The Hinky Velvet Chair (27 page)

No woman who’d had Randy on tap would want to let him go.
Jewel hoped she would be different, if and when the time came.

“Good point. Let’s go,” Clay said.

It didn’t happen. Virgil’s bedroom was locked, and Clay was
unable to pick it. It seemed to bother him that he couldn’t deliver. He said, “I’ll
ask Griffy for the key.”

But then Kauz summoned Clay and all the male servants to
move the Venus Machine into the garage, and Clay had to spend the rest of the
afternoon helping the mad scientists “recalibrate.”

Jewel fumed. The block partiers trickled down the alley at
six. Griffy’s bar was already set up, so they came to Virgil’s house first. The
late summer sun was still high enough to glitter on the Venus Machine’s brass
and mother-of-pearl fittings through the open garage door. Kauz, tubby but
resplendent in a tuxedo, offered rides to all comers.

“Vun treatment on zis device vill make you irresistable to
the opposite zex!” he ballyhooed, his accent thickening.

The yuppies lined up to get machinkusized. Kauz was doing
brisk business when Beulah arrived with her Self Love Ladies.

This fitted in with Jewel’s plan. They looked bedraggled as
wet hens and smelled almost as bad, but every one radiated happiness and charm.

Jewel steered them away from Kauz and hustled them into
masks. “I’m guessing the news cameras will arrive after dark. We want to spring
you on them at the right moment.” Her plan had weak spots, and timing was one
of them.

“I used to love masked balls,” Bunny said, fingering her fuschia
feather mask in puzzlement.

“I wore a mask every day of my life,” Beulah said like a
queen-turned-nun. “Thank goodness that’s over.” But she put on a turquoise
mask. Her eyes looked out, sweet and calm as a stone goddess’s. “Buzz will come
if he can find another supply.”

“What!”
That kid!
“I’m
J — Julia, who are you?” Jewel said to a Self Love lady donning a purple mask.

“Annette Perini,” said the Self Love lady, shaking hands.

“Annette, I think you all should rehearse your message and
decide how you want to present your story to the media.”

“Excellent point,” Beulah said crisply. “But I do apologize.
I’ve been calling you Jule.”

“Childhood nickname,” Jewel lied. “You might practice your
spiel on different people. Not the media yet, just the neighbors at the party.”
She saw Griffy come out of the house with the bowl of origami paper napkins. “Griffy,
come meet someone!” This could handle two problems at once. “You can start by
telling Griffy all about yourselves,” she suggested to the Self Love ladies.

And Griffy will stop
‘helping’ the caterers.
Jewel performed introductions and skated away,
looking for Clay. It was time to let him in on more of her plan.

o0o

“Remember what I’ve told you,” Beulah said to Griffy,
winding up a speech that went ninety-percent over Griffy’s head. “Your beauty
doesn’t belong to anyone but you. No one can sell it to you or take it away
from you.”

“That makes so much sense,” Griffy said. She felt more
powerful today than yesterday. Maybe they knew something after all. The Venus
Machine effect seemed to be getting stronger.

Beulah gestured superbly. “We who have passed into Self Love
no longer need the crutches forced on us. We can fly!”

Griffy thought of parasailing over the lake, and Virgil’s
face full of love. She swallowed a lump. “Clay, honey, here’s Beulah—”

“Good afternoon,” Beulah said to Clay. “I believe we met on
Michigan Avenue yesterday.”

“She says she can see my green tones,” Griffy said proudly. “Where
have you been? I wanted you to meet my friends.” She had a party to run, and,
as nice as they were, the Self Love ladies did talk.

Clay looked grim. “I’ve been looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Something I can’t find.” Clay seemed grumpy to be stuck
with the Self Love ladies, but Griffy figured he was a big boy. The important
thing was keeping Virgil from hiding out in his collection room.

Or in his bedroom. With Sovay.

She swallowed another lump.

She also had a humongous ice cream cake coming for his
birthday announcement and she didn’t want it to melt while she hunted for him.
Another good reason to go find him.

So she was relieved to see Sovay come out of the house in
her gold-and-black-striped feathered mask.

Sovay walked straight up to her. “We should talk,” she said
eerily through the mask.

Griffy frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll be sorry if you don’t,” Sovay said and turned away,
hunching over with her hands in front of her face. She scurried toward the
English ivy and Griffy saw something plop among the leaves and disappear.

“Sovay? Are you feeling all right?” Griffy wasn’t sure she
wanted to watch Sovay throw up in her ivy. She laid a hand on her bent back. “Do
you want a glass of water?”

“No!” Sovay stayed hunched over, but she grabbed Griffy’s
wrist. “Listen.” Her voice was muffled. “Virgil wants you to visit us once
we’re living in the south of France. I’ll tell him yes, but only if you agree
to let him go without a palimony suit.” More chunks came spasming out of her as
she spoke.

Griffy marveled that anyone could be so nasty even while she
was sick. Of course, being sick could make a person nastier. “I don’t believe
he has agreed to go anywhere with you.”

“Believe it.” Urp. “He’s buying the tickets now.” Urp. “I
thought I’d tell you, as one friend to another,” Sovay said, looking up with a
pointy smile. Then she turned away again to hurl another chunk.

“I doubt if you have friends,” Griffy said evenly, “but I’ll
bring you a glass of water if you want one.”

Sovay stood up and wiped her lips with one manicured finger.
She didn’t speak, but her eyes glittered evilly through the mask.

Behind her own mask, Griffy felt her heart clutch up. “Well.
May the best woman win.”

“I always do,” Sovay said.

Griffy lifted her chin. “In that case, I win too, because
he’s not worth having if he would take you over me.”
I can go to college. I could get a job.
Her heart was hot and sore.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Sovay said and laughed, or
choked, as she bent over the ivy again.

The birthday cake caterer arrived. Griffy swallowed once and
went to supervise the setup.

“Clay, honey, would you find Virgil and bring him outside?”
Griffy said at Clay’s elbow, much to his relief. “His birthday cake is here.”

“Will do.” He escaped from Beulah-and-friends in her wake. “Thanks
for getting me out of there. Those women
stink.”

“I know. I think they don’t care. They’re nice anyway,
aren’t they?” Griffy waved back to the nutcase ladies. “There’s something so
likeable about them.”

“They’ve been taking a potion,” Clay said grimly. “It works
like the Venus Machine. Apparently it also makes them nuts.”

“Oh, no.” Griffy sounded dismayed.

“Promise me,” Clay said, taking her hands, “you won’t take
that potion.”

She hesitated. “Well, if I — but Virgil doesn’t like smelly
people — anyway, I don’t care,” she said with resolution. “May the best woman
win.”

He put his arm around her. “You okay?”

With a sniff, she said, “Clay, Sovay says she’s talked
Virgil into going to live with her in the south of France!” She clutched his
arm. “Do you think it’s true?”

“No. She’s just being a b-brat. This is what Virgil gets for filling the house full of marks.
Actually, it’s a good sign, because she wouldn’t show her claws like that if
she didn’t feel desperate.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do. Go back to the party.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Serve
your cake. I’ll rout him out of his rathole.”

He found Virgil in the collection room, sitting at the
computer, and attached himself to his father’s arm without ceremony. “Come on.
They’re cutting your birthday cake in fifteen minutes.”

“At least let me close the program,” Virgil protested.

Clay hauled the old man to his feet, surprised at how frail
and bony he felt. “Hurry up.” He stood behind Virgil, watching the screen while
the old man tapped keys. “Ripping off someone’s credit card account?” The
screen showed a fat balance.

“CD account,” Virgil said. The screen went black. “There.
Now I can go.” Clay moved to take his arm again. Virgil drew back. “You forget
who’s got the whip hand, boy? I still have the video. Find the FBI mole or I’ll
send it to your
supervisor.
That’ll
be a green sheet in your file.”

Clay counted to ten. Then he said, “Tell me something. Did
it occur to you, while you were conning Griffy that you loved her last night,
that you had a witness the whole time?”

“That room is secure. I sweep it every day now. With FBI in
the house? What do you take me for?”

“A cuckold,” Clay pronounced. All the rage he’d hidden while
Virgil’s taunted him these past few days burst out of him. “I take you for a
cuckold. That means a guy whose wife is screwing somebody else under his nose.
In your case, right there in the bed with you. Did you think she got all pink
and happy only for you?”

Virgil looked flushed. “What are you talking about?”

“The fairy tale, Dad. Lord Darner, who disappeared out of a
locked second-story room when you and Jewel were about to walk in on him and
Sovay. He’s in that bed.”

“Oh, horse pucky.” The old man’s went pale and then red.

“He’s in that bed. I could prove it to you, if you’d let
Jewel be alone in that room for twenty minutes.”

Virgil looked shaken. “You
puppy.
You
worm.”

“Cuckold,” Clay said, projecting truthfulness the way he’d
been taught.

“I can have you arrested. I have the contracts from the
Torstensen job, four years ago,” Virgil said, starting to tremble. White spots
appeared in the corners of his mouth.

Clay went hot. He leaned into Virgil’s face.
My God, he’s so old. I could break him in
half.

“I always knew you would turn on me if you got emotional
enough,” he said, and saw his father flinch. “I didn’t think it’d be Griffy who
sent you over the edge. You love her. You always have, you dope. You thought
she was a doormat, and now she’s got her ego more than two inches above the
floor, and you’re
so old,
you can’t
stomp on her like you used to. Maybe it’s time to start treating her like a
person.” He turned the screw. “If it’s not too late.”

“Get out. Get out of my house.”

Clay closed his hand over Virgil’s wrist. His heart hammered
so loud, he thought it would come out his ears. “You’re coming downstairs with
me now and eating some birthday cake.”

o0o

Jewel meanwhile was fending off one of Virgil’s neighbors.
She couldn’t find Griffy, so she surrendered to hunger and followed the smell
of grilled bratwurst up the alley.

Once again her fatal spell got her in trouble.

The grillmeister weighed three hundred pounds including gut,
and he was shirtless, and he had a long-tined barbeque fork in his hand. Beer
was apparently making him deaf.

“I’m Jack Allen,” he kept saying, gripping her wrist with
one hand and trying to slip his fork-holding hand around her. “I developed that
condo building over there.”

“No,” she said, keeping an eye on the barbeque fork. “Let go
of me.” Crap, she hadn’t had to use physical force since college. This Venus
Machine effect sucked.

“Where have you been all my life? You’re so beautiful,” he
crooned. “So very, very—”

For Pete’s sake, she was wearing a feathered mask that
covered everything but her eyes and mouth. “Let go of me or I will hurt you.”

Let’s see, could she reach his nuts without crossing within
range of the fork? Maybe she should shove his bare belly against the barbeque
grill. A close spin, a kick to the back of the knee, and push. Sooner or later,
he would let go of her.

The drunk gasped. “Beautiful!” His grip slackened, his eyes
fluttered, and he sank to his knees.

“Hi,” Clay said, his face cold, his hand on the drunk’s
shoulder. “Time for some birthday cake.”

“Jack!” a woman shrieked. She rushed down her back steps and
threw a tattooed arm around her fallen barbeque master.

“Thank God,” Jewel said. “I was thinking I’d have to leave
scars. What did you do to him?”

“Vulcan neck pinch.”

“You’ll have to teach me that one.” Something was the matter
with her partner. “What up? Buddha not smiling.”

“Virgil,” Clay said, drawing her away from the Allen
barbeque. “He’s losing his rag over the FBI mole thing. Are we positive it’s
Mellish? It might be smart to toss him a bone.”

“We don’t mess with federal agents gratuitously,” she
reminded him. Poor Clay seemed really bent. She offered, “How about I go find
Mellish and give him the cop handshake, see if he responds. If he does, I’ll
let you know.”