Margie had gone up to the States on business and to visit relatives and taken all but one of our children; Daniel.
Daniel was eight and I remembered when I was about that age being left with my Father while Mother went up to Sebring (Florida)to visit relatives. Dad made sure that I had a good time and I was determined, as he must have been, that having to stay behind was not to be thought of as a slight.
I took Daniel with me wherever I went. The hotel was empty as it sometimes was in off-season, and we spent considerable time at the Dominica Club.
Bill Bunting was Gus Smith’s brother-in-law and had settled in Dominica long after Gus, but long before we came. Some thought he had a bit of a bad-boy or D.O.M. reputation but I considered that unjustified. He did seem to know all of the back alleys in the small capital and almost every Dominican who owned a vehicle because Bill ran one of the local gas stations.
Bill and I were at the Club swapping obligations to buy rounds with the hard core drinking members and Daniel was out in the yard playing with some other children.
“Why don’t you come with me to have some dinner at Flossie Joseph’s?” Bill asked when we both were getting up to go. The Club usually closed a little after eight. “Marjorie is up in the States for a fortnight, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, Bill. I was going to suggest going over to Ft. Young Hotel for dinner. Who the hell is Flossie Joseph?”
“Hell’s Bell’s, Pete, loosen up. I can’t believe you haven’t met Flossie.”
Daniel and I followed Bill’s Landrover in our Mini Moke. He went a few blocks into the center of town and then turned into an alley behind the Carib Cinema and parked in a spot half way down the dark lane. The wall of the Cinema smelled from the movie patrons’ propensity to make sure, before the show’s start.
“This it?” I asked, a little disappointed.
“In here,” he replied as he pushed open a door from which a flood of light immediately showed.
Inside was a brightly-lit series of medium sized rooms filled with dining tables. More than half of the tables were occupied by patrons. It was quite pleasant though obviously not a place that tourists would discover.
We found an empty table and Flossie immediately came over to us from another room.
“Hi, Bill,” she greeted, “and, Mr. Brand. Nice to have you visit my place. Is this your son?”
We exchanged pleasantries with this nice woman, who, it turned out, was one of the towns leading merchants in addition to being a restaurateur. We had a good meal of local favorites at an unbelievably low price and went home before nine.
Daniel and I went there for dinner several times in the next two weeks and when Margie came back and asked him if he had a good time staying with Daddy, he gave a glowing affirmative report.
“And, Mommie, we went all the time to Flossie Joseph’s at night. She is a nice lady. Mr. Bunting brought us there.”
Margie looked askance at me. “Who is Flossie Joseph?”
It suddenly dawned on me that Bill Bunting’s bad-boy reputation was combining with Flossie’s mysterious risqué sounding name to cause Margie’s eyebrows to rise. I suspected that something like Rhett Butler’s friend, Belle Watling, in ‘Gone With The Wind’ was being thought of in conjunction with the name Flossie Joseph.
I tried looking histrionically guilty but she knew me too well. The next day, however, we all went to dinner at Flossie’s.