“Not lie, exactly,” Will said. “Just not give her all the details. She’s a city girl, you know, and she doesn’t eat meat. She’s so tender-hearted, such an animal lover, I just think the idea of a dove hunt would upset her unnecessarily.”
“Right,” I said. I wondered if he’d ever noticed Stephanie’s predilection for pricey leather shoes and boots and suede jackets.
I put my finger to my lips. “Shhh. It’ll be our little secret.”
I was getting good at keeping secrets of my own.
The minute I’d driven away from Cuscawilla that night with A.J., I’d started regretting what had almost happened. For all his apologies and sweet words, I knew it was over between us. I’d had too much to drink, and when I sobered up I realized that my hormones had nearly led me back to bed with someone I no longer loved.
I knew I was over A.J., but what I didn’t know was how to break the news to him, or even how to keep him at arm’s length.
Now I was out at Mulberry Hill, checking on the delivery of Stephanie’s beloved bidet. My cell phone rang and I flipped it open.
“It’s me,” A.J. purred. “I’ve been thinking about you all week, baby.”
“I can’t talk,” I interrupted. “I’m in the middle of a business meeting.”
“I think we’ve got some unfinished business of our own,” he said.
Joey, my plumber, was circling the wooden crate the bidet had arrived in, scratching his head and puzzling over the thing.
“It’s a bidet,” I told Joey.
“What’s that?” A.J. asked.
“A bidet,” I told Joey, who was still awaiting enlightenment. “It’s for feminine hygiene. You know, like in Europe, they have them?”
“I’ve been to Europe,” A.J. said, annoyed. “Stop trying to change the subject. I want you. Right now. Naked…”
I felt my face go scarlet. “I’m talking to the plumber right now,” I said urgently. “I’ll have to call you back.”
Half an hour later A.J. called again. Joey had uncrated the bidet and was trying to decipher the installation directions, which were in French.
“Here’s what I want,” A.J. continued. “You. Naked. Chocolate. Are you getting the drift here?”
“Excuse me, Joey,” I said. “I think this is the, uh, lumberyard, about those studs I ordered for the shower enclosure.” I took the phone and walked rapidly downstairs.
“I’m the stud you ordered, all right,” A.J. growled.
“Stop this,” I whispered. “I’m trying to work. I’m up to my eyeballs in plumbers and plasterers and electricians. Will is out of town for the next few days, and when he gets back, I’ve got to have the chandeliers hung and the master bath finished, and I’ve got a damn dove hunt to organize now. I cannot see you tonight.”
“So Will’s out of town?” A.J. said. “I’ve got an idea. What do you say I meet you out there at his place tonight. Say, eight? I’ll stop and pick us up a nice bottle of wine, and some dinner. You can tell me about your bad old day and the mean old carpenters. And then we can take that fancy bed of ours out in the pump house for a test drive.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I could feel my already elevated blood pressure spiking. “You are not coming anywhere near this place tonight. I am not meeting you, and we are definitely, positively, not getting anywhere near my client’s personal bed.”
“Your bed then,” A.J. said.
“No.”
“Mine.”
“God, no.” The thought of bumping into Drew and GiGi gave me the willies.
“Cuscawilla.”
“No!”
“I’m running out of real estate here, darlin’. Hey, I know. The shack. Nobody goes out there anymore. It’s got a gate and it’s locked up tight. But I know where Kyle keeps the key.”
“Yuck!” I said. “Look. I really have a killer day ahead of me. I can’t see you tonight. I’ll call you. I promise.”
He hung up.
Fifteen minutes later I was back upstairs, trying to salvage some college French to help Joey with the bidet installation. The cell phone rang again. Joey gave me an annoyed look.
I took the phone out into the hallway.
“Phone sex,” A.J. said. “I’ll start. First, I unzip—” I closed the phone, turned it off and put it outside in the Volvo. Turning off A.J., I thought ruefully, would not be this easy.
Hours and hours later, Austin came over with Chinese takeout. We sat in my living room eating moo goo gai pan while we dissed about all the terrible design dilemmas on Trading Spaces. And I told him about A.J. I knew he would tell me I’d made a hideous mistake, but Austin was the only person I could talk to about A.J.
“Once you take up with that rascal again, where will it end?” Austin wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “The thing is, I know what he did to me was selfish and demeaning. And I know I’m pathetic and needy. I know it! But that night, after the picnic, at Cuscawilla, I was this close…”
Austin shook his head slowly. “Why?” was all he said.
“Something he said. In the pump house. He was looking at that old beauty queen photo. You know, the one with Mama. He’d never seen a picture of her before. And I told him what Sonya said. About how I was her, made over. And he stopped me cold. He said I’m not like her. I wouldn’t do what she did, lie and cheat and run around. And I just loved him for that right then. Because he was right. I’m not like her. And then he said the thing that made me open my eyes. He said he isn’t like his daddy. He’s known for a long time about Drew’s womanizing, and he’s always resented him for it. And he asked me to give him another chance. So he can prove that’s not who he is.”
“Very touching,” Austin said.
“You don’t believe it?”
“No. But don’t go by me, honey. I will never understand straight men as long as I live.”
“So that’s what did it. He basically talked his way into my heart.”
“And your pants,” Austin said. “But you didn’t go all the way. Why not?”
“It didn’t feel right. I wasn’t…swept away? I can’t really explain it. And then, somehow, A.J. got on the subject of the good old days, and how we used to go out to the shack and fool around…”
“You didn’t!” Austin said.
I went right on. “And A.J. mentioned that Kyle has finally talked Drew and Vince Bascomb into selling those cabins and all their lake lots.”
“Interesting,” Austin said, nibbling on a bit of chicken. “Did you happen to tell him what Sonya told us about his father and all those other couples using Bascomb’s camp as their little love nest?”
“No. But when A.J. mentioned Mr. Bascomb, I just got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. You know, I had this image of all of them sneaking around. Rutting, like Sonya said. It was just so lurid.”
“A real passion killer,” Austin said sympathetically. “Thank God you came to your senses.”
“The other thing A.J. told me is this. Mr. Bascomb has an inoperable brain tumor. Austin, he’s dying. A.J. says that’s the only reason he agreed to sell. Because he’s broke and he’s dying.”
I sighed. “I think I’d better go talk to him, while I still can.”
59
Austin and I sat in my car outside Vince Bascomb’s shabby brick ranch house on the edge of town. It was a beautiful Indian summer afternoon, the kind that made you want to rake leaves into a pile just to jump into them.
“This is so sad,” I said, taking note of the peeling paint on the trim, the weed-infested yard, and a front door that seemed to be held together with duct tape.
“When I was a little girl, the Bascombs lived in that big Victorian house on Jefferson Street. It was called Birdsong,” I told him, “and I think it had been in the Bascomb family for generations. Lorraine always drove a big Lincoln Town Car, and Vince bought a brand-new pickup from my daddy every other year. They used to have a lot of money.”
“Not any
more, from the look of this place,” Austin said, wrinkling his nose. He pointed out a battered brown eighties Honda Civic parked in the driveway. It was covered with pine needles and fallen leaves, and two of the tires were flat. “That ain’t no Lincoln.”
“Maybe he’s too sick to talk,” I said, starting to chicken out. “I should have called first. He doesn’t know me. This is ghoulish.”
“If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t,” Austin said firmly. He got out of the Volvo. “Coming?”
“All right.”
The concrete porch of the house was caked in grime and more fallen leaves, and a black plastic trash bag sat beside the door, where it had seemingly been for months.
Austin rang the doorbell, and I took a deep breath. A minute passed, and then what seemed like five. “Let’s go,” I said, tugging at Austin’s sleeve. “I can’t do this.”
“Somebody out there?” a thin voice called. “Is somebody there? Tanya, is that you?”
“Answer him,” Austin whispered. “Or I will.”
“Mr. Bascomb,” I hollered, “It’s not Tanya. My name is Keeley Murdock. You used to know my daddy, Wade Murdock. Can you come to the door, Mr. Bascomb?”
“Hell, no,” he shouted. “I’m laid up on this sofa in here. You might as well come on in, since you’re here.”
The door pushed open without much resistance. When we stepped inside, we were hit with a blast of hot, urine-scented air. The room was dim, lit only by a low-wattage light bulb on a table lamp. A sofa was pushed against the wall, and I could just make out the shape of a man propped up there.
“Well?” he said. “Don’t stand there with the door open. I’m not paying to heat the whole damn block.”
As I stepped into the room, I could see him more clearly. He wore a red knit ski cap pulled down almost to his eyebrows and a gray sweatshirt. The rest of his body was swathed in a bright pink and blue crocheted afghan. The shocking thing was his size. The Vince Bascomb I remembered had been a big, stocky man. Now I doubt he weighed ninety pounds.
“Come on, come on,” he said. “What is it you want? Did Tanya send you?”
“Who’s Tanya?’ Austin asked.
“Tanya’s my so-called home health nurse,” the old man said. He squinted up at us. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m, uh, Austin LeFleur, Keeley’s friend.” Austin thrust a brightly wrapped yellow potted mum toward Bascomb. “We brought you some flowers. We heard you’d been ill.”
“Ill? That’s a good one,” Bascomb said. “I’m dying. Those flowers will probably last longer than me.”
Austin and I had been slowly inching toward him, until we were only a few feet from the orange-flowered sofa.
Bascomb reached out and knocked the shade from the table lamp and thrust the naked bulb toward me like a saber. I had to shade my eyes from the now-bright light.
“You’re the Murdock girl?” he asked. I noticed for the first time that he wasn’t wearing his dentures. His gums shone shiny pink, and combined with the knit cap and afghan, he reminded me of an overgrown infant.
“Yes sir,” I said.
“I know your daddy,” he said, satisfied that he’d figured out my pedigree. “Used to know your mama, too.”
Austin nudged me. I was getting bruises on my side.
“Yes sir. That’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you.”
“What about?” he asked. “What have you heard?”
“Well…” I looked around the room. The orange shag rug was matted with dirt, a low coffee table in front of him was covered with medicine bottles, a tissue box, and a tattered stack of Reader’s Digest magazines. On the far side of the room, a kerosene space heater glowed orange hot. Beside it were two chrome and plastic dinette chairs.
“Would it be all right if we sat down while we talked?”
“Can’t stop you, can I?” he said querulously.
“Could I get you anything first?” I asked, remembering my manners. “A drink of water? Do you need your medicine?”
He yanked the neck of his sweatshirt down to expose a pale, shrunken chest. A blue patch was pasted above his left nipple, and a thin plastic tube ran to it. “My medicine’s right here,” he croaked. “For all the good it does me. You can sit if you want.”
We dragged the chairs as far away from the kerosene heater as we could, which meant we were only inches from the sofa.
“About my mother,” I started.
“Good-looking woman,” Bascomb said, nodding. “You favor her some, but I expect you know that.”
“How well did you know Jeanine Murdock?” Austin asked.
Bascomb leaned his head back against the sofa cushions with his eyes closed. At first I thought he’d drifted off to sleep.
“I suppose you know about my sorry marital history?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“Yes sir. I knew Miss Lorraine, and I went to school with your daughter.”
“Lorraine was a fine person,” he said, opening his eyes now. “A real lady, unlike those other two tramps I was fool enough to marry. This cancer I have now, the suffering I’m going through? This is God punishing me for the way I treated the mother of my children.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“Hell on earth,” he said. “And I brought it all on myself.”
“About Jeanine,” I hinted.
He sighed and looked right at me. “If you know about my history, I assume you know about your mother’s too. Is that about right?”
“I know she was having an affair with a man named Darvis Kane, who worked for my daddy at the car lot,” I said. “I know she and Kane used to meet out at your hunting cabin to have sex.” I bit my lip and decided not to pull any punches. “I went to see my mother’s cousin Sonya Wyrick last month. I knew she was Mama’s closest friend, and thought she might have some idea of where my mother went and where she’s been all these years.”
“Sonya Wyrick,” Bascomb said, smiling slightly. “Is she still up there in South Carolina?”
“North Carolina,” I corrected him. “She’s still in Kannapolis.”
“Sonya was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Lorraine,” he said. “There had been other women before her, but Sonya was more than Lorraine could bear. She found out about us, and there was hell to pay.”
He sighed again. “Hell on earth. Hell to pay. Living hell. That about sums up my life after Lorraine threw me out.” He licked his lips. “Does your father know you’re poking around in this matter?”
“He does,” I said.
“I traded with your daddy ever since he opened that lot,” Bascomb said. “Good man. What does he think of all this?”
“He thinks it’s about time we both got some answers to our questions,” I said. “It’s been almost twenty-five years.”
“You might not like the anwers you get,” Bascomb warned.
“We realize that. But Daddy has finally started dating. She’s a nice person, and he feels guilty about seeing somebody without knowing…about Mama.”
“Sonya was the one who gave Jeanine the key to the cabin,” Bascomb said. “But I didn’t have a problem with it, as long as she kept her mouth shut about what went on out there. I didn’t know at first who her boyfriend was.” He frowned. “Darvis Kane. Your father’s employee. I thought that was in poor taste. But who was I to judge? It wasn’t like we were holding Sunday school out there.”
Bascomb reached out and fumbled around among the pill bottles until he found what he was looking for. A tube of Chap Stick, which he then smeared over his colorless lips.
“Other people were also involved out there,” he said carefully. “People whose names I would prefer not to mention.”
“I already know that Drew Jernigan took Lorna Plummer out there quite often,” I said calmly.
“Sonya told you that?” He seemed surprised.
“Yes, sir. But I’d already heard about Drew’s affairs.”
“Drew is a Jernigan. He can’t help
himself. He was my best friend for forty years. My business partner some of that time. And unlike Lorraine, GiGi chose to turn a blind eye to her husband’s extracurricular activities.”
I winced. “It’s called cheating. He’s a cheat.”
“In that respect, yes. But I’ve always found Drew Jernigan to be honorable in his business dealings with me.”
“In other words, he only screws women,” I said angrily.
Bascomb looked surprised at my sudden flash of emotion. “That’s a vulgar way to put it.”
“As far as we can tell,” Austin said, inserting himself smoothly into the conversation, “Jeanine and Darvis left Madison in mid-February of 1979. A short time after that, Darvis apparently drove Jeanine’s Malibu to Birmingham, Alabama, where he sold it. Right after that, he got on a Greyhound bus, and we haven’t talked to anybody who’s seen him since that time.”
“Lisa Kane managed to track Darvis down sometime in the eighties, and get a divorce,” I said. “But that still leaves Mama unaccounted for since the day she left Madison.”
Bascomb rolled the tube of Chap Stick between sticklike fingertips. He looked up at me, dry-eyed.
“Your mother never left Madison.”
60
“Your mother’s dead,” Vince Bascomb said. “So you can tell your daddy to get on with his life now. And you go ahead on with yours. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
I blinked and tried to catch my breath. Suddenly I could not breathe that foul air for another second. I made a mad dash for the front door.
I collapsed on the edge of the porch, gulping in great swallows of fresh air. A patch of gray clouds had moved in, obscuring the sun. One small golden leaf sifted down from a nearby tree and landed on top of my shoe. I picked it up and traced its jagged outline with the tip of my finger. It was a ginkgo leaf.
Indian summer had slipped away. Soon this yard and all the others in town would be blanketed with leaves. I thought back to another autumn day like this one.
Hissy Fit Page 36
