by Lila Shaara
“If the Sky People say so.”
“Of course.”
“Miss Tokay, this is fascinating and I’d love to talk about it all night, but I’m burning with the question of Emily Timms at the moment.”
Her smile softened. “I love burning questions.” She seemed to wake herself up. “I couldn’t tell you how she found herself here, Harry. But she became a good friend to me. I wondered at times if she was an avatar of Kwan Yin herself. So wise and so kind.”
“But you say she ascended?”
“Yes. Years ago now.”
“You communicate with her, though?”
“Yes.”
Harry put his hands together in his lap to calm himself and give himself patience. “How did she kill herself, Miss Tokay?”
“How does anyone?” she said.
“Miss Tokay.”
“She changed from one state to another. That’s all I acknowledge, Harry. Metamorphosis. If you want sordid material details, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know them.”
“How did you hear about her death?”
“I heard about her ascension,” Miss Tokay corrected. “And I heard about it from her.”
Harry helped Miss Baby bring the teacups and tray back to the kitchen, which turned out to be large and pink and not particularly clean. There were broad swatches of paint cracked and ready to tumble off the ceiling, riverbeds of broken plaster down the walls. The floor was covered with a sheet of linoleum in a pattern of white and indigo squares. It had spidering lines lacing through it, concentrated in pale, scuffed patches that clustered around the appliances, each of which looked far older than Harry, maybe as old as Miss Tokay. “All right,” he said to Miss Baby as he placed the tray on the broad wooden counter. Before he could say more, Miss Baby said, “She knew Dee. She was here for a little while, visiting. Miss Tokay took a shine to her. That’s pretty much the whole story.”
“Then why is everyone so skittish about telling me anything? What’s the big secret?”
Miss Baby sighed. “She’d had a bad time. She had nothing to speak of, but was too proud to live off other people for long. And she was afraid that some folks with a lot of money and power up in Pennsylvania were going to figure out a way to frame her for the murder of her husband. She was convinced she was in terrible danger.” She pointed to the bottle of dish soap and a rag perched on the inside edge of a wide, shallow porcelain sink. He started the water and poured a little soap on the rag.
“Was it true?”
“How’n hell would I know? She thought so.”
Harry washed the cups, handing each one to Miss Baby after it was rinsed. “How long was she here? When did she leave?”
“I don’t recollect either one. She stayed awhile. She left years ago.”
“Were you surprised when you heard she’d killed herself?”
“Sad. Not surprised. She had a mess of troubles.” She held up a hand as she saw his mouth open for another question. “Now don’t ask me what they all were. I suspect you know as much as I do about that. Maybe more. So, Harry,” she said, taking the last thin china cup from his hand, drying it, and restoring it to its mates on a shelf above the stove, “please leave Josie and Miss Tokay alone about this. It’s a painful subject for both of them.”
“I thought Josie didn’t know her very well,” he said, trying to wend his way through this new wrinkle in the story of Emily Timms.
Miss Baby spread the dish towel on the handle of the stove and flashed him a look. “She didn’t help her much, did she? You and she don’t mix well, like syrup and ketchup, two things I like but not on the same plate. But still, Josie helps people. She does it with a whole heart. Sometimes when she can’t help, her heart breaks a little.”
Miss Baby pushed him out of the kitchen into the hallway, now so dark it was hard to find the door. She flipped a switch, and the hall lit up with a warm yellow glow, although it was weighted down by the dusty violet paint on the walls and the heaviness of the grandfather clock on the wall facing the entrance.
“Shouldn’t we say good-bye to her?” Harry asked, resisting Miss Baby’s strong nudges toward the outside.
“She always takes dictations this time of night, or tries to. We can show ourselves out. She expects it.” They were outside on the porch, and Miss Baby pulled the front door to as she said, “You might think about leaving Maggie alone, too.” Her face didn’t look so kindly anymore, so he only said thank you and good night and got into his car. She waited for him to back down the driveway before disappearing into the dense dark trees as if she’d never been there. He debated with himself whether or not to go back to Maggie’s, but he remembered that she had to get up at five-thirty the following morning to go to work, and Miss Baby’s parting words hung heavily on him. He drove home, feeling disappointed, although he didn’t know why.
33
THE HIGH PRIESTESS
She is the woman of the Seeker’s dreams
Jonathan looked forward to the party more than he had any other in his memory. He spent a half hour combing his hair to get it to look like his father’s. He could remember the old man saying, “Good hair means good looks; good looks mean getting lucky.”
He was especially looking forward to seeing Harry Sterling again. Frank Milford had introduced him to a number of physics professors; Jonathan had asked careful questions about Harry, and had gotten some good gossip. You had to love small universities. The new law professor was dating a waitress who was also a fortune teller, if the department administrative assistant could be believed. No one wanted to act disapproving. It would have been a much more interesting item in the information pool if the liaison had been adulterous. As it was, people’s class notions were offended, but no one wanted to admit it, so they clucked instead about “superstition.” Jonathan knew from his mother’s work that everyone was superstitious if circumstances became sufficiently dangerous and uncertain. He had carried the same linen handkerchief for seven years. It had been his father’s, and aside from when it was laundered, he always had it in his pocket. “That’s superstitious of me,” Jonathan said aloud to the mirror. It was the first time he’d actually thought about it; having a scientific upbringing, he thought, I should know better. “I’ll test it,” he said aloud. He left it on the dresser, giving it a tense look as he closed the door behind him.
Josie had always thought Maggie was pretty, had always suspected that with a little help she could be beautiful. So she wasn’t surprised at what Miss Baby, allowed free rein at last, could do with her. More than once Miss Baby had to tell Maggie to sit still, as if she was Charlotte’s age, squirming and continually picking up Miss Baby’s tools to look at them. Like she’d never seen anything like these before, eyelash curlers and curling irons and tweezers. Well, thought Josie, she hadn’t dealt with them very much, even though Josie herself had an enormous cosmetic tool kit in her room. But Maggie had never pored over such implements like normal girls. Josie didn’t like it much that Maggie was being dropped into normalcy in this way, fretted over the outcome, imagined Harry Sterling gaping at her as she walked into his house, thunderstruck by the new Maggie, proposing to her on the spot.
They were in the Babyface Salon; Miss Baby had cut Maggie’s hair and was now blowing it dry while the curling iron heated. Maggie’s face was already covered in makeup, chemicals that as far as Josie knew had never come into contact with her skin. Miss Baby had drafted her granddaughters; Tamara was assigned to Maggie’s hands and Charlotte to her feet. At Maggie’s protest, Miss Baby said, “I know you think Charlotte’s going to be president someday, but it’s never bad to learn a trade.” Maggie looked quickly at Tamara; Josie knew she was always worried that the younger girl would feel lost and angry in Charlotte’s beautiful shadow. Maggie said, “And Tammy’s going to be a vet and take care of all the animals in the world.” Tamara smiled her unfortunate smile, and Maggie smiled back with such tenderness that Josie felt her chest get fluttery and hollow. It’s her and Dee agai
n, she thought. I can’t believe I never saw it till now. Dee had been pretty enough, thought Josie, and she had been sweet and reasonably bright, but her small fire had been quenched so easily next to Maggie’s blaze. Poor Dee, poor baby, Josie thought, then looked at Maggie and thought, Poor Maggie; if there was a card just for her, Josie wasn’t sure whether it would be called “Guilt” or “Shame.”
Maggie put up with all the frilly attention she was getting until Miss Baby shook a giant can of hair spray, preparing to shellac her hair so that its effect couldn’t be destroyed with an absentminded swipe; Maggie looked at the can, and even she knew what was coming. “No,” she said. Miss Baby put it down reluctantly. She pulled off the plastic sheath that she’d wrapped around Maggie’s shoulders to keep the hair and makeup from infiltrating her clothing and made Maggie look at her face in a hand mirror. She stared at herself for a moment and then said, “Do I look like a regular woman now?”
“You look like a million dollars, sweetheart,” Miss Baby said. “You look like chocolate cake.”
Josie hadn’t been able to bear the thought of Maggie being humiliated in a public setting. Since her niece had seemed set on going to this party, Josie had tried to get her to buy a dress, had dragged her to Dillard’s to try to find something, had forced her to look at racks of clothing under cold fluorescent lights. Maggie had hated every second of it, had winced and pulled away every time a saleswoman approached them. After a half hour she had started breathing heavily, like a cat hyperventilating in a fast-moving car. “I can’t,” she said to Josie. She grabbed a blue rayon blouse with white buttons. “Is this good enough? I have a new pair of jeans. Will that work?” When she looked at the price tag, her eyes grew huge. “Oh my God. I can’t pay that for a shirt.”
Josie had managed somehow to get her to do it, though she had had to shove her to the counter. When the woman behind the register had asked if Maggie wanted to try it on, Josie had wanted to scream at her. When they’d gotten back to the house with bag in hand, Josie had had to take a nap and had wanted a drink so bad her mouth tasted sweet with it. Now Maggie went to her room to change into the new jeans and the blouse. Josie thought about jewelry but knew it was hopeless; Maggie was going to wear her heavy man’s watch and nothing else. But when she emerged in her new clothes, she looked so sweet, the jeans and the blouse actually fitting her properly for once, not hanging in folds that made her look like she weighed nothing at all. Now you could see she had breasts and a waist and a cute little fanny. She didn’t look fancy, but by God, thought Josie, she looked mighty pretty.
Harry neither gaped nor proposed when Maggie arrived at his house an hour or so later, but he was impressed and said so, trying not to be too left-handed in his compliments. But Maggie didn’t seem to like it, so he stopped after telling her how nice she looked, making a joke about it, acting hurt that she didn’t return the compliment. He wanted to get her to smile, but she was too nervous. He told her to sit at the kitchen table while he made them some tea. The party had already started, but he wasn’t in a hurry. “I got a call from Ann about an hour ago,” he said. “Dusty got caught vandalizing his school.”
“Oh, no. Vandalizing how?”
“He sprayed some obscenities on the outside walls of the gym. He was caught walking away. He had the can in his hand.” He turned the heat on under the kettle. As the gas licked the copper bottom, he added, “They’re not prosecuting, thank God, but they’ve suspended him for two weeks. It’s near the end of the school year, and there are a lot of exams and assignments and so on. If he misses too much, he may have to repeat the ninth grade.” He sat down across from her. “I have to go down there. I’d get there too late if I went tonight. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” He got up as the kettle began steaming, and got two cups and tea bags ready as he said, “I’m going to stay for a while. I haven’t spent any real time with them, with Dusty, since Christmas.”
He turned his back on the stove and looked at her, sitting carefully at the table with impeccable posture. He wondered what her lack of expression meant. He said, “She wants me back.”
Maggie’s face didn’t change, but her hands moved slightly, closing into loose fists on the table. She said, “I know. What do you want?”
Harry poured the water. “Dusty wants us all to be together again. At least, that’s what Ann says. Dusty hasn’t said anything to me about it, and he wouldn’t talk to me tonight.” He put the tea in front of her. “I just want my son back. To live with him all the time, not just occasional weekends. I’m not sure what I’d be willing to do to have that.” He sat down and drank some tea. Then he said, “There’ll be buffalo wings at the party.”
The Olnikoffs’ house was spacious and gleaming; from the driveway it looked like a miniature Tara, although not that miniature, Harry thought as they walked the short distance between the houses. The entryway was larger than Harry’s bedroom, and Serge led them into a living room with cathedral ceilings and a fireplace with a stone front that was at least fifteen feet high. It was wonderfully cool in the house after the thick heat outside, but Harry couldn’t imagine a cold enough Florida winter for the blaze that would fill that fireplace.
He introduced Maggie to Amelia and to Dan Polti, the only familiar faces in the group of about fifteen people that dotted the room other than the neighbor between his house and Serge’s, a fat man named Dinwiddie. It was a relief that Serge hadn’t invited Judd Lippman. Amelia dragged Maggie off to “give her the tour,” Amelia wearing a beautiful smile, while Maggie stayed enigmatic, her blue eyes grabbing his only once before she was led away.
Dan said, “So. The Waitress, eh?” Harry didn’t bother correcting him. Dan watched her rear end as the two women moved into the distance. “Not bad,” Dan added. He looked back at Harry. “So, you nailing her? Everyone’s wondering.”
Harry was as surprised at his own prissiness as he was at Dan’s coarseness. “She’s my friend,” he said.
“Mind if I, you know? Take a shot?”
“God, Dan, we’re not frat boys. No offense, but you’re not exactly every young girl’s dream right now. Get through your divorce first before trying to start something else.”
“She’s a waitress, Harry. I’m not going to marry her.” Dan seemed to think this was funny, and that was when Harry realized that he was already drunk. He thought, No wonder your wife left you. You’re an asshole.
Harry shook Dan off as Maggie and Amelia returned from the outside, where their hostess had no doubt been showing off her flower gardens. Amelia tried to press a glass of wine into Maggie’s hands, but Maggie kept giving it back to her in a comic give-and-take that lasted several volleys. As he approached, Maggie had succeeded in getting a glass of club soda and was being regaled with a story about dogs by the obese Dinwiddie. Amelia was warning Dinwiddie not to let his Jack Russell terrier eat her gardenias when Harry’s stomach grew tight; Dan had reappeared, leading Julie Canfield into the room. As soon as she saw Harry, Julie pried Dan’s hand from her arm and walked toward the little group with a pleasant smile.
As Amelia made introductions, the two young women looked at each other with what Harry feared was complete understanding. Julie shook Maggie’s hand; Maggie’s face registered nothing as her unresisting hand was pumped up and down. Amelia complimented Julie on her shoes, which led to a discussion of women’s footwear. Dinwiddie rolled his eyes at Harry behind Amelia’s back. Julie looked down at Maggie’s feet. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Maggie said, “I don’t give a lot of thought to my shoes.”
Julie said, “I thought, being a waitress, that good shoes would be important.”
To Harry’s surprise, Maggie actually smiled. She said, “I’ll have to bring it up at the next union meeting.”
Julie looked confused. “You have a union?”
Dinwiddie added, “You’re a waitress?”
Maggie said, “No, I’m a cook. I wasn’t smart enough to be a waitress.” Dinwiddie laughed so hard he spilled
his drink on Maggie’s blouse and was trying to wipe it off with a napkin when Harry pulled her away.
He headed for the French doors that led to the backyard, where the food had been set out on picnic tables. Everyone already seemed to be drunk, and as Harry worked his way around the furniture in the living room, he and Maggie were waylaid again, this time by Dan Polti and Serge, who were arguing about animal rights. He wasn’t sure what twists and turns the argument had taken till that point, but Dan grabbed Maggie’s arm, saying, “Tell this man that if you’ve got people dying of AIDS, you’ve got to weigh that against the deaths of a few monkeys. People are more important than animals.”
Serge nodded as though reluctantly conceding the point, but Maggie turned to Dan and said, “Why?”
Dan said, “What? Well, you know. It’s obvious.”
“Not to me.” She stared at him as he looked drunkenly back. Then she turned and walked out the French doors by herself. Harry followed, not sure whether anyone was owed an apology.
It was dark now, and she was looking up at the stars, bright and distinct in the hot black sky. Harry saw his own motives clearly for the first time. He thought, You’re not Henry Higgins. You’re not even Dr. Dolittle.
“I should go before it gets any worse,” Maggie said. Her voice was huskier than usual.
“You’re doing fine, if that’s what’s bothering you.” Too late Harry realized that might be insulting.
“This isn’t my kind of thing, Harry. I tried to tell you. It’s making my head hurt.” She turned to look at him, and the light from the little paper Chinese lanterns draped around the patio reflected in her enormous, crystal eyes. She doesn’t look real, thought Harry; or she looks like another species of human altogether. “I can’t figure out why you wanted me to come here,” she said, and Harry realized that her eyes were glistening so much because there were tears in them. She swallowed and blinked, and nothing overflowed, but Harry felt as if he’d done something terrible.
