NOTE: Come all ye young fellows that follow the sea, weigh hey blow the man down! Penny Blossom is indeed named after Penny on The Big Bang Theory.
I'm surprised and pleased how many people knew who Alma was. It's nice to see that one of the greatest comic performances in the history of movies by the sublime Thelma Ritter hasn't been forgotten. I giggle every time I remember a hung over Alma bracing herself for the elevator ride up to Doris Day's apartment.
Here's Chapter 4, just a bit of fluff guest-starring a character from an old story. This movie is proving more difficult to make sense of because there is just so much large and small I take exception to, beginning with the not-so-thinly veiled hints that Perry fathered Kaitlynn Parrish.
~ OED
CHAPTER 4
Della knew what Kaitlynn Parrish looked like – how could she not? The pop star was routinely featured in magazines and on MTV. Yes, she watched MTV. Mostly so that she could talk intelligently with youngsters nowadays, but partly because she was curious about Kaitlynn Parrish. Just not curious enough to ask Perry.
As Kaitlynn walked down the aisle on her father's arm in an um, interesting, off-the-shoulder taffeta gown with a slit running the entire front of the big skirt revealing a knee-length lace dress beneath, Della sensed emotion welling up in Perry. Even though Kaitlynn was not his daughter, the fact that she could have been had stayed with him for twenty-five years. The loss of their daughter twenty-seven years ago had to be uppermost in his mind today, as it was in Della's. However, she was more adept at compartmentalizing those memories than he was. The most stunning thing their years together had shown her was how very sentimental big, tough, Perry Mason could be and she should have appreciated it more.
A beaming father-of-the-bride handed his treasured daughter off to an obviously overwhelmed and excited bridegroom, and as the minister launched into his ceremonial prattle, Della's eyes grew misty. Pragmatist that she was, she couldn't help lamenting that sometimes life wasn't fair.
On cue when the minister asked if there was anyone who could show just cause why the two young people before him should not be joined together in holy matrimony, a commotion at the back of the room interrupted the ceremony. An obviously drunk man staggered down the aisle holding a thick brown document folder.
"Don't even invite me to my own nephew's wedding, huh, Parrish? My own brother's son! S'matter Max – you forget to invite me?"
Max Parrish stood and moved to the aisle to prevent the intruder from advancing further. "No, I didn't forget. "
The inebriated man tried to push past Max Parrish. "Your new father-in-law thinks he's better than me, Gary-boy."
Max shoved the man, who staggered back a couple of steps. "Lon, for God's sake! It's Kay's wedding."
The man called Lon leaned unsteadily toward Max Parrish. "Well, you're not better than me," he said, waving the legal document folder underneath his nose, "and this'll show you. This'll show just the kinda man you are!"
Max Parrish shoved the man away once more and gestured toward the back of the room. "I'm getting security."
Two security guards dressed in cheap suits advanced down the aisle and the man named Lon whirled on them. One guard lifted his arm to throw a punch, pausing momentarily before delivering a knock-out blow.
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Balancing three sets of fluffy towels in varying shades of brown, she maneuvered around displays of beautiful, colorful towels toward the sales counter where two sets of beige sheets and a beige and brown bedspread were set aside, wondering how dirt brown could be anyone's favorite color. But it was Perry's, and the least she could do was chose what he liked after burning everything he owned – a justifiable reaction for which she was mortified – and then charging all new linens and a king-size mattress to his credit card. His robe she replaced with her own money, because really, she had played a supporting part in everything that happened. And he deserved something for showering at his men's club for three weeks without a single complaint.
Lost in thought, she didn't see the tall slender man ahead of her until she had run smack into him. Reeling backward, she slipped, banged into a display table of red towels, and landed in a heap beneath what looked like a mixture of mud and blood, head spinning.
"Miss, are you all right?"
She shook her head to clear fuzzy vision. "I'm fine. Nothing bruised but my pride." What a silly thing to do.
"My God – Della?"
She squinted up at the man who held one hand outstretched to help her up. "Rodger?"
The man laughed. "I'm flattered you recognize me. Up you go!" He easily lifted her to her feet and she was standing face-to-face with Rodger Eastlund, the last man she had dated before realizing that for her no man had ever and could never measure up to Perry Mason.
"Of course I recognize you! I can't believe after all these years I literally bumped into you." His blonde hair was shot through with grey and his forehead was creased in a permanent look of worry, but it was definitely Rodger.
Rodger smiled wearily, and she noticed that his once broad shoulders were sloped, the epitome of someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You look beautiful, Della. You were always a pretty girl, but you've grown into a beautiful woman."
Yes, Rodger would mention her looks right out of the gate. He would have married her because she was pretty at twenty-two, as the wife he divorced had once also been pretty at twenty-two. "Thank you. Every woman loves a compliment. What are you doing here? Men don't usually hang around the linen department of a department store."
He smiled wearily once again. "I'm actually here registering for wedding gifts with my fiancée. She went somewhere with a salesclerk and told me to stay put, which is why I was standing in the middle of the aisle for you to so rudely barge into."
She wanted to ask what number marriage this was, even though she knew it was his fourth, and bit her sassy tongue. "Congratulations. When is the wedding?"
"In six weeks. Georgia is in a panic because we should have registered two weeks ago, but I've been out of town and she wants me to like what she picks out. So here I am tasked with deciding between Egyptian and Pima cotton bath towels. Would you care to chime in on your preference? What are you buying?"
She laughed. She had enjoyed dating Rodger. He was amusing and definitely satisfied her rebellious need for physical gratification at the time. Too bad he couldn't tell her what it was he loved about her aside from being pretty when he proposed out of the blue, and she broke his shallow heart. "Egyptian," she replied, "with the highest fabric weight possible."
"Is that what Mr. Mason likes, or what you tell him he likes?"
"He knows what he likes." Interesting that Rodger knew she still worked for Perry and had jumped to the conclusion that the load of brown towels was for him. Of course, anyone who read the newspaper or scanned the news and tabloids knew she was Perry's secretary as well as his constant companion, and Rodger was a voracious news hound.
Rodger smiled again, less wearily. "There's that spunky girl. Egyptian it is."
"I can't believe a salesclerk hasn't come around to help. I feel guilty leaving such a mess, but I have to be somewhere in a few minutes."
"I'll help you with your towels and when Georgia comes back to fetch me I'll tell the salesclerk about the mysterious whirling dervish that appeared out of nowhere and knocked over all the red towels and just as quickly disappeared."
She laughed again and held out her arms. "Don't bother folding, just toss them over my arms."
Rodger did as she said, and when she was draped in earthy Egyptian cotton, he stood back and regarded her with a wistful expression. "You know, you were wrong. Some women can look like they're twenty-two forever. That's how you'll always look to me."
"Rodger, I don't think – "
He held up his hand to silence her. "I've learned my lesson, Della. This will be my fourth and last marriage. I work seventy hours a week to pay alimony to ex-wives who don't like me, have two grandchildren that are older than my youngest son, and never see any of my kids. I'm forty-five years old and Georgia is forty-six. We'll still be married when we're ninety because she will look forty-six to me forever."
She looked at him with misty eyes, deeply touched. "I'm glad you finally found what you were looking for, Rodger."
"And I'm glad you turned me down, Della. You made the right choice with your Mr. Mason."
She hoped he didn't notice how unsteady her gait was as she walked away. Had she made the right choice?
The answer was relatively simple despite all the complications that choice had brought to her life.
Without a doubt.
