Chapter Six: Esme’s Not-so-grand Emporium

“Thanks for your help! Wish I could give you more.” Maddie handed each delivery man a five-dollar bill and her business card. “If you ever want Salamanders tickets, give me a call.”

The men laughed. “No thanks!” one of them said. “We have enough headaches moving furniture.”

“It’s going to be better this season. New things at the ballpark. Check it out sometime!”

The movers didn’t look convinced and drove off to their next delivery.

Maddie sighed and climbed back up the steep stairs to the upper floor of Esme’s carriage house. The lower part of the house actually stored an old carriage (but no horses), and the living space was the loft above it.

It had been another long day at the Grand Lunch Cafe. Maddie felt like she had talked to half the Chamber of Commerce, mostly listening to their complaints about the stadium and the team. She stretched out on her brand-new mattress and surveyed the room. It was empty and could use a good coat of paint. But the space had potential. In the past, Maddie had never bothered with decor. But she liked this cozy, quirky place so much that she felt inspired to create a real home, a place that would welcome her and offer rest and rejuvenation.

“Why not get started?” Maddie hopped off her bed, grabbed her golf cart keys and drove down to the old part of town, where Esme’s Not-So-Grand Emporium was located. The golf cart sputtered loudly as it rumbled to their destination, but Maddie just smiled and waved at the curious glances she was getting. She and Harriet were two more colorful characters in a town filled with colorful characters.

***

Maddie pulled into a small parking spot in front of the store. One advantage of Harriet was that she could fit almost anywhere. Maddie jumped out of her golf cart and headed inside with a zing of excitement. This was the first time she had visited Esme’s store since taking her new job. But she had fond memories of playing in the emporium when she was a child. It was like a life-sized dollhouse. Esme had set up a series of elaborate rooms, almost like miniature theater sets, throughout the cavernous building. She called it, “A Mad Hatter’s fever dream of IKEA.” It was a place where a formal Victorian parlor could live next to a mid-century modern bedroom, and a rustic farmhouse dining room might be decked out with ornate Limoge china dishes from France.

The emporium hadn’t changed much. It still felt like a huge playground to Maddie, and it still smelled of lemon oil. She wandered around, lost in pleasant childhood memories. Evidence of her aunt’s sense of humor and eclectic interests were everywhere. One corner of the main room featured shelves of McCoy pottery with a sign overhead that read: “The Real McCoy.” Next to the pottery was a cabinet full of vintage microscopes. The ground floor of the building had once been a general store. Several walls had enormous built-in shelves and a rolling ladder that reminded Maddie of Audrey Hepburn’s bookstore in one of her favorite films, Funny Face.

An older gentleman wearing a plaid shirt and suspenders ambled over to greet the new customer. “You must be Maddie. I saw you pull up in that wacky golf cart. How’s Sweetgum’s favorite Salamander doing today?”

“Ha! That’s a generous description. I’m not sure anyone would agree with you. But thanks. I’ll take it. You must be Ed. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Esme had a gift for hiring eccentric but dependable and friendly employees. Maddie remembered that Ed Remington was a retired rodeo barrel racer, occasional rodeo clown, and Sweetgum’s unofficial poet laureate.

“What can I help you find?” he asked.

“Inner peace. But I think I’m on my own with that.”

Ed stuffed his hands into his pockets and whistled. “That’s a tall order. Not sure we’ve got any for sale here. But you might try reading some Basho. One of the greatest haiku masters. I’ve got a dandy translation by Sam Hamill over in the used books section.”

Maddie already liked Ed. She liked his gentle, sagging features and the sharpened yellow pencil tucked behind his ear. Esme said he would often write impromptu poems on the back of sales slips.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Maddie said. “Actually, today I’m trying to figure out what I like—decor-wise. So I thought I’d come in and poke around.”

“Any particular period or architectural style you cotton to? Esme has it all!”

“See, that’s my problem. I’m not like Esme. Interior design is a total blank to me. I’m embarrassed to talk about it with her. She knows so much, and I’m used to having studio apartments furnished with cast-offs from Big Trash Day.”

Ed nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I used to stay in a lot of fleabag motels. I get your drift. But style is whatever you like and makes you happy. Start with one or two things. Do you like fancy or simple? Big, loud colors or soothing, quiet ones? Can you think of any place you’ve visited that you wished you lived in?”

Maddie took another look around at all the different rooms and considered Ed’s questions. She thought it could be fun to discover her style with an affable former rodeo clown—and current poet. Finding new parts of herself was not something she had done very much of lately. This was unfamiliar territory. What was fun for her outside of baseball and work? Maybe she needed to think about that more. An idea sprang to mind.

“Hey Ed, is there such a thing as Early Gilmore Girls as a design style? That might be a good starting point for me.”

“You mean the TV show about that really smart girl and her wisecracking mom?”

“Yeah, Rory and Lorelai! I was obsessed with it in junior high. Rory was my role model, driven but nice. And I loved that town where she lived with a deep love.”

Ed tapped his head. “Oh yeah! Stars Hollow. Connecticut, right?”

“Yes! I loved how everything in the houses looked loved. Acquired, not bought. Like each thing had a history. Comfortable, mismatched stuff. Oddball lamps. Tucked-away writing desks with cubby holes. Twinkle lights in the bedrooms. But nothing too girly or fru-fru. I don’t like cutesy. No ruffles for me. No ducks in clothing.”

“I just met you, but I’d never suggest that!” Ed laughed. “OK then! Early Gilmore Girls. I should tell Esme. Making a room with a label like that might be a big hit. You’ve come to the right place. We have loads of things that fit that description.”

They meandered around the store, and Ed showed Maddie some sofas and side chairs that she tested for the right cozy-to-comfy ratio. While they shopped, Ed entertained Maddie with stories from his rodeo days and an occasional haiku. Sometimes he combined the two. The one Maddie liked best was:

‍ ‍Cloverleaf ahead

‍ ‍My horse going ever faster

‍ ‍Nimble, thrilling ride.

Finally Maddie found an overstuffed sofa with rolled arms, upholstered in a rose-striped fabric and adorned with embroidered throw pillows. When she sank down in the cushions, she felt an immediate sense of home.

“I think I love this couch. It feels perfect for naps. Not that I ever take naps, but I could start. Might be good for me.”

“She’s a beauty!” Ed pronounced. “We can make it your anchor and build around it.”

Now that Madddie had a direction, she ran around the emporium and picked out a painted wooden coffee table, a wingback chair, some accent tables with hidden drawers, an Arts and Crafts-style dresser, and an elegant but simple wrought iron frame and headboard for her new mattress.

“Perfect for twinkly lights.” Ed winked.

“The only problem is, there’s no way I can afford all this,” Maddie confessed.

“I think your credit’s good with the owner. We’ll schedule a delivery as soon as the Miranda Brothers are free.”

“The Mirandas! They delivered my new mattress this morning. Nice guys.”

“They do just about all the moving in town. Used to be ball players for the Manders. Moving was a side hustle that got to be more lucrative than their minor league contracts.”

“That explains their disgust when I offered game tickets. Maybe I can win them over later. But listen, I have to put some money down on the furniture. How much do you need?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll write up an inventory and invoice. You and Esme can figure out a payment plan later. Just sit down and take a load off for a few minutes while I get this ready at the register.”

Maddie thanked him and settled down on a 1980s Memphis-style sofa. She let the ambient murmurs of the shoppers hum in her ears and imagined how she would arrange her new furniture. As her shoulders relaxed and her breathing slowed down, Maddie felt unusually tranquil.

That is, until she felt someone plop down beside her on the couch. Carlton sat next to her, his feet flat on the ground, his fingers and thumbs forming a circle. “Ohmmmm,” he chanted.

“Carlton, are you mocking me? And why are you following me? I swear, I run into you every place I go in this town.”

“Obviously I’m following you so I can mock you.”

“The standards for humor around here are pretty low, I must say.”

“OK, sorry. I’m not here to mock or follow you. I’m picking up some furniture that needs repairing. Dad and I do some restoration work when we have the time.”

Maddie moved over a few inches on the sofa. Having Carlton sit so close reminded her of their upcoming “not-a-date”, which she was increasingly nervous about. New worries about it surfaced in her mind every few hours.

She cleared her throat. “I have a quick business question for you.”

“Really? Does it involve any more flying or giant food?”

“I’d like to get back on Manders Matter. Let’s set a definite date. How about Monday’s show? I have a big announcement. You get the scoop. Remember?”

Carlton scooted back in Maddie’s direction. “What kind of announcement? Can you give me a hint so I can prepare?”

“So you and your boys can roast me again? I don’t think so. I need to handle this carefully, so it doesn’t turn into another Manders Matter joke fest.”

Carlton’s eyes softened and he frowned. “Maddie, I won’t make fun of you. I’ve been trying to show you that I can be helpful, too. Case in point: the Hot Dog Cannon. I tested it myself, and it works great. You’re gonna owe me a chipwich. I like the raspberry-chocolate swirl. How about you?”

“Salted caramel. And I appreciate your help. Honestly. The Hot Dog Cannon is awesome. But this announcement is important, and it needs to be done right. I can’t reveal the details yet. You’ll just have to trust me. And book me on Monday.”

“How about you tell me just one of your ideas, and I’ll pinky swear not to make fun of it. Fair?”

Carlton held out his pinky and Maddie did too. Their fingers locked, but she pulled back quickly.

“I worry about the future of baseball.” Maddie clasped her hands tightly in her lap so she wouldn’t fidget with them. “The audience is getting older, and I think the MLB needs to put a lot more effort into hooking younger fans. If you love baseball from childhood, you’ll probably stay a fan for life.”

“I absolutely agree. So what’s your plan?”

“I want to start a Manders Kids’ Club. I know it’s been done here before, but it hasn’t been done very well.”

“Understatement,” Carlton muttered.

“I want spectacular, original events that kids will love. Things that’ll get noticed across the state. I want to do outreach programs in every school within 50 miles. And we need big renovations at the Pickle Jar. Places for kids to play and learn about the game. If only I could get Thornberry’s Toys back as a major sponsor that would be … one giant leap for Mander-kind.”

Carlton pondered her answer, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Probably that it didn’t matter what her kids club tried to do if Monty was putting crap on the field. She braced herself for a barrage of vitriol and objections.

“I announce games at the Sweetgum Little League. Why don’t you set up a table at a few games and start signing kids up? I can pave the way for you.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure.”

“And we’re on for Monday? I can be a guest on your show.”

He offered his hand and she shook it. “Done. Be at the studio at three. Well, I should pick up that furniture and get going. See you tomorrow night for the drive-in?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Maddie spoke lightly, but her stomach wanted to turn itself inside out.

“And Maddie? I really wasn’t dissing you for taking some quiet time just now. It’s a good idea. Every time I walk past the cafe, I see how hard you're working. On your laptop or phone or talking to people. It really is impressive, but I know how tough it is. I meditate every morning. It starts my day off so much better when I do.”

With that, Carlton pushed up off the sofa they’d been sharing. Just before he left, he turned and tipped his baseball cap.

‍ ‍Well, that’s interesting, Maddie thought. He meditates every day. And exactly how many times a day was he looking in the windows at the Grand Cafe and checking her out? This week had been a roller coaster in every way, including her encounters with Carlton. When she thought about tomorrow night, she didn’t have any idea what was going to happen, and that scared her more than anything.

***

“Ed said you’re going to the drive-in with Carlton Wilde! Why didn’t you tell me? This is huge news! Huge!” Esme was in the kitchen getting a tray of tea and treats ready for a relaxing Girls’ Night to celebrate the end of Maddie’s first week in Sweetgum.

Maddie lounged on the Japanese futon in her pajama bottoms and an oversized Lehigh Iron Pigs T-shirt. “No, it isn’t! You’re making me more nervous.”

“You’re nervous so you must like him,” Esme shouted.

“He’s helping me for work!” Maddie shouted back. “Subject closed.”

Tonight was supposed to be a break from everything. Maddie didn’t want to feel any more pressure. She put Carlton out of her mind and studied the living room, taking in Esme’s eclectic decorating. Ever since her shopping day at the emporium, she had been more interested in how people expressed their personalities in the places they lived. She had started asking Esme more details about her belongings.

By the big front windows were two Scandinavian chairs with an ornate marble-topped Eastlake table between them. The windows had long curtains made of Liberty of London fabric. The fireplace was faced with Rookwood Pottery tiles and Esme’s collection of vintage paint-by-numbers paintings hung over the mantel. Big cushions made of African mud cloth were scattered on the floor near the hearth. It should have been a crazy mess, yet somehow it all worked together.

Esme strolled in carrying a tea tray. Her black yoga pants and black T-shirt were matched with a red kimono with dragons embroidered down the back and sleeves. Maddie noticed that Esme’s loose, messy bun was held up with a pair of red lacquered chopsticks.

“How in the world do you have chopsticks to match every outfit?” she asked.

“Sweetie, we have dollar stores in America, but they're called 100 Yen stores in Japan. I bought chopsticks in every color I could find on my last trip there. Now I’m inundated with chopsticks.”

“Do you have enough to hand out to people at the ball games? I’m still desperate for some cost-free giveaways at the ballpark. Maybe we could have a Chopstick Toss?”

Esme poured steaming cups of green tea with ginger and orange. “I don’t have enough for that, plus you’d put an eye out, throwing chopsticks at people. I’ll tell you what I do have in abundance—costume jewelry. I'm always going to estate sales and yard sales for my shop. I can’t pass up a cheap box of jewelry. I see brooches that someone wore to church for weddings and baptisms, big, funky earrings from the ‘80s, fake pearl necklaces that went with somebody’s little black dress in the ‘60s. I can’t just walk past all those stories. It’s too sad.”

“You’re such a romantic! But I know what you mean. How much jewelry do you have?”

“An entire roomful. I’m not kidding. I can get a stuffed shoebox for two dollars.”

Maddie blew on her tea and sipped it. “Would it be crazy to throw costume jewelry into the crowd once a week during home stands? We could use the Hot Dog Cannon. Call it Jewelry Toss Tuesdays?”

Esme nibbled on a piece of warm shortbread, fresh from the oven. “You have a cannon for hot dogs?”

“Carlton helped me—”

Esme lowered her glasses and peered over them. “And you don’t find that the slightest bit, um, Freudian?”

“Don’t go there,” Maddie warned. “We’re talking about Jewelry Toss Tuesdays.”

“If you say so. Well, it’s an unusual idea. Obviously, you can’t just chuck handfuls of jewelry at people. And really, you don’t want to put an eye out. What if you put it in bubble wrap?”

“Which we could decorate with ribbons and add little messages! Something like ‘A daisy pin for a sunny spring day?’ Or maybe attach some of Ed’s poems.”

Esme drank her tea and nodded slowly. “It’s possible.”

Maddie talked faster, hands gesturing. “The kids club could do the decorating. I’ll buy stickers and permanent markers. We could start meeting weekly, after school. And I know calligraphy. I could write the messages on little scrolls.”

“Whoa, Nelly! Let’s try one night first, before we invest all this energy. I suggest you see how it goes before making other plans.”

Maddie grinned sheepishly. “I was doing it again, wasn’t I? Overcomplicating things.”

Esme clinked her teacup to Maddie’s. “Exactly. Notice anything else?”

“I don’t have to use calligraphy.”

“Do you really want to give permanent markers to small children?”

“OK, good point. Maybe don’t include messages or decorate the bubble wrap. Use one ribbon per item to make a nice bow.”

Esme refilled their teacups and toasted her niece. “Now you’re thinking! I love you, but you really need to take it down a notch. Just like your grandma, you’ll chase your own tail rather than sit still and think something all the way through.”

“Ouch, Esme.”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t mean it to be an insult. It’s just that sometimes you get going so fast, you trip over your feet. Don’t you get tired?”

Maddie bit her lower lip and avoided Esme’s pointed stare. “I just feel like I’m buzzing with energy all the time. I go to bed at night, and I’m vibrating with ideas of all the things I need to accomplish. I want to succeed here so badly. I don’t sleep. I can’t seem to slow it down.”

“I know, honey.” Esme rubbed Maddie’s back gently. “But you have to save something for yourself. Enjoy some down time. Read, sing, do something that doesn’t have to do with baseball.”

Maddie nodded. “I’ll try. This is nice tonight. We should do this every week when the team’s away.”

“Sounds lovely.” Esme’s eyes sparked with mischief. “And you should spend more time with Carlton Wilde. I’ve known him forever. He’s one of the good ones. If you ask me, he’s been stuck in a rut the past few years. Complacent. He could use someone to shake things up a bit.”

“Would you quit?” Maddie put down her teacup and fell back on a pile of pillows, covering her face before tossing the pillow at Esme. “I’m not interested in Carlton. I can’t afford to be.” Half of that statement was a bald-faced lie and Maddie knew it. But the closer she got to drive-in night, the more she tried to convince herself to stay emotionally safe with him.

Esme smirked. “Sure. You just keep telling yourself that. Keep chasing your tail and you’re going to miss what’s right in front of you.”

RELATED ART

This is the bookstore where “Jo Stockton” (Audrey Hepburn) works in Funny Face (1957). Its similarity to Esme’s emporium once inspired the Sweetgum Community Theater to stage a progressive version of the musical in locations around town, including Esme’s shop. Esme was also the costume designer. All of Sweetgum got in on the act and did its best to become Paris for the run of the show. Many residents were sad when the production closed, but it did inspire Plehn’s bakery to up their croissant and baguette game. A tradition that still continues today.