Tea Leafing: A Novel

by Weezie Macdonald

  “I was raised in South Georgia, baby. Little place called Tifton. The boys and their mama lived up here so by the time I blossomed into my glorious Tanya-ness, they wasn’t fussed about it. As far as their friends know, I’ve always been a Tanya and we don’t correct anyone. I was a sorry excuse for a man, except that God’s little joke is that my extra parts are of porn-star proportions. Doesn’t it just figure? I’m given something most men would kill for and I just can’t be bothered? I’m sure it’s gonna freak those little Thai doctors out.”

  Even Birdie was speechless.

  Tanya finished clearing the few remaining plates and added, “They think those boys moved their car to the bowling alley down the street so ya’ll watch your mirrors goin’ home.”

  Still speechless.

  With a wink and a little twist, she was off to take care of her tables.

  “Til’ next time, babies!” she called over her shoulder.

  CHAPTER 25

  “I’m scared. I don’t know where this will end. FLW.”

  Those were the last words Lena had written in the diary. Silence had settled over the group as they sat motionless. Grace, the one charged with the task of reading aloud, closed the book and stared at the tattered cover. Running her fingers along the deep creases in the leather binding, she wondered how Lena could have kept this from them. How terrified she must have been holding everything inside not able to talk about the twist her life had taken.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do with all that?” Sam wondered aloud.

  “Make a bloody plan.”

  Birdie hadn’t moved from her sprawled position on the bed.

  “Sooo… What is FLW? Lena clearly wanted somebody to know about FLW in case she ever…” Sam’s voice trailed off. If she didn’t say the rest, maybe it hadn’t actually happened. “I’ve been turning FLW over in my mind for weeks. Ever since Amanda brought us this thing.”

  “Well, it’s got to be Fedya, something, something,” Grace offered. “When Amanda was here we still thought that Fedya was playing for the home team. So we missed it.”

  “Now we know for sure he is lining up on the other side of the ball,” Mary Jane added. “But we aren’t all that much better off. Fedya LW. What is LW?”

  “Let’s torture that mother facker Fedya until he tells us who pulled the trigger. Let’s castrate him and let ‘im bleed to death slowly. We’ll find the hit men and kill ‘em as well. Let’s wipe the board clean. Oo’s gonna miss a group of misfit fuckup thugs that are nothin’ but glorified drug-dealing, money laundering, arse hole pimps.” Birdie had flushed red as her anger rose. The others stared in awe as tears began to roll down her cheeks and speckled the front of her tee shirt.

  “How the FACK does this happen? How the FACK did she wander into that mess?” Her voice cracking, she began to scream. Pure frustrated anguish rolled from deep within her as she threw her head back and beat the toss pillows with her fists. Her wild hair seemed to take on a life of its own as she shook her head furiously.

  Sam, Grace and Mary Jane let her go. This had been a long time coming for her and they were all a little relieved to see her finally blowing off the built-up steam. After several minutes Birdie’s tantrum ended, as abruptly as it had started. A glazed look was fixed on her otherwise beautiful face. Blinking, she reached for Mary Jane’s cigarettes.

  “I need a fag.”

  “Yup.” Mary Jane pushed the pack toward her.

  “But seriously, what are we going to do about these blokes?”

  The look in Birdie’s eye was saner than anyone had seen in weeks. She looked determined and completely self-possessed. At times, the girls wondered if there were two people, or more, living inside her skin. She tapped the filter end of the cigarette against the lighter to pack the tobacco tighter in its casing.

  “Well, I can’t murder anyone. I know that for certain.” Grace glanced around the circle. “I cry when I run over a squirrel. As much as I hate what happened to Lena, I couldn’t do anything Old Testament.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Same here.”

  “Ok, then what? I want revenge and I’ll be havin’ it with or without you lot.”

  “I’m down with revenge, but I’m not murdering anyone to get it!” Sam’s voice went up in pitch. “Don’t try to bully me, Bird. I’m firm on this.”

  Birdie lit her cigarette and lay back on the bed, letting streams of smoke escape her lips and drift lazily toward the ceiling. Grace picked up one of her feet and started kneading her sore arches.

  The foursome sat in silence as the clock marked the passing time.

  “What if we take away the love of his life the same way he’s taken Lena from us?” Sam offered.

  “I thought we agreed no killing.”

  “I’m not talking about killing. I’m talking about money.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The key turned easily in the lock, freeing the deadbolt from its sleeve in the doorframe. Sam glanced at Birdie as she twisted the knob and gently pushed the door inward. The police tape had been removed from her door a few days earlier, reducing their illegal snooping from tampering with a crime scene to unlawful entry. The two slipped through the back door and quietly pressed it shut behind them.

  Lena’s distinctive scent lingered in the room, although her lemongrass, baby powder, and honey mingled with a slightly metallic, clinical smell that must have been from the solutions the police used when searching the house for evidence. Dust particles floated through streaks of sunlight. If it weren’t for the feel of empty abandonment and the unusually cool air, the house could have been waiting patiently for its owner to return home. The rooms had taken on a dull gray cast that neither girl could remember when Lena’s life infused the space.

  Sam wondered what would happen to the remnants of Lena’s life. Had her parents paid a service to collect her belongings and put the property on the market? How long until the memories were cleared for the next set of inhabitants? Sam and Birdie both dreaded the trip, but they needed answers.

  Birdie exhaled her tension into the room, making the dust in the air scatter, and clearing the path for exploration. Sam moved through the undisturbed kitchen into the living room. The still air amplified the sound of her breathing and she could hear her own heartbeat thud in her ears.

  “Pull the curtains, Bird. We don’t need the neighbors to know we’re nosing around.”

  And so, the task began.

  Pulling on a pair of latex gloves just in case the police returned, Sam handed an extra pair to Birdie. “I never thought I’d be using these bad boys for anything other than coloring my hair.”

  Birdie harrumphed agreement.

  Sam felt lost. “Where do we begin?”

  Birdie pulled the heavy damask drapes in the front room with a slow deliberation. Sam wondered what memories were crowding Birdie’s thoughts. Walking across the room, she helped Birdie close out the world, shrouding the room in darkness. Birdie stood, dazed as she stared into the growing dusk inside the room. Sam clicked on lamps to fight the gloom.

  Birdie nodded and shifted her gaze to the hallway leading to Lena’s bedroom.

  Sam was unnerved by Birdie’s silence. It was so unlike her to be quiet. Walking across the Persian rug that anchored Lena’s overstuffed, shabby chic living room furniture, Sam took Birdie’s hand.

  Leading the way, Sam turned left out of the living room, and left again down the short hallway leading back to Lena’s bedroom. Passing a collection of photos of family and friends on the plaster wall in the hallway, Birdie whimpered. Sam could only look at a few of the pictures before she turned her attention to the wood floor. Stay composed.

  Stepping into the bedroom stopped the two in their tracks. The whitewashed iron frame of Lena’s king-size bed rested against the far wall. A tangle of faded tea rose sheets were crumpled back, making not one, but two angled wedges — one on either side of the bed.

  Their mouths dropped.

  “Was she shaggin
g someone we didn’t know about? How’s that possible?” Birdie’s voice sounded hurt.

  Sam shook her head in disbelief. “I dunno,” she said. Looking at Birdie she saw the glassy-eyed look of pain.

  “Maybe she had a one-night-stand, Bird. I can’t imagine her not telling us if there was someone special.”

  Big, round tears rolled down Birdie’s pale cheeks. “’Ow could she?” she breathed.

  “Same way anyone does. Same way you do, for that matter. It does seem out of character for her, but why is it such a big deal?”

  Birdie dropped her head. “Because I loved her, Sam.”

  Thoughts connected in Sam’s head. It hadn’t been the love she thought. Not the way Sam loved her friends. Birdie had been in love with Lena. All the times she heard Birdie repeat it, it hadn’t registered what she was really saying.

  Sam pulled Birdie into a hug. “I’m sorry Bird. I didn’t realize. I don’t know how I could have missed it.” She paused, “Did she know?”

  Sam felt Birdie nod against her shoulder. “She knew. She was always very kind ’bout it, but she didn’t want to live that life.”

  They had joked about Birdie being try-sexual, but Sam had always chalked it up to Birdie’s wild nature. She figured Bird didn’t want to be categorized, as ‘straight’ or ‘gay’ and she seemed to like both sexes equally. Feeling a little foolish that she hadn’t picked up on the obvious signs, Sam blushed. Everyone played bi-sexual at a strip club since it was such a common fantasy, but only a few really were. Sam could only think of one girl at work who was lesbian. She assumed it was because the job of feeding male libidos was distasteful to women who were exclusively into women. Whatever Birdie’s orientation, Sam had a new understanding of her feelings toward Lena. She squeezed Birdie tighter. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered.

  “S’all right.” Birdie sniffled. “I know she loved me too. Just not in the same way. Stings a bit to think she couldn’t tell me . . . or us . . . if she found love.”

  Pushing her back gently by the shoulders, Sam stared at Birdie, unsure of what to say.

  Birdie brushed her face with the back of her hand. “Right-e-o then.” She stepped past Sam into the room and looked around as if getting her bearings.

  “Um, are you okay? Do you want to do this another day?”

  “That’s bollocks Sam. We’re here, the clock is ticking so lets do this.” Birdie dropped to her knees and peered under the bed.

  Sam stood for a moment, watching Birdie shuffle unseen items in the dark recesses. Pulling the curtains and switching on lamps, she started searching the bureau next to the bed. Feeling through the soft piles of fabric, Sam checked anything out of the ordinary. She removed the drawers and felt along the wooden frame of the dresser, finding nothing but several scraps of paper, a few receipts and some loose change.

  The hairbrush on her dresser had been cleaned, presumably by the police, but other than that things looked undisturbed since the last morning Lena rose to start her day. Sam crossed the room and opened the bedside table drawers while Birdie collected herself and pulled the curtains shut.

  “No birth control pills or prescription bottles. In fact, they pretty much took anything of interest. A few pens, hair ties, a lighter and dental floss but other than that, this is empty.”

  Sam turned to Birdie who was studying the rumpled sheets.

  “Fackin’ell.”

  Birdie opened the closet door and flipped the switch on the outside wall. For a startled moment they could have sworn there was an outline of Lena rummaging happily through the rack of clothes as if searching for the perfect ensemble. Sam’s blood cooled as the strong scent of her wafted out through the open door. Birdie released the glass knob and let her hand drop to her side.

  After a moment, Sam placed her hands on Birdie’s shoulders and moved past her into the walk-in closet. She reached upward, grasping the legs of the well-dressed Barbie Lena had jokingly tied to the cord that was the pull for the attic trap door. The hatch swung down easily, revealing steps leading up into the darkened space. Sam unfolded the remainder of the hinged ladder and looked at Birdie.

  “You first, Sam.”

  Birdie was pale. Sam was pretty sure she had been plopped into the middle of a horror movie. She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs. If ever there was a time she wanted to turn and run it was now. She took a deep breath to galvanize herself and muster the courage to climb the ladder. Praying for a light, she ascended slowly, thankful she’d worn flats. A small vent high at the apex of the roofline allowed a trickle of sunlight in, making it easier for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She stood still at the top of the ladder while Birdie took her time making her way up. After a few moments a bare bulb with an old pull chain came into view. Sam drew a breath and pulled the chain. The fixture gave a low popping sound, as the chain broke free from its mooring.

  “Shit. Bird, go down and see if she’s got a flashlight under her sink or bed or whatever.”

  “Are you staying up here?”

  Sam nodded, “Go ahead, I’ll be OK.”

  Birdie carefully climbed back down and gave Sam a long look from the bottom before she headed off to find light.

  The air in the attic was much warmer than in the house; the smell of raw wood, paper, and rat droppings was strong. There were several boxes stacked on top of a plywood plank a few feet from the opening. The attic was a sea of old, shredded newspapers used as insulation. Sam guessed the paper would be yellowed from age. She leaned against a support beam and listened to the sound of Birdie opening and closing cabinets in the rooms below. Her eyes had adjusted enough for her to make out labels written with a Sharpie on the sides of the cardboard boxes. She squinted through the darkness at the scrawled words: “Kitchen/Pots,” “Donate,” “Blankets,” “Financials/Taxes” and several labeled “Books.” She scooted herself across the rough plywood floor toward the boxes, careful to lift herself enough to avoid slivers. The darkness moved around her and she forced herself to stay focused on the boxes rather than search the shadows.

  Birdie’s head popped through the opening, “No ‘eh damn thing. What’d she do when the bloody power failed?”

  “I saw candles on her dresser and I think there was a lighter in one of the bedside tables.”

  “Roight boss.”

  Birdie disappeared again as Sam pulled one of the boxes of books across the dirty floor toward her. Peeling two of the neatly folded flaps back, the box top opened like a portal on a spaceship because of the over-under fold configuration.

  “Thanks for not taping these Lena.”

  “What?” Birdie had reappeared with candle in hand.

  “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  Birdie set the candle down, sparked the lighter to life and held it to the wick. The blackened braid slowly accepted life from the flame. The light it cast was dim but for a few feet around the candle it was possible to see. Sam gestured to one of the other boxes of books and turned back to her own pile. The two worked diligently sorting through the stacks of books.

  “FLW,” Sam said, wiping the grit from her brow with her shirtsleeve, “What the hell is FLW? Are there any books with the first letters FLW, or maybe an author?”

  Birdie ripped a glove off and scratched the crown of her head. “Nope. Nothin’ even close.”

  Sam mumbled under her breath, “Far Left Wood, Floor Level Waste, First Layer Wadding . . .” She began eyeing the shredded paper with unwelcome visions of having to root through sections of the stuff.

  “Facking Lousy Wankers.” Birdie chimed in “That’s what I think it stands for.”

  Sam pushed one of the Kitchen boxes out of the way so she could make her way to the left of the plywood plank and begin fishing through the crinkled paper. “See if there’s anything in these boxes and I’ll check under . . .” her words trailed off as she glimpsed a large hardcover book nestled in a small space behind the boxes. Reaching back into the darkness, Sam slid the glossy hardcover to
ward her with her fingertips. A picture of a tree-shrouded house with the word Fallingwater appeared on the cover. Birdie sat with her gloves in hand, seemingly unimpressed.

  Frank Lloyd Wright.

  Birdie’s eyebrows jumped as shock registered on her face, “Is that it?”

  The cover creaked as Sam opened the book. Every few pages, Lena had tucked pieces of paper into the volume. Some were letter size and some ledger size, folded neatly and tucked into the crease of the spine to keep them from falling out. Sam looked up at Birdie in the candle light, “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

  Turning her attention back to the book, she heard Birdie shift to her knees to crawl closer. Page after page of photocopied ledger sheets with erratic scribbles in the margins, Sam couldn’t believe her eyes. Beads of sweat started forming on her brow.

  “God Birdie, this changes everything! This is incredible!”

  Sam began to wonder if the excitement was becoming too much for her. Her adrenaline was pumping and the room seemed brighter. And hotter. She could hear Birdie scuttling around behind her, scraping along the plywood planks. The burning smell of the candle seemed to be growing stronger, Sam thought as she coughed.

  “Did you hear me, Bird?”

  Sam stared up at the sloping roofline in front of her, her back turned to the room. The light was definitely brighter and danced in an irregular pattern. Birdie tapped her shoulder. Turning her head slowly, afraid of confirming the news her mind had delivered in an urgent cry, she looked out across the attic into a raging wall of flames.

  “BIRDIE! WHAT THE HELL?”

  Birdie gave a forced cartoon grin, “Think I may have knocked the candle over.”

  The makeshift plywood floor they sat on had become a raft in the sea of fire and the edges were beginning to ignite. Smoke filled the cramped space and Sam’s vision quickly clouded with tears pouring from her burning eyes.

  Sam sat dumbfounded, trying to figure out how they were going to put out the fire and cover their tracks. Her mind seemed to be working in slow motion as the flames licked up the rafters of the attic. She realized Birdie was dragging her backwards toward the opening as she clutched the book to her chest.