The Merchant of Menace (8 page)

She sent Todd and Elliott for the hams and made Katie go along to find and identify the pineapple-mustard sauce. "As soon as you've got everything, you can go join the rest of the singers.”

She bundled herself up and went to observe and listen from the front porch. A couple deep, cold breaths helped her calm down slightly and the sound of the neighbors' voices raised in a rousing version of "Jingle Bells" didn't hurt. She reminded herself of her long-standing party philosophy, which was that it's pointless to have a party if you're not going to enjoy it yourself. The planning and preparation might be tough, but the panic to get ready had to stop the moment the first guest stepped through the door.

“I can do this," she said to herself. "And Lance King can't wreck it." She watched as a television cameraman posed a small collection of singers in front of an especially pretty house. A man in a Santa suit — King himself — was standing in the middle of the arrangement.

As she stood, watching and listening to the ever-growing group going from house to house, one of the television people broke away from the group and walked briskly down the street to Jane's house. The woman approaching her was young, very tall, and had a mop of curly maroon-red hair escaping her stocking cap. She walked leaning forward, hands plunged into the pockets of a pea jacket and a clipboard under one arm. "Are you Mrs. Jeffry?" she said. "I'm Ginger Wrightman, Mr. King's assistant. I need to take a look at the house layout and figure out where to set up the lights and camera."

“Mr. King wasn't invited to my house," Jane said. "Or, he was, but without my permission.”

Ginger said, "Oh, I didn't know. I'm so sorry. But—"

“But I don't dare lock him out," Jane finished. "I'm aware of that. Come on in, Ginger.”

As Ginger shed her cap and coat, she apologized again. "I'm just an employee, Mrs. Jeffry. I don't know how much longer I can take it, either. I'm just too damned nice for this job.”

Jane studied Ginger. She wasn't pretty by any means. Her face was too elongated, her nose and teeth too big, her eyes too close together and her hair was dead awful. But there was something terribly vulnerable about this plain young woman's honesty that charmed Jane. "I understand. Make yourself at home.”

Jane went back out on the porch. When she judged the carolers were close enough to arriveat her home in another ten minutes, she went inside.

Addie pitched in and helped set the food out, annoying Jane enormously by changing where Jane had chosen to put the dishes. "There," Addie exclaimed. "That looks much better with the hams farther apart, doesn't it?"

“I guess so," Jane said wearily, wishing she could shove Addie into a closet for just long enough to get the table set up the way she'd intended. As soon as everyone had been through the line once, Jane was going to put the desserts out on the kitchen table and counter. Mel had better be there by then to keep his mother out of her hair.

Ginger found Jane in the kitchen. "I think we can set up in a way that won't completely destroy your party. Lance will be doing a short commercial feed live at eight. Just a fifteen-second bit. Then later he'll open the news live with a two-minute piece. Of course, we can pray there's real news by then that'll take precedence."

“A nice plane wreck or a bomb going off somewhere?" Jane said.

Ginger grinned. "Something like that. Think you could arrange it?”

People started coming in the front door, shaking snow off their clothes, piling coats, hats, and mittens on the stairs, the banister, and the coat-rack Jane had borrowed from Shelley. Pet was among the first to arrive, and being a model child, she assigned herself the job of making sure the hats and gloves stayed with the right coats.

“I'm hiring that child the next time I put on a do," Jane said as Shelley came inside.

“It's starting to rain," Shelley said. "All the snow will have melted by morning.”

Jane looked at her with amazement. "Are you actually making light meaningless chitchat to take my mind off that horrible man who's going to invade my house any second?”

Shelley grinned.I guess I am. Listen, Jane, you have to think about this like I do about getting a Pap test. No matter how awful it's going to be, in X number of hours it's going to be over."

“Well, X number of hours can't pass fast enough for me," Jane said grimly.

The party got off to a rousing start, everybody being glad to get out of the cold and eat themselves silly. But when Lance King finally re- j oined the group, with his cameraman, lighting people, and equipment, the crowd in Jane's house grew significantly quieter and more subdued. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to attract his attention except a couple malcontents who fell on him with suggestions for individuals they personally wanted skewered.

Jane lurked at the kitchen door, watching Lance move through the room like a bad smell. Nobody actually recoiled, hand over nose, but they looked away, got very interested in minute items on their plates, or struck up quietly animated conversations with each other.

Lance didn't seem to care. He strolled about the room as if he were a rock star and the rest were adoring fans. He carried a bag, which Jane assumed was a laptop computer, and carelesslybanged it into several pieces of furniture. His Santa suit was open at the neck and he'd discarded his false beard somewhere. Probably in the middle of the dining room table where it could remain a revolting reminder of his presence, Jane thought nastily.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!" he suddenly bellowed. There was a soft clatter of plastic utensils as several startled party-goers lost their grips on forks and spoons. "This looks more like a wake than a holiday party. Ah, life in the suburbs. Ever exciting.”

He gazed around for a moment, then noticed Jane at the kitchen door. He called across the room, "You must be Mrs. Jeffry. Thanks for inviting us to your happy little home." He flung himself into Jane's favorite chair, the squashy, overstuffed one that was so comfortable that she considered sitting in it as going back to the womb. It was where she sat to watch television, to play with her laptop, to do double-crostics. Her chair had been violated.

“I didn't," Jane muttered.

“What was that? Speak up, honey.”

Jane balled her fists as she felt a flush flood her face and she turned away. She headed for the guest bathroom in the little hall leading to the garage, considering the possibility that she could just keep going. Get in the car, drive away, and come back later. Instead, she shut herself in the bathroom for a few quiet minutes of rage. But training eventually overcame emotions. Jane's father was in the State Department and she'd grown up all over the world. And she'd been told, practically from birth, that the host or hostess must be polite to guests — no matter what. No running away or hiding in bathrooms. As a child and teenager, she'd attended various dinners her parents gave that included sheep's eyeballs, petrified codfish, and eating on the floor of a tent with the sound of wild animals just outside. Lance King was only marginally more revolting than any of those.

She emerged and found herself face-to-face with Mel.

“I've been looking all over for you, Janey," he said. "What's wrong? You look upset.”

“Probably because I am."

“It's not my mother, is it?" he asked, looking suddenly wary.

Jane managed to laugh. "No." She almost added,
"Not this time,"
but resisted the temptation. "It's that jerk Lance King."

“He's here?"

“Here? Of course. How could you have missed him?”

Mel put his arm around her and walked her slowly back through the kitchen. Jane noticed that the volume of the party had gone back up to normal. "He must have left. Thank goodness. Maybe Ginger arranged for that airplane crash after all.”

By the time she finished explaining who Ginger was and what she meant, Jane felt considerably better. "Thanks for listening," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm going to go enjoy my own party.”

Jane, the diplomat's daughter, made her rounds, making sure she welcomed everyone individually and cordially. At ten minutes toeight, Lance King reappeared with his television makeup and the fake beard back in place. Ginger helped shuffle people out of the way of the electrical cords and lighting stands and at one minute to eight, held up one hand and stared at her watch.

When her hand dropped, Lance King smiled broadly and looked into the camera with a lizard-like smile. "A neighborhood block party in celebration of the holidays. What could be more fun? More innocent? Nice people and good food. But is there a dark underbelly to this happy, if not to say smug, suburban life? Tune in to the late news and find out.”

The television lighting went off and there was a moment of dead silence. Lance King pulled off his beard, looked around the room, and strode out of the house, laughing.

There
was a long, frigid moment
of
silence as
'· Lance King walked out the front door, slamming the door behind himself.

Then Billy Joe Johnson, who had mistakenly assumed this was a costume party and was dressed as a rotund snowman, said, "Who is that guy and why's he being so darned nasty?”

Fairy Princess Tiffany said, "He must be a television person. What with the cameras and all. Wonder if we'll all be on the news." She apparently had paid no attention at all to the content of his broadcast.

Somebody muttered, "The bastard." Jane thought the remark came from one of Lance's own crew, but couldn't be sure.

Ginger, her long face flushed and blotchy, grabbed Jane's arm. "I'm so sorry. And if it helps any — which I know it won't — I'm unemployed as of this moment. Voluntarily!"

“What peculiar behavior," a woman from the mock Tudor house at the far end of the block said, setting her plate on an end table and rising."I'm certainly not planning to be here when he returns to make another distasteful display. Jane, where's my coat?”

A half dozen or so of the guests departed in a mob. None of them looked frightened especially, only disgusted. Jane helped find coats and saw them off with broken apologies, trying to make everyone understand that she had most assuredly not invited Lance King to the party. She was even good-hearted enough to refrain from mentioning that this was all Julie Newton's fault.

As she watched them leave, she said, "Mel, can I get a police officer at the door to keep him from coming back into my house?"

“Janey, calm down.”

Her eyes filled with tears of fury and frustration. "I'll hire a private security guard then. I wonder how you find one on short notice.”

She felt something tugging her sleeve. "Mrs. Jeffry," Pet said, "I should go home soon.”

Jane put her hand on Pet's thin little shoulder. "Yes, dear." She spotted Todd bounding up the stairs. "Todd, put on your coat and boots. Pet needs to be walked home."

“Mom! It's just down the block a couple hous—"

“Todd," Jane said in a low, menacing tone that made his eyes widen.

“Oh… okay. Right away.”

Jane left Mel to see the children off and watch for Todd's return while she went back to the kitchen to look for a phone book. She was quite serious about hiring someone to keep Lance away. She'd toss his television equipment out in the front yard so she couldn't be accused of stealing anything from him.

She heard muffled sobbing and followed the sound to the little bathroom next to the kitchen. "Julie? Is that you? Come out here right now and let me beat you about the head," Jane said firmly.

The door opened a crack and Julie peered out with one eye. "Oh, Jane—" she wailed, suddenly opening the door and flinging herself into Jane's arms. "I'm so, so sorry. He's so horrible. I had no idea. What can I do? How can I ever, ever make this up to you?"

“By sitting down with the phone book right now and hiring a security firm to get over here right now and keep him from coming back into my house," Jane said, disentangling herself from Julie's embrace. "And
you're
paying for it."

“Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you. I'll do that," Julie babbled between sniffles and hiccups.

“There's a phone and phone book upstairs in my bedroom.”

Julie hurried to do as she was told.

Shelley came into the kitchen a second later. "Thank God you're here, Jane. I've been looking for you. I was afraid you were out looking for him with an Uzi."

“None of my Uzis are oiled. Or primed. Whatever. I don't really know what an Uzi is, come to think of it. But right now I wouldn't mind acquiring one.”

Mel entered the room as she was speaking. "Jane, that's not really funny.”

“Mel,
none
of this is funny!”

He knew when the river of affection was running at full flood the wrong way. "No, it's not. I'm sorry.”

She sighed. It wasn't his fault. "Is Todd back?”

Mel nodded. "Yes, all your chicks are home and safe in spite of all the traffic. The street looks like there's a parade going on with all the gawkers at the Johnsons' house.”

She smiled weakly. "And I guess everybody else has left, huh? Think of the leftovers we'll have. I hadn't even put the desserts out yet."

“No," Mel said. "You've still got a mob out there."

“You're kidding!" Jane edged around him and looked into the living room. He was right. "Why don't they go home while the getting's good?”

Shelley spoke up. "Some of them still think it's a joke. The rest are ghouls. By the way, that woman who lives next door to Suzie asked me what agency you used to hire the Johnsons. She thought they were actors pretending to be hillbillies.”

Suddenly Jane's accumulated tension dropped away. She started laughing. There was an edge of hysteria to it. "No, Shelley, don't get that look," she said between giggles. "And don't get any ideas about slapping me to my senses. I'm okay. It's just that—”