“It’s a secret,” Patti said, holding her finger against her lips. “I have a gazillion friends’ birthdays coming up, and what better to give than something original I’ve made myself, right?”
Even with a designer’s help, I could just imagine what my friends would say when I handed them a weird-looking bracelet constructed of leather and twine and resembling something I might have made in kindergarten. “Rita, you made this? You shouldn’t have! Really.” Then they’d make an effort to say something nice, like “How amazing! How artistic! How different!”
Patti looked over her shoulder. “Are we the only ones here?” Just then a small sleek Porsche 911 Turbo pulled up and Maxine, the newbie in town, stuck her head out the window. “Is this the place?” she called.
I told her it was, and instead of leaving her car in their driveway, she drove down the street to find a parking place while we waited for her. That was like Maxine not to want to intrude on their space. I was glad to see her expanding her horizons just as I was.
Speaking of horizons, Patti, who’d been there before on the house tour, told me to expect nothing less than extraordinary views from every room. “Wait until you see the Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. And notice the moldings and the leaded glass windows. They just don’t make interiors like that anymore. Of course you’ll see beaucoup gorgeous houses on the home and garden tour next week, but Diana’s house is one of a kind.”
When Maxine joined us, we walked up the brick path toward the house, which was set way back from the street for privacy and quiet. After a quick look, I noticed Maxine was wearing a Lafayette canvas skirt in an animal print with a loose, classic Eileen Fisher shirt in silk georgette.
“You have to see the black-bottom pool and spa behind the house,” Patti said. “They are to die for.” With that, she opened the gate and waved us around to the back of the house as if we were on tour. I hoped that Diana wouldn’t mind us making ourselves at home on her property.
We stood at the outside of the pool house gazing not at the sapphire blue pool but off in the distance at the sweeping views of the whole Bay area. Since it was dusk, the lights of the city in the foreground were just now sparkling like diamonds. For a moment no one said anything. Even though the other two women both had houses of their own that I assumed were not too shabby, they were just as speechless as I was. There was the house, the views and then the silence, which was suddenly broken by the sound of voices coming from the house.
“You told me it was a woman,” a man’s voice said. I looked at Patti. She looked at me. Maxine turned to look at the house. None of us knew what to say, so we said nothing, frozen in place as if we were statues.
“She couldn’t come so she sent her uncle. He’s an Italian. And rather famous in certain circles. I was lucky to get him.”
“Where is he?” the man shouted. We heard a crash, and then a door slammed.
“Servants,” Patti said lightly after a moment. “Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.”
I smiled as if I agreed completely. Though they both must have known that as a humble salesgirl I didn’t have any servants. But didn’t the word “Italian” refer to our teacher? So what was that crash? And who was that shouting? Maybe we’d soon find out. Without saying another word, the three of us headed back around the house to the massive double doors out front. We stood under the arched portico and rang the bell as if we’d just arrived and hadn’t heard a thing.
Unaccustomed as I was to living with servants, I had no idea if a butler would answer the door dressed in a tuxedo. It turned out Diana herself opened the door, her face flushed as if she’d been slaving over a jeweler’s torch already. Her slim Rachel Roy snake-print crop pants with a simple cashmere boyfriend cardigan from J.Crew were partly covered with a retro fifties designer apron. But most striking was her jewelry. She wore a texturized copper bracelet and a sunstone bronze tree-branch ring. On her ears were jelly-fish shaped earrings studded with freshwater pearls. I wanted to ask if she’d made them herself, and more important, would I be able to make them after this class. But I didn’t.
“Come in,” she said, looking around and over our heads as if expecting someone else. More students? Our teacher, the designer? “Did you see anyone out there?” she asked.
I wanted to say, “No, but we heard two people having a heated discussion in your house, and what was that loud crash?” but of course I didn’t.
“Armando, the designer I snagged for our session tonight, is running a little late,” she said, wiping her hands on her spotless apron. “But I have everything set up in the craft room, so we can get settled while we wait for him.”
We followed Diana into the foyer then to the great room with its high ceilings and the French doors that led to the walk-out courtyard. I could just picture swanky cocktail parties in that courtyard, with servants serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres to crowds of guests draped in designer clothes and handmade jewelry. I knew I would never be a part of that scene, but it was fun to imagine the kind of lives these people led.
The kitchen was like something out of House Beautiful. It was out of the past but yet still up-to-date. The floor was wide white oak planks with mahogany finish that Diana said were original but well-worn and refinished many times. To me they looked like you could slide across them in your bare feet. There were bowls of giant prawns on ice on the Italian marble counter, along with a jar of saffron and various other herbs and spices. I thought I smelled curry in the air, although there was nothing simmering on the stove with the pale blue glass backsplash, which matched the leather bar stools and the furniture in the living room. I was envious, and my stomach rumbled. I wondered if there would be snacks and drinks along with the jewelry-making lessons.
“We faux-finished the walls with a yellow glaze,” Diana explained when we admired the kitchen. “Yellow and blue are my favorite colors. They’re so cheerful. Then we painted pictures of country scenes on one of the walls. And of course I needed a walk-in freezer.” She pointed to a door at the far end of the kitchen.
I think I mumbled, “Of course,” but I’m not sure. I was absolutely stunned at the way it had turned out. The kitchen had a homey yet elegant look, and the artwork was professional and beautiful. “You did this yourselves?” I asked.
“Oh no. I had a crew do it after I saw a similar kitchen featured in an architecture magazine. Do you like it?”
Everyone murmured their admiration, and I said I loved it. “It’s just what I’d do,” I said. “You and your husband have exquisite taste.”
“I wish Weldon could hear you say that,” she said. “But he’s upstairs in his home office. Poor man. He never gets any time off. And he travels on business. So he leaves everything in the house to me and whoever I can get to help me.”
I wanted to ask if that was him we’d heard when we were in the garden, but I wisely kept my mouth shut and so did the others.
“I’m going to run out in front to see if Armando has arrived,” Diana said. “There’s a pitcher of martinis in the fridge. And a bowl of jumbo shrimp with a dipping sauce. Please help yourselves.” She waved her arm at the double-wide, subzero refrigerator with a glass door.
“What a kitchen,” Maxine said, gazing around at the six-burner Wolf range, the hammered copper double sink and the built-in pizza oven. Patti had just opened the heavy door to look into the wood-burning pizza oven when the kitchen door opened and a short man in shirtsleeves burst in.
Patti let the oven door slam with a bang, she was so startled at his sudden appearance.
“Hello, ladies,” he said. “Welcome to our humble home. I’m Weldon. Where is Diana?”
Humble? Was he being ironic? It didn’t look that way.
“She went to look for Armando,” I said. “I’m Rita. This is Patti and Maxine.”
He shook our hands. “Glad you could join my wife in another one of her adventures. She’s very artistic and always has been, from furniture to painting to decorating. And now
it’s jewelry.” He shrugged. “That’s my Diana,” he said.
That’s what I wanted, a husband who’d brag about me. Maybe not as short as Weldon, but someone who’d buy a house like this would be nice.
“So the teacher is late,” he said. “As usual. I guess we have to excuse these crafty types. They’re not like us. They operate on their own time. They’re creative, so if they’re late, they’ve always got an excuse. They can’t be expected to follow the rules and arrive on time like us ordinary people. Sometimes lessons start late and end late too.” He shook his head.
I doubted that Weldon was ordinary at all. But at least he was understanding of the nature of the artists and their “flexible” schedules. “I hope she hasn’t left you alone here.”
Patti shook her head and assured Weldon we were just fine and that Diana had left us martinis and we didn’t mind waiting at all.
“I’m so happy to be invited to join the group,” Maxine said. I knew she meant it. As an outsider, she wasn’t always invited to the inner circle’s doings. This was a breakthrough. Maybe now she’d feel like she belonged.
“I must apologize for my wife,” he said. “She should not have deserted her guests this way.”
“We’re actually having a lovely time,” I said. “We’re not really guests, we’re students. And we’re going to learn how to do some creative work tonight.”
“I’ll go find her,” he said. “These artsy-fartsy types are not to be trusted. They’re too temperamental. Keep their own timetable. I thought she’d learned her lesson with that Italian.”
I imagined he must be referring to Guido. What lesson had Diana learned from him? He’d never seemed temperamental to me except for that evening when I’d stopped by. But I couldn’t blame him for that. He hadn’t been expecting me. He had been expecting someone else, however. Did Weldon know that Diana’s other guru had been murdered and that’s why she was concentrating on jewelry? Of course he must know because Diana had even gone to the funeral.
Weldon left the kitchen, presumably to find his wife, who was probably at the front door waiting for our leader. The three of us said nothing. But I opened the refrigerator and took out the pitcher Diana had told us about. I poured the mixture into three glasses on the counter, and we each silently toasted each other. In a few minutes Diana was back with a man who had to be Armando. Weldon came too. He was looking at Armando with great interest. Maybe he too would join our class, though I had to think that as a venture capitalist he might have some homework to do instead of gluing tiny pearls to silver or however you attached them. I really had no idea.
All I could think was that Armando was Guido with an even more authentic Italian accent. Tall, good-looking and charismatic, just like Guido. Just what you want in a guru of any kind. Was that why Diana had chosen him, because he reminded her of Guido?
“Everyone, this is Armando,” Diana said with a huge smile. Why shouldn’t she smile? She’d hooked a real artist of high-end jewelry to come to her house for a private lesson. Of course, he might have come thinking Diana’s rich friends would turn around and buy jewelry from him or at least jewels from which to craft their own pieces. “Welcome to jewelry camp.”
I glanced at Patti and Maxine. They were staring at him like I was, wide-eyed and ready to follow him wherever he wanted to go: chunky watches, cocktail rings or diamonds for daytime. Diana, our hostess, was beaming at him like she’d discovered him herself. Maybe she had. At least she’d scored a coup by bringing him here tonight. I was grateful to her for sharing him with us. Weldon, apparently having ascertained that Armando had arrived and we were about to start some serious creative work here, excused himself to go to his home office. He wished us all a good evening and left the kitchen.
With our drinks in hand, we followed Diana to the craft room between the kitchen and the living room. We all gasped in awe and admiration when we saw not some nook or cranny formerly a laundry room or a closet. This was a huge room furnished simply and elegantly with craftsman furniture that must have cost a fortune but still looked like it belonged. The space was not filled with wrapping paper and spools of ribbon the way an ordinary craft room might be. No, this was a craft room for the serious craftsperson. Was that Diana? Apparently it was. The floor was a dark mahogany; the walls were white with black accents. On the walls were shelves full of bins, but not the plastic kind. These were polished wooden boxes filled with supplies. It shouted out sophistication and, yes, money. Both of which Diana had in spades.
“Do you like it?” Diana asked, standing in the middle of the room. She must have noticed how all three of us stood there gaping. “It took me six months to remodel it. This room was totally worthless and unusable. I don’t know what the previous owners did with it. Nothing is my guess.”
“Like it?” Patti asked. “It’s awesome. Seems like there’s nothing you couldn’t do in here.”
Diana hesitated just for a moment, then she smiled and shook her head. “I get inspired just coming into the room.”
“This is a dream craft room,” Maxine said, running her hand over the surface of the worktable.
“How do you keep it from getting messy?” I asked. I knew if it was mine it would be piled high with stuff. What kind of stuff I didn’t know, since I’d never made a single item.
“It takes discipline,” Diana said. Then she opened two drawers from the far wall and put them in the middle of the worktable. All three of us hopped up onto the stools and leaned over the table. There in glass containers were the raw materials I supposed we’d be using tonight.
Imagine such a group at my house where there was no extra room to be had. The kitchen was barely big enough for me. Which wasn’t really a problem, since I hardly ever cooked anything. Maybe I should turn it into a craft room. After I learned a craft, of course.
With a flourish, Armando opened his jewelry case on the worktable and put out strips of leather and lengths of sterling-coated wire, talking as he arranged the materials in front of us. Then he held up a finished bracelet and twirled it around his fingers. I was blown away, and I thought the others were too. The bracelet was simple in form but made of such unusual materials it would stand out anywhere, even at Dolce’s. It was different from anything I’d ever seen before.
“Bright bangles piled on or worn by themselves are an easy-fix accessory,” he said.
I wondered if “easy-fix” meant easy to make. I hoped so. I pictured myself wearing these bracelets on my wrist and up my arms in a tangle of leather and wire never seen before. The customers would demand to know where they could get such unusual, handmade accessories. I would smile modestly and admit that I’d made them myself.
Armando and Diana stood on the other side of the counter demonstrating the technique of bracelet making as if they’d been working together wrapping hand-knotted leather around wire for weeks. I expected Armando to be professional, but not Diana. How had she gotten so good at this?
We spent an hour making bracelets in different colors. Even I caught on after only a few mistakes where the leather fell off the wire in a twisted mess. But with Armando’s help I finally had an arm full of bracelets, each one in a different color leather. One was Kelly green, one hot pink and one pale blue.
“You see,” Armando said as he held my arm up. “These colors pop with everything, from neutrals like the ones you’re wearing, to a mishmash of prints.”
“Those bracelets look fabulous on you,” Diana said. “I wish Weldon could see what you’ve accomplished.” She swept her arm around the table to include everyone else. “But he has too much work to do.” She sighed. “It’s always like that. He works too hard. Thank God I have my own life and a new creative outlet. If only Weldon understood how important my interests are to me.” Her lower lip trembled as if she was going to cry. I had never realized how emotional Diana was, but maybe I’d be teary too if my favorite chef had been murdered and my husband was a workaholic.
Seeing how disappointed Diana looked when discussin
g her husband, I decided maybe I shouldn’t be so envious of her life. Despite her gorgeous house, the well-appointed kitchen, the views and the gardens, and private jewelry lessons in her to-die-for craft center, her husband seemed either overly hands-on, as when he’d come into the kitchen, or not interested at all. And who had been shouting before we came into the house? However, she seemed to be making the best of the situation by insisting we all have a cappuccino, which she whipped up in her kitchen and brought back to us on a hand-painted tray.
“I’m so glad I waited to have this session until I’d finished redecorating,” Diana said, looking around her craft room with justifiable pride.
“You did the right thing,” Patti told her. “But you know that no house is ever finished no matter how hard you try. There’s always something else to do. We are adding a sauna. I’ve always wanted one. And think of the money we’ll save by not going to Scandinavia this year.”
“Take our house,” Maxine said. “The painters are there today because I couldn’t stand the color of the bedroom walls. Who paints the bedroom bright red? It gives me a headache.”
“You’re right,” Diana said. “Although Weldon leaves everything to me, which makes changes easy.” I tried to imagine having enough money to call in the painters to redo my walls. Maybe I could if I married someone like Weldon. For some reason, I’d gotten some negative vibes from him. No matter how much money he made or how much he indulged his wife in her interests.
We all trooped out the front door at the same time, except for Armando, who was packing up his leather, his wire and his jewelry knives in the kitchen.
Maxine drove me home. At the corner of Van Ness and California we saw an ambulance with its lights flashing turn onto California and head west.
“An accident,” I murmured. “Or maybe a heart attack.”
We talked about the class and Armando and Diana and her husband all the way. She was as impressed as I was with Armando and with Diana’s house. She was just as determined as I was to try to make jewelry on her own.
Murder After a Fashion Page 14
