The Fire Night Ball (14 page)

Sometimes out of the mouths of babes come God's marching orders.

Now she was entering the bright, airy kitchen which everyone raved about. She could see for herself, though she was no architect, that it afforded space and intimacy in equal proportion, with its soaring vaulted ceiling, solar panels that let the sun come pouring in, and colorful Southwestern touches. Marlena had done a good job.

Stainless steel appliances, industrial stove, butcher block worktable, and a display of chili ristras and copper pans dangling from a low beam made it appear professional, yet homey.

Thinking of her own dark, cramped kitchen back in Parma, Faith felt a jealous pang. But how was she going to square things with Him if she kept stepping on her own flat feet?
God, forgive my weaknesses.

In a cozy dining ell, a second note addressed to her was propped against a vase of red carnations on an oak table. She was invited to partake of the refreshments laid out under a silver dome--a glass of cider, a russet apple, and a plate of warm gingersnap cookies. Even in her absence, Chloe’s gracious spirit of hospitality was evident.

Refreshed after her snack, Faith set about accomplishing her goal of spying on Marlena.

God had provided Faith a golden opportunity for surveillance, cleverly arranging it through Marlena's own invitation.

She sallied forth, marching up the grand central staircase into the guest bedroom wing. She had a hunch her daughter had revealed only the tip of the iceberg when she announced her separation and admitted to being involved with her married client.

The first room Faith peeked into she knew to have been Cassandra’s old bedroom. It was small but had a breathtaking view. Her daughter's clothing, shoes, and papers were strewn about. The bed was sloppily made. On the bed were a couple of old brown notebooks. Frowning, she shook her head.

So this out of the many guest rooms available was the one Marlena had chosen for herself. That said a mouthful! Nothing good could come out of her daughter's identification with a heartless fiend.

A more thoughtful guest would keep her room neat and tidy. It was the least Marlena could do; her messiness reflected badly on Faith.

The next door was locked when she tried it. An old instinct led her to stop and retrace her steps. Moving quickly, she went through Marlena’s room to get into the attached room, which turned out to be a large bathroom, with a claw-footed tub and vanity.

Here was where she would begin her search in earnest. After crossing herself and thanking God for His many blessings, Faith began methodically picking up and examining every item, beginning with Marlena’s silver-backed hairbrush.

By the end of her search, she had discovered only that Marlena was shedding more hair than usual and was taking paregoric, Pepto Bismal, valium, codeine, diuretics, and sleeping pills.

None of these items being particularly suspicious, Faith stopped and thought: what exactly was she looking for? She wouldn’t know a an illegal drug or a birth control pill if one bit her, but she knew these would be items worth knowing about.

She re-opened the medicine cabinet and stared again at its lone contents, a large, brown plastic bottle. It was opened, so presumably was in use. It appeared to contain vitamins, but they were huge, larger than any she’d ever seen before.

So, Lena was taking mega-doses of vitamins to counter her iron deficiency, and this bottle was physical proof she hadn’t lied. However, her sense of relief was short-lived as Faith further considered that Lena’s was the LSD generation, and she did live in California. Marlena might be a drug fiend. Drugs were everywhere these days.

Fumbling in her purse, Faith came up with a pencil and paper. She then carefully printed the content descriptions and tucked the note into her purse. Back East, it was after working hours. First thing in the morning, she would call her Polish doctor friend and check on these medications to make sure everything was on the up and up.

Satisfied with her reconnaissance mission, Faith quickly located the guest room reserved for her, a large, lovely suite containing a four-poster bed, a claw-footed tub in the bathroom, and, in the adjoining sitting room, a bouquet of roses on the desk.

Thankful for the peace and quiet cousin Chloe’s home afforded, she closed the door. It was two thirty when her head hit the pillow, and she was out like a light.

Marlena, Stretch, and Sally were tucked inside a booth at B.L. Zebub’s. The bar was open to hotel guests only, and they were the only customers.

Though much remained to be done, overnight the exterminators had resolved the snake and worm infestation. Workmen were up on high ladders, reinstalling mirrored glass.

But already the saloon looked neutered, a shadow of its former erotic glory. The art lining the entrance hallway was gone. The shattered mirror was still partly shrouded in the somber purple drapery, which contrasted oddly with the bar’s intricate filigree of fat, smiling cherubs, fauns sporting with wood nymphs, and a bulbous-bellied Egyptian female bearing an entire column on her head.

Marlena could feel the degree of loss in her pained emotions.

Of course she wasn’t supposed to be on premises, but no one knew that except Harry, and she was daring Harry to do his worst.

He wouldn’t have the balls to throw her out in the presence of her friends, who were paying guests.

Sally and Stretch were sucking down raw oysters and Bloody Mary’s. Marlena was wearing sunglasses to cover up the damage to her eyes from last night’s tale-a-thon.

Her portfolio of work sat beside her in a burnt orange leather case a yard wide. It had been a gift from Coddie. Oversized and hand-stitched, it could accommodate architectural drawings and blueprints.

Marlena opened the case, and Sally began flipping through copies of architectural plans, drawings, photographs, and press clippings on finished projects, also letters of recommendation.

She gave an occasional grunt of approval. Her mod eyelashes were much too young for her, Marlena thought, but her pink Dior scarf and silver Cartier bracelets were lovely.

Sally had already put her first card on the table. When Marlena mentioned a hiatus from her hotel responsibilities, she’d suggested Marlena accompany her back to Key West for a look-see at the Shell Mansion.

They’d been joined at one thirty by Stretch, marching in on her long, stick legs that made her look like a stork. She sat down beside Marlena, who immediately ordered another round of drinks.

Stretch hadn't jelled her hair, so her purplish spikes were now streaks. She was outfitted in pink leather chaps, a nose ring, and a fake Cheetah suit-coat. A jewelry artist who liked to wear her art upon her person, she had on earrings that were iron crosses. From her fringed leather belt dangled a glinting, jeweled dagger she’d designed and welded herself.

She could see the others were immersed in the employment dance; hopefully they were nearing the end of the courtship phase, as she was feeling bored and jealous.

“You won’t find a better place to hang out and make interesting new friends," purred Sally, brushing Marlena's forearm. "Key West is wide open."

Marlena drew back an inch. “It’s one of several places in the world where I want to spend quality time.”

“What's holding you back?” asked Stretch. It was the first time she’d opened her mouth. "You've got bread; you can travel the world."

Sally frowned at her partner.

Marlena sighed. “If I were a man, I could roam the world from one watering hole to the next, no questions asked, sampling all the delights of the bazaar without being confined to one.”

“Ain’t nothin’ much to being a man,” opined Stretch.

“I wonder if you've heard of penis envy?” asked Marlena.

Stretch guffawed. “Ain’t no such thing.”

“Oh, yes there is, according to Freud.”

“Who’s he?”

“Sigmund Freud was an Austrian Jew who wrote several ground-breaking psychology books in the nineteenth century."

"So?"

"So, among other provocative theories, he postulated that women unconsciously desire to have a penis, like men.”

Marlena looked pointedly at the gemmed dagger Stretch wore at her hip.

Now it was Sally’s turn to guffaw, while Stretch frowned darkly.

“On the other hand," added Marlena, "most liberated women think penis envy is only a metaphor.”

“I’ll bet the motherfucker had a pencil dick,” said Stretch stoutly. “He only wished women envied it.”

“All men are wishful when it comes to women,” drawled Sally. “Jewish, Christian, breeder, homosexual, or what-have-you, they all want something from us. They either want to nail us, if they're straight, or outshine us, if they're gay.”

“Sally, I see your point. I’ll give you that one,” purred Marlena.

Stretch wasn’t finished with the topic, having recalled ammunition from a field in which she had hands-on experience.

“There are plenty of artists who wanna be women. Take Mike Langelo, for example, and his Mona Lisa. The eyes of the lady line up with Mike Langelo’s self-portrait, exactly. They even have the same initials: M.L.”

Marlena repressed a smile. “Excuse me, but wasn't it Leonardo da Vinci who painted the Mona Lisa?”

“Oh yeah. I get them dead Eye-talians mixed up.”

“So, Leonardo was projecting his feminine side on canvas,” mused Marlena.

“Mona Lisa is Leonardo in drag,” affirmed Sally languidly.

Stretch crowed triumphantly. “The fag wanted to be a woman!”

“It’s also possible Mona Lisa was the daughter Leonardo never had,” offered Marlena, “but wished for.”

“Ahhhh,” groaned Sally, blowing smoke through her nostrils. “That would be a breeder’s way of looking at it.”

Stretch gave Marlena an appraising look. "Hon, I don't see you as a breeder chick.”

Instinctively, Marlena put a hand over her belly, to see if it was still flat.

“Or perhaps our new friend is a mixed breed,” drawled Sally.

She took a drag on her cigarette through a long black holder. Someone had once told Sally she looked like Audrey Hepburn in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s,
and she was still playing that card to the hilt.

Stretch guffawed. “You mean you wish she was.”

Marlena checked her watch.

It was two thirty, and still no sign of Harry, no message being brought to her. She was beginning to feel extremely anxious. What more could she do to command his attention?

Then she looked up and saw Coddie striding toward her from across the room.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I have to go see a man about a horse.”

“Don’t you mean, about a penis?” scoffed Stretch.

The two women watched as Marlena approached the tall, thin, bald man and greeted him with a perfunctory kiss, then steered him toward a booth at the far corner of the room.

“Must be the long-suffering husband,” said Stretch. “Whaddya wanna bet?”

“It could be the lover.”

“Naw. He's got a weak chin. Anyway, her lover’s the lord of this cockamamie castle. If it was him who walked in here, that barmaid with the cleavage would already have her nose up his ass.”

Sally looked at Shirley, who was lounging and chatting with the back bar runner.

“You’re right,” said Sally. “It’s the husband.”

“Look, he’s pulling a wad of papers from his pocket. He's waving them in her face. I bet she don’t like that too much.”

Marlena was thinking she didn’t like the wild look in Coddie’s eyes; she couldn’t remember ever seeing her stolid ex-husband appear so frantic before.

“Calm down. Don’t make a spectacle, please. Remember I work here.”

“This isn't our first rodeo! How about the time you cried all over your meatloaf while I was trying to pitch Boeing?"

She blushed. During a hiatus in her affair with Harry, a song had come on the jukebox, "When Will I See You Again," and she'd lost it.

“Do you know what I’ve got right here?”

“Those are the papers I sent back to you.”

“Bingo! And do you know what I intend to do with these papers?”

His agitation was infectious. Her temper flared responsively.

“You can stick them up your ass, Coddie, for all I care.”

He glared at her wordlessly. She glared right back.

“I intend to tear them into a million pieces, and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider taking you back as well.”

His voice was low, but he spit as he said the words, so belligerently were they uttered.

Marlena wiped the spittle from her face. She was unpleasantly reminded of Letty Brown-Hawker’s assault.

Try to think what he's feeling, Marlena.
While he made a show of belligerence, perhaps inside he was crying and saying something very different: “My pride is hurt, and I need you back. Don’t you see that?”

She felt terrible about his pain, but she also saw clearly it was too late and even too dangerous for Coddie if she went back to him.

“Are you unhappy with our agreement? If so, why did you send the finalizing papers to me? I don’t get it. Am I missing something here?”

He waggled a finger in her face. “Marlena, I don’t have to take any crap from you. I made you what you are. Everything you know, the way you look, the way you design a house all comes from me.”

“Oh, so you're Pygmalion and I’m Galatea now. Is that it?”

It was almost comical how each man in her life assumed she was his creature.

“Ha! Yes, that’s it exactly. You're my creature.”

She wasn’t surprised when Coddie echoed the word that had crossed her mind. It often happened to someone she was focused on.

She hardened her heart, though it hurt her to do so. To protect him from the curse, she had to push him away.

Coldly she said, “Then you're mistaken. And drunk, worse than I’ve ever seen you. You must have quite a bar tally going up in your room.”

“Cleaned out the f-f-fridge,” he said, slurring as though he had marbles in his mouth, but Marlena believed he was only pretending to be drunk.

She drawled, “Well, the management appreciates the business, but it’s not terribly becoming. Coddie, I’d love to continue this scintillating conversation, but I’ve got a prospective client I really need to get back to. We’re about to close on a deal.”

"For PAD?"

"For me."

As she started to get up, he reached out and shoved her back into the booth. The motion was large enough to be spotted by her friends across the room.

“Whaddya suppose is going on over there?” said Sally.

“I don’t like to see any dame get pushed around, even that screwball.” Stretch made a fist and punched it into the palm of her other hand; she was ready for action.

“Oh, pipe down,” drawled Sally. “Let's see how Bellum handles herself.”

“Look! Bellum’s getting up and leaving. He’s just sitting there, crying. What a dick,” said Stretch.

Sally yawned. “Hetero fights are so boring.”

“He didn’t even slap her. I’m sure she deserves that much.”