by Bud Crawford
If Seth can't appreciate me, I can find a man who will. She turned before the mirror, keeping her eyes on the glass. Damn, she thought, it's good from all sides. Let's get Seth to drag his ass off the couch and have a little fun. I'm for dancing. She leaned to the mirror and kissed the image of her lips. She left the orangey print smiling on the glass.
chapter eighth
"Not the kind of strange I was expecting," Ellen dropped into one of the easy chairs in their bedroom, kicked off her shoes, pulled her legs underneath. "Your Stef is beyond sweet. If we ever go shopping for a second wife, she's my pick. How could you walk away from somebody so pretty and so dear?"
"I remembered why, seeing her again. I need somebody who can push back. Stef would have done anything I asked, gone anywhere with me, and been completely happy. But whatever developed would have been entirely on me. I need a partner who can kick me back on my track or over onto her track. Solid support, but from a viable independent perspective. It's about how much fight is in the dog."
"Dog? You better remember I haven't forgiven you yet."
"Forgiven me for what?" He stopped pacing.
"For anything. You're still on trial, buddy, the jury's still out."
"We have a little time here, enough for a bit of tampering with that jury." He stood directly before her, threaded his fingers into her hair.
"Morning, noon, and night. You trying to be a poster boy for EF?"
"You ignite me, it's simple." Geoff leaned in and kissed her.
"I love you, and that's going to have to do for now. Where can we possibly go for supper that those three will all like. I think maybe I took a bad idea and then compounded it."
"No, two good ideas. But, let's see. Vegetarian choices for Stef, not too spicy or exotic for Harold, not too distant for Miss Staedtler, she seemed otherwise adventurous. What have you got?"
"Sushi, nouveau American, Italian, Cuban, French, pizza, Indian, new age, tapas, seafood, Asian, southern, Greek, pub, Thai. All those are close enough. Once we're over the expressway into downtown, there's all that in about six square blocks, except the blocks aren't very square, say a quarter- to a half-mile."
"Okay, it's easy. Indian. Lots of veggie choices, bland for the tasteless, spice for the brave. Exotic, but not scary."
"Well, the Indian place has strong reviews. Authentic, a bit upscale, not too steep. There's a menu here." She studied the dishes. "It could work."
"Pick a good pizza joint as a second choice. Who doesn't like pizza?"
"You are not weighing all possibilities, exhausting all arguments. So sharp, so decisive, so not like you." Ellen held his glance.
"He's ten years older."
"At least."
"No, she says, ten. I think the at least part is she's in fantastic shape and he's not. There's some heart-related thing Stef didn't spell out."
"He looked bad when he started turning as purple as that teletubby. But he's not overweight, not a smoker."
"Reading between the lines of her email I got the impression it was a valve issue, not a vascular one, I couldn't say why I thought so." Geoff sat back on the bed.
"There's a real affection between them, but he seems kind of cold until he trips over into that ugly join of intolerance and passion. Rough on her." Ellen's hair was shoulder-length, loose. She had gathered it behind her head and twisted it as far as it would go one way, then back the other way. Geoff watched her and waited.
"I wouldn't say they were great together." Ellen looked up at Geoff.
"No. Probably the anniversary thing is a stressor. Return to where you got happy, expect a replay, find out it can't ever be the same."
"Do you really have to work on your schedule?"
"Do you really have to start grading?"
"Tampering's still on offer. Come over here." He patted the bedspread.
"What? It's gotta be the bed, you're too old already to work with a chair?"
chapter ninth
Since Honoria Staedtler was willing to pretend she could walk no faster than Harold, their dinner group found a comfortable strolling pace. They found out Miss Staedtler was ninety-one years old, never married. She was born during the first world war and served as an army nurse during the second one. After that war she ran a bookstore in San Francisco specializing in eastern religions and socialist politics. She moved to New York City in the sixties, where she trained as an ambulance driver. She retired from driving to head a small publishing company dedicated to new work from unknown playwrights. Now semi-retired in order to travel, she alternated between visits to friends and to places she had never been before.
The Indian restaurant, Mela, had been almost exactly right. Harold thought even the mildest dishes were a little odd. But as they worked through two bottles of wine, a Riesling and a pinot noir, Harold relaxed sufficiently to share his passion for coins of the ancient world. Every minted disk in his collection was animated with the magic of history. He always carried a few in his pocket, sealed in clear plastic cases. One of the conspirators who killed Julius Caesar might have spent this one on a papyrus roll of Thucydides. Maybe Confucius touched this one, it did circulate while he was alive. When they thought Stephanie had been pregnant six months ago, he realized how much he wanted to pass his collections and his excitement another generation ahead.
Geoff told them about some of the too-clever stories his students had written. The suburban vampire prince who ran an overnight drycleaner. The fantasy murder mystery in which It did the butler. A back-and-forth time-travel tale that all took place sitting in a chair in front of a mirror, as a man watched his hair growing in, falling out and growing in again. The cheerleader so determined to sleep with all the players on the football team that she had to kill the one holdout halfback. Ellen recounted times her undercover identity had slipped. The bored waiter suddenly jumping to attention. The we-can-call-maintenance-in-the-morning night clerk suddenly running up to replace the light-bulb. Stephanie listed the jobs she'd held, during her New York years, trying to get regular work as a dancer: receptionist at a funeral parlor, night-shift supervisor at a kennel, taffy-stretcher in the display window of a candy maker.
When they returned to Juniper House, Alistair and Marti were in the parlor, behind a table set with cups and saucers and plates and coffee urns and platters of fresh-baked cookies. Classical music was playing softly from several speakers around the room. Dwight and Jerry were sitting on either side of Toni behind a coffee table, looking at a set of blueprints. Jerry was speaking in a soft voice running his right index finger back and forth over the drawings, Dwight and Toni listened intently, they did not look up as the other five guests entered the room.
There was a couple they had not seen before, a man and woman in their thirties with two children, a boy and a girl, maybe eight and ten. They sat on four sides of a table, the kids kneeling up on the chairs, focused on a game board with dice and bright-colored tokens. The Farley sisters were reading from books propped between their laps and the table edge, chairs close together. They looked up and smiled at the newcomers.
Alistair's greeting boomed across the parlor. "I hope you-all kept a little room for my cookies."
Geoff said, "We skipped dessert on purpose." He and Harold had walked in together, they stepped apart to let Miss Staedtler, Stephanie and Ellen through.
"Heavenly, Alistair, heavenly." Honoria stacked cookies on a plate. "Chocolate macaroons, lemon crisps, marzipan drops. And we have timed things perfectly, still fragrant but not too hot to eat. Which of those is decaffeinated?"
"The hazelnut cream, on the left. The Columbian is regular." Alistair handed her a cup and saucer. "And there is chamomile-rose tea in the white pot."
"Oh, some tea, please." Marti poured for her. "Thank you, dear, thank you. What a stunning outfit you're wearing, Marti. I hope you are going out with people your own age this evening. Yes? That's good. I believe I'll go learn what is so fascinating about those charts." She carried her plate of cookies, her teacup and s
aucer, to the table where Dwight and Jerry and Toni still sat engrossed. There was an empty chair at each end of the table and room to set her plates down. "I hope you are finding secret passages," she said to Toni.
Geoff followed her, cookies in one hand, coffee cup in the other, unencumbered by plate or saucer, taking careful bites as he crossed the room. Toni looked across at Honoria, then up at Geoff. "Well," she said, "in a way, we are." She settled back into the sofa, Dwight and Jerry also straightened away from the plans on the table. "I found these rolled up behind the wainscoting in the foyer. There was a little door into a cupboard right in the middle of the wall. Believe me, I went thumping all around the room to see if there were any more little cubbies, but all the rest of the paneling was set stone solid on the plaster. Once I looked closely it was obvious where the handle had been, and the hinges embedded in the wood. Wasn't intended as a secret, simply a casualty of refinishing. Somebody unscrewed the handle to oil the wood and forgot to put it back." She took a sip from a small crystal glass full of amber liquid.
"Anyway," she gestured to the plans, several long sheets, fastened at one end, rolled out now to one of the middle pages, "that's where they were. The original blueprints for Juniper House, plus a few other odds and ends, old ledger sheets, nothing very interesting. But boy, I wish I'd had these guys when we were knocking the walls out for our original makeover. By Montford standards this is a new house, early nineteen-forties, actually during the war. So something approaching modern plumbing and electricity was built in. It was planned as some kind of cross between apartments and a boarding house. Lots of bathrooms, for the forties, a large common kitchen, big rooms on this floor. We were pretty much handed a finished deal, conceptually, unlike most of the B&B's around here that had to be turned inside out. Most of our work was on the main floor, opening things up, and converting the carriage house. Upstairs was just replacing fixtures in the bathrooms, new paint, drapes and furniture." She took another sip from her glass.
"By the way," she held up the glass, "Alistair has a selection of beverages, over behind the cookie table, if you're inclined. A whack stronger than coffee, less likely to keep you awake."
"That's an irresistible offer," Geoff said. "Can I bring you a glass of something, Honoria?"
"A spot of brandy would be absolutely delightful. A spot is about eight sips American." She smiled over the top of her glasses.
"I'll ask our spirit guide." Geoff looked around the table, Dwight's tumbler was almost full, of ice and drink. Jerry had a sherry glass, a little under half-full. "Are you guys okay?"
Dwight nodded. "I'm falling behind, I guess," He took a big gulp. Jerry looked up from the plans, smiled, shook his head. Geoff turned and walked across to Alistair. Marti was going from table to table gathering spent cups and plates on a large round tray. Harold was talking to Alistair. Ellen and Stephanie were outside, just visible at the edge of the light from the patio, stepping down into the garden. The two sisters were settled in their books, reaching out from time to time for a bite of cookie. The family in the corner was playing monopoly, Geoff had arced close enough to see. The girl child had most of the money piled in front of her. The other players watched intently as she rolled the dice.
"But if you don't approve, is it right to facilitate?" Harold looked across the table at his host.
Alistair lifted his hand, calming, not threatening, but it was a big hand. "I haven't said I disapprove, just that my own inclinations are different. On a personal level, I honestly don't care about other people's preferences, so long as they don't interfere with mine. On a business level you can't discriminate, legally, and like most businesses, we need all the customers we can get."
"But if it makes people uncomfortable, couldn't you lose more business than you gain?" Harold turned to Geoff.
Alistair also shifted his focus to Geoff, but spoke to Harold. "Well, it doesn't seem so. We play it out, going by our best judgment."
Geoff said, "My mother told me, tie-breakers usually lose to both sides."
Harold set his cup down. "Isn't there any limit, anywhere we can draw a line? Maybe people can't help what they feel, but they can control their actions. And society has to maintain its standards or our institutions lose their meaning and children grow up without any guidance or limits. Aren't you concerned about those kids over there seeing what's going on in this room?"
Geoff said, "Seeing affection? Doesn't sound world-ending. Easy to imagine worse, there's a whole planet-full of that, just outside."
"But, look at those women sitting there, it's too close, even if they are sisters. And the men, Jerry and Dwight, whispering to each other. It seems pretty plain." Harold spoke more softly, but with greater intensity. Heads lifted briefly around the room.
Alistair snorted, at once angry and amused. "I can't tell you anything about the personal habits of the Farley twins. They have been very pleasant to everyone here, each time they've stayed. You should probably be wary of jumping to conclusions. Even if your impression was correct, that they were lovers, I'm afraid my only concern would be how they treated my staff and the other guests."
"Well I might be wrong about them. It was just an example, I didn't mean anything personally. It's the principle that concerns me, everything spiraling out of control."
Geoff asked, "If you're sitting in your office, somebody comes in with a million dollar portfolio they want to move from another brokerage, would you start by asking about their sexual preferences?"
"Well, of course not," Harold said. "But if they rubbed my face in it, I'd be justified in considering whether taking them on might lose me clients I already had."
"Or," Alistair asked, "bring in a whole new market segment? Can I get you something, Geoff?"
"Thanks, yes, I'd almost forgotten. Toni said you kept a secret compartment of spirits — I came to enquire, and to fetch a 'spot of brandy' for Miss Staedtler."
Alistair pulled open a cabinet door and stepped aside. "I think this is what Honoria chose yesterday evening." He took out a short round dark bottle, pulled the stopper and poured into a wide snifter. "See anything that appeals to your tastes?"
"Nearly everything does, one time or another." Geoff said. "That Tennessee sipping whiskey looks pretty appealing just now. Neat, please. I'll take this over to Honoria." He carried the snifter across the room, presented it with a bow and returned for his own drink.
Alistair had poured a couple ounces in a small crystal glass, Geoff reached to take it as Harold had stepped behind him to look out into the garden. Alistair said, "Harold, anything for you tonight?"
Harold turned. "Oh. No, thank you. If I drink alcohol at bed time, I always wake up about four in the morning and can't get back to sleep." He took a step back towards Alistair and Geoff. "Look, I'm sorry for sounding off. Stephanie and I are trying to have children, and I want to be able to tell them what's right and what's wrong, not leave them wondering."
"No harm done, I'm sure. We're all doing the best we can." Alistair clamped his right arm around Harold shoulders.
Geoff said, "Wondering is what keeps me going. Not least, wonder at all the styles and shades and shapes our peculiar species dresses itself in."
Marti came back from the kitchen with an empty tray. Her black leather boots reached almost to her knees. Her black leather skirt did not. Her bright red blouse reached almost to her waist, the skirt did not. Her black apron covered her in front from shoulders to knees. From behind, her shoulders and waist and thighs were bare, bands of mahogany in the yellow light, freckle-flocked. She placed all the remaining cookies on one of the platters, and piled empty plates and cups on her tray. She lifted the teapot with an enquiring look at Alistair. At his nod she put the pot, creamer, sugar bowl, packets of artificial sweeteners, honey and dish of lemon slices all on the tray. "I'll get the urns and clean cups in just a minute. May I go, then?"
"Yes, Marti, thank you, you can go now. I'll see to the rest. Have fun." Alistair touched her shoulder with his hand. She
turned and carried her tray to the kitchen. The three men watched until she disappeared behind the kitchen door, a conversation of undulating bands of color and skin.
Harold said, "I'm going out back to find my wife."
"And I'm going to find out about the secret passages." Geoff said. "Thank you for the cookies and whiskey, a pleasing upgrade from the cookies and milk we used to get at school for our mid-morning break." Geoff accepted Alistair's offer to top off his glass, and left him to the cleaning up.
