And there, in its full glory, was the car Jane wanted. "It doesn't look dark red," Shelley said, "It has too much purple in the red."
"It's called garnet," Jane said. "Not dark red. And I don't think it's the least purple. It must just be these weird pole lights that make it look odd. It's a shame it's such an overcast day. I still want to look at the taupe. It's the color of the interior of
this one."
"Can't we just go inside and see if your salesman is twiddling his thumbs waiting for us to
show up?"
"What a good idea."
"You do know, don't you, Jane, that I'm not
good with car salesmen? I always want to tell them off for treating me like 'the little woman' who doesn't know a car from a dishwasher."
"Then don't speak at all and let me sort him out," Jane said. "I Am Woman."
As much as she wanted to dislike the salesman, Shelley couldn't. There wasn't a hint of patronizing. He was even impressed by Jane's computer printout of her shopping on the Internet and the fact that she had brought it along to show him what she wanted. When he went to fetch some paperwork, Shelley admitted he was treating them well.
"He doesn't know I have a son who told me exactly what to choose. He thinks I know all about these brakes I've selected."
Both of them got impatient with how long it was taking, however. There was a guy Jane had to talk to about an expensive extended warranty, and she was ready for this as well, thanks to her son. A third man wanted to sell her a package of expensive extra things, like a sealer to prevent rust and a lot of other stuff she hadn't been warned about. The total for the extras came to nearly a thousand dollars.
"I think not," Jane said firmly.
"But if you buy the whole package, it's only three hundred dollars," he said.
"I'll think about it and let you know while they're bringing my car to the door," Jane said. "That's insane!" Shelley hissed when they wereout of his hearing range. "Each part of the deal cost nearly the three hundred. Does he think we're idiots who can't add it up?"
"He's young and stupid and we're probably older than his mother," Jane said. "I might spring for the three hundred bucks. But I'm not doing it until I've driven the car for a while."
In the end, the salesman made Jane drive the car with him in the passenger seat and Shelley in the backseat. He was pointing out where all the features were, which disconcerted Jane, although she thought he didn't know he was frazzling her.
When he said, "This handle turns the windshield wipers on," she glanced down very briefly at a stick that said "Pull." She tried pulling out the end knob. He said, "No, that means pull it
toward you."
"Oh, of course."
There was a low growl from the backseat, which Jane ignored.
When the test drive was over, the forms all filled out, the check approved, the temporary license plate in place, and everybody had shaken hands in a distinctly "manly" way, Shelley said, "I wish we'd taken a cab so I could ride home with you."
"Have you ever seen a cab just cruising our street? And would you have paid him to sit around when we stoked up on sandwiches and coffee? And then run us to the bank?"
"I guess you're right."
"We'll take a nice long drive when we've stopped by home," Jane said. "By the way, I'm never going to smoke in this car or let anyone else
do so. I've made a vow that it's not going to lose its new car smell ever."
"I've never seen you smoke in the station wagon."
"That's because I only smoke three cigarettes a day, and sometimes only one or none if I'm really busy and forget. But I have on occasion opened
the window while I was waiting on carpool kids and stunk it up."
She went on, "Where shall we take our drive after we drop your car off?"
Shelley said, "Shopping. Anywhere except the grocery store."
Three
Jane really wanted to go to the courthouse to have her temporary license plate changed over to a real official plate for her new car. But going there was never a fun thing to do. Her memory, so long ago when she bought the station wagon, was a bad one of surly crowds, disobedient children running wild in the corridors, and having to return two times because the clerk said she didn't have something she needed in the way of paperwork.
"How long had you had the station wagon?" Shelley asked.
"I can't remember. I had to turn over the title to the man who took it away, and I forgot to look at how old it was. I think I had it for at least twelve years."
"I'll bet it was longer than that."
"You might be right. Where shall we go?"
Jane wanted to do something fun and so did Shelley. Shelley was already calling on her cell phone before they'd gone a block. "May I speak to the manager, please?"
After a moment or two of silence, she introduced herself and said, "Oh, John. I'm so glad you're the one on duty. Is the Nowack suite open now? I want to show it to my friend who's staying with me in it for a couple of days." Another silence. "Oh, good! We're on our way."
"What a good idea," Jane said, turning left at the next intersection.
She was uneasy about parking in the hotel lot next to someone who might bang his door into her brand-new car. She parked as far away as she could, where there weren't other vehicles.
Shelley knew why she was doing this, and for once kept silent.
They got out and Jane fumbled for a moment with the gadget they'd given her to lock the doors. She was surprised the car made a pitiful little beep and the lights flashed briefly when she pressed the lock key. "That's neat, isn't it? It's telling me it's worked. I wonder if it'll do it when I unlock it as well."
"Jane, stop playing with your car and come inside," Shelley ordered impatiently.
It was a very long walk and Jane kept looking back at her car, thinking the thing she liked best about it was the big round headlights. So retro. So 1930s. So pretty. She could have driven it around Gosford Park and felt right at home. But she'd yet to drive in the dark and would have to read the manual to figure out how to turn on the lights.
"Isn't it a gorgeous lobby?" Shelley exclaimed
when they walked into the hotel, as if she'd designed it herself. "Jane, pay attention. Forget the Jeep for a bit."
It was a great lobby. It was enormous, but cozy at the same time. In spite of vast expanses of marble flooring, covered with what one could mistake for real Oriental rugs, it had lots of comfy seating areas where you could have a private discussion with friends without anybody overhearing you — unless you were yelling.
"This is really luxurious. Look at these floors. Some of it has fossils, doesn't it?"
"I think your imagination is in overdrive," Shelley said, dragging her along to the check-in desk, which looked as if it were a huge piece of furniture from a very old castle, except that it was too clean and shiny.
"Mrs. Nowack," the manager said. "That was
fast."
"We're in my friend's new car. This is Mrs. Jeffry, my roommate when we come to the mystery conference."
The manager knew which side his bread was buttered on and studied Jane for a moment, clearly noting her and memorizing her name.
"I'll escort you ladies upstairs."
"No need," Shelley said. "I've been here often enough to find it myself. Just loan me a key."
She led Jane to the most magnificent elevator she'd ever seen. Almost the size of a large room, it was mirrored with dark green glass with a
touch of gold, with light green marble in narrow stripes between the mirrors. It had a lush carpet, and there was even a little plush bench you could sit on.
"I could park my car in this elevator," Jane said.
"Not today, please," Shelley said, pushing the button for the top floor. The elevator ascended in absolute silence.
They stepped out into a very wide hallway. This floor was inlaid with marble as well, this time an off-white with brown speckles. The same quality of runners ra
n down the middle as the ones in the lobby. It was well lit with lovely lily-like sconces in pinky-mauve glass that were set next to each door.
They headed left to the far end and Shelley inserted the plastic credit-card-like key. "Voilà!" she said, pushing Jane ahead of her.
Jane gasped. She thought the room was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. Colorful without being gaudy. They'd come first into an enormous parlor with a big dining room table at one end with eight Windsor shield-back chairs. There was a matching server bureau with a fabulous floral arrangement of real flowers. The air in the room was lightly scented by the roses.
The other end of the parlor was furnished with comfy-looking chair-and-sofa combinations. Three groups, with big coffee tables so a lot of people could sit down and visit and eat ordrink without having to balance their plates on
their laps.
"Explore," Shelley said. The room was on a corner and light filtered through the windows clear around two sides through sheers. There were what looked like well-lined silk floor-to-ceiling curtains that could be drawn for privacy, even though no building near it was taller.
Off to the right was a small, exquisite kitchen separated by a serving bar. The stainless steel cabinet doors had a swirly pattern that echoed the lily look of the lighting fixtures in the hall. Jane opened one door and found a vast array of fine glassware. There was a little refrigerator under the counter and next to it a separate ice machine humming along quietly.
"Come on, Jane. See the rest of it," Shelley said, leading the way to the right to a master bedroom. It was as luxurious as the parlor. There was a king-sized bed and a mob of throw pillows; a desk near the window that looked like a genuine antique, but probably wasn't; gorgeous table and floor lamps with the swirly steel pattern and light pink shades.
"Wait till you see the bathrooms," Shelley said smugly. "Paul and I chose our own fittings at the Merchandise Mart."
Jane cringed slightly at the memory of Shelley having dragged her through the Merchandise Mart. Jane had been wearing unsuitable shoes, and carrying a big purse that kept banging into
things and becoming progressively heavier for no good reason.
The bathroom was, in fact, magnificent. Huge. Light green marble floors, lots of elegant bath rugs that didn't slip around. "The floor is heated," Shelly said smugly.
Jane leaned down to feel it and it was warm. There were also a pair of the fluffiest bathrobes Jane had ever seen. There were both a bath and a shower.
"That's the one we saw at the Merchandise Mart, remember?" Shelley said. "The shower that's computerized to be instantly the temperature you want. Six showerheads, programmed to hit as hard or softly as you want."
"What are the two little rooms that open off at the far end?" Jane asked.
"The toilet in one and a bidet in the other."
· There were plush towels hung on pewter racks and extras folded on glass shelves set high enough not to bang your head on them. There was also a standing heated towel-andbathrobe rack.
"Shelley, I have to say this is the most beautiful bathroom I've ever been in. You really did a great job."
"Your bathroom off the other bedroom is exactly like it, except the color scheme is different." "Let's go look."
Shelley's bath was all in shades of green andblue. Jane's was apricot and muted lemony colors. Jane liked hers better. It seemed warmer and more inviting.
They came back into the parlor and sat down on one of the sofas. "There's only one problem with this," Shelley admitted.
"I sure don't see what it is," Jane said, glancing around.
"Pull any of the sheer curtains away," Shelley said.
"Good Lord. It overlooks the top of the mall. All those ugly refrigeration devices and air vents all over the roof," Jane said.
"The view from all the windows is awful all the way around," Shelley admitted. "But then, you never really need to look outside."
"I do. I can see my car from here. I'll have to park it in the same place when we come back."
"Admit it, Jane. You'd forgotten about your car for a few minutes."
"Not entirely."
Shelley sat back comfortably on the sofa and said, "You'll be meeting a lot of people at the conference. Feel free to bring anyone you like up here."
"Should I? I don't think so."
"Why not?" Shelley asked.
"Because they'd think I'm a rich dilettante just trying to write as a silly hobby."
"Just tell them your roommate is the rich dilet-
tante who doesn't aspire to write anything but shopping lists. I'll even pretend it's true if it's necessary. The writing part, in fact, is true."
"Okay," Jane agreed. "As fabulous as this suite is, I need to go home. I want to take a copy of my manuscript to the conference, just in case somebody is willing to look at it."
"You've really finished it?"
"I think I have. Having a real deadline to meet helped. There are a few little dinky things I've marked to fix. And I was educated so long ago that I'm not certain about commas in series."
"The rules don't change," Shelley said.
"But they do, Shelley. Grammar isn't static. And most of what I learned in the many schools I attended as a kid in Europe involved British grammar and spelling. They do things differently."
"Like how?"
"For one thing, they use a single quote for dialogue, and a double one inside it for a word that's emphasized. Americans do it the opposite way."
"You know the weirdest things," Shelley mused. She rose and gathered up her purse. "Have you got everything you brought along? You don't really need to keep those car keys in your hand so tightly that your knuckles are white."
"I've got to hang on to them until I can put the duplicates away somewhere safe," Jane said,going once more to look out the window to enjoy a bird's-eye view of the new car.
As they descended in the elegant elevator, Jane said, "I think I'm going to need to tie something gaudy to the luggage rack on top. I don't think I'd have recognized it in a parking lot if it hadn't been sitting way off by itself."
Four
The conference registration was to begin at one-thirty Thursday afternoon. It had been Shelley's advice that Jane call the hotel at ten in the morning and ask if the suite was ready.
"You need to be the first one there. Meeting and greeting, you know," Shelley said. "There are always people who come early. People who have family in town to visit, or business to conduct privately, maybe shopping and such."
Having been assured that the suite was available, Jane gathered up her manuscript and took one long last look at it for errors. She found only two and ran out new pages. She packed it in a box and put it in a canvas bag. She also had a copy of the first three chapters and the outline of the rest of the book in case she came across an agent or editor who was interested. She'd read somewhere that this was a necessity at a writers' conference.
She'd even shopped a bit in the interval between seeing the suite earlier and returning to it. Three casual skirts, four blouses with coordinated
lightweight sweaters. She also had black trousers and a sparkly black top for the banquet night. She'd even dug out a few pieces of jewelry that she seldom wore. A sapphire and diamond ring her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. A cheap but good-looking silver linked necklace that made her neck itch if she wore it for too long.
It was more than she needed, but she didn't want to miss a moment running home if she spilled coffee on herself.
Jane arrived at the hotel at ten and went to the suite. She'd thought about hauling the manuscript to the lobby and studying it one more time. But that would look too needy.
Instead, she took along a copy of the latest Felicity Roane book with her. She positioned herself close to the front desk, so she could glance up from time to time and see if she recognized any of her favorite mystery authors. There had been photographs of them in the last brochure she'd received.
She saw a man
who had to be Zac Zebra arrive wearing black trousers and a black sweater thrown over a shiny white shirt, open at the neck too far. He had black-and-white-striped hair. She knew he was one of the speakers. Did they have their rooms paid for? she wondered. He took out a credit card, but that meant nothing. Even when you had a free room, as she did, hotels wanted a credit card for incidentals like food, drinks, and dry cleaning.
She went back to reading her book, glancing up from time to time.
A woman who might be Felicity Roane herself checked in about ten minutes later. Jane glanced at the formal photo on the back of the book. If this was Ms. Roane, she was a lot more casual than the picture. Her hair wasn't up. She had a windblown ponytail with a scarf around it. She was in jeans and a baggy lightweight gray sweater.
Jane hoped this was the author she liked so much, and liked, too, that she seemed less daunting than the photo. It was all Jane could manage to stay seated. She wanted to run over to the front desk, book in hand for autographing. But Ms. Roane might have had a long trip and wouldn't want to be fawned over while waiting for her room assignment.
She went on reading, so caught up in the story, in spite of the fact that she'd already read it when it had come out in hardback, that she probably missed several other famous attendees. When she finally looked up the next time, Shelley was checking in. Jane put a bookmark in the book, stuffed it in her purse, and approached her just as the bellhop was taking up her suitcases.
Fishing in her pocket, Shelley pulled out a five-dollar bill and tipped him before turning to Jane. "Have you spotted anyone yet?"
"Zac Zebra," Jane said. "Nobody could mistake him. And a woman I think was Felicity Roane. But I'm not positive it was she."
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