Florence Whipple

Restaurant: The Original Pancake House

Jade: Apple Pancake, Hot Chocolate with whipped cream on the side

Leilani: French Crepes, Hot Chocolate with whipped cream on top

Florence: Plain egg-whites-only omelette, dry whole wheat toast, cranberry juice

Topic: Pearls

I was trying not to gag when Florence ordered brunch after her careful study of each item on the menu. We wouldn't have invited her to join us but we needed to discuss the details of our book club meeting. Florence was the founder and hostess of our ladies' book club and it was our turn to help Florence with the hors d'œuvre and hosting 'privileges'. We were new to the group and we wanted to make a good impression.

Florence is a tall and slender woman in her early forties. She has that airy patrician look: blond, albeit chemically enhanced, chin length hair, aquiline nose, high cheek bones, long swan-like neck and long, sinewy arms. At times she claims to have been born into a wealthy family from Marin County. At times, her snippy comments implied that she had a difficult, "humble middle-class" life--implying that she 'used to be' just like the rest of the world. She married into a family of seven sons, Mortimer, her husband, being the fourth.

The Whipples are a family of accomplishment and are very well-respected and well-known. All of the Whipple boys sing and were the legends of the high school band. All have trophy wives and the requisite number of children who have mostly inherited blue eyes, long bodies and angular features. All live in prestigious hamlets of suburbia--Cardiff-by-the-Sea, Madison Park in Bellevue, Scottsdale... The Whipple boys are either lawyers, bankers or doctors---except for Morty who works for a large retail company and 'only' has a Bachelors in Business. Which is where the problem stems. Keeping up with the rest of the family proved too much for Morty.. . and especially, Florence. It was important for her to "look and sound" wealthy. It simply is a case of trying-too-hard of which, many of us can be guilty of.....sometimes. For Florence, it was a job 24/7. And she worked hard. The cracks were beginning to show.

"That's a lovely necklace you're wearing Lei. Are they Tahitian black pearls?"

Florence liked to intimate that she was a connoisseur of fine jewelry. Unfortunately for her, so was I. Incidentally, I was wearing a lovely set of layered "pearl" necklaces that I got at a reduced rate of $35.00 at the spa where I got a lovely mani-ped.

"Florence, you know I never wear fakes!"

I think I detected some drool on Florence's chin.

"Did you get those in Hong Kong?"

I think Florence has always been intrigued by that part of me that was Asian even if she knows I was born and raised in Kailua, Hawaii.

"Actually, my husband got these from a friend who travels to Papeete often. You know of course, that black pearls are a lot cheaper in Tahiti. You can save yourself at least a couple of hundred dollars."

Florence was beginning to annoy me. Jade, on the other hand, had a huge grin on her face to compensate for the laugh that she was trying very hard to subdue.

"How much do you think a Tahitian black pearl pendant would cost if your friend can get one for me?"

If Jade doesn't compose herself, I am going to get myself in heaps of trouble.

"Well, Florry, it would just depend on the quality of the pearl."

I began to tell her about pearls: the thickness of the nacre, clues and rules to know about their sheen and lustre, grades, surface, color, saltwater and fresh water pearls, their shapes, how they match.. Florence began to stare at my fake pearls.

"Lei, let me take a closer look at your pearls. I'd like to see what you're talking about."

"Listen. I can't take my pearls off right now, if you don't mind. Besides, my husband put these on me this morning and only he can take them off."

Jade simply erupted with laughter and snorting. I looked at her incredulously and began to laugh as well. Florence, on the other hand, looked confused. We were just horrible.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh just a private joke between me and Jade."

"Are you sure? I'd like to know."

"Florence, don't worry about it. We're just being stupid."

The rest of the brunch was just an exercise in small talk. Florence seemed animated a few times especially when we talked about Mortimer, his promotion and the new VW bug that he bought for her. We asked her a lot of questions and made sure we complimented her on the important things: her hair, her shoes, her outfit. After a brief conversation about the bookclub and our assignments, Florence excused herself and begged off to run to another engagement.

"Well that went well." Jade said. I agreed. But somehow, there was something about Florence that disturbed me though I just couldn't figure out what it could be. Until late into that afternoon.

*************
I was just getting into my reading when the phone rang. It was Mortimer Whipple.

"Hello? Lei? How are you?"

"I'm doing well, Mort. Did you want to talk to Jim?"

"No, I wanted to talk to you."

He sounded very cordial and polite. Perhaps, too polite. And very measured.

"What planet did you come from?"

I thought I heard wrong. It was beginning to feel surreal.

"What?"

"I said, what planet did you come from?"

Something malevolent suddenly hit me and I could feel my skin bristling--a visceral reaction that signals imminent danger. Other than the thumping of my heart as adrenalin surged through my system, I remained silent.

"Did you poke fun at my wife?"

Later, I would find out through a mutual friend that Florence had called her husband in tears telling him how we mistreated her and called her names.

"Listen, Lei. If you ever come close to any member of my family, I am going to come after you with everything I've got."

I was incredulous.

"Mort, is that a threat? Did you just threaten me?"

"You better believe it!"

The rest of the conversation was just bizarre. I thought I was in a bad murder mystery movie starring Martha Stewart. Here was someone's husband, threatening someone else's wife. There was a coldness, a disconnect in his voice. It was menacing and calculated. I could not, for the life of me, intellectually and emotionally connect Mortimer's menacing phonecall with the quiet, friendly Mortimer that everybody knew. It was as if he had shown me a part of him that no one ever saw. I suddenly got the heebie-jeebies.

There is more to the story. Like a knight in shining armor, my Jim got involved. Mortimer demurely confesses to Jim that what he did was classless. Mortimer calls me later to apologize as if he were his old charming self again. Everybody has moved on and the Whipples continue their charming ways as the rest of our neighborhood fawn over them just because they are the Whipples. Florence struts about town still trying very hard to live up to being a suburban trophy wife with all the accoutrements of suburbia-dom. And Mortimer continues to posture, trying desperately to prove his importance. But Mortimer knows that I hold the secret of who he really is...or who he can become. That brief but starkly threatening phone call defined what kind of a man lurks inside his charming demeanor and implicitly manifests the possibility that Florence may be a simmering pot of emotional stew ready to boil over anytime someone sprinkles salt over her. That I am the sole witness and victim of his malevolence renders me locked in a victim's prison where no one can fully appreciate the insidious duplicity of a charming man with a subtle veneer of malice.

When I see Mortimer or Florence, they pretend not to see me. I play along.

And screw the book club.

Florence would NOT be invited to lunch again.