Matching Wits with Venus

by Therese Gilardi

  “Is he…”

  “Just a precaution,” the deputy called out to Amelia.

  Moments later, Gerard was wheeled through the front door. As he passed, Amelia grabbed his hand. Stella stepped up to the opposite side of the stretcher and reached for his fingers. Gerard smiled weakly as he was loaded into the back of the ambulance, an armed officer at the foot of the gurney.

  “Can’t we ride with him? We’re his family,” Stella wailed.

  “Sorry ma’am. Don’t worry he’ll be all right.”

  Amelia put her arm around Stella. Her mother wept as the ambulance pulled away, sloppy tears that made her blue mascara streak. Amelia rubbed her Stella’s cheeks with her sleeve. Samantha Yolandez approached, her microphone outstretched.

  “Get away from us!” Stella screamed. “Piranhas!”

  “We have no comment at this time,” Amelia said loudly as she led Stella to Jennie’s car.

  After she’d closed her mother’s door, Amelia climbed into the backseat, shocked. Not only was Stella apparently devastated but she’d even referred herself as Gerard’s wife, something Amelia had never heard her do before. She rubbed her eyes. Although it was only early afternoon she was as exhausted as if it was three in the morning. She bit her lip then dug her fingernails into her palms.

  ****

  Cupid rubbed his eyes. He thought it must be evening but it was impossible to know for sure. The monks had sequestered him in a windowless room deep below the monastery, where they slid a tray of tea, rice and boiled plums through a narrow slit in the bottom of the thick wooden door every ten or twelve hours. He looked at his hands. His knuckles were raw from banging them against those splintered planks, just like his voice was hoarse from calling out for help.

  He sat up on the thin rush mat he’d been laying on. He knew he’d been dozing off, dreaming of Amelia, seeing her face and smelling the lavender that permeated her bedroom. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Of course he still had no signal, but he kept trying to send her a text. He was obsessed with the fear that she’d think he had deserted her.

  He focused his gaze on the tray in front of the door. The bowl had more rice than he remembered. He sighed as he realized he’d clearly lost track of how many times he’d received this meal. He looked down at his clothes, hoping to ascertain a clue as to how long he’d been imprisoned. But it was impossible to tell if his clothing had gathered more dust or if he was simply wearing the dirt he’d acquired when he’d been tossed onto the floor.

  Cupid studied the beamed ceiling and wondered how his mother had found out he’d let Inuus shoot his arrows. Inuus must have confessed – surely that was why his mother had imprisoned him. He frowned. Although he could understand that Venus would be angry, throwing him into this prison seemed a disproportionate reaction. Then again when he was little he remembered his mother draining an entire chain of lakes in the Swiss Alps in a fit of anger.

  He laid back on the mat closed his eyes and imagined himself running his hand along the small of Amelia’s back as she read him some of her favorite poetry.

  Chapter Twenty

  “What’s this I hear about Amelia’s shop being for rent?”

  Esmeralda turned to Justin, who was sweeping the back room that opened onto the alley. It was where she did psychic readings for the movie stars who didn’t want to be seen entering or leaving her store. Her celebrity clientele had been growing steadily ever since Happily Ever After By Amelia opened; the producers and studio people who sought matches seemed to have told their acting friends about the presence of her psychic reading room.

  She liked to attribute her recent success to the accuracy of her readings, which were always so general that they allowed for the insecure and superstitious, which described a large bulk of the Hollywood population, to interpret her words however they liked. But the reality was that Esmeralda knew that if Happily Ever After By Amelia moved there was a good chance that all of the stars would take their business elsewhere. Her store would be out of sight and thus out of mind. She frowned as she contemplated the possibility of having to once again give group readings to tea parties of older women as her mother had back in Ireland.

  “I don’t know about any problems over there,” Justin replied.

  Esmeralda fiddled with the red cord that held the large silver piece made by a female Celtic silversmith that she wore around her thick neck every day.

  “I think it must be true. I saw Mr. Ataria canvassing the neighborhood yesterday, talking to the taco trucks. He usually only does that when he thinks it’s time to approach potential future tenants. Jennie came out onto the sidewalk at one point, shaking her fist at him.”

  Esmeralda smiled at the memory of Jennie’s wild arm movements and her aggressive body language. She’d towered over Mr. Ataria, who had looked frightened but not scared enough to leave the neighborhood. She was certain Jennie’s gestures had been accompanied by colorful language since Jennie, unlike Amelia, had never been one to hold back when it came to expressing herself. She looked at Justin thoughtfully.

  “I think Jennie’s probably in the store now. Why don’t you run over there and see what you can find out for me?”

  “I haven’t finished sweeping.”

  “You can do that later. This is much more important.”

  Esmeralda smiled slightly as she watched Justin pull on his red and black jacket and smooth his hair. She held the door and watched as Justin set off down the street, disappearing into the crowd of map waving tourists frantically searching for their favorite stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

  ****

  “I’m sorry.”

  The sheriff’s deputy looked at Amelia with eyes the color of caramel taffy. He stood across from Amelia in the emergency room as a crew of doctors and nurses swarmed around them.

  “The doctors are doing everything they can, but Dr. Coillard has experienced a massive coronary incident.”

  Amelia hugged herself.

  “How can you people justify doing this to an innocent man? Don’t you see your false accusations are killing a gentle soul who’s given his life to preserving our natural heritage?”

  The man shifted on his feet.

  “It’s my job is to enforce the laws. I don’t make them. Nor do I always agree with them. My hands are tied.”

  Amelia glared at the man, who blushed before looking away.

  “I think, under the circumstances, that you should at least be allowed in to see him,” he said quietly.

  Amelia nodded. “Thank you.”

  An armed deputy was stationed next to Gerard’s bed. As Amelia entered he began to reach toward his waist.

  “You’re treating him like a fugitive!” she said.

  The deputy looked at her, wide-eyed. “I think you misunderstand. Dr. Coillard is currently in protective custody. We’ve had a dozen death threats against him.”

  Amelia gasped.

  The deputy nodded. “Hard to believe people would threaten to kill a man over alleged animal abuses, but it’s true. We’ve heard from numerous fringe groups, some of them anarchists masquerading as animal rights activists. There’s a lot of anger out there about this chaotic spring, a lot of fear.”

  The deputy pointed over his shoulder. “Look out that window.”

  Amelia gazed out the window at the crowd gathered in front of the hospital’s main entrance. There were three men and two women carrying placards with bible verses on them. She turned back to the deputy.

  “They’re theorizing that the end of the world is at hand because of this freaky spring?”

  “Something like that. Or else my ex-wife hired a bunch of extras to carry signs telling me it’s time to repent.”

  In spite of the gravity of the situation, Amelia laughed.

  “Oh, when my father hears he’s behind this….”

  “It’s strange all right, how one man can be the scapegoat for all of this hatred anger and fear.”

  Amelia furrowed her brow.
“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. People are just looking for someone to blame for their misfortunes. It’s really weird though, since my father has always been a friend to nature. And he’s always believed in only the best where people are concerned.”

  Amelia looked at Gerard, unconscious beneath a plastic tent, tubes running in and out of his body.

  “Why don’t they see it that way?”

  The deputy spread his hands.

  “You didn’t hear it from me but public perception is everything. The public will rally against whatever injustice they perceive. It’s all about how it’s spun.”

  Amelia looked at him.

  He nodded his head slowly.

  “Thank you. I understand.”

  The man stepped outside so Amelia could be alone with her father. Although his eyes were closed his coloring wasn’t that bad. She felt her shoulders relax slightly.

  “He’ll be all right,” a female voice said quietly over her shoulder.

  Amelia turned around.

  “I’m Dr. Franklin.” The plump brunette woman extended her slightly chapped right hand. “I’m a huge fan of your father’s work. He’s the one who inspired my interest in biology.”

  Amelia smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him what you said. When will he be able to hear me?”

  Dr. Franklin crossed the floor and closed the door quietly. “It’s been our experience that patients in this state, while not openly responsive, are taking in what we say. So pour your heart out. The more soothing tones your father hears the faster his recovery. Of course I can’t say that officially.”

  Amelia nodded.

  “The staff and I feel terrible about this.”

  Dr. Franklin cocked her shoulder in the direction of the armed guard on the other side of the door.

  “We all believe your father will be exonerated. But until that happens you and I need to work as a team. We need to convince your father he has a lot to live for.”

  Both women looked down at Gerard.

  “I’ll leave you alone with him. His body has experienced a lot of stress. Rest is what he needs the most.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dr. Franklin squeezed Amelia’s arm as she left the room.

  Amelia leaned over the bed. She studied her father’s face. He looked like he always had whenever she’d run in on him to make her pancakes on Sunday mornings.

  “I love you, Dad. I need you. Please don’t leave me. We’ve got so many things to do together. You’ve been the best father in the world.”

  Amelia heard the door open behind her.

  A nurse appeared pushing a small cart full of bottles. “It’s time for his next dose of medication,” she said, reaching for his IV.

  “I’m going to go, Dad. Mom and I are working everything out for you. I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”

  The linoleum floor tiles floated before Amelia’s tear-filled eyes as she made her way to the elevator. She could not believe she was here again, watching a man she loved lying helpless in a hospital bed. When she saw the young woman with the rosary beads at the far end of the hall that she’d seen earlier, she gave a small wave. The woman turned away, caught in her own prison of grief.

  ****

  Venus smirked as she flicked off the television set suspended above her enormous marble trimmed soaking tub. She’d been attempting to scrub away the guilty discomfort she’d felt since she’d heard the whack of the monk’s wooden paddle on Cupid’s legs. But now everything was different. She had no need to bathe in her own remorse. Once again, she’d trusted her instincts, the little voice that told her she’d been betrayed, and found she was right.

  The proof was right there in Technicolor, as she’d heard people say in Los Angeles, splashed across the high definition screen Renaldo had surprised her with last summer. That annoying Samantha Yolandez, the reporter she and Vesta were always saying needed a wardrobe makeover, was standing there in that safari jacket above the “Breaking News” headline Americans seemed so fond of.

  Venus had stared at the screen. There she was, huddled next to the front door of the house where swarms of news crews had gathered, their heavy equipment clogging the pavement, wrapped in a white lace sweater, her arm around a woman who had that frozen face so common on the streets of California and the television and movie screens.

  Unconsciously, Venus reached up and touched her own jaw line, pulling it taut, as she peered closer at the image on her television. It was the red hair that had initially caught Venus’s attention. That and the woman’s small frame–she was almost fragile, like a bird of paradise.

  Venus exhaled. It was her all right, the matchmaker. The woman Cupid had been with on the beach.

  She climbed out of the tub slowly and deliberately, afraid she was going to slip or faint as she learned that this woman her son had chosen was responsible, along with her father, for trying to ruin her. According to what she could read into the news reports the scope of the scheme was breathtaking: the father had sought to recreate the natural world while the daughter remade the human race. On some level, Venus admired them. After all, they were the mortal counterparts to her and Cupid. But to think that her own son would have been in league with them….

  “Mother!”

  Venus hadn’t heard Concordia push through the French double doors that led to her enormous bedroom suite, which ran almost the length of the back of the house with its sitting and dressing rooms and bed and bath. She pulled the belt of the Italian silk robe tight across her waist, ran her fingers through her hair and slid open the pocket door to her bedroom.

  Concordia was wearing another one of her frumpy shapeless robes. As usual her collar held a few stray bits of biscotti. Venus felt momentarily annoyed. Why didn’t her daughter care about her appearance the way her son did? At the thought of Cupid, she scowled.

  “Does that mean you’re not thrilled to see me?”

  “Of course not darling.” Venus stepped forward and extended her cheek. Concordia kissed her mother’s soft skin.

  “How was your trip to the cherry blossom festival?”

  Venus looked away. “Fine, thank you.”

  Concordia tilted her head. “That doesn’t sound like it was fine. What happened?”

  Venus looked over daughter’s head at the small cameo hanging from a ribbon next to her gilded mirror. She’d modeled her bath after a room she’d seen in a Roman apartment in the mid-eighteenth century, which featured various cameos. She loved the feminine feel cameos gave a room as well as an outfit.

  “Mama! Stop congratulating yourself on how well you’ve decorated your bathroom and tell me what happened. Where’s Cupid?”

  “Don’t speak to me like that. I’m your mother. Show some respect. Honestly Concordia, you are beginning to sound far too much like the impertinent children around here.”

  “Stop changing the subject. Where’s Cupid?”

  Venus held up her slender hands. “He decided to stay in Japan. He said something about hiking in the mountains.”

  “He hates hiking.” Concordia narrowed her eyes. “And I know he wouldn’t just leave her.”

  Venus stepped forward. “Who are you talking about? Did he mention her father? What do you know?”

  Concordia took a step backwards. “No one, Mom. I’m just like you. I don’t know a thing.” Concordia slipped from the room.

  Venus picked up one of her boar’s hairbrushes and threw it at the wall so hard the cameo fell to the floor, shattering in sharp splinters.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “No offense, Lia, but you look awful. Even your hair’s gone limp.”

  Amelia wiped the back of her hand against her mouth and nodded. “I know. I can’t help myself. This situation with my father literally makes me sick. I wake up every morning with the irresistible urge to throw up.”

  Jennie discreetly set the custard filled donut she’d gotten for Amelia from the truck on the corner to the side of the table.

  “I know. I
t’s terrible. I can’t believe they’re going to go ahead with charging him. He’s an innocent man, and they’re killing him,” Jennie said as she shook her head. “And the slanted news coverage is appalling. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

  “I think you mean guilty until proven innocent around here,” Amelia responded wryly. “At least he’s out of intensive care. I can’t believe they kept him there for ten days.”

  Jennie touched Amelia’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Amelia nodded. “Yeah, I am. I mean, I think I’ve got some ideas about how to ramp up my personality profile and get clients in here again. I really miss making matches.”