The Woman Who Fell From Grace

by David Handler

  I kissed her cheek. “Glad you could make it, Pam.”

  “Nonsense, dear. I’m thrilled you called — my life has gotten so appallingly dull of late. All of that new money buying up the country estates and trying so desperately hard to act the part. You simply would not believe how stuffy they are. Poor dears don’t realize that the ruling class are, and always have been, utterly bats.”

  I grabbed her bags. “In that case you should find your new employer a refreshing throwback.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Though something of a challenge,” I cautioned.

  “Even better,” she assured me. “Keeps one alert. You will tutor me, of course.”

  “Of course. What are friends for?”

  One suitcase fit in the trunk, the other behind Pam’s seat. Lulu wriggled around in her lap when she got in, happy to see her. Lulu is generally happy to see someone who has fed her kippers and eggs and will likely do so again.

  “And hello to you as well, Miss Lulu,” Pam cooed at her, getting her nose licked. “I see she hasn’t changed her eating habits.”

  “No such luck.”

  “In the pink otherwise?”

  “That,” I replied, “is a long story — and not a particularly pleasant one.” I found a spare pair of Merilee’s sunglasses in the glove box and handed them to her. “You’ll be wanting these.”

  Pam figured out why as soon as I eased away from the curb and picked up speed. “My Lord, you’ve lost your windscreen.”

  “Call me crazy, but I like the taste of bugs in my mouth.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “So it has turned into one of those, has it?”

  I filled her in as we worked our way through the outskirts of Charlottesville to the highway. She listened intently, Lulu dozing in her lap.

  When I was done, she said, “Sterling Sloan. My lord. Such a lovely, lovely man. I saw his Hamlet when I was a girl. He was so gifted and handsome. So tragic. I wept when he died. Every schoolgirl in Britain did. To think he was a drug addict. How sad. How very, very sad.”

  “I have an ulterior motive in bringing you in on this, Pam.”

  “I’m terribly flattered, dear boy. But how many times must I tell you? I’m much too old for you.”

  I grinned. I do know how. “Actually, I wondered if you could —”

  “Quietly pick up what information I can from the staff and locals?” she inquired. “Of course. I’ll get started first thing in the morning.”

  I glanced over at her. “How is it you always know what needs doing before anyone says so?”

  “Because, dear boy, unlike so many others who make the claim, I am a professional. You’ve not said a word about Merilee. How is she?”

  “Fine. We’ve entered into a state of peaceful non-coexistence.”

  “Meaning you’re not ready to settle down again.”

  “No, we’re equally qualmish about it.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “It failed before. And there’s no reason to think it won’t again.”

  “Rubbish. When you fall off a horse you must get back on.”

  A bolt of electricity shot through me. When you fall off a horse you must get back on …

  “Is something wrong, Hoagy?”

  “Nothing … Meanwhile, I’m here and she’s home and everyone’s somewhat happy.”

  “More rubbish.” Pam sniffed. “That’s no home. One needs children to make a home.”

  “Pam … ”

  “I hate to see two such bright, lovely young people go without —”

  “Pam, this car does have a reverse gear,” I pointed out. “And they do have flights back to —”

  “Very well. I’ll shut up.”

  “Thank you. I knew you’d get the idea. Now I think we’d better start your tutoring … ”

  Mavis was a little tied up. There was her powwow with the ad hoc committee of Stauntonians coordinating the golden-anniversary festivities. Another with the media person handling the gala screening for the studio that was rereleasing the movie. There was her casual, reflective stroll through the grounds of Shenandoah with Barbara Walters and her camera crew. Still, Pamela swung into action just as soon as she got her chance.

  We sat in the peacock parlor. Richard poured the bad sherry, he and Mavis circling each other warily. His cheek was still red from her slap. Her eyes made a point of avoiding his. She was giving him the same treatment she gave her brothers now. Serious punishment.

  “We shall get along quite well, madam,” Pam declared briskly, “provided you bear in mind a few vital facts about me.”

  Mavis gave her the regal glare. “Facts? What sort of facts?” she demanded stiffly.

  “For starters, I have no use for mediocrity,” Pam replied brusquely. “Never have.”

  “I assure you that is fine with me, Pamela,” Mavis said, pleased. “As it happens, I myself am —”

  “I speak my mind,” Pam broke in. “You’ll not find me the shy, retiring type. I believe a great estate needs a firm hand. Some employers cannot accept that, in which case I have little use for them. Not that you’ll find me an impertinent woman. I abhor rudeness.”

  Mavis nodded eagerly. “Absolutely, Pamela. I myself —”

  “Then we shall get along just grandly, madam. It’s a lovely, lovely home. You’re blessed to have it. The American Revolution is such a fascinating period, don’t you think? Of course, being a Brit, I myself see it from a somewhat different vantage point. … ”

  “As do I, dear lady,” Richard chimed in, helping himself to more sherry. Both of his cheeks had a rosy flush now.

  “Yes, of course you do, Pamela,” Mavis acknowledged readily. “And we must discuss that. I’ll look forward to it. Would you care to see the old house now?” she asked her, a bit shyly.

  “I would consider it a privilege, madam,” Pam replied.

  The kitchen door swung open just then and little Gordie wandered in, a cookie in one fist and a batch of comic books in the other.

  Mavis whirled on him. “Yes, what is it, Gordon?” she demanded, pouncing on him as if he were a field hand who’d stumbled in, manure caked on his clumsy boots.

  “Nothin’, ma’am,” Gordie cried, shrinking from her. He looked around at everyone, wide-eyed. He relaxed a little when he saw me there. “Hey, Hoagy,” he said uncertainly.

  “Hey, Gordie.”

  “Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well say hello to Pamela,” Mavis told him. “Our new housekeeper.”

  “Yes, yes, and what a sincere pleasure it is.” Pam knelt with a refined grunt and placed her hands on Gordie’s narrow shoulders. “And how are you?”

  Gordie withdrew from her, a turtle retreating inside his shell. He didn’t respond.

  “I said, ‘How are you?’ ” Pam repeated, a bit louder. “Are you well?”

  “Of course he is,” said Mavis. “He’s a very happy boy. Aren’t you, Gordon?”

  Gordie still didn’t respond.

  “Now run along outside,” Mavis commanded.

  He did, relieved to get out of there. The two women started out on their tour. Richard started to join them.

  Mavis stopped him. “Richard, you’re terribly underfoot. Go watch a ball game on television or something.”

  He made straight for the sherry decanter, twitching.

  As they strolled out, I heard Pamela say, “The odd thing is, I can’t help but feel I’ve been here before. You’ll think it silly of me, but I happen to believe each of us leads a number of different lives through the ages … ”

  And then I was alone there with Richard. Defiantly, he downed his third sherry, clutching the delicate cordial glass tightly in his big, hairy hand. “One of these days, Hoagy … ,” he growled between his teeth. He squeezed the glass tighter. It shattered in his hand. Blood began to stream down his fingers. He paid it no attention. “One of these days.”

  I started for my quarters. Before I could reach the back door, Charlotte appeared fr
om her office to block my path. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Hoagy?” she asked sweetly.

  “Oh, God, I hate this.”

  “Boy, I never thaw nobody throw a ball like you can, Hoagy.”

  “It is a somewhat awesome sight.”

  We were seated in the McDonald’s parking lot outside Staunton near Highway 64, where the newer, uglier sprawl was. Gordie wanted to eat in the Jag so we were eating in the Jag. Sadie was playing with a wad of paper at my feet. Lulu was curled on the floor at Gordie’s feet, which he kept swinging up and down, up and down. He was a bundle of energy, squirming, waving his fingers, which were drenched with oily pink dressing from his Big Mac.

  “You ever play in the majorth, Hoagy?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did,” I replied, trying to keep my eyes off his fingers. The sight of them was making me nauseous. Or maybe my own Big Mac was doing that. “Ever heard of Jim Palmer?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I pitched for the Orioles at the same time he did. He threw harder than I did, but I looked better in my underwear.”

  “Did ya really pitch for them?”

  “No.”

  “You shouldn’t lie to people, Hoagy.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.” I stuffed the soggy remains of my hamburger back in the bag. Lulu sniffed at it disdainfully. “I did throw the javelin.”

  Gordie sucked on his Coke through a straw. “What’th a javelin?”

  “A kind of spear. They throw it in the Olympics.”

  “Were you in the Olympicth? And don’t lie.”

  “No, but I was once the third-best javelin thrower in the entire Ivy League.”

  “That the truth?”

  “No one would lie about that.”

  “What’th the Ivy League?”

  “It’s a group of very expensive Northeastern colleges known for their academic reputations, their hard women, and their soft track stars — try not to drip Secret Sauce all over the upholstery, will you, big guy?”

  “Thorry.”

  Sadie was chewing on my shoelaces now. I kicked at her. She thought I was playing and began to swat at them. I grabbed her and put her down next to Lulu, who promptly scrambled over the gear-shift knob and into my lap with her head stuck through the steering wheel, which would be fine until I needed to turn it. I was starting to understand why they invented station wagons. Also baby-sitters.

  “Tooth fairy came back, Hoagy,” Gordie informed me happily. “Left me three more quarterth.”

  “Yeah, I had a feeling he would.”

  “Do I gotta go, Hoagy?”

  “Go where?”

  “The VADD cothtume ball. Mavith ith makin’ me go, on account of I’m an object, um, object … ”

  “Object lesson?”

  “Yeah. Do I gotta?”

  “Whatever she says, Gordie. She’s your mom, now.”

  “I hate her.”

  “Don’t hate her. She’s not a bad person. Just sort of difficult.”

  “You got parentsth?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “What’th that mean?”

  “It means we don’t get along.”

  “Why?”

  “They don’t approve of me. And I don’t approve of them.”

  “Why?”

  I sighed. “How come you ask so many questions?”

  “How long ya gonna be here, Hoagy?” he asked, waving his greasy fingers.

  “A few more weeks.”

  “Then where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. My ex-wife lives on a farm in Connecticut.”

  “Where do you and Lulu live?”

  “Manhattan. A fifth-floor walk-up on West Ninety-third Street.”

  “I’d rather live on the farm with her.”

  “Go ahead, rub it in. Are you done eating?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I seized him by his left wrist and wiped his hand clean with a napkin. Then I did his other one and stuffed the sopping napkin in the bag and wiped off my own hands. I got out and hurled the whole mess in the trash. I needed a shower now.

  “Your wife got animalth?” Gordie asked when I got back in.

  “Ex-wife. Couple of horses, some chickens, a pig.”

  “You be goin’ there when you leave here?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know.”

  “Can me and Thaydie come, too? If you do, I mean. You don’t have to thay yeth or no now. Think it over.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay we can go or okay you’ll think it over?”

  “I’ll think it over.”

  “Hoagy?”

  “What?”

  “I want another Big Mac.”

  “You’ll get sick.”

  “Will not.”

  “I’ll get sick. I’ll buy you an ice cream cone on the way home instead.”

  He brightened. “Okay!”

  I moved Sadie to his lap and Lulu to the floor under him. Then I started up the Jag and pulled away.

  “My favorite’th chocolate,” he confided.

  “Mine’s licorice.”

  “Ugh.”

  “You ever had it?” I demanded.

  “No.”

  “Then don’t say ‘ugh.’ You’ll love it.”

  “Will not.”

  “You like Steve McQueen don’t you?”

  “Yeth … ”

  “It so happens licorice was his favorite flavor, too.”

  “How do you know?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I just do.”

  “That another lie?”

  “No, it’s a supposition.”

  “What’th that?”

  “You’re too young to know.”

  Gordie asked if Sadie could spend the night with me. He was deathly afraid Pam would come into his room and find the kitten and send her off to the pound to be gassed. I assured him Pam was a very nice person and would do no such thing, but I couldn’t convince him. So Sadie was parked on the love seat, asleep, when I came downstairs with Lulu at four A.M. for her nightly walk on the wild side.

  She led me toward that same hole under the wall over by the souvenir shop. The shop loomed about fifty feet ahead of us in the beam of my flashlight when I heard the shotgun blast.

  I pulled Lulu close to me on her leash and called out, “That you, Roy?” so he wouldn’t blow our heads off.

  It was. He stood near the hole, inspecting it by the light of his Coleman lantern, shotgun tucked under his arm.

  “Evening, Roy,” I said.

  He peered at me, then back down at the hole.

  “Have any luck?” I asked him.

  He spat and reloaded. Then he sat back down in his chair behind the tree to wait for the return of the first great love of Lulu’s life.

  “Nice talking to you, Roy. Let’s do lunch, okay?”

  Lulu and I started back toward the house. Bowser intercepted us about halfway there, his stubby tail wagging furiously as he and Lulu greeted each other. I stood there wondering what the hell to do about him. Roy was sure to nail him when he made his way back out. His only chance was to hide out until daylight, then slip out after Roy had gone off watch. Only hide out where?

  Lulu was gazing up at me imploringly now. She knew where. I sighed, and we three headed for home.

  Bowser attacked the remains in Lulu’s mackerel bowl when we got there — that’ll give you an idea just how downscale he was. She watched him from her chair, tail thumping contentedly. When he’d had his fill, he stretched out on the floor next to her and licked his chops. He had no tags or collar, and more than a little gray in his muzzle. An older man. A breaker of young, innocent hearts. He probably had six or eight Lulus scattered around the neighborhood, waiting in vain for him to come home at night. But there was nothing I could do about it. Merilee was right. Lulu was a big girl now.

  “I’ll be turning in now, kids,” I announced. “Don’t play the stereo too loud. And stay out of my Macallan.”

  I went up the narrow spiral staircas
e and climbed back into bed. It wasn’t easy getting comfortable. I was used to Lulu being on my head, not downstairs with a stranger old enough to be her father. I was just getting settled in when I felt something under the covers down near my feet. Something alive. Hurriedly, I flicked on the light and tore back the covers. Sadie peered up at me, all perky and bright-eyed.

  “What are you doing down there?” I demanded.

  I grabbed her and was going to hurl her downstairs until I remembered Bowser, who might enjoy her for dessert. I put her down on the floor and climbed back into bed. She promptly jumped up there with me and stretched out on my chest, dabbing at me gently with her paws, the small motorboat noise coming from her throat. Grudgingly, I scratched her under the chin. She moved up a little more and buried her nose in my neck, purring. She wasn’t Lulu. She was more like a vibrating heating pad. But she did smell like mackerel, and that was some small comfort. I fell asleep with her there.

  Lulu and I saw Bowser off at dawn. It was a damp, foggy morning. The two of them frolicked in the wet grass like a pair of frisky pups. Roy’s chair was still there by Bowser’s hole. But Roy and his shotgun weren’t. Bowser squeezed under the wall without looking back and arfed once from the other side. Lulu answered with a strange moan that sounded like the air being let out of a balloon. It was a sound I’d never heard come from her before. It occurred to me for one awful moment that she might actually be considering joining him. Leaving me. But she just snuffled and turned her back on the hole. The two of us returned to our quarters.

  Lulu ate an unusually large breakfast, then drowsed contentedly on my foot while I wrote. Sadie spent her morning chasing a fly around up in the bedroom, her claws skittering across the wood floor. Ah, to be so easily entertained.

  He was the handsomest boy Evangeline had ever laid eyes upon, this stableboy. And he was a boy. His cheeks barely knew the edge of a razor. His complexion was fair and pure, his hair golden, his eyes the blue of the peacocks back home at Shenandoah. Her beloved Shenandoah.

  “Shall I assist you up, m’lady?” he inquired.

  “Please,” she said, offering him her hand.

  “Here we are, m’lady,” he said as he boosted her up onto the chestnut mare.

  She gazed down at him, trembling from his touch, from the earthy smell of him. He was gazing up at her, frankly, longingly, unashamed.