Lulu, Queen Street, Pies, and August vs. Saul, Susanna, a Chicken Bungalow, and November

an excerpt

Lulu and Saul bloomed among the irises one summer night in Precious Corners.

The next morning, Lulu told her Townie girlfriends about it. How Saul had pulled off his Ralph Lauren sweater and laid her on it, how he later found her bra. And that the rumours—long dished by Townies in the darkest booths of Patsy's Tea Room—were wrong. So wrong, Lulu told her girlfriends. Big Cit men were not all weedy, not all limp and ineffectual.

Wow!

"Yeah, they act like big fish in a small pond, but that's a good thing down in my garden," she giggled. "Look at me giggling after menopause!"

The women laughed.

"I hope he'll kiss and tell," said Lulu because mean things circulated at the Precious Corners Yacht Club and other places where Big Cits like Saul gathered. Things about Townie gals, that they were unkept and as frigid as November.

The women cheered Lulu.

***

Lulu and Saul made love in the well-tended flower beds behind her red brick bungalow.

Saul, a recently retired CEO, had bought the cottage next door. He demolished it, erecting a steel and glass ice cube of a house over the ruins. Then he felled a century-old oak in the backyard and xeriscaped with white gravel and agave.

Lulu was on her knees weeding as the great tree toppled.

Saul saw her there, said: "Madam, it simply doesn't fit my vision. There is no need for prayer."

"Damn your big city vision!" Lulu pointed to a heaven of colourful irises. "That oak shaded my beauties from the scorching afternoon sun." She hurled clods of soil and foul words at him.

Suddenly—its frilly tongue petals coated with sawdust—a miniature blue iris began to choke.

Lulu leapt the tallest of her tall varieties and cradled the stricken plant in her hands.

Before she could scream, Saul was at her side. He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from the pocket of his khakis, gently wiped away the sawdust. The plant quickly recovered.

Whew.

Saul dabbed Lulu's tears with the sleeve of his pricey sweater. "I'd like to get to know your irises, madam."

And he did, shoving aside his white gravel and digging flowerbeds. The agave, though they were miffed, minded their thorns.

Lulu transplanted iris rhizomes from her garden into his. She told the man he'd have to be patient: there probably wouldn't be blooms until next year.

Saul wilted. Lulu smiled at his sad face. "Honey, I won't take so long."

And she didn't. On the torrid night, before Townie and Big Cit came together and flowered, she sat very close to Saul as they kept watch for iris borer.

"The bug chews the heart of a plant," Lulu said, fingers crawling up his leg.

"Wicked thing," Saul whispered and kissed her.