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Authors: Autumn Cornwell

Carpe Diem (27 page)

BOOK: Carpe Diem
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She laughed and put an arm around my shoulders. “Oh, why the heck didn't I blackmail your parents sooner?”
 
 
Returning to Melaka was like coming home, in a strange way. The familiar sights and sounds relaxed me. When I limped into The Golden Lotus Guesthouse lobby, Azizah had given me one look and said, “
Selamat Pagi!
Welcome to The Golden Lotus Guesthouse. Do you have a reservation?”
“It's me: Frangi—Vassar—Spore. Gertrude's daughter—granddaughter.”
“Who is this girl? And why is she drunk so early in the morning hours?” she asked rhetorically, gesturing wildly with her turquoise nails—which of course matched her turquoise headband, blouse, and eye shadow.
Only when Grandma Gerd finally appeared with our backpacks did Azizah finally believe me. “What happen to her? Bandits? Full-moon party?”
“You could say that,” said Grandma Gerd.
“So want bags now?” asked Azizah. She unlocked the door behind the counter to reveal a closet jam-packed with—
My ten monogrammed suitcases!
Grandma Gerd shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Hey, I had to do what I had to do.”
But I wasn't fazed in the least.
After removing my laptop from Bag #1, I turned to Azizah and gestured towards my luggage. “It's all yours.”
Then I headed across the street for my last trip to a Southeast Asian Internet café.
 
 
Amber:
WOW! STELLAR! WAY TO GO! LOOOOOOOVE IT !
Laurel:
We're all shouting, “Euge!” Can you hear us?
Denise:
Overall, excellent execution. However, the whole hostage situation is clichéd and politically incorrect. Opium dens in this day and age? And we think your twist about the birth mother—albeit clever—is highly unbelievable. Would never happen. Ovaries are—for all intents and purposes—dead after forty. But you do write convincingly, and it kept us turning the pages, so to speak … .
Laurel:
Well done! But perhaps you could make The Big Secret a bit more realistic. Make the aunt an undercover agent or a member of Interpol. Then again, I did like the whole Eurasian reveal and I believed
everything
as it was happening, even when it went against my common sense … .
Amber:
KISS! KISS! KISS! Give us another one, would ya!?
Laurel:
If she were real, I'd adopt Stick Girl in a second!
Denise:
Oh, and the whole Miracle Bra thing—come on.
Amber:
We all like Sarah MUCH better now that she's been banged around a bit. And think she deserves Wayne after all.
Denise:
By the way, what was the
real
Big Secret? Did your grandma tell you? Did you figure it out?
Laurel:
You have quite the imagination! Making this all up out of your head—and on such short notice. P.S. Spoons?
Denise, Amber, Laurel:
HOW DOES IT END??????????
 
Just wait till they found out it was all
true.
But how could I email them the ending when I didn't even know it myself?
The Collage
O
n my last night in Southeast Asia, Grandma Gerd barged through the door of our guesthouse room wearing her green rice bag skirt and carrying a large, flat package wrapped in brown paper. Her silver-grey hair was even more disheveled than ever and sprinkled with wood shavings. When she saw me, her eyes lit up.
“That's my girl!”
Though it itched and definitely did not flatter, I was wearing the blue rice bag skirt with the pink lotus. As a sort of … tribute.
“Here. I wanted to give you this now so you can pack it.” She handed me the flat package.
I ripped off the brown paper to reveal:
A collage made entirely out of all the litter, mementos, clues, and Polaroids from the summer that pertained to me.
Everything
was layered on the canvas: the D-A-D-E-T-P-O letters, dried frangipani blossoms, Pepto-Bismol tablets, Crunky wrappers, airplane and bullet boat tickets, Fanta bottle caps, the Lotus cigarette pack, Stick Girl's stick, the wrapper from my pee bottle, my orange earplugs, the
Angkor Wat
-ch,
the sketch of the Ear Nibbler, a ball of sticky rice—and even one of Hanks's chops! (How had she managed that?) And the Polaroids of: me with bug-bite solar system, me stuck in the bullet boat, my bare ankles, Grandma and me with pizza sauce on our faces, the Paint by Numbers Jesus, Hanks and me in the café, the
apsara
, my blouse with the putrid “platypus” stain, the Vang family, Bounmy lighting up, Hanks wearing his Godings—and the one of a younger Grandma in her pouffy A-line dress from her Everything Book.
“Pregnant with me,” I said, touching it.
“Pregnant with you.”
The disparate elements somehow congealed to form a colorful map of Southeast Asia. It sounds bizarre, but in Grandma Gerd terms: It was sensational. Absolutely
sensational
.
Whereas before I'd want to destroy any photo or memory of me that wasn't perfect, I was now glad that all the parts of my journey were represented, both good and bad. Full Moon in Full Squat keister and all.
“I'm hanging this above my bed.” I leaned it against the wall and blew my nose.
“I thought my rubber ball collage was hanging above your bed,” said Grandma Gerd slyly.
“Okay, okay. I threw that away the day I got it. That was the old Vassar. But the new Frangipani will keep this
forever.
”
“Sure you will,” she said. But I could tell she was pleased.
“Is the point of the collage to remind me of how life
doesn't always make sense at the time but in retrospect, all the pieces come together to form a coherent pattern?”
“Yeah, that.” She laughed and gave me a hug. A cloud of sandalwood enveloped me. “So, Hanks is taking you on a date? Where?”
“I have no idea. And you know what? I don't care. Because—I'm LIMMING.”
“Atta girl! At least my one good quality rubbed off on you. Maybe your planning quality will rub off on me—
right.
” She chuckled. “Well, I'm off to check in with Renjiro. I'm sure he's freaking out about all the packages piling up at MCT. Especially the one containing an entire dismantled Hmong hut. The piece is turning out more art installation than collage. Might just take up half the lobby. Well, at least he's getting his money's worth.”
“But what about your focal point? Since you don't have the Iridescent Ruffled Beetle—”
“Or the
apsara
.” She grinned. “You know, Frangi, you were right about that. Sometimes in my quest for creative fulfillment, certain values just—
fffweet!
—fly right out the window. If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be in a cell in Phnom Penh as we speak.”
“But what about your focal point?”
“You know, I'm not going to worry about it. I'm going to—”
“LIM!” we said in unison.
“I wish I could stay until you finish it.”
“Oh, it'll take me months to complete. Don't worry, I'll take photos. But after that, I'm thinking of another trek—”
“Are you crazy?”
“—through the wilds of the Pacific Northwest.”
“You're coming to Port Ann?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement. And I'd thought I wouldn't be seeing her for months—or even years.
“Think your parents would mind a visitor?”
“There aren't enough Tums and Valium in the world! But come, anyway.”
“Nothing could stop me.” Then, just as she was closing the door behind her, Grandma Gerd said, “Have fun tonight, Frangi. And tell Hanks he's one lucky guy.”
Right. But first things first: I had a call to make.
Everything or Nothing?
“
S
o we'll be at the airport on saturday at 12:35 p.m.,” said Dad, his chipper voice crackling thanks to the bad phone connection.
“Don't forget you'll only need one Volvo this time,” I said.
He chuckled. “Then I take it you haven't purchased many souvenirs?”
“Nope. I've adopted Grandma Gerd's philosophy on those. Oh, and I'd give up all hope of my luggage arriving, if I were you.”
Then I said casually: “By the way, Mom, I don't mind if you go back to life coaching.”
“What's that?”
I'd definitely caught her off guard.
“I just couldn't wait until I got home to tell you how proud I am of all you've done for Amber—especially helping her with her pushy parents.
So
proud that I can't selfishly keep you all to myself. I want to share you with those less fortunate, goal-challenged souls who desperately need your expertise.”
Was I laying it on too thick?
“You honestly feel that way about it?” she asked, voice quavering.
Guess not.
“Yes, yes, I do,” I said firmly.
She cleared her throat. “Speaking of ‘pushy parents,' I know it probably sounds completely outlandish, but it's struck me that perhaps at times I've been—”
“Althea, this sounds like a conversation for our next Hour of Reflection,” said Dad hurriedly. “It would be much better in person—and much cheaper. It's been twelve minutes and thirty seconds already. And you know how pricey overseas rates are. Besides, Vassar will be home in less than forty-eight hours.”
Just when it was getting juicy!
“You're right, Leon, much better to discuss it in person.”
But before I got off the phone, I just
had
to test the waters:
“Would you two mind if I decided to go by a different name?”
“And why would you want to do that? ‘Spore' is a perfectly sturdy, robust suffix. And conveniently easy to spell,” Dad said.
“No, not Spore. My first name. Lately, I've become partial to—
Frangipani.
”
Simultaneous intake of breath.
Then silence.
“Hello?”
“What has Gertrude told you?” Dad asked warily.
I told them the story of how I learned my real middle name.
“It's true, isn't it?” I asked.
I could hear them murmuring in hushed tones. Then Dad said, “Yes, it's true. And Gertrude is absolutely correct: It wasn't fair of us to legally drop your middle name and not tell her.”
Mom's unsteady voice added: “Did she … did she tell you anything else?”
Do I tell them? Or wait until I get back? Or keep the truth from them like they've kept it from me?
Grandma Gerd had left it entirely up to me whether to tell Mom and Dad everything or nothing.
“You're right, Dad. This is one expensive call. And like you said, I'll be seeing you in less than forty-eight hours.”
“But—”
“Wait—”
“I love you both—
no matter what
.”
And I hung up.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't going to plan everything out. I'd play it by ear and see what happened.
I would LIM.
My Very First Last Date
T
he irony: I finally recover enough to go out on a real date with Hanks—and my flight leaves the next day.
Get yer keister movin', Frangipani, he'll be here any minute.
Using some recently purchased cosmetics (Most Lovely brand) from the
kedai
next door, I made up my eyes and also applied brownish-red lipstick. But I didn't bother with foundation in this humidity—I'd learned my lesson.
Through the open window came the sounds of motorbikes, trishaws, and taxis intermingled with snatches of Malay and strains of whining music. A cacophony of honks. The smell of fried noodles wafted in, competing with the sweet fragrance of the frangipani on my dresser. The ceiling fan swished the warm air from one part of the room to the other.
I missed Southeast Asia already—and I hadn't even left.
I stepped back and consulted the mirror. Not bad. I no longer looked like a mugging victim. All that remained of my war wounds were a couple fading scratches on my cheek and the small scar on my nose. And all those bug bites had completely faded. Mom and Dad wouldn't even
recognize me with my Most Lovely makeup, hair in a French roll, dark tan, and overall gauntness. If only I didn't have to wear my spare glasses and the rice bag skirt, the effect would be a whole lot more exotic. Although the skirt hung in a stiff tube around my legs, maybe with my new white silk blouse it didn't look half-bad—
“You look like a giant tube of toothpaste.”
Maybe not.
Hanks stood in the doorway dressed in a dark blue mod 1960s suit with a skinny burgundy tie and black wingtip shoes—and his cowboy hat.
“Anything to promote good oral hygiene. New suit?”
“One of Renjiro's.”
“What's going on there?” I pointed to his chops. They were a whole lot sparser than the usual ones.
“The old ones were startin' to chafe, so I'm growin' my own. They suck right now, but—”
“I like them. Very organic. And that suit—very slick. Like it, too.”
He threw his hat onto my bed, ran a hand over his shiny black pomp, straightened his tie, then sauntered over to me.
“And
I
like noses that click on girls named after flowers.” He gently wiggled my nose with his finger—
click, click.
And then we were kissing.
This time was much more romantic. No holding my breath—and no holding urine.
Old Spice.
Flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop!
Why, oh why, couldn't he live in Washington? Or why couldn't I live here? Figures when I find the perfect guy, he's located halfway across the globe.
“What do your folks think about you havin' visitors?” he asked after we finally broke apart.
“Grandma Gerd already asked me that.” I untangled my fingers from his hair and smoothed it back—but left a few decorative strands hanging over his left eye.
“I'm talkin' about me. I'll only be a couple states away. Wyoming. Dad's lettin' me go to Little Creek Community College after all. I guess Gerd and Renjiro brainwashed him into thinkin' I'd single-handedly saved your life or somethin'. And deserved some sort of ‘positive reinforcement. ' Whatever works.” He attempted to play it casual, but he was obviously excited.
Hanks would be merely a state or two away? I had to sit down. The room was spinning.
“Wow,” I said, once I could think clearly. “I can't believe it!”
“I take it you're not too disappointed—”
The kiss I gave almost toppled him.
“Hold yer horses,” he gasped. “Save some for later.”
Wait until Denise, Amber, and Laurel met my genuine Malaysian Cowboy in the flesh! Then: “Do you realize this is our first official date?”
“You mean
your
first official date ever. What would John Pepper say?”
“Shut up, cowboy.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And give me a kiss.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
This one was the best yet. Spinning. More
flips,
more
flops.
We pulled apart and just stood there staring at each other. Not quite believing that this was really happening to us. To
us
.
He smiled and grabbed my hand. His silver horseshoe ring felt cool on my skin.
“Ready, little lady?”
“Wait.” Without releasing him, I pulled him over to the dresser and picked up a frangipani blossom. I inhaled the creamy petals, then tucked it into my hair. Then I led him over to the bed, scooped up his cowboy hat, and plopped it back on his head.
“Ready.”
And still holding hands, Sarah and Wayne headed downstairs, past Azizah and her soaps, out the door, and into the street.
BOOK: Carpe Diem
9.53Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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