A Diet to Die For (3 page)
Authors: Joan Hess
“She may be beyond help by then,” Joanie said, clearly unwilling to read anything. “After you scurried away yesterday—and in a very cowardly manner, I might add—Maribeth and I discussed the possibility of her trying the Ultima Center. She agreed that it sounded promising, but insisted that she couldn’t afford it and that her husband would be furious if she
borrowed the money from me or anyone else. The solution is as clear as the front window of this store.” She winced at the patina of dust on said window. “Clearer,” she corrected herself. “Maribeth must earn the money herself. Here, working part time for you.”
borrowed the money from me or anyone else. The solution is as clear as the front window of this store.” She winced at the patina of dust on said window. “Clearer,” she corrected herself. “Maribeth must earn the money herself. Here, working part time for you.”
Had my red hair not been so alluring, I might have ripped out great swatches of it in frustration. “I cannot afford her. Maybe in December. Hell, maybe in November, if the professors decide to throw extra reading material at the freshman lit classes. But until that happens, or the borders of hell start icing over—no way. I’m sorry, but that’s all there is to say about it.”
“Then I’ll pay her salary. We’ll just keep that our little secret. You give Maribeth a call and ask her if she can start immediately. That way she can also begin the Ultima program and shake off this dreadful lethargy.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
Joanie came across the room and stuck her face about three inches from mine. “Either allow me to pay her salary or pay it yourself. This girl was a dear, dear friend of my daughter’s, and I am determined to do whatever is necessary to restore her body and her spirit. When the girls were in junior high, Maribeth used to visit us over all the holidays and a good part of the summer. She was a tiny bit plump, but she had a quick wit and a laugh that reminded me of sunlight reflected on a pool of water. She was filled with energy, and she was always coming up with crazy schemes that kept them in mild trouble and me in semihysterics. Now she’s dull and depressed, unable to leave the house or take an interest in anything beyond brownies and daily doses of serialized melodrama.”
I thought of a few debatable points, none of which would have done the slightest bit of good, and ceded with a shrug. “Okay, you can pay her salary for a month or so. I’ve got more than enough for her to do—if she’s willing. Have you discussed this potential employment with her?”
“Of course not. She would be deeply suspicious if I said one word about it. You must call her, or better yet, run by her house and plead with her. Tell her how desperate you are for help, and how perfect she is to handle the counter while you fiddle around in the back. And you must sound convincing, Claire—she’s quite bright and more than capable of spotting any lack of enthusiasm on your part.”
The lecture continued in this rut until Joanie had satisfied herself I could follow her rigorous instructions. I cravenly agreed to drive by the old Farber house after I’d closed for the day but was informed that the issue demanded immediate action. After another round of futility, I left Joanie behind the counter and drove across town and up the hill to Farber Manor, now the Galleston residence.
I’d always been intrigued by the house, which from its vantage point seemed to loom over the local goings-on with an uncompromisingly grim sneer. It was three stories high and painted in an unappealing shade of mustard, with swooping gables, peeling gingerbread trim designed by a leaden hand, and lanky windows that were shuttered to turn away any curious glances from the street. The wrought-iron gates were closed but not locked, and once I’d shoved them aside and mopped the sweat off my face, I drove up the weedy driveway and parked in front of the broad porch. There were no other cars in sight. Wondering
if Maribeth were home (or had deduced Joanie’s plot and disappeared), I rang the doorbell.
if Maribeth were home (or had deduced Joanie’s plot and disappeared), I rang the doorbell.
The noise echoed as if in a bottomless well, as if the sound waves were careening off unadorned walls and swirling through cavernous, empty rooms long devoid of life. After a moment, I concluded no one was home and started back to my battered little hatchback. As I reached the bottom step, the door opened behind me.
“Claire?”
“Maribeth,” I said, turning back without, I dearly hoped, visible reluctance. “I wasn’t sure you were here, since I didn’t see any cars.”
“I don’t go anywhere, so there’s not much point in having a second car.”
Her voice was as flat as it had been the previous afternoon when Joanie was extolling the virtues of the Ultima Center, but her fingers gripped the side of the door with white intensity and her pale blue eyes were glittering with some unfathomable emotion. I would have given anything I possessed, except my keen mind and brilliant deductive powers, to climb into my car and drive away, but I knew that if I did, I’d also have to face Joanie Powell. I ordered myself to smile. “May I come in for a moment? I have a proposition for you.”
“Gerald will be home for lunch any minute. He usually brings papers to grade or a book to read, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
“I promise not to lie on the dining room table,” I said, intending to insert a note of levity but realizing I’d managed to sound like an escapee from a state institution. “I’ll discuss this with you as quickly as
possible and try to be gone by the time your husband arrives.”
possible and try to be gone by the time your husband arrives.”
“I suppose it’s all right,” she said, then stepped back and gestured for me to enter the oppressively dark foyer that brought to mind the House of Usher.
I followed her down a corridor to an enormous kitchen. It was somewhat lighter, but still shadowy and unnerving, as were the massive black fixtures and faded brown wallpaper. She sat down at a dinette and said, “Can I get you coffee or anything?”
“No, I’m in a hurry myself. After listening to Joanie’s remarks about hiring a part-time person, I decided she was right. Every time I sit down to do the accounts or sort through invoices, a customer wanders in and forces me to put down whatever I’m doing. By the time I get back to it, it’s as if I’d never seen it before. I wondered if I might persuade you to come in for a couple of hours each afternoon and basically hold down the front of the store for me.”
She clasped her hands together and gave me a look that hinted of fear. “I couldn’t. It’s out of the question.”
“It’s not a difficult job, Maribeth. You’ll have to familiarize yourself with the basic layout so that you can help customers on occasion, but most of them are regulars who know what they want and where to find it. My cash register’s only a few years older than the American Revolution and easy to operate. Ring up the sale, put the book and receipt in a bag, and that’s all there is to it.”
“I couldn’t.” She looked as if she were going to continue, but flinched as a door slammed in the distance. With another frightened look in that direction, she struggled to her feet and went across the room to
an oversized refrigerator of my cash register’s era.
an oversized refrigerator of my cash register’s era.
“Is that Gerald?” I asked brightly, if not brilliantly.
“I haven’t even started his lunch. He’s only got an hour, and he’s upset if everything’s not on the table the minute he walks into the kitchen. But I’m out of almost everything, and he hasn’t done any grocery shopping for more than a week.” Her voice was becoming increasingly shrill as she began to grab containers from the interior shelves. “He doesn’t like leftovers; I eat them myself and prepare something fresh for him. Oh,
damn.
I’ve got a slice of ham in here somewhere.”
damn.
I’ve got a slice of ham in here somewhere.”
The kitchen door opened and a black-haired man came into the kitchen. He wore a conservative suit and a dark tie, and his shoes shined as if they’d been coated with enamel-based paint. His body was the antithesis of Maribeth’s; it was obvious he was the Jack Sprat who scorned fat. Everything about him was thin, including his lips and hooded eyes. Because of his pronounced cheekbones and concave cheeks that converged on a rather weak chin, his face had an element of felinity about it that I found unappealing. I suspected I was in the minority.
“Gerald,” Maribeth said in a startled voice. “I’ll—I’ll have your lunch in a minute. This is Claire Malloy. She owns a bookstore near the campus, and she—ah, she came by for a brief visit. I’ll show her out and fix something for you.”
He crossed the room to examine me. After a moment, he produced a smile and said in a voice that would have worked well in a Pennzoil commercial, “How nice of you to visit Maribeth. Please don’t leave on my account; it’s rare that anyone can endure her company.”
Maribeth’s shoulders twitched, but she kept her back turned. Mimicking his oily voice, I said, “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I enjoy Maribeth’s company.”
“There’s always a first,” he murmured, managing to imply he felt sure I was a likely candidate for a lobotomy. “Well, I certainly don’t want to interrupt this cozy little chat, so I’ll pick up a sandwich on my way back to school. Maribeth, do you need anything from the market? In that I’m forced to eat junk food for lunch, I would appreciate a decent meal this evening.”
“I made a list yesterday. It’s in my purse in the front room.” He crossed his arms and stared at her until she began to fidget.
“I’ll go get it,” she mumbled and trudged out the kitchen door.
Gerald snorted. “She’s hardly a beacon in the night. You, to the contrary, seem to have a functional mind inside your admirably sleek and attractive body. Which bookstore is yours?”
“The Book Depot on Thurber Street. It’s a handful, but I enjoy it most of the time,” I said, determined to be civil while secretly envisioning him floating face down in a sewage ditch. “Maribeth mentioned yesterday that you’re writing a textbook.”
“It’s nearing completion, and I’m quite pleased with it. I hope I don’t sound too much like a proud father, but I feel it will be the definitive text on the development of international trade regulations in the late nineteenth century.”
“It sounds fascinating,” I lied. “And you teach international law at the college, Maribeth said. Where did you take your law degree?”
“Back East,” he said vaguely. “What in God’s name is taking Maribeth so long? I’ve got a class in less than forty-five minutes, and I’m already off schedule because she couldn’t bother to fix my lunch. Now it seems she can’t find her purse.” He frowned at his watch, which I noticed was of double-digit carats. “Listen, Claire, be a doll and tell Maribeth I’ve gone back to school. She can waste the rest of the day searching for the list, should she run out of more important things to do. Perhaps one of these days you and I can get together and discuss the publishing business over a drink. I’m sure it would be an intriguing conversation.”
He gave me a smile that implied we’d discuss other things, too, and went out of the kitchen. I heard his voice in the hall, with pauses during which Maribeth must have spoken, followed by the slamming of the door and seconds later the sound of a car engine.
The man was a bully and as much of a jerk as any opinionated member of the sophomore football team. However, when Maribeth came into the room and sat down across from me, I merely said I hoped my presence hadn’t caused too many problems.
“He’s always like that,” she said dully. “He gets so impatient with me that I end up flustered and helpless. He’s right when he says I’m incapable of doing anything except adding pounds every week. I suppose one day I’ll explode and he can find some skinny little coed with a major in nuclear physics, a minor in microbiology, and a shelf full of racquetball trophies.”
She was attempting to sound flip, but her face crumpled like a punctured soufflé and she began to cry. I patted her hand and made ineffectual noises until she stopped crying and blew her nose resoundingly.
I then said, “That’s why you need to take a part-time job at the Book Depot, Maribeth. I’m confident you’ll make enough money to enroll at this Ultima diet place and start doing something about your weight problem. If you don’t do something, you’re going to have some serious medical complications, not to mention emotional ones. Joanie said you were bright. Why don’t you act like it, for pete’s sake!”
I then said, “That’s why you need to take a part-time job at the Book Depot, Maribeth. I’m confident you’ll make enough money to enroll at this Ultima diet place and start doing something about your weight problem. If you don’t do something, you’re going to have some serious medical complications, not to mention emotional ones. Joanie said you were bright. Why don’t you act like it, for pete’s sake!”
“Gerald won’t allow me to work. He says it’s inappropriate for a professor’s wife to have a job, because everyone would assume his salary is inadequate to support us. It’s vital that publicly we look as if we’re in the same financial bracket as his colleagues, even if it means scrimping along in private. Maybe I’ll try this diet place next year, when I come into some money.”
“I could talk to Gerald. He’s surely concerned about your health, and I don’t think helping out at a bookstore is equivalent to mopping someone’s floors or clerking in a convenience store.”
She rubbed her forehead, sighed, and said, “He’ll never allow me to have a job, even if it’s respectable. Thanks for the offer, Claire … and tell Joanie thanks for me.”
“Joanie has nothing to do with this. I need help at the store and you need the money. You’ve had jobs before, haven’t you?”
She gave me a blank look. “No.”
“Didn’t you baby-sit or something?”
Her cheeks turned pink and she found something of interest to gaze at in her lap. “My family was well off. If I wanted pocket money, all I had to do was ask. The money’s tied up now, but I’ll assume control
of the bulk of it next year on my birthday.”
of the bulk of it next year on my birthday.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Maribeth. On the other hand, it’s no excuse to sit in this dreary house all day because your husband doesn’t want you to get out and do things. You’re not a scullery maid. You’re young and intelligent and capable of taking charge of your life.” I was frothing by this point, but for a good cause.
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