Coming right up

Friday, May 22nd

We arrived at the beach house at about 3.05. Roger had driven well but avoiding the ferry in the dead of night he was left with mainly back roads, especially though New Jersey. He carried up our bags and checked over the house for us and ensured that we set the alarm again, and then he took the car over to his own place on the mainland for the night. Jessy had wanted to get changed in the car, or at least to get out of her gown, but I dissuaded her and now we got out of everything and let down our hair and turned in, in the attic bedroom that was once our regular room when we were much littler.

We had set no alarm and I got up at about ten. It was sunny and bright, already very warm, and without putting on anything I went down stairs and put on tea for myself. Jessy remained in bed past noon. I typed up the bit about the prom then. My mobile phone had about six messages, all from people asking how it had gone. I answered a few of them by telling them to read the blog when I got back! --well,that's what it's there for. The closer friends got a short text message-- 'It was fun. Jessy says there are developments. Talk when we get back.' They all know we are here for the weekend and will likely be here all summer. I hope to invite some people here for the odd weekend or so as the season progresses.

I rang Dottie, who is the manager this year, and in mid-afternoon Jessy and I got dressed and walked down the street in our Colonial-era costumes to the ice cream parlour. Dottie was already there, in her pale green bedjacket and dull tan work skirt. I had on my rose-pink ensemble and Jessy her navy-blue bodice and pale-blue skirt. Everyone here wears costume, even the kitchen staff in their work shirts and sailor slops (loose short pants). Dottie went over the schedule for the weekend and we sorted our inventory and got ready for 5.00. Normally the hours are 7.00 till 11.00 in the morning for pancakes and waffles, and 7.00 till 11.00 at night for ice cream. That's it. The girls all like it because they can hold down a real job, working one shift or the other, and still have valuable beach time. During the day sometimes some of them work the day shift in the bookstore next door. That's a job I want-- I prefer literature to serving food, you know.

Today we opened at 5.00, according to the sign and our advertisements. It was not slow, as people arriving at the shore for the weekend often expect some little treat for their having arrived here. Dottie made sure she introduced us both to everyone she knew. It has been over two years since Jessy and I last worked here and few of them recognised us. Dottie's younger daughter, going into her second year at university, worked with us. We made a good team and all went well, and we closed at 9.00 pm and cleaned up.

I cannot even look at this building, or think about it, or especially work here without thinking of Mommy. This was her pride and joy, the very dream she always had as a little girl, running her own shop, a happy place where people crave to come and enjoy sweet treats and an unique atmosphere. Then when Mother was our au pair and nanny she worked here too, lending it even more colour with her cute accent and her old-fashioned manners and aristocratic pretensions. And though it was always somewhat theatrical, Mother made it even more like acting, a four-hour improvisational show, in which nothing is modern and everything is like a veiled joke. Like, she would complain about the menu-- 'Orange juice! No, of course there is none of that! We have not got a ship in from Barbados in weeks! I do apologise. I can offer you some weak tea-- how will that be instead?' And all the while there would be four gallons of orange juice in the 'fridge, you know. But the customer would get weak orange pekoe tea, and he would laugh, and consider it part of the fun.

Dottie is less theatrical herself, but she always encourages it in the rest and mainly from Mother's teaching has got really good at being able to instruct the wait staff in period-accurate comments. For example a 1700s-style ice cream parlour would seem like a contradiction-- but the French had ice cream in Louis XIV's time and it was always considered a delicious delicacy-- and so our higher-than-average prices are justified. We always put a fine point on its being a kind of anachronism-- 'Ice!' Mother used to exclaim. 'We have got ice! And this being July! Can you imagine!' I mean how would they have ice here in 1740? --it would have been dug out of a river in winter and stored under ground packed in hay, and there are no basements here on a barrier island and hardly any hay-- you know. But it is part of the fun that this place doesn't seem to exist at all.

The costumes, though, are a big part of the fun, and hardly as expensive as you might think. We take advantage of commercial makers of these clothes, but they are always authentically hand-stitched and correct in design and sensible in material, mostly cotton, some linen, little wool and always summer weight, and NO manmade fibres. Without air-conditioning it's actually quite comfortable. You sweat, but you have got powder on and everything near your skin is lightweight cotton and breathes well enough. My biggest complaint is my stockings sliding down when my legs get sweaty. Jessy rolls hers right down on top of her shoes-- you're not supposed to show an ankle anyway. And then there is the bonnet-- I have half a dozen, one bought, one made by Mother and the rest by me, and though they are all well-used now I still love them. You must never show too much hair either-- it was considered heinous flirting if you did. So Jessy's hair, which never stays in place, is always falling out one side or the other, and we tease her by calling her 'hussy' and 'trollop' and so on. This draws attention from the patrons which is the effect it should have. Even as girls in swimsuit tops and short shorts are coming through the place for ice cream, we get noticed for a glimpse of stocking.

And the best part of all is that guys, especially younger guys, absolutely rave over girls dressed like this. The dresses are nothing if not exquisitely feminine, with things tied and cinched here and there and subtle pleats and darts to accentuate the shape underneath. And of course, in the mid-1700s style was to show off as much bare chest as God-fearing women should dare to. The stays wrap round your ribs and lace up at the sides in an effort to make your upper body sort of like a cylinder, which really means that if you have got anything at all up front it's lifted up and out and very nearly has to be restrained! If your waist is well-defined then, too, the result is pretty dramatic-- it's an excellent look for anyone who has got anything of a figure at all, and if you haven't got one it will make you look like you do. I only wish other girls believed me. The eye attention from the opposite sex could almost be enough to bring this stuff back into fashion all over!

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