The Madhatter's Guide To Chocolate by DeVane Rhett

Author:DeVane, Rhett [DeVane, Rhett]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Writers4Higher
Published: 2013-07-09T04:00:00+00:00

Excerpt from Max the Madhatter’s notebook, February 14, 1958

The Chief sings all the time. When he’s not busy giving Nurse Marion a hard time. Today, special for Valentine’s, he sang all the love songs he knew. For hours. I don’t know much about it. I haven’t been in love.

Chapter Nineteen

PARTY AT EVELYN’S

“Oww! Aretha! Time to crank her up!” Jake reached over and bumped the volume. Betty’s sound system blared. “This girl Betty sure has one sweet stereo system!” He gyrated in the passenger seat.

I courteously waited until the DJ chattered at the end of the song before reaching over to lower the volume. “You have any idea what this dinner party’s for?”

Jake smoothed the sides of his heavily-gelled hair in the illuminated mirror behind the sun visor on his side of the SUV. “No clue. I have a sneaking suspicion Evelyn’s redecorated, though. She ordered a special arrangement of exotic tropical flowers for a centerpiece.”

“The marine theme’s history?”

Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I do believe. She always went for the subdued natural flora during that phase. I hardly think yellow, scarlet, and hot pink would blend.”

“She’s incredible.”

Jake shifted to face me. “Did you know that the last time her son and daughter-in-law visited from Cleveland with the kids, she redid the entire house in art deco just for their visit?”

“I can’t believe how much fun I’ve missed the past few years by limiting my trips into town whenever I visited Mama and Daddy on the Hill.”

“Your cousin’s gone through at least five decorating themes since I’ve been back home! Heaven knows how many before that! She keeps me artistically challenged to find compatible floral accompaniment.”

“And she seems to do it all on a shoestring budget.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, sister-girl, the woman is channeling Martha Stewart…without the back-up staff, of course.”

The entrance to Evelyn and Joe’s house was lined with flaming wicker tiki torches. A distinctive Caribbean beat flowed from the open windows.

“Of course! It’s Carmen Miranda and the whole tropical thing!” Jake said. “That explains the tiny paper umbrellas Piddie had me order.”

Since we were attending a special dinner party, we shunned the side door in favor of the brightly lit front entrance. Aunt Piddie answered the door in her motorized wheel chair.

She said in a sultry voice, “Welcome to the islands.”

Aunt Piddie’s hair was a volcanic monument to the wonders of hair spray. Mandy’s recent semi-permanent color had imparted a vibrant light blue sheen to her curled mountain of locks. Each level supported miniature paper umbrellas in bright tropical fruit-drink hues. A Batik print moo-moo flowed around her in delicate folds. For the crowning touch, she wore a series of silk flower leis around her neck.

“Aloha! Or whatever they say in the islands…” She motioned for us to bend low enough to slip a silk lei around our necks. “Okay, I’ve done my part! Everyone’s in the kitchen.” She backed the electric wheel chair expertly and wheeled off toward the rear of the house.

Evelyn’s living room had morphed into an island

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