He told us just to treat them like any other big bird. And then he drove off into the night--rather hurriedly. Or perhaps he was still miffed about the map. Mother had drawn a beautiful map, elegantly lettered, with many little sketches of the houses and gardens in the area. But since she'd left out or misnamed most of the critical streets and drawn most of the rest out of scale or perpendicular to the way they really ran, I could well understand Mr. Dibbit's frustration.
Dad and Michael began lugging the peacock chow into the garage. I was not a bit surprised to see Dad sampling it, but I hadn't realized how much he was influencing Michael. Men. At least Michael had the grace to look sheepish when I caught him nibbling. I went upstairs to change. The rest of the family could amuse themselves chivvying the peacocks through the neighborhood or devouring the poor birds' breakfast. The peacocks had arrived, taking care of one more of what Samantha called "those little details that really make an occasion." I was filled with a sense of accomplishment, and I planned to get all dressed up and go to Samantha's party.
Why I bothered I have no idea. Within half an hour of my arrival I was wondering how soon I could sneak out. As usual, most of the people at the party were Samantha's friends, not Rob's. I wondered if Rob realized how much his life was going to change after the wedding. And not for the better if it meant hanging out with this crowd.
By one in the morning, I was through. I was running out of ways to dodge Dougie, the particularly persistent unwanted suitor I'd ditched at Samantha's last party. I decided to leave. But I didn't want to have him follow me home, so I decided to hide out upstairs for a little while, in the hope that he'd think I was gone. Then I would go back down and sneak out.
I didn't want to stumble into a bedroom that might be occupied, so I headed for Mr. Brewster's library at the end of the hall. Luck was with me; the door was open, and I was able to duck inside before anyone else appeared in the hall.
Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, I heard a noise behind me. I whirled about and saw a couple half reclining on the library sofa. Rob, and one of the bridesmaids. She was wearing a tight, red strapless dress, although there was a great deal more of her out of the dress than in it at the moment. I tried to remember her name, but after several glasses of wine it was impossible. Not one of the Jennifers, anyway. Rob looked somewhat disheveled as well, but instead of the angry stare the woman in red was giving me, Rob's flushed face showed mostly embarrassment with, I was pleased to note, perhaps a hint of relief. I decided that he needed rescuing, and that the best way to do it was to ignore whatever they had been up to.
"Oh, good, there you are, Rob," I said, walking over to the sofa. "Samantha was looking for you for something." Rob jumped to his feet and began putting his clothes to rights. I helped him by retying his tie as I continued. "I think they want to take some pictures. With the peacocks, if they're still awake." What a stupid thing to say, I told myself, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Actually I hoped they didn't want Rob for anything else tonight; as I drew his arm through mine and began leading him to the door, I realized that he was stumbling and lurching badly. Rob never did have much of a head for drink. I was babbling something inane about peacocks and wondering how on earth I was going to get him downstairs, when I ran into Michael at the landing.
"Help me with Rob," I hissed, glancing back at the door of the study. Sure enough, the vamp was standing in the door, looking daggers at me and trying to stuff herself back into the bodice of the dress. Michael took in the situation and immediately propped up Rob from the other side.
"We need to get him downstairs and back home," I said.
"Maybe you'd better zip his fly up before we take him back out in public. I'll hold him steady while you do." I did, made a few more futile efforts to make him look presentable, and then we more or less carried him down the stairs. Fortunately there were only a few people to stare as we lugged him out the front door.
Our luck held at first; the fresh air seemed to revive Rob a little, so he wasn't a dead weight on the walk home. But getting up the porch steps took a lot out of him, and he passed out in the front hall.
"Allow me," Michael said, and he heaved Rob up in a fireman's carry and hauled him up to his room, with me running ahead to show the way. Michael deposited his burden on the bed. After I pulled off Rob's shoes and loosened his tie, I decided to call it quits.
"Thanks," I told Michael. "Once again, I don't know what we'd have done without you. You seem to be making a career out of hauling incapacitated Langslows home."
"You're welcome. I only wish we could get some aspirin in him. I learned in my misspent youth that a couple of aspirin the night before does more than a dozen the morning after. But I don't think he'd thank us for waking him up to feed them to him."
"He should thank us for getting him out of there. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't happened to come along."
"I didn't just happen to come along. I saw you go upstairs, and I remembered that you'd seemed to be trying to lose that Doug character, and I thought I'd tag along in case he followed you."
"And what if I'd been heading for a rendezvous with him?" I teased.
"I would have been frightfully embarrassed. But somehow I can't see you slipping upstairs for a rendezvous with Dougie."
"No, actually he was waiting for me in the gazebo."
I'd never actually seen anyone do a double take in real life.
"He was what?"
"Waiting for me in the gazebo."
"You agreed to meet him in the gazebo?"
"No, but about the seventeenth time he asked me if we could go somewhere more private, I told him to be in the gazebo in fifteen minutes. If he chose to believe I was planning on showing up there, that's his problem."
"Why not just tell him to get lost?" Michael asked.
"I did. Several dozen times. The man just won't take drop dead for an answer."
"I'm relieved," Michael said. "I didn't think he was your type. In fact, I was wondering--"
Just then Rob stirred, rolled over on his back, smiled seraphically, and spoke.
"Kill the lawyers," he said. "Kill all the lawyers." Then he began snoring loudly. Michael and I tiptoed out of the room.
"Did he say what I thought he said?" Michael asked.
"Yes. Kill All the Lawyers," I said. "It's a role-playing game. Also known as Lawyers from Hell."
"I've never heard of it."
"That's because Rob and a friend have been inventing it this summer."
"That's great!"
"While they should have been studying for the bar exam."
"Oh," Michael said. "How do you think Samantha will like that?"
"Not at all, but then after tonight, it may be irrelevant. If anyone tells her what Rob's been up to."
"True. Let me know as soon as you know what happens. Not that I'm trying to be nosy--"
"But if Samantha cancels another wedding you'd like to know immediately. Before the Brewsters stick your mom with another set of unused dresses. I understand."
He chuckled and went off. I went to bed wondering how Samantha would react if she found out about Rob. And how he would feel about it. If she threw his behavior in his face, should I bring up her clandestine expedition of the other night?
No. Stay out of it. It's his life; let him ruin it himself. Then again, he'd been awfully subdued recently. Maybe this was more than just prenuptial jitters. I'd never been able to figure out what he saw in Samantha. And they weren't billing and cooing much anymore. Maybe, subconsciously, he wanted out.
Monday, July 18
Among her many failings, Samantha was not only a morning person but an intolerant and inconsiderate one. At least Eileen saved most of her crises for the afternoon. And she would never have awakened me at dawn the morning after a party. All right, it was eight o'clock, but I'd been up until well past one, looking after Rob. And Mother--the traitor--let her in and insisted I get up and talk to her. I found the two brides calmly
sipping tea when I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen.
"Meg," Samantha said. "See if you can locate Michael Waterston. We need to schedule a fitting for Ashley. Today if possible, and if not, first thing tomorrow."
"Ashley?" I said groggily. "I didn't know we had an Ashley." Samantha looked at me as if I were feebleminded. I counted them off on my fingers: "Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Kimberly, Tiffany, Heather, Melissa, and Blair. I'm right; we don't have an Ashley." I nodded triumphantly, turned to the refrigerator, and began rooting around for a diet soda to wash down my aspirin. It was already too hot for coffee.
"Heather will be unable to participate," Samantha said, in a brittle tone. "Ashley has very graciously agreed to take her place."
"That's rather inconsiderate of her," I grumbled. "Heather, I mean, not Ashley. Dropping out at the last minute like this. What happened? She was at the party last night, wasn't she?"
"Yes, I think so," Samantha said, tight-lipped. Suddenly, memory returned. Heather. Of course. The she-beast in the red dress.
"I'm sure she was," I said. "Wearing that rather tacky strapless red dress."
"Yes," Samantha said, with a thin, satisfied smile. "It was rather tacky, wasn't it?" And I very much doubt if she meant the dress. Ah, well; I hadn't really expected Rob's little encounter with the Lady in Red to go unnoticed.
"Do you think Ashley's approximately the same size as Heather?"
"Oh, yes," Samantha said, very businesslike. "Heather and Tiffany are exactly the same size, and Ashley was Tiffany's roommate in school and they always used to share all their clothes. So the dress should only need minor alterations."
I was impressed. Not eight hours after the event and Samantha had already rounded up not only a replacement bridesmaid but one in a convenient size. And I bet Ashley was a blonde, too.
"Leave it to me," I said.
Samantha gave me Ashley's number and promised me that Ashley could be down at Be-Stitched on half an hour's notice. I strode out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them chatting away. When I was out of sight, I grabbed a lawn chair and Dad's wide-brimmed gardening hat and went down to the end of the driveway, where I plunked myself down in the lawn chair with the hat over my face and fell asleep.
Actually, I only intended to sit and think until Michael and Spike came along on their usual morning walk, but the next thing I knew my shoulder was being shaken and I heard Michael's voice. "Meg! Are you all right?"
"Morning," I said, "I thought you'd be coming along soon."
"And you were lying in wait for me. I am immensely flattered. And if you'll only tell me it has absolutely nothing to do with nuptial attire, my happiness will be complete."
"Sink back into the depths of despair, then," I said, getting up and falling into step beside them. "We need to schedule a fitting for a new bridesmaid. Samantha has decided to dispose of her predecessor."
"Not another suspicious death," he said, only half joking.
"No, just a summary dismissal. I suppose it was too much to hope for that Samantha wouldn't hear about last night's escapade."
"At least it's the bridesmaid who's dismissed, not Rob. She wouldn't be casting another bridesmaid if she intended calling off the wedding."
"I'm not sure that would be a tragedy," I muttered. "And anyway, I hope he's not too hungover to do some heavy groveling today."
"Wonder what she said to Heather?"
"I'm impressed; you actually remembered her name. I have a hard time telling them all apart sober, and last night after a couple of drinks I'll be damned if I could remember which one she was."
"I have reason to," Michael said, "I had a run-in with her myself. She's as subtle as a pit bull, and about as appealing. As a matter of fact, it was because of Heather that--oh, damn!"
Spike had slipped his leash again and was running merrily toward the peacock flock in the side yard. We chased him for a while, but it was too hot.
"I give up," Michael said, as we collapsed, panting, on the lawn. "He's too small to do them any real damage; he'll come home when he's tired of chasing them."
It was a long day, and I was dead tired when I got home. Replacing one indistinguishable blond bimbo with another shouldn't be this difficult, should it? Of course, I'd also had to play wise older sister to a depressed, guilt-ridden and very hungover Rob. And deal with Samantha, who was treating me with a watered-down version of the same icy, condescending calm she was using with Rob. Had everyone forgotten, by the way, that Rob was going to be taking his first day of bar exams tomorrow? It would be a miracle if he passed after all this.
A thoroughly rotten day. I stopped to rest for a moment on the porch steps.
The peacocks were crossing the lawn. Actually, I suppose I should say the peafowl, since we had three peacocks and six peahens. I watched with satisfaction. Many things had gone wrong this summer, and many more probably would. I was sure to be blamed for most of them, and some of them would actually be my fault. But the peafowl situation was shaping up nicely. They had settled in. We had found that we could lead them from one yard to another with a small trail of food and more or less keep them in place by putting a supply out. Establishing them in the Brewsters' yard for Samantha's wedding and then reestablishing them in our yard for Mother's would not be a problem. I leaned against the railing and smiled contentedly. Then my contentment was shattered by a voice from the porch.
"I don't suppose you could find some different peacocks," Mother said.
"Different peacocks? I had a hard enough time finding these. What's wrong with them?"
"Only three of them have tails," Mother pointed out.
"That's because only three of them are peacocks, Mother. The rest are peahens."
"Well what do we need them for?" Mother asked. "They don't add anything to the impression. They're not very attractive."
"Maybe not to you, but apparently they are to the peacocks. If we didn't have them around, the peacocks would sulk and wouldn't spread their tails. You know how men are."
Mother digested that in silence. "Besides, one of them's shedding," she said.
"Shedding?"
She pointed. One of the peacocks--the smallest--was beginning to look a little bedraggled.
"I think it's called molting. Either that or he lost a fight with one of the bigger peacocks." Or perhaps Spike had been chewing on him.
"It's not very attractive," Mother said. "What if they all do that?"
"Then we call Mr. Dibbit and get our money back. If you don't like them, we can take them back after Samantha's wedding."
Mother pondered.
"We'll see how they look by then," she said finally, and swept off.
I looked at the peafowl again. were the other two peacocks showing signs of molting? Would they start shrieking during the ceremony? It would probably be a good idea to keep them out of the Brewsters' yard until the day before the ceremony. To minimize the number of droppings on the lawn. That way the guests would only be stepping in fresh peacock droppings. I saw a slight movement in the shrubbery. A small, furry white face peeked out. The kitten was stalking the peafowl. Should I go out and rescue him? Or was it the peafowl who needed rescuing?
The kitten attacked. The peafowl scattered in all directions, shrieking. Mother slammed the front door closed. I sighed. So much for things going right.
Tuesday, July 19
Eric woke me up shortly after dawn to remind me that we were going to the amusement park and ask me if I thought it would rain. I restrained the impulse to throttle him and sent him down to watch the Weather Channel. The weather, alas, was clear, and the other small boys would arrive at seven. So much for sleeping late.
By the time Michael strolled up, looking disgustingly alert for a professed night person, I was inventorying the stuff I'd packed--snacks and games to keep the small monsters happy while getting there, sunblock, dry clothes for everyone in case we went on any water rides too close to closing time, the inhaler A.j.'s mother had provided in case his asthma
acted up, a large assortment of Band-Aids, aspirin for the headache I suspected I'd have by the end of the day, and several dozen other critical items.
Hannibal crossed the Alps with less baggage.
"Dad should be by any minute with his car," I said.
"How big is his car?" Michael asked, eyeing our charges.
"It's a great big Buick battleship; we can stuff them all in the backseat."
Eric and his friends were running about shooting each other with imaginary guns and competing to see who could achieve the noisiest and most prolonged demise, and I was watching them with satisfaction.
"Rather a lively bunch, aren't they," Michael said, continuing to watch them.
Aha, I thought. Second thoughts already. Well, he wasn't drafted.
"I egged them on. The more energy we bleed off now, the less hellish the drive will be."
"Good plan. You did bring the stun gun, I hope?"
"It's all packed."
"By the way," he said, "have you seen Spike? He never came home yesterday."
"No, not since we lost him chasing the peacocks."
"Maybe I should ask someone to keep an eye out for him," Michael said. "Feed him when he shows up."
"I'm sure Dad would do it; we'll ask him." Just then I saw Dad's car turn into the driveway.
To my surprise, instead of slowing down as he approached the house, Dad began blowing his horn at us. We jumped aside as he whizzed by at nearly forty miles per hour and, instead of following the curve of the driveway back out to the street, plunged full steam ahead across the yard, sending the peacocks running for their lives in all directions. He lost some speed going through the grape arbor, then plowed through the hedge that separated our yard from the one next door and came to a halt when he ran into a stack of half-rotten hay bales left over from when the neighbors used to have a pony.
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