Lily of the Springs

by Carole Bellacera

  Dozens of tables had been set up around the pool, decked out with colorful umbrellas—each one a different color, pink, purple, red, blue, and yellow. Right now, they were coming in handy because the summer sun was still strong, even this late in the evening. Each table had six chairs, and most of them were filled with people eating and chatting and having a good time. Ladies in crisp, black uniforms circulated among the tables, delivering drinks and picking up used dishes.

  Lah, it’s so fancy, I thought, my stomach churning.

  Alongside the stone wall, industrial-sized grills had been set up, and men in white aprons and chef hats were busy flipping big thick steaks—the source of the stomach-turning char-broiled smell. I glanced down at the dishcloth-covered basket I carried, wondering who on earth would want fried chicken when they saw those big steaks. Should I take the chicken up to the kitchen, I wondered? Where had everybody else put the food they’d brought?

  Jake was no help. He was staring around, just as slack-jawed as I was. He’d never seen nothing like this, either. I felt so darn out of place, sort of like the bull that wandered into the china shop. Especially since people were now giving us odd, sidelong glances like they were wondering who let the riff-raff in. Not a soul lifted up a hand to greet Jake and call him over.

  “Don’t you see anybody you know?” I muttered, shifting my weight to ease the pain in my feet.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, I’ve got to find something to do with this chicken. I can’t stand here and hold it all night.”

  I caught the gaze of a tall, slender brunette sitting at one of the nearby tables. The woman stared at me for a moment, one perfect black brow arched in curiosity, then stood and came toward us. She moved graciously through the crowd, almost as if she were skating instead of walking in her outrageously spiked stiletto sandals, at least an inch higher than mine. The pleats of her red and white-checked halter dress swirled around Betty Grable-slim legs, so tanned I suspected she’d just got back from the tropics.

  “Hello!” Smiling, the woman stopped in front of us and stuck out a slender hand adorned by movie-star length crimson nails and a diamond ring big enough to choke a python. “I’m Roxanne Dawson, and who might you be?”

  Up close, the woman looked older than she had from the table. I guessed she was in her mid-40’s, judging by the tiny crow’s feet at the corners of sapphire eyes rimmed with false-eyelashes. And that was definitely not a Kentucky accent she had. More like from somewhere further south--not hillbilly—but a cultured southern accent.

  I adjusted my grip on the basket so I could shake the woman’s hand. “I’m Lily Tatlow, and this here is my husband, Jake. He works for your husband.”

  “Hello, ma’am,” Jake said politely, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he stuck out his hand.

  Roxanne Dawson looked at Jake, and I watched her turn into a sex kitten right in front of us. She took his extended hand, her gaze flicking over him, drinking in every detail of his tan dungarees and crisp short-sleeved shirt, then lingering for an obvious moment on the gap at his neck that gave her a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair.

  Her lips parted in a seductive smile and her voice lowered to a purr, “Hello, Jake. I’m so glad you could come to our little pool party. It’s especially nice when we have new faces here.”

  Her expression of obvious appreciation told me it was the new male faces that made the most impression on Mrs. Roxanne. Why, the woman was almost drooling.

  “Uh, what would you like me to do with this?” I asked in my nicest voice, gesturing with my basket of chicken.

  The woman drew her hungry eyes from Jake long enough to look and see what I was talking about, and slowly released his hand. “What is it, dear?”

  I saw right through her phony smile. The woman was annoyed at having to turn her attention away from a potential conquest. “Fried chicken,” I said, and then added pointedly, “It’s my husband’s favorite recipe--a family specialty.”

  Roxanne Dawson looked at the basket in my hands as if it were a rattlesnake, coiled to strike. But she recovered quickly. “How nice! But you shouldn’t have bothered! We have plenty of food.” She turned toward one of the men grilling steaks and called out, “James, come here!”

  I frowned. Jinx had told me to bring a potluck dish. I was sure of it.

  A beefy, red-faced man hustled over, still holding a barbecue fork in one gigantic hand. “Yes, Mrs. Dawson?”

  She gave him a cool smile, nothing at all like the chili-peppered one she’d bestowed on Jake. “Please take this lovely fried chicken our guest here prepared and add it to the buffet table. No doubt it will be appreciated by those that don’t care for red meat.”

  With relief, I gave up the basket of chicken to James.

  Closing a possessive hand around Jake’s upper arm, Roxanne Dawson cooed, “Come, both of you. Let me introduce you around.” And drawing Jake with her, she towed him over to the table she’d just vacated. Gritting my teeth, I followed behind, feeling like an unwanted puppy dog.

  I had a feeling it was going to be a long, uncomfortable evening.

  ***

  “Would you look at that, Jinx? Have you ever seen anything so outrageous in all your life?”

  “No, I haven’t,” agreed Jinx. “And if it were my husband, I swear, I’d jump in that pool, and pull him out of there by his damn balls!”

  I looked at her in astonishment and could just make out the outraged look on her face in the fluttering light of the Japanese lanterns hanging under the umbrella at our table. Why, Jinx was as mad as a hive of wasps.

  “Well, I’m not about to make a scene,” I said lightly. “And I don’t think you would either if that were Lonnie she’d latched onto. After all, she is the boss’s wife.”

  “Humph!” Jinx snorted, taking a sip of the Mai Tai a waitress had placed in front of her. “She’s a Jezebel! And everybody knows it. You know where Lute met her, don’t you? In a New Orleans cathouse. She’s nothing but poor white trash!”

  I looked over at the pool where Jake was engaging in flirtatious horseplay with Roxanne Dawson. He grabbed her by her sleek, tanned shoulders and playfully tried to dunk her as she squealed and tried half-heartedly to escape his clutches. He’d certainly lost his initial shyness with the woman, I thought dryly.

  It was after eleven, and the party had quieted down a bit. The people who’d brought kids had gone on home, leaving only the serious party-makers to finish off what was left of the food and the still plentiful flow of alcohol. I hadn’t thought that me and Jake would be in that company, but when I’d tried to get him to leave about ten o’clock, he’d flat-out refused, saying the party was just getting started. That was about the time he’d had enough booze to make him strip down to his trunks and jump in the deep end of the pool.

  Not more than five minutes later, Roxanne Dawson got up from the table where she’d been watching Jake like a hungry lioness. She untied the waistband of her pleated skirt, allowing it to fall to the stone patio, and with a flick of her wrist, released the back of her halter top, and it, too, went fluttering to the ground. By this time, the woman had an audience watching her. Every eye in the vicinity, male and female, was glued to her…or rather, to what she had on.

  It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. And I’d thought my new bathing suit was daring! Roxanne wore a two-piece swim suit in a red and white check print, and the bottom was shorter than even the short-shorts those European women wore in the magazine ads Betty had recently sent me—they were cut pretty low at the top, too, because Roxanne’s belly button was clearly visible. The top, though, was just pure scandalous, revealing so much of Roxanne’s cleavage that it was durn-near indecent. And as if she knew—and reveled in—the appreciation of every man near the pool, Roxanne lifted one magnificent leg, placing her foot on the bottom of the chair and leaned down to unbuckle the strap of her stiletto sandal, giving everyone who wanted it a perfect view of her firm backside. Discarding her shoes under
the table, Roxanne turned, her gaze seeking out Jake in the pool. Locking eyes with him, she tucked her hair beneath a rubber swimming cap, and with everyone watching, jiggled her way over to the edge of the pool nearest him. She eased down onto the deck, and slipped her feet into the water, making coquettish squeals as to how cold it was.

  Me and Jinx both watched in astonishment as she playfully kicked water at Jake and did everything short of begging him to pull her in. And of course, he did. And they’d been in there fooling around for over 45 minutes now.

  The only lights in the area were the Japanese lanterns and the blue-green glow of underwater pool lights. And sometimes, Roxanne and Jake disappeared into the far end of the pool near the waterfall where it was darker, and I tried not to think about what could be going on there. But surely even Jake wasn’t brazen enough to cavort with another woman right under my nose!

  Then I remembered Texas and the harlot he’d brought home to give me instructions on how to love a man. I grabbed the half-finished sloe gin fizz in front of me and downed it.

  “God! Look at her rubbing up against him,” Jinx snarled, sounding even more indignant than I could drum up the energy to feel. “Why don’t you put a stop to it, Lily?”

  “What do you suggest I do?” I asked. “Get in there and drag him out by the hair?”

  Jinx took a gulp of her Mai Tai and slammed the glass back down on the table. “My suggestion was his balls. Much more efficient.”

  I sighed. “I want to know why her husband lets her get away with it? Where is he, anyway?”

  “In the house. He and the managers are playing Texas Hold ‘Em. Another annual tradition. Believe me, you’ve seen the last of Lute tonight.”

  Not that I’d seen a lot of the company president at all. Just as we’d filled our plates from the buffet table (which, strangely enough, had been missing my fried chicken), we’d come face-to-face with the head honcho, a scrawny-looking weasel of a man whom Jake had fumblingly introduced me to. I’d had a hard time picturing him as the powerful tycoon from Ashland, Kentucky, who’d single-handedly built his iron factory into a million dollar business before he turned 25—and even more incredible—had married a woman who looked like a pin-up girl, and if Jinx could be believed, worked in a New Orleans brothel before becoming lady of the manor.

  Suddenly I realized that the “lady of the manor” was getting out of the pool. Jake watched her every move as if hypnotized. Like magic, one of the house servants appeared with a large, thick towel and wrapped it around Roxanne’s elegant shoulders. She took off her bathing cap and shook her head, allowing her dark brown curls to tumble charmingly around her flawless face.

  “Lily, take Jake his towel,” Jinx said in a low, firm voice. “Hurry!”

  I did as ordered. As Jake hefted himself up out of the pool, I held out his towel, and said, “We’ve got to be getting home, Jake. The babysitter is going to cost us a fortune.”

  Jake stared at me. My heart sank at the crestfallen look in his eyes.

  Before he could respond, Roxanne spoke in her silky New Orleans accent, “Oh, dear. I’ve promised to show your Jake my mask collection. You will excuse us, won’t you? We won’t be more than a few minutes.”

  I stared at Roxanne, dumbfounded. How stupid did this woman think I was? A mask collection? I looked at Jake. His cheekbones were flushed, his eyes glittering. I knew that look. He was aroused. What nasty little suggestion had Roxanne whispered into his ear as they frolicked in the pool?

  “A mask collection?” Suddenly, Jinx was at my side; she gave Roxanne and Jake a brilliant smile. “From New Orleans? Oh, I’d simply love to see it, Roxanne. It sounds divine!”

  Roxanne frowned, clearly put out that her little plan had back-fired.

  Jake took the towel from me and began to rub it over his hair. “Some other time, Mrs. Dawson. Lily’s right. We’ve got to get going.”

  I exchanged a glance with Jinx, mouthing the words, “thank you.” She gave a shrug, and although her blue eyes blazed fury, she turned to Roxanne Dawson with a big smile. “Well, I guess that leaves you and me, Mrs. D. Lonnie will be in there all night playing poker with your husband, so I’ve got all the time in the world. And I just can’t wait to see your mask collection.”

  I watched the two women walk toward the steps leading to the terrace, and hoped with all my might that Jinx would manage to break something really expensive.

  ***

  Jake pressed his foot down on the accelerator, and we sped through the summer night down Rt. 90 towards Glasgow.

  “So, what’s got your panties in such a wad?” he finally asked. “You ain’t said more than two words to me since we got in the car.”

  I stared out into the darkness, blinking back tears. I didn’t want to get into this now. What was the point, anyway? He could tell me until he was blue in the face that nothing was going on, that it was all in good fun. But I knew better. I’d seen his face. And I knew what they would’ve done if they’d gone into the house. Right there under the roof where her husband sat playing cards. How could anyone be so shameless?

  “Hey, she was making eyes at me, Lily Rae,” Jake said, staring at the dark highway ahead. “What was I supposed to do? Be rude to her? She’s my boss’s wife, for chrissake!”

  Still, I didn’t speak. But my tears burned hotter behind my eyelids. The lump in my throat grew larger.

  “Goddamn it, Lily Rae!” He banged the palm of his hand on the steering wheel.

  I flinched, but steadfastly kept my gaze out the side window.

  “What did you think I was going to do? Fuck her right there in the pool?”

  My resolve shattered. Wildly, I twisted in the seat to face him. “No!” I screamed. “You were going to take her in the house and fuck her!”

  It was the first time in my life I’d ever uttered such a foul word. But it was the only way to describe what he would’ve done if Jinx hadn’t stopped him.

  The blood drained from Jake’s face. I could see that even in the darkness of the car. Slowly, he took his eyes off the road and looked at me.

  I stared back, my stomach curling in fear of what he’d do. And even then, I wasn’t prepared.

  His right hand released the steering wheel and curled into a fist. His punch hit me in the mouth like a slab of cement. Pain rocked through my jaw, and a gush of warm, salty blood filled my mouth. It ran down my chin and spilled onto my blouse, heedless of the hands I cupped to my lips. I spit out something sharp, and realized with a dull sense of irony that it was my right front tooth.

  “Maybe that’ll teach you not to talk like a goddamn sailor,” Jake said.

  And we drove on down the highway, heading for home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  On Monday afternoon, a knock came at the front door just after four o’clock. I jumped up from the couch to answer it, thinking Jake had forgotten his key. He’d left the house shortly after getting out of bed this afternoon, giving no explanation as to where he was going, and I’d asked for none. True to form, he’d been filled with remorse on Saturday morning, begging my forgiveness with his usual excuses—he’d had too much to drink, he didn’t know what he was doing—and my favorite, “you pushed my buttons and I just lost my temper.” I’d responded by ignoring him. I could barely stand to look at the man, much less accept his so-called apology for his brutal attack.

  And of course, my response—or non-response—to his entreaties finally pissed him off, and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since.

  The knock came at the door again, louder this time, just as I reached it. Cradling my throbbing jaw, I opened it and saw, not Jake, but a pretty young woman in a nurse’s uniform. Despite her hair color—strawberry blonde instead of the dark brown of the old days—Katydid looked just like she had in high school—cute as a bug’s ear. When she saw me, her blue eyes widened in dismay.

  “Dear Lord, Lily,” she said, stepping inside. “What happened to you?”

  I closed the door and spoke through still
numb lips, “I told you when you called that I had a toothache.”

  Katydid untied her navy cape and slipped it off her shoulders, examining me with eyes that seemed worldlier than they’d been in high school. “Honey, a blind monkey could see you’ve got more than a toothache. You look like you’ve been in a bar fight!” And then her eyes widened. “Good God! Jake hit you, didn’t he?”

  My eyes filled with tears. I’d been successful at holding them in through the weekend, determined not to let Jake think he’d broken me. Even when I’d gone to the dentist this morning, giving them a rooster tale about getting hit in the mouth by a flying rock—which they didn’t believe for a second, I was sure—I’d remained strong, determined not to break down. Even the look of pity on the dental assistant’s face as I’d unfolded the square of tissue paper in which I’d wrapped my tooth hadn’t fazed me. Of course it hadn’t been salvageable. And worse, the two adjoining teeth on either side of the missing one were loose, and would have to be pulled. The dentist had shot me up with Novocain and put in a temporary cap until it could be replaced by three false teeth and a bridge.

  “Oh, Lily, come here.” Katydid held out her arms.

  I collapsed against my old friend, sobbing out all my pent-up emotion—the hurt and rage and helplessness. Finally, when I was all cried out, I drew back and gave her a watery smile. “Heck of a way to renew an old friendship, isn’t it?”

  She just smiled. “Where’s the kitchen? I think we both could use something cold to drink. Iced tea? Or maybe a Pepsi-Cola?”

  I led her into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator to grab a couple of Coca-Colas. “Let’s go out on the patio. Debby Ann will be waking up from her nap soon, and I don’t want her hearing this.”