Damsels in Distress

by Joan Hess

  Salvador put down his mug and gestured for me to precede him into the front room, which I did. “Are you always so difficult to converse with?” he asked.

  “Not always,” I said as I sat down on the stool and picked up a pen.

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  He sighed, but not convincingly. “I see that I’ve offended you, Claire, and I apologize. My behavior last night was…well, boorish. As soon as I got there, I realized I should have stayed home. I’ve been working sixteen hours a day on a project, and finally got it packed off. I thought I would enjoy socializing, but I would have been better off to sit on my deck and drink champagne with the whippoorwills.”

  “What is it that you do?” I asked.

  “I’m a writer, and I also illustrate my work. I’m embarrassed that I’ve never been in your bookstore before, but I’m sure you don’t carry my particular genre.”

  I puzzled over this for a moment. “I don’t know why you’re so sure, unless you write pornography. I refuse to sell it, and I don’t want the people who read it loitering around here.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “I usually throw in some romance and passion, but nothing too lurid. Most of my readers are too young for that sort of thing. I have some older readers, but they have a pubescent mentality.” He put his elbows on the counter and leaned toward me. “You, on the other hand, are mature, candid, and self- confident, as well as alluring. Could I entice you to forget your misconceptions about me and come to my house so that I can impress you with my more commendable qualities?”

  “No, you cannot,” I said firmly. “I’m engaged and in September will be marrying a man whom I love and respect. You’ll have better luck stalking girls at the mall, so why don’t you run along?”

  Salvador held up his hands. “My profound apologies. Allow me to rephrase my invitation. I’m having a few people over tonight for drinks. Would you and your fiance care to join us? It will be very civilized. I have two unexpected houseguests from Japan and a demented amateur geologist from Australia who disappears for weeks at a time and then pops back up. Most of the people you met last night. We’ll sit on the deck unless the mosquitoes make it intolerable. I can promise you we will not talk about politics, religion, or anything that happened before the twentieth century.”

  A wicked idea came to mind. “My fiancé is out of town,” I said, “but I’d like to come if I may bring a guest.”

  “Certainly.” He gave me directions to his house, which was on the far side of the hill near the football stadium. “Around six thirty or seven?”

  I agreed, then waited until he left before calling Luanne. “I hope you’re free tonight,” I said when she answered. “We’re going to a very civilized little cocktail party.”

  “How long are you going to dodge Peter’s calls?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said with great innocence. “I’m doing this for you, Luanne. I am wounded that you should think I’m doing this for personal reasons. Your social life is appalling. What were you planning to do tonight? Wash your hair and watch reruns of Law & Order? Clean out a closet or two?”

  “My closets are impeccable.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. If it turns out to be dreadful, we won’t stay. Oops, I have a customer, so I’d better go.”

  I hung up before she could ask any questions, then went into the front room to study real estate ads in the newspaper. I wanted authentic Victorian charm, Peter wanted modern plumbing, and Caron wanted a pool. The ones I’d found thus far had two of the three, but I wasn’t prepared to compromise just yet— or be dragged all over town by a rabid real estate salesperson determined to sell us one of a dozen matching faux mansions in a cow pasture. Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, walk-in closets, marble countertops, and no soul.

  Nothing of note happened until the middle of the afternoon, when Julius and Fiona arrived. While he moved his sound equipment outside, she peered at the window display, which was not especially artful. Edward Cobbinwood pedaled up on a bicycle, decked out in his jovial jester attire, but remained outside to help Julius. I watched from my stool, not inclined to offer assistance or make conversation. To my regret, Fiona eventually came into the bookstore and spotted me.

  “Did you have a nice time last night?” she asked.

  Since there was no one else in the store, it seemed obvious that she was speaking to me. “Lovely,” I said.

  “I’m sorry that things got so…intense,” she said. “Sometimes I think my high school students behave more maturely than the ARSE members. In any small group, there are always some undercurrents. There are times that I come away from a meeting feeling as though I’d run the gauntlet.”

  “Edward did say that sometimes it’s hard to define the line between camaraderie and competitiveness. I hope Julius wasn’t too upset.”

  Fiona glanced out the window at him. “He was perturbed, but he has to learn to stand up for himself. He practically begs people to walk all over him. Then, when they do, he sulks and whines. He’s thirty-two and still lives with his parents, if you can imagine. They’re perfectly nice, but their idea of a wild adventure is to try a new laundry detergent. Julius claims that he’s saving himself for marriage, but I suspect he’s afraid to drop his trousers in front of anyone but his pediatrician. When we travel, he always arranges for separate rooms. I’m surprised he doesn’t bring along his mother as a chaperone.”

  “I understand you two are engaged,” I said mildly.

  “Yes, he is a dear at times. Once I get him away from his parents, he’ll do better. Last night was awful, wasn’t it? Salvador can be brutal when he gets in one of his moods. Last year Anderson wanted to banish him from the fiefdom, but that requires King Leopold’s approval and all sorts of paperwork and a hearing. I don’t know what started it, but there’s some ill will between them.”

  “How unfortunate,” I said, wishing everybody would stop confiding in me. I happen to be extraordinarily tactful and sensitive, but I was not in the mood to proffer wisdom on a daily basis. “I understand there will be musicians today.”

  “It’s on one of the printouts I gave you,” Fiona said. “Have you read through the folder?”

  I wanted to tell her my dog ate it. “Some of it. Caron said you were wearing a stunning gown the other day.”

  “I do like to participate,” she said with a modest smile. “I’m going to run home shortly and chaftge. I hope you’ll be able to stay this afternoon and listen to the performance.”

  “I plan to be here.”

  “I think you’ll enjoy it. On Monday we’re scheduled for more music and some dancing, if Angie can bully the fairies into shape. I may have made a mistake when I chose that particular group of girls. They are not taking it as seriously as I’d assumed they would.” She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “They may regret it when the semester begins.”

  “How is Angie?” I asked. “When I took Lanya’s basket by her house, she didn’t answer the door. I was concerned.”

  Fiona shrugged. “I thought about dropping by her house, but I was on the phone all morning, arranging publicity. We’re going to make a tape this afternoon and send it to the local radio station, and I’m going to be on the noon talk show on KFAR later in the week. There are so many details that sometimes I regret ever suggesting we stage the fair. I know I should have made a point of meeting Angie, and I feel awful that I haven’t had a chance. But Angie knows what she’s doing, and anyone who volunteers is always welcome.” She paused to catch her breath. “Even your friend, Sally Fromberger, although I must say ...”

  “Yes?” I prompted, eager to find out how she was going to continue. Perhaps some volunteers were a wee bit more welcome than others. And in this situation, Sally was on the other side of the clipboard, so to speak. She was more adept at issuing orders than taking them. I prefer to do neither.

  “She’s—well, highly enthusiastic,” Fiona said without any en
thusiasm whatsoever. “She proclaimed herself to be a prioress, Madam Marsilia d’ someplace, and has recruited her book club ladies to be nuns. They want to set up a booth and sell indulgences, along with hot cross buns, rosary beads, and crosses made from scraps of tin. Lanya put her foot down when Sally mentioned religious relics, like bone slivers and flecks of dried skin purported to be from saints. From poultry, supposedly, but it’s still grisly.”

  Julius and Edward came inside to haul the microphone and the amps out to the portico. Fiona gathered up an armload of plastic banners and followed them. Madrigal singers in red cloaks began to arrive, and after them a dozen musicians in blue and yellow tunics and floppy caps. A few of both species wandered into the store to use the restroom. It was all very colorful and pleasant, especially compared to the chaotic scene two days earlier. I’d expected Caron and Inez to show up, but concluded they’d gone off to work on their costumes.

  As a crowd began to gather, I saw Sally Fromberger in her cape, accompanied by half a dozen pasty-faced nuns in what looked like tattered graduation robes and black scarves. Rhonda Maguire and some of her clique stayed at the edge of the crowd, waiting for Fiona to notice their presence before they slinked away to the mall—or their dance lesson at Angle’s house. My science fiction hippie stared at the scene, scratched his head, and ambled away to ponder this latest manifestation of life’s little mysteries. William and Glynnis Threet arrived, unaccompanied by the late Percival.

  The performance went nicely. Edward juggled and balanced things on his nose, the singers sang, and the musicians did their best to start and stop at the same time. Fiona returned, wearing a lemony gown adorned with seed pearls and ribbon, and announced that she would be selling tickets. Julius trailed after her with a cash box and a foppish grin.

  As Fiona had predicted, the demonstration did draw in a few customers. It was well after six before I shooed out the stragglers and locked up. On my way home, I walked by the blue house and noted that the basket was no longer on the porch. I considered stopping to ring the bell to make sure that she, rather than a neighborhood dog, had retrieved it, but decided I didn’t really care.

  There was no sign of Caron except for a cereal bowl in the sink. I tidied myself up, changed into clothes slightly less casual than my customary shorts and T-shirt, rinsed out the bowl, and left a note that I’d gone out with Luanne. With Salvador’s directions tucked in my pocket, I drove to Luanne’s store and parked by the curb until she came out. The bikers were beginning to descend on the Thurber Street bars and pool halls. Most of them could have been the original extras from The Wild Bunch, now old and paunchy enough to be grandparents or eccentric old aunts and uncles who belched at the dinner table and bored the kiddies with long stories.

  Luanne was dressed to kill, in a manner of speaking. She was wearing a skimpy black skirt, a semitransparent blouse, and sandals with three-inch heels. She climbed into the car and studied me. “This is how you dress for a cocktail party?”

  “I’m not on the prowl these days.”

  She laughed. “I should hope not. If I could find a guy like Peter, I’d turn in my hunting license and learn to bake brownies. Have you spoken to him?”

  “No,” I said as I turned off Thurber Street to avoid the congestion. I handed her the directions. “You’ll have to help me when we get past the stadium. I don’t know those little streets. They’re named after trees and birds. I can tell the difference between a mockingbird and a blue jay, but I’m not so good with white oaks, black oaks, sycamores, hickory trees-”

  “I get the point,” she said dryly. “So who’s coming to this party?”

  I told her as much as I knew. “And you may be interested in our host, Salvador Davis,” I continued. “Tall, gorgeous, well traveled, ruthless, egotistical. You two have a lot in common.”

  “I should think so,” she said, nodding as she thought this over. “You don’t have any idea what he writes?”

  “Not a clue. I looked him up in Books in Print, but couldn’t find his name. If you’re interested in him, I’ll try some of the online booksellers and sources. I may not get anywhere if he uses a pen name.”

  “Not only tall and gorgeous, but also mysterious ...”

  I slowed down to peer at a street sign hidden behind some sort of flowering tree. “And ruthless and egotistical,” I reminded her. “Maybe he writes how-to books for assassins and terrorists. I don’t carry those, either.”

  We turned this way and that until we saw several cars parked on the street. I found a spot and waited while Luanne inspected herself in the rearview mirror. Once she was satisfied, we walked up a winding sidewalk to a house made of redwood, natural stone, and expanses of windows. It was definitely not a bungalow.

  The front door was open. We went inside and paused to assess the scene. The living room was large, and furnished in a contemporary style that focused on color rather than comfort. Large oil paintings dominated the walls; they were filled with images of nudes swirling in fog, demons swarming like army ants, and body parts suspended in opaque liquids.

  “My goodness,” Luanne murmured. “You forgot to mention his peculiar taste in art.”

  I heard voices at the back of the house. As we started in that direction, Salvador appeared in a doorway. He was dressed in khakis and a shirt that discreetly advertised its designer, but his hair was tousled and his feet bare to assure us that beneath his GQ attire lurked the soul of a tortured artist.

  “I’m delighted that you came, Claire—both you and your charming friend.” He took Luanne’s hand and bent over to kiss it. “I’ll look forward to getting to know you better, my darling creature. What can I offer you to drink? I have everything from absinthe to zinfandel, as well as the customary bar offerings.”

  We allowed him to escort us through a dining room and out to a deck. While he poured me a glass of scotch and opened a bottle of wine for Luanne, I checked out the guests. Two Japanese boys were beside a table laden with a variety of seafood, cheeses, and puffy tidbits. Neither of them looked to be more than sixteen or seventeen, and I suspected from their red complexions and unfocused expressions that they had already worn a path to the bar. Lanya was seated on a deck chair next to a man with a gray beard, straggly hair, and harshly weathered skin. He had a smoldering pipe clenched between his teeth. In his dirty fatigue jacket and heavy shoes, he looked as though he’d just walked in from a covert mission in uncharted territory. If he was the Aussie, he was not the sort Luanne preferred. Anderson was leaning against a railing, deep in conversation with Fiona. Neither looked pleased. Julius was attempting to talk to the Threets, although she was dribbling steadily and her husband appeared to be dozing. Edward Cobbinwood was perched on the railing in the corner.

  Since I was unwilling to intrude on Luanne’s less than subtle interest in Salvador, and appalled by the idea of joining any of the other conversations, I went over to Edward.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s so— I don’t know—middle-class. Cocktails and canapes. I can hardly wait for the women to retreat to the kitchen to moan about carpooling and the men to talk about baseball.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said. “So why are you here? Shouldn’t you be drinking beer on Färber Street with your fellow grad students?”

  “I didn’t plan to come, but Fiona insisted on dragging me along. It seems that meek Julius Valens can turn into slobbering Mr. Hyde when he’s had too much to drink. Hard to imagine, isn’t it? I would have thought that at his worst, he might loosen his bow tie. I was surprised when Salvador invited me. Maybe he thought his Japanese friends might enjoy meeting someone their own age.”

  “Did they?”

  Edward shook his head. “Salvador left them here all afternoon to let in the caterers and the deliveryman from the liquor store. Their party started several hours ago. The guy from Brisbane went rock climbing today, he told me. In that he hasn’t had a shower since, I believed him. So here I am in the corner, drinking fiz
zy water and fated to be a designated driver.”

  “Is that why you were in the corner last night, too?” I asked. I took a sip of scotch as I waited for his response. In a sense, it was a very middle-class scene, although I doubted that car pools and baseball were likely topics. Fiona and Anderson were now hissing angrily at each other. Julius was keeping an eye on them between gulps of what looked like straight bourbon. As was Salvador, I noticed, although he had his hand on Luanne’s shoulder and was cooing in her ear. Lanya was nodding at the Aussie as he rambled on, but I could tell she was also very aware of her husband and Fiona. There was a distinct chill in the air.

  I’d about given up on Edward when he said, “I can’t decide what to do about my father. How would you feel if someone dropped a bomb like that on you?”

  “Women tend to know if they’ve given birth,” I said slowly. “But if I’d had a baby when I was young and put it up for adoption, and twenty years later a young person appeared on the porch ... I don’t know how I’d react, Edward. I’d be shocked, maybe skeptical at first. Would I feel an immediate bond between the two of us? I think—but keep in mind this is speculation—that once I was convinced, I would. Men might feel differently, since they’re basically sperm donors.”

  “So you’re saying I should just forget about it?”

  “No, I’m not saying that at all. I simply don’t know.” I took a deep breath while I tried to compose myself. “If I knew his name, I might be able to offer an opinion. Bear in mind that’s all it would be. No one can predict how someone else will react.” That wasn’t quite true, since I knew precisely how Carlton would react, which would be not at all. Dead men do not have emotional outbursts. Teenaged girls, on the other hand, most certainly do. One in particular has been known to go into paroxysms of hysteria when a spider creeps out of the bathtub drain.

  “You’re a widow, aren’t you?” he said abruptly.

  I almost spilled my drink. “How do you know that?”

  Edward slipped down from the railing. “I must have heard something. I think I’ll have a drink. May I bring you something, Claire?”