Truman stopped, stumbling a bit as if he were dizzy, and his breath came in quick bursts.
“And do you know what? I was. I was the very best star that day. I had the best time of any of them. And then I went home with Sook and she made me my favorite cake, a lemon cake, and we ate it together, every last crumb, in the kitchen, when it was still warm from the oven, a little drizzle of bourbon sauce on top. And I didn’t think of my parents at all. Not at all.”
Truman took that white flower, and, gently tiptoeing up, he tucked it into Babe’s hair and kissed her on the cheek.
“So there. Now you know. Something I’ve never told anyone before. Something I don’t want anyone else to know. A gift to you, from me.”
“Truman, I—I’m so sorry. Earlier, I mean.” Babe gazed down at the flowers in her arms. “I used to love to drive, you see. I had the cutest little roadster, when I met Bill. But then, well—we had a car, and a driver, and that was the way it was. Befitting our position, naturally. So I’m rusty, and I apologize for scaring you. I’ll be more careful, going home.”
“Babe, my darling Babe, don’t you see? I don’t care! I loved seeing you that way, giddy, free—having the time of your life! It was so unlike you, the you that you present to the world. I felt privileged, to see that side of you. I was just making a joke. It’s such a little thing, my dearest girl! Please forget about it, and enjoy yourself, and drive like a maniac on the way home. Forget Bill. Forget what’s expected of you. Just enjoy yourself—twirl!”
“I am enjoying myself now,” Babe confided, touchingly shy. She tried to conceal the sudden flush in her cheeks by burying her head in the flowers. “I know it’s silly, to be so worried all the time, but I—well, I just don’t want to disappoint anyone, you see.”
“You could never disappoint me. Now, I’m buying you all the flowers. The entire stall! Madam.” Truman turned to the woman vendor, who had been watching them this whole time, her mouth open, her lap full of flowers. “All of your wares, please! Pack them up, every last one of them, and allow me to pay.”
“Oh, thank you, Truman!” Babe dropped the flowers she held into a basket that the woman hastily provided. Then she grasped Truman’s hand. “Thank you, for everything. For all.”
“My pleasure, my darling heart!”
The two of them hauled basket after basket of bright paper flowers out to the car. Babe drove very carefully back up the mountain, so the flowers wouldn’t spill. And that night, at dinner, there were flowers everywhere, tumbling out of small baskets, cascading out of vases, a paper flower on every plate.
Truman pinned his—a sunny orange poppy—to his lapel, and Babe wore five, clustered together in a corsage, on her shoulder. She kept the snow-white rose in her hair.
Bill didn’t seem to notice any of the flowers. Although he did compliment Babe on the conch fritters, wondering why the two of them suddenly started to giggle like schoolchildren when he did.
—
TELL ME—WHAT IS YOUR greatest fear?
There was a long silence. No sounds but the low hum of the pool filter, the faraway grazing of a lawn mower, and the determined clip clip of a gardener on the other side of some tall azalea bushes, trimming away.
“That someone will see,” Babe whispered, while at the same time, Truman murmured, “That someone will find me out.”
“That no one will love me,” Truman added after another moment. While at the same time, Babe admitted, “And that I’ll never be loved, truly.”
They didn’t look at each other. They only sat quietly, kicking at the water. Two pairs of bare feet, vulnerable, occasionally bumping into each other, tickling, nudging.
Two paper flowers reflected in the pool water. Comforting.
CHAPTER 7
…..
“Now I’m going to be very serious. So listen, please!” Truman banged a butter knife against his champagne flute.
The swans fluttered and sighed, turning toward him. Slim rummaged around in her purse for her glasses. Pamela adjusted her cleavage and leaned over her plate toward Truman. C.Z. burst into giggles. Marella frowned, hoping she would be able to keep up with the conversation; Truman’s accent was so foreign to her ears. Gloria smiled one of her Mona Lisa smiles: a secret tickle of the lips, designed and perfected in front of a mirror countless times.
Babe adjusted the napkin on her lap and settled back into her chair, turning to her right. Truman grasped her hand beneath the table, giving it a little squeeze; she detected the private twinkle in his eyes, just for her.
“Do I have everyone’s attention? Good. I would like to announce that we’re going to play a little game. That’s why I invited you all here, you know. Not just because I wanted to see each and every one of you after my time in the Gulag, but because we need to have some real fun.”