Chapter Fifty-nine

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

[WARNING: The following story has been rated FNF*]
*Fiction NOT Fact

“Tea for Two—Thirty-two . . . and One Bad Dog”

Glo had just introduced me as . . . my Anderson’s Ellee!
Her—Anderson’s—Ellee???? She was introducing me as Anderson’s Ellee?—to those closest and dearest friends??? I just didn’t know what to think, except—I had finally made it past, that person! WOW, I thought, I was making progress with Andy’s mom. Either that, or she was thoroughly impressed with my entrance to her party. Either way, in her eyes I had finally become a person with an actual name. And not just any person, but her son’s person.

The idea that I was Andy’s Ellee gave me goose bumps, and warmed my system in places I didn’t know about, so much so, I couldn’t contain myself, and in that moment of extreme elation, I ran to her and threw my arms around her, giving her a great big hug—BUT I shouldn’t have. How was I to know that at the very moment the hug went into effect, it unhinged her right eyelash, in such a way that it left no doubt as to its lack of authenticity—it was a fake, an expensive fake to be sure, but fake nonetheless.

As the hug concluded, and I backed away, it was then I saw the damage I had caused to that poor woman. Because of me, all those closest and dearest friends now knew that she wore false eyelashes—they weren’t real . . . like mine, although they looked like mine, but no one would have even suspected, if it hadn’t have been for me—I HAD DONE IT AGAIN! I was horrified as I watched the unseated lash flopping about as she blinked while continuing to talk with her guests.

As I watched the little lash clinging for dear life, yet slipping a little more with each blink, I knew it wouldn’t be long before it finally had no choice but to give up. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I should just reach up and press the little fella back in place, but my better judgement warned me against it. It would have been like trying to get the pierogi dough out of her hair at Christmas time. Nooooo way was I going to try and rectify this wrong, like I had tried then. No, I had learned my lesson well back in December—Leave Glo Alone. I knew I would just have to let it go. Which is exactly what that little lash did the very next moment—it just let go.

Once it was free from the eyelid, it began a gentle, fluttering motion as it descended ever so lightly, like a little black butterfly, on its way to the floor below. I could have reached out and caught it in my hand—but what then, I warned myself, what could I possibly do with it once I had rescued it? Hand it back to Andy's mom and say, “Oh, by the way, Glo, here’s your eyelash I just knocked off.” Nooooo, I think NOT! The only thing I could do was pretend like I hadn’t even seen it. Wise council, I thought. I should listen to myself more often.

I then eyed the little lash all the way to touch down, as it landed on the white marble floor—just in time for Molly to pounce on top of it, trapping it under her paw. Obviously thinking she had caught a tasty little black spider, she cautiously lifted her paw just enough to give her long tongue the room it needed to slurp it up in an instant. Awwwwk! I gasped, as I watched the scene unfold. And the finality of that eyelash became completely apparent the moment I saw Molly swallow. Glo’s eyelash was no more! I glanced up quickly to see who else had witnessed it’s demise besides me. A sigh of relief escaped as I found that no one had. Good. Now I could pretend that I hadn’t, either.

“Isn’t that true, Ellee?” I then heard Glo ask, causing me to shift my attention from the floor up to the little community. But my distraction with the eyelash affair had precluded me from the gist of their conversation and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Well . . .” I finally managed to say, “I suppose . . . some would say that.”

Everyone laughed. Then a lady, who was wearing a pink felt, circular skirt with a French poodle embroidered at the hemline, said, “Some would say that????? Ms. Ellee, what about you? Would you say that, too?”

They chuckled again. Glo was also amused, although trying hard not to show it.

“Of course!” I quickly added, hoping to cover up for my lack of understanding, “Yes! I guess . . . I mean— ohhhh . . . it’s possible . . . sometimes . . . I think it might be. It all depends, but . . . but . . . well . . . I . . . ”

Ohhhh whaaaaat were they talking about? And why were they laughing? I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck, when I started flushing, igniting the desire to scratch the itch which had quickly developed once my skin temperature shot up past 98.6. I was then forced to reach up and start scratching. I must have looked like the scratching, babbling idiot they were all thinking I was.

“Let’s not embarrass this poor girl any further,” a nice lady with pure white hair and fire-engine red lipstick finally said, stepping in to rescue me.

“Yes,” Glo sided, “why don’t we all sit down now, and Harriet will serve the tea?”

Never was teatime so welcome! Everyone seemed to forget almost instantly what had just occurred, and moved on to take their places at the various tea tables, set with crisp white linens, and Royal Albert Old Country Roses tea china. In the center of each table was a bowl of fresh heirloom English roses in soft shades of yellow and pink, and also a three-tier plate stand loaded with little cream puff shell sandwiches, small cakes, tarts, fruits, and cookies. Next to those was a matching teapot, creamer and sugar bowl containing rose-colored sugar crystals, and at each place there was a teacup resting properly on its saucer. It was all very elegant, just like the lady of the house.

As a nice gentleman was helping me into the white velvet, Queen Anne camel back chair I had selected, having not seen the china place cards, I heard Glo saying,

“Oh no, Ellee. Not there. Over here—by me!”

There must have been a question on my face as I turned in the direction of the soft voice, because Andy’s mom then pointed to the chair explicitly next to hers, and her eyes were saying, this is where you belong.

But, I thought, I really don’t belong there at all, and it would certainly be more prudent for me to be as far away from Ms. Glo as space would permit. When I didn’t make a move to relocate, she motioned once again. So I politely told the gentleman at the back of my chair that Ms. Glo wanted me to sit next to her, and he was kind enough to escort me there . . . next to . . . yes, next to the woman who should have known this couldn’t possibly go well. But what could I do?

Once we were all seated, Glo introduced the guests at our table to me personally. To my right was Brandy Brandtner, and next to her, Joseph Cephas-Altney, and then Caroline Colingy, followed by Tad Smith, Tess Simmons, and finally at Glo’s left, Dillon Haffen. They all looked so much older than Glo. In fact, if I hadn’t been there, Glo would have been the youngest. They were all more than pleased to make my acquaintance, and they took turns wishing me the very best. I wasn’t sure what best they were wishing me, but I wondered if maybe they understood that by sitting next to Glo, I would somehow need the best of something so as not to bring my usual grief her way.

Everything actually went quite smoothly and without incident until, Molly, having gone the entire time without sampling the goodies, decided she had waited long enough, and began whining, and then begging for one of the cream puff shells stuffed with chopped turkey and sliced water chestnuts. Glo promptly scolded her for begging and made her sit down.

The poor pooch then looked up at me with doggie eyes so wistful and sad, it was not in my power to deny her just a little taste. So I slipped her one of my turkey sandwiches when Glo turned to talk to Mr. Haffen. But, it seems, that only whetted her appetite for more, because no sooner had she swallowed that first one, than she placed her head on my lap, trusting me to deliver the next one, and of course, I didn’t have the heart not to indulge her. But, when that was gone, she wanted yet another, and once again I gave in.

This went on for a couple of minutes until my little turkey puffs were gone, and the only thing remaining on my plate was a shortbread thumbprint cookie, filled with raspberry jam. As I reached out to put it in Molly’s mouth, she jumped to retrieve it, knocking it out of my hand, causing it to land facedown on the floor. She scrambled to snatch it up, chasing it around the floor until at last she had it.

When she looked up for more, her snout was all covered with the red jam, and there was quite a mess on the floor. At that moment, deciding to try her luck with Glo, she put her front paws on Glo’s lap and barked. When Glo saw her with jam spread across her nose, mouth and whiskers, she yelled out,

“Molly! What have you done? You’ve been a bad doggie!” Then she looked directly at me—like I had something to do with it. So I did the only thing I could under the circumstances, I shook my finger at Molly and scolded,

Molly! Yes, you have been a very bad girl!” Then I turned to Glo, and letting the innocent side of me shine through, I added,

“She just jumped up and knocked it right out of my hand, Glo.”

"I see," she replied, clasping her hands together under her chin. And of course . . . she did see . . . very clearly.

But then, Molly did a worse thing—she decided she didn't like having sticky jam all over her face, so what better way to clean herself than rubbing her snout back and forth on the side of Glo's white velvet Queen Anne chair, AFTER wiping herself on Glo's skirt? To which Glo responded with a very vocal,

"OH! OH! OH!"

And to which, I then responded even more vocally, "OH! OH! OH!"

Then Brandy Brandtner sitting next to me chimed in with an "OH! OH! OH!" of her own.

And Molly . . . well, she was so delighted with all the attention that she started chasing around the table, and each time someone reached out to stop her, she would bark and run even faster, thinking this was all part of a most wonderful game being played at Glo's most wonderful tea party, and all just for her amusement.

I knew I would have to put a stop to this most wonderful game soon, before it got completely out of hand, not that it wasn't already, but I knew it could get much worse. So, I jumped out of my seat, kicking off my high heels and started my barefoot pursuit of this very bad doggie, commencing with a trek right through the raspberry jam Molly had smeared on the white floor, my feet leaving very nice impressions in red as I ran.

"MOLLY!" I yelled, "STOP RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" But of course Molly didn't stop. This, too, was just part of the game. "Come back here, you bad, bad, very bad girl!"

I chased her around table after table, and then around and around the room, both of us discovering that Glo's marble floor made for a very suitable surface on which to play our usual game of Slide 'N' Glide, when we both slipped and went sliding into Mr. Cephas-Altney's chair, upending it in such a way, that he, too, became part of Slide 'N' Glide, only he didn't glide as far as we did.

When Caroline Colingy automatically reached out to stop Mr. Cephas-Altney's fall, her counter balance wasn't quite what it used to be sixy years ago, and she ended up on top of him. I heard both of them let out little squeals. I didn't know if they were squeals of delight, or surprise—I had noticed both of them eyeing each other earlier. Perhaps they were squeals of delightful surprise.

Ms. Colingy's fall on top of Mr. Cephas-Altney brought Tad Smith and Tess Simmons to their feet immediately, and they rushed over to help them both up, but to no avail. Everyone was just too old and had too little strength to make the task succeed. Molly tried helping, too, licking each of their faces, one after the other, and I heard Glo repeating over and over, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

And then, I heard something else—"Ellee, what have you done????"

I knew that voice—it was Andy's! And he was on his way to this unfortunate scene, requiring just five easy strides all the way from the doorway. And there I was, sprawled on the white marble which was dotted with jamprints, barefoot and disheveled, next to all those helpless senior citizens, also sprawled on the floor. And there in the middle of us all sat Andy's dog, tail a-wagging, as happy and carefree as a singing lark, tongue hanging out, panting, obviously thinking how wonderful this tea party game was, and glad to have been invited. And standing over all this was Andy's mother, smeared with red raspberry jam and minus one eyelash, still muttering oh dears to herself, her hands clapped over her cheeks.

"Oh, Andy," I quickly answered, "this . . . all of this . . . is the work of YOUR dog!"

Andy looked at his dog; his dog looked at him; then Andy looked at me. After a moment of rolling his eyes, he took a deep breath and said,

"Ellee, why do I find that soooo hard to believe?"

"Well, Andy . . . ," I began, but before I could draw my next breath to continue, good old Dillon Haffen, squinting his eyes to see Andy through his half-inch thick glasses, jumped in with,

"That's true, Anderson. Your Molly has been very naughty this afternoon."

"Really!" Andy stated, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes just a little as he did a side glance my way. Meaning, of course, and Ellee hasn't?

"Yes!" the white-haired lady with red lipstick affirmed, once again stepping in to rescue me.

Then everyone chimed in acknowledging Molly's less than perfect behavior. Very bad dog . . . Naughty . . . Terrible . . . Unruly, came the various remarks, but I could tell Andy didn't go for any of it—he kept shooting little knowing glances at me each time another adjective was voiced describing Molly's behavior. And each time I answered his glance with a "wide-eyed what??? look". He knew somehow, somewhere I fit into all of this. He wasn't fooled for a minute. He knows me too well.

Andy then helped everyone to their feet, starting with me when he put his hands around my waist and lifted me effortlessly off the floor. He paused for a minute to let his eyes linger on mine. For just a brief moment the connection our eyes made was so electrifying, everyone sensed it. I knew that was so because I heard the collective intake of breath, and then the silence which followed. And then I heard someone say, in just barely a whisper,
"the perfect US."

At that moment, Harriet burst into the room and said if we didn't start drinking tea soon, there would have to be a New York Tea Party, similar to the Boston Tea Party, when she would be obliged to start chucking it out the window, she had brewed so much. So everyone quickly went back to their tables and began sipping her spirited, uplifting and energizing tea concoction of good-for-you, deliciously tasty organic blend of Ginkgo leaf, Red Clover leaf flower, Nettle leaf, Meadowsweet, Calendula flower, Chamomile flower, Lavender flower, and Gotu Kola leaf with just a pinch of Stevia for sweetness. Great stuff!

In spite of everything, it was a wonderful afternoon— great food, delicious herbal tea, all we could drink, and the more we drank, the more spirited, uplifted, and energized we became, and the better the conversation with Glo and her closest and dearest friends became. And the best part of all, Andy had his arm around me the whole time. It was like he just didn't want to let go of me. OR . . . well, I don't know, maybe he was afraid I would cause some kind of trouble.

At the end of the afternoon, just before the party was finished, he leaned over and whispered in my ear,

"Ellee, don't say anything, but my mother has only one eyelash on."

I turned to look at him. Then I looked at his mom. Then I looked back at him.

"You're right. She's got only one eyelash." I looked straight ahead. I blinked. "To what do you attribute that, Andy?"

"I don't know. Maybe she forgot to put it on this morning." He was chuckling.

Still looking straight ahead, I replied, "Maybe so, Andy." I chuckled, too, but for a much different reason.

Bye for now,

Love,

Ellee