“Come on inside.” I opened the door, and she stepped into Arlene’s front room, her glance taking in her surroundings. She pursed her lips, looking as if she were trying to be diplomatic as she eyed the furnishings. Arlene had chosen tones of yellow and burnt orange, including a pair of throw pillows with owls she needle pointed to pick up the colors in the wallpaper. The room had always felt cozy to me. Some nights Ellie and I sat in this room watching television with Arlene. Now I couldn’t escape the feeling it looked like a bad day at the thrift shop. Maybe those handmade owls looked tacky to someone like Barb. Maybe the people of her set considered orange and yellow too folksy and brash.

“I’m glad you had time to meet with me today.” She glanced around the room again, but this time she looked closer to the floor. “You can imagine it surprised us when you approached us about joining our little group. We have so few single girls.”

“I know, but I thought it might be fun.” I hoped that sounded convincing, hiding my true motive of promoting my father’s campaign in their influential circles.

“Well, even though it is unusual to have an unmarried member of the club, I figured you were just the woman for the job we need to have done. Your new membership couldn’t have come at a better time.”

It was wonderful they wanted me in their club, but there was something about her evaluation of my availability that worried me. Being single didn’t mean I had nothing to do. “What kind of job did you have in mind, Mrs. Manning?”

“Oh, please, darling. Don’t call me Mrs. Manning. Call me Barb.” She wrinkled her nose playfully like we were old buddies from the country club. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“Barb,” I repeated obediently if not awkwardly.

“From looking at your lovely outfit, I can see you have an eye for color.” Her eyes shone as her eyebrows went up.

A compliment? Maybe the dress still looked good after two years? I began to feel better about our meeting. Could it be I misread her signals all along? I began to embrace the possibility that just because somebody lived in a nicer neighborhood didn’t mean that they couldn’t be a friend.

“That’s why I know you’ll be the perfect club member to make the flower arrangements for the Founder’s Day Banquet.”

The banquet was only two days away. When I attended the last meeting at the Camden Ladies’ Club, they were planning food, speakers, a guest list, and decorations. It was much more involved than I would have ever imagined. Assuming I would play a minor role at the banquet, I had thought little about it. I was in my fourth and final semester of a two-year program at the Hudson Secretarial School and was hoping the ladies’ club wouldn’t take from the time I needed to devote to finishing up my classes. Volunteering was important for my dad’s brand-new campaign, but school was my top priority, and I was looking forward to graduating, and beginning to apply for secretarial positions.

Barb squinted at me and then questioned. “You’ve made flower arrangements before, right? I’m sure it’s a part of the Home Ec course they teach at Camden High.”

“I guess so, but I’m not a florist. I’ve put flowers in a vase, if that’s what you mean.”

Her eyelids lowered as if hiding her disappointment. Maybe I could fit it in around studying for my next test.

“How many flower arrangements were you thinking of?” I was almost afraid of her answer, but how bad could it be?

She clapped her hands together, taking my question as a “yes.” “Not too many. Thirty would do it.”

“Thirty? You want me to make thirty flower arrangements?” I tried to hide my shock at this last-minute request, but I could feel my cheeks heating, not something I could hide with my fair skin. “As I said before, I’m a full-time student. As much as I would like to help you out, I have a big test coming up, and don’t have time to create thirty flower arrangements.”

Barb Manning tapped her deep red fingernails on the coffee table and licked her teeth behind a coat of matching red matte lipstick. Her expression was one of pity. “I guess I’m the one who’s sorry. I thought you wanted to be a part of our civic organization. I must have been wrong.”

Being in this club could give Dad that extra push he needed, and I didn’t intend to get booted out before I took part in my first event. I had to think of something. “Is there someone else I can work with to make these flower arrangements? Maybe if there were two of us, the task wouldn’t seem so monumental.”

Barb slowly shook her head as she smiled. “Out of the question. All our ladies are busy doing their own assigned tasks. Even though your contribution to the group was well, untested, we just assumed you could handle something as mindless as this.”

I stared at the floor, feeling her disappointment in me. “You have to admit making that many flower arrangements is a lot to ask at this short notice.” Perhaps I had been unrealistic thinking I could juggle a club membership and my studies. For people like Barb, volunteering was a full-time job.

She picked up her clutch bag and held it close to her body with her fingernails curled to the front. “By the way, congratulations on your father running for city council. So sad about Phil Boggs choking on that chicken bone. He always was the overindulgent type. I think it’s wonderful we have another fine citizen stepping up to the plate.”

“You know about his campaign?” My spirits lifted. She already knew about the city council race. Maybe, even if I did have to drop out of the club, she could be helpful anyway. Having the wife of the town’s D.A. happy to hear Dad would be running for the city council seat had to be good news.

“Of course, if you’re no longer a part of the Camden Ladies’ Club, attending the function would be slightly awkward. It will not do much for your father’s political career, either. We’re all pretty tight-knit around here. I might also mention other factors that could destroy the voters’ perception of him.”

Other factors? What other factors? “Just what exactly are you saying?”

She raised her chin. Her red fingernails clamped onto the bag. “I didn’t want to have to bring this up,” she tilted an eyebrow, “but you should be aware we know about your father’s…arrest record.”

I paled. This was like something out of a bad radio drama. I half expected to hear distant organ music. “I’m a little confused.”

“Your father was caught in a raid over at Miss Daisy’s last year. He might not have been charged, but his name is a part of the record.”

Miss Daisy’s was a brothel between Camden and the next town.