An Affair to Dismember (31 page)

Lucy led us through the house. “I’m sadly lacking in life-sized neon nativity scenes, Fred. I hope you do forgive me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Fred’s mouth had dropped open when we arrived, and he hadn’t shut it since. I was worried that he had forgotten how.

“Let’s go to my supplementary closets.” Lucy guided us upstairs to a large room filled with men’s clothes.

“You have an entire Men’s Wearhouse in here,” I said.

“More like the men’s department of Neiman Marcus. A girl must be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Marketing is an interesting profession,” I said, running my hand over a stack of cashmere sweaters.

“Let’s see. I would say you are a thirty-two long,” Lucy said. “Thirty-two very long. Hmm … a ball outside in the fog on a warm August night. I have just the thing.” Lucy was a swirl of activity, and when she was done, she had worked miracles.

“Why, Fred, you look almost dashing,” she declared.

Fred stared at himself in the full-length mirror. “I feel like a movie star.”

FRED HAD the siren on the whole way to Tea Time.

“Watch me work my magic,” he said, and opened the door to the shop.

Tea Time was empty. In fact, most of Cannes was a ghost town, with its citizens busy primping for the big ball.

Julie sat at one of the tables, eating a burrito and drinking a Coke from a can. Fred sashayed up to her.

“Julie, my dearest, would you go to the ball with me?” he asked her.

“I told you I’m not interested in you,” she said matter-of-factly.

Fred made the strangled chicken noise again and ran out the door. Lucy scampered after him while I stayed behind with Julie. I took a seat at her table.

“That burrito sure looks good. I had ribs for lunch, but I should have gotten one of those,” I said.

“Do you want some tea or something? I’m kinda on my lunch break.”

“Oh, no. No. I wanted to talk to you about Fred.”

Julie’s hair fell over her eye, and she left it there. “Who?”

“Fred. Sergeant Fred Lytton. He asked you to the ball.”

“Oh, him. Yeah. No thanks.”

“Really? I thought you were perfect for each other. Everybody thinks that. Don’t you think he looked dashing just now? He’s a snappy dancer, too.” All of a sudden I sounded like I just walked out of a movie from the 1930s.

“Yeah. Not interested,” she said.

Panic rose in my chest. I gasped for air. I grabbed Julie’s burrito arm. “Look, Julie. You’re going to the ball with Fred. You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because I said so. And besides, you think you’re just going to stay here all evening with Ruth, eating Oreos and watching reruns of
The Nanny
? Well, I have news for you. Ruth is going to the ball with Hank Frazier, who runs the fruit stand down the street. How’s that going to look, your great-aunt cutting a rug and you just sitting home alone, trying not to set anything on fire? You might not think Fred is your dreamboat, but I have news for you, honey. Most dreamboats don’t start out that way. So you’re going to give him an ounce of respect and half a chance and tell him you’d love to go. Then you’re going to put on a dress, pull your hair back, and swipe on some lipstick. You only live once, and there are precious few balls in this life. Don’t miss out. You hear me?”

Julie dropped her burrito. “I guess so?” she squeaked.

“Stay here,” I ordered.

I found Fred outside. Lucy was trying to tug him back to Tea Time. “Fred, you’re on,” I called.

“I can’t go back in there, Gladie.”

“Trust me, you can.”

FRED DROPPED us off at Grandma’s and went to buy a corsage to go with Julie’s dress. Next door, a shirtless Holden was in his yard weeding a flower bed. I guessed it was gardening day.

“I’m going to head out and get ready for the ball,” Lucy said.

“You too?”

“You’ll never guess who I’m going with,” she said. “Uncle Harry. I got a call out of the blue. He is so hot. He can charm me out of my Prada slingbacks anytime. Don’t be fooled by his short stature and unorthodox hairstyle. He is a fabulous dancer.”

I watched Lucy pull out, and I pretended to look at Grandma’s roses while I spied on Holden. Wearing only jeans, he was beautiful with a capital “Oh, my.” Still, I didn’t know where I stood with him. He was a mystery man and possibly a murderer, although the possibility was slim—wasn’t it?

“I see you looking at me,” Holden called from his flower bed. “I’m not supposed to go near you.”

“Oh.”

“I want to go near you.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I was worried. I called the hospital a dozen times and pretended I was a doctor to get updates on your health.”

Oh
. His voice was sweet and thick like molasses, rich and deep. It hit me in my nether regions with every syllable. I was supposed to be suspicious of him, but I couldn’t drum up a negative feeling. I couldn’t drum up an ounce of fear.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I saw you out with that cop today. How’d that go?” he asked.

“All right.”

“I can’t say I like him, but I suppose I’m biased.”

“Are you going to the ball tonight?” I asked. Where did that come from? I was letting my hormones lead the way.

“Only if you’ll let me take you,” he said.

“Uh,” I said. “Well …”

And then he was there, in front of me. He smelled of fresh soil and sweat. He smelled good. He dusted his hands off on his jeans.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You have a concussion.”

“A slight concussion. I took a couple of Tylenols. I’m fine.”

“You’re not restricted in your activities?” He closed the gap between us and put his hands on my waist.

“I can’t drive.” My voice was hoarse and croaked when I spoke.

“But otherwise?”

“Otherwise, I guess so.”

He nuzzled my neck, leaving a trail of heat as he traveled toward my mouth.

“Holden,” I sighed. It was all the invitation he needed.

He crushed his lips against mine. Feverish need pulsated through him, making me shiver with expectation. “I think I like you,” he said against my mouth.

I had been doing a lot of kissing lately. I really liked kissing, I decided. And I liked handsome men with broad chests and tight abs. But the gorgeous, attentive men who were kissing me had drawbacks. Spencer was an obnoxious womanizer, and Holden was mysterious, maybe a killer.

“I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

And then he was gone. Back next door, into his mystery
house. I looked down to make sure my clothes were still on.

I was feeling good, but the day had left me tired. I had enough time to take a nap before I needed to get ready for the ball. I yawned. I wasn’t much of a nap person, but I decided to give in and grab a couple of hours of sleep. Then I heard a “Yoo-hoo!”

Across the street, Betty Terns waved at me. My stomach clenched. She waved again and crooked her finger at me. I was a deer caught in the headlights.

“Gladie, be smart,” I muttered to myself. I turned around and walked up my driveway and into the house. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.

“Is that you, Gladie?” Grandma called from the kitchen.

“Yes.”

Grandma’s house slippers clacked into the entree. “There you are. I’m going to lie down. Everyone’s gone. They’re getting ready for the ball. Even Sister Cyril. Religion ain’t what it used to be.”

“By the way, Grandma, why did I have to be named Gladys?”

“Why? Were you teased again?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, please. Be saddled with a name like Zelda for a day and see how you handle it.”

The doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. “Betty Terns,” I mouthed to Grandma.

“I’m not here,” she whispered, and tiptoed up the stairs.

“But you’re always here,” I whispered. “Where else would you be?”

The doorbell rang again. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Oh, Betty, what a nice surprise,” I said.

“Didn’t you hear me outside? I called you.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“And I waved. Clear as day, I waved to you.”

“I’m sorry. I must have been distracted. Is there something I can help you with?”

Betty eyed me. “Is that how you talk to me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like
that
. You don’t ask me to sit down. You don’t offer me something to drink, to eat. How many times have I had you in my home? How many times have I opened my life to you? I’ve told you my darkest, most innermost thoughts and secrets. I told you about her, that woman who has harassed me and my family all these years.”

“Hold it right there, sister,” I said. “Don’t give me that cock-and-bull story. I know the truth.”

Betty’s eyes closed to slits, and her forehead furrowed. “Which truth is that, Gladie?”

“You know what truth. Look, I’m tired. I know how you made up all those lies about Lulu.”

“How dare you mention her name in front of me.”

“Look, whatever. I get it. You were pissed that he cheated on you. But all the lies, the way you stalked that poor woman, how you punished your husband all those years, the fake letters, the fake phone calls, the blackmailing—you’re cuckoo, lady, and I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

Betty’s face went slack. She looked at me with dead eyes and poked my chest with her finger. “You think you know so much. You with your fancy house and your know-it-all grandmother and your big-city education. You don’t know anything. You’re nothing. I seen it the first time I laid eyes on you. I said to myself, ‘There goes a big nothing.’ You let your grandmother support you, and meanwhile you skulk around whoring with two men. I saw you kissing that half-naked good-for-nothing on the front lawn in the middle of the day.
Whore. You’re just like that woman of Randy’s. Maybe even worse. She thought she was better than anyone. With her art. An artist. What good is an artist? Nothing. Worse than nothing. She thought she was beyond punishment. No one could reach her. Well, someone could reach her. Someone knew how to punish her. You know what, Gladie? I thought we were friends, but you betrayed our friendship. Maybe you should be punished, too.”

Betty made a guttural noise and spit at me, missing my face by inches. Before I could react, she was halfway across the street.

“You’re wrong. I didn’t have a fancy education,” I called out to her. “I never even graduated from high school.”

I bolted the door and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. I was desperate to get in the shower and wash off my encounter with Betty. She was scary and mean, and some of what she said hit too close to home.

I let the hot water wash over me until it ran cold. Then I scrubbed with a loofah but still didn’t feel clean. When I got out an hour later, I heard a pounding on the front door. Betty must be back again, I figured. I threw on a robe and ran down the stairs before she could wake up Grandma.

It wasn’t Betty, though. It was Spencer, and he didn’t look happy. He stormed in. “You got soda? I need something fizzy to settle my stomach.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He rushed past me into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Perfect.” He took out two cans and sat at the table.

“You’re not going to be happy,” he said.

“It’s been a trying day. Not much happiness.”

“Well, I’m here in a professional capacity.”

I stomped my foot on the tile. “I hate those red light
cameras. They’re not fair. If I start through the intersection when the light’s yellow, how is it my fault it turns red before I get through? Is that fair?”

“I don’t care about red light cameras, Pinkie. This is a serious complaint against you.”

“Against me?”

“You want a drink? Like a real drink? Maybe you should have a drink.” Spencer stood up, but I pulled him back down.

“What do you mean a complaint against me?” I asked.

“Betty Terns came in five minutes ago and filed a complaint, saying you have been harassing her, stalking her, threatening her.”

“What?”

“And today you assaulted her. You hit her in the chest and you spit on her. She showed me the bruise. And the letter,” he said.

“The letter?”

“In your handwriting, more or less. I pulled up your signature on your driver’s license.”

Steam came out of my ears. “Spencer—” I began.

“Hold on. I know your grandma has booze here somewhere.”

Spencer followed me to the parlor. I pointed to the cabinet, and he poured me a stiff one.

“Take a big gulp,” he instructed me. “Now, sit.” I did as I was told. He sat next to me. He looked down at my robe, which had fallen open. He pulled it closed. “There. That was a distraction,” he said. “Gladie, did you talk to Betty Terns this afternoon after I told you not to?”

“Yes, but—” I started.

“I told you not to!”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“What is with you, woman? Do you have brain trauma? Are you hard of hearing? Don’t you have any
common sense? I told you not to speak to her. Why did you speak to her?”

“She came to the house. She spoke to
me
. I didn’t speak to her, not really.”