Vicky Banning (18 page)

Hide in your room?
Vicky was about to exclaim, but Sarah had risen, and
Burton
stood as well, saying, “Oh, good. I’ve been looking forward to this. Thank you for reminding me. I must go and change.”

“What’s all this about a drill instructor?” Vicky asked, watching them leave. “What kind of drill?”

“You’ll meet him,”
Doris
said. “He should be here any minute. During the cold months, since the residents are stuck indoors without any exercise, the directors hire a part time gym teacher from the high school every fall, to conduct classes once a week.” She paused, a frown hardening her face. “He’s a bit pushy and sometimes upsets the residents. They don’t want to complain because, well, frankly, they’re all a bit afraid of him. He bullies them into exercising whether they want to or not.”

“
Doris
!” called a middle-aged man wearing a blue baseball cap and a baggy, gray sweat suit that was noticeably darker at the armpits. “My big,
big
girl.
Heh
,
heh
,
heh
. I told you,
 
you
shoulda
joined my classes. Now you look like you gotta reduce for two people.
Heh
,
heh
,
heh
.”

Doris
glared at him with undisguised disdain. “Vicky,” she said, turning to her, “meet John
Jaconewicz
. He likes to be called Jock.”

Vicky studied the overgrown boy, the imbecilic grin on his sweaty face, without offering to take the hand he held out to her. “What an unusual name,” she said. “Jerk, right? How did your parents…?”

“It’s Jock,” he quickly corrected.

“Oh,
Jock
,” Vicky exclaimed with a chuckle, enlightened interest showing on her face. “Named after the
itch
? Or the
strap
?”

The big man looked down at her, dumbfounded, as if trying to decide which option to choose.

Doris
glanced sideways at Vicky, a smile prodding the corners of her mouth. “This is Ms. Vicky Banning,” she said, “a new member of our little household since you were last here.”

“
Hiya
, Vicky,” Jock blared, as if assuming she was deaf. He knelt to her level and hugged her shoulder against his chest, saying, “I know we’re gonna be good buddies. We’ll loosen up them old bones a' yours. Just leave it
ta
me.”

Vicky would have bitten his nose off, but he stood up too quickly. She smiled her most artificial smile, saying, “My old bones, as you call them, are doing quite well, thank you, and I have no intention of leaving it up to
you
at all!”

“Oh, come now, little lady,” Jock said, laughing boisterously. He started to reach across her shoulders again.

“Hold it!” Vicky said, straight-arming him in the stomach. She then smiled prettily. “Do you like children?”

Jock was taken aback by the question. He looked blankly at her, then appeared to swagger at a standstill. “Why, sure!” he bellowed. “I love kids, got four of my own.”

“Well,” said Vicky lightly. “If you hope to have a fifth, I’d suggest that you keep your hands to yourself…or you’ll have to adopt!”

Her smile vanished. “And what do you mean by entering a home with your hat on, and in front of ladies, too? Take it off this instant and leave the room until you’re called. You’re an employee here, not a guest.”

Jock stormed off, the flaps of his ears scarlet and his hat crumpled in a fist.

“How
dare
he make cracks about your weight?” Vicky fumed. “When I was a girl, plump was fashionable and fifty was old, so who gives him the right to judge what ‘normal’ is?” Her hands were rigidly clenched before her on the table. “You might have to put up with that sort of thing, though God knows why, but I’m not going to—no one talks to my friends that way!”

There were moments of tense silence, before
Doris
said, “Thank you, Vicky. He’s a horrible person and I’ve always wanted to tell him off, but somehow the right words never came at the right time. The residents are somewhat afraid of him because he’s so big and brusque. But also they don’t complain because he so badly needs the work, to pay for his wife’s horrendous medical bills.”

“Well, if I ever come across him again, I’ll have a great many words to say to him. The
gall—
”

There was another long pause during which
Doris
watched Vicky’s taut lips twitch with unspoken anger as she glared at her cup. “Vicky?” she called softly.

“What!”

“If you’re ever going to get mad at me for something, give me a running start, won’t you?”

The image of
Doris
crouched for take-off, in gym shorts and a numbered tank-top, flashed across Vicky’s imagination. She began to chuckle despite herself; pent-up beads of anger dissolved like sugar in warm water. She laughed heartily, more at her own irritation than at
Doris
. She settled back into her chair. “You should see me when I really get angry,” she said with a wink, then started laughing again. “A bad temper can do a lot of damage, but it can also do a lot of good, too. Mine once got me pregnant.”

Not about to become Vicky’s “straight man” once again by feeding her material for punch-lines,
Doris
said, “You must have a unique metabolism. Most women have to swallow watermelon seeds.”

“No, really,” Vicky exclaimed. “Years ago, I came off-stage—we were playing in a little theatre in Sussex at the time—and caught Gerald coming out of the star’s dressing room. She was a beautiful, buxom woman who had the reputation for seducing every attractive male in whatever company she was working—I rather liked her, actually—anyway, when I saw where he’d been I flew into a rage and threatened to hit him over the head with a nearby violin.

“Poor Gerald, he was almost in a state of shock. He’d no idea I could be such a harridan, or how jealous a woman I could be…of course, I wouldn’t have admitted that at the time. He didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t deny that she’d tried to seduce him, but stated firmly that he’d refused her advances and that she’d been glad that he had. She liked both of us, but felt obliged to live up to her reputation…and Gerald was certainly attractive. Well, in truth, I did believe him, but I was in too much of a state at the time to be forgiving.”

Vicky laughed wickedly at the images from the past that were drifting through her mind. “The poor dear became desperate. He felt he had to prove his fidelity to me, and I let him…night after night after night…for weeks!”

“A
Halloween
party,” Vicky exclaimed to Roger on the phone. “I’d love to go. Is it to be a costume party? Where will it be held? When
is
Halloween, anyway?”

“Take it easy.” Roger laughed. “I thought you might be interested, but didn’t think you’d get so excited. It is a costume party, being held at a…‘boys’ bar called the Hideaway, about twenty miles north of here, and Halloween is a week from Friday. Any more questions?”

“Yes, can I bring Muffin along?”

“Muffin? What for?”

“I want to go as Dorothy on her way to Oz and Muffin can be my Toto. We can be an old couple still searching for
Kansas
…for some reason. Or, I’ll be Buster Brown with my dog
Tige
.”

 
“It certainly takes you a long time to make up your mind, doesn’t it?” Roger said after a moment. “You’d make a big hit in one of those outfits…but I’m afraid not.”

Vicky was surprised and not a little disappointed. “Why not? I’ll take good care of her, you know that.”

“I know,” Roger said, “but the party is going to be a mob scene; she’d be scared to death.”

“Oh, of course,” Vicky agreed. “I hadn’t thought of that. No problem. I’ll think of something else. I’m glad the party will be on a Friday, though. Now I won’t have to reschedule my rehearsals.”

“How are they going?”

“Pretty well,” Vicky said, with a bit of hesitation, “but I’m going to have to edit the play, shorten it. Too bad, too. It’s so beautifully written as it is. Sarah’s perfect for the role of Mrs. Savage, but the part’s really too long for her to memorize. Too many lines for a novice.”

“Why don’t you take the part?”

“My ego isn’t
that
big,” Vicky replied with a sigh. “Vicky Banning: producer, director, acting coach, and star. All I’d have to do next is form the Vicky Banning Fan Club and become its president. Anyway it would be much too much work. I’m quite happy with my little role as Mrs. Paddy. She hasn’t many lines, but the ones she has are fun.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

“Oh, you will, my darling. I’m not sure when we’ll do it, probably around the holidays, but you’ll surely be invited. Any progress on the Doris-Steve rematch?”

“That’s the second reason for my call,” Roger said. “
Doris
is coming over for dinner on Sunday and Steve and I would like you to join us.”

“
Er
, no,” Vicky muttered, after a pause. “I’m sorry, but I’ve made other plans I’m afraid.” It wasn’t true, but it was about time the threesome tried getting along without her being the ever-present buffer. Since they’d become enthused enough about something outside of themselves—her performance—to start talking again, they should be able to carry on from there without her help. “But, thank you anyway. I’d have loved to join three of my favorite people.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Roger said, sounding concerned. “Maybe we could put it off until another time then.”

“Don’t,” Vicky said. “See how things go among the three of you.” Her voice took on a wistful sigh. “I’m just an outsider, remember? Just a passing wave on the ocean of life.” While the flippant words left her mouth, she felt the sentiment of them permeate her being, made her long to settle…

“Oh,
really
, now,” Roger said, breaking up. “If that’s a line from your play, then I’m not at all sure I want to see it.”

Vicky cackled, breaking from the emotions that threatened to drown her in longing. “Watch it, sonny, or I’ll make you sit through my entire collection of Anna Russell recordings.”

“Who’s that?”

“Skip it,” Vicky said. “Long before your time, sweetie. What time will the party be, and when will you pick me up?”

“Late,” Roger said. “It won’t start until about ten or
eleven o’clock
. Why don’t you come to our place for dinner? Afterwards, we can change into our costumes and leave from here.”

“Sounds divine,” Vicky said. “Should I bring red wine or white?”

* * * *

“Ready or not, here I come,” Vicky called from the bedroom. One last check of her costume in the full length mirror and she opened the door. “Ta-
dum
,” she sang and waltzed into the living room, twirling and fluttering the tier upon tier of scalloped, pink chintz. She looked like an Austrian shade in a breezy window.

Muffin backed away from her with a series of high-pitched yips, then dashed for cover under a sofa.

Roger and Steve looked up at her from the armchairs flanking the fireplace, their looks startled at first, until they dissolved into laughter.

Vicky stopped mid-whirl to face them, hands clenched on her hips, face stern. “What’s so funny?” she snapped in as low a voice as she could manage. “I work my poor old fingers to the bone for almost two weeks making this outfit and all you can do is laugh? Ain’t you got no couth?”

The men laughed all the harder, Roger pointing a finger at her, trying to speak, but unable to form the words—so Vicky resumed her dance with great dignity, ignoring them.

“Those
ruffles!
” Roger manage to gasp. “Those awful pink ruffles! They look worse on you than they did in your bedroom! And…and…” He couldn’t continue.

“If Scarlett could wear drapes from
Tara
,” Vicky said, “I can wear the curtains from my room.”

“Who are you supposed to be?” Steve asked when he’d finally managed to control himself.

“Take your pick,” Vicky said, spreading her skirts as she curtsied low. “Either Tinker Bell—a good fairy, if there ever was one—the Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker Suite—or, my personal favorite, Billie Burke as Glenda the good witch of the East in
The Wizard of Oz.
”

Roger cracked up even more, blurting out, “With a Fu Manchu mustache?”

“That was your fourth choice: Fu Manchu in drag. Well,” she said with a haughty hike of her shoulders, “if you can’t have fun pretending you’re someone else, then why bother? That’s the whole idea behind acting. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to be conspicuous in an all-boys’ bar, now would I?” Daintily, she fluffed the layers of pink that surrounded her hair like a nimbus.

“Heaven forbid,” Roger said with mock horror. “Not
you
, certainly. No more than a peacock at a wren’s convention.”

“Seriously though, folks,” Vicky continued, ignoring Roger’s dig, “do you think this outfit is too drab? I’ve brought some ‘diamonds’ that I found at the five and dime store to liven up the outfit, if you think they’re needed.” She delved into the layers of frill and froth to bring forth a pair of horrendously garish earrings and attached them to her earlobes. They dangled to her shoulders and rested there, glinting like crumpled aluminum foil. “
Whatcha
think?”

Steve laughed again, saying, “I think you look like a drag queen’s Christmas tree!”

“Good!” Vicky exclaimed. “Then that’s what I’ll go as. Now you two stand up and let me see what sort of hunky guys I’m having as my escorts.”

The men stood, Steve dressed as an Indian brave with tasseled leggings and a deeply muscled chest that was bare beneath the open-flapped vest. Roger was decked out more flamboyantly in a Prince Charming ballet costume: a snug jacket of blue velvet, glittering with silver above revealing white tights, and a peaked cap perched atop his blond head.

Nice legs
, Vicky realized, surprised at their muscularity. “Turn around,” she ordered.

They both turned, but Roger turned back quickly, just as Vicky was reaching out to pinch his well-defined butt. “Ah-ah-ah,” he said, waving a finger at her. “Mother warned me about girls like you.”

Vicky blew him a kiss. “I doubt that your mother even
knew
about girls like me. You both look scrumptious, so let’s get on to the party and give them all a treat!”

The trek seemed endless to Vicky. They drove along bumpy back roads, through darkened woods,
criss
-crossing and weaving as if they were in an unlit labyrinth. “Where is this place?” she asked, after nearly an hour. “We should be halfway to
Canada
by now. Compared to this route, the Underground Railroad must have been a cinch.”

“It’s not much farther,” Steve said. “Just around the next bend.”

Vicky was sitting in the back seat, her dress spread out so that it reached from door to door; not that she’d flounced it at all, it just wouldn’t stay any closer to her. “I hope you boys don’t intend to drink too much,” she said. “I’d hate to be stranded out in the wilderness in this get-up. Someone might mistake me for an Easter basket and try to snatch my goodies.”

As the car rounded a clump of trees, the headlights shone into a wide oval clearing lined with every type of motor vehicle imaginable, from Harley-Davidsons to Mercedes, from ranch trucks to Rolls.

The
Hideway
—and it certainly was that—was a converted lodge built of fieldstone, with a wooden overhang above an encircling porch. From every window, amber lights flared out into the darkness, and music, unheard moments before, tumbled out through the open door along with the sounds of singing, laughter, and jumbled conversations.

“Sounds like a swinging party,” Vicky said as she struggled to pull herself through the car’s door. “Give a hand, will you?” she grunted. “I don’t think this dress wants to let go. It seems to have hardened.”

Roger pushed at the material through the right side door, while Steve pulled Vicky out and to her feet through the left one, tugging at the recalcitrant swirls of froth.

“Okay,” Vicky said, taking a deep breath when she’d emerged victorious from the clutches of the mad ruffles. “But fair warning: the first person who calls me a fag-hag gets a punch in the nose!”

Outside The Hideaway the air held a chill, but as Vicky stepped through the door she felt as if she were entering a sauna—all those warm bodies jammed into a single vast room. The ceiling was all but obscured by cigarette smoke and what she could see of the room was filled, wall-to-wall, with costumed male pulchritude.

As she wove her way between closely packed bodies, she hummed: “
Heaven, I’m in heaven.”
It was obvious that the macho image was in; sharp-edged beards abounded, as did ratty jeans, pierced ears, and fierce-looking tattoos—which Vicky suspected would disappear with the first shower.

“Steve! Roger!” a voice called from somewhere in the midst of the melee. A figure emerged, a study in leather from cap to boots, gleaming with an array of zippers, chains, snaps, clamps, and rings. If he’d fallen into a pool, the weight of his outfit alone would drag him to the bottom.
It’s amazing what you can do with basic black
, Vicky thought, and wondered how he’d look with dangle-chain earrings and a black leather fan.

“Don’t tell me,” she said to him. “Let me guess…you’re a hardware store in mourning, right?”

The man looked down at her, his look of surprise matching her own—it was Larry, her hairdresser! “Actually,” he said with concerted seriousness, “I’m supposed to be a mishandled chain letter, but I think I like yours better.”

“Aren’t you hot in that outfit? I mean you look hot and sexy, but aren’t you awfully warm as well?”

“Dying,” he whispered. “But one must keep up appearances, mustn’t one?”

“Indeed,” Vicky replied, flouncing her skirt. “One must ‘suffer’ for one’s art.”

Larry opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, thinking better of it. “I think I’ll just let that ride.”

“Hello, there,” Roger called from behind Vicky. “Remember us?”

“Hi.” Larry laughed, and shook hands all around. “I hoped you’d show up this time. And leave it to you two to show up with a celebrity.”

“Celebrity?” Vicky looked around. “Me?”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to
star
in the show when you invited me,” Larry said. “I read all about it in the papers…pictures and all.”

“Oh, that,” Vicky said, waving her hand as if to dismiss the compliment, but she was genuinely pleased. “I wasn’t the star, everyone was.” The pictures taken after the show had turned out beautifully and the reviews were absolutely glowing.

“Let’s move toward the rear,” Steve suggested. “It might be a bit less crowded there.”

Vicky led the way into the bustling throng, feeling like Little Pink Riding Hood wending her way through a living forest, seeing only chests and shoulders on all sides of her. The width of her dress didn’t make the going easy and she nearly tripped at the rear of the room, not having seen the steps hidden by the skirt.

“Hop onto the stage,” Roger called over her shoulder. “You’ll be able to see better from up there.”

She turned sideways and edged her way between a rebel soldier and a kilted Scot, nearly brushing them off the podium. “Sorry,” she said as they struggled to keep their footing. “This dress is bigger than all of us.”