The Fire Night Ball Page 13

  When she pulled up to the hotel and got out, her eyes were misted over and her shoulders were sagging.

  Old Joe shambled forward and gave her a big hug. She could have kissed his boots, she was so grateful for his unswerving courtesy.

  At the same moment Marlena honked her horn, Faith Bellum was arriving at Mill’s Creek by cab.

  The window shades were drawn, and there was no sign of anyone, neither out in the field nor visible near the barn, the garage, or the house.

  However, it had been anything but silent in the car.

  The cabbie had introduced himself as Fred Fairwell. Fairwell never stopped talking as he drove Faith up the mountain. He seemed to feel duty-bound to tell her everything ever said in this town about Mill Creek's current and former mistresses.

  The heater was on full blast, and the temperature inside the cab verged on tropical, but he wore an old red woolen hat with the flaps tied down. As he was deaf, Fairwell spoke at the top of his lungs.

  His roots in Alta went back to the cobbler and Sunday barber, who'd inhabited in 1900 a house on West Street that later became John Bellum's residence on West Third. Faith didn’t mention she was planning to sell it.

  In olden days, he shouted, Mill’s Creek was a Sodom and Gomorrah--but he pronounced it “soddit and gonorrhea.”

  “They say that woman was Satan's spawn, the town’s only witch. Goody Brown warned everyone ag’in her, but no one listened. She worked her black magic on the young studs in town and killed the Widder Brighton too. So, watch yerself, is all I got to say. Them’s that knows, says there’s still evil lurking hereabouts. That woman flew into the sky durin’ a lightnin’ storm on Hatter’s Field and disappeared, never was heard of ag'in. Now there's a story you don't git on the Huntley-Brinkley Report.”

  Fairwell glanced at Faith in the mirror, but his passenger remained stonily silent. He switched on the radio. "I’m dreaming of a white Christmas..."

  Faith knew from personal experience what it was to be the focus of suspicion by the Alta natives. After she arrived as a newlywed, her pregnancy had become quickly apparent, and the old women at church were visibly counting the days.

  Luckily, Marlena dallied long enough in utero so that Faith's pregnancy squeaked into a tenth month. No one suspected the baby’s father was a man from the East with startling blue-green eyes, who was Faith's lost love Gordon.

  If there was gossip about Marlena, then the bankers, all solid pillars of the historic Methodist church, would turn a deaf ear to her request for a loan. Her high-paying job at PAD might be sacrificed, as a divorced couple wouldn’t be permitted to work in the same office. Her final move would be to throw herself on the mercy of her lover.

  What if Drake rejected her?

  Faith wrung her hands inside her thick cotton gloves. At the same time, she was very angry. How could a smart Catholic girl who’d always been gifted and forward-thinking have put herself into such a position?

  She’d said she was desperately in love, and for the first time.

  If she loved Drake, Faith thought, then she was snake bit.

  The bottom line was the divorce must be stopped before the affair became common knowledge. Marlena must be made to see the wisdom of returning to her husband, no matter how she felt about Drake.

  “That’ll be five and a quarter, ma’am, gas prices bein' up. Will you be needin’ a ride back into town?”

  “I’ll call if I do,” she said curtly.

  Into the man’s gloved hand that was missing two fingers--"LOST AT A SAW MILL," he'd shouted--she pressed a five dollar bill and a fifty cent piece. Then she opened the door, got out of the cab, and marched off while Fairwell glared at her back.

  The frigid air stung her lungs. She gasped for breath as she made her way toward the silent house, her plastic boots crunching in the drifted snow along the terraced walkway.

  Why would Chloe, who could live anywhere in the world, stick in this one-horse town? When Faith reached the door, she found it unlocked. There was a folded note tacked to it and "Welcome Faith!" marked with a red glitter pen on the outside.

  “Annie is running errands and I’m at the office. We’ll be back by 4 p.m. Make yourself at home. Herself is asleep on the living room couch. Shhhh. XO Chloe. ”

  Faith had to smile despite her dislike of Chloe. In the old days, they’d all referred to baby Lena as “Herself,” fussing over the Bellums’ only grandchild as though she were royalty.

  When they were both young girls, Faith had been jealous of Chloe's many accomplishments, jealous enough to have said “yes” to Austin Bellum's impulsive marriage proposal on the eve of his deployment overseas, only hours after they met. When she said yes, initially it was to impress Chloe, who had introduced them.

  As a young and very nervous mother, Faith had felt a disconnection from Austin's family, her cousin Chloe, and even her child. It was partly because she knew her pregnancy had cost her a last chance at winning Gordon back, partly because she feared what would happen if any family member ever found out about Marlena’s real paternity.

  Yet she must admit that over the years, Chloe had been consistently loyal, kind, and helpful to her.

  Faith shook her head over the foibles of youth. She'd cut off her nose to spite her face. Gordon eventually might have married her in the Church, if she'd held out. But he wouldn't marry her in haste, which she needed him to do to hide their terrible mortal sin.

  And so, after a lot of prayer, she’d made her choice. Austin had never known Marlena wasn’t his. It was a secret she’d always intended to carry to her grave. Was God punishing her now, through Marlena?

  Maybe Chloe could use hypnosis on the kid and make her forget Harry Drake. Folks quit smoking and drinking that way, went into a trance and lost their taste for sinning. She'd seen it done on the Johnny Carson show.

  She put down her battered suitcase in the entranceway, took off the plastic boots and her shoes, and placed all her belongings next to the door.

  She was hoping Chloe didn't have expect her to sleep on one of those newfangled waterbeds she'd been reading about in Good Housekeeping. She wouldn't get a wink of sleep on a mattress that bounced her around. What a nutty idea!

  Moving quietly, she entered the reception hall to the right of the winding staircase. Here Chloe would receive her throng of guests on Christmas night. Coming back to the foyer, Faith went to the left and tiptoed into the formal parlor, expecting to see Marlena stretched out, sleeping on the couch.

  Marlena wasn't there, however, only an indentation of where she'd been. Freed from the restraint of not awakening her daughter, Faith put on her shoes and resumed her wanderings through the stone house.

  Truth be told, she thought, ever since Marlena had uttered the word "Gordon," she had not felt like herself.

  Of course she'd never believed paranormal powers resided in her daughter, as the Zanellis had feared when she grew up looking so much like Cassandra.

  Could her utterance of her real father's name be God's way of telling His loyal servant Faith it was time to come clean?

  Sometimes out of the mouths of babes come God's marching orders.

  Now she was entering the bright, airy kitchen which everyone raved about. She could see for herself, though she was no architect, that it afforded space and intimacy in equal proportion, with its soaring vaulted ceiling, solar panels that let the sun come pouring in, and colorful Southwestern touches. Marlena had done a good job.

  Stainless steel appliances, industrial stove, butcher block worktable, and a display of chili ristras and copper pans dangling from a low beam made it appear professional, yet homey.

  Thinking of her own dark, cramped kitchen back in Parma, Faith felt a jealous pang. But how was she going to square things with Him if she kept stepping on her own flat feet? God, forgive my weaknesses.

  In a cozy dining ell, a second note addressed to her was propped against a vase of red carnations on an oak table. She was invited to partake of the refreshments laid
out under a silver dome--a glass of cider, a russet apple, and a plate of warm gingersnap cookies. Even in her absence, Chloe’s gracious spirit of hospitality was evident.

  Refreshed after her snack, Faith set about accomplishing her goal of spying on Marlena.

  God had provided Faith a golden opportunity for surveillance, cleverly arranging it through Marlena's own invitation.

  She sallied forth, marching up the grand central staircase into the guest bedroom wing. She had a hunch her daughter had revealed only the tip of the iceberg when she announced her separation and admitted to being involved with her married client.

  The first room Faith peeked into she knew to have been Cassandra’s old bedroom. It was small but had a breathtaking view. Her daughter's clothing, shoes, and papers were strewn about. The bed was sloppily made. On the bed were a couple of old brown notebooks. Frowning, she shook her head.

  So this out of the many guest rooms available was the one Marlena had chosen for herself. That said a mouthful! Nothing good could come out of her daughter's identification with a heartless fiend.

  A more thoughtful guest would keep her room neat and tidy. It was the least Marlena could do; her messiness reflected badly on Faith.

  The next door was locked when she tried it. An old instinct led her to stop and retrace her steps. Moving quickly, she went through Marlena’s room to get into the attached room, which turned out to be a large bathroom, with a claw-footed tub and vanity.

  Here was where she would begin her search in earnest. After crossing herself and thanking God for His many blessings, Faith began methodically picking up and examining every item, beginning with Marlena’s silver-backed hairbrush.

  By the end of her search, she had discovered only that Marlena was shedding more hair than usual and was taking paregoric, Pepto Bismal, valium, codeine, diuretics, and sleeping pills.

  None of these items being particularly suspicious, Faith stopped and thought: what exactly was she looking for? She wouldn’t know a an illegal drug or a birth control pill if one bit her, but she knew these would be items worth knowing about.

  She re-opened the medicine cabinet and stared again at its lone contents, a large, brown plastic bottle. It was opened, so presumably was in use. It appeared to contain vitamins, but they were huge, larger than any she’d ever seen before.

  So, Lena was taking mega-doses of vitamins to counter her iron deficiency, and this bottle was physical proof she hadn’t lied. However, her sense of relief was short-lived as Faith further considered that Lena’s was the LSD generation, and she did live in California. Marlena might be a drug fiend. Drugs were everywhere these days.

  Fumbling in her purse, Faith came up with a pencil and paper. She then carefully printed the content descriptions and tucked the note into her purse. Back East, it was after working hours. First thing in the morning, she would call her Polish doctor friend and check on these medications to make sure everything was on the up and up.

  Satisfied with her reconnaissance mission, Faith quickly located the guest room reserved for her, a large, lovely suite containing a four-poster bed, a claw-footed tub in the bathroom, and, in the adjoining sitting room, a bouquet of roses on the desk.

  Thankful for the peace and quiet cousin Chloe’s home afforded, she closed the door. It was two thirty when her head hit the pillow, and she was out like a light.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Marlena, Stretch, and Sally were tucked inside a booth at B.L. Zebub’s. The bar was open to hotel guests only, and they were the only customers.

  Though much remained to be done, overnight the exterminators had resolved the snake and worm infestation. Workmen were up on high ladders, reinstalling mirrored glass.

  But already the saloon looked neutered, a shadow of its former erotic glory. The art lining the entrance hallway was gone. The shattered mirror was still partly shrouded in the somber purple drapery, which contrasted oddly with the bar’s intricate filigree of fat, smiling cherubs, fauns sporting with wood nymphs, and a bulbous-bellied Egyptian female bearing an entire column on her head.

  Marlena could feel the degree of loss in her pained emotions.

  Of course she wasn’t supposed to be on premises, but no one knew that except Harry, and she was daring Harry to do his worst.

  He wouldn’t have the balls to throw her out in the presence of her friends, who were paying guests.

  Sally and Stretch were sucking down raw oysters and Bloody Mary’s. Marlena was wearing sunglasses to cover up the damage to her eyes from last night’s tale-a-thon.

  Her portfolio of work sat beside her in a burnt orange leather case a yard wide. It had been a gift from Coddie. Oversized and hand-stitched, it could accommodate architectural drawings and blueprints.

  Marlena opened the case, and Sally began flipping through copies of architectural plans, drawings, photographs, and press clippings on finished projects, also letters of recommendation.

  She gave an occasional grunt of approval. Her mod eyelashes were much too young for her, Marlena thought, but her pink Dior scarf and silver Cartier bracelets were lovely.

  Sally had already put her first card on the table. When Marlena mentioned a hiatus from her hotel responsibilities, she’d suggested Marlena accompany her back to Key West for a look-see at the Shell Mansion.

  They’d been joined at one thirty by Stretch, marching in on her long, stick legs that made her look like a stork. She sat down beside Marlena, who immediately ordered another round of drinks.

  Stretch hadn't jelled her hair, so her purplish spikes were now streaks. She was outfitted in pink leather chaps, a nose ring, and a fake Cheetah suit-coat. A jewelry artist who liked to wear her art upon her person, she had on earrings that were iron crosses. From her fringed leather belt dangled a glinting, jeweled dagger she’d designed and welded herself.

  She could see the others were immersed in the employment dance; hopefully they were nearing the end of the courtship phase, as she was feeling bored and jealous.

  “You won’t find a better place to hang out and make interesting new friends," purred Sally, brushing Marlena's forearm. "Key West is wide open."

  Marlena drew back an inch. “It’s one of several places in the world where I want to spend quality time.”

  “What's holding you back?” asked Stretch. It was the first time she’d opened her mouth. "You've got bread; you can travel the world."

  Sally frowned at her partner.

  Marlena sighed. “If I were a man, I could roam the world from one watering hole to the next, no questions asked, sampling all the delights of the bazaar without being confined to one.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ much to being a man,” opined Stretch.

  “I wonder if you've heard of penis envy?” asked Marlena.

  Stretch guffawed. “Ain’t no such thing.”

  “Oh, yes there is, according to Freud.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Sigmund Freud was an Austrian Jew who wrote several ground-breaking psychology books in the nineteenth century."

  "So?"

  "So, among other provocative theories, he postulated that women unconsciously desire to have a penis, like men.”

  Marlena looked pointedly at the gemmed dagger Stretch wore at her hip.

  Now it was Sally’s turn to guffaw, while Stretch frowned darkly.

  “On the other hand," added Marlena, "most liberated women think penis envy is only a metaphor.”

  “I’ll bet the motherfucker had a pencil dick,” said Stretch stoutly. “He only wished women envied it.”

  “All men are wishful when it comes to women,” drawled Sally. “Jewish, Christian, breeder, homosexual, or what-have-you, they all want something from us. They either want to nail us, if they're straight, or outshine us, if they're gay.”

  “Sally, I see your point. I’ll give you that one,” purred Marlena.

  Stretch wasn’t finished with the topic, having recalled ammunition from a field in which she had hands-on experience.<
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  “There are plenty of artists who wanna be women. Take Mike Langelo, for example, and his Mona Lisa. The eyes of the lady line up with Mike Langelo’s self-portrait, exactly. They even have the same initials: M.L.”

  Marlena repressed a smile. “Excuse me, but wasn't it Leonardo da Vinci who painted the Mona Lisa?”

  “Oh yeah. I get them dead Eye-talians mixed up.”

  “So, Leonardo was projecting his feminine side on canvas,” mused Marlena.

  “Mona Lisa is Leonardo in drag,” affirmed Sally languidly.

  Stretch crowed triumphantly. “The fag wanted to be a woman!”

  “It’s also possible Mona Lisa was the daughter Leonardo never had,” offered Marlena, “but wished for.”

  “Ahhhh,” groaned Sally, blowing smoke through her nostrils. “That would be a breeder’s way of looking at it.”

  Stretch gave Marlena an appraising look. "Hon, I don't see you as a breeder chick.”

  Instinctively, Marlena put a hand over her belly, to see if it was still flat.

  “Or perhaps our new friend is a mixed breed,” drawled Sally.

  She took a drag on her cigarette through a long black holder. Someone had once told Sally she looked like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and she was still playing that card to the hilt.

  Stretch guffawed. “You mean you wish she was.”

  Marlena checked her watch.

  It was two thirty, and still no sign of Harry, no message being brought to her. She was beginning to feel extremely anxious. What more could she do to command his attention?

  Then she looked up and saw Coddie striding toward her from across the room.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to go see a man about a horse.”

  “Don’t you mean, about a penis?” scoffed Stretch.

  The two women watched as Marlena approached the tall, thin, bald man and greeted him with a perfunctory kiss, then steered him toward a booth at the far corner of the room.

  “Must be the long-suffering husband,” said Stretch. “Whaddya wanna bet?”