Secret Society

by Robin Roseau

  She didn't have an answer.

  "Ms. Hart, what did you think of the video?"

  She didn't have an answer, either.

  "Ms. Mayer, did you see how your shore looks?"

  She actually had an answer. "No."

  "You should look. It took me three days. I think it looks a lot nicer. It was sort of an eyesore before, actually. It didn't leave a good impression of West Hollow. Now it does, or at least a better impression."

  I looked between the three of them. "There are four people standing here. You have to decide which of us most represents what we claim this organization is about. If I'm last in your list, I hope you represent three more white marbles, because I wouldn't want to be here. Good day."

  I brushed away and went in search of a glass of wine, and then I hid.

  Opal found me, hiding in a back office. "Hey," she said. "What are you doing?"

  "Trying not to antagonize anyone else."

  "Have you been out there sabotaging six months of effort?"

  "I've been out there making sure this is the last vote, but anything else I do will undo my efforts, and yours."

  She moved to me, and I let her pull me into her arms. I laid my head on her shoulder. "We've hurt you," she said.

  "A little, yeah. But I have friends I didn't have before. One can't go through life without getting hurt." I laughed. "If nothing else, everyone knows what they're getting."

  "You're a damned complicated woman. So much of your grandmother in you."

  "But my grandmother wouldn't have let you haze her."

  "Not after I spent so much effort scaring you, no."

  "They can push me, but only so far," I said. "Everyone knows that now."

  "What will you do if there are five more red and green marbles?"

  "I'm not done fighting, not quite yet. Soon though. Life has enough battles to fight."

  "I'd hate that, especially after all you've done."

  "Good money after bad, at some point," I said. "I'm not afraid to cut my losses."

  "I hope it doesn't come to that."

  "Me, too." I lifted my head. "You're almost done with me, aren't you?"

  "I'd love to keep you forever, Blythe."

  "I'd let you."

  "I know." She pulled my head back down to her shoulder. "I'm not ready yet, but if I don't let you go soon, it's going to get hard."

  "You could keep me, Opal. You could have me begging to be kept. It would take you seconds."

  "And yet, you aren't asking me to."

  "Because I promised I wouldn't."

  "Is that the only reason?"

  "I don't know. It's the biggest."

  We stood quietly for a minute. I felt needy and wanted reassurance. "Tell me we're not over yet."

  "We're not."

  "And the next time isn't the last, either."

  "No, one or two more after."

  "Good. Maybe I can get you to change your mind."

  She laughed.

  * * * *

  I sat on the stool and watched the women drop marbles into the hat. I'd done this a few times, but I couldn't judge the mood. I received a great many friendly smiles and hugs. But the mood felt strained at the same time.

  Finally the last woman voted, including the proxies, delivered via Mrs. Shaffer, Mrs. Grafton, and Mrs. Franklin. Mrs. Franklin collected the hat and the martini glasses, resumed her seat, and glanced into the hat. I couldn't read a thing from her expression.

  She looked at me. She didn't smile. I didn't know what that meant.

  Then she peered into the hat and pulled out a marble. In the past, they had always done so blindly, but she watched, and she very carefully withdrew a red marble. It went into a glass held by Mrs. Grafton.

  It was the only red marble she would withdraw from the hat.

  Then there was a steady stream of blue marbles, one after another after another, and behind me, I could hear Kiki and some of the others growing increasingly excited as Mrs. Shaffer's glass filled with blue marbles.

  I'd been counting. Fourteen marbles so far, one red. Eleven to go.

  After that, it was clear to everyone she was choosing deliberately. A green marble came out and was added to Mrs. Grafton's glass. Then a blue, and one more green. 8 more. I could afford one more red or green, but this was clearly not a random order.

  Then she looked up. "Ms. Furman, if you engage in any outbursts like you did a month ago, I will be calling for a vote on you next."

  I turned around. "It's fine, Kiki," I said. "Opal, maybe you have that tongue trap for Kiki."

  That earned some chuckles.

  I turned back to Mrs. Shaffer and nodded to her.

  She pulled out a white marble and dropped it into her own glass. I heard muffled swearing, and when I looked over, Hope had her hand over Kiki's mouth.

  The next marble was white, and two after that.

  And then a blue marble, handed to Mrs. Shaffer to drop into her glass. And then Mrs. Franklin rooted around in the bag before dumping it upside down.

  There should be two more votes left, and I stared at Mrs. Franklin. We locked gazes, and then she lifted her hand over her glass. I watched a white marble slide off her fingers into the glass.

  The room exploded in noise, which only got worse when a black marble dropped into the glass of five white ones.

  Judge Wren immediately jumped to her feet. "I demand a voice count."

  "No," said Mrs. Shaffer. "We do not perform voice votes in this order. The initiate is denied membership in the Order of Circe."

  To my right, Hope was struggling with Kiki, and then Claudine and Sylvia were there, too.

  I stood up and walked to stand in front of Mrs. Franklin. I held out my hand, and she handed me the glass. I stared into it.

  Everyone was talking, most of it loudly, but I held up my hand, and they grew quiet, even Kiki. I turned to her, and she was staring at me, her eyes wide, Hope's hand still over her mouth.

  "Five white. One black. Do any of the six women wish to explain themselves?"

  There was a fresh explosion of noise, but I stomped my foot. "Silence!" I screamed. "This isn't about any of you, so shut the fuck up."

  "Do not address this room in this fashion, Ms. Todd!"

  But at least everyone grew silent.

  I turned to face Ms. Franklin. "My apologies," I said. "I ask again. Do any of these six women wish to explain this vote?"

  No one spoke.

  I dropped the glass into Mrs. Franklin's lap.

  "There are six cowards in this order," I said. "That's one fourth. I'm not quite 30 years old, and I showed you what courage, conviction, and honesty look like. I showed you what trust is."

  I stepped away from Mrs. Franklin.

  "I thank you for the valuable lesson. I'm not sure I have fully learned how to apply it, but the lesson itself is simple." Then I stared into Judge Wren's eyes, waiting, and she understood.

  "What lesson, Ms. Todd?"

  "Be careful whom you trust, because there may be snakes in the grass."

  And then, my head held high, I turned my back on all of them and walked out.

  Intervention

  I was sobbing long before I got home, but at least I didn't let them see it. I was still sobbing when I finished changing into crappy clothes, and it took a half tub of ice cream before I calmed down.

  I didn't usually resort to ice cream therapy, but just this once.

  I stayed up late, my brain finally dead, and stared at television.

  And wondered why not a single one of my friends stopped by. Not a single one of my friends called to see if I was all right.

  Not one.

  * * * *

  Nor did any of them call on me on Sunday.

  Or Monday.

  On Tuesday I decided I had wallowed long enough. I packed up everything in the house that reminded me of the Order of Circe. Two martini glasses, mine and Grandmother Cadence's, a few photo albums of ancient events, and various papers and files
related to work I had done for them.

  There was probably more of Grandmother Cadence's, but there was so much in storage in the old house, I hadn't gone through it all.

  I packaged it all very carefully, addressed it, then called a delivery service. When the driver arrived, I invited him in and pointed to the box. "It shouldn't be too heavy. I could lift it."

  He looked at the address then looked at me in shock. "It's 49.50, and it's going to a house on the other side of the park? I knew you people were rich, but really?"

  "Sir, you don't know the story. The park across the street? I cleaned the garbage from it myself. I didn't pay someone. I helped paint the gazebo. I spent three days two weeks ago cleaning the waterfront, again by myself, removing eight trash bags and the remnants of I don't know how many dead trees. Are you familiar with Harsten Halfway House for Women?"

  "That's the women's shelter."

  "That's the one. I spent my own time organizing a donation program, including fliers I delivered myself, going door to door to all the rich houses in Broadwater."

  "Ma'am."

  "I am paying you not to deliver a box. I am paying you to deliver a message."

  "A message. We don't really do messages."

  "You are the message, Sir," I said.

  "Oh. What message?"

  "Hmm. Put simply? Fuck off you raving bitch."

  "Oh shit," he said. "Someone pissed you off."

  "She sure did."

  "Ex girlfriend?"

  "No, just a lying, cowardly bitch. Actually, I'm not sure who the lying cowardly bitches are, and it may not be the owner of the house where you take that, but the people who should get the message will get the message."

  "Do you want to put that message on the box? We're not supposed to deliver them like that, but I'm just going to drive it over. No one needs to know."

  I smiled. "You could get into trouble. No. Just deliver the box. My message will be heard, loud and clear."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  He picked up the box and headed for the door. I held it for him, and he stepped outside before turning to me. "My sister used the women's shelter for a while. I was overseas. Her ex boyfriend is real lucky I was."

  "I hope your sister is doing better."

  "She is. She lives with my wife and me now."

  "Then she's lucky. Thank you for your help today."

  "You're welcome, Ma'am."

  * * * *

  I went back to work. I took care of my clients. I went back to marketing, although not at the insane rate I had.

  And for three weeks, I didn't hear from a single one of the women I thought were my friends.

  * * * *

  When I finally did, I didn't recognize it right away. "Guerrilla Girl."

  "Mary Ellen Hankins."

  I hung up on her.

  Ten seconds later, the phone rang again. "Please don't hang up."

  "What can I do for you, Ms. Hankins?"

  "I'd like you to come see me."

  "Are you one of the women who gave me a white or black marble?"

  "You know I'm not."

  "Do you have information-"

  "Blythe, please. This is business. I want to hire Guerrilla Girl. I have a significant project for her."

  "I don't want charity, Ms. Hankins. Good day."

  "Don't hang up!" she screamed.

  I sighed. "What?"

  "This isn't charity. This is completely unrelated to all that crap. What happened was bullshit."

  "Not a single one of the people I thought were my friends called to see if I was okay. Not a single one called to see if I was lying in my bathtub with my wrists slit."

  "We all know that's not your style."

  "Women who let Opal Pearce do the things to them that Opal Pearce has done to me are definitely the type of women who end up in bathtubs!"

  "Not you," she said quietly. "We had orders."

  "Orders."

  "It's standard policy."

  "Are you breaking those orders now?"

  "Yes, by telling you there were orders. You didn't just get five white marbles. You got a black marble. Blackballed. Ostracized."

  "And yet you're calling me."

  "It's business, and only business, but if you relay what I told you, then I'll be getting five black balls of my own. Are you going to?"

  "Of course not. Are you sure you would care if I did?"

  "I'm not as pissed with them as you must be, but I'm not happy. No one is happy."

  "But my friends all picked the order over me. I suppose I shouldn't be bitter, but I'm afraid I am. Ms. Hankins, at this time I want absolutely nothing to do with anyone associated with the order, personal or business. If you call me a year from now, perhaps my attitude will change, but I doubt it. Good luck with your business."

  And then I hung up.

  * * * *

  July arrived. None of my friends contacted me. I decided they weren't going to, and I was past wanting them to.

  With absolutely no work for the order, I had time to spare, and I fled Broadwater during the Independence Day celebrations.

  I got home, but it didn't feel like home anymore. I parked my car, and I walked around the property. It didn't feel like mine anymore. The house didn't feel like mine.

  I walked to the park, and I came to a stop where my boots had once been frozen. I stared at the spot.

  There were people in the park, but they avoided me. I saw Mrs. Cooper and her children, but she was in the process of ushering them out of the park. I stared after them.

  I turned around and walked home.

  Two days later, I called Ms. Hunt, Grandmother Cadence's lawyer. She seemed surprised to hear from me, which wasn't unexpected. I requested an appointment to discuss a legal matter.

  "I cannot continue as your lawyer."

  "I'm aware of that, but your firm manages the trust. I wish to discuss it, and I wish to discuss it with someone who can speak openly with me."

  "Of course."

  We made an appointment for the following Monday.

  And then I began scouring the job boards for marketing positions.

  In Portland.

  Leaving

  "Ms. Hunt," I said. "Ms. Boone. Thank you for seeing me." I didn't smile, but when they ushered me to conference room B, I balked. "Does it have to be this room? This is not a good room for me, and as this is already going to be a difficult conversation, can we do it elsewhere?"

  "Of course."

  We actually bumped the people in conference room A, and I offered an apology, but, well, tough.

  They closed the door, and I sat down facing them.

  "I wish to be blunt. I would like to know if the terms of selling the house and its furnishings apply if the entire neighborhood has begun to ostracize me."

  "Blythe," began Raquel.

  "No!" I slammed my hand on the fist. "Answer my question. Yes or no? Am I stuck there another five and a half years, or can I sell it?"

  "You stay, or you lose it."

  "Fine. I'll be out as soon as I find a position as far from all of you as I can. I will let you know the day I have removed my things. Thank you for your time."

  I didn't wait for a response.

  * * * *

  It took about two hours, once I got home, for Henry to show up at my gate.

  "Henry," I said. "Drive away."

  "I have a letter for you, Ms. Todd."

  "I'm not interested, but if I find anything in my drop box, I will pay no more attention to it than it takes to drop it in the rubbish bin."

  "Ma'am, please. I'm to deliver it and wait for a response."

  "You don't have to deliver it. Delivery refused. That's your answer. Please vacate my property. It's still mine, at least for a little longer."

  He stared into the camera a little longer then backed away from the gate.

  * * * *

  I found companies in Portland. I sent off resumes. And I called my old employer. They weren't hiring, and they bar
ely remembered me, but they asked for a copy of my resume and said they'd keep an ear open for me.

  I stopped all marketing at home. I saw to my current clients and agreed to help anyone else who contacted me, but I did nothing to generate new business. I had enough money and existing business to cover me while I searched.

  If push came to shove, I could take a chance and just move, but that was more risk than I liked.

  But it didn't take long. I received an email from Annette Rice of a Portland company called Tabor Marketing. I hadn't applied to Tabor, and I hadn't heard of them before, but I read her letter and then began my own research.

  Ms. Todd,

  I saw that and realized I would be changing my name back. Screw Grandma and the Order she rode in on. No, I wasn't bitter.

  We received your resume from a rather roundabout method. I'm not sure I could accurately describe the path it must have taken. We were intrigued, especially when we saw you are running your own firm with such a delicious name. Our firm is small, but I believe we have potential synergy.

  Are you interested in a discussion?

  Annette Rice

  Managing Partner, Tabor Marketing, Ltd.

  I began my research. I found their website. It was good. Not slick, but solid. A little traditional. I read everything I could about them.

  I did a search. I didn't find much. So I searched my firm, and I found more hits than theirs. That left me puzzled.

  But they had reference accounts, and some of those were names I recognized. Most were Portland businesses, but a few were bigger.

  It took time, but I made calls, and I found the right people. Yes, Tabor had done work for them, small projects, but they'd been good, and the reports were glowing. I thanked everyone who I talked to.

  And then I replied to Ms. Rice, inviting a phone call at her convenience. My phone rang an hour later.

  We talked, cautiously at first, two people getting to know each other. She asked me why I wanted to move to Portland. "We checked on you, and you seem to be having success right where you are."

  "A bad breakup," I said. "I trusted the wrong people, and now I want to get as far from them as I can. It won't happen again, so you don't have to worry I do this often."

  "You lived here before," she said. "Why did you leave?"

  "My father had a heart attack. I came home to help. But they're doing well now."