Pink Lady
Najiyah Diana Helwani – Syria

Elsie kept her best hat on the little table by the door and put it on last, so she could check her completed look in the mirror before she went out to meet the world. Its wide, soft pink brim was adorned with a sheer grey net and a flower on one side. The flower was a maroon and grey rose. Elsie knew maroon and grey roses didn't exist in nature, but she thought they should.

The pink hat was Elsie's trademark. A great find, it was the only thing that had made last summer's trip to Eureka Springs worthwhile. Her husband had always loved the Ozarks, and Elsie tolerated the canoeing and deer-head-covered mantles once a year, for his sake. She'd found the pink hat at a quaint little boutique near Basin Park, and it was one of a kind. She'd never mentioned to her friends that it was a consignment boutique, but they didn't need to know.

Elsie checked her reflection one last time, patted her pin curls, tightened the pink belt on her grey trench coat, drew on her grey gloves with the pink buttons, and headed out the door. The rubber stoppers on her pink pumps kept them from clicking on the ground. Nothing trashier than a woman who click-clacked down the street. Elsie shook her head as she thought of that insufferable checkout woman at Metcalf’s Drugs, who wore bright red lipstick, teased her hair and click-clacked with the worst of them. Trashy women were lower on Elsie's list than those hippies who had started showing up among the Sunflower State's young people, wearing bell-bottom jeans, long hair, and all manner of strange tattoos. 

Elsie thought about taking the Impala, but decided to walk. She hated fighting with that infernal garage door, and the café wasn't far. Maybe she'd even stop in at Marge's for a few minutes and ask after her brother.

Marge had been a couple of years behind Elsie in school, but they'd grown up in the same neighborhood and had spent many a long summer evening playing jacks as little girls. Marge's brother was in Topeka at the VA hospital. He'd been sent home after he'd broken his arm and his hip falling out of a helicopter that was taking off to pick up wounded men somewhere in the jungle. Elsie thought some broken bones were a heck of a lot better than flying into enemy territory. She hoped Marge's brother was doing well enough to feel better but not well enough to be sent back to the fighting. She'd seen on the television that the war had spread all the way to the desert now. That didn't sound any better than the jungle to her.

Elsie was surprised when the door chimes didn't jingle to announce her arrival. She always looked forward to hearing their soft pinging when she entered Marge's flower shop. They reminded her of the wind chimes that used to hang from her mother's laundry line, keeping her company on wistful afternoons while she hung the laundry and dreamed of being swept off her feet by Mr. Right. Which she had been when she was 22. But today the chimes were silent, and Elsie found Marge slumped in a chair.

“Margaret! What's happened?” She rushed over to her friend.

Marge didn't even raise her head. 

“Marge! Can you hear me?” demanded Elsie. “What's happened? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“Not today, Elsie.”

“Marge, look at me. You are in your shop. In your nightdress!”

Marge seemed to grow irritated. “Stop it, Elsie,” she insisted. And then more gently, “I'm fine. I just don't feel well today. I think I'll close up early and go home.” She looked weary.

Elsie didn't know whether to be satisfied with that answer or not. She went to the sink and brought Marge a glass of water. “Do you want me to call Henry?”

“No,” Marge said, sounding a bit more like herself. “I'll be fine. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Well.” Elsie hesitated. “If you say so. I'll call you at home after the meeting, all right?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Margaret.

Disconcerted, Elsie looked back over her shoulder as she left the shop, still wondering if she should call Marge's husband. Just as she turned her head back around she ran smack into Janice, that dreadful cashier from Metcalf's. I shouldn't have thought about her this morning, Elsie mused. I jinxed myself!

Janice smiled that big fake smile of hers — the one that often revealed smears of lipstick on her front teeth. They were clean today, though. Elsie plastered a smile onto her own face.

“Where're you headed, Mrs. Atchison?”

“Setty's Café. We're having our League of Women Voters meeting there today. The fall fundraiser is coming up, you know. We have a lot to do, so we're meeting twice a week.”

“I was just on my way to the cafeteria as well!” gushed Janice. “I'll walk with you.”

“Well, that would be nice, Janice. How is Paul?”

As Janice prattled on about her husband Paul and his gardening exploits, Elsie realized she was stuck with her company until they reached the café. At least there she'd have an excuse to take her leave and would be able to escape gracefully. Elsie snuck a look at Janice's clothes. She was wearing a pantsuit! Elsie knew Janice was short on taste, but pants?! Her polyester shirt was belted at the waist, no doubt setting off her big behind from the back, for the benefit of any men who might find themselves in her wake.

“Pardon me?” Elsie realized Janice had asked her a question.

“I said, did you hear about Mrs. Duncan?” asked Janice again, seeming for some reason anxious.

“No, what about her?” Elsie narrowed her eyes. She didn't think Janice, of all people, had a right to be gossiping about anyone else, but on the other hand she didn't want to miss out on whatever drama was unfolding; she might be able to take the news to the LWV meeting. Not to gossip, of course, but to share her concern for Livvy Duncan with the other ladies.

“She passed away last night,” said Janice reaching out to touch Elsie’s back. She tried to keep her shock from showing too much.

“Oh, my goodness,” she tsked. “She has been sick for a while, though. Kidney problems, you know.” She made sure her own knowledge of Mrs. Duncan was not completely trumped. Then Elsie was quiet for a moment. It really was a shame about Livvy, poor thing. She was an elderly lady who was rather new in town. She wore bifocal glasses around her neck and was always trying to knit a scarf or something, but no one ever saw any completed project.

“Well, they said she went in her sleep,” Janice consoled them both. “Thank God for that.”

“Yes, thank God for that,” agreed Elsie.

They had arrived at the café.

“Can I help you find a seat?” Janice asked. Elsie raised her eyebrows at the heavily made up face of her companion.

“Why whatever for? The ladies of the LWV are right over there!” Elsie pointed to her friends and edged away from Janice. She greeted the group, most of whom were still mingling and chatting before sitting down to begin their meeting. She removed her gloves and sat down in the nearest chair. “Afternoon, ladies! I hope you're all enjoying this lovely weather. I just came from Marge's. She's not herself today — have any of you talked to her?”

The ladies blinked at her, some of them looking uncomfortable. One of them spoke. “Good morning, Mrs. Atchison! We haven't seen Marge today.”

The rest of them were still looking at her oddly. “What?” asked Elsie, looking around to see if there was something shocking behind her.

Janice approached again.

“Mrs. Atchison,” she said, dripping with sickly sweetness. “Please let me find you another seat.” She put one hand on Elsie's shoulder and offered the other one for her to take.

“What's going on here?” demanded Elsie.

“There are some other residents who would enjoy your company over here,” Janice cooed, and Elsie looked where she was pointing. Three old women she didn't know where sitting at a table, one of them in a wheelchair.

“Who are those women? I don't know them! Why can't I sit with my friends? What's gotten into you, Janice?” Elsie was beginning to edge from irritation into fear.

“You remember these ladies, don't you Mrs. Atchison? Mrs. Harmon is your roommate and Mrs. Summerville is your activities partner.”

“Yeah, and I'm Lucille Ball,” the wheelchair lady said in a husky voice, and laughed a convulsive laugh that segued into a violent coughing fit.

“Sit with them today, okay? The LWV ladies are serving lunch now, so they'll have to meet with you later.”

Elsie gave a last bewildered look but sat down heavily in the chair that Janice indicated and looked back at the ladies of the LWV. They were all wearing the same kind of slutty pantsuit as Janice. Some of them had hair nets on, and they were indeed serving lunch to the people in the room.

Elsie looked down at her hands for a long moment while her companions continued to eat. Then she sat up, replastered her smile and straightened her ragged pink hat. “Did you ladies hear about Mrs. Duncan?” she asked.