"That's what I thought. Well, Bryce says the boys at the bank are trying to pull a fast one on us and get the house on the cheap. It sits in the middle of a REIT's big development project."
She swallowed hard, feeling the lurch of conflicting loyalties. It was Harry's project, his REIT.
"Well, I have no idea who this guy Reed is. He could be the devil himself for all I know. You and your husband have the background for this sort of thing. You deal with Reed."
"Speaking of the devil, Mama, Coddie's in Alta.”
“Glory be! When did that happen?”
“I ran into him yesterday out on Hatter's Field, while I was collecting holly. He’s staying at the hotel.”
“Well, it's no surprise to me he couldn’t stay away from you during the holidays. Your marriage can and will be saved.”
“Sure, sure, whatever you say, Mama. Anyway, Mr. Scattergood has some really good news for us about the value of the house. He also says there's money available from the feds for a residence restoration project downtown."
"You don't say."
"What we have is a gem, Mama. We have a chance to fight the bad guys, right here in my home town. What do you think about that?”
She neglected to mention who the bad guys might be.
Faith at times could be intuitive. She had easily divined what Marlena was driving at. “You can climb down off your high horse now, Marlena Mae. If you want to do something with the property yourself, all you have to do is say so.”
“Really? Well, now you mention it, Mama, I might think about your take on it. The house would make a great restoration project. With the help of someone like Scattergood, I could do it for us both, as an investment. ”
“Your husband could help us--”
“Oh, no," Marlena interjected. "Coddie's not to get his hands on this deal. If I take it on, I do so for us girls.”
Faith sighed. “I was only going to say, Lena, that Coddie might be able to help get us financing. It would take at least forty five grand, am I right?”
“Yes, but I have an idea of how I might come up with money elsewhere. And Bryce said he would help me to find other investors.”
“Well, have it your way, Lena. You always do.”
“Mama, I do appreciate the vote of confidence.”
So, the pressure was mounting in Faith’s campaign for Marlena to save her marriage. She'd think about that later, for she'd just won a major victory: the pink house could be hers, if she wanted it.
How would Harry react? Would they be at cross purposes? Or would he behave like a loving partner and be supportive of her efforts?
Faith could hear quick breathing over the phone. She became concerned. “Lena, what’s wrong? Lena, are you all right? Lena, can you hear me? Talk to me!”
“I’m still here, Ma,” Marlena murmured weakly.
“Lena! Lena!”
“It was just a dizzy spell. It happens sometimes when my thoughts run too fast. Don’t worry. I’m fine now.”
“So, what did the doctor say about your symptoms? You did hear from him?”
“Doctor? Oh, yes, I did.” She paused while concocting her story. “And just as I expected, it’s an iron deficiency. Dr. Ron---do you remember Typhoid Ronnie, Mama?”
“I can’t say that I do. ‘Typhoid Ronnie’ doesn’t sound like a fitting name for a doctor.”
“He was my classmate in second grade. Dad used to call him that because he infected me with everything. Now Ron’s a local doctor, a very good one.”
Faith sighed. “If you say so, Lena. I wouldn’t put too much stock in any doctor in these parts.”
“Mama, there’s no need to drag me off to the Cleveland Clinic. All I need are some B12 shots.”
“Are you sure, Lena, that’s all that’s wrong?”
“Yes, Mama. Hey, congratulate me.”
“On what?"
"Remember what I told you at brunch, about our fifth anniversary year at B. L. Zebub's, and how we were targeting some pretty big numbers? Well, I heard today that we're almost sure to exceed our numbers for 1977. Isn’t that great? I'm about to go over there and celebrate with the staff."
"I suppose this means I don’t get to see you until tomorrow. I have my crocheting and my prayers, and a little television to watch in the afternoons. The food at the counter isn't too bad. Don't worry about me.”
“Mama, spare me the Ma Perkins routine. That's not all I have on my plate. Later tonight, Chloe has promised to tell me Cassandra's story.”
“Wonderful,” Faith said sourly.
“That’s what Annie said. Well, today’s a busy day for me, no doubt about it, but tomorrow, first thing, I want you to come over and stay at Chloe’s. Please do come for the rest of your stay, Mama. It’s really beautiful here and very festive. We can spend some quiet time together. What do you say to that?”
Faith thought her heart would burst. It was the overture she'd been waiting on for three years.
“Chloe asked me to come, but I didn’t want to interfere.”
“How could you be interfering? Jeez, I’m inviting you, Mama. Just show up tomorrow, but not too early, since I’ll be sleeping in. I take it Cassandra's story will be a long one.”
“Cassandra came out to Wyoming in 1899 when she was nineteen, and when she died in San Francisco she was almost a hundred. How she made it that far, I’ll never know. Of course the people here think it was because she was a witch. Why you want to dig up those old bones, Lena, is a mystery to me.”
“So you’ll come to Mill’s Creek?”
“You’ve asked me, Lena, and I’ll come. You can tell Chloe I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, with bells on."
After putting down the phone, Faith went straight down to the front office and cancelled the remaining days of her stay.
"If anyone calls for me, though I can't think why anyone should, I'll be at my cousin Chloe Vye's house, out there at Mill's Creek.”
When the desk clerk asked her why she was departing early, Faith looked her straight in the eye.
“I’ll be on God’s business,” she said. “I have to save my daughter from making the worst mistake of her life."
Chapter Twenty
She would be there "with bells on," Faith had said. She was one to quote the Scriptures, but never in Marlena's hearing had she used that phrase before. Was it possible Mama loved her?
A child too often left alone, Marlena had always sincerely doubted her mother wanted to have her in the first place, and she felt she wasn't unconditionally loved.
But she tamed the flutter in her heart and set the comment aside, as something to discuss later on with Chloe. Her focus now must be on the 1977 numbers and the staff holiday gathering at Zebub's. Long hours and hard work had paid off. Hooray!
As for her gnawing personal concerns, hopefully it was only a matter of hours before she would hear from Harry about when they could meet. Possibly she would even see Harry when she got to the hotel, as he sometimes would show up at staff parties.
Afterward, she'd lure him upstairs, in his suite or hers. Her sexual hunger for him was like a wound in her heart.
She was envisioning his cock, how she would flick it with her tongue until it was standing straight up at attention. And then, after riding him hard and getting herself off, she'd go back down on him and make him come in her mouth.
That was Harry's favorite part, though she could take it or leave it. His eyes would cross with pleasure, he'd grunt, and then she'd be swallowing his juices. She'd read somewhere that ejaculate was good for the mouth lining.
Perhaps a change of scenery would be good for their sex life. If she landed Sally Honeywell as a private client, she'd be exchanging the West's cold mountains for the balmy, open atmosphere of Key West. It would be fun hanging out with the sisters, indulging in cuddly lesbian sex for awhile until Harry managed to get there. Harry would surely follow in pursuit of her, wouldn't he? He couldn't resist.
In the crystal ball she carried around i
nside her head, Marlena envisioned a future of starlit nights when she and Harry would emerge from their thatched cottage and walk hand-in-hand along the Gulf shores. On a rock in the middle of the Gulfstream, the bonfires of their early passion would be rekindled.
Yep, this week was shaping up great after all. She was clear now on the road ahead of her. It was almost possible to convince herself the hexing hadn't happened. She'd always been an optimist as well as a futurist; she believed there was no problem that couldn't be fixed if she put her mind to it and shoved hard against anyone or anything in her way. And Letty was one impediment richly deserving of a shove.
As for that other problem, the one she was carrying in her belly, it couldn't be willed away. She'd get a quick abortion in San Francisco, then fly down to Key West. She'd helped Harry achieve his dream of building a Xanadu in their home town. Would he step up to the plate and make her dream of a life with him come true?
She allowed herself to continue the luxury of daydreaming. The crystal ball in her head was steamy with images of a blissful future life, starting all over again in Key West with Harry.
Oh, how she missed that end-of-the line hangout, was her thought.
The Bellums had driven south in a used Dodge sedan with pink and white fenders. She'd loved it. Unfortunately, after several forced stops for repairs, Faith declared the Dodge to be a “lemon" and traded it in at a Miami car-lot for a four-door Chevy sedan, a big disappointment.
She had also been disappointed when their open-ended stay in Key West was curtailed by the explosive international situation in Cuba. She'd felt happier in Key West than she had since 1952, when she'd been forced to leave her grandparents’ home in the mountains.
She was building an elaborate sandcastle on Smathers Beach when the Cuban missile crisis broke out, and they were told they must evacuate. Her last vision was of sand bags on the beach and sailors brawling on the streets. And forever after she could see in her mind, in exact detail, a banyan tree on Whitehead Street. It was sprawling and shamanistic, its gnarled branches thick as a man’s arm, large yet still inviting, something out of a Hollywood movie set.
She would climb up and sit on its thickest branch, her long legs dangling and her mind wandering far afield, as she used to do on Hatter's Field.
The tree jutted out in all directions, up, down, and sideways, with exposed roots that were taller than she was. It drew nurture from the soil and extended over her a rich canopy of spiritual and physical gifts, transforming her view of the universe and all the possible connections among humankind, God, and nature.
It was mysterious as a boat of singing ravens, inspirational as a cathedral.
For ten years, HMC and Faith had been the mainstay of her belief system, but all that was changed as she sat on the banyan tree, reading a book from the Key West library.
On a rain-swept day early in their stay, she had boldly ventured into the library on Fleming Street. She had been inside many libraries but had never seen one like this before. Low slung and stuccoed, much like a house in a Bahamian neighborhood, it was painted a pepto bismal shade of pink.
In her humdrum life in Ohio, the public libraries were towering concrete mausoleums, endowed by the Carnegie foundation during the old robber baron days. She had spent hour upon hour in the echoing corridors of one such repository of wisdom, volunteering her help over the summer in shelving books under the surveillance of a sour, elderly librarian.
The Key West librarian looked like a character out of Dickens; his black hair cascaded in corkscrew curls, and he wore round, wire-rimmed eye-glasses. She politely asked for his recommendation of reading to keep her occupied while her mother shopped.
“Where are you from, young lady?”
“I'm a native of the wilds of Wyoming, but I was taken by force to Ohio. I have my library card with me, sir. May I have one of yours if I show it to you?"
He looked at her skeptically. Then, as she beamed her eyes into his, he promptly relented. "I guess we could arrange that."
"I’ve been reading the philosophers in alphabetical order. I’m through the C’s. Would you pick something from the D’s for me, please, sir?”
In a few minutes he was back at the desk with a hardbound copy of Darwin’s Origin of Species.
The day was brilliant, with a scalding sun and the sky the same color as her eyes. Hidden high up in the arms of the banyan tree, speed reading her way through Darwin, Marlena had a kind of epiphany.
It came to her then that the venerable authorities of science and religion actually offer two sides of the same human imperative, which goes something like this: “adapt/do as we say, and you have a chance to live forever.” But she preferred to think that God was in the banyan tree--and in her--exactly as she and the tree existed, not in some project of science or zealot's delusion.
The name of the church she and her parents attended in Key West was Mary, Star of the Sea. As usual, Austin trailed behind her and Faith, leaning on his cane and with a hidden flask in his pocket. She had never heard a more beautiful name for a church. Nor had she ever seen so many dark-skinned people at mass. Were they like the poor African-Americans who lived in the slums of Cleveland?
Her mother told her these people were Cubans and that Cuba was only eighty miles away; a ferry went there every day from Key West, though the present situation would no doubt end all that.
Chapter Twenty One
As Christmas week was traditionally the deadest time of the year for B. L. Zebub’s, Marlena had won Harry’s grudging approval to close the bar for two hours this afternoon so the staff could enjoy a private Christmas party. At noon, guests would be given a last-drink signal. At two, a special punch would be concocted, which she had named the Bonfire of the Competition, in honor of the year's unprecedented numbers. Favors would be laid out for each staff member, who were the heads of the various departments from Front Desk to Laundry. The party would then commence, and at five the bar would be reopened to guests.
The favors were bronze replicas of the new bonfire sculpture created by a world-famous Denver artiste and roustabout who was a popular customer at the saloon. The dazzling piece had been unveiled amid much fanfare at the outset of the holiday season. Flanked by pristine Western landscaping, its location was at the corner of the sculpture garden nearest the arching windows of the hotel restaurant, so dining guests could enjoy the newest addition to Drake’s art collection.
The sculpture was cleverly made of metal and ponderosa strips. It closely resembled the historic bonfire that would be burned up at the Hat on Christmas evening. But the bonfire sculpture, because of the ponderosa and metal composition, would not burn.
As Marlena approached the hotel, the first sign of trouble was a dark plume of smoke hovering over the sculpture garden and two fire trucks parked on the lawn. Beside them were two empty squad cars with their red lights swirling.
She got out of the car and ran to the nearest person she saw, who was old Joe.
He told her that in the dark of night, unknown persons had embedded kerosene-soaked pine strips into the sculpture, additions which had gone undetected.
Then at noon, the sculpture had been torched, again by unknown persons and in full view of the annual solstice luncheon attended by members of POT (Pioneers of the Territory).
Though the sculpture itself hadn’t burned, it had been enveloped in flames, along with two stick figures that had been placed there by the vandals. These effigies and their conflagration were large enough to be seen through the windows, where the diners witnessed the unplanned event first hand.
Joe reported the burning figures had spectacular devil’s eyes, red horsehair, and metallic neckbands crudely carved with the initials MB and CV. She could readily see for herself that the manicured grounds were badly scorched, an ugly sight. The firemen were still on the scene, hosing it down. All other vehicles had been removed from the parking lot.
It was only after she drilled her eyes into the security guard's and repeated her insis
tence that she be allowed to go inside the building that she was escorted inside. Access had been disallowed until it was known if the vandals were still around.
As she entered the lobby, the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. She hurried past the front desk clerks, who were standing in a group, whispering.
She found the secret door to B. L. Zebub's was wide open. Where was the guard? Typically he was there at all hours. As she proceeded down the narrow hallway at a fast pace, a dead quiet was eerily present. The only sound to be heard was the thud-thud of her platform heels on the wood floor, which matched the loudness of the beating of her heart. Usually there were clusters of customers hanging out in the entrance-way, which was a calculated part of the pleasure. Newcomers would stop to observe and admire Drake's collection of classic erotic art.
As a patron had once observed, the entrance to the West’s only eerie pub was "part of the fun, much like having sex with a cowboy who has a groovy way of getting on and getting off.”
But no one seemed to be up for having fun today. For once the hallway was empty, and it echoed like a tomb.
Odder still, the bar itself was empty as she entered it. Despite the plans for the staff holiday party, the entire room was deserted; she could see the bronze favors laid out on the table were untouched.
She put her hands on her hips and looked around. No one was tending the bar. No one was sitting in the saddle bar seats. Not a living soul was present.
"What in hell is going on?" she wondered aloud. "Where is everybody? Did we get raided by the DEA?"
Then she noticed the entire mirrored back wall of the bar was shrouded in huge pieces of purple velvet drapery, like the statues on Good Friday in a Catholic church. That was certainly peculiar.
She called out. "Hello! Anyone here?"
The blind eyes of a stuffed mule deer hanging on the leather wall seemed to be staring at her reproachfully.
"What're you looking at?" she muttered. "You're creeping me out."
It was then she heard a familiar whistle--Harry's--and she smiled widely with relief while she watched him stroll into the bar at his usual sauntering pace, as if nothing were going on. But from his pallor and a clenching at his jaw-line, she knew something serious was up.
The Fire Night Ball Page 11
