Jungle Johnny ran the auction. He was witty and cajoling and doing a wonderful job. Some very nice prizes had been donated, thanks to the generous friends of Margo Pennington: a day at a spa in New York City, dinner at Daniel, fresh flowers every day for a month, a week in Belize; while the less glamorous prizes had been procured by me and Diamond: six months of free lariat lessons, a certificate from Dr. Harry for a free cat neutering, a ten-dollars-off coupon at the local Cut’n’Blow, and a free large pizza from Big Tony’s, toppings extra.
It was a lively auction and seemingly successful until I realized that Mrs. Wycliff was one of our most active bidders, blithely outbidding the guests. I marched over to Diamond, who was standing next to her.
“We have to stop her from bidding,” I whispered fiercely. “She can’t contribute to herself.”
“Don’t worry,” Diamond whispered back. “Everyone knows we’re taking the last bid before the lady in the pith helmet.”
I looked around at our guests, who were growing more amused with each bid and sighed. I had hoped for a dignified, successful fund-raiser, and instead, we were providing comic relief for the social set.
“I just wish this was over already,” I muttered. “It’s a disaster.”
“No, it isn’t,” Diamond said. “It’s been great fun. And after the auction, Mum is going to sing.”
My heart sank. I wondered if there was a limit to our guests’ good-natured tolerance. “Please don’t let her sing,” I pleaded.
“Oh come, it’ll be lovely,” Diamond replied. “And then I’m planning to give a presentation of my more popular jungle calls. Jungle Johnny said he’d join me—he promised he does an especially good hyena. These things always go over very well. It’ll be the perfect way to end the evening.”
An hour later, I was listening to Elisabeth Wycliff sing “Meet Me in St. Louis” in her high-pitched, tremulous voice, the lyrics punctuated by Samantha’s well-placed curses, and wishing they both were there. I was actually grateful that Tom hadn’t come to witness my total humiliation.
Margo Pennington interrupted my thoughts. “What a perfectly amusing evening,” she said. “Did you know that Hannibal took plums on his journey through the Alps? What an odd historical fact. At least, I think that’s what some young man was telling me.”
I gave her a weak smile. Diamond had joined Jungle Johnny at the microphone. Her flame red hair was a perfect foil to his cool blond, and they were both tall and athletic. And practically dressed like the Bobbsey Twins. He should have been the man of her dreams. Was she playing hard to get? I didn’t understand it. Diamond announced that she would start her series of imitations with the call of the great Kenyan hadada ibis.
“Hadada! Hadada! Hadada!” her voice rang out. “Hadada, hadada, hadada.”
“Fuckyou, fuckyou, fuckyou!” Samantha chimed in from stage left. Victoria Cremwell was behind me, laughing at how too perfectly riotous this all was.
I needed to escape.
I made my way through the guests, dodging wobbly desserts-on-a-stick and melting drinks-on-a-stick, and Reese saying “Plums—get it?” to some dignified white-haired gentleman, and Mrs. Pennington clapping her hands for attention and asking for Harry, wherever he was, to please step up to the mike and say a few words to the crowd.
“Hadada, hadada, hadada” rang in my ears as I slipped across the room and through the doors and out of the barn. I knew where I needed to go and whom I needed to see. I didn’t care anymore about my skirt or my new shoes or whether we had made even one penny.
It was dark out. There was no light except for the glow from the elephant barn and a party of stars above. But it didn’t matter. I knew every turn of where I was heading.
I pulled open the gate and made my way down to the elephant pond.
Chapter 33
THERE WAS A SILHOUETTE OF A MAN JUST AHEAD OF me, almost obscured by the night, except for the darker contrast of Margo behind him. He was standing quietly, his head tilted at an expectant angle as I approached, and I cupped my hands over my eyes, trying to capture what little light was coming from the party, hoping the man wasn’t one of our guests. It wasn’t safe for a stranger to be that close to Margo.
Then I realized who it was.
“Why are you out here?” I called softly, trying not to startle the elephants.
“Do you really have an objection, Neelie?” Tom asked.
“Why didn’t you come inside? Your fiancée is already in there,” I replied frostily.
He stepped toward me, holding his hand out. Now I could see the silver of his hair, the outline of his chin but not the scar. It was still hidden in the shadowy creases that fell across his face.
“I don’t have a fiancée,” he said.
“Sure you do,” I said. “Miss Victoria Cremwell of the Boston Crème Pies. Why didn’t you go inside to be with her?”
“I got here a little while ago,” Tom replied. “I didn’t want to upset you again, so I thought I’d just wander around a bit without intruding. I figured I’d talk to you after everyone went home.” He was within inches of me now. “Neelie, we have to talk about that elephant before you do something foolish.”
“You’re too late. I’m always doing something foolish,” I said. “And the next foolish thing I’m going to do is wish you and Victoria Creamcakes lots of happiness.”
“I’m not engaged,” he said again firmly. “You must have been talking to my mother.” He gave a little laugh. “She thinks I’m engaged. Or rather, I should be engaged. Victoria is the daughter of a good friend of hers. She’s been wanting us to hook up for years.”
“How wonderful for both of you,” I said. “Or should I say, all three of you.”
He moved closer. “Oh, come on, Neelie,” he said. “She’s just…someone I—”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, taking a step back and feeling the heel of my shoe sink into the soft ground.
Tom moved toward me. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice filled with exasperation. He reached for my arm. “Can’t we talk somewhere?”
“No,” I said. “Unless you want to go inside the elephant barn. Oops, I forgot, there’s a party in there. With your fiancée. You could give her a little hug. Now, wouldn’t that be just so refined.” I turned away from him, pivoting on my muddy heel and accidentally drilling it deeper into the mud.
“Neelie!” He caught my arm with his hand. The warmth of his fingers burned through the sleeve of my blouse. “You should know me better.”
“I thought I did,” I said. “Now please let go of me.” But his grip only tightened.
“I don’t know why I owe you any explanations anyway, since you left me,” Tom said, “but we need to talk.”
“I didn’t leave you,” I countered, my anger flaring. “You left me. You wouldn’t let me have any time to think. I was in the middle of everything going wrong, my life was totally upside down, and I needed time. You had twenty years to sort things out after your divorce.”
He paused. “You’re right.”
“And I needed those baby elephants. I needed them.” He d was very quiet as I spoke, and I could feel him staring at me. “I mean, you told me you didn’t want children, and I agreed, and you wanted a whole different life, and I was ready to agree”—I stopped to take a breath—“but you didn’t give me room for my life, too, and the baby ellies meant everything to me because—well, I just needed them.”
He was quiet, though he didn’t let go of me. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Well, how did that work for you?” I said, pulling back. “And please stop apologizing. It’ll only make me feel bad, and I’ve had my fill of feeling bad tonight.”
“Can we talk somewhere?” Tom asked, sliding his hand down my arm to hold my fingers. “We need to straighten some things out between us.”
“No we don’t,” I said, tears starting at the feel of his hand against mine. “You need to go b
ack to your…future wife. I understand she even has your honeymoon planned.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he started, but I didn’t want to hear any more. I broke from his grasp and tried to run, but the one shoe stayed behind, stuck in the mud. I didn’t care, I teetered away from him as fast as my remaining impractical three-inch heel, bare muddy foot, and foolishly long skirt would allow. Though night had already sealed its own door and the light from the elephant barn was dim and distant, I ran up the path, able to elude him because I was so familiar with the terrain. He stumbled hard behind me, then cursed, but I knew how the little road sloped to the right, how the ground dipped just so, I knew each protruding rock, the muddy hollow, the last curve to the left just before the gate. Hobbling like a car with a flat tire, I passed a loud spill of music and applause, passed the main house, and made it to the isolation barn, where Silky was kept.
Tom was following me—I knew he would—but there was nothing more I wanted to say to him. There could be no reprieve from my complete stupidity, no absolution from my arrogance in believing that even though we were apart, I would always be the love of his life. I hadn’t accounted for Miss Victoria Boston Canary. I hadn’t accounted for reality.
Well, reality was following close behind me.
Silky nickered as I slid the barn door open and quickly shut it behind me. The first thing I did was kick off my one useless shoe and try to get my bearings. Without light, the barn was black as a closet, and the only sound was the scrambling of my heart and the gentle chew of Silky as she browsed through her hay. I knew the layout of where everything was, even in this darkness. I didn’t want to chance climbing into the hayloft in a floor-length skirt, so I felt my way down the aisle, touching the rough wooden stall doors for markers, counting each metal door latch until I reached the kitchen. I turned the knob and ducked inside. Cabinets on the right, a sink, a small refrigerator, the cot. I continued to feel my way until I reached a small alcove. I pressed myself into the space and waited.
Of course, it was stupid. Tom could just step into the barn and turn the light on, but if I kept my ragged breath and pounding heart at bay, maybe he would just quickly scan the empty aisle and think I had gone back to the elephant barn or up to the main house.
The barn door rolled open, and I heard Tom slip inside and shut it again. Then nothing. He was most likely standing in the aisle, listening for me. I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep my breathing quiet.
“Neelie?” he called softly. “Neelie? We need to talk. Surely you know that.” There was a shuffling sound, then “Where is that damn light switch?” It clicked on, and a brilliant streak of light lit the aisle and flashed across the tan tile of the kitchen floor, which made me realize I had forgotten to shut the door behind me. I hoped Tom wouldn’t notice it ajar, and I flattened even more against the wall, straining to listen.
“Come on, Neelie,” he called softly. “I’m not climbing up into the hayloft to look for you. And I’m turning off the light before it attracts everyone from the party like they’re a bunch of damn moths.” Another click and it was black again.
In a few moments his eyes would adjust to the dark, enabling him to distinguish shadow from shape, and he would find me.
I could almost see him, shifting his weight toward any rustling sound, then making his way down the aisle to the kitchen door. Was it better to be discovered standing here like a quivering mouse, or to announce myself and just wish him well and get all the drama over with? I moved lightly across the kitchen floor and stepped into the aisle. We were now standing just a few feet apart.
“I’m right here,” I said. He spun around.
“Neelie,” he said, his voice was filled with exasperation. “Why do you have to make everything so damn hard?”
“I don’t know.” I began to cry. “I never should have told your mother it was okay to bring Miss Victorious Snotwell. I thought I’d be okay, but I’m not okay.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he asked, reaching out and grabbing my shoulders. “I’m not marrying her. I never proposed to her. I don’t love her.”
“Well, your mother thinks she’s going to look just darling in her wedding dress,” I retorted. “And in my opinion, it should be decorated with little yellow canary feathers.”
“She won’t be wearing it for me,” he said.
“And you’re having a honeymoon in France,” I sniffed.
“No, I’m not,” he murmured. He suddenly pulled me to him, then pressed his cheek against my hair and moved his hands across my back. “Oh, Neelie,” he said into my ear, “let me hold you. It’s been too long.”
Oh God, I was in Tom’s arms. It was Tom kissing me. It was Tom holding me. I clung to him. It had been a whole year, and suddenly it felt like it had been only one second.
“Neelie? Talk to me,” he whispered. But I was afraid that if I spoke even one word, I would awaken, and it would be the middle of the night, and I’d be alone. Alone, without him and without my comforting, snoring baby ellies, without anyone, alone and wavering, like a singular candle flame before it’s snuffed. But he held me and stroked my hair, and I felt his breath close to my ear, and I pressed against him.
Silky chewed her hay, shaking it against the stall door to break off pieces. She blew the dust from her nostrils. And I was still in Tom’s arms. There was a shout outside. The flame held. He kissed me again, then lifted my chin with his fingers.
“Neelie,” he whispered urgently, “we need to go somewhere and talk. I have to tell you something. That’s why I came up here.”
When someone says they have to tell you something, in that special I-have-to-tell-you-something tone of voice, it means only one thing: bad news. And there is no good place in the world to receive bad news. Not even a sweet hay-smelling barn while you’re in the arms of the man you love. I stiffened and pulled away.
“I don’t like it,” I said.
“I haven’t told you anything yet.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear it. Not now,” I said, letting him lead me into the kitchen. “Not yet. Please not yet.”
He put his arms around me and rocked me a little. “Let’s sit down.” He waited for my response.
“All right,” I said, stepping away from him. “We can sit here.” I led him to the cot and primly sat down and waited for him to speak. He drew in a long breath.
“Listen to me,” he finally said. “For once, you have to actually listen to what I’m telling you. It’s about that elephant.”
I immediately grew angry. “It would have been nothing for you to buy Tusker,” I said, my words coming out in a rush. “I guess you’d rather see him shot. Diamond and I are just praying that we raise enough money in time, when you could have easily done it and we could have paid you back. I don’t get it.” I stopped to catch my breath, and he reached for my hand.
“I know you meant well,” he started slowly, “but there’s a reason why I never offered to buy him. Think about this—if either one of us bought that elephant, it’d start a horrible new industry for the Zim government.”
I jumped from the cot and started to move backward, away from him. “What are you talking about?”
Tom’s grip tightened on my hand. “Think about it,” he said. “All they would have to do is torture a few elephants, and some idiot will come prancing in, ready to buy them. You would have set a terrible precedent. Can’t you see that?”
“First of all, I’m not an idiot,” I snapped, “and secondly, I don’t believe you. I was there. It’s perfectly reasonable for us to remove an animal that no one wants.”
“Neelie,” Tom’s voice rose with exasperation. “Think about the consequences. There’s no money in Zimbabwe. They’d do anything to get cash flowing into the country. Poaching, culling, selling elephants for meat—they’re desperate.”
“But Diamond and I spoke to Joshua!” I protested. “He promised.”
“You spoke to him without thinking,” he said, his voice growing stern. “
I’m surprised you even got out of Zim alive. He wasn’t to be trusted.”
“You’re wrong!” I said loudly. I didn’t care there was a party going on nearby. My party. “I don’t want to hear it, you’ve got it all wrong.” I pulled away and put my hands over my ears. “Diamond’s husband went to school with Joshua. He wouldn’t betray her.”
He pulled my hands down. “You’re the one who’s got it wrong,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m really sorry you worked so hard for nothing. I warned you not to go through with this…fund-raiser of yours, that it wouldn’t change things.” He stopped abruptly.
Things are going to end again between us, I thought miserably. He was so close to me, I could hear him breathing. I tried to sort through his words. When he spoke again, his voice was cajoling. “Neelie, you never listen, do you! Please think about what I’m saying. I care about those animals more than anything. It was never about money. You should know me better than that.”
I did know him better. I knew him to be a decent man, humane. He had spent a fortune saving elephants, long before he even knew me. Why would he have so abruptly changed?
He hadn’t.
“I didn’t want to start a cottage industry for them,” he said. “Whatever you buy from them, they’ll make more of. That’s the current mentality of the government.”
Suddenly, what he was saying made all the sense in the world. He was right. I never listen. I mishear, misinterpret, mishandle everything. I stood in the dark and tried to think. How could I have gotten so much wrong.
“Oh God, what have I done?” I choked out.
He put his arms around me and held me close to him. I could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. “You haven’t done anything yet,” he said. “I know you meant well. I know that your heart is in the right place.”
An Inconvenient Elephant Page 22
