Chapter Fifty-seven

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

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

“A Glo-ing Invitation”

Once Andy and I agreed we had become an US, I discovered it wasn’t a great deal different than when we were a him and me. He was still gone just as much, and our paths still crossed only when there were little slivers of time here and there between assignments. But one thing which was different—his mother had called me. Yes, that’s right, Glo herself had actually made a deliberate, calculated telephone call to “that person!” It wasn’t that she had intended to call Harriet, or even her son, and then reached me by mistake. No, she had, after premeditating, pressed all the right buttons that would connect her instantly to me via my cell phone.

The moment I heard her voice and she said Ellee, this is Glo, my heart stopped and I aspirated a little gasp. What had I done now? I was ready to say, Look, Glo, it really wasn’t my fault. Somehow it just happened, but then in the next breath she said she was having an afternoon tea for a few of her very closest and dearest friends, and she wanted me to be there.

She wanted me to be there!!!???? Surely I had heard wrong! Or possibly misunderstood. I did an instant replay of those astounding words, sending them through my gray matter once again for a more exact interpretation. But once again the only meaning I could derive was, she wanted me there—at her afternoon tea party—with a few of her closest and dearest friends.

Whoa, I thought. I’d have to think that one through more carefully before answering. So I stalled.

“Uhhhh, well . . . I don’t know . . . I mean, I might be busy that day.”

“Ellee, I didn’t say what day.”

“Oh, you didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t, but you really aren’t all that busy, are you?”

“Actually, I help Harriet a lot.”

“Well, Harriet will also be at the tea. She will be preparing and serving.”

“Ohhhh, I see,” I responded, now understanding what she had meant by my being there, “Harriet needs my help with the tea.”

“No Ellee, you won’t be helping Harriet!”

“I won’t?”

“Ellee, of course not!”

Of course not !!???? What did that mean? Then she added,

“Also, I would like you to bring Molly. Everyone loves her and wants to see her. You wouldn’t mind, would you? I mean you get on so well with her, and she’s used to minding you. The tea will be next Saturday at 3:00 pm at my place.”

I knew in my heart this was a baaaaad idea. I just couldn’t figure how Glo thought it was a gooooood idea. Maybe she was losing her mind. Why would she want to invite me, of all people? Even so, I knew I couldn’t accept, so I declined graciously, thanking her for the invitation. I thought no more about it until later that night—like about 1:00 am when, as I lay sleeping–peacefully, that peace was shattered when my bedroom door crashed into the wall behind it. I sat up instantly when I heard,

“Ellee! Are you out of your mind?”

Trying to adjust my eyes to the overhead light that had been flipped on, I answered,

“W-what?”

As I squinted to focus, I saw that the figure advancing toward me was Andy.

“Ellee, you turned down my Mother’s invitation to her tea party????” Disbelief was ringing in each word.

“Yes, that’s right, I did.”

“Why on earth would you DO that? Are you trying to offend my mother?”

“Ohhhhh noooo Andy, I never TRY to offend her. It just comes naturally!”

“Ellee, you can’t decline this invitation!”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . you just can’t!”

“Do you think that’s wise, Andy—my being in her proximity . . . in the same room . . . AND with her closest and dearest friends?”

I was amazed that Andy, of all people, as well as his mother, didn’t see this for what it was—a recipe for certain disaster. However, he made me promise I would call her the next day and accept her invitation—which I did.

In the course of the next few days leading up to the big tea party, you would have thought this whole affair was tantamount to the Duchess of York being introduced to the Royals for the first time. I don’t know why I had that feeling—I just did. I sensed the pressure and anxiety she must have felt all those years ago when she had to meet Mummy for the very first time. But I had already met Mummy, and she didn’t like me, or even want to be around me, and rightly so, considering all the havoc I created whenever we shared the same space. So what’s so different now, I wondered, that she would even consider having me at her tea party—with all those dear friends? And just how long would they remain friends, after having met me? And who is me, anyway? A lot of questions.

The whole tea party thing seemed really important to Andy. I wondered why it was such a big deal to him. And I also wondered why he wasn’t worried about the ever-present potential for calamity.

Every detail was meticulously arranged for this affair, right down to my attire. Andy had commissioned the House of Che in Paris once again for the perfect dress, and once again the fit was impeccable, like it had been made especially for me, which of course, it had, and which had been FedExed overnight, and was waiting at my place at the breakfast table on the Friday before the tea.

When I reached for the familiar House of Che box, a little note slipped off the top and floated to the table. It read,

You will look like a veritable duchess in this little number.

And it was signed, A. I knew it was from Andy. He signs everything that way, and it always reminds me of . . . authority . . . and affability, as well as ability and even able, adept, apt, adroit, aplomb, accomplished, adorable and . . . cute. Okay, maybe cute doesn’t belong in that list, but he IS cute, nonetheless.

My fingers slid into the fluid folds of the lavender silk fabric at the moment I took the dress from the box. As I gently shook it, the layers cascaded to reveal the exquisite design. When I slipped it over my form, it caressed all the right places, highlighting all my best features. It was obvious someone had been studying my best features and knew exactly where they were—I mean how else would those courturiers in Paris have known where to put all the darts and gathers?

On Wednesday of that week, I had received a gift certificate in the mail from Glo to Bertolde’s, an upscale, high-end beauty salon and spa she frequents quite often. The certificate invited me to come in for the “full treatment” whatever that was, but not knowing what that was, I was a little reticent. However, Andy encouraged me to go, saying I would love it. He was right. I spent the entire morning on the day of the tea, luxuriating in everything they had to offer. There wasn’t one part of me that Bertolde’s hadn’t managed to do something to, and when I walked out at noon, I looked and felt simply maaaaaaaavellous!

I realized I couldn’t leave Molly out of all this primping and preening, so I arranged for her to spend time at Dahlia’s Doggie Spa while I was at Bertolde’s. When I picked her up, she looked simply maaaaaavellous, too. And she smelled divine. Even her doggie breath had disappeared, and in its place, a delicate hint of fresh mint.

Once I was back at the apartment, I hurried to be ready by 1:30 p.m. I didn’t want to be late for any reason. I was absolutely determined to do everything just right, and not be the cause of anything for which Glo would have reason to wish she had never invited me to her exclusive tea.

I put the finishing touches on Molly and me when I tied lovely pink satin ribbons to Molly’s ears, making her look so adorable, and adorned myself with all the diamonds Andy had given me for Valentine, making me look so . . . well, like Andy’s girl.

Then the two of us hustled downstairs to hail our cab. It was a little after 1:30 p.m. at that point, so I wasn’t really concerned with the time, but what I didn’t know was that the local taxicab union had been on strike for the better part of the day, and now there was a backlog. So Molly and I waited over an hour and a half for a free one to come along. And then, even after we got our taxi, it took another forty-five minutes to make it to Glo’s place in the heavy traffic.

I looked at my watch as we pulled up to Number 1802 Potsby Avenue and realized we were late—very late, like about forty-five minutes late. I turned to Molly, showing her my watch and said,

“Ohhhhhh, Molly, what do we do now?”

Bye for now,
Love,
Ellee