The Women In No Man's Land

That was the night he popped the million dollar question and I answered it fast.  He got so excited the small black velvet box fell out of his shaking fingers and I swooped down and picked it up and opened it.  I handed it to him and held his hand steady while he slipped a huge beautiful sparkling diamond on my third finger, left hand.

“I’m going to tell the Dragon tonight that you and I are going to get married,” he said.  “Will you come over for dinner tomorrow night and meet her?”

Of course I would.  “Might as well beard the Dragon in her den,” I said, and Harry shook like Jello again.

Early the next morning a Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of Sally’s Beauty Salon and a uniformed chauffeur marched into the shop and demanded to be directed to a Miss Potts.  Sally saluted and pointed at me.  He gave me a small envelope holding the friendly message that Mrs. Putnam-White, Sr. had been out of town on business but now that she was back she would like the pleasure of meeting her son’s friend.  She would be delighted if Miss Potts could join Harry and herself at dinner at the Mansion that evening.  If so, the chauffeur would pick Miss Potts up at her apartment at eight o’clock.  Without hesitation, I wrote on the back of the note, “Thanks.  I’ll be ready.”  He tipped his cap and goose-stepped out of the shop and Sally swooned and collapsed into the shampoo chair and the other girls gave me three loud cheers.  “Go home right now,” Sally ordered, “and get ready for your night with royalty.”

I can’t say I wasn’t impressed: I was.  Dinner at Eight.  I had seen a movie by that name when I was a kid.  Everyone in it was dressed to the nines.  Even the maid wore a cute ruffly uniform.  I didn’t have anything fancy to wear.  Back in Riverton there hadn’t been much call for ostrich plumes or ermine capes or long white evening gowns.  So I did the best I could with what I had.  When the car arrived for me that night, I was ready for the evening, dressed in a neat white shirtwaist blouse, a flared bright blue skirt that matched my baby-blues, and thanks to Sally’s personal attention, my curls were soft and bouncy.

When I started to get into the front seat of the Lincoln, the chauffeur quickly opened the back door and waved me toward it.  Personally I thought it was kind of silly of him to sit up there in that mile-long front seat all by himself, but I didn’t say anything, I just tried to pretend I was already headed for my proper seat.  We didn’t say a word as he drove to the Mansion, and he was stiffly polite as he parked by the steps leading from a wide circular driveway to a pillared porch and hopped out and escorted me up to the heavy oak door.

Before he could lift the shiny brass knocker, the door was swung open by a maid who looked as stiff and pale as her starched white uniform.  She spoke a soft good evening, then motioned to me to follow her through a long dark hallway into the dimly lit library with more books on its floor-to-ceiling shelves than there were in the one-room Riverton Public Library.

Harry’s constant reference to his mother as the Dragon had not prepared me for the woman who arose gracefully from a chair by the fireplace and walked toward me.  The hand she held out to me was not scaly and talon-tipped.  When she opened her mouth to speak her tongue was not forked and she did not breathe fire.  Her voice was as soft as the thick carpet she glided over.

“What a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Potts.  I’ve been out of town on business or I would have had you over sooner.  Now that you’re here, let’s sit down and get to know each other.”  She motioned toward the chairs by the fireplace.  “Come, warm yourself.  October nights are very frosty in this part of Maryland.  But then I imagine you have some cold nights up in those West Virginia mountains, too.”

I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders.  Obviously Harry’s mother knew my background and wasn’t put off by it.  I relaxed, kicked off my pumps, and wiggled my cold toes toward the flame.

“We sure do,” I said.  From October through late April it’s colder than a frog’s balls, and in July it’s hotter than the hinges of hell.”

Harry came in just in time to catch my comment, and he jiggled again like Jello.  His mother looked like I’d just tossed a bucket of water on her.  She gasped, and I asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, of course not, my dear.”  She reached over and patted my knee.  “I find your colloquialisms charming.”

I didn’t know what she meant by my colloquialisms, but I was glad she liked them, whatever they were.