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POISON IVY

Vera Maude was flipping through an old copy of the Star in the ladies’ room when something on The Women’s Page caught her eye. It was an article describing a garden party she had attended earlier in the summer.

… held by the Music, Literature, and Art Club of Windsor at the lovely home of Dr. and Mrs. Raymond D. Menard, Riverside, on Saturday. From the time it was announced last month it had been arousing no little interest in local social circles. Plans were extensive and many of the details were kept secret until the last moment. The event was well-attended and according to reports it was one of the most delightful of M., L., and A. affairs.

It was amusing to read the Star’s version of the event. The writer made it sound so charming and convivial. Vera Maude remembered it being anything but.

Most of the fifty-odd club members and their guests spent the afternoon playing bridge on the lawn behind the house. Vera Maude didn’t like her odds against these teetotalling cardsharps so instead she lingered in the sunroom, sipped lemonade, and pondered the garden — a nightmare of allergic proportions. When the afternoon tea was served she was waved outside. She had taken a seat at a table under the willow tree, just a stone’s throw from the water’s edge. Daphne and another one of the Daughters of the Empire joined her.

‘Maudie, I’d like you to meet Isabelle.’

Isabelle handed Vera Maude four clammy fingers.

‘Pleased to meet you, Isabelle.’

‘Likewise.’

(Vera Maude remembered hating her instantly.)

‘I’ll pour,’ said Daphne.

Isabelle passed the sugar to Vera Maude.

‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘May I have the lemon instead?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Maudie works at the library too,’ said Daphne.

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ said Vera Maude. ‘Do you work, Isabelle?’

‘No,’ replied Isabelle. ‘Daddy won’t have it.’

No, of course not.

‘I don’t plan on staying on at the library forever.’

Thanks, Daphne.

‘As soon as I’ve married I plan to leave. Who knows, maybe Clive will be the one to rescue me.’

This was news to Vera Maude.

‘What about you, Maudie?’ asked Isabelle.

‘Yes, Maudie, what are your plans?’

They were both staring at her.

You bitch, Daphne.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking of becoming an opium addict. Or maybe a switchboard operator. I haven’t decided.’

Vera Maude always hated going to those things but she knew if she stopped getting invited it would be a sign of worse things to come. The library would eventually let her go and then the doors in the cultural community would start closing. And then what? It wasn’t a big city. Teach? Go to business college? Become a sales clerk at Bartlet, Macdonald, & Gow? Daphne on the other hand was a full member of the club. Whenever Vera Maude got to go to an M.L. & A. event it was as her invited guest and with the approval of Miss Lancefield, who was on the club executive. Vera Maude figured the only reason Daphne kept inviting her was to help her feel superior among the other members. Why else would someone like Daphne have anything to do with someone like her?

It occurred to Vera Maude that she still hadn’t received her formal invitation to the next meeting. Perhaps the garden party had been the last straw. Maybe the first door had already closed. She folded up the paper and tossed it on the floor.

“Maudie, are you in there?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you mind if I go for lunch first?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Goody — Clive is here and he’s taking me to the Prince Eddie.”

“Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Okay,” said Daphne with no sense of irony.

She listened to Daphne march away in her size fives.

“I hope you choke on a cucumber seed.”

Vera Maude adjusted her accoutrements and went back to work.