"Hey, Vic, great to see you," Donny boomed as he made his way to Victor's side. The two men shook hands as Victor beamed with delight. He looked ready to abandon everything and follow Donny into the jaws of hell. With Donny was another former football player whose face was familiar but remained nameless to me. Victor shook his hand, too.
Then Donny saw me.
"What?" he said, looking at me in exaggerated surprise. "This can't be Odelia-Odelia Grey."
In high school, Donny Oliver had been a commanding sight. Ruggedly handsome with wavy brown hair, a dimpled chin, and deep-set, dark eyes, he stood just over six feet tall with a trim, hard body and wide shoulders. He didn't look all that different now, except that his dark hair was laced with gray at the temples and his face was marked with slight lines around his eyes and mouth. A boozy smell emanated from him. Yep, just like in high school.
Memories as rancid as week-old tuna invaded my brain and anger gurgled inside me. I felt ready to blow, like a shaken soft drink. Let it go, Odelia, I cautioned myself. Control. Control. Control. You can do it.
"Hello, Donny," I said through teeth clenched hard enough to worry me about cracking a crown.
Donny looked at me with amusement, then opened his arms wide. "Ah, come on, Odelia. Give your old friend a hug."
I glanced at Victor, who was looking embarrassed, then at Dev, who was looking both puzzled and concerned. I searched my brain for something glib and funny to say, something that would ease my tension and put Donny in his place.
"Eat shit and die, Donny." The comment may not have been original, but it was heartfelt.
He laughed. So did the guy with him. They were the only two amused. On my other side, I felt Dev start to rise.
"Is Tommy Bledsoe with you tonight?" Donny asked as he looked around. He turned to the guy with him. "How about it, Steve? Wouldn't that be perfect? Odelia, Bledsoe, and this damn sea hunt shit, together again. Now that would be a reunion." They both laughed.
I said nothing. Dev stood up, but Donny took no notice.
"Come on, Odelia," Donny said, still with his arms spread. "Give me some of that heavyweight lovin' like you used to."
"Leave her alone, Donny."
It was a woman's voice. I turned to see Sally Kipman standing near the table with her hands on her hips, looking rather formidable. Johnette stood behind her, doing a great imitation of a frightened rabbit. I could have sworn I even saw her long, bony nose twitch. Geez, could this get any worse?
I continued my quest for the very elusive self-control. My jaw, still clenched, was starting to ache. What I really wanted to do was to push Donny's head into one of the nearby fish tanks until it became one of the bubbling tank ornaments alongside the toy pirate ship. Without much effort, I could picture little multi-colored fish swimming in and out of his nose. Entertaining this thought, I could feel control within my grasp.
"Yes, leave the lady alone." This command came from Dev as he moved to stand by my chair in front of Donny.
"Who the hell are you?" Donny asked Dev. I was pleased to see Donny flinch at Dev's size. My jaw relaxed a tad at the sight.
"Detective Devin Frye of the Newport Beach Police. And this lady's date."
"Let's get out of here, Donny," his buddy said, putting a hand on his arm. Suddenly, I remembered his name-Steve Davis.
Donny looked down at me, then up at Dev, seeming to make up his mind about something. He turned to Victor. "Come on, Vic, let's go get a beer."
Victor looked at the people gathered around the table, including his wife. "Sorry, Donny, have to pass."
Donny looked surprised at Victor's insubordination.
"Leave it alone, Donny," Steve said, trying to steer him away from the table.
After glancing once more at me, then at Dev, Donny Oliver strode away. In seconds, he was shaking hands and slapping backs in another crowd of people.
"Some people just never grow up," Johnette said. She moved to Victor's side. Her husband slipped a protective arm around her waist.
Dev sat back down in his chair and looked at me. "Okay, now are you going to tell me what this is all about?"
I didn't look at him when I answered. "Maybe someday."
"Sally's going to join us," chirped Johnette, trying to move the mood of the table along to happier thoughts.
Oh boy, I thought. Although, I reminded myself quickly, Sally did just come to my assistance with Donny.
"Hello, Odelia," Sally said as she took a chair across from me and Dev. "Nice to see you again." Her voice was clear but clipped.
In high school, Sally Kipman and I got on each other's nerves on a daily basis. Thinking back, I can't remember why. Maybe it was because our personalities mixed like oil and water. Or maybe it was because we were too much alike.
Sally Kipman transferred to our school after her mother and father divorced and her mother relocated the two of them to Southern California from New Jersey. Sally wasn't happy to be in California and even less happy to find herself from a broken home, a status that was still fairly new in the late 1960s.
Until Sally came on the scene in our sophomore year, I was one of the only kids in school whose parents were divorced. While I retreated into boxes of cookies, Sally took a different approach in expressing her emotions. She was surly and belligerent to everyone, including teachers, and quick to start a fight. She quickly embraced youthful rebelliousness and her right to freedom of speech, no matter what was said or who got hurt by her machine-gun tongue. Like Johnette and me, Sally was a loner. At first, we invited her to have lunch with us. But she responded to our invitations with such verbal abuse, we finally stopped asking.
For reasons unknown, Sally's hackles would rise whenever she saw me. And, I must admit, the feeling was mutual. In our junior year, she told everyone I was fat because I was pregnant. I retaliated by telling everyone Sally was a lesbian. Shortly after that, after two weeks of detention and an order from Mrs. Zolnekoff, the school principal, we called an uneasy truce and made it to graduation without assaulting each other.
I looked across the table at Sally Kipman. Like Donny, she still looked very much as she had thirty years ago. Maybe mean people don't age. Maybe all their natural vileness acts like embalming fluid. It seemed like a plausible explanation to me.
As in high school, Sally's body was tall, slim, and athletic. Her hair was dark blond and cropped short in a becoming, tousled cut. She wore no makeup that I could see, and never did that I could remember. She was tan and fit and very attractive in a no-frills way. She no longer had an air of pent-up anger, but still definitely one of no-nonsense. Seeing me looking at her, she flashed me a non-hostile lukewarm smile and I returned it. It looked like the truce would hold.
With Donny staying on the other side of the room, no doubt avoiding Dev like he was my personal junkyard dog, the reunion turned out to be much better than I had expected. Meaning, I actually had fun once my jaw unlocked. During a lovely dinner, the people around the table caught up on each other's lives and passed around photos of children and grandchildren. I was the only one at the table who didn't have either. Even Sally Kipman had a grown daughter and one young grandson. I showed a photo of Greg and one of Seamus, my ill-tempered, antisocial, champagne-colored cat.
During dessert, the DJ started playing dance music, and Dev coaxed me onto the floor.
"I'm glad to see you're finally having a good time," he said to me as we awkwardly danced to a slow tune. Dev Frye is way over six feet tall and I top out at five foot one. He had to almost bend in half to whisper in my ear.
"Yes," I answered, "I am. Thanks for coming with me"
"You're welcome. Thank you for asking." He smiled down at me and pulled me closer to him. My nose hit somewhere in the middle of his chest. Suddenly, I was overcome with guilt.
I have always known that Dev Frye likes me a lot, and the feeling is mutual. I also know that he would be actively pursuing me if not for Greg Stevens. And, if not for my love for Greg, I would be encouraging
this mountain of a man in his pursuit. When I called Dev about escorting me tonight, I had made it clear that it was a friendship date-that he would be filling in for an ill Greg. Dev had said no problem, but questions peppered my mind. Was I leading this kind, decent man on with my selfish need to prove something to someone? To whom? To Donny Oliver? If that was true, I wasn't playing fair with Dev's feelings.
Greg. Therein lay the bulk of the guilt. Greg was at home right now suffering with a head cold and thinking I was with Zee. He had no idea that I had changed my mind and asked Dev instead. I know that if he knew I was dancing in the arms of Devin Frye, he would be upset. Although Greg likes Dev, he's not in the dark about Dev's feelings for me. In fact, it was Greg who first brought them to my attention shortly after we met the man. And Dev is always there, ready to lend a hand or look out for me whenever I manage to get myself into a jam. Or stumble upon a body. Which are really one and the same since I never seem to be in a jam that doesn't involve a dead body in the mix.
Simply put, Dev, Greg, and I are engaged in an emotional yet polite menage a trois.
Thanks to me, Greg and I are not engaged, though he has asked and even has a gorgeous ring waiting for when I'm ready. We were engaged for a whole day just over a year ago, but I gave the ring back until I could sort out some personal issues.
I giggled. Dev looked down. I shrugged, not wanting to share my secret. I had decided that on Thanksgiving, just over four weeks away, I would ask Greg to marry me. I would let him know that I'm ready to accept his ring, to be his wife, to formally begin our life together. No one knew of my decision yet, not even Zee.
I shook myself out of my girlish daydreams. Here I was, fortyeight years old, dancing with one man among cheesy, fake sea creatures and make-believe waves while being dreamy-eyed about another. He loves me, he loves me not. All I need is a bunch of daisies to pluck, petal by petal. But I really don't need the daisies; I know without a doubt that Greg Stevens loves me.
By the way, I'm blaming this thirty-year regression on crepe paper fumes. That's all there is to it.
Another slow song started and Dev showed no sign of loosening his grip. We continued swaying and gently moving to the music. I closed my eyes and lost myself in thoughts of a white gown and altar flowers. Greg sitting in his wheelchair dressed to kill in a tux; Zee in a gawd-awful taffeta bridesmaid's dress; people screaming ...
What? People screaming? At my wedding?
My eyes popped open, returning me to a room of blue and green chaos.
Dev stopped dancing and stood stock-still, as if sniffing the air for the direction of the trouble. More screams. Dev and I turned to face the doorway just as the crowd parted and a man staggered in, his shirt front soaked with blood. Dev made a dash in his direction just as he collapsed to the floor.
It was Donny Oliver.
AN INTERVIEW WITH SUE ANN JAFFARIAN
BY JULIA BUCKLEY, author of The Dark Backward and the forthcoming Madeline Mann Mysteries. For more of Julia's interviews with mystery authors, go to http://juliabucldey.blogspot.com/
Your protagonist, Odelia Gray, is "middle aged and plus-sized." Do you hear from a lot of readers who are glad to see a heroine who is, let's say, more realistic than most?
Absolutely! I get lots of e-mail from women (and even some from men) of all ages and sizes saying they find it refreshing to see a not-so-young, not-so-thin heroine-someone they can relate to very well and who faces many of the same issues in her life.
Jaffarian is a neat name. What ethnicity is it?
It is Armenian-I am half, obviously on my father's side.
Speaking of names, how did you come up with "Odelia"?
I found it in a baby name book. I don't know why, but I was determined to have a character whose name began with an O. She was Olivia in the very early stages, but it never seemed to fit, so I bought a baby book and studied the names until I found one that suited the character.
You've got some amazing blurbs. Not to sound envious, Sue Ann, but how did you make all of these big-time writer friends?
Meeting these wonderful folks came naturally during my involvement in both Mystery Writers of America and Sisters In Crime. I also have attended a lot of mystery conferences, where I have met many writers who live outside of Southern California. One of the fabulous perks of being a writer is meeting and getting to know the people you've been reading for years.
You list Jon Stewart's Daily Show as one of your favorite shows. Do you and Jon have similar political leanings, or are you both just fans of good satire? Or both?
It's definitely both. I love his dry wit and irreverence, and do indeed share many, if not most, of his political leanings. Absolutely no one can mimic George W's laugh like Jon Stewart, although Wanda Sykes does an admirable job. (BTW, I'm impressed. You had to comb my website to get this info.)
Your character, Odelia Gray, has a green, one-eyed cat. Does this continue your theme that people shouldn't judge by appearances, or were you just trying to create a really memorable pet?
The odd thing is, I was just trying to give Odelia a funny pet, an animal quirky like her, but after Too Big To Miss was done I realized what a connection Seamus makes to the underlying theme of the book. It was totally something that happened on an unconscious level, but not while I was actually unconscious.
Good distinction. Your website doesn't have too much biographical information. Are you a mysterious woman?
Nah, boring maybe-I go to work; I come home; I write. I'm single and live with two cats and have dinner most nights with Jon Stewart.
The Holy Pail is a lunchbox and an important clue. What came first, the clue or the title?
The lunchbox came before the title. I was kicking around the idea of centering a plot on a lunchbox and an old TV cowboy and during my research came across a collectible lunchbox actually nicknamed "the holy pail." It was a perfect fit for the story and a perfect lead into the title.
Odelia often has very emotional attachments to food. I can relate to this, because my mom was a very food-is-love sort of nurturer. Did you grow up with this sort of family dynamic?
Not really. My mother was not a good cook and had very bad eating habits, which, of course, I picked up. Eating is emotional for me also, but not in a foodis-love way; it's more of a food-is-legal-dope way. I think Odelia is more like me in that regard.
Greg, Odelia's boyfriend, is wheelchair-bound, and her best friends are black. Does Odelia sometimes seek out people who she feels might be stereotyped for one reason or another?
I don't know if Odelia sought out Greg and the Washingtons for that purpose, but I sure did. (Actually, Zee is patterned after a good friend of mine in real life.) But I like bringing real people into my books, and I want readers to see real people within the pages. For me it brings more realism to the stories. I strive to make every book a slice of life in Southern California and that includes the disabled, Asians, blacks, Latinos, even dwarfs, as well as wealthy matrons, GQ-handsome bosses, and criminals.
Odelia says, at one point, that she never felt young, even when she was young. Did you ever feel this way?
Absolutely, that thought came straight out of my own life. I remember being 16 going on 32. I think this often happens to people forced to take on a lot of responsibility at a young age.
Odelia, after book one, has an interesting bullet wound. How did you decide to write this into your plot?
Again, it was something that came about naturally. She was shot; she'd have a wound from that and the wound would now be part of her physical being. It also helped me weave some background from the first book into the second one without giving too much away.
Who are your mystery inspirations?
It there is one author who has given me a vision for my own writing it would be the late Anne George, author of the Southern Sisters mysteries. I remember reading one of her books and knowing immediately I wanted to write mysteries that made people laugh about everyday events and everyday people.
Odelia loves food, and I'm guessing Sue Ann has her favorite foods, too. What's the best restaurant in the world, in your opinion? If I were in town, would you take me there? What should I order?
I don't really have a favorite restaurant-I have restaurants that serve favorite items. But if you were visiting me in West Los Angeles on a weekend I would take you to the Overland Cafe for the best brunch in LA, and it's walking distance from my home. You dropping by anytime soon?
Hey, you never know. I wouldn't rule it out. Odelia, at the beginning of Holy Pail, talks about how many commandments she has broken. Are you willing to confess? What's the most recent commandment Sue Ann has broken?
Boy, I wish I could say it was something horribly shocking. Let's see, I just ate half a carton of Ben & Jerry's Brownie Batter and swore at myself for doing so. I guess it would be taking God's name in vain. Told you I was boring.
Odelia has a boss she really loves to hate. Not to make constant Odelia/Sue Ann comparisons, but have you ever had a boss like that?
I have worked in the legal field for over thirty years, so the answer would have to be yes. But I have never had a boss exactly like Michael Steele. He is a compilation of all the stereotype bad traits of an attorney, except that he is ethical. He had to be ethical or Odelia would never work for him.
What's the most rewarding piece of fan mail you've received for your plus-sized mysteries?
I received one recently from a reader who said that after reading Too Big To Miss she was loving herself more and thanked me for that. I've had several along those lines over time and each one warms my heart like you wouldn't believe. But the most triumphant was an e-mail I received from a man who said he'd read my book because his wife had enjoyed it so much. She didn't write, but he did-to tell me he'd never look at fat women quite the same again and would think twice about how he treated them in the future.
That is indeed an accomplishment to be proud of. Is it difficult to maintain a day job and a writing career?
Absolutely-there's not much down time for just relaxing. I have to schedule everything, even cleaning the house. When I'm not at my day job, all my focus seems to be on writing, promoting my books, or attending writers' events. It can be exhausting. I don't know how people do it with day jobs and families.
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