Much Ado About Mother

by Bonaduce, Celia

  “I saw her picture outside,” Bernard said as the woman continued to advance on them. “There can’t be two people in the world sporting those glasses.”

  “Christopher? Is that you?” the woman said, reaching out with both arms to envelop Christopher in a hug. A hug that Christopher did not appear eager to return.

  “I can’t believe it’s you!” Alice Albert said.

  “It’s me,” Christopher said, disengaging from the hug. “This is such a surprise.”

  “You know me,” Alice said, smiling at the group. “I’m always full of surprises.”

  Virginia put out her hand. “Hello, I’m Virginia Wolf.”

  Alice burst out laughing. “No . . . no you’re not! Your name is Virginia Woolf? Priceless!”

  Virginia forged ahead, “This is my daughter, Erinn.”

  “Erinn Wolf? Erinn Elizabeth Wolf?” Alice’s eyebrows shot skyward. “The writer? Impressive.”

  Erinn didn’t answer. Erinn Elizabeth Wolf, the writer, seemed light-years ago. There was an awkward silence, so Virginia continued. “And this is Bernard.”

  “We know each other,” Bernard growled, startling Erinn and Virginia.

  Christopher seemed to wake from a trance.

  “I’m sorry,” Christopher said. “Everyone, this is Alice . . . my ex-wife.”

  Erinn tried to hide the jolt that went through her, but she felt her mother’s hand on her forearm, steadying her.

  “I think I’d heard that you had a little studio around here somewhere,” Alice said. Then turning to Erinn as if they were co-conspirators against bad little boys, she told her, “It’s been five years, but you hear things through the grapevine, you know.”

  Or through Internet stalking.

  Erinn tried not to stare accusingly at Christopher. Why would he bring her to an art gallery to meet his ex-wife? Even if he wasn’t sure it was his ex-wife and just wanted to check out the situation due to morbid fascination, why bring Erinn?

  Her spirits plummeted. He had no interest in her! She was making a fool of herself getting her hopes up like that. All she wanted to be was gone.

  “You changed your name,” Christopher said. “Did you remarry, Alice Albert?”

  Erinn tried to hear if he sounded hopeful or dejected by his own question.

  Alice snorted.

  “No, I just wanted to be free of preconceptions my past might have laid on me. Don’t get me wrong, when you work in beer cans, you get your share of offers.”

  To Erinn’s well-trained ear this was clearly a well-rehearsed line.

  “So I went with Albert,” Alice continued.

  “As in Camus,” Erinn offered.

  “You got that right, sister,” Alice said, giving her a high five, which surprised Erinn. “Good guess.”

  What other Albert would an artist name herself after? Einstein?

  “Are you showing in any local galleries?” Virginia asked after another dreadful silence.

  “No, not around here,” Alice said. “I have a gallery in Sedona and one in Santa Fe, but haven’t cracked L.A. yet. I’m hoping this exhibit will help.”

  “Best of luck to you,” said Bernard. “We’d better go.”

  “I really would love to show my work in your gallery,” Alice said, the brassy shield slipping.

  “No, you really wouldn’t,” Christopher said.

  “I would!” she said, her eyes overly bright. “I really need to show in Los Angeles, Chris.”

  Chris?

  Christopher handed Alice a business card. “Come over after the exhibit and we’ll talk.”

  Alice peered at it over the top rim of her glasses.

  “B and C Studios, Mr. Clancy’s Courtyard.”

  “That’s us,” Bernard said.

  “Anywhere near the Rollicking Bun? I left some flyers there a while ago,” she said. “I’ll give you a call in the next couple days, when all this winds down,” she added, gesturing at the entire studio.

  Erinn thought that was a tad grandiose after Alice had practically thrown herself at Christopher, but she held her tongue. She offered to buy their foursome a nightcap, but when they arrived at the Four Seasons in Marina del Rey, she realized she’d made a tactical error. Willow Station, and an aluminum-can-art display, was pure funk, and she had lurched the group into elegance. It was as if they’d changed lands at Disneyland too quickly and hadn’t quite regrouped.

  They ordered a bottle of wine. Even though Erinn had issued the invitation and in her mind was the host of the event, Bernard took control of the smelling, tasting, and testing of the cork with a hearty sniff. Erinn and her mother exchanged a brief look. They were, after all, from Napa Valley and knew that a discreet thumbing of the cork to see if it was dried out was all that was really needed.

  The conversation bumped and swirled with as much small talk as the four could generate but it finally turned to Alice Albert.

  “You didn’t know your ex-wife was showing at Willow Station?” Virginia asked in much more mellow tones than Erinn could have mustered.

  Christopher shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “When I saw that someone named Alice Albert was hanging at Willow Station, it didn’t ring any bells. Even the artwork is very different from anything she’d ever done. But then I saw the flyer at the Nook and thought it might be her.”

  Erinn wanted to ask why he’d decided that it would be a good idea to walk Erinn down Humiliation Highway but he seemed to read her mind.

  “I know it was probably awkward for you this evening,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I just wanted backup.”

  Backup? As in Tonto? As in Barney Fife?

  This wasn’t working. She caught her mother’s sympathetic gaze and sat up straight. She was not the sort of wilting flower to be undone by this insensitive man. She looked him dead in the eye.

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t a civilized divorce,” Erinn said.

  She heard Bernard snort and take a sip of wine.

  “We were both very young,” Christopher said, clearly not disturbed by her bluntness. “We met in art school. She was a great artist and wanted a life I couldn’t give her. For her, it was about the art and only about the art.”

  She’s not that great. It’s pull tabs!

  “And you feel you owe her?” Virginia asked gently.

  “I do,” Christopher said, looking relieved to be understood. “Don’t get me wrong, she wanted out of the marriage. But I didn’t hang around to see that she was OK.”

  “Well, that wasn’t your job any longer,” Erinn said.

  “Marriage is complicated,” Christopher said. “So is divorce.”

  The conversation shifted uneasily to the idea of Alice showing at Bernard and Christopher’s studio. Erinn had to admit that Alice’s work would definitely fit in with their eclectic tastes.

  But no use sugar-coating it: Erinn didn’t need the competition.

  “She was a brilliant student,” Christopher said. “Alice had some very interesting insights.”

  “For example?” Virginia asked, always interested in people’s college experiences.

  “She said that if Cecilia Beaux were as pretty as Mary Cassatt,” Christopher said, “she would have been the famous one. Even in the early twentieth century, art was still parceled out according to the male perspective.”

  “I think that’s absurd,” Erinn said, sipping her red wine. “The paintings that made Mary Cassatt famous were painted when she was older and looked like a basset hound. That’s just rhetorical rambling.”

  “Rhetorical rambling is rhetorical rambling,” Christopher said, laughing.

  Is he defending Alice?

  “Alice said that we needed to celebrate the women of the Industrial Revolution because they were clearly the artists of the textile factories. She wanted to do her thesis on it but couldn’t find enough research to support her cause,” he continued, clearly warming to the subject of Alice’s intelligence. “It enraged her.”

  Virginia
and Bernard were nodding sagely. Erinn found her temper rising, since this “observation” was commonly cited by rookie scholars debating art and history in coffeehouses nationwide.

  “That, of course, depends on how you define the Industrial Revolution. One could argue that it started with the invention of the wheel,” she said.

  It was as if her companions had turned to stone. The waiter walked by.

  “Check, please,” Virginia said.

  When the foursome finally got back to the Beach Walk, Christopher took Erinn’s hand and asked if she’d like to go for a walk. She hesitated. She was pretty sure the evening had gone on long enough for all of them. She certainly didn’t want Christopher to feel obliged to take her on a pity walk.

  “She’d love to, Christopher,” Virginia said, gently nudging her eldest daughter forward. Erinn wasn’t sure whose romance her mother was trying to foster—Erinn’s or her own. Erinn watched as her mother and Bernard headed across the sand to the ocean.

  Christopher took Erinn’s hand and they walked in silence down the quiet Beach Walk.

  “It’s hard to believe this place ever settles down,” Christopher said. “It’s so crazy during the day.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Erinn said. “It can be pretty crazy at night, too.”

  She knew she sounded as if she was pouting but she couldn’t help herself. Christopher halted and stood in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and bent to look into her eyes. Erinn wished it were darker, but the floodlights from a nearby store filled the area with light. She had no choice but to look back at him.

  “I know I screwed up taking you to the gallery tonight,” he said. “I get it. And I know it was totally juvenile of me, but I just . . . I just wanted a beautiful woman with me. It was crazy; I was just showing off. I hope you don’t hate me.”

  “I . . . ,” Erinn said. “I can understand how there might be some satisfaction in pay-back.”

  Now she was glad there was light. She could see Christopher smile at her. She could see his hands as he smoothed her hair back from her face. Then she closed her eyes. She couldn’t see anything, but she felt alive to her fingertips. He kissed her.

  CHAPTER 15

  VIRGINIA

  Her daughter really was a genius, Virginia thought proudly. Erinn’s idea of using the rabbits to grab media attention was brilliant. Coordinating the rabbits, which lived in Santa Monica, and the ladies of Cause Courtyard, who were all in Venice, was no easy task. Finally, Dymphna arrived in front of the Bun in a U-Haul full of rabbit crates. Dymphna could clearly tell one rabbit from the next, but Virginia could only distinguish one, a reddish hairball with a large brown circle on its back. Dymphna had named it Spot. Virginia felt anointed as Dymphna handed Spot to her. She tried not to look at Piquant, who was inside the Bun, yapping just inside the picture window.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to name farm animals,” Babette said, as Dymphna handed her a white Angora named Blanche.

  “You don’t name farm animals because you’re going to turn them into food,” Dymphna said. “I’m only turning their hair into sweaters.”

  Dymphna very calmly and carefully harnessed and leashed all ten rabbits and seemed to match each one to a particular human. She would pick up a rabbit and study the women, walking up and down in front of the Bun, until she was satisfied she had the right woman for the job. At that point she would hand over a rabbit, telling each woman in turn that rabbits could be easily frightened and she was entrusting them with precious, precious cargo. Finally, the women were able to take to the Venice streets, each walking a miniature Yeti.

  “Remember that the rabbit is actually walking you,” Dymphna said. “Please don’t try to lead or tug the leash.”

  Virginia stood with Spot, not sure exactly how this was going to work. She and Dymphna watched as Babette and Blanche faltered down the Beach Walk. In minutes, she was surrounded by people who wanted to see the rabbit.

  “I hope this doesn’t stress Blanche too much,” Dymphna said, her eyebrows knitted. “Do you think Babette will remember to hold her?”

  She relaxed when Babette picked up Blanche and let people gently pat her.

  Virginia couldn’t hear what Babette was actually saying to anyone, but she noticed that in the middle of a conversation someone would look over toward Mr. Clancy’s Courtyard, craning to see inside. In no time at all they would be signing the petition.

  Virginia looked up and down the Beach Walk, where the rabbity drama was playing out over and over again. Each woman would walk the rabbit until someone came up to her. At that point she would scoop the creature into a protective embrace, according to Dymphna’s instructions. Almost everyone seemed to be signing the petition.

  One step closer to filing, Virginia thought.

  Spot seemed eager to hop so Virginia took a few tentative steps. It took about a half hour to walk half a block. Spot decided she’d walked far enough and stopped in front of Mr. Clancy’s Courtyard. Virginia could see him in the window of his shop and while she knew better than to tug at Spot’s leash, she really did not want to be rallying the troops right in front of Mr. Clancy. Erinn, who seemed to thrive on confrontation, would have loved to find herself in this position, but it was not Virginia’s style.

  As she leaned over to scoop up the rabbit, a woman about Erinn’s age came up to them.

  “What have you got there?” she asked.

  “It’s an Angora rabbit,” Virginia said, automatically cradling Spot. “We’re out here drawing attention to a very important cause.”

  The woman signaled to two men who were standing nearby, watching, when out of nowhere they produced a camera and a boom microphone. On one hand this was exactly what Cause Courtyard had in mind when they fanned out over the beach community with their petitions. On the other hand, doing an interview right in front of Mr. Clancy seemed like bad form.

  The reporter signaled to the cameraman to roll and suddenly the boom pole was dangling over Virginia’s head. The newswoman lifted a microphone to her lips and spoke directly into the camera.

  “Tempers are as short as the hair on these Angora rabbits is long,” she said. “A band of locals is standing their ground, trying to save a tree that is moments away from destruction.”

  “Well, not moments away,” Virginia said in alarm.

  This wasn’t journalism, this was sensationalism!

  “Mr. Clancy of Mr. Clancy’s Courtyard has turned a deaf ear to this dedicated local group, who are selflessly working to save a fellow earthbound cohabitant. Thousands are flocking to the Venice Beach Walk to get a glimpse of the Angora Angels as they race against the clock. Is that accurate?” the newswoman asked Virginia.

  She stuck the microphone into Virginia’s face. Virginia held Spot tighter as she tried to formulate a logical speech, although clearly coherent thought was not mandatory.

  “We’re Cause Courtyard,” Virginia began, “not the Angora Angels.”

  The newswoman suddenly took a large step back as Spot let out a loud hissing noise. A shirtless man with bulging muscles was walking by, an anvil-faced pit bull on a lead in front of him. Spot hissed again, her powerful legs kicking. Virginia tried to control her, but Spot was strong and leaped to the ground. Virginia fumbled with the leash, but Spot was free. The rabbit ran toward the pit bull at full speed, covering the distance between them in seconds. The dog yelped in terror. Spot tore after the pit bull, which streaked madly down the Beach Walk, his owner barely managing to keep up with him. Human and dog kept glancing over their shoulders as the rabbit charged. Spot was in hot pursuit, but Virginia managed to catch her leash and scoop her up. Spot sat quietly in Virginia’s arms, twitching her nose contentedly. Virginia turned back to the newswoman.

  “I’m so sorry,” Virginia said. “What were you saying?”

  “Forget it,” the newswoman said, indicating her crew should pack it up. “Nothing you can say will beat the footage of your rabbit taking that dog’s pride card.”


  Dymphna came running up.

  “Is Spot all right?” she asked, carefully taking the rabbit in her arms. “I’ve never seen her do that before.”

  “She seems fine,” Virginia said, but she felt she’d let Dymphna down. “I had no idea how strong she was.”

  Dymphna buried her head in Spot’s fur. She nodded and walked away. Virginia looked around her. All the women were holding onto their rabbits for dear life and staring at her. Cause Courtyard was over.

  As the women and rabbits made their way back to the Bun, Virginia caught Mr. Clancy’s eye. She wasn’t sure if he had stepped outside to shoo everyone away or felt he could finally have some peace now that the rabbits and newspeople were gone. He looked years older than he had when she’d first met him and that was only a few weeks ago! She felt very sorry for him. Mr. Clancy pretended not to see her, but Virginia called out to him.

  “Mr. Clancy!” she said.

  He looked as if he were debating whether to talk to her or not but his indecisiveness gave her time to catch up to him.

  “That was quite the show,” Mr. Clancy said, not smiling.

  “I hope that newswoman didn’t bother you.”

  “No, she didn’t bother me. But you and your friends sure did. You’re making me out to be the bad guy and all I’m trying to do is keep from being sued. That tree is a danger to everyone who comes into the courtyard. I mean, your own daughter fell just the other day!”

  Virginia wondered if Erinn was sneaking over to the Courtyard to see Christopher.

  “Erinn fell?”

  “No, not Erinn. Suzanna! She was coming out of the dance studio and almost went ass over teakettle, if you’ll pardon my French.”

  Virginia was startled. Why hadn’t Suzanna mentioned this? Why was she at the dance studio in the first place? Maybe she was going to volunteer to help that nice young dance instructor. After all, Suzanna did know how to dance after her salsa frenzy of a few years ago.

  “I don’t think it’s fair that everyone is making me out to be the villain,” Mr. Clancy was saying.

  “Nobody thinks you’re the—” Virginia started, but Mr. Clancy’s look cut her short.