Read Unsympathetic Magic Online
Authors: Laura Resnick
Unsympathetic Magic (13 page)
“That’s beautiful,” I said, pointing to it.
She smiled, looking friendly for the first time. “It’s kente cloth. Also known as
nwentoma
. It has been popularized and misappropriated now, of course, but it’s originally native to the Akan people of Ghana and the Ivory Coast.” She nodded toward the cloth that draped the couch and said with pride of ownership, “That piece is genuine and dates from the early twentieth century.”
nwentoma
. It has been popularized and misappropriated now, of course, but it’s originally native to the Akan people of Ghana and the Ivory Coast.” She nodded toward the cloth that draped the couch and said with pride of ownership, “That piece is genuine and dates from the early twentieth century.”
“Very special,” I said politely.
“The ribbons of green color symbolize growth and spiritual renewal. This derives, of course, from green being the color of planting and harvest, of life renewing itself with each cycle of the agricultural seasons. The yellow symbolizes royalty and wealth, so this cloth may have belonged to royalty, or to someone connected to royalty. However, yellow can also symbolize fertility. Thus, combined with the green, this may have been a gift to a new bride, expressing a hope for fecundity and perpetual renewal of her womb. Alternatively, it may have been a celebratory gift to a new mother—a woman of status, obviously, since it was a costly item.”
Boy, and I had thought Max could sometimes prattle on too long without encouragement. He was an amateur compared to this woman.
Still, since I wanted a job from her, I feigned interest. “You can tell all that from the colors?”
So she talked about the colors some more (red was associated with bloodshed and sacrifice, purple with women, blah blah blah), and then she talked about the symbolic meaning of the pattern (more of the same), and
then
she talked about the legend of how kente cloth had originated (two guys got the idea from a spider’s web).
then
she talked about the legend of how kente cloth had originated (two guys got the idea from a spider’s web).
Frankly, I was starting to wonder if her husband had died of boredom.
Still, it wasn’t that difficult to guess what had first attracted Martin Livingston to her. She was a good-looking woman with a well-maintained figure that was shown off to advantage today by a sleeveless sheath dress. Her smooth blond hair was pulled back in a stylish chignon, and her makeup was skillfully applied with a light hand. A lot of men would look twice at her. And if Martin had also shared her loquacious fascination with “ritual weaving and the symbolic visual language of traditional African cultures,” then the marriage was probably a match made in heaven.
I, however, was finding Catherine’s company a bit of an endurance test. I was just starting to think I didn’t really want this job after all, since it might mean bumping into her on a regular basis, when she gave a rueful little laugh and said, “Oh, dear, I’ve done it again.” She smiled at me. “You must forgive me, Hester.”
“Esther.”
“I tend to get carried away when the conversation turns to a subject that I find so interesting.”
I refrained from pointing out that it wasn’t a conversation, it was a monologue. A long one.
Jeff said to me, “You’ll learn a lot, working here.”
“Indeed,” I said, hoping that my gaze would turn him into stone.
“Ah, yes,” Catherine said. “That brings us to the subject at hand. I gather from Jeff that your filming schedule allows you enough time to take over the responsibility for some of his workshops that he has abdicated this summer?”
Ouch. I resisted the urge to look at Jeff to see if he was wincing.
“Yes. I’m waiting for the production office to reschedule me for another scene or two, but that will probably be a nighttime shoot. And my other job is mostly at night, too.”
“Other job?” they said in unison.
“I’m a singing server at Bella Stella.”
Jeff said in surprise, “You’re waiting tables?” Apparently he’d assumed my
D30
gig was a steady thing.
D30
gig was a steady thing.
“And singing.” I said pleasantly to Catherine, “Maybe you’ve heard of Bella Stella? There was a mob hit there about two months ago. Chubby Charlie Chiccante got it right in the chest and died while I was waiting on him during the dinner shift. The story was in all the tabloids.”
Sometimes I just can’t help myself.
Catherine’s carefully blank expression didn’t change as she looked from me to Jeff. As if she were silently accusing him of that murder, he held up his hands and said, “Hey, I was in LA two months ago.”
She looked at me again. “My, what interesting stories of the actor’s life you will be able to share with our students here at the Livingston Foundation.”
Jeff jumped in. “Does that mean you’re approving her as my sub?”
“I don’t have time to look for someone myself, Jeffrey. Nor do I know anything about acting. So I’ll have to trust your judgment.” She added, “Besides, thanks to how unreliable your first choice was, we need someone immediately, don’t we?”
“Esther’s reliable,” he said.
“I’m reliable,” I said.
“Actually, she was my first choice,” Jeff lied, “but her shooting schedule at the time meant she couldn’t do it. But now Frank is out of the picture, and Esther’s available. So it’s all good.”
“If you say so.” Catherine turned to me. “Jeff will show you around and explain how things work here. When he’s not available—which is often, I’m afraid, ever since he took this other job—you’ll probably have to come to me for whatever you need. I’m terribly busy, but will fit you in as best I can. Sadly, our administrator died unexpectedly a few weeks ago, so things are in disarray until we can replace him.”
“Darius was the administrator here?” I blurted.
Her facial register of emotions was subtle, but I saw that she was surprised. “You knew Darius?”
“Not exactly.” If Jeff could lie, so could I. “But Jeff was telling me earlier about his death. Very sad. He was only thirty-seven?”
Jeff gave me a sharp glance but remained silent.
“Yes,” Catherine said, revealing some sadness. “He was still a young man. It was a terrible thing. And we’re quite lost without him, I’m afraid. I didn’t realize how much we relied on him here until he was gone.”
I said, “A ruptured intestine, Jeff told me.” Now my former boyfriend turned his head and gave me a hard stare. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know much about it.” Catherine shook her head. “I gathered that it was one of those anomalous tragedies. The sort of unpredictable physical disaster that can strike a person at any time. Even someone with access to good medical care in a wealthy society.”
“Had he been complaining of any symptoms?” I asked.
She seemed to search her memory. “Not as far as I know. Jeffrey?”
Jeff shrugged. “I hardly ever talked to him.”
“Was there a police investigation?” I asked. “I mean, someone so young dying so suddenly like that . . .”
She gave me a look that indicated she found the question peculiar. “I haven’t heard of any police involvement.” She looked inquisitively at Jeff. He didn’t notice, because he was looking at me.
I asked, “Did Darius get along well with everyone here?”
“I believe so.” Catherine’s cool tone hinted that I was fast wearing out my welcome now.
I knew I would feel silly asking my next question, but I also didn’t want to face Max’s disappointment if I didn’t ask it. “Did he have any enemies?”
“You seem very . . .
interested
in his death, for someone who didn’t ‘exactly’ know him,” Catherine observed.
interested
in his death, for someone who didn’t ‘exactly’ know him,” Catherine observed.
“We met once, and it was a very memorable occasion,” I said truthfully. “Did he ever mention being afraid of anyone?”
“No.”
“Did he have any unusual religious practices? Or, um, interesting hobbies?”
Catherine said, “Jeff, I believe you have a class shortly?”
“Yes, I do.” He stood up quickly. “Let’s go, Esther.”
“Was Darius dating anyone?”
Jeff’s hand slid under my elbow, and he pulled me to my feet. “We’ve taken enough of her time, Esther.”
“I’m sorry.” I smiled at Catherine. “I tend to get carried away when the conversation turns to a subject that I find so interesting.”
“Thanks, Catherine.” Jeff hauled me to the door. “And this will work out well this time. I swear.”
He opened the door and shoved me through it.
I came eye to eye with a large snake. Its sleek head weaved toward me as its tongue flicked out at me.
I choked on a frightened gasp and staggered backward on my high- heeled boots. Losing my footing, I fell against Jeff, who staggered backward, too, as my weight hit him. We careened into the chairs we had just been sitting in. One chair fell over with a clatter, taking Jeff with it. My ankle turned as I tried to save my balance, and I flew sideways over Jeff and hit the floor. I banged my head on the corner of Catherine’s desk. The pain was excruciating.
I lay there in a fetal position, eyes squeezed shut, sucking in noisy gasps of air between my teeth as I tried not to pass out or burst into tears.
“Esther?” I heard Max call, sounding alarmed.
“Ungh,”
was the only response I could manage.
was the only response I could manage.
I flinched and opened my eyes when I felt something touch me, but relaxed when I saw it was Max. He squatted down, helped me sit up, and tried to examine my head.
Then he said, “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“I don’t care.” I closed my eyes again.
He said patiently, “I’m trying to ascertain—”
“I know.” I touched my skull gingerly. “I think it’s just pain. Not a concussion.” I opened my eyes once more, and I saw that Jeff was hauling himself slowly to his feet.
“What the
hell . . . ?
” Then Jeff saw the snake. “Oh!” He looked at me. “Maybe I should have warned you about that.”
hell . . . ?
” Then Jeff saw the snake. “Oh!” He looked at me. “Maybe I should have warned you about that.”
“You think?” I snapped.
I’m not hysterically phobic, but—like a
lot
of people, I thought irritably—I’m scared enough of snakes to have a strong startle-reflex if I suddenly come face- to-face with one without warning.
lot
of people, I thought irritably—I’m scared enough of snakes to have a strong startle-reflex if I suddenly come face- to-face with one without warning.
Holding my hand over my aching skull, I glanced up at Catherine, who was standing nearby. She looked down at me with an expression that suggested she doubted my mental stability. Her gazed moved over me, and I realized that in my fall and subsequent agonized huddling, my tiny vinyl skirt had ridden up to my waist. The flimsiness of Jilly’s purple fishnet stockings ensured that everyone in the room had an excellent view of my underpants.
The skirt was too tight for me to pull it down while I was in a sitting position, so I tugged on Max to signal to him that I wanted help standing up. With his assistance, I rose to my feet, then straightened my little skirt while he averted his gaze.
“Mambo Celeste,” Catherine said. “Are you all right?”
There was a short, heavyset black woman standing in the doorway. Her expression was wide-eyed with astonishment as she stared at me, apparently as stunned by my tawdry appearance as she was surprised by my dramatic reaction to her entrance. There was a big, thick snake draped around her shoulders. Both of her hands protectively cradled it, as if my antics might disturb or harm the reptile—which was at least six feet long, maybe eight.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” The woman patted the snake and spoke to it soothingly. “And Napoleon is all right, too, aren’t you,
mon petit?
”
mon petit?
”
She spoke with a slight accent, and she gave the snake’s name a distinctly French pronunciation.
All of my attention had been claimed by the snake’s face coming straight at me when Jeff had opened the door and shoved me through it. But now that I got a good look at Mambo Celeste, I was a little surprised that she had faded into the background even for that shocked instant. A broad and round woman, she wore a colorful, floor-length dress of beautiful, brightly patterned blue, black, and white cloth sewn in a pattern of cascading folds that emphasized her girth with regal results. A scarf of matching material was wrapped around her head. Beaded earrings dangled from her ears, and a simple gold cross hung around her neck. I thought she was probably somewhere in her fifties. Her face was jowly and lined, and she looked like someone who frowned more often than she smiled.
“I’m fine, too, thanks,” Jeff said sourly. “But you should stop carrying that damn snake around the building, Celeste. People get startled, go figure.”
“
Mambo
Celeste,” she corrected him coldly. “And I did not know there were strangers here.”
Mambo
Celeste,” she corrected him coldly. “And I did not know there were strangers here.”
“
I’m
not a stranger,” Jeff said, “and I don’t like bumping into that thing. Neither do half my students.”
I’m
not a stranger,” Jeff said, “and I don’t like bumping into that thing. Neither do half my students.”
Mambo Celeste’s eyes flashed. “Napoleon is not a
thing
. And if people are afraid of him, it is only because they do not understand.”
thing
. And if people are afraid of him, it is only because they do not understand.”
Jeffrey scowled. “What
I
don’t understand—”
I
don’t understand—”
“Jeffrey,” Catherine said anxiously.
“—and what my aching sacroiliac doesn’t understand . . .” He rubbed the recently-insulted portion of his anatomy. “. . . is how you can think it’s a good idea to have a reptile that’s taller than
I
am on the loose in a building that’s always full of kids!”
I
am on the loose in a building that’s always full of kids!”
Other books
Gluttony by Robin Wasserman
Wildflower by Prudence MacLeod
What The Heart Wants by Gadziala, Jessica
Gone to Soldiers by Marge Piercy
Out of My Mind by Andy Rooney
Overruled by Emma Chase
The Grub-And-Stakers House a Haunt by Alisa Craig, Charlotte MacLeod
Robert W. Walker by Zombie Eyes
Where You'll Find Me by Erin Fletcher
Worth the Risk by Robin Bielman
