Chapter 34 – Two Girls Through the Ages
Tommy wasn’t the only one nursing a hangover and thinking about the painting. At the same time he was talking with the Hands of Stone woman, I was talking, or listening, to Gale and Jinny blabber on about stealing the silver and the table from the museum. Now they were trying out the Gershwin piano tactic, telling me if I agreed to another heist each of us could get the object of their desire: Gale the silver service for her dining room table, Jinny the Faberge table to sell for a fortune, and me the piano that would replace the Steinway over which hung the object that had started this culture of thievery.
I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sink deeper into the sofa cushions. Gale sat on the floor in her underwear, propped up against the wall under the painting with a blanket covering her lower half, while Jinny reclined on the floor under the Steinway, also under a blanket but fully clothed underneath. At midnight, after making up his army style bed, he had started to disrobe, an act both Gale and I had vetoed immediately. Gale stripping down was one thing, him doing so was another.
We had dropped Tommy off at his hotel about ten o’clock, and then parked in front of my house on Church Street a few minutes later. I was partially coherent and said goodnight and thanks, when Gale said, nothing doing, they were coming in, they didn’t trust us, meaning Tommy and me, it was only a few minutes' walk between my house and the hotel, and we weren’t fit to make rational and moral decisions, either of us. I told them to fuck off, politely I think, but it was useless, and soon there we were, them finally getting their slumber party.
Now things were worse, with them chipper and feeling good, talkative and cheerful, and my head pounding like a set of tympani drums. Even the dog was cheerful, lying next to Gale on his back in that undignified way some male dogs have. I said, “Jinny. How do you say ‘hair of dog’ in Russian?”
“Vodka.”
Gale saw an opportunity to pile it on me, and said, “This is the price you pay for fooling around with that guy. You deserve it. You don’t drink four bottles of wine when you go out with Roger, do you? No. But you get in that stupid muscle car and you go mad, act like a fool. And by the way, who’s going back there to Kiawah to get the car? Us? No way. You deserve to walk back there and get it, that’s penance, right Jinn Jinn?”
Jinny was trying to figure out an excuse to join me in some hair of the dog, him knowing I don’t normally serve vodka in my house at nine in the morning, but the prospect bringing back memories of his formative years growing up on the docks of Saint Petersburg. He said, “Easy does it girl, give her a break. She’s not used to living on the wild side, like us.”
She said, “You give her an inch, she’ll take a mile, just like most people. Pretty soon she’ll be hosting cocaine orgies here instead of cultural soirees. We gotta be strict with her, clamp down now, ‘fore it gets worse.” She rubbed the dog’s stomach and said, “What do you think? You vote with me or Jinny? Strictness or laxity?”
“I wanna know what ‘hair of the dog’ is?” the dog said. “Never heard that one, but it sounds interesting.”
Gale said, “You never heard that one because, up until now, she,” practically spitting the word she in my direction, “wasn’t in the habit of getting sloshed with men not named Roger in the swankiness of a luxury seaside hotel, coming home comatose and waking up a veritable basket case.” I had to give her the basket case part, but I really wasn’t comatose when we got home, at least I don’t think I was. I didn’t bother to defend myself, but kept my head under the covers, hoping everyone would talk in a lower and less pejorative tone.
And my prayers were answered when I heard a dulcet voice say, “Gale dear, she doesn’t have our experience with these things. We are women of the world, able to cope with the accouterment of our sophisticated life-styles, able to measure out and tolerate the doses of excitement and extenuation that accompany a life lived fully. Dear, she has not these special capabilities, and therefore we must act with a certain amount of charity and restraint, even when the challenge is great and the object of our worthy intent is so, so, childlike.”
The dog rolled over onto his stomach, crossed his front legs, and said, “Ok, here we go.”
Jinny looked at Gale and said, “Should I get out the bourbon again?”
Gale looked up at the painting and said, “She’s got a cracking hangover. You sure this is the time to drop the bomb on her?”
The voice answered, “Yes dears, has to happen sooner or later, and remember, we are like twins, despite the breadth of time that has passed between our corporeal existences. I know her well, mind and body, and I think now is as good a time as any. Right Gwenny?”
I wasn’t as shocked as you might think, though my headache ratcheted up a notch. I pulled the blanket down from my head and looked around the room. Jinny had gotten up from under the piano and was getting the $100 bottle of bourbon out from the liquor cabinet. It wasn’t as good as vodka to him, but it was better than nothing. Gale was standing up in her bra and panties, blanket in hand, watching where Jinny was going with the bottle so she could get her share, not caring that five minutes earlier she was castigating me for my drinking habits. The dog was trying to decide if it was worth getting up and coming over to the sofa where he would have a better view of what was coming, able to see both me and Gwendy.
I decided to medicate myself first, not remembering the last time I’d made use of hair of the dog, but it seeming to be reasonable under these unusual circumstances, before I answered my twin. “Bring me a glass of that, please, Jinny.” He got five rocks glasses from the cabinet and set them on the coffee table next to me, then splashed two fingers of the bourbon in each one. Gale dropped her blanket and came over, her attire not disturbing Jinny’s equanimity, at least not outwardly. She and I looked at the glasses, and then we heard a giggle from the wall.
“If that’s an example of Russian humor, you’re all right with me, Jinn Jinn.” Another giggle. “I never met any Russians, just a bunch of French Huguenots, who were ok, and the Englishmen, really boring. Manigault was English.” She said this last bit using an inflexion that unmistakably was derogatory, which likely had something to do with her reputation.
At this point Gale got Jinny’s joke and issued her own giggle, linking her arm in his and raising her glass to the painting. “Here’s to our new friend, may she add fun and excitement to our clan and our times,” and knocked back her drink.
Gwendy said, “My, you are a bold lot, drinking your breakfast; just like old times, for me. Well almost, given that back then I actually could drink, and we always drank champagne and not bourbon. Still, the sentiment’s the same. Bravo. Galey, please, have mine, I can see you’re ready. Go girl.” She looked out from the painting at the dog.
Who said, “Ok, I get it. Go ahead, Jinny, have mine. But please, someone tell me about the hair of the dog thing, that’s driving me crazy.”
Gale said, “It’s what she’s doing,” holding her second glass of bourbon out towards me. “She and that male nymphomaniac she was with last night got crocked good, and now she’s battling a hangover, and she’s hoping a little slosh of this medicine will take the edge off.”
The dog nodded a thanks, then said, “And what’s your excuse for drinking at this time of day?” him giving her a little shit.
I said, “Thank you,” and took a sip.
The dog wasn’t done with Gale, saying, “And would you mind getting dressed. It’s very distracting for us,” nodding at Jinny.
Jinny said, “The more of this I drink, the more distracting it’s gonna get,” which elicited another giggle from Gwendy.
She said, “Those were the days. The more champagne we drank, the more clothes we took off. It always was, and I assume still is, an inverse relationship.” She looked first at Gale and then at Jinny, said smiling, “You two ever....?”
The dog spoke up, “Ok, ok, knock it off. It a
in’t so funny for me, as I ain’t got any prospects in here, so let’s get back to business, shall we? We’re here to get Gwenny and Gwendy acquainted in a way they haven’t been before. The three of you did the deed by heisting her out of the museum and bringing her here, and now we gotta figure out what that means.” He paused. “The first question is, how much did you pay for her, and where did you get the money from? I heard she was insured for a bundle.”
I took another sip, and motioned to Jinny for a refill. That is smooth stuff, even at nine am.
Gale laughed and said, “Pay? Her? Us? No way, and what’s more, we’re going back again, for more.”
I looked at Jinny, who rolled his eyes, both of us amused at Gale simultaneously appropriating the persona of Al Capone and claiming we were planning another heist.
The dog said, “You stole her? You stole her from the museum? Jesus, and what happens to me if they catch you? Take her back? Who am I gonna talk to?”
I said, “Your master is coming back. He hasn’t moved to France.”
“Oh. Him. I forgot.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
Then he looked up at the painting and said, “Were you in on this from the beginning? You sanction the move? Weren’t they treating you right in there? I mean, you were the center of attention, right? The most famous painting in Charleston, all those people coming around every day and staring at you, asking who you are, wondering about your history? Or did these goons take you away from your home and friends, the other art works, just to satisfy their own selfish desires.”
Gale, Jinny, and I looked at each other. Goons?
“Oh, phui,” said Gwendy. “They’re not goons. And I’m glad I’m here. Being the center of attention isn’t all it’s cooked up to be. For one thing, you always have to act proper and be polite. That’s the price you pay for being an icon of Charlestonian culture. I never could let my hair down in there, be the real me. And there were precious few parties in that place, let me tell you; lights out at five pm, every day. And then there was Sunday and Monday, nobody. Borrrring. Here, I’m looking forward to full social life again. Right, Gwenny? Right, Gale? Right, Jinny?”
Gale and Jinny together said, “I’ll drink to that.”
“So you knew they were planning on stealing you?” the dog asked.
“Well, they didn’t tell me in so many words. But they kept coming around and looking at me, and I recognized Gwenny right away, and I could tell something was up. She and some guy have visited me a few times in the past, and I had a suspicion about her. Then when the three of them came around a bunch of times recently, checking me out, I kinda knew.”
The dog said, “Well, this isn’t the first heist for this crew.” He looked at me and said, “How come you didn’t tell me you were gonna do this?”
I finished off my second drink and sat up, feeling a lot better. The medicine was working. I said, “You got a big mouth, that’s why.”
He sniffed at this but maintained his role of master of ceremony. “Ok, so now we all know the story, where does that leave us? Are we all one big happy family?”
Gale resumed her attack, saying, “That depends on her. While the cat’s away the mice will play, and I’ve never seen her so mousy. Have you?” looking at Jinny. Jinny maintained neutrality towards the issue, his second bourbon having alerted his remote regions that there was a blonde bombshell of a fashionista drinking with him and talking to him, standing in her Versace underwear, his normal viewpoint of ‘she’s my little sister’ wearing thin right now. The mixture of booze and morning testosterone was undeniable.
Gwendy said, “Tell, tell.”
Gale said, “She met this geek that’s trying to find you and take you back to the museum, and she’s been driving around town at high speeds with him, taking him to romantic places and eating and drinking with him, and it’s only because of us watching out for her,” pointing at Jinny, who she caught looking at her ass, “that she hasn’t committed a REALLY BIG MISTAKE.”
I was enjoying Gale’s rant and seriously debating a third glass of bourbon (what was happening to me?), and said, “Geek? Gale, who was it who said she would’ve dragged Tommy into the back seat of the Mustang and drained all the life-force out of him?”
“Stop trying to divert the focus away from your behavior. What Jinny and I do is entirely different from what you do. Or should do.”
Gwendy looked at Jinny who now was working on his third drink, and said, “Gale, honey, maybe you should wrap that blanket around you, make it easier for Jinn Jinn to participate in this family get-together without blowing a gasket. It looks like his temperature is rising to a point that maybe, umm, he might want to, umm, take some action that, umm, maybe he doesn’t really want to do. Get my drift?”
Gale looked at her, then at me, then at the dog, and then at Jinny, figuring this out; then said, “Well, ok,” wrapped the blanket around her and sat down next to me on the sofa. We saw Jinny’s temperature drop down below the red zone, and he sat down on the piano bench.
He said, “Thanks.”
Gwendy took it up again saying, “So tell me about these two men in your life, hon. Sounds like fun.”
I wasn’t in the habit of accounting for my actions to others, except Roger, of course, but I figured I owed it to her given the fact that I had, er, relocated her, transitioned her, so to speak, from one life to another. “I’m happily married to Roger June who happens to be out of town for a couple of months, working on a project in France. He’s due back in a month or so, and you’ll get to meet him then. I told him you're here.”
She said, “Did you tell him that I, you know, that I’m more than meets the eye?”
“No. But he knows about the dog. They talk.”
“So when he comes back this won’t be a big shock for him?”
“No. He’s a great guy. He’ll like you and you’ll like him.”
Still on point Gale said, “That presupposes you’re still here, and not in Tahiti with what’s his name.”
Gwendy asked, “What is his name, dear, and what’s he like?”
“His name is Tommy Crown, and he’s nice.”
She looked at Gale and said, “What’s he look like?”
“Steve McQueen. Looks just like Steve McQueen. Stud-muffin deluxe.”
“And Steve McQueen is who?”
“He’s the guy that did those two great movies, Bullitt, and one where he stole the money, twice.”
Gwendy said, “I must have missed those. Anyway, so you’re having an affair with this Tommy Crown while Roger is away. Nice. Tell, tell. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to about stuff like this.”
“I’m not having an affair. We’re just spending a little time together, having a little fun. We play chess, have lunch, that’s all. It’s boring when Roger's gone.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re hanging out with a handsome man who is trying to get the goods on you for stealing me, who is trying to put you in jail, and you’re not even getting any good sex in return for taking that huge risk?”
“Pinched. We pinched you from the museum. We don’t use the word steal in Charleston.”
“Answer the question, dear. The part about the sex, or supposed lack of same.”
“The answer is yes, or no, whatever; it’s a platonic relationship, pure and simple.”
Gwendy looked at Gale, “What’s a platonic relationship?”
“It’s where a guy and a girl badly want to have sex but for some strange reason they deny themselves.”
Gwendy said, “You’re shittin’ me.”
Gale said, “Don’t look at me. I’ve never had one and don’t intend to. The point is she shouldn’t be foolin’ around with this guy in the first place.”
Jinny and I took in this entertaining dialogue, both working on our third drinks, it now being ten thirty am and almost cocktail hour.
Gwendy got a lo
ok on her face and said, “Gale, do I detect a smidgen of jealousy in you, dearie? What would happen if Gwenny, shall we say, saw the error of her ways, and stopped her crazy behavior of hanging out with someone who wants to put her in jail? Would it occur to you to, shall we say, make yourself available to this Mr. Crown, the stud-muffin deluxe?”
Gale blushed a little and said, “It’s conceivable. Just barely.”
With this admission there was a lull in the action. Then Gwendy looked at the three of us and said, “I sure do wish I could have one of those bourbons. Damn those look good. But I know that’s not in the cards for me now. I’ll have to be satisfied with living vicariously through you all, and that’s better than being in the black zone, for sure. So, Gwenny, let’s sum this up. These are your close friends who are trying to protect you from yourself. Your husband is away, and you’re having one of these platonic relationships with a guy Gale is drooling over. Jinny looks at Gale like a little sister except when he mixes booze with his morning dose of testosterone. And you have a dog that has the same talent as I do. Lastly, I may or may not be a permanent member of the family, depending on how good this Crown guy is at his job of catching crooks, namely the three of you. Is that about it?” I nodded. She had painted quite a picture, and I wondered what Roger would think if he’d heard her summation. “Ok, then, it sounds good to me, except the Plato thing. That sounds ridiculous, but who am I to judge. For now, I’m just glad to be out of the museum and here, with friends.”
I wondered what I was going to do with myself for the rest of the day, sloshed at mid-morning, and facing another hangover in the near future. The dog had been quiet, but now got up and looked around. He headed for the living room door and I said, “Where you going?”
He looked back and said, “Next door, to see the writer. I thought you bought the painting. I didn’t know you pinched it. Wait’ll I tell him. Another book there, for sure.”
As he left I yelled again, “You rat.”
Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair Page 34
