by India Ink
Lisa paused, sucked in a deep breath, and let me lead her to the bench. Her eyes were closed, and she was trembling, but we made it the last two yards.
“You can sit down now,” I said.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the water that was rippling around her knees. “I feel dizzy,” she said.
“Come on, have a seat. The bench is raised, so the water won’t be any deeper than your lower back. Can you manage that? Think of it like a really big bathtub. I’m right here, so you’re safe.” Still holding on to her hand, I sat down on the bench, and after another moment she joined me, still shaking. Once she was seated, she took another deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.
“I hate this. I hate being so afraid, Persia. I can’t believe I’m sitting here, but I look at the people in the main pool who are swimming and diving, and I feel like I’ve got a thousand miles to go. Why can’t I do that? Why can’t I just go over there, jump in, and have fun like they are?”
“Fear is a powerful force. Don’t sell yourself short. Within just a few tries, you’ve made tremendous strides. Eventually, you’ll be walking on the beach by yourself and coming here to soak and swim. But give it time. Working through any fear takes both time and determination. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” I leaned back, relaxing as the soothing warmth cushioned my tailbone. I was still sore from the fall this morning, but the water helped, and I gently shrugged my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension.
Lisa gingerly settled back against the rim of the pool, bracing herself as if she expected a tidal wave to sweep through the building. “I guess this does feel good, kind of like a Jacuzzi. Thanks, Persia, for helping me out.”
“No problem, I don’t like to see fear overshadow someone’s life, and any excuse to get in the water’s a good one to me. So tell me more about the collections letter you received. What have you and your sister done so far about your father’s estate? Maybe Auntie’s lawyer can consult with you on a pro bono basis.” If anybody could figure out a plan, Winthrop Winchester could, but it wouldn’t be cheap. I had no idea where he stood on freebies, but we could find out. “I can’t promise anything, but we can try.”
But instead of launching back into the horror story surrounding her father’s estate, Lisa surprised me. “I don’t think there will be a problem much longer. As I said, I have a plan. I have to check out something first, but I’m pretty sure I know who took the money and how to get it back.”
“Who took it? You think somebody stole it?”
She shrugged. “It makes sense, with what I’ve found out.”
At last something was going right for the Tremont sisters. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good sounding board,” I said.
She shook her head. “Not yet. I want to be certain I’m right before I say anything. I don’t dare accuse anybody without proof. I haven’t even mentioned this to Amy yet, so keep it under your hat, if you would. I don’t want to get her hopes up. But if I play my cards right, we’ll be back on our feet in a few weeks.”
Wondering what rabbit she’d managed to pull out of the hat, I kept my silence. Lisa would talk when she was ready. Or not. It wasn’t my place to pry. I knew what everybody else knew: the two sisters had returned to Gull Harbor to be with their father during the last months of his dying and once here, discovered the family fortune had vanished. According to what little they could find out, it sounded as though their father had gambled the money away on the Internet, but Lisa refused to believe it.
Amy was older than Lisa and had several years’ teaching experience, but the only position open was that of substitute teacher at Pilsner Middle School, so she took temp jobs to make ends meet. Lisa had a background in cosmetology but had been scraping by as a waitress at the Davenport Diner, a dive in the seedy part of town, until we hired her at the shop. Together, they barely managed to keep the family home afloat, but they were facing the threat of having to sell it in order to meet their father’s debts and medical bills if a miracle didn’t show up on their doorstep pretty soon.
After awhile, I glanced at the clock. We’d been in the water fifteen minutes, and Lisa was starting to fidget. “Okay, then. How are you feeling now?”
She swallowed. “Scared, still.”
“Do you think you can go in a little deeper tonight?” I stood up. “It’s up to you. Whatever you feel you can handle.”
She glanced at the water farther along in the pool. A wistful look crossed her face, but I could see the shadows of fear there, too. With a shake of the head, she said, “I can’t go another step tonight. This was almost too much. Maybe next time?”
I held out my hand. “Not a problem. I’m so proud of you for coming this far. Next time, we tackle a few more steps into the water. Okay?” As she nodded, I added, “Come on then, let’s take our walk around the pool and then shower.”
Our first few visits had consisted solely of walking around the pool. Lisa was as afraid of walking by the water’s edge as she was of being in it, so we began with that. Now she could circle the pool if I was by her side, but she was still skittish, especially when we passed by the deeper end.
After we’d made our circuit, I led her back to the door leading into the shower room. She began to breathe easier the minute we stepped out of sight of the water. With an apologetic grin, she stripped off her suit.
“Did you want to take a few laps, or would you like to get coffee?” she asked, slipping under one of the showers.
The clock told me I had half an hour until I was supposed to meet Barb. “A rain check on both, I’m afraid. I’m going shopping with Barb at the Delacorte Plaza in thirty minutes. Lisa, you did a good job in there. You actually sat in the water again. That’s progress in my book.” I wrung out my suit over the drain, then scrubbed down with a cucumber-ginseng body wash and lathered shampoo in my hair.
“Tomorrow’s going to be insane at the shop,” I warned her. “The appointment book is jammed with makeovers and haircuts. We’ll need you there on time. By the way, who are you going to the Gala with?”
I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair and stepped out of the shower, aware of the eyes watching me in the locker room. I was comfortable in my body, and I knew that shook up other women more than my height, my boobs, or my muscles. Wrapping a towel around me, I padded over to the bench by my locker. Lisa joined me.
“I told Mitch Willis I’d go with him. You know who Amy’s going with?” She leaned forward, at ease again now that the pool was out of sight.
I grinned. “Who?” Lisa loved to gossip, and while it wasn’t usually in my nature except with Auntie or Barb, we’d fallen into an easy way of chatting that felt comfortable, if a bit chummy.
“Chief Laughlin. I was in the kitchen the other night when he came over to visit. They’ve been talking a lot, ever since Amy volunteered to head a committee to keep guns away from kids. He dropped off some information, and I heard him hemming and hawing until he finally got up the courage to ask her out. I think they really like each other.” She giggled, rolling her eyes. “He’s nice, but a cop? I dunno.”
I blinked. Kyle? Dating? A brief flush ran up my face, and I examined the feeling behind it, wondering if there’d be any fleeting feelings of jealousy. After all, he’d pursued me since I returned to Gull Harbor. But when I listened to my heart, all I could feel was a quiet sense of satisfaction.
“Amy and Kyle seem to match well in temperament,” I said. And Amy was a lot like his late wife, if what Barb had told me was true. Quiet, firm-willed, but not outspoken. Happy with the simple things in life, Amy Tremont might just be the ticket to heal Kyle’s loss; something I knew I could never do.
“Well, they both listen to country music, so that’s a start. Okay, I’m dressed and out of here.” Lisa snuggled her threadbare coat around her shoulders and swung the waterproof bag holding her suit and towel over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow!”
“Mañana,” I said, waving as she dashed out of the room. I didn’t ha
ve time to dry my hair so braided it to keep it from tangling, then quickly dressed and slid on my leather jacket. I packed my suit into a plastic tote bag and, snagging up my purse and keys, headed out to my car. Time to meet Barb and do some serious shopping.
The Delacorte Plaza was across the street from one of the seediest apartment buildings in town. Unfortunately, I’d lived there for a few days earlier in the summer, and I cringed every time I drove past it. But the plaza itself was a plethora of shops and boutiques, including a four-thousand-square-foot interactive aquarium that I liked to meander through, looking at the jellies and eels and all the other creatures that I found mesmerizing. Who needed aliens when you had a box jelly floating around in a tank?
I parked my Sebring and once again thought I should look into getting a new car. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the money to afford the payments, and I was getting antsy for something a little smaller that gave better gas mileage.
As I dashed through the drizzle to the plaza, I saw Barb waiting just inside the doors. She was standing in line at Jumbo Juice, a new juice bar that I’d introduced her to. Once you got past the wheatgrass and algae glop, most of their combos were pretty good. I slid in behind Barb and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and turned around.
“Jesus, you scared me, Persia! I see you didn’t have time to dry your hair,” she said, staring up at me. Barb was as petite as I was tall, as tiny as I was muscled, and she sported a coppery spiked do that made her look chic without giving any Euro trash vibes. Impeccably dressed, she never looked flustered, even when she was wearing an apron and was covered with flour.
“Hey, I made it on time, didn’t I? Besides, I was helping Lisa at the pool. That woman has one hell of an entrenched phobia.”
“Hydrophobia . . . not an easy one to overcome. You want some juice?”
I glanced at the menu. “Yeah, I’ll take an apple-carrot-ginger juice.”
Barb stepped up to the counter and put in my order and the one she wanted, a blend they called Sunshine Joy. With orange, pineapple, lemon, and kiwi, it sounded bright enough to light up the sky.
We sipped our drinks as we meandered through the mall. I, of course, wanted to go to the aquarium, but Barb slapped a moratorium on that thought. “Not until we find our dresses and shoes,” she said.
I laughed. “Whatever you say. So, how goes it with Mama K? You figured out a good antidote to her venom yet?”
Barb flashed me a grateful smile. She couldn’t talk openly about how she felt about her mother-in-law to anybody else. Dorian would freak, and Auntie would nod, but there seemed to be a link older women who were in the mama category shared—one that brooded silently over the younger women in the families. As much as Auntie was my friend, she was first and foremost my aunt and substitute mother.
“Tonight, I told her I was going shopping with you so Dorian would be cooking dinner. Lordy, Persia, I thought she was going to have a fit. That man is a god in her eyes, and she thinks I should be his servant. Well, you know just how I feel about that mind-set. When I ignored her dire looks, she set into nitpicking about the house. Why do I have a maid? Why can’t I just do the housework in the evenings after a long day at the bakery while Dorian rests? Because, of course, that’s what she would be doing.” She let out a sigh. “It’s never going to end until that old bat dies. Or until I do, whichever comes first. Honestly, Persia, this is what I hate most about being married. She doesn’t want Dorian to grow up.”
I refrained from stating the obvious. Or at least, what seemed obvious to me. If Dorian wanted to act grown-up he could tell his mother to back off. Sure, he’d put his balls on the line standing up to his mother, but sometimes personal integrity demanded taking a stand.
I finished off my juice and pointed to a small boutique nestled between a guitar shop and a video arcade. “That the place?”
Barb broke into a giddy smile. Shopping was her solace, and she could outlast the best of the mall rats. “That’s it! Let’s go get beautiful.”
Sarina’s was the type of boutique that should have charged a fee just for entering the store. I could tell at a glance that the designs were all about this year; no hasbeens allowed. Quality materials, name designers, glitter and glitz all the way. Women drifted through the racks, lingering over the selections as they mulled over a lace sleeve or boned bodice. Coming from the upper-crust set of Gull Harbor, the wives of the software designers, the matrons of old money, the newbies of nouveau riche, their expressions ranged from mildly bored to wistful.
A saleswoman, clad in a suit designed to look professional and yet set her off as an employee rather than a customer, bustled over to us. “May I show you something? Shopping for the Gala?” Her smile was infectious, and both Barb and I beamed at her.
Barb nodded. “I’m looking for something in a size two, petite, that plays up my hair—short, above knee-length. Maybe something in royal blue or forest green. Persia, what are you looking for?”
I blinked as I surveyed the options. “I want to shine. Sparkly but no sequins. Formfitting with a flare at the bottom, if possible. Long, with low-cut cleavage. I take between a six and an eight, depending on the piece.”
The girl nodded, taking everything we said in so seriously that I wanted to pat her on the shoulder and reassure her that we wouldn’t keel over and die if we couldn’t find anything. She led us through the racks, stopping by one to sort through the hangers. Within minutes, she held out a dress to Barb. It was a simple chiffon sheath made from mousseline de soie, trimmed with a satin belt. The color was so blue that it almost hurt my eyes, and the belt had a rhinestone buckle on it that sparkled against the royal hue.
“Oh Barb, that would be so gorgeous with the color of your hair,” I said, staring at the way the blue popped against her skin.
Barb held the dress up to her and smiled. “I have to try this on,” she said, and the girl directed her back to a fitting room, then returned to me.
“I think I have the perfect dress for you, too,” she said, leading me around to a different section of the store. She poked through two racks before coming up with a triumphant gleam in her eye. “Yes! We still have it. What do you think?”
The dress she held out to me was brilliant. Metallic gold without sequins, the long halter dress caught the light and reflected it with a shimmering ease. It was formfitting until it hit just above the knees, at which point it flared out into a flurry of pleats. The front hem was shorter than the back and would frame my legs in a sparkle of color. A plunging neckline brought the center almost down to meet the navel, but a pale mesh insert provided a secret underwire support system for the breasts. The back was even lower, draping in a curve right above the butt.
“My God. That doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but yet . . . everything important is covered.” I gazed at the dress. It fit my style perfectly. Now, if it only fit my body. “Let me try it on.”
“Not every woman could pull this off,” she said, leading me back to the room next to Barb’s. “But I think you have the panache.”
Thank God the skirt of the dress had a hidden fastener in the back. I sucked in my breath and zipped it up. The mesh around my bra band was almost invisible with only a faint gold sheen to indicate its presence, but it was molded strong enough to support my breasts. The thin band of mesh hooked in back, where it barely showed against my bra line. When my hair was down, it would be entirely invisible. It looked like gravity had taken leave, and my boobs were floating in the air with just the right amount of perk.
Once zipped, the skirt of the dress molded itself to my hips and thighs, the material stretching across my legs. I cautiously sat in one of the chairs, pleased to see there was just enough give in the fabric so that I wouldn’t have to stand up all evening. Pleats gathered just above my knees, framing the front of my legs as they swept down to the floor in back, much like tails on a tuxedo. I shook out my hair, and it cascaded down in a frenzy of damp black curls. Finally, I took a long look in the mirror.
“Oh good Lord.” My reflection stood somewhere between runway and red carpet. With the right stilettos, I’d be jammin’. I peeked out of the dressing room to find Barbara, who was looking for me. She looked positively gorgeous in the sheath dress, and her hair shimmered like fire next to the royal blue.
“You’re stunning,” I said, stepping out of my room.
Barb stared at me, her mouth agape. “Uh . . . you, too. Oh my, I think that beats just about anything I’ve ever seen you in. Very Marilyn Monroe meets King Midas.” She slowly circled me, squinting. “Persia, that’s hot. It’s almost . . . slutty, but not enough to give people reason to whisper.”
I grinned. “That’s what I want, then. It works. I feel like one of the old-fashioned glamour girls. But I need new shoes to go with it, don’t you think?”
“I think you’d better get spikes, because you can use them to beat the men off. Seriously, that dress is a jaw-dropper. I guess part of it’s your height. You tower over every other woman in the room as it is. In that getup, and with stilettos, you’ll be impossible to ignore.”
I asked her to come into the fitting room so she could unzip me. “That doesn’t bother me. I just want to look good. So, who’s in charge of the whole shebang? Auntie gave me a quick rundown, but to be honest I wasn’t really listening. All I know is that we’ve been run ragged this week. That’s good, though, with the profits from the makeovers and haircuts going to charity.”
As I slipped out of the dress and back into my clothes, Barb hung it on the hanger for me.
“Annabel Mason, the grande dame of Gull Harbor. You’ve met her—she’s the president of the Chamber of Commerce, and the Thanksgiving Gala was her brain-child. This is the fifteenth year. It started, if I remember, when the Helping Hands Center was about to close for lack of funding. They made enough to tide it over until they could drum up enough sponsors to help out. Each year, the Gala’s gotten bigger, and Annabel plays hostess every year, regardless of how she’s feeling. Lovely older woman, about your aunt’s age . . . maybe a few years older.”