Tea-Totally Dead

by Girdner, Jaqueline

  Wayne’s body collapsed inward in slow motion. First his shoulders rolled forward. Then his chest deflated and his head bowed.

  I was at his side in two steps, ready to catch him if his knees buckled. But they didn’t. As I reached him, he took a deep breath and straightened his body.

  “Mom,” he said quietly. “You were sick.”

  Vesta’s face darkened. Maybe Wayne wasn’t supposed to have a speaking role in this scenario. “I certainly was after they put me on drugs!” she snapped.

  “Now, Vessie,” soothed Ace. “Wayne’s always been good to you. Visited you once a week while you were in the hospital. Took care of you when you got out. You know how good he’s been, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know any such thing—” she began.

  “Did I hear my name spoken in vain?” came a new voice, high-pitched and cheerful.

  Vesta whirled on the speaker, the gray-haired woman from across the room. Drusilla, if it was Drusilla, was smiling as she moved to join us, apparently oblivious to the zone of tension she had entered on this side of the room. She motioned forward the two people who had accompanied her. One was a younger woman who wore a deep frown, the other a red-faced man who sported a bland smile.

  “Now, Vesta,” Drusilla caroled. “You’ve kept your new guest to yourself for long enough. You must introduce her to the three of us.”

  “God damn it, Drusilla—” Vesta began.

  “Oh, just call me Dru,” the gray-haired woman trilled. She was tall and slender, dressed in slacks and a gaily embroidered pink blouse. I caught a glimpse of the Skeritt brow under her curly bangs. And a glimpse of humor in the fine network of lines around her blue eyes. “And you must be Kate,” she said, extending a hand.

  Vesta crossed her arms with a loud snort, then set her face on glower for the duration.

  “Good to meet you, Dru,” I said enthusiastically, grabbing her hand and pumping. I’d shake the hand of anyone who could upstage Vesta.

  “And this is my husband, Bill Norton,” Dru went on.

  I shook Bill’s hand dutifully. He was probably about fifty or so, like his wife. He was good-looking in a WASP kind of way, with a classic profile and widely spaced blue eyes. But his skin was too ruddy for real good looks. And his expression too conversely colorless.

  “And my daughter, Gail,” Dru finished.

  Gail didn’t reach out to shake my hand, so I satisfied myself with a nod in her direction. She was as tall as the rest of the Skeritts. And on the plump side. Her face was plain, unremarkable except for the intensity of her brown eyes under aviator-style glasses. She stared at me, the frown deepening on her face. Had she heard Vesta’s earlier remarks? And, unlike her mother, had she taken them seriously?

  “Gail is a psychotherapist,” Dru informed me with a giggle. “So you have to watch what you say around her.”

  I smiled. I figured it was a joke. Gail just stared. Maybe it wasn’t a joke after all.

  “I swear she takes notes,” Dru whispered conspiratorially.

  “So what do you do, Dru?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m comptroller of a mid-sized corporation,” she said. Then she crinkled her eyes and added, “That’s really just gobbledygook for a glorified bookkeeper, but it’s sure fun to say.” She let out a peal of laughter, so high and light it seemed to float up to the ceiling. “And my husband, Bill, is a realtor,” she added. “Isn’t that right, dear?” she prompted, turning to him.

  He nodded without shifting his bland smile.

  Maybe Bill and Gail didn’t talk because Dru talked enough for the three of them, I speculated.

  “And Wayne’s told me all about your business,” Dru bubbled on. “I really love the idea of joke gifts for accountants—”

  “Bill Norton is Dru’s second husband,” Vesta interrupted, her shark’s smile back in place. “She killed her first one.”

  - Three -

  “Now, Vessie,” admonished Ace. “You know that’s not true—”

  “You have no right to say such a thing!” Dru suddenly shouted at Vesta. Her voice was high and tearful. And she wasn’t smiling anymore. Without that smile, Dru’s face and Vesta’s showed a strong family resemblance. Dru jutted her head forward to glare at Vesta. Vesta jutted her own glare back. Skeritt brows dueled silently for an instant. Then Dru sighed and shook her head slowly.

  “I loved my Raoul,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I would have never—”

  “Well you damn well killed him with all your silly prattling!” Vesta snapped. “If that’s love—”

  “Now, Vessie,” said Ace, putting up his hands like a referee. “There’s no need—”

  “Why do you always have to be so unpleasant?” Dru demanded of Vesta, her own glare back in place. “Why can’t you—”

  “What do you mean ‘always’?” Vesta shot back. She smiled her shark’s smile once more. “You haven’t seen me for more than twenty fucking years. Remember? I was locked up—”

  “And for good cause—” began Dru.

  “Now, Dru,” said Ace. “Don’t you start—”

  “The terrible things you say—”

  “At least I never killed—”

  “Now, Vessie—”

  Their voices clashed and whirled like unshelled nuts in a blender.

  I felt dizzy with motion sickness just watching them. Finally, I turned away. And came face to face with Dru’s daughter, Gail. Her brown eyes were intent behind her glasses as she stared down at me.

  “My father committed suicide,” she told me in a clear, ringing voice.

  “Your father?” I asked, glancing at Bill Norton in confusion. His face was still frozen in a vague smile as he watched his wife battle Vesta.

  “Bill’s not my father,” Gail explained. Her voice had all the feeling of a robot. But her eyes… I looked closer and saw anger there. Then she stepped past me, toward Vesta.

  “Aunt Vesta, why are you acting out like this?” she asked in the same clear, ringing tones in which she’d announced her father’s suicide.

  There was a lull in the battle as Vesta, Dru and Ace turned to face Gail. Vesta’s face went slack for a moment; then she glared at the intruder.

  “None of your damn business!” she answered succinctly.

  “Why did you invite us here?” Gail asked, as if she hadn’t heard the first response.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” answered Vesta. “My own loving family with all their precious secrets…” She let her insinuating words trail off and grinned.

  “And?” prodded Gail.

  “Never you mind, Little Miss Nosy,” warned Vesta. She poked her long, bony finger into Gail’s face. “All the generations have secrets,” she added. “Even yours.”

  It was only then that I remembered Wayne. I spotted him where he had retreated, on a couch against the far wall. His brows were dropped low enough that the eyes were impossible to read, almost impossible to see. His face was blank. It might have been carved in stone. I sprinted over and sat down next to him, laying my warm hand on top of his cold one. Poor Wayne. No wonder he had been scared. This was awful.

  Dru pulled her shoulders back and smiled brightly, as if she had heard my thought. She turned to her daughter. “It’s all right, honey,” she told Gail.

  “But Mother—” Gail objected.

  “Your Aunt Vesta’s been through an awfully hard time,” Dru explained. “We just have to try and understand.” Then she turned to her husband. “Bill and I understand, don’t we, dear?”

  Bill nodded carefully and took a sip from a glass tumbler that had magically appeared in his hand some time after I had been introduced to him.

  Vesta turned to Ace with a frown.

  “As for you, little brother. Don’t think you can get away with—”

  Ace hit the floor with a loud whumph.

  “Yow!” he cried in a falsetto. “You sure do pack a wallop, little lady!”

  Vesta held her frown for an instant. The room was silent. Then
she giggled.

  Relief swept the room in an explosion of laughter and movement. I let out the breath I had been holding and watched as spines straightened and smiles blossomed. Gail’s face, though, remained unchanged. She still stared at Vesta unblinkingly. Wayne squeezed my hand. I looked up and saw his eyes gazing back, alive again. The war was over. Or, at least, postponed.

  “Buffet’s in the kitchen,” announced Vesta, her voice easy now, free of its earlier rage. “Let’s eat.”

  There were no stragglers as she led us through the doorway into the kitchen.

  It was a great spread. It had to be. Wayne had arranged for the catering himself. Sliced roast beef, miniature quiche Lorraines, Thai prawns and honey mustard chicken sat side by side with the vegetarian dolmas, herbed tofu-stuffed mushrooms and avocado sushi. Then there were the salads and the pastas. All artistically arranged on spotless white china laid upon crisp white linen that seemed to glow against the backdrop of vanilla-beige walls and teak cabinets.

  As I spooned pasta primavera onto my plate, Mandy asked if I was a vegetarian.

  “Mrmph,” I agreed, my mouth full of avocado sushi. I swallowed. “And you?”

  “Of course,” she drawled. “I’m a complete vegan. Really, it’s the only choice, when you think of the hideous conditions for all those poor little animals.” I squirmed guiltily in my leather Reeboks. “Mom still eats chicken and fish,” she continued, shaking her head.

  Lori’s skin pinkened. She sighed and with a great rattling of bracelets returned a chicken breast she had taken from the serving tray.

  “I have a really splendid little kitty at home,” Mandy told me. “His name is Catullus, after the Roman poet. I just adore animals. I wish I could have more, but Mom says one is enough.” She sent her mother another look, one Skeritt eyebrow raised over a dark and lovely eye.

  “Just think how lucky you are to have Catullus,” Lori advised cheerfully. “I didn’t even have a cat growing up. Dad was too worried about his precious garden for us to have animals.”

  Vesta reached for the piece of chicken that Lori had abandoned. “I remember the summer Trent came home after his first year of college,” she told us, plopping the breast onto her plate. “He was more interested in the garden than me that summer.” She winked largely at Trent. “Big Man on Campus. Big deal.”

  Trent smiled back coolly and speared a piece of roast beef. The muscle on the right side of his jaw was twitching again. I was glad he wasn’t foolish enough to answer her. I wasn’t ready for another round of arguments.

  “Ace, on the other hand—” Vesta purred, turning to her younger brother. “Ace couldn’t give a shit about the garden.”

  Ace blushed deeply, but like his brother Trent, he made no verbal retort. Was he embarrassed by her language? I wondered. Or was it something about the garden?

  “I garden for a few bucks sometimes,” whispered Harmony. She held an empty china plate tightly by its edges. I hoped it wouldn’t crack. “That’s how I met Vesta.” Her voice took on speed and volume. “I was trimming this bush, right? Right out front here. And Vesta came out, right? Now she’s my best friend. We’re like sisters—”

  “God picks your relatives,” Vesta cut in. “Thank God you can pick your friends.” She let out a hoot of laughter and headed out the doorway to the living room.

  Harmony tilted her head and stared wide-eyed at Vesta’s back until it disappeared. Then her hand began to twitch across the landscape of crystals and crosses on her jacket.

  “Harmony, would you like some pasta?” I prompted gently.

  She looked at me blankly for a moment, then held out her plate with the silent gravity of a child. I loaded it up with pasta and salad and dolmas. I had no idea what she usually ate. Or if she ate at all if no one told her to. She took her plate and followed Vesta’s footsteps out of the kitchen into the living room.

  “My father gave me Catullus,” Mandy said into the silence. At twelve, she seemed to have the best conversational skills of the group. “He’s an artist actually, really quite splendid.”

  “Lance Oliver,” Lori added, flashing red fingernails as she waved her free hand in the air. “You may have heard of him.” I shook my head, embarrassed that I hadn’t. She went on before I could tell her I didn’t follow the art world. “Oh, he’s a truly spiritual man. His paintings are so healing. We’re legally separated, but he hasn’t abandoned us vibrationally—”

  “Only financially,” Trent cut in.

  “That’s not true, Dad—” Lori began.

  I took a deep breath and carried my plate out into the living room. Most of the Skeritts were already there. Ingrid, Dru and Ace were packed together companionably on one black leather couch. Dru was laughing at something Ace was saying as she nibbled on her salad. Vesta leaned back in her easy chair, wolfing down roast beef and chicken, with Harmony at her feet like a large domestic dog. Harmony stared down blankly at her plate of food. Bill Norton sat by himself on another couch, sipping from his glass. His stepdaughter, Gail, was perched on a lone chair near the kitchen doorway. And Wayne and Eric sat eating side by side on the floor. I headed their way.

  “You know what, Uncle Wayne?” Eric was saying. “They have these totally weird contests in Alaska where they tie these great big weights to their ears…”

  I veered at the last minute and sat down next to Bill Norton on the couch.

  I asked him how he was doing. He nodded and smiled. I ate a stuffed mushroom. Bill took a sip of his drink. A couple of prawns and an untouched piece of roast beef seemed to be the only things on his plate. I asked him how the real estate market was doing these days. He shrugged and took another sip, still smiling. I ate my dolmas, pasta and salad, listening to the conversations tinkling and humming around me, then gave it another try. I asked him how long he and Dru had been married. Would Bill stomp his foot for the number of years like a trick horse?

  No. He just shrugged again.

  “I think I’ll get some more of these great mushrooms,” I said brightly and headed back to the kitchen, passing Lori and Mandy on their way out.

  Trent was still in the kitchen, frowning down at his full plate. He was about as chatty as Bill. I asked him about his work as I scooped up mushrooms. He told me that he was to retire soon from his position as the dean of Fulton College. He didn’t ask anything about me in return. He picked up a fork and inspected it closely instead. What was he looking for? Insects? Dirt?

  “Nice talking with you,” I murmured and left with my mushrooms.

  Back in the living room, I was relieved to see that Mandy and Lori were now seated on the couch with Bill Norton. Lori’s smile was looking strained as she talked at Bill. Silently, I wished her luck. Maybe she could read his aura or something.

  “You know what else, Uncle Wayne?” Eric said to Wayne, still seated next to the boy on the floor.

  “No, what?” Wayne answered. He even managed to sound interested.

  “Tomatoes aren’t really a vegetable, they’re a fruit,” Eric told him solemnly.

  “That so?” Wayne commented encouragingly.

  “And you know what else…?”

  Wayne was an exceptionally good-natured human being. There was no doubt about it. I wasn’t, though. I didn’t want to hear Eric’s parade of amazing facts right now. I looked around and spotted a space consisting of a few inches to Ingrid’s left on the couch that she shared with Dru and Ace. That was enough for me. I trotted over and squeezed in next to her.

  “How nice to see you, Kate,” Ingrid said in her resonant whisper. She held my hand for a moment and I found myself feeling inordinately warmed by the friendly gesture. “I was just telling Dru about our library programs,” she went on, her voice full of excitement. “I volunteer at the library, you know—”

  The chime of the doorbell cut her off.

  “Kate!” Vesta shouted. She waved a fork imperiously. “Get the door.”

  My muscles tensed. I stared at the scowl on Vesta’s thin face for an
instant of rebellion. Pretend, I reminded myself. Pretend to like her.

  I took a deep breath and smiled as I got up and opened the door.

  I was glad I was smiling when I saw Clara Kushiyama standing there. Clara was the semi-retired psychiatric nurse that Wayne had hired to look in on Vesta twice a day. And as far as I was concerned, she was sanity incarnate. I looked down at her with special fondness at that moment. Her solid body was the first one I’d seen all night that was shorter than mine. And her wise and gentle Asian-American face could never be mistaken for a Skeritt’s.

  “Good to see you, my dear,” she greeted me quietly. “How’s our Mrs. Caruso doing tonight?”

  “Is that you, Pearl?” Vesta shouted before I had a chance to answer.

  “It’s me,” Clara sang back. She gave my hand a reassuring pat as she walked into the living room.

  “You know why I call her Pearl?” Vesta asked the assembled Skeritts loudly. I resisted sticking my fingers in my ears. I already knew the punch line and I didn’t want to hear it again. “Because she’s sneaky, just like all the other Japs at Pearl Harbor!” Vesta finished up, shrieking with laughter.

  No one joined in, but Vesta didn’t seem to notice. Of course, the Skeritts had been here for a few days. They had probably heard the line before too. In any case, Vesta’s rude remark had served to squelch all conversation. The room was silent as Clara tended to her charge.

  I resumed my seat next to Ingrid on the couch and watched from behind as Clara spoke quietly to Vesta and checked her vital signs without disturbing Harmony, who still sat at her friend’s feet. Clara’s back was broader than I would have expected, maybe from all the years she’d spent lifting recalcitrant patients in various mental institutions. There were a few strands of gray in her black pageboy, but very little else that would have given away her sixty odd years of age.

  “I’m having a party here,” Vesta complained after a few minutes of Clara’s ministrations. “You’ve done enough spying for one day, Tokyo Rose. Now go the hell away.”

  “Okey-dokey, Mrs. Caruso,” Clara answered genially. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Then she headed for the door.