by Susanne Beck
Returning my stare look for look, the woman tilted her head, her eyes wide with a compassion that is only seen in the truly snobbish. "Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. Are you deaf as well?" she asked at a decibel level which could have broken window glass several miles away. "Forgive me for my mistake. You just look so normal."
Resisting the urge to toss out a snappish retort, I instead gave her a gracious smile. "I can hear. I was just ...startled."
She brought her free hand up to her chest, her many bracelets tinkling discordantly with her exaggerated movements. "Oh, isn’t that a relief! And here I thought we’d have absolutely no way of communicating."
I just smiled. And nodded. A lot.
"Where are my manners?" she asked after another uncomfortable pause. Sticking out a hand, she engulfed one of my own, pumping vigorously. It was like shaking hands with cold, wet bread dough. And that would be insulting to the dough. "My name is Millicent Harding Post. Hard on the ‘T’, dear, as in ‘tittilating’." She chirped a bird-like laughter through ruby red lips.
Disengaging my hand, I resisted the urge to wipe it off on my shorts. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Post," I replied, making sure to stress the ‘T’.
"Oh please, dearie. We’re all friends here, aren’t we? Millicent will do just fine. And you are?"
"Tyler Moore."
Her eyes, magnified behind half-glasses, widened comically. "Oh you poor, poor dear. What were your parents thinking?"
Probably the same thing your parents were when they decided to name you "Millicent" you pompous old windbag. Not that I said that aloud, of course. Though, to be perfectly honest, there was a moment there where I was sorely tempted. I smiled in wry acknowledgement of her false pity, and steered the conversation into another, and hopefully safer, direction. "Are you the new owner of The Silver Pine?"
Millicent turned to look over one meaty shoulder at the building in question, then turned back to me. "Unfortunately, yes. It’s been my cross to bear since Mother Carmody passed on."
"I’m sorry for your loss."
She flapped a hand at me. "Don’t be, dear. Why, I didn’t even know I had an aunt until some lawyer in a monkey suit and California tan darkened my doorstep one morning and told me the old bat had kicked off, leaving me saddled with this useless pile of wood." She shook her head, a true martyr to the cause, then fondly patted her dog’s head, engulfing the poor thing entirely with the size of her hand. I briefly wondered if she was giving it a concussion. "I was sorely tempted to just sell the thing and be done with it, but Puddles here told me that she’d like a chance to see how the other half lives, and so off we came. Isn’t that right, Puddles? Of course it is. You’re mama’s little sweetums, aren’t you."
Just when it appeared that "mama’s little sweetums" was going to add some additional breathing holes to mama’s little nose in retaliation for squeezing its innards out of its ears, Millicent pulled away and grinned at me, her capped white teeth bloody with smeared lipstick. "Isn’t she just the sweetest little thing you’ve ever seen in your life?"
I took in the bulging eyes, the pointy teeth, the curled tongue, and the muzzle now smeared red by Millicent’s kisses. "Oh yes. Very sweet." I surreptitiously checked my own nose just to see if it had grown.
She tilted her head once again. "Are you sure we haven’t met before? I never forget a face, and yours is very familiar to me."
"Well, I come into town quite often ... ?"
Flapping her hand at me again, she shook her head. "No, not here, dearie. Unless they’re paying customers, I never notice anyone here. You’re one of us, yes?"
"Excuse me?"
"One of us, dear. An American. Not one of those ... Canadians. I thought I detected a bit of a Midwestern drawl to your speech."
The way she looked at me, I knew I’d just been called a hick, though in the most polite of ways. "I was born in the United States," I allowed.
She nodded triumphantly. "She was right then."
I looked hard at her, trying to process the non-sequitor. "Who was right?"
"Why, Puddles, of course. She told me I’d meet a charming young American today, and what do you know? I have!"
I spared a brief moment wondering if perhaps her perfume contained some mind-altering chemical, because the conversation was taking on a decidedly strange bent.
"So ...would you like to see what I’ve done with the place? You simply wouldn’t believe what I had to work with."
"Um, actually, I would," I replied. "I used to come here every summer with my family. I loved the Silver Pine."
Turning back to me, Millicent eyed me the way I would imagine one would stare at a particularly revolting display of rat droppings arranged on one’s kitchen table. "Of course you did, dear."
Then, after another moment, she smiled. "But you were child then. I’m sure, as an adult, your tastes have changed drastically, no? Just come in for a quick look. I promise, you won’t be disappointed."
"Well, there is something I really have to ... ."
"Nonsense, dear. There can’t possibly be anything so important that you can’t spare just a moment to ease a fellow American’s mind."
"Actually, there ... ."
She flung an arm heavy as a lead weight over my shoulders, the cloying scent of her perfume causing my eyes to tear and my head to spin. "It’s settled then. You simply won’t believe what a little time, effort, and taste will do to a facility. Even one such as this, in the middle of absolutely nowhere."
Now most probably, I could have gotten away from her had I tried hard enough, but to tell the truth, she could have taken me to the Dante’s Seventh Circle and I would have gone, such was the state of my mind at the time.
She led me into the lobby, then slipped away, no doubt to give me the necessary room to stand and stare in wide-eyes wonder at the changes she had wrought.
Being the accommodating sort, I did just that, though a decidedly queasy sensation quickly replaced the wonder I was expected to feel upon viewing the work of her interior designer, a person whom I was quite sure read Harlequin Romances for inspiration.
Gone were the comfortable weathered wood and nautical trappings which had so delighted me as a child. In their place were heavy red velvet and gold brocade tapestries, antique furniture, and intricate rugs more common to a French house of ill-repute than a simple lakeside Bed and Breakfast. So perfect was the illusion that I half-expected to see scantily dressed whores waiting perched upon the heavily embroidered couches for the next customer to saunter by. In one corner, Puddles was living up to her name, christening a Persian rug. I wondered if it was expensive.
I couldn’t help grinning at that, but hid it quickly.
Millicent smiled at her pet fondly before turning to me, her huge arms outspread to encompass the entire lobby. "Well, what do you think?"
"It’s ...it’s ... ." Ok, Angel, think. She’s a whole foot taller and about three hundred pounds heavier than you, so whatever you come up with, it better be good. "Well, it’s ...different."
She smiled as if I had just told her I was the lead photographer for House Beautiful. "I just knew you’d love it, dear. I could tell you were a woman of exquisite taste the moment I laid eyes on you."
Smiling and nodding, I scratched the back of my neck as further words failed me.
Taking a step closer, she made as if to engulf me once again. "Come, let me give you the grand tour. Each guest room has a different theme. You’ll love them, I’m sure."
Deftly stepping out of the way of her oncoming arm, I held up my hands in a warding-off gesture I hoped she’d read. "Much as I’d love to do just that, I promised a friend I’d do something for her, and I really need to do it. She’s counting on me." I gave her my most winning smile, one that had worked on women you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. "Another time perhaps?"
The pout she gave me made her eyes disappear into the vast folds of her cheeks, but when she saw it wasn’t working on me, she relaxed the expression
into a smile instead. "Of course, dear. I wouldn’t want to keep you away from anything important. Come, let me walk you back outside. After all, it’s the least I can do in return for your aid."
Repressing a small shudder, I allowed her to place her arm around my shoulders once again as she guided me back the way we’d come. I felt a decided sense of relief when the fresh air of the outside world claimed me once again, clearing my mind as well as my sinuses.
Squinting my eyes against the brightness of the day, I noticed a very familiar form casually sauntering down the street toward Pop’s garage. Shit. She probably thinks I forgot about her.
Which I hadn’t, of course. Not even for a second.
I felt Millicent stiffen beside me, and, looking up, I saw her following Ice’s easy movements with her eyes, an expression reminiscent of one biting into the most sour of lemons stamped on her florid features for all to see.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, wondering if she was seeing something I wasn’t.
"Typical. Just typical."
"Excuse me?"
A large, bejeweled hand flung out in the direction of my partner. "Her, dear. So common. So ...manly."
My eyebrows raised. "Manly?" I took a closer look, something I enjoyed in the extreme, my eyes running over her lean form with great pleasure. "I think she’s beautiful." Which was, of course, the truth, though I’m sure my tone of voice did little to hide my true feelings.
She turned to me, that sour-lemon look still on her face. "If you like that type, I suppose. Genetic beauty is fine for commoners. True beauty takes style, poise, breeding. It’s quite obvious she has none of those things." She clucked her tongue. "Why, I’ll wager that that woman wouldn’t know a Chippendale if she tripped over one."
Somehow, and I don’t know how, I resisted the urge to tell the overblown windbag that not only did Ice have more style, poise and breeding in the smallest of her fingers than she had in her entire abundant body, but also that she could, and did, read Kafka and Solzhenitzyn in the language of their birth, and could sing Elena's aria from La donna del lago so beautifully that statues would weep with the joy of hearing it.
I didn’t say any of those things, though. What would have been the point? Closed minds took time to pry open. Time I didn’t wish to spare with the likes of her.
I dredged up a smile from somewhere and turned it on her. "Well, if you’ll excuse me, I really do need to get going. Thanks for the tour and the conversation. It was nice to have met you."
"Same to you, dear. Come back around anytime. Just make sure to stay away from women like her. Believe me, they’re nothing but trouble."
More than you know, lady. More than you know.
* * *
My eyes adjusting to the darkness of the garage, I walked over to where Ice was rummaging through one of the tall tool chests scattered throughout the large, open structure. "Sorry about that. I got snared in by the proprietress of the Silver Pine. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer."
Looking up, Ice favored me with a half-grin. "Figured as much. No big deal. I needed another tool anyway."
I moved closer to give her a kiss when a cleared throat interrupted my action. Turning, I spied Pop standing just inside the garage, his hat off as he ran a hand through his hair. "Afternoon, Tyler, Morgan."
"Hi, Pop!" Blinking, I took another look at the man. Something didn’t seem right with him, somehow. Curious, I walked over to him, noticing as he ducked his head shyly away from me. "What happened to you?" I asked, taking in the starburst of brilliant color over his swollen right eye as well as the jagged cut down one grizzled cheek. "Who did this?"
"Ain’t no big deal," he replied, taking a step away from me.
"What happened." Ice’s commanding voice floated to us from the depths of the shadowed garage.
"Buncha young toughs from the bar up the road got their peckers up, pardon the language. Should’a known better than ta go up there, my age bein’ what it is, but I had a taste for a cold one and I never could turn that down." He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Do my drinkin’ at home from now on. Like I said, ain’t no big deal."
"It’s a big deal to me," I countered. "No one has the right to beat up someone else. It’s stupid and just plain rude."
He grinned at me. "They ain’t known for their brains or their manners, Tyler. Don’t get all upset about ‘em anyway. Ain’t worth it. I learned my lesson."
Though I couldn’t see Ice in the dark, I thought I caught a short nod directed at me, which made me feel much better about the whole situation. Enough to let it drop, with Pop at least. "Well, you make sure you put some ice on that eye to keep it from swelling any more than it already has."
"Got me a pound of raw hamburger waitin’ to do just that, Tyler." He shrugged again. "’s what my wife used to use on me, anyway. Figure it’ll do the same now as it did back then."
He turned his head toward Ice. "Speakin of which, my wife’s sister took ill up-country. Ain’t seen her in years, but I promised my Maggie that I’d look after her kin after she’d passed on, so I reckon that’s what I’ll do. Was wonderin, Morgan, if you wouldn’t mind lookin’ after the place for me. I’ll close ‘er up good and tight when I leave, but I like my things to stay where I left ‘em, and you never can be too sure these days, even in a town like this one. If it’ll set ya back, say so. I’ll find someone else."
"No need to shut it down," Ice replied. "I don’t mind filling in for a few days."
"Couldn’t ask that of ya ... ."
"Then don’t. Just consider it done."
Now, Pop might have been old, but he was also smart. He knew when he’d been beaten, and had no bones about saying so. Nodding, he put his cap back on his head and straightened the oil-stained brim. "I’ll give you my thanks and leave ya to ‘er then. I’m leavin first thing tomorrow, so whenever ya get here is when you’ll be open."
"Fine."
"Alright then. Got a trip to get ready for. Be seein’ ya." And with that, he turned and left the cool garage, heading back toward the station proper and his tidy little house beyond.
Ice, too, left the shadows, coming to stand beside me, her arms laden with tools. Grabbing one, I turned to her, and smiled. "That was really sweet of you."
She snorted. "I don’t do ‘sweet’."
"Suuuuuure ya don’t." I know she doesn’t like being teased, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. She just makes it so darned easy.
She scowled, but kept her peace, fiddling with the oversized wrench in her hand. "C’mon. I got a cabin to finish."
As I broke into a jog to keep some sort of pace with my lover’s long strides, the corner of my eye caught a bright flash of pink from the direction of the Silver Pine. Turning my head, I saw Millicent eyeing me, that pinched look still on her face; only now, it was directed at me as well as my partner.
Unable to resist that little voice in my head, I trotted forward a couple steps and snared my arm around Ice’s lean waist, hugging her close so that our hips bumped as we walked.
"What was that for?"
"Oh," I smirked, glancing over my shoulder at Millicent’s frowning reaction, "nothing."
Heh. Heh. Heh.
* * *
After puttering around the cabin with Ice for a few hours, I left to shower and freshen up for my afternoon job. Like Ice’s before me, my own reputation had spread beyond Ruby’s study. Before I knew it, offers for tutoring jobs came in more quickly than I could handle them, from young and old alike.
However, since I had to help build my home, there just weren’t enough hours in the day to help all who asked, so I learned to be selective, something that didn’t come easily to me, especially when it came down to deciding who to teach and who to regretfully decline. After all, an education is one of the most important things in the world, and something everyone deserves a chance to receive.
The student that I was helping that particular late summer’s day was a wonderful, mentally challenged seven-year-old boy n
amed Nikki who had left school the year before because of the teasing he’d received from his classmates. I’d shunned monetary offers from his parents, but when they pointed out that I was treating their son as a special case by doing so, and that was something they most definitely did not want to have happen, I gave in to their undeniable logic and accepted both money and son into my care. Something I’ve never regretted.
My lessons finished for the day, I found myself at Ruby’s kitchen table, regaling her with my rendition of my first meeting with the incomparable Millicent Harding Post. Tears were rolling down my face as she told a few tales of her own about the woman and her many strange habits, treating Puddles as if the dog were human the very least among them.
Ice had come in shortly before, grimy from her labors, and had run upstairs to shower and change before going back into town with me in search of some dinner.
Night was quickly drawing down when the phone rang. Getting up from her place at the table, Ruby answered it, then cradled it to her chest as she yelled up the stairs. "Morgan, it’s for you."
After a muffled "Got it" floated down from upstairs, the room fell silent save for the ticking of the clock above the stove.
Time passed in its slow, quiet way as the conversation between Ruby and I ground down to dust. I heard the door to Ice’s room open, then quietly close, followed again by stillness. Ruby and I looked at one another. She smiled. "You might as well go on up. I know it’s killing you, not knowing."
I blushed a little, but stood anyway, knowing I was well and truly caught. "I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably some last minute instructions from Pop about not lighting a match around the gas pumps or something." Still, I couldn’t quite push away the feeling of dread that seemed to come from nowhere as the moments ticked away.
Shaking my head at my foolishness, I smiled my thanks to Ruby, then pushed away from the table and strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I was practically running. I stopped in front of Ice’s door, knocked, then entered her room without waiting for a response. A rude thing for me to do, I’ll agree, but manners were the last thing on my mind at that moment. I couldn’t explain why my body was giving me the messages it was, only that it was. And after living in prison for so many years, that was enough for me.
