The Queen Gene (22 page)

Anjoli shuddered. “I feel so violated, darling,” she said. “Who knew it was going to be a cathedral in here?”

While my mother felt violated by the abundance of crucifixes, I felt we had invaded Chantrell’s privacy and was eager to get out of her home. Of course, I owned the place, but going in without her prior knowledge was something I hadn’t thought through well enough. I felt as though Chantrell would be justifiably angry if she discovered we’d been in her home. I also had the feeling I was going to burn in eternal damnation. “Let’s get out of here,” I suggested to Anjoli. “Shelia, be quick about it and meet us outside.”

“Have you gone mad, darling?” Anjoli protested. “We haven’t seen her bedroom. I’ve got a hundred bucks that says she’s crossed the mattresses over each other and is sleeping on a Posturepedic crucifix.”

“Mother!” I scolded.

Shelia began ringing bells, ignoring my mother’s and my argument.

“Darling, why would you want to deprive me of such fun? I’m looking forward to seeing what other goodies she’s got. What do you say we leave a little cross in the bathroom, right above the toilet paper, and write ‘Holy shit’ on it?”

I couldn’t tell whether or not she was kidding, but with Anjoli, it’s best to err on the side of caution. “I don’t think a devout Catholic would find that very funny.”

“Oh, pooh!” Anjoli pouted to the sound of tingsha bells. “Let’s go check her underwear drawer to see if she’s got panties with days of the week on them. Christ, that’s so Catholic! I’ll grab a marker and we can write ‘Ash’ over Wednesday and ‘Good’ before Friday. Surely the girl has some sense of humor and would appreciate a little joke, darling.”

As Anjoli contemplated her sophomoric pranks and Shelia rang bells in every corner of the rooms, I wondered about how this ultra-Catholic Irish woman reconciled having an affair with a married man just a few months ago. Sure, my hedonistic heathen of a mother ran around with the gold band crowd, but that was to be expected. How did Chantrell, the earthy musician with a thing for Christ, cat around with the Frenchman next door? I remembered that I should call Renee and see how she was doing — if Dan had agreed to go to marriage counseling as we had discussed. When we last spoke, Renee said she was going to insist that they get counseling or pack a suitcase for him, though I suspected that the last part was more of a throwaway line.

“Okay, we’re outta here,” said Shelia after about three minutes of bell-ringing.

We’re outta here?
I expected this from a cab driver, not a spirit remover.

“Show me the next place,” Shelia demanded. “You know I’m going to have to charge extra, right? When I talked to Angie on the phone, she didn’t say anything about all these corners.”

Petting Mancha’s smooth head, Anjoli stopped and looked up at me.
It’s on me
, she mouthed. “Does baby want a treat?” She reached into the side pocket of her purse and fed Mancha a tiny brick-red pellet.

My heart pounded like a drum at a virgin sacrifice when we reached Randy’s house. He came to the door in his white t-shirt and jeans, squinted and smiled at me, then looked at my mother and Shelia. “Hey, what’s up, Lu?” he asked.
Oh, you know, nothing special. At the sound of your voice uttering my name — my shortened name at that — my nipples just sprang to life, and I’ll need to change my panties. Same old, same old.

“Hey, Rand,” I said, mentally kicking myself for the ridiculous attempt to imitate his style. “This is probably going to sound a bit bizarre,” I began.
He is smirking! Is he smirking or smiling? How does he get half of his mouth to turn up like that while the other half stays put? How full are those lips?
“But my mother’s friend, Shelia, is taking a class on ghost-busting,” I lied, rolling my eyes at the absurdity. “And my mother told her she could practice here because there are, um” — my confidence waned as I spoke the next words — “there are, um, so many corners for, um, for her to ring her tingsha bells in.”

I was standing slightly in front of Anjoli and Shelia and hoped to God that they had enough discretion to refrain from making any quizzical facial expressions.

“Tingsha bells?” Randy repeated.

I raised my eyebrows and rolled my eyes so the women behind me couldn’t see. “I told you it was an odd request, but she really needs to do our whole place or she’ll get a bad grade on the assignment.”

“Oh, it’s not that,” Randy said with a laugh. Was it my imagination or was he looking at me more than the other women? I suppose I was the one speaking to him, but it seemed as though his eyes broke contact with mine only rarely. “I just wonder why you’re using tingsha bells. My mom always burns the wands.”

“Juniper wands?” Shelia chimed in.

Randy nodded. “I think so.”

“Those are only for cleansing. We need to get rid of the
sha chi
in here,” Shelia said.

“There’s no
sha chi
in here,” Randy began. “I only see three beautiful women in my home.” God save us from our girlish idiocy, but we all giggled. Even Mancha. “Go ahead and do what you need, Lu. You know my place is yours.”

I wasn’t sure what to quiver about first. He said my name, not the other two so-called beautiful women. I absolutely loved the Lu business. And, my place is yours. Okay, technically, it’s just an accurate representation of the ownership status of the property, but when he said it, I felt our bodies wrapped around each other’s in a naked embrace. Good God, if I were glass, I’d shatter too.

“How do you know about all of this space-clearing stuff?” I asked.

“My mom is into all that new age philosophy,” he answered. “We’re from Northern California.”

“Principles, darling,” Anjoli added. “The spiritual principles that your mother follows have been around longer than any religion, so calling them philosophies is really quite condescending.”

Shut up, Mother!

“Okay, I’m done,” said Shelia.

“That was fast,” slipped out. “I mean, you took less than a minute. Randy’s got some serious
sha chi
here. Everything he touches breaks, and he works with glass! That’s some serious stuff, Shelia. Maybe you should do another round.”

Randy smiled. “I thought this was a school assignment.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t take it seriously, does it?” I returned without hesitation. “I think people should throw themselves into everything they do fully and passionately.”
Holy fuck, did I just say that aloud?
“They should be conscientious and committed,” I corrected.

“It’ll be extra,” Shelia said.

“Extra credit!” I said, bursting with nervous energy. I wondered if there was a new age term for my neurotic Jewish energy that seemed to have a life of its own.
Yid chi?
“Shelia, you’re such a dedicated
student
that I know you’ll want to go for that extra credit. Now spin your wand and do your thing.”

“Bells,” Randy corrected.

Shelia shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

“So are you,” I blurted.

What?! What did I just say?

Chapter Twenty-Six

When Chantrell returned from her shopping excursion with Jacquie, she was not too happy about discovering that we had been in her home. I don’t blame her, but her reaction was a bit much. She dropped her shopping bags as soon as she crossed the threshold and stormed back outside shouting. Anjoli, Shelia, and I came out from Randy’s cottage to see what all of the commotion was about. “I want to know who’s been in my house!” she shouted. Before anyone could answer, she shrieked again. “Don’t stand there looking like fools. Tell me who’s been in my goddamned house.”

Anjoli muttered, “All of those crosses and she calls it a goddamned house.”

“What’s going on out here?” said Jacquie, who had only been in her own home for a moment.

“Someone’s been in my home, and I demand to know who before I call the police!” Chantrell shouted. A few shopping trips with Jacquie and she was a regular protégé.

“Chantrell, calm down,” I said as I watched Shelia shuffle uncomfortably. Mancha sat upright in Anjoli’s purse, an eager audience. “We were inside for a few minutes to make a few repairs.”

There, that should settle it.

“Repairs?! What kind of repairs did you need to make?!” she demanded.

“Look, this is
my
home and I need to do maintenance on it,” I said firmly. “None of your personal items were touched, so there’s no need for the drama, Chantrell!”

She flew toward me with a hand raised in the air as if she were going to throw a punch. “This is the worst vacation I’ve ever had!”

“Vacation?!” my mother and I shouted simultaneously. “Now you listen here,” I took over. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re living here rent-free so you can compose music and do your cockamamie cello research on vegetables. So far, you haven’t put together two notes other than the ‘ows’ and ‘ahs’ that have been coming from you and Maxime.”

With that, Jacquie gasped. “You swore that was over, Chantrell!”

They discussed it?! When, over red wine and cigarettes at an outdoor café with French accordion music in the background?

“It
is
over!” Chantrell defended. “She’s trying to take attention away from her breaking and entering.”

Anjoli opened her mouth to yell at Chantrell, but before she could speak, we all gasped at the sight of a blaze of red hair falling down the front steps of the guest house. Chantrell screamed when she landed at the bottom and sobbed weakly. “My ankle,” she sniffed. “It’s broken, I can tell.”

Before we could react, a thunderous crash of glass came from Randy’s house. “Crap!” he shouted. He came outside with his hand wrapped in paper towel to stop the bleeding. “What happened out here?” It was appalling to think that this wretched Irish woman’s shouting jarred Randy to the point where he broke more glass. No one responded. We were interrupted by Maxime who came outside to announce that he was going to kill himself.

“Get me to a friggin’ hospital already,” Chantrell demanded.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” Randy said as he moved toward Chantrell to help her up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Randy,” I said. “Your hands are bleeding. I’ll take her.” I felt noble and good. Then I remembered that I’d be spending several hours alone with Chantrell, and I just felt sick. “Mom, will you run upstairs and tell Jack what’s happened? Tell him I’ll be home as soon as I can. Will you take care of Shelia please? And remind Jack that Adam has Kinder Music this afternoon.” Turning to Chantrell, “Oh, right, you need help getting up.” I held out a hand.

“Why don’t I come with you?” Randy asked.

With me? Or with her? Can we rewind tape so I can see who that comment was directed toward, please?

“That’s sweet of you to want to help Chantrell, but I can manage,” I said to Randy.

“I was thinking
you
could use a hand,” he said.
Bingo.

“Excuse me, but I am going to kill myself!” Maxime repeated. “Does no one care that I’m going to die?”

Jacquie walked inside and shouted to us, “Is there a morgue at the hospital? Take Maxime there for me, please.” I was shocked. The woman actually knew the word “please.”

I overheard Shelia tell my mother that there were multiple ghosts in my home and they were angry at our attempts to remove them. “It happens sometimes. You can’t leave it like this or you’re going to have a ghost revolution. Who knows how many of them are here?”

* * *

We waited about three hours in the hospital emergency room before Chantrell was seen by a doctor. I declined to go into the exam room with her, and instead asked Randy if he wanted to go on a Prozac hunt with me. “A what?” he asked, smirking.

“You saw how Maxime was acting,” I said. “It would be immoral for me to be in a hospital and
not
try to steal some happy pills for him. He’s my responsibility.”

“Lu,” Randy said softly, giving me that same look he did back at the house. Then he brushed my hair behind my shoulder. I felt a bit guilty that my hair had a fling. “You can’t feel responsible for the whole world.”
Oh my God,
I silently thought.
This man knows me.
“The artists, your mother, that friend of yours with the cheating husband,” he said, conveniently omitting any mention of Jack or Adam. “They’re all grownups who can take care of their own lives. You need to focus on yourself and your boy.”
I couldn’t agree more. Me and my boy. Oh, I think he means Adam, not himself.
“When was the last time you did something for yourself?”
Um, the last time I tried to entertain a failed light bulb fantasy about you.
“Didn’t you say you’re a writer?” he asked.
Oh, we’re talking about work?
“I’ve never seen you write. You never mention anything you’re working on.”

“I have a book coming out in November,” I said, proudly.

“Nah, that’s great. Lu, don’t get me wrong. You’re awesome, but I hate to see how much time and energy you take away from your own deal by babysitting everyone else.”

Was he right? Was I too invested in everyone else’s life and neglecting my own? Did this guy know me well enough to make such an observation?

“So, you don’t want to steal pills?” I said, hoping to dodge the subject.

He laughed. “Lu, think about what I said,” he said, placing his hand slightly above my knee. “I’d like to help you out.”

Whoa! Direct hit. Was I imagining things or did he just make a vague and oblique offer to slam my naked body against a wall and pound himself into me? Or, um, something of the sort.

There was a thick cloud of sexual chemistry hovering in the hospital waiting room that evening. It didn’t quite blend with the antiseptic, but I enjoyed it for what it was — a time when real life was put on pause and I could float in an alternative reality where dirty diapers and haunted houses were replaced by extended gazes and welling lust. I felt simultaneously thrilled and terrified. It was one thing to admire a hot young artist. It was an entirely different thing when he seemed mutually interested.