Lucy's Launderette (25 page)

Candace arrived with David Yee. She was wearing a black long-sleeved dress that went down to her ankles, but at least her hair was down and she'd left the bifocals at home. I hadn't seen David in about seven years. He'd filled out. Where at university he had seemed quite boyish, now he looked like a man, and quite a good-looking man at that. I got the feel
ing from the way he looked at Candace, that she could have been bald and fifty pounds overweight, and he wouldn't have cared. He appeared to worship her. I went up and whispered in her ear, “Nice work, Candy. You're not doing badly for a mentally challenged person. Have you noticed the way he looks at you?” I made eyes in David's direction.

“We're just friends,” said Candace.

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really.”

“Well, if he has it his way, you won't be for much longer. You lucky bitch.”

“You think so?” She turned and looked over to the buffet, where David was receiving two glasses of champagne from Max. She shrugged and went over to join him.

Connie had said hello to everyone she had to say hello to and gone to sit on one of the couches.

It shocked me to think that there really wasn't anything for me to do except hobnob and have a good time. There were volunteers and friends doing all the dirty jobs now.

Jacques arrived still
sans
Madeline. He was wearing a black jacket and a T-shirt printed with the drawing of a dress shirt and bow tie. “Like it?” he asked me.

“Very chic,” I said. He took off the jacket and showed me the back, which was printed with drawings of penguins. Then he grinned at me shyly and headed straight over to where Connie was sitting. And that's where they remained for the next hour. Talking, talking, talking.

My mother was the next to arrive. She was wearing her flamingo chiffon number and had misplaced my father again. I rushed up to her. “Where's Dad? The invitation was for the both of you.”

“Your father's still orbiting around in outer space. Now he
thinks he has a mission bringing the Lord to the Hells Angels.” My mother sighed.

I sighed, too. “Well, just as long as he doesn't get himself too badly beaten up.”

“That remains to be seen,” said my mother. “Now direct me to the champagne. I'm absolutely parched.” She swooped over to where Max was pouring, grabbed a glass and picked up a conversation they'd been having the night of
Sing-a-long-a Sound of Music,
about a secret source of garden ornaments that only Max and a few curb-jockey collectors knew about.

Reebee arrived with a friend, a man dressed in the saffron robes of a Tibetan Buddhist, but who spoke with a very upper-crust British accent. She came up to me and gave me a big hug. She was wearing a scant peacock silk dress. Lots of amazingly youthful skin was showing. She had managed to maintain the tan she'd picked up on her trip south with Connie. She said, “Didn't I tell you, Lucy? This is just the beginning. You wait and see. Once it all starts to roll there's no stopping it. Fantastic dress.” Her faith in Positive Thinking was positively unnerving.

When the Mortician arrived I ran to get a big drink. I'd invited him against my better judgment. But even a negative review from him had its benefits. People were always curious to see the corpse.

Leo's fingers were moving faster on the keyboard and he'd slipped into a catchy rhythmic bass. I could see people jiggling their feet and knees in time without even realizing it. The launderette started to pulsate.

When regular launderette customers showed up with laundry to do, I made sure they got champagne. Some were a little surprised to find so many people, but I told them it was part of the launderette's new look, that that was the idea,
to party through their wash and rinse cycles, and all the way through to the fluff dry.

Over in Leo's corner, the music was shifting back and forth between techno-pop and classic rock 'n' roll, and people were starting to dance. I kept one eye on the Mortician as he paced back and forth in front of the paintings and made notes.

Finally, I stood back a little, taking in the colors, the paintings, the scent of food, the glowing lights, the elegantly dressed crowd. Then it hit me. We'd done it. We'd created Lucy's Launderette and it was perfect. I had an irresistible urge to share it all with Jeremy. I wove my way through the crowd to my new office. I unlocked the door and slipped inside.

“I wish you were here, Jeremy,” I said to the little urn. “I wish so much that you were here. I think you'd like the way it's turned out. I mean, it's perfect. It really is.”

Of course, the thing about perfection is that it just can't last.

I turned to look at my creation through the two-way mirror. My brother Dirk had made his entrance.

A
t first, Dirk wasn't noticed. He stood absolutely still in the doorway doing something odd with his eyes and face—it looked like isometric exercises. But then those people nearest to him did a double take and stepped back to clear a space for him. He was wearing his Our Man in Havana suit. It was very grimy. He also wore a red-and-white polka-dot bow tie. And he had a clean-shaven face. He resembled an overweight PeeWee Herman after a couple of weeks of binge drinking and sleeping in ditches. I barely breathed as I watched his next move.

He went over to the buffet, reached across the counter and snatched a full open bottle of champagne out of Max's hand. I have to say Max reacted well. He made a little gesture as if to say, “Be my guest.” Dirk grabbed fistfuls of food and stuffed them into his already lurid pockets then began to chug-a-
lug the champagne from the bottle. After that, the crowd was watching him, en masse.

I got out my cell phone and dialed the first of Sam's numbers. Locked inside my office with the two-way mirror, I wasn't as frantic as I would have been with Dirk in the same room.

The phone rang twice before a voice said, “Sam Trelawny here.”

“I can't believe it. I got you the first time.”

“Lucy!” he said.

“Listen, Sam. This may be it. Our big chance. Dirk is here at the launderette. It's the Grand Opening, you see, and wouldn't you know he'd have to come along just in time to wreck it.”

“Okay, Lucy. Don't do anything. Don't scare him off. Just try to keep him there any way you can. I'll call the emergency unit and the police and I'll be at the launderette in about ten minutes. I'm in my car right now, so it just depends on traffic. We won't let you down. I promise. If I have to personally drag the unit there by force.”

“Thanks, Sam.” I hung up. Dirk was starting in on the women now. He approached the tallest ones and gave them his terrible sick leer, all teeth bared like a dog's snarl. They seemed to be able to handle themselves because whatever they were saying back to him was enough to put him off. He began to make the rounds. He fiddled with one of the computers, sat down and surfed the Net for a couple of minutes. Then he stood up and stuffed a chicken wing into his mouth. He crunched on that for a while then swallowed it, bones and all. He walked over to one of Candy's paintings, a buxom blonde half in and half out of a red Merry Widow, and sniggered. He made a move as if to straighten the picture but shifted it so that it was left hanging
crookedly. By now, he had a captive audience and Leo had stopped playing.

Dirk then walked around to the mural and stared for a long time, taking occasional swigs from the champagne bottle. He cocked his head to one side and took something large out of his pocket. I was close enough to see that it was an aerosol can. He was poised to spray.

I raced out of the office and toward him, screaming, “Don't you dare do anything to that wall, Dirk. If you touch that wall, I swear, I'm going to kill you.” I managed to snatch the spray can out of his hand.

He mimicked me in a high squeaky voice. “I'm going to kill you. Oooo. I'm so scared.” That was when he brought out the gun. It was a black revolver of some kind, a heavy square thing. He pointed it straight at me and said, “No, Lucy, I think it's me that's going to kill you.” Then he waved it around the room at the other people and said, “And nobody else move.” I heard a girl's whimper in the far corner. My mind was speeding, remembering similar past incidents.

My voice came out high and raspy. “What do you think you're doing, Dirk? What do you want anyway?”

Dirk mimicked me again. “What do you think you're doing, Dirk? Dirk? Dirk? What do you want anyway?”

At that point, my mother whooshed like a giant flamingo to my side. Sky came with her.

My mother said, “Would you just stop it, the two of you? If you must argue, kindly do it outside or someplace private. Now, Dirk, just stop being so silly. Go and get a plate for those samosas. We're not living in a barnyard, after all.” As if we were still a couple of kids. We both ignored her.

Dirk's face was maniacal. “I want to PARTY PARTY PARTY. But I can't. And it's your fault. Because you're in on it with the Russians. My informants told me you're in on it,
Lucy. I know you ordered them to put those microphones in my teeth. You and the dentist thought you could screw me around. I saw the look on his face when he said he was putting in some fillings. I know a Russian spy when I see one. And now the goddamn Russians are after me. They've been tailing me for weeks. They've got bugs everywhere.” He whipped another chicken wing out of his pocket and waved it frantically. “These are bugged, too.”

Sam had arrived. He'd been standing there in the door-way, listening, and I hadn't noticed him. He broke the silence by taking out his cell phone and punching in a number. Then in a very loud voice, he spoke Russian into the phone, “Lutcha pozdna chem neekogda. Dosvedanya Tavaritch.”

He put the phone away and approached Dirk. “Well, Mr. Madison. I've just spoken with my people in Moscow. They were absolutely categorical. They say the Russians don't want you. The KGB were interested in you for a while but that was some time ago, and what with all the shifts in government, it seems that they no longer want anything to do with you. They're releasing you to the Canadians. I'll take that if you don't mind.”

He reached across and took the gun from Dirk, looked into its barrel, and shot a squirt of water toward the ceiling. It was only then that I saw how gorgeous Sam was that evening. His face was clean-shaven, his long sandy hair tied back, and he wore a very expensive, charcoal-gray Armani suit.

“You mean the Canadiens,” said Dirk.

“Oh Christ,” I said, “He's sliding into hockey star mode.”

Sky shook her head. “His what?”

“Any minute now he's going to tell us he's the goalie for the Montreal Canadiens.”

“Pain in the butt, your brother, isn't he?” said Sky.

Sam seemed to be having a conversation with Dirk. He had managed to get him sitting down in a corner, facing away from the door, so that when the special emergency unit and the police arrived a few minutes later, Dirk was handcuffed and led away with very little fuss. Except for my mother. She was doing a lot of fussing. Scolding the police and telling them that Dirk was a good boy and that the handcuffs were evil and certainly not necessary.

Through the big front window, I watched them escort Dirk into the squad car, and drive away. I turned back and faced the crowd. My expression would have driven them all away if Max hadn't gallantly said, “Please, everybody. Let's not let a little old arrest ruin the evening. Everybody. Quickly. Fill your glasses. We need to make a toast.” There was a general clamoring for glasses.

“To Lucy's Launderette,” said Max.

“To Lucy's Launderette,” echoed the crowd.

We all drank and Leo began to play again. I was feeling shaky all over after my confrontation with Dirk. I headed for the office. I needed to have a few minutes in a private corner, to collect myself.

I was leaning against the bar, doing a pretty good job of holding back the floodwaters, when a voice came from behind me. “Lucy.”

It was Sam. He came up to me and touched my shoulder. I fought the urge to burst into tears. Sam must have sensed my mood because he reached out and put his arms around me. A lone tear trickled down my cheek. “Allergies,” I sniffed.

“I know those kinds of allergies well,” he laughed, and pulled me closer. “It's okay to cry. These are tense situations. When it's over, you're so relieved you just want to collapse. I've seen it time and time again. But we can see the light at the end of the tunnel now. And you know, it's not too late.
They might change their minds. Maybe I can still fix something up with the Russians, trade Dirk to them for one of theirs.”

I started to laugh. He took a handkerchief from one of his pockets and began, with slow gentle movements, to wipe the few tears from my face. He stopped and we stared at each other, both of us a little astonished but knowing what had to come next. And then his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me and I was kissing him back. His body was pressed close and it was deliciously hard and his woodsy spicy scent was back and starting to make my heart beat faster and then I kept remembering the brunette in the airport and Francesca de la Hoity Toity in the bathroom at Rogues' Gallery and I knew I should be pushing him away and was on the verge of doing it when a scream like that of an animal about to be slaughtered made us pull away from each other.

“What the hell was that? I better go and see what it was,” I said.

Sam followed me out into the launderette.

A small group of people was clustered around Connie. She was half sitting, half lying on the edge of the couch where she'd been all evening. On the floor at her feet was a puddle of water.

Jacques had his hands in his pockets and was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Shit. It's coming, Lucy.”

“It can't come. It's too early,” I protested.

“If she says the baby's coming, it's coming. I offered to take her to the hospital but she says there's no time. Maybe I should call an ambulance, eh?” I'd never seen Jacques so nervous or excited.

Connie let out another agonized howl and then a series of short moans.

Sky said, “Isn't there supposed to be more warning than
this? I've always heard of women making the bed and doing the dishes after their water broke. And where's Reebee? She's supposed to be the big birthing fanatic and where is she when we need her? She knows what to do in these situations.”

Max said, “Reebee slipped away just before Dirk's arrival. Her friend needed a ride back to his ashram.”

“Better call the ambulance right away,” I said.

“I'll do it,” said Jacques.

But Connie wailed, “There isn't time. It's coming. I can feel the little bugger coming. Aaaiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

“Let's move her into the back room,” said Sam. “It's a little more private.”

Connie read my thoughts and said in a strained, panting voice, “I'll ruin the new carpet.”

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “There are lots of old towels in the lost-and-found box. We can put them on the floor.”

Max said, “I'm sure we can get some people to volunteer some cleaner newer towels.”

“I feel sick. I feel like I'm going to throw up,” said Connie.

Sam said, “Somebody go and get some ice for her to suck on. Can you walk?” he asked Connie.

“I guess if I have to,” she said.

Sam took off his Armani jacket, put it over a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Then he said, “Okay, Connie, let's go,” and helped her to her feet. He got her into the office and onto the couch there and towels were placed all around.

He whispered to me, “Help her to get comfortable, would you, Lucy?” I gave him an “Are you crazy?” kind of look.

He said, “As comfortable as possible under the circumstances.” Then in a louder voice, “I know it sounds like a cliché, but could we get some boiling water here? Or something to disinfect with? For my hands?”

I gazed at Sam. He was looking more and more delicious with every minute that passed. “You've done this before I take it?”

“Well, it was part of my basic first aid training. But, yes. It has happened to me before. I need to clean my hands.”

“How about alcohol?” asked Sky.

“What kind?”

Sky went over and opened the bar. “Let's see what we have here. There's a bottle of gin, a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Scotch.”

“The vodka should do the trick. Lucy, you wash your hands, too. Another pair of hands never hurts.”

Sky got the bottle and poured some vodka over his hands and then over mine.

“I don't wanna do this,” screamed Connie. She had managed to crawl off the couch and was on all fours on the floor.

“That's okay, Connie,” said Sam, “if you feel better pushing in a different position go ahead. But you do have to push.”

Sky looked at Sam approvingly, looked at me and gave me a thumbs-up signal.

“I want it to go away,” screamed Connie, and then, “Wherever you are, Jeremy, I hate you, you bastard.” She pulled herself back onto the edge of the couch in a half-sitting position.

“Oh dear,” I muttered.

“Never mind. It's the angry hormones. They're supposed to do that, make her so mad she just wants to get it out of her. All right, Connie,” said Sam, his voice taking on a hard edge, “no more Mr. Nice Guy. Now push, goddammit. Wait for the contraction and push with it.” Sam was crouched on the floor beneath Connie.

“Aaaiiieee,” yelled Connie.

“That's it, I can see the top of the baby's head. Push. PUSH.”

There were ten more minutes of big league screaming before the baby's head crowned.

“That's it. It's got black hair just in case you want to know, and not very much of it. One last big one,” said Sam, “that's all you need.”

Connie gave one huge terrible cry. Sam had the head of the baby and a second later, it was sliding out into his hands. “Lucy, come over here. Hold the baby. Here, use that towel. Don't move.” He leaned forward over Connie and pressed on her stomach violently. There was another gush and Sam had blood all down the front of his shirt and on his pants and shoes. “The afterbirth,” he said. “Lie down and relax, Connie. Now, Lucy, place the baby on Connie's stomach.” I did as I was told.

Connie's expression was indescribable. Dazed? Tired? Exalted?

Jacques had been watching at a distance, lurking near the doorway in case he had to escape, silently hovering between fainting and fascination. “Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked in a tiny exhausted voice.