Tea Leafing: A Novel (3 page)

“I’ve got my camera in
the car, how about if I get a shot of the photographer?” Grace offered. “It
can’t hurt.”

Before anyone had a
chance to respond Grace was halfway to the car, aerating sod with her heels.

Glad I wore wedges
, Sam thought.

By aligning themselves
behind the largest headstones, the girls successfully avoided the mystery man’s
lens. Turning her attention back to the funeral proceedings, Sam studied Lena’s
family. She imagined what her own family would do if the roles were reversed.
Lena’s mother and father were typical old south in dress and mannerism. Both
were clad in head-to-toe black. Her mother wore a lace veil, making it hard to
see her face. Her figure was that of a 20 year old. Slender and fragile, she
looked as though she would break if hugged too hard.

Lena’s younger sister
Amanda stood front and center without cover of veils or sunglasses to hide her face.
She was five years Lena’s junior and was at the age where teenagers begin to
break from their parents. In another year she would be off to college, or the
Peace Corps or wherever it is the privileged young go to make their own way.
She cried, unashamed, letting the tears roll down her face without wiping them.
The funeral seemed cathartic for her; maybe she was the only person who grasped
that funerals were meant for this specific reason. Not for stoics, or posers,
but to try and begin the arduous process of letting go.

Her father sported
silver hair in a very no-nonsense, part-on-the-side, trustworthy business
haircut. His skin was
golf-course
tanned without
looking sun-damaged. He was a handsome man, with a lovely wife and a beautiful
daughter, living among Savannah’s elite. The family looked picture perfect from
the outside, which probably meant big trouble behind closed doors.

Grace was back and
shooting rapid-fire pictures of the photographer as well as two other men who
had appeared across the clearing to the left. The new spectators were without
cameras, but clear plastic spiral cords were visible running from their ears
down into their shirt collars.

“OK, now you might want
to make yourself scarce Birdie.” Sam whispered. “Did you get shots of the
newcomers over there, Grace?”

“Yup. Got ‘em.”

Birdie was off toward Mary
Jane’s car, parked on one of the winding Cemetery roads twenty yards up. Sam
exchanged glances with the other two and reassured herself out loud “Before we
head back tomorrow, we’ll come say our goodbyes. We can leave the bullwhip
then.” The other two nodded solemnly and the group headed for the car. The
closing chords of the Requiem Mass for Alexandra Chandler replayed inside Sam’s
head. She wondered momentarily if the others could also hear their ghostly
echoes.

* * * *

Early the next morning
as they headed east along US-80, Birdie piped, “Forget about the fackin’ coffee
houses, let’s get back to Bonaventure and make our peace with Lena.” Birdie was
in a mood this morning, with her Manchester United cap pulled low and
sunglasses securely in place, fighting a fierce hangover.

On the drive, Birdie
hung her head out the window like an old farm dog. No one spoke. Reluctance to
fight the wind for conversation, they were also feeling the heavy pressure of
the city. The weather only accounted for part of Savannah’s weight; the other
is the very real sense of the souls crowding the historic district, that make
every breath labored. The girls all silently prayed Lena wasn’t trapped here,
but had made her way safely across the river Styx.

Lena’s family plot was
midway into the cemetery and off to the right near the site of the old Tattnall
plantation house that had long since burned to the ground. It was easy to find,
thanks to her grandmother’s large, intricately carved mausoleum that could be
seen from some distance. Old Bonaventure had been closed to new burials for
years, but Lena’s family, being old money, had purchased a sizeable piece of
land for burial plots, ensuring future generations of Chandlers would be laid
to rest with their ancestors.

Sam, Grace and Mary
Jane emptied out of the car and headed towards the spot where Lena had been
buried the previous day. Birdie stumbled out of the car and headed along the
dirt road back towards the gate.

“Don’t go too far,
Bird,” Grace called after her “This place is a maze. You’ll never find us again
if you wander off.”

Birdie raised a hand in
thanks without turning back and disappeared around a gentle curve.

The grave of Lena,
a.k.a. Alex, wasn’t hard to find. Flowers exploded across the newly covered
plot. The loose sod looked unnaturally out-of-place among the old tamped down
grass. There was a photograph of Lena taped to the family headstone, over the
spot where her name would later be added.

Grace slumped to her
knees mumbling a prayer for Lena. Mary Jane stood frozen, fighting the pain. Her
lips trembled in silent prayer. Sam sat down on the new, soft sod and quietly
sang one of Lena’s favorite songs.

“I knew someday that you would fly away

For love's the greatest healer to be found

So leave me if you need to

I will still remember . . . “

Angel flying too close to the ground

Grace sobbed softly and
laid her face against the grass over where Lena’s heart would be. Mary Jane
sank to the ground, her head hung. Her back and shoulders shook and her mouth
twisted open.

Fly on; fly on past the speed of sound

I'd rather see you up

Than see you down

Leave me if you need to

I will still remember

Angel flying too close to the ground

Sam buckled onto the
grass, and finally let
herself
cry. The three held
hands and
laid
there, holding vigil over Lena, or
Alex, or whatever she wanted to be called.

Someone behind them
cleared her throat. They turned, expecting to see Birdie. There stood Amanda,
Lena’s younger sister.

“You must be Sam,
Grace, and Mary Jane?” She asked with the same warm smile Lena was blessed
with. Her eyes were swollen but warm.

Feeling like children
caught in some unforgivable act, the three pulled themselves up.

Amanda put out her
hands to stop them. “No, please. Alex would want you here. Please don’t get up.
Can I sit with you for awhile?” Her voice was steeped in an old southern
softness.

“Of course you can,”
Sam stammered, “Are you sure you don’t want your privacy? ”

“No,” Amanda sighed, “I
think too much unspoken is what’s gotten us into this mess in the first place.
Alex told me all about
ya’ll
. How much she loved you.
That you were her first true friends, not for her reputation, or
her money, or anything.
Just for her. She told me about the fun she had
with you. She loved you like sisters. Which I guess means you’re my sisters
too.”

The girls exchanged
astonished glances. Never in a million years could they have guessed they would
receive such a reception from anyone in Lena’s family. Not sure how their own
families would react if the shoe were on the other foot, they each understood
whole-heartedly the precious bond they shared.

They held out their
arms to Amanda and the four held each other and cried.

“Gimme a TicTac,” spat
Birdie, panting her intrusion.

They had almost
forgotten the Bird, who had been unloading some of the Laphroaig 15 year-old
single malt she had had for dinner last night.

“Birdie?” Amanda’s eyes
squinted.

“Oh God, Love, I’m so
sorry. I know better than to be froin’ up in a cemetery but I’ve got me a touch
of food poisoning. And what the hell are you doing sitting there together like
you’re at a damn picnic?”

Amanda’s face broke
into a smile. “Was this food poisoning from a bad bottle of Scotch?”

“That smart mouth runs
in the family, does it?” she paused, cracking a smile, “Tic-Tac, I said.”

Amanda laughed and the
other three relaxed. It was always touch and go as to whether people were going
to love Birdie or hate her. Should have known Lena’s sister would hit it off
with her. Amanda handed Birdie some gum from her purse. “Sorry. Nearest thing
I’ve got to a Tic Tac.”

Birdie started chewing,
quietly grateful. She had probably been the closest to Lena of all, but she
held her hard-boiled exterior in place to keep herself from going to pieces.
Late at night, sitting in a warm bath in her downtown loft — that’s when
Birdie would grieve. Safe behind locked doors when no one could hear her
whimpers, she would have her own conversations with Lena. Never out in public,
not even with her nearest and dearest. Birdie had her own way of coping with
things, and that was that.

“Roight, you lot, up
you get, NOW!” ordered Birdie. It was as if the gum had reenergized her.

The girls looked at
each other trying to figure out whether or not Birdie was serious.

“I said GET UP
GODDAMNIT!” she yelled, “I’m not SAYIN’ IT AGAIN!”

The familiar whistle of
leather cutting air startled the girls into a wild scramble.

“CRACK!” the whip
recoiled back to Birdie.

“You know Birdie, some
of us are trying to have a moment here, do ya’ think . . . WHAT THE HELL?”

“CRACK!”
 
Again the bullwhip recoiled back to
Birdie.

Lena’s signature move
on stage involved her expert handling of a bullwhip. She could crack it so
deftly,
she’d snatch the cigarette out of someone’s mouth
from ten feet away. Lena always maintained the persona onstage but would go
into fits of laughter in the privacy of the dressing room. She never made fun
of the men. It was just that dominatrix was so far from her true nature that it
tickled her to assume the role. Those in need of gentle domination were drawn
to her undeniable magnetism.

Birdie threw herself
onto the plot and began ripping back a length of sod.

“Holy Mother of God!
Birdie’s finally snapped and she’s
gonna
’ dig up Lena
with her bare hands! One of you
stop
her!” Grace
shrieked “Why don’t we carry Thorazine when we travel with her?”

Amanda looked
horrified.

Birdie stopped her
unearthing and started coiling Lena’s whip around her arm the way she’d seen
Lena do it a million times before.

Silence.

The girls stared.

Birdie bent down,
nestling the whip into the soil above where Lena lay.

After a moment she
gently rolled the sod back into place.

She crossed herself
with head bowed, and softly kissed the picture of Lena taped to the cold stone.

“I love you.”

CHAPTER 4

“Mom?”

“Hi, angel! Hold on a
sec.” Sam heard her mom push the phone receiver against her breast to muffle
the yell, “CLAUDIA IS ON THE PHONE. DO YOU WANNA’ PICK UP?” It was strange for
Sam to hear her birth name, even from her parents, since everyone she knew
called her by her stage name — Sam.

Her mother’s voice
returned, “Your dad’s in his office. I think he’s picking up the other line.”

The reception dimmed
slightly as her dad’s cheerful voice came on, “Hey spud! What’s new in
Atlanta?”

“Hi guys! I was just
thinking about you and thought I’d say hello.”
 
Sam felt the knot rise in her throat. She hated lying to
them. Hated that she couldn’t be honest about her life. They had been through
hell together, nursing her through a nasty drug addiction in her teenage years.
Their support had kept her going when she’d wanted to give up. Sam thought
about her struggle with depression that followed addiction. It tainted the
memory of her college years gray with hazy fatigue. They were there for that
too. Now, several years into what Sam considered her
real
life, she danced because it was a low hour, high yield job
that satisfied a need somewhere hidden. Always knowing the day would come when
she’d be back in an office, working a legitimate job rather than in a fantasy
world. She wasn’t worried that her family would disown her, but she didn’t want
them to worry about her safety, or her sanity.

Tic.
She pressed her fingers into the muscle above her eye that had
begun its all too familiar twitch.

“Just taking a little
break between freelance jobs. You know, a little time for myself.” She said,
feeling the weight of her lie.

“Great sweetheart! It
sounds like you’ve been working so hard. You need some time to unwind.” She
could feel her mother’s smile behind her words.

Her father added, “Are
you all booked up?”

Sam sighed, “Yeah, for
the next couple of weeks anyway. I have a few corporate identities for start-up
companies and a redesign on a web site to do. I just had to take a few days
off. It’s harder working from home than when I was in an office; my tendency is
to work too much rather than slack off. My apartment is a mess and I need to
get some order to things before I start another job. Drives me crazy to work in
clutter.”

Her parents laughed,
knowing her need for organization was inherited from her father.

Sam pictured them
— her mother in her Lay-Z-Boy in the living room, book open on her lap
while they chatted. Her father, in his office, leaned back in his desk chair,
staring at the notes tacked to the bulletin board in front of him. She stared
at her own tanned legs, stretched in front of her on the couch, balancing a mug
of coffee.

“How are things in
Minnesota?” Sam asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

“Oh, well, let’s see,”
her mother paused, “the church is having a fund drive and I’ve been keeping
busy with that. Ooo, and Gina Nelson just had a baby girl!” The conversation
flowed on with happenings from her hometown. Sam leaned back on the couch and
sipped her hot coffee while she listened.