's is a miniature of our cottage, using seaweed, stones and twigs, no less. She's made a lovely herb garden, complete with a pond and a little falls that she can make work by pouring lake water out of one of my Keds. I'm impressed. We're very intent on our work and don't notice that someone has walked up until the all-important throat clearing.

“Ahem. Ah—good morning ladies. Ruby…is that
you?”

“Good heavens. Howard Tillingsworth, how
are
you?” Ruby stands up to hug this tall, rugged man.

He must be somewhere around Ruby's age, with faded blue eyes and gorgeous thick silver-white hair above a proud nose. He's wearing chinos, a denim shirt with the arms cut off and beat-up work boots. His muscled arms lift Ruby clear off her feet, giving her a nice bear hug. Her hat slides off, landing right on top of my castle. I'll have to rebuild the entire west wing. Great.

After Ruby is back on firm ground, she says, “Howard, this is Eve Moss.” I reach up and watch as my hand gets lost in his enormous one. It's rough, but warm and inviting.

“Hello Eve, nice to meet you.” Howard's voice is deep and smooth, like thick syrup.

“My pleasure, Howard.” I pull back my hand in slow motion. “Where'd you come from? You about scared us half to death.”

Ruby invites him up to the cottage. On the way, she explains that Howard was one of Ed's dearest lake buddies. They did cottage things together. Fishing, repairing, exchanging tools and of course, cracking a beer now and again. I'm relishing the kind way he speaks to Ruby. The word
“nice”
comes to mind. Not to mention he's darn good-looking. If you like the rugged, macho type, that is. Who doesn't? And oh my, does he look good from behind!

We're sitting in the living room and I can't help but notice Ruby has on a fresh coat of lipstick and somehow managed to shake some sense into her lake-damp hair. While straightening myself and settling into the cushy sofa, I look down at my blouse. In a controlled panic, I slowly pull a throw pillow to my chest, excuse myself and float upstairs. I'm not wearing a bra and would have much preferred slipping
under
the sofa…
hanging jugs of Madeline Island
. Being well-endowed does not translate into having a pert and perky chest.

Safe in my room, I close the door and let out a little embarrassed chuckle. Rocky helps me pick out a nice support system, as I refer to my collection of bras. There's nothing more marvelous than a fresh, clean bra. One that's white, still somewhat new and full of long-lasting support. Checking my face in the full-length mirror, I let my damp hair down and head back downstairs, Rocky at my heels.

The walls and ceiling of the living room are alive with dancing sunlit-water reflections that leap and jump everywhere. Howard and Ruby are seated next to one another, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She whispers something into his ear and they giggle.

“There you are, darling. The color in your cheeks makes you look lovely,” Ruby remarks as she takes a long drag on her cigarette. “You've managed to tan through all the gunk I demanded we put on.”

“Your hair color is such a
rich
red, I hope you don't mind me asking,” Howard asks meekly, “but…is it natural?”

“Not any longer. I was a
real
redhead—once. But thanks to hormones, aging, stress and hanging around Ruby, I'm this color—this week.” He and Ruby smile. “Now
your
hair—I could
never
color that. It's a true silver.” I attempt to run my fingers through my hat-mashed curls.

Howard blushes and clears his throat. “The colors you've been using on Ruby's hair, I would bet they're made by Wella. I'm only guessing, but I can tell by the integrity of the blue undertones. She looks beautiful.”

Ruby is watching my face as I'm trying to figure out who the hell this guy is. He's right about Ruby's color. I work my tail off to make sure her ash tones are truly ash and not gray. That's a color no one wants, especially after turning fifty-eight…again and again.

“Are you in the beauty business? By any chance?” I ask, oddly self-conscious all of a sudden.

“Eve, darling,” Ruby says in a knowing voice, “Howard and his partner, Johnny, owned the largest beauty-products company in the Midwest. They
also
own the cottage next to ours. You can just barely see it through the grove of birch trees that divide our properties.”

“You and…Johnny? Not
the
Johnny, as in Johnny Peterson?” I ask, then feel stupid.

“The one and only. As you probably recall, he was a very well-known hairstylist—still is, if you ask him. He did a lot of platform shows, some print work—and had a waiting list a mile long. We met, well…years ago now, and we've been together ever since. He had this idea for using herbs in shampoo and one thing led to another and before we knew it, we were in the beauty-products business.” He says this with a wave of his platter-sized hand.

“Then they sold it, retired—sort of—and live like kings and
still
talk to us of lesser means,” Ruby explains.

“I'm really glad to meet you Eve and I'm also grateful to you for bringing Ruby back up to the lake.” Howard puts his arm lightly around her tiny shoulders.

“I just couldn't come up here for a while. Too much of Ed…sounds silly, really.” Ruby smoothes her smooth shorts. Then she quickly brightens. “Hey! How about a dinner party, the four of us,” she asks with sparkly eyes.

“That sounds fantastic. Let's see…it's almost one now.” Howard rises. “If we reconvene at, say, around sixish, that would give Johnny time to try on all his clothes, twice.”

“We'll find something to put on the grill, if we can
find
the grill…and for a salad…Have you anything to make a salad with, Howard? And oh, I have this special casserole I can heat up too.” She shoots me a conspiratorial wink.

“Oh I'm sure we can find something green. Well, I'm off. Welcome to the lake Eve and welcome back, Ruby.” He pecks her on the cheek, then does the same to me.

 

“I forgot all about these dresses. They
have
seen better days. But oh my, this one has your name written all over it,” Ruby says, holding up the most fabulous deep-blue satin party gown a girl has ever dreamed of swishing around in.

“If this fits
you,
I don't know that…” I say with not
too
much hope. She can be so kind and
blind,
too.

“Some of these were
far
too big for me, but in the old days you had everything fitted anyway, so I'm sure this will work. We're both
about
the same height, when I wear my heels, that is. And have my hair real high and…” Ruby says with determination in her eyes.

“Hmm, it
might
fit if I push things up and don't breathe…ever.” I hold the dress up and sway slowly around the room. “What is it about a long dress that makes us women feel so…glamorous?” We laugh. It's true, though. Throw a Ginger-Loves-Gilligan gown on and you become…who? “How fun. I'm going to go and make sure everything gets lifted and separated. Meet you on your deck in a minute.” I sail out of her bedroom. “You won't recognize me—
I
won't.”

Holding the dress up, I saunter down the hallway to my room. I wave to the clump of gray fur watching me from downstairs atop a newly polished cabana bar. Rocky looks up from licking his front paw, shakes his head and resumes his cleaning.

 

We're backlit, the sun is beginning to slowly set and we look smashing. I've put my hair up in a soft, loose curly do. Feeling inspired, I've woven a piece of purple ribbon through it. My low-cut gown is proudly displaying my girls; they've
never
been so perky. The waist
is
very fitted, and fit it does. The best part is the huge, billowing skirt. Bare feet are a must as we
are
at the cottage. A gold chain with a single ruby is snug between my breasts, compliments of Ruby on my fortieth birthday.

Then there's Ruby herself, a dazzling dish in a red taffeta and satin gown tailored to her upper body perfectly. The skirt puffs and swirls around, swishing with her every move.

We both have cigarettes burning from the ends of long, elegant holders I found in Ruby's endless collection of accessories. We're sipping wine; lipstick colors the rims of our tall goblets. The faint mothball scent fades into the evening air—thank God.

“I can't remember when I felt so damn expensive.” I take a sip. “We sure clean up good.”

I salute the lake with my glass held high and Ruby joins me. We clink and turn to the dashing gentlemen walking through the birch tree grove and wave them over.

“Hello loves!” Ruby proclaims in her bright English accent while waving.

We both say together, waving in harmony, “Arm-elbow-arm-arm, repeat. Arm-elbow-arm-arm.” This is an old movement left over from my involvement in parades as a child. My mom had me practice my waves in the bathroom mirror until I had it down pat.

The boys laugh and return the favor in synchronized wave-harmony as well. Howard has changed into a snappy outfit. Johnny has on moss-colored slacks and a brilliantly white shirt. He's strikingly handsome in a sharp, angled way. He's a good foot shorter than Howard and has a goatee shaped around his mouth in the form of an O.

“My God Ruby—they are
so
gorgeous.” We turn to walk down and greet them. “I would be nervous if they weren't a couple…you know?”

“This is such bloody fun!” Ruby loops her arm through mine and we head down the stairs.

At the French doors opening onto the porch, we each take a doorknob, exchange a quick wink and in unison, pull open the double doors. With eyebrows raised up and noses held high, we curtsy to the boys, who are just stepping up the stairs to cross the veranda.

“Ladies. Lovely to see women in gowns again.” Howard gives us each a peck on the cheek.

“I imagine in your lot it's the boys wearing them,” Ruby says with disdain, then laughs. “How about a drink, darlings.”

Howard introduces Johnny, who gallantly kisses my hand. Suddenly, catching wind of his rather powerful cologne, I feel a tingle in my nose, not a good sign. How in the world does one accomplish a full-fledged tickle-in-the-nose
sneeze
in a dress that's cut so low?

“Ah choooo!” explodes from between my lipsticked lips. The force of it creates a huge surge of gown-bursting power that causes both of my girls to leap forth into the room. Completely uninvited! Thank
god
I just had turned away from the boys as the tickle was festering, but they sense that I now have a few things in need of covering. If ever I wanted to evaporate, seep into the floor and disappear forever, it's now. Talk about making a memorable first impression!

“Let's take a walk to the dock while Eve gets straightened out, shall we?” Ruby suggests smoothly, not loosing a beat. She turns the men away, heading down the stairs and toward the lake. As they walk arm in arm, Ruby in the middle, I escape upstairs to repair the situation.

Now
I know why no one wears these damn things anymore. Standing in front of my mirror, I take one look and burst out laughing. Trying to catch my breath, I can still see Johnny's eyes bug out. Howard's mouth simply dropped to the floor. Rocky comes in to see what's so darn funny. He leaps onto the bed to look me over. Putting my girls back into submission, I give Rocky a scratch before heading out to join the laughing trio on the dock.

 

It's after dinner. I've made it through without another
falling
out, thank God. We had melt-in-your-mouth grilled lake trout (caught by Howard), tossed salad and that casserole. Which really was very good. We're stuffed. A crackling fire blazes in the fireplace.

Everyone's feet are up on the coffee table or tucked under yards of satin, like mine. We've reached that nice warm place after eating, laughing and,
of course,
dessert. Now it's the calming sound of fire snapping in the background. An owl hoots outside; Rocky looks up from Johnny's lap and then goes back to being scratched between the ears, his favorite place.

“What a lovely, lovely dinner.” Ruby fluffs her dress, then scoots her feet underneath. “I am stuffed to the gills. It was marvelous of you two to have brought…well…just about everything.”

“We're glad you've returned. It's been deathly quiet out here, what with your cottage empty,” Howard breaks off as Johnny punches him after the “deathly quiet” part. “I mean, not
deathly
, just—sorry.”