Free Plantation by Dorothea Benton Frank Page B

had! If only Nevil were alive! Maybe Millie will have some advice for me. I just hope that man Richard is good to her.

    Six
    Taking the Good with the Bad
    }
    1987
    E all know my wedding night failed to produce heirs, but it wasn’t long after that. It was just in W September, I’ll never forget it. Married life had been pretty easy until then. We had found our rhythm and happily life rolled along.
    Richard continued to teach at Columbia and was building a list of patients. My little decorating thing was growing like a weed!
    For some reason, I wound up with retail clients—it was all that gentrification going on in SoHo and Tribeca. If there was a nasty old warehouse available, somebody was turning it into either a home furnishing store, a greenhouse, or a restaurant. My name got around somehow and my phone rang all the time. The constant phone ringing was my first clue that I wasn’t charging enough, but I didn’t change my rates because I liked being busy. It was nice to have a little money of my own too. My closet bulged with new black this, and new black that, all bought on sale with my money.

    P l a n t a t i o n
    5 9
    Richard would’ve died if he knew what I earned or how I spent it.
    He was a wonderful man in many ways, but like my daddy used to say, he was tighter than a mole’s ear.
    I was on a job at a new store in SoHo. It was called Om. Yes, another retail outlet for everything on the planet designed to help you relax and contemplate the universe. If you wanted to massage somebody, they had tables with head holes and chairs that wiggled and kneaded your back muscles like bread dough. They even sold bedroom slippers that massaged your feet while you walked around (batteries not included). There were kits to turn your bathtub or shower into Jacuzzis or into steam rooms. Everywhere you turned there was a small fountain designed for indoors. They had produced their own line of bath and body products, curious combinations of flowers and herbs, even sold by the slice! Some days the herbs and flowers reminded me of the ACE Basin and I would wonder what kind of spells Millie could produce with them.
    Beautiful music played throughout the store, streaming in from tiny hidden speakers, the kind that causes mind drift. The store’s interior and fixtures were all natural blond wood, handmade tiles, natural canvas, and soft lighting. Signage was handwritten in callig-raphy and purposely small. It was slick and it was Zen.
    By the time all the merchandise was in place and they opened their doors for business, every merchant on West Broadway had been in to see it and had taken my card. I was going to be very busy that fall, which was fine with me.
    My job there was really finished, but I stuck around to help them with display. I was leaning over picking up small boxes of votive candles and stacking them on a counter. Suddenly I was so dizzy I felt myself falling.
    “Caroline! Are you okay?”
    It was William Oliver, the manager, who rushed over and tried to grab the box from my arms. Too late. Thirty-six honeysuckle-scented two-inch votive candles rolled across the floor. The room was still spinning and I saw the floor coming up to hit me. The 6 0
    D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k entire episode lasted less than a minute. Thank God, William caught me before I cracked my head open. He just lowered me to the ground and told me to sit still.
    We had become good friends over the last six months. Richard didn’t mind if I went out to dinner or to a show with William because he was as gay as he could be.
    “What happened?” I said.
    “You fainted, girl,” he said, looking deep into my eyes.
    “No way, I’ve never fainted in my life,” I said, taking the cup of water he offered and drinking it straight down. I was extremely thirsty.
    “Well, you did and it’s one of two things,” he said. I looked up at him, waiting for the kernels of friendly wisdom to fall.
    “Number one?” I asked.
    “Brain tumor. Do you