Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] (11 page)

      
“Mrs. Majesty,” he said, sobering. “I’m sorry. Of course, you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

      
“No,” said I icily. “I don’t.”

      
“I’m awfully sorry. You see, I’m so accustomed to picture people, I forget that not everyone is as—ah—up to date on the modern world as they are.”

      
“I read the newspapers, Harold, and I keep informed of the news.” And here I’d thought I liked this man. Showed how much I knew about anything.

      
“Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure you do. This is definitely not something you’d read about in the papers, however. Especially,” he added, wrinkling his alabaster brow, “not the
Pasadena Star News
.”

      
“Oh?”

      
Harold sighed. Then he smiled. “I beg your pardon. I don’t know how we got onto that subject.”

      
Since I didn’t even know what subject we were on, I opted to talk business. “You mentioned you were interested in holding a séance for some of your friends?”

      
“Yes. Thank you for keeping me on track. I tend to be a trifle scatterbrained sometimes. I think my friends would adore you, Daisy, as I do—in a brotherly way, you understand.”

      
I smiled, not understanding anything.

      
“But Del and I talked last night, and we both think the boys would find a séance conducted by you something special.”

      
Uh-oh. “The boys? Um, would there be only men there?” Good God, I could envision Billy’s reaction when I told him I was going to conduct a séance for a bunch of men.

      
Harold grinned, again reminding me of an elf. “Only men. Yes, Daisy. Del and I thought we’d invite four other men, which would make a grand total of six. Mother said you don’t care to work with large groups and that eight is the maximum you’ve ever allowed her to invite. Would that be all right with you? Six, I mean?”

      
Oh, boy. This was dreadful. I took a deep breath, wondering how to explain to this man, whom I’d believed was a nice, friendly sort, that it wasn’t proper for a lady to go to a gentleman’s house and conduct a séance for a pack of his male friends. Since I couldn’t perceive of any way to avoid the truth, I blurted it out in plain English. “I’m sorry, Harold, but I really don’t think my husband would approve of my conducting a séance for you and five other gentlemen.” I said it with a smile, in hopes that he’d take it in the right way, whatever way that was.

      
He peered at me as if I’d lost my mind. I resented that. Heck, any right-thinking person, even a man, would understand my point of view on this subject. I was a married woman, for heaven’s sake. Not that I’d have done it if I hadn’t been married. That would have been even worse, actually.

      
After staring at me for a moment, Harold gave a start as if understanding had finally hit him between the eyes. He looked as if he wanted to laugh again, didn’t, leaned over, put his elbows on the counter, and lowered his voice. Thank God. I really didn’t want everyone in Kress’s to overhear this conversation.

      
“Daisy, my dear, I had hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but I feel I really must explain something to you about my friends and me.”

      
“Yes?” My fingers started aching, and I realized I had a death grip on the handbag in my lap. I endeavored to relax, but it was rough going.

      
Harold’s mouth pursed, and he looked as if he were thinking hard. “I guess the best thing to do is just come out with it.”

      
“Perhaps that might be a good idea.”

      
Harold sucked in about a ton of air, chewed his lip for a couple of seconds, and let his breath out in a whoosh. I tried to keep my expression bland but encouraging.

      
He lifted his eyebrows then, not as I’d done, in an effort to quell, but in a questioning sort of way, as if to ask if I understood what he meant. “None of the men at the séance at my house would touch you in any way of which you’d disapprove.” He smiled, as if he’d just explained the secret of the universe.

      
I still didn’t understand anything. “Um . . . is that so?”

      
Harold heaved another sigh. “Oh, dear. How can I explain this?”

      
Darned if I knew. I tried to look friendly, interested, and puzzled, a not-necessarily-compatible trio of emotions.

      
He leaned over farther and lowered his voice even more. “Daisy, have you ever heard the term
homosexual
?”

      
Hmmm. Had I? “Um, I don’t think so.”

      
Harold looked disappointed. “Have you ever heard of a writer named Oscar Wilde?”

      
“Oh, sure. I loved
The Picture of Dorian Gray.
”

      
“Everyone does.”

      
That was nice to know. I mean, it’s good to feel that one fits in every now and then.

      
“Did you know that Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for several years because of his proclivities?”

      
His proclivities? If I knew what they were, I might be shocked. “Er, no, I didn’t know that. He died before I was born.”

      
Perceiving that I had no idea what he was talking about, Harold got more specific. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “He was jailed because he was a homosexual, Daisy.”

      
“Oh.” That cleared up a whole lot (I’m being sarcastic).

      
Harold sighed. “You see, Daisy, there are men in the world who aren’t interested in women. They prefer to have . . . ah . . . love affairs with members of their own sex.”

      
I started on my stool. I’d heard about
that
! Good Lord! Was Harold one of
those
? I’m afraid my face must have revealed my shock, because Harold backed off an inch or so.

      
“I see you finally take my meaning.” He spoke in a dry voice.

      
I hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters. After all, while I’d not heard much about . . . well . . . the kinds of people about which Harold was talking, and what I
had
heard about them was bad, maybe there was another side to the issue. I doubted it, but who knew? “Um, well, actually . . .” Discovering that my oil supply was seriously low, I allowed my voice to trail off.

      
Harold seemed to understand, which made one of us. “Daisy, my dear, we’re not evil. Honestly, we’re not. Not any more evil than any other group of people, that is to say. I’m sure there are some of us who are bad, but I’ll wager there are more people who aren’t like us that are bad than that are. If you can see what I’m saying.”

      
I swallowed. I have to admit that my first reaction to Harold’s revelation was to spring from the stool at Kress’s lunch counter and run screaming out of the store and into the Model T. My initial stunned reaction didn’t last long, though, and I’m proud of myself for that. I mean, what he’d said was shocking, and most people would consider it objectionable, if not downright wicked. Still and all, Harold was Harold, and Harold seemed to be a nice man. If rather effeminate—and he’d just explained why, I guess. The fact that he was . . . one of those . . . didn’t negate the fact that he was pleasant and cordial.

      
And rich. A Gumm couldn’t afford to forget the undeniable fact that it was the rich people in the world who had the money. Besides all that, Harold obviously wanted to throw some of his own money my way. And I sure wouldn’t have to worry about having my virtue compromised as he did it.

      
“Um,” I said, and I had to swallow again, “I think I understand want you’re saying, Harold.”

      
He smiled broadly. “Good! That’s good! Then you’ll surely see that there would be absolutely no danger of anything disgraceful happening to you. None of my friends would even think of doing anything to you that your husband wouldn’t approve of. If you see what I mean.”

      
I smiled back, although it was an effort. “Er, yes, I believe I see what you mean.” I wasn’t sure Billy would like this situation any better than the other one, but he ought to. I mean, what could happen to me if I held a séance for a half dozen of . . . of those kinds of men?

      
“So,” said Harold, sitting back and grinning. “Are you willing to conduct a séance for some of my friends and me?”

      
I made up my mind. I was sure I could ease any worries Billy might have about the job. “I’ll be happy to, Harold.”

      
We set a date and parted on the best of terms, and I went home to Billy. I planned to explain this latest job to him as we took a gentle walk on a pleasant spring day.

 

      
 

Chapter Six
 

      
It didn’t work out exactly as I’d planned. Billy was furious. “You’re going to hold a séance for a group of
faggots
?”

      
Since we were strolling down Marengo Avenue, me pushing his wheelchair, magnolia blossoms scenting the warm spring air, and Mrs. Longnecker eavesdropping like mad, I endeavored to ease his worries. Or at least get him to quit yelling.

      
Mrs. Longnecker, who lived two houses down from us and who was ostensibly weeding her flower garden, frowned at us as we passed. I smiled at her and gave her a little finger wave, but she didn’t appear to be mollified, the fussy old cow.

      
I could feature her running into the house and calling all her friends as soon as we were out of sight, telling them in a loud whisper that for her passed as a secret-conveyor that Billy and I were fighting and wasn’t it just as she’d always said it would be? That Daisy Gumm always was a flighty piece of goods, and now that her husband was a cripple, she just
knew
I was up to no good. Mrs. Longnecker was by far the worst gossip in the neighborhood.

      
“Shhh, Billy. Please.”

      
“Darn it, Daisy, I won’t shhh. You have no business working for a lot of men!”

      
“Billy, they aren’t like
you
, for heaven’s sake! They don’t
like
women.” I’d clued him in on the Oscar-Wilde angle, but it hadn’t placated him much, if at all.

      
“And you think that makes it all right?”

      
Well, yes, actually. I got the feeling Billy didn’t share my opinion, so I tried another tack. “Harold’s really a nice person, Billy. Even if he liked women, he wouldn’t do anything wrong. He’s a good, moral man.”

      
“Ha! He’s a moral degenerate.”

      
“He isn’t, either. Truly, he’s not. He’s friendly and polite and kindhearted. And he works in the movies. I’m sure you’d like him.”

      
“A faggot? I don’t think so.”

      
“How come you call him a faggot?” I’d always thought a faggot was a piece of wood.

      
He shrugged and hunched in his chair. He always hunched when he was mad at me. He hunched a lot. “That’s what we called them in the army.”

      
“But why?”

      
“How should I know?” Now he sounded irked as well as irate. It was becoming obvious that I couldn’t win, which had become a normal state of affairs in our married life, so I used the best reason I could think of to make my husband view the situation my way. Aside from the money reason. Billy had never been able to appreciate the money I made as a spiritualist, although I didn’t know why then, and I still don’t. “At least you can rest assured that nobody will try to . . . do anything to me. You know what I mean.”

      
“Small comfort.”

      
By this time I was getting sort of irked, too. I didn’t think Billy was being fair to me. “It’s a comfort to me,” I snapped. “I don’t want men making passes at me, and I know these men won’t.”

      
This approach didn’t work, either, as I might have predicted. There were times when I swear to heaven,
nothing
worked with Billy. I think it was because his physical pain and mental bitterness made him cranky and mulish. Although I honestly tried to be compassionate and understanding, my feelings got mangled more often than not.

      
“You think that makes it right?” he demanded. “Those men are perverted and depraved, for God’s sake!”

      
“They are not. At least Harold isn’t. And Lieutenant Farrington sure didn’t act depraved. In fact, he was very nice. So’s Harold.” It seemed to me I was using the word
nice
too much, but I couldn’t think of another one. Darn it, the two men
were
nice.

      
“Let’s go home.”

      
You’d have thought I’d done something so terrible that Billy couldn’t stand to be in my company any longer. I felt like crying, although I wouldn’t give Mrs. Longnecker the pleasure of seeing me do so. Or Billy, darn him. “You’re being unreasonable,” I said frigidly.

      
“Take me home, damn it.”

      
“There’s no need to swear.”

      
I took him home. No sooner had I walked through the front door than the telephone rang. I left Billy to take himself wherever he wanted to and dashed into the kitchen to answer it, hoping it was somebody nice. There was that word again.

      
“Daisy! Oh, Daisy, is that you?”

      
Several voices had answered the ring, but since I was the only Daisy on the party line, I knew it was my call. I also recognized Mrs. Kincaid’s voice, although she sounded almost hysterical.