by Bud Crawford
~
Marti closed her phone and tucked it into her purse. That was cool. She had to be a little cryptic telling James she'd spend the night with him, with Seth staring up at her from the rumpled bed. She'd called James 'Alistair,' and he'd picked it up perfectly, asking just yes-or-no questions and making the call real brief. She liked dealing with a grownup. Seth was such a lame little boy most of the time. James wanted her, simple as that; he'd asked in a nice way, and she'd agreed. Grownup, clean. And she knew he was going to be good in bed, you could tell, when you'd had a little experience. Seth had been on the way down when they'd first hooked up. He always said she was good for him, he'd be lost without her, but he kept getting sadder and sadder. He wasn't much good for her. Couldn't hardly get it up lately, the downer drugs were worse than the uppers for that. When he was cooked on coke and speed, he was twitchy and paranoid. He'd hit her once, accused her of stealing his drugs and his money, real charming. But with the heroin, barbiturates and tranks he'd been using lately, he was even more paranoid and jealous; but also pretty inert, a lot less scary.
She'd been thinking for weeks now the best thing she could do for him was to walk away. Best thing for her, too. On his own, he'd either go all the way down, end up dead or in jail; or he'd figure how to climb out. She was his enabler, Toni said, and that nailed it. With her around, he at least ate regularly, his place got cleaned up, she'd walk him around the block a couple times a week, he had somebody to talk to. Sometimes they had sex. She'd decided to end it but she hadn't figured out how to tell him. He'd be hurt and he might hurt her. He was stronger than he looked, even wasted like he was now, wiry-tough, not big muscles. It had been fun at first, how he could throw her around, until he got mean and she got scared.
Seth was going to be a doctor, before the drugs. He was pre-med, graduated from college, a science whiz. But like some people can't hold their liquor, Seth couldn't hold his drugs. He also thought his ideas were laws. If he figured something out, that was it. He'd be happy to argue with you, hours on end, but you weren't going to budge him. Tell him he had a problem with drugs, he'd talk in circles until he wore you down. The problem, if there was one, wasn't him, it was a stupid legal system. Government intruding into people's personal business. Bad public policy bought and paid for by the corporations, tobacco, liquor, pharmaceutical. It was all about profits. That was the real sick addiction in this country, addiction to money. Personal choices and medical issues were turned into crimes so drug companies and drug lords could keep sucking in the cash. It wasn't about him, he was just trying to live an honest life, no lies, no bullshit.
That was total bullshit, Marti knew. He wasn't in school. He had no job. He was dealing drugs for money. He was getting crazier and crazier. Got a gun last week, protection in a bad neighborhood, he said. You couldn't trust the police down here. He had bags of money sometimes, usually not his. Then he'd spend some of it anyway, getting in deeper and deeper with really nasty people. It wasn't that she didn't love him, she did. She remembered how sweet and smart and charming he had been when they first met. And she could still see that person, lost and indistinct inside a smelly sock of paranoia. She wanted the real Seth back. But she was scared and bored at the same time. They hardly ever went anywhere for fun. She had to get out. James was a one-night-stand, she had no illusions there, he was a hundred-girl-a-year kind of guy. But it was going to help her walk away, having someplace else to go. Maybe it was possible even, something lasting with James. Tonight would tell. The anticipation made her tingly. It made her wet.
Seth knew that he was losing her. She'd stopped arguing with him. That meant she didn't care any more. So, how was he going to handle this? That wasn't her father on the phone, her step-father. He was pretty sure she hadn't ever been unfaithful, since they'd hooked up, half-a-year ago. But she'd faked that call, just now. There was something she didn't want him to know, something that made her smile. This wasn't a good time, too much crazy shit going on, to be looking for a new girlfriend. He wasn't going to let this happen. There'd been too much losing lately, it was time to draw the line.
"So who was that?" he asked. "Alistair checking up?"
"Not checking up, Mister Suspicious. He needs me to get a bag of flour, that's all."
"I thought you got those fifty pound sacks delivered."
"Yeah, we do, tomorrow afternoon. But that won't help with breakfast, and we're out now. Anyway, I gotta go, it's getting close to tea time."
"Come back later?"
"I'll see, I'm kind of worn out. All early mornings and late nights lately, not much sleep. I may just crash after we do desserts. Don't wait up."
"Okay, Marti-pants. I'll be here. I love you, you know. You do know, don't you? And I need you in my life." He turned away from her.
"Love you, too, Seth. Be good." She waved a kiss, afraid if she crossed to the bed he'd grab her and she'd have to wrestle to get loose. She didn't need that.
He watched the door pull shut behind her. Okay, Seth, let's play detective. She's lying and you need to know why. He dropped his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, stabilizing. From the window he could see her unlocking her bike. No way he could get his bike out quick enough to follow, but it was about a five minutes walk winding up Hill Street to the back side of Juniper House where their bike rack was. If he started now and got there before she did, he'd see her roll in with a bag of flour. If she beat him, there wasn't much chance she'd really got the flour. He should have made her name a store, but it was at least a mile or two plus the time inside, so his test was solid. He shook a couple pills from a jar in the bathroom, orange caps with a blue band, and dropped them into the pocket of his jeans. He took his new trench coat, he didn't think she'd ever seen it, and a hat, he never wore hats. He locked the latch and both deadbolts behind him.
~
The Bistro at the Biltmore Estate was light and airy, a very pleasant room. Good choice for lunch, Ellen decided. The menu wasn't long, but there was reasonable variety and the dishes looked tasty in print. She continued with her offer to buy the meal if her companions would report to her on their choices. With seven people that should pretty much cover the offerings. She allowed the waiter to lead them to a bottle of house Merlot, product of the Biltmore Winery, right next door. Their combined order included sandwiches, pizzas, and salads and two of the entrees, with no duplicates. Ellen made a quick list in her notebook, and filled in comments as she got them.
There was an odd new tension, she saw but didn't understand, between Harold and Stephanie. Their mood had been light, almost flirtatious before. But when Stef rejoined them after checking on Harold, something had changed. They both were flustered. To take things a different way, she asked Mary-Beth Farley about their business in Asheville. Maybe something about Juniper House made the sisters more shy, or maybe Biltmore House made them open up, but both were happy to talk this afternoon.
"We work with clays, mostly," Mary-Beth said, "specialized preparations, for cosmetic uses. We sell through franchised shops around the country."
Beth-Ann said, "We grew up with clays, first in Georgia 'til we were about eight, then we moved to Tennessee, where there were even more kinds. We started by making mud-pies, then learned to fire the mud-pies into pots. We studied chemistry and business in college, and started compounding clays with other ingredients."
"Different clays have different useful properties," Mary-Beth said, "applied to human skin, but beyond that you can use the clays as moist clingy carriers for emollients, astringents, exfoliants, cleansers."
"Add some essential oils and pretty jars, suddenly you have a product line," said Beth-Ann. "So that's why we're here. We've tried to get a shop going in Asheville for ten years now. It's a potentially excellent market, but we couldn't get the contracts signed. We hope this time the deal goes through. Both parties are currently finishing up due diligence. It's a two-way exclusive agreement, so you want everybody sure before signing."
Geoff asked, "Two-way exclu
sive means you grant them a territory free from other dealers, and they sell only your stuff?"
"Exactly. A deep commitment in both directions. We have a sales target for each market we sell in and we want somebody who will work hard to reach that volume. If they do, it's a pretty good income. After a couple years, we might enlarge the territory, if there's anything available more or less adjacent."
"Do you work with investors, besides your franchise operators?" Harold asked.
"No, we're a hundred percent self-owned, self-financed. It's just us, our sellers and our ultimate customers."
"You could sell more in department stores, couldn't you?" Stephanie asked.
"Probably," Beth-Ann said, "but that's not our model. We've trusted our dealers all these years, and they've trusted us. It's pretty profitable at this scale. If we kicked the volume up, and used outlets we didn't control, there'd be downward pressures on prices. We might end up selling more but working harder with diluted profitability. It's better for us this way."
"CareFairLeigh," Honoria said, "that's you, isn't it? I've seen your shops."
"That's the brand, that's right," Beth-Ann said.
"Okay, me, too," Stephanie said. "I tried a moisturizer once on a friend's advice. It worked great, except it was way beyond my budget then, waiting tables in New York. I still remember how much I liked it. You make good stuff."
Stef still wasn't looking directly at Harold, Ellen saw, while he was rather balefully staring straight at her. "Okay, guys," she said, "how's the food? Be honest, don't treat me as a hostess not-to-be-offended. I'm paying for truth, not compliments. Give it straight."
She scribbled notes for several minutes on each dish, then looked up. "Okay, it's about one o'clock. If we want to get back for Alistair's tea, there's about two-and-a-half hours. I'm thinking about coming back after tea, to walk the grounds and have dinner."
"Can we catch the 'behind the scene's tour' now?'" Geoff wondered. "See all the secret places? Or would we have needed reservations a month ago?"
"Shall I check?" Ellen asked. Everyone nodded, yes.
Harold said, "I might have to rest a little, if there's a lot of climbing, but it did sound pretty interesting."
Ellen dialed her phone, asked some questions, slipped in some magic words. Snapping the phone shut, she said, "Okay, we're in. Twenty minutes, we form up by the desk in the entrance hall." She signaled their waiter for the check.
"You're never so sexy," Geoff said, "as when you project unstated premises that slide through unremarked. Professional and hot."
~
There's her bike, Seth saw it chained to the rack. So, she was lying, no flour, and not her step-father. Who was it really? One of the guests here? What the hell is that guy doing? A thin small figure cut through the back hedge, on the opposite side from Seth, crossed the garden keeping close to the fence. He climbed the four steps at the far end of the patio, turning back to scan the yard just as he slipped into the parlor. His scan locked on Seth, obviously seeing him, but he kept moving inside, out of view. All sorts of sneaky shit going down in Juniper. Could be him screwing Marti. If she was messing around, she was getting screwed, that was certain. One hungry little cunt, he had reason to know. So, okay, Detective Inspector Seth Harper, who's on first? You have good grounds for suspicion, zero evidence, and no plan. What a man. You could shoot her, if you had your gun. You could tell Rank that Marti stole his money, and let him take her down. Problem is, doing those things might feel good for a minute, but he really was fond of her. Fuck, just us here, admit it. You love the bitch. She did a lot to keep his game together, be damn difficult to replace. Odds were he'd end up with somebody as messed up as he was. Who else would take him, where things stood right now?
Alright, he wasn't messed up, not fundamentally. More precisely, he was in the middle of a lot of action, not all of which he controlled. What you call denial, right? He was smart enough to admit that to himself, but not wuss enough he'd admit it to anybody else. He could handle it. Right again. That part was going swimmingly. Shit. He needed to not lose her, whatever it took. One part thinking straight and one part winding crazy. Seth, I hardly know you. Once upon a time you could make things happen in your life, move forward. Gotta remember how it used to be. Gotta get it back. Note to self.
Can't stand here in the hedge all day, though. Better get home, get a bite to eat, smoke some hash, clear my head. As he turned he almost stepped on a little kid riding her bike along the sidewalk. She kept riding, almost to the corner, wheeled around and looked at him. Five seconds, ten seconds, unblinking. Then she pushed off towards the far corner, out of sight. Real good sneaking skills, Detective Seth. The only two people you see this whole excursion, they both see you. I think Plan B's over, better work up D or F. Some damn plan.
~
Harold was again sitting alone in the hall. This time he stayed alone. He saw one of the sisters go down the steps, to the bathroom most likely. A couple minutes later she went back up. She waved to him both times, but didn't cross over. That was fine, he needed some time alone to figure out what had happened with Stephanie. There was only one answer, and he didn't like it. She had seen Madison, or seen Madison and him together. Easily possible, if she'd come down to check on him. He felt the hot flush again, forehead to chest, not pleasant this time. However it looked, nothing happened. Madison gave him a message from David, then she left. He wished he could tell whether Stef saw when Maddy touched him or did the thing with her boobs, or if she just saw her walking away. Regardless, he had to clear the air. It frightened him when Stephanie got distant, like she didn't care. Angry he could handle, indifferent was scary.
The Maddy thing makes no sense at all. Is the constant come-on a compulsion with her, she can't help it? What does she want? Mess things up with Stephanie, purely for sport? Seems to have worked. Why hadn't she just called him? Why hadn't David called, if the message really was from him? Was David actually being nice, or trying to keep him from discovering something? Everybody telling him to back off, James too, though he was pretty sure James didn't mean it, just made him more determined. They all seemed to have something at stake, but he had no idea what. He'd lay money James was playing a double game, probably never played any other kind. He was almost sure James knew the answer. Maybe he wanted confirmation, maybe he was trying to use the information for some other purpose. It was all riddles wrapped in riddles. First he had to solve the puzzle, maybe then the other aspects would start making sense. No, first was Stef. First he had to make that right. Could he catch the group, on their way down from the top floor? Easier for him, walking down stairs, than walking up. Nobody was supposed to leave, but Ellen could get him back in. The guide seemed willing to do anything she suggested. Do they know she works for that magazine?
~
Geoff was listening to their guide as they were conducted room-to-room, and recording images of what he saw. But his mind was running a parallel track. He liked Mary-Beth's great-chain-of-being image. It established scale. There was another aspect he couldn't resolve until he thought of Jefferson and Monticello. That was a better marker than French chateaus, regardless of design derivation. Biltmore and Monticello were fundamentally the same enterprise: a self-sustaining manor, providing every conceivable civilized refinement for the principals. The big distinction being, George paid his staff and they could leave if they chose. Too bad Harold had to quit the tour, too many flights in one go, he said. Would the guide let him rejoin on the descent? Not supposed to, according to the solemn little lecture they'd been given at the start, but Ellen tended to get her way in these situations, cloaked or uncloaked. It had been interesting, having the Farley sisters revealed a little. Yes, they said, they were twins. Sharp complex minds under the lace and floral prints, no flies on the Farleys. Presumption was the word Mary-Beth used, for George's dream home, for the very idea of it. Definitely that. But, it was like the tax on yachts a couple years ago, that raised no revenues. Yachts are deferrable items, so the rich
waited out the tax. But the shipyard workers, the outfitters, all the blue collar support was suddenly unemployed. What would the thousand workers for seven years have done, without George's castle to build? Worked elsewhere for less? The upward press on wages was a bad thing, why?
Ellen said Geoff was Kali, blue goddess with a dozen arms, adjudicating everything on the other other hand. So, Biltmore: good thing, bad thing? Better than smallpox or the First World War? That's easy. Better than Monticello? Not so easy. No Olmstead, no Richardson at Monticello; all Thomas, for worse or less worse. Original invention, not just trying to surpass his models. But Thomas knew in his soul, as assuredly as his buddy John Adams, or Abe Lincoln later, the ineluctable evil of owning human persons. Yet, two score years later, it was Jefferson's work product that Lincoln used. He could not have pulled it off otherwise. History isn't bunk, sorry, Henry, it's a headache. No lesson but points three contradictory ways, and the lessons morph, from age to age, depending on the exigencies of the day.
