by Gwen Moffat
‘A trophy?’ Grace suggested, approaching. ‘Have a lobster puff.’
‘I have one.’ Miriam turned to her plate, and frowned.
‘What else did you do in New Guinea?’ Chester asked politely.
‘I had only a couple of days in Port Moresby then I flew to New Zealand.’ Her tone lightened. ‘And there I met Oliver.’ She sparkled at the approach of a lean young man in designer denim. ‘Get me another glass of champagne, sweetie. It’s over there on the sideboard. Charming boy,’ she told Chester. ‘Very talented, you know? Screenplays.’
‘Oh yes. Like Andy.’
‘No, not quite.’
Oliver returned with a brimming glass and looked round the room. Miriam drank absently and watched him. Chester said, ‘I have to speak to Sadie,’ and crossed to a sofa and a fragile elderly woman with an anxious expression. She brightened visibly at his arrival and patted the seat beside her.
‘Leo’s collecting the goodies,’ she said. ‘I feel a little pooped after Coon Gulch.’
‘Did you see the owl?’
‘We heard a great horned several times but we don’t think there can be a spotted on that side of the ridge. It’s been logged and you know how they like old-growth. I hope there isn’t a spotted. It’s too soon to have another fight with the loggers. They’re so vicious.’
‘Who’s vicious?’ A tough brown person with grey hair, cut uncompromisingly short, was planted in front of them. She held two overflowing plates.
‘Loggers,’ Sadie said. ‘You brought me too much. You always do that.’
‘I’ll eat what you can’t. Hold these while I go back for the bubbly.’ She strode off, a purposeful little figure in a white pants suit and black shirt, a turquoise bolo at her neck.
Chester regarded the straight back and said, ‘Anyone’d take Leo for a boy.’
‘She’s fifty-nine,’ Sadie said proudly. ‘She’ll still look like that when she’s eighty. You should have seen her driving in those spikes— ’ She stopped and stared at him wide-eyed.
He took the plates from her and put them on a coffee table. ‘It’s all right, Sadie; everyone knows who spiked the trees on Lame Dog Creek, but no one’s about to talk.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t, Chester.’
Leo Brant returned with three glasses of champagne. ‘Had to drink most of mine,’ she told them. ‘Couldn’t carry three. I told Jason to come over with refills.’ She handed them their drinks, sat down and regarded the canapés thoughtfully. ‘Caviar, oysters, lobster – and that’s just for starters. Right, let’s get stuck in.’
‘With your energy you can,’ Sadie said fondly. ‘You’ll burn it off tomorrow without even trying.’
Leo checked with an oyster puff halfway to her mouth. ‘You feeling OK? Eat a little. Try one of those crab sandwiches. You like crab.’
Chester observed them indulgently, thinking that they were like an old married couple, except that married couples were seldom so considerate of each other. Lovejoy’s whiskers appeared at a corner of the sofa. ‘Here’s that bloody cat!’ Leo exclaimed. ‘Did you hear about our Audubon’s warbler, Chester? This bugger got the male.’
‘He doesn’t travel that far,’ Sadie said. ‘I think it had to be the marsh hawk.’
‘Rubbish. We don’t have marsh hawks.’
‘I saw one that day, a female— ’
‘On passage. Goin’ through. This cat took our Audubon’s.’
‘He did?’ Lois stood before them, smiling, attentive.
‘I reckon so.’ Leo capitulated, but only fractionally.
‘I’m sorry. What can I do? Would you want me to have him put down?’
‘’Course not. Natural for a cat to kill birds.’ Leo was surly as a child.
‘Like pumas taking deer,’ Lois said. ‘Let me get you some more champagne.’ She moved away.
‘That’s some lady,’ Leo said. ‘Did she hear from Andy, Chester?’
Sadie frowned and jerked her elbow. Leo’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Not that I know of,’ Chester said.
Sadie broke in breathlessly as a newcomer approached: ‘You’re looking very colourful this evening, Jason.’ Which was an understatement in view of the fat man’s fern-green pants and garnet turtle neck. The plump face was ingenuous, the eyes naîve behind thick spectacles. He carried champagne and napkins.
‘What were you reading this afternoon, Jason?’ Chester asked.
‘This afternoon?’ He blinked. ‘Where was I?’
‘Sitting at the mouth of Bobcat.’
‘So I was. I was reading Dark Canyon by Louis l’Amour. Why?’
‘We were guessing. We were on Deception.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Lois and me.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ He filled their glasses with a steady hand. ‘I like Louis l’Amour,’ he confided. ‘I know what he’s about.’ He caught the drips deftly with a napkin. ‘I can’t understand Lois; she’s too clever for me.’
‘She’s – intricate,’ Leo conceded. ‘But once you know how her mind works you can understand her.’
‘You figure you know how her mind works?’ Chester registered astonishment and Leo fell for it.
‘I mean,’ she turned to Sadie, ‘we usually guess, don’t we? We know who the murderer is before the last chapter, and we’re getting better at it.’
‘I think she’s becoming more simple,’ Sadie said. ‘She’s pruning out the deadwood and bringing up the essentials.’
Leo stared at her. ‘What on earth makes you say that?’
Sadie giggled. ‘Two glasses of bubbly. I’m just at the right stage of perceptiveness.’
‘Huh. Good job you’re not driving.’
‘Why, hello you guys! Why aren’t you circulating?’
They looked up: three of them in a row, like children admonished by teacher – or the nurse that Mabel Sykes had been and could never forget. She was large and heavy, her face beaming with good humour above a double chin, her body encased in yards of yellow cotton, vaguely ethnic. ‘Great party,’ she said. ‘Yummy food, champagne flowing like water’ – she held her empty glass out to her son – ‘everyone’s having a super time.’ She surveyed the room with the eye of the practised entertainer. ‘And here’s Eve and Carl at last.’ Another plump old lady, this one in cream slacks and a sequinned top, was on the deck, accompanied by an elderly man, ramrod-straight, in neat khaki. ‘Better late than never,’ Mabel said comfortably. ‘Eve’s got a new necklace. What is that? Can’t be turquoise, that size.’
‘Did you hear about the crushed turquoise on the market?’ Sadie asked eagerly. ‘It’s ground up and then kinda cemented together and sold as the genuine article, only much cheaper.’
‘Really,’ Mabel breathed, staring with amusement at the pendant on Eve Linquist’s shelving bosom. ‘Myself, I’d sooner have something real, and inexpensive.’ She was wearing a rather fine string of chunky amber which everyone knew had been anything but inexpensive.
Eve Linquist approached smiling politely but her eyes scanning every corner, noting who was there and what they were wearing. Her husband drifted away to the kitchen alcove. Mabel sighed. ‘Just like country dances in the boondocks,’ she remarked as Eve came up. ‘Men in one corner, girls in another.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Eve tucked her arm through Jason’s. ‘We have the most handsome men in the room with us. Why bother about husbands?’
‘Let me get you a glass,’ Jason said, and bolted away, blushing.
‘Cradle-robber,’ Mabel said lightly.
‘You got the wrong old lady, dear.’ Eve looked across the room to where handsome Oliver Harper was laughing with Lois. Mabel’s smile was fixed. By the piano Miriam’s eyes narrowed as she looked to see who was making her escort laugh rather too loudly.
‘Folk shouldn’t have birthdays after they’re thirty-nine,’ Mabel said to Eve. ‘It reminds other people how ancient they are.’
‘Not ancient, dear; we’re seniors
, senior citizens; it’s a term of respect.’
Chester stood up. ‘I want a word with Fleur.’
‘Scared him off,’ Leo said, not bothering to lower her voice as he moved away. ‘This corner’s too bloody feminine.’
Mabel stared at her, Eve’s lips thinned, Jason, arriving at that moment, gave a smothered giggle, caught his mother’s eye and busied himself with the drinks.
Chester paused beside a slim woman in a naval jacket with gold trim. ‘That’s an amusing outfit,’ he said with interest. ‘You belong on a millionaire’s yacht in Bermuda.’ He was patently sincere.
Fleur Sanborn smiled her appreciation. She was dark with magnificent eyes and thick hair worn daringly loose – daringly because she was in her forties, but she had the presence to carry off loose hair above the parody of a commodore’s jacket and a striped T-shirt in navy and gold.
‘Amazing,’ Chester said, studying the ensemble.
‘Pretentious for Sundown.’ She had a clear Eastern accent. ‘Grace brought it from her boutique. I made a mistake wearing it tonight.’
‘Nonsense. Lois will accept it as a compliment to her party. How’s the gallery doing?’
‘We’ve had a good season. Winding down now, of course, end of August. And we got the timing wrong. Gideon’s new book is due out any time. But we can catch the Thanksgiving trade, and Christmas. Don’t sneer, Chester; Gideon and I laugh all the way to the bank.’
‘I’m not sneering.’ He was hurt. ‘I admire you, Fleur. And people who come in to browse among Gideon’s atrocities will buy one of your paintings occasionally.’
‘Naturally. I sell what people want.’
‘How do you account for folk who buy perceptive water-colours and Gideon’s puerile output?’
‘I can’t, unless it’s husbands buy one thing and wives the other.’
‘Which?’
‘Now, Chester.’ The deep eyes glowed with something that could be anger. ‘Gideon’s a fine draughtsman.’
‘Oh yes, he can draw, I’ll grant you that, but his content’s something else: obscene worms with a head at each end, naked women, gorillas in full suits of armour – every rivet correct.’ He giggled, shaking his head in wonder.
‘It sells. I supply a demand.’
‘You’re corrupting the masses.’
‘The masses watch The Living Dead and Alien, they rent snuff movies.’ Her eyes were blazing now. ‘Gideon’s stuff is no more pernicious than Lois’s murder stories – less so, in fact. Gideon is fantasy, Lois is reality; on occasions she comes very close to home.’ He was silent. She softened and laid long fingers on his wrist. ‘I was retaliating, Chester. I don’t like people poking fun at Gideon. He’s by way of being my financial mainstay, and I’m immensely grateful to him. And if you can’t take that seriously – ’ Her eyes implored him to see it her way.
‘How can you— ’ he began, and then he got the message. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. And who am I to judge? You sell good art and comics; I made war planes, or was instrumental in their manufacture. I was patronising. Forgive me, and let me get you a drink.’
‘Good God!’
‘What?’ He looked to see what had startled her.
‘Andy,’ she breathed. ‘It can’t be! I didn’t even know he was home.’
‘No one did,’ he said absently. ‘Who’s that with him?’
‘How would I know? He can’t have brought her. She is with him. Chester, what’s he up to? Where’s Lois?’
Lois was on the other side of the room and had been among the first to notice her husband on the deck, not least because the evening chill had driven people indoors. As the sun set, the fog had rolled in, embracing the stacks and creeping up through the village until the rail of the deck was merely a silhouette against matte space. Out there the new arrivals looked vaguely menacing although a certain incongruity was quickly apparent. Andy Keller wore a Stetson; his companion, as tall as he, was in stilt-like heels and a mini-skirt; both Stetson and mini were bizarre in this company.
Lois’s husband was a gangling fellow whose legs seemed too long for his torso. He was ill at ease and as he stepped over the threshold he tilted his hat nervously, revealing restless eyes. His nose seemed to have been recently broken and had healed crookedly, giving him the air of an ageing fighter. His mouth was thin, his skin like brown crêpe. He moved without grace and emitted a faint odour of whisky.
The girl was blonde with a bush of ruffle-permed hair, and the almond eyes, plump cheeks and pretty mouth of a Mexican beauty queen: a doll-like face above a fabulous body. Her dress was so deeply cleft that her breasts showed with her movements. The dress itself was a puzzle: made of dull cheap material, but there was something about the grubby black flounces above the golden thighs that heightened the effect of sensuousness. Among these women who had dressed with care and who were aware of the slightest nuance in behaviour her presence was an insult, a threat to their lifestyle.
That lifestyle included good manners. By the time Andy reached his wife (the girl crowding his elbow as if they were crossing a field of cows) conversation, which had faltered momentarily, was moving again: not flowing as it had before their arrival, but people were talking with apparent nonchalance even as their eyes remained riveted on a scene that promised drama.
But Lois was smiling, her brows raised in polite inquiry, looking at the girl. Andy neither kissed his wife nor removed his hat. He said without contrition: ‘Shoot, I forgot your fortieth birthday! Still, we made it in time, just. This is my new assistant, Gayleen.’
‘How do you do, Gayleen.’ Lois held out her hand. She turned. Jason was at her elbow, staring. ‘Jason, give Gayleen a drink.’ She said to her husband, ‘And you’ll have a Scotch,’ but he was already moving towards a table that held the hard liquor, ignoring the company, the hat on the back of his head. Jason handed Gayleen a glass of champagne and Lois asked him if he could find some food. She turned back to the girl who was licking her lips.
‘Nice,’ she said, indicating her drink. ‘The soda pop. Flavoured with something?’ Her voice carried. Heads turned slowly.
‘Did you have a good trip?’ Lois asked. Seeing the other’s hesitation she rephrased that: ‘Did you come far today?’
‘Just from Portland. Oh, wow!’ Jason was back with a plate of canapés. She took it from him and regarded it helplessly, the other hand occupied with her glass.
‘Let me take the plate,’ Lois said, and stood patiently while the girl started to eat as if she’d been a long time without food.
‘This is neat,’ she exclaimed, looking round the room, then returning to her pastry: ‘What’s this?’
‘Caviar.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Fish’s roe. Fish eggs.’
‘Yuk, I can do without that.’ She replaced the barquette and considered another with a shrimp on top. ‘Would I like that?’
Grace came up. ‘You go and circulate,’ she told her mother. ‘I’ll take over here.’
‘Hi,’ the girl said. ‘I’m Gayleen.’
‘Were you born with that name?’
‘I were christened Marilyn but that’s no good if you’re in movies.’
‘You’re in movies?’ Grace’s eyes strayed to the décolletage.
‘You think this is over the top?’ Gayleen asked anxiously. ‘He told me to wear it. Andy. It’s wrong, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. People on the coast dress according to individual taste; so far as that goes you’re conforming. Where do you come from?’
‘You mean today? Portland. She asked me that. Andy’s wife, ex-wife, whatever.’
Grace gasped and caught herself quickly. ‘So how do you assist him?’ she asked conversationally.
But Jason had arrived. ‘Oh, yeah, I’ll have some more.’ Gayleen held her glass for him to fill. ‘Why, it’s champagne,’ she cried, catching sight of the label. ‘I thought it were some posh kind of soda pop with all that fizz. Great! I never had champagne before.’
‘You’re Andy’s assistant?’ Grace reminded her.
‘So – I do anything he wants. I mean, anything needs doing, like answering the phone, running errands; you know: groceries and stuff.’
Jason hadn’t moved away. Now he said, ‘I wouldn’t drink it so fast if you haven’t had it before. It’s stronger than you think.’
Gayleen gave him all her attention. ‘You live here? What do you do – I mean, for kicks? I didn’t even see a bar.’ She looked past him and caught Andy’s eye where he lounged at the kitchen sink. He raised his glass to her and winked. ‘Who’s he talking to?’ she asked carelessly. ‘I guess I ought to get to know folk.’ The champagne was obviously having an effect.
‘He’s with my dad,’ Jason said. ‘He’s by way of being – ’ He faltered, at a loss. ‘Shall I introduce you to people?’
‘Leave it to me.’ There was a warning in Grace’s tone and he nodded, uncomprehending but obedient as a well-trained dog. ‘Does Andy wear his hat in the office?’ Grace asked.
‘We don’t have no office; he works in the motel.’
‘Which motel?’
‘Why, the one where we – he lives: the Fountain, out on the north side. His hat? He just bought it.’
‘You said you were in movies. Would you be on your way to Hollywood?’ It sounded silly but one could be literally going to Hollywood from Portland by way of the Oregon coast.
‘Not today,’ Gayleen said, without any awareness of inanity. ‘He just came – that is, Andy drove down to get his stuff. I come along for the ride.’
‘His stuff?’
‘His possessions and that.’
‘I see. He’s leaving?’
‘Was he ever here? And she won’t take him back, will she?’ Gayleen gestured with her empty glass to Lois who stood by the piano, talking to Miriam, her back turned. ‘She seems a nice enough lady,’ she said casually.
‘Why shouldn’t she be?’
‘Well, you know: men and stuff, at her age! I’m sorry for Andy. He’s been treated something shameful.’
‘I suppose— ’ Grace checked, blinked and started again. ‘I know: his wife doesn’t want him, got tired of him? Goes to other men, threw him out, humiliated him? And now she wants a divorce. Then he’s going to marry you. He knows people in the movie business, right? You’re going to be in one of his films?’
