Venus Envy (14 page)

“I’ve no doubt of that,” Ruru mumbled with her mouth full. “You’re not holding back, girl, are you?”

“Uh—no. If I keep this up no one will ever talk to me again but I feel so
good.”

“Laura still hot on the tendril school of coiffure?” Ruru darted into the kitchen and grabbed herself a Coke. The salt from the chips was making her thirsty. She came back and plopped down with her feet hanging over the arm of the chair.

“If she were Jewish I’d swear she was Hasidic.”

“If she were Jewish she’d be more intelligent.” Ruru reached in for a gargantuan handful. She slipped some chips to the J.R.’s. Chief and Marco began to look interested in joining the party as the little dogs merrily crunched. “’Course, I suppose even a smart girl could fall in love with Carter. He’s damnably attractive.”

“You know, Mandy told me to put a tail on her and I did.”

“Huh?”

“A detective.”

“That kind of tail.” Ruru knitted her eyebrows together. “Whatever for? Laura would never have an affair. She’d lose her whip hand over your brother. I mean, she has to be a martyr, a sinned-against woman. La-dee-dah and crapola. But hey, you get points for that in this town. Maybe Laura should be Catholic.”

“You’re awful.”

“I’m awful? I didn’t salt my sister-in-law’s lunch with rat poison. Mary Frazier, do you think you’re going through a phase? You grew out of this stuff at puberty. Of course, I liked you better before.” Her eyes twinkled.

Frazier played with the signet ring on her left hand. “I’m going through something.”

“Now, let’s get back to this detective business.”

By now Chief and Marco had crept into the living room and lay next to Ruru’s chair.

“Mandy suggested I take a closer look. Well, I can’t
recall exactly how she put it but it was one of her brainstorms, or hunches. She said the guilty dog barks first. Actually, Terese said that the other day when I got a haircut. Well, no matter.”

Ru swung her legs over the chair arm and sat upright. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the detective discovered Laura has a secret life? If Terese was right? Let’s see what would be a deep, dark secret to Laura—abortion counseling.”

“Auntie Ru!” Frazier laughed.

“To change the subject, how is Mandy?”

“Breaking up with her boyfriend, Sean. She’s been breaking up with him for the last year. Not that I know the whole story. Snippets. Must be tough for a highly intelligent, beautiful black woman to find the right guy.”

“The difficulty is in the intelligence. The rest of the package is fine. ‘Course, it’s hard for a bright white girl too. Men seem to prefer dumb women. Maybe you have to be dumb to work for free, which is what most women do. Ironing for love. Think, if I wrote a book about it could I get on the talk shows?”

“Sure—but you don’t iron. You never did.”

“Don’t be literal, Frazier. It doesn’t become you. My husband survived.” She sank back into the chair. “Not a day goes by I don’t think about my Paul and not a day goes by without my wishing he was here with me but I bow to the will of the Lord. Maybe heaven needed plumbers. Shit, that’s what I hate about getting old. You fight the losing-of-your-looks part until somewhere in your fifties and then you give in. That’s not so bad. What I hate is the dying part. Everybody dies. The memories they take with them.”

“But you hold the memories.”

“Only the ones I know. What did Paul know that I didn’t? Did he remember when automobile makers
created the semiautomatic?—a memory that would mean something to him—or maybe he was alone sailing one day and the light played across the water just so. Who knows what’s in another human head and then it’s lost. Forever lost.” She put the chips on the holey rug for the dogs. Ru was careful to divide the snacks first or an unpleasant fight would have erupted. “How did I get on this subject? Squawk, bleech, reep.” She sounded like changing radio stations. “And now back to Mary Frazier Armstrong and her life crisis.”

Frazier giggled, her green eyes brightening. “You’re nuts.”

“I hope so, because what passes for sane scares the bejesus out of me. But really, kiddo, what’s cooking?”

Frazier, palms up, gestured that she didn’t know. “I feel good.”

“You’ve established that. Feeling a bit impulsive, are we?”

“Yeah.” Her grin revealed those perfect teeth.

“That’s fine but remember that people aren’t accustomed to your behaving that way. They’re accustomed to me being spontaneous but not you. Add your recent revelation to the picture and you can understand that, well, things are dicey right now. I haven’t heard a peep, so it’s not around town just yet.”

“No one will ever see me as the same person, will they?”

“Probably not. If you continue to place rat poison in other people’s food, I would have to say their view of you will change forever.” Ru spoke kindly. “And, darlin’, some people will never get past it once the word’s out that you’re gay. You will be reduced to an object. It’s not fair but that’s the way it is. If you wear a purple skirt people will say it’s because you’re a lesbian. You own an art gallery. They’ll say that gay people are always artistic.
You have a dog and a cat and live alone. Lesbians always have cats, don’t they? You’ll be shorn of your individuality. But to those people who are full people themselves you’ll be what you are and what you choose to share.”

“I think”—Frazier groped for words—“I know that. But I don’t feel it yet.”

“You’ve spent most of your adult life repressing your feelings. Give them time to catch up to you. You’re not used to you.”

“Auntie Ru, what would I do without you?”

“Stumble around in the dark and feel wretched,” Ru kidded.

M
ARCH 17, THAT LUCKY DAY, TURNED ICY AS A WITCH’S
tit. The wind had teeth; the daffodils had croci bent to the ground. Saint Patrick’s Day provided climatic memories. One year the holiday would be deep in pure snow and the following year it might be sixty degrees with bright sunshine. Neither snow, nor sleet, nor driving rain could keep the Irish from their exuberant frolic.

The ballroom of the country club, a cavernous but well-proportioned space, was festooned with green and white. White silk parachutes hung from the ceiling, creating a cozy atmosphere, a triumph considering the architecture. Beautiful ceramic pots overflowing with shamrocks in bloom provided centerpieces on each table. Monumental green sashes topped with golden and green ribbons covered the walls, and the bandstand had been transformed into a corner of the Emerald Isle. The
bandleader, trumpet in hand, stood on sod. Leprechauns served drinks.

The gentlemen were in white tie and many wore shamrocks as boutonnieres. The ladies, resplendent in jewels and gowns, glided across the dance floor like colorful moving sculptures.

Laura, a paradise of chinchilla, entered on Carter’s arm. Libby and Frank had arrived before them and were seated at a table some distance from the dance floor because Libby always complained that the band was too loud and she couldn’t hear herself think.

As Carter and Laura pushed through the crowd they waved at friends. Arriving a few minutes after her brother and sister-in-law came a solitary Frazier. Her low-cut dress, dramatically white, snapped heads around. She wore her emerald and diamond choker with matching earrings. The green was her nod to the Irish.

She’d debated whether to come or not. Billy Cicero was to have been her date but he never called, not even to cancel. She was determined not to call him. Coralling a date, an acceptable male, at such late notice was like the search for the Holy Grail. She could have stayed home and avoided the stares of those who knew, but the more she thought about it, the more determined she was to attend. If you hid away, then it looked as though you were ashamed of what you were. She was going to the ball and if people wanted to talk, let them. What had they done for the world lately?

She sat between her father and brother, wisely avoiding Scylla and Charybdis—Libby and Laura—who already glared at her like clashing rocks. Frazier smiled at the two women and talked to Frank.

“Where’s your date, honey?”

“I don’t know.”

Carter butted in. “I’m delighted not to have to sit with Billy Cicero.”

“Riding to cocktails, I see.” Frazier spoke acidly to Carter. He’d already had a few. “No, you don’t have to sit with Billy. Kenny called and left a message on my machine but the machine cut it off. So … who knows?”

“Guy could screw up a wet dream.” Carter failed to clarify which man he meant.

Frazier wrinkled her nose. The distinct scent of Sarah Saxe curled into her nostrils. She patted Carter’s broad shoulder. “Let’s dance, creep.”

Carter stood up and held his sister’s chair.

Laura pouted. “You’re supposed to dance with your wife first and last, Carter, darling.”

“Not this time … darling.” Carter smiled the smile of a man utterly disgusted and bored with his wife.

Out on the dance floor brother and sister synchronized their bodies. They had grown up practicing various dance steps with each other.

“Brudda, what are you doing running around town telling people I’m gay?”

He pressed the palm of his hand into the small of her back. “I got drunk at Buddy’s. Anyway, if you are, you are. Why should I hide it? Don’t tell people news if you want it kept a secret.”

“The circumstances were bizarre.”

Carter thought about that a few moments. “That’s the truth.” Then he added, “But once you’re out of the closet you can’t go back in again.”

“I can rattle off a few famous names who have tried.”

“Candyasses.”

Frazier considered Carter’s summary judgment, as well as his sentiments concerning her. “Look, you’re right. I am what I am but don’t use it against me as a weapon.
My letter to you wasn’t ugly. I meant it. Cut the traces and run.”

Carter peered over his sister’s creamy shoulder and beheld his wife busy in conversation with Isabelle Harper, another Garden Club member. “I wish I could—but I’d lose every penny. She’s vindictive. She’d take me to the cleaners—and I don’t have much to take.”

“What if you had just cause?”

“That would simplify the process but Laura is perfect, you know—and as cold as a wedge.”

“Who knows? Something might turn up.” At that moment Frazier prayed the detective would dig up some dirt.

“Damn,” Carter exclaimed, then twirled Frazier around so she could see Billy Cicero lightly jump down the steps into the ballroom, then turn and hold his hand out to Ann Haviland. He was followed by Kenny Singer, escorting Courtney Wood.

“Billy and Ann—the Immaculate Deception,” Frazier blurted out.

“Fuck ’em,” Carter said.

“No, un-fuck him. Fucking’s too good for him.” She put her head on Carter’s shoulder. “I smell Sahara’s perfume on your neck.”

“You do?” His eyes widened; then he laughed. “There are many parking spaces in my heart.”

“That’s not where I’d put them.”

Carter and Frazier returned to the table, where Carter ordered and downed two scotches in quick succession while Laura grilled Frazier about why Billy was squiring Ann and not her.

Libby inserted her two cents: “He’s flighty. Guess he wants to play the field.”

“Oh, Mother, he’s a flaming faggot.” Carter draped his arm around his mother’s chair.

“Don’t use those kinds of words around me.” Libby ruffled her feathers.

“Son, it’s not proper to be talking out of school about a friend of Frazier’s.”

“Hell, she knows, Daddy.” Carter let the cat out of the bag. “She’s as queer as he is.”

“Carter, Carter, you take that back this instant. I demand that you apologize to your father.” Libby’s jaw clenched shut and her voice rasped.

Frazier felt this was like watching a train wreck, and she was a passenger.

“Sistergirl, I didn’t mean it exactly the way it sounded.” Carter, ignoring his father, apologized to his sister.

“What’s going on?” Frank couldn’t stay out of this one.

“Billy Cicero’s a jerk, that’s what’s going on. He was supposed to bring Frazier to the dance but when she thought she was dying she wrote him one of her notorious letters and he’s avoiding her. That’s as near as I can figure it.” Carter sounded almost sober.

“He’s drunk.” Libby grabbed Frank’s hand to pull him up for a dance.

Frank remained in his chair like a carved granite statue of Buddha, too heavy to budge.

“I’m always drunk.” Carter grinned at his mother.

“Now this is silly.” Laura’s voice dripped in honey and falseness. “Carter, darlin’, let’s dance.”

“No.” Carter flatly refused.

“Then dance with me.” Libby swayed in her seat like a cobra.

“I want to get to the bottom of this.” Frank could be stubborn on occasion. This was the occasion.

“Big Daddy,” Laura hummed, “this is just a little misunderstanding. We can clear it up after the dance.”

“Did you write letters?” Frank directed his hazel eyes to Frazier.

“Yes, I did, Pop.”

“Frank, I want to dance.” Libby ran her finger up the back of his neck. He ignored her.

Carter, sensing what he’d done, joined in Laura’s appeal for a postponement. “Dad, we really can sort this out later. I opened my mouth before thinking.”

“A not uncommon occurrence.” Frank shot him a withering look. “Frazier, you thought you were dying, you wrote letters, and you didn’t have anything to say to me?”

“Frank, forget this.” Libby was desperate.

“Daddy, I wrote you a long letter and I can’t remember all of it. It was a painful and miserable night but I don’t think I put down anything I didn’t believe to be true and I wrote that I loved you.”

“Where’s my letter?”

Libby rose to find a dance partner. Frazier pulled her back down.

“You’ll hurt her wrist,” Laura cautioned.

“Stay out of this, Laura,” Carter warned.

“Did you mail my letter? Could it have gotten lost? Carter got his.”

“Yes, and Mother got hers.” Frazier couldn’t resist as Libby’s face turned puce.

“Where’s my letter?”

“It’s not rocket science, Dad. Figure it out.” Carter reached on the table behind him and drank every one of the drinks belonging to the people out on the dance floor.