Five O’Clock Shadow

by Susan Slater

  “Out of my way.”

  Pauly saw the door to her room burst open—no mean feat since it was on hydraulic hinges—and a willowy woman with bushels of lightning-white hair cascading down her back swept into the room with a nervous nurse two steps behind.

  “Here. Just toss it on the bed.” In one practiced move the woman slipped out of her Black Diamond mink cape and handed it to the nurse.

  “Grams.”

  Pauly threw her arms around her grandmother and tried not to think that Grams wasn’t wearing a bra and her two grapefruit-perfect enhanced breasts strained against a flimsy silk tee.

  “Oh, child, look at your hair.”

  “This is my grandmother.” Pauly hoped she didn’t sound apologetic. She had discussed wearing underwear with her grandmother on numerous occasions but the answer was always the same—“no one wore bras when I was your age, we burned the things.” Of course, when Grams referred to being Pauly’s age in the sixties, it put her in her fifties today, making her about the same age as Paul, Pauly’s father, Grams’ son. It was no use. She was incorrigible.

  “I hope you’ve told her to stay put. You are detectives, aren’t you? And you’ve warned her not to leave town? Because I plan on taking this adorable child home with me. She’s been released to my custody. Oops.” Grams looked from one to the other of the two detectives. “Not the best word, right? But she’s not being detained, is she?”

  Pauly saw both men shake their heads. They seemed mesmerized, staring at her grandmother, their eyes locked not at the too-perfect boobs but at her face.

  “Oh, Grams,” Pauly pointed to her mouth, “you missed removing some makeup.”

  “What? Oh, drat. Is there a mirror in here?” But she had already pulled a large round compact from her purse. “I’m in entertainment, this is just part of the show. Pauly, honey, hand me a tissue.”

  No one seemed to have anything to say as her grandmother worked at removing the red circle around her mouth, enlarged lips bordered in white and lined with black. In addition to operating a bed and breakfast, Grams hired out as a clown, sometimes traveling with one of the half dozen carnivals that she owned. Pauly had considered herself to be the luckiest child in the world. She spent every summer after her parents’ divorce on Ferris wheels, pony rides, in haunted houses.

  “This is on for life without a little cold cream.”

  Still no one found an appropriate comment, but it seemed Grams was telling the truth; five tissues had only made a dent in the brightness of the red.

  “Oh well, I was just waiting for the hospital to let me know when I could pick you up. I didn’t expect a call so soon, sweetheart. You must be all well now.” Grams was fussing with Pauly’s hair, pulling what she called “wisps” forward and trying to smooth other naturally curly strands, pat them in place across the crown. It was a losing battle. Pauly could have told her that, but didn’t say anything about her hair or the “all well” part. How could she get well from the death of her husband, murder of her husband, and his deceit? She made eye contact with the detective who had questioned her. Was there a hint of sympathy?

  “I’ll give you a call in a week or so. Let you know how the investigation’s going. You’ll be staying with your grandmother?” The younger man made it a question more than a statement, and looked from one to the other.

  “Oh dear, here, let me give you one of my cards.” Grams dug to the bottom of her bag and produced a fluorescent pink card shaped like the head of a clown with Lulu’s Live Entertainment printed across the bottom next to a phone number.

  “Home entertainment, the works for little people. Clowns, magicians, live animal acts, no party too big or too small. Oh mercy, I am forgetting my manners. Lucille—I prefer Lulu—Caton.” She held out her hand. The one with the three-carat diamond in platinum. One of her nicer engagement rings, Grams always said. Worth more than the giver, which was why he was no longer around.

  Pauly sighed. It was a barely concealed family secret that Grams had performed more acts behind the footlights than those aimed to entertain children. More along the line of shedding clothing to music. Oh well, at least Grams was using her first married name. Pauly’s grandfather had been husband number one, or so Grams had led them to believe. If the new boyfriend got her to the altar, that might be number five. Or was it six? Pauly thought six.

  “Now, unless there’s something else, I must get this poor child home.” Grams looked brightly from one detective to the other. “No? Well, then, I suggest you just shoo on out of here. Our little girl needs to make herself presentable.”

  Amazingly, the men followed her directions; one shuffled the pictures together, stuffed them into a manila envelope and picked up the recorder while the nicer, cuter one offered the customary “call us if you need anything—we’ll be in touch” before both disappeared into the hall.

  “I just bet you will.” Grams muttered under her breath. “Were they hard on you?” She didn’t wait for Pauly to answer but continued, “I told the hospital not to allow visitors unless I could be here. And definitely not the police. Not alone. But do you think they listened? No. You’d think in this kind of hospital, they’d know better.”

  “Grams, please. I’m doing fine.” A lie, but maybe if she left this place, got out into the sunshine and fresh air, away from the blank walls, she would be.

  ***

  “I took the liberty of moving you out of your apartment.”

  Pauly started. She had been staring out the car window at the winter-bleak landscape. No more vestiges of fall after a rain had beaten the last of the foliage from the trees.

  “You broke my lease?”

  “It was easy, uh, under the circumstances. And I might have thrown in a couple free performances for the owner’s grandkids.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound very convincing. I honestly thought it would be too painful to go back to a place that had memories of what’s-his-name.”

  “Randy, Grams. Saying his name doesn’t hurt.”

  Grams had been against her marriage and had wanted to know why Pauly couldn’t have found someone ‘already broken in,’ whatever that meant. But if she knew Grams, there was a sexual innuendo. So a man waited until he was forty-one to marry, so what? It didn’t mean something was wrong with him. Their sex had been adult. A coupling that quickly became comfortable and secure, maybe not as romantic, or not as frequent as she had hoped for, but adequate.

  Contrary to what his name implied, Randy never thought with his penis. And hadn’t that been one of the welcome changes? One of the things that had attracted her to him? She’d had enough of great sex and no substance. Randy had been successful, wealthy if she could believe the cops, and “together” in every sense of the word. The worst thing she could have said about her boyishly handsome husband was that he had been a nerd. Pauly sighed.

  “Oh, baby, I know this is so hard. But you’ll feel better with your own things around you.” Grams patted her knee.

  “Where am I staying?”

  “East wing. Private bath, view of the Sandias. Sitting room/bedroom combination. A little over seven hundred square feet with private entrance.” Grams didn’t miss a beat as she maneuvered the Lincoln through heavy end-of-the-day traffic.

  Pauly thought of reminding her grandmother that she wasn’t a potential bed and breakfast customer; she knew the rooms. But she realized with a jolt that her grandmother was thoughtfully taking Paseo del Norte and not driving her over the Alameda bridge. Pauly wasn’t quite ready for that reminder, and for all Grams’ strangeness she must have realized it.

  “Hofer’s fixed up a real nice work area for you downstairs, off the kitchen. Set up your computer, moved in some bookcases.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “You don’t need to pretend with me. I detect a genuine lack of enthusiasm. Honey, you just have to give life a chance. Time alone is a powerful healer. Just don’t fight it. Get involved. Take your mind off of what happened
. You can’t dwell on water that’s already passed under the bridge. Oops, not a very good choice of words.”

  Pauly smiled reassuringly. Then she pressed her cheek against the coldness of the car window and closed her eyes. Nobody had promised rehabilitation would be easy. And she knew her grandmother meant well. But Pauly’s life wasn’t going anywhere at the moment. Actually, for the time being it seemed stymied. She felt like she was treading water.

  “Here we are, sugar.” Grams turned off Coors Boulevard and nosed the Lincoln down a dirt lane that wound back towards the river. They were just passing the huge windmill that marked the beginning of Grams’ property when she slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop.

  “Damn. I’ve told him to keep those things corralled.”

  “What things? What did you see?” But Pauly, who had hit her head on the visor, was talking to empty space since her grandmother had hopped out and was bent over something by the side of the road.

  “Big one for its type. I think this is an Egyptian albino something or other.” Her grandmother held a three foot, almost transparent, and completely lethargic snake away from her fur jacket as she climbed behind the wheel.

  “Here, you hold him.” Grams gripped him behind his head with a tight-fist.

  “Can’t you put him in the backseat?” Pauly squirmed away.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, he won’t bite.” But Grams hopped out again, opened the rear door and tossed the snake across the dove-gray leather cushions behind the driver’s seat.

  “He looks dead.” Pauly leaned over the back of her seat to keep an eye on the snake, make certain that it didn’t slither off its perch.

  “Just cold-stunned. Sometimes they wander out of the garage.”

  “You mean there’s more?” She hated snakes but tried not to let her grandmother see how upset she was.

  “Maybe a half-dozen. Snake acts are a big draw. Bigger the snake, bigger the audience. We own the world’s record reticulated python. Eighteen feet. Can you believe that? Actually, there are a couple real doozys out there.”

  “Out there” must mean the garage. One place that Pauly would make off-limits. But her wondering was interrupted when Grams jolted to a stop in front of the house and stepped out to yell at a tall, lanky, not-so-young kid who was loping across the yard.

  “Harry, put this snake back where it belongs. This poor critter was almost road-kill. I’ve told you to keep an eye out.” The young man walked towards them, followed the wave of Grams’ hand and opened the back car door, nodded at Pauly but didn’t say anything, just scooped up the snake, tucked it inside his shirt, and headed towards the garage.

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Grams yelled after the disappearing man. “I told you to watch them. Keep those cage-lids tight.” There was no response and the nearest garage door thudded shut.

  “Come on, let’s get you into the house. The quicker we get you settled in, the better you’ll feel.”

  Pauly acknowledged that that was probably true, and she was ready for any change of scenery after a week of white walls. And she had to admit it was comforting to see her own bed, loveseat, TV, end tables.… She gave her grandmother a hug. It had been a thoughtful thing to do.

  “Now, enough of this mush. Dinner in half an hour.” Grams walked to the door then turned. “Sweety, it’ll be just great having you here,” and with a little wave was gone.

  ***

  Dinner was strained. No, strange, Pauly thought. The big oak island in the center of the cobalt and yellow tiled kitchen overflowed with the fixings for tacos. It was a do-it-yourself meal. Go around the table single-file, fill your plate, then adjourn to the plank tables in the dining room. Buffet-style was probably the best way to feed the crowd gathered in the large kitchen. Sometimes the personnel from one of Grams’ carnivals stayed for a month or so before traveling on, and Pauly couldn’t keep her eyes off of the man beside her. Definitely carny material.

  Every inch of his body, at least what was exposed, was covered with tattoos. The bicep on the arm next to her was large enough to show a complete sketch of the rape of Europa, bull and maiden frolicking among clouds, then the bull mounting.… She bent down slightly to see the completion of the coupling which curved under the elbow. Suddenly the arm flexed to give her a better view. She sprang upright realizing that her face was probably flame-orange and managed to stammer, “J-just curious. Actually, they’re really well done.” And willed herself to try to regain lost ground by referring to it as body-art and appear to be a connoisseur and not a lech.

  “Glad you like it.”

  Looking upward, she paused at the sight of inked tendrils that licked up his neck.

  “Nice stuff on the neck.” She waved her fork in the general direction of the tendrils. Art, she admonished herself, refer to it as art.

  “Guaranteed camouflage for hickeys. Every teenager’s dream.”

  Shit. She’d left herself wide open for that. But she realized his eyes were teasing; this wasn’t some kind of pick-up line and she relaxed, even managed a little smile as she distributed the lettuce across the top of the taco shell. She had moved on to the grated cheese before she realized that she was staring at the man again, watching as he filled a bowl with green chili stew.

  The man was startlingly handsome. Once you got past Europa and the other doo-dads. Bodybuilder’s physique, dark hair combed straight back, high cheekbones, dusty gray eyes, long lashes, permanent tan, could be her age or maybe early thirties. He was probably part of a strong-man exhibition.

  “Snakes.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Thought you might be wondering what I do. I work with the pythons.”

  And read minds. She couldn’t think of another thing to say, so she just nodded and prayed that she’d find a table to herself in the dining hall. The thought of sitting next to him was somehow unsettling. It would mean that she’d have to carry on a conversation, be amiable, and admit that her interest was piqued. And that didn’t seem exactly proper for a widow. A new one, at that. She set her plate down at a table just inside the dining room door and hoped that he’d sit with friends.

  “Mind if I join you?” Snake-man scooted onto the bench beside her. So much for wishing he’d go away.

  As the other tables began to fill, she realized that the group was large, maybe thirty people, and would stretch the room’s seating to capacity. Grams had knocked out a wall to the living room in order to expand her dining facilities; then pushed the opposite living room wall a good twenty feet to the south, added a stone fireplace, brick flooring and vigas to support the ceiling and finished the two-foot-thick adobe walls in white plaster. Great room was not a misnomer.

  “Lulu’s really outdone herself—all the right Southwestern touches.” Snake-man’s gaze seemed to be following hers around the room.

  She blushed. This man could make her uncomfortable. “I’m probably not going to be very good company. I wouldn’t know a python from a boa if it bit me on the elbow.” She said it sweetly but felt he couldn’t help but catch the tone of dismissal. She wasn’t going to let herself get dragged into polite chit-chat or anything else for that matter.

  “I can tell. Neither one is likely to bite you. At least that’s not their initial approach.” He was grinning. And other than being put off by the one tendril that had escaped to caress his ear, Pauly found herself smiling back. If the truth were known, she probably didn’t want him to sit anywhere else and was honestly glad that he’d followed her with his loaded plate of six tacos, refritos, and salad. Grams might as well be feeding harvest hands. And if she offered three meals a day, this was a costly operation. Pauly hoped that the carnival business was booming.

  “If you ever find yourself overcome with curiosity, I’d be glad to give you a tour of the garage. Snakes are an interesting sort.”

  Was he serious?

  “I may be able to restrain myself.” But she grinned. “You might say I’m the Pandora type, but smart enough
not to start anything—most of the time.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you didn’t put too much stock in Freud. Snakes and—”

  “I think I’m following.” She interrupted and knew she was blushing. And then found herself thinking how glad she was that he didn’t seem to be an idiot. One of the nice body but nothing between the ears types that proliferated the midway. And, she realized with a start, he was keeping her mind off of things. She hadn’t thought of Randy once in twenty-five minutes.

  “Are we all here?” Grams’ voice sang out from the front of the room. “Hofer will bless our food now. Let’s bow our heads and give thanks.”

  A tall white-haired man unfolded from a bench and cleared his throat as he gazed around the room. The benediction was short, made singularly interesting by the man’s resonant voice. It had the quality of bells. Deep bass tones that reverberated around the room. Grams had hinted at a boyfriend sometime back, someone serious. “Altar material” was the term Pauly remembered. She could see why this man might be lined up as number six. He was striking, even with silver-white craggy eyebrows knit together for God. But a Bible-thumper? Hadn’t there been that nasty incident with the Gideon people when her grandmother boycotted Motel Sixes? All things change in the name of love, Pauly guessed.

  “…and we ask that you welcome our sister, Pauly Caton, into your warm and loving arms.…”

  Pauly tuned out. Hadn’t she been married even long enough to use McIntyre? She would have bolted from the table if the snake-man hadn’t put a hand on her arm and mouthed, “He means well.” Then whispered, “You’ll get used to him. Real Elmer Gantry without the deviousness.” And then he’d winked and sort of squeezed her hand and Pauly felt an electric surge, a tingling warning that told her to beware an attraction that she already knew pulsed between them. And then there was another little voice that said Randy had never made her feel that way. And she recoiled in shock, pulling away. But it was true.

  “Are you okay?” He still whispered even though Hofer had sat down. And he looked genuinely concerned.