by India Ink
I repressed a grin. Kyle had finally won the battle. Good for him, and good for the peace and quiet of the neighborhood. But one glance at Auntie’s smoldering look told me it would be wisest to keep my thoughts on the subject to myself, so I made appropriately sympathetic noises and locked the door behind us as we hurried out to my car. The rain shower had turned into a downpour, and the wind was picking up, whipping through the tops of the tall firs. I grimaced as a sudden gust pelted me with a sideways shock of watery bullets.
“I hope the power doesn’t go out. That would just frost things for the Gala tonight,” Auntie said. As she scrambled into the passenger seat, I raced around to the driver’s side and slipped under cover just in time to avoid a flurry of hail that pelted the ground. The ice balls were the size of kitty kibble, small enough to avoid pitting the cars, large enough to smart if they hit bare skin.
“Did you by any chance listen to the weather report to see what they’re predicting?” I started the car and cautiously inched down the driveway. We needed a new batch of gravel; the ruts were becoming a little too deep, and last week I’d almost gotten stuck. Auntie had ordered it, but until it was actually in place, I decided to play it safe.
“I barely had time to make breakfast this morning. Buttercup kept waking me up through the night. I think there’s a mouse in the walls of my bedroom, because she kept racing around the room, thunking her head when she forgot to slow down.” She adjusted her seat belt and cleared her throat. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m thinking about taking a vacation next month. Kane and I might go to Hawai’i.”
I gripped the steering wheel. I hadn’t expected to hear that. Auntie hadn’t been back to the islands since her fiancé was murdered. “Really? Auntie, is there something I should know? Are you planning on marrying Kane?”
Her laughter filled the car. “Child, I’ll go to my grave a single woman. I adore Kane, and he’s a wonderful addition to my life, but I have no need or desire to marry. I’m too capricious and set in my ways. I couldn’t take living with a man, even though it’s nice to have one in my bed again.”
Curious now, I stepped into the gray area where I’d always hesitated to pry. “Have you had a boyfriend since your fiancé died?”
Auntie’s snort was louder than her laugh. “I’ve had my share, child, and the last one was . . . oh . . . about two years ago. We broke up a few months before you came back to live with me. Remember Clyde Wilkerson?” Clyde was a friend of Winthrop Winchester, Auntie’s lawyer. He was a CPA who owned a thriving business preparing taxes for the Gull Harbor elite.
“Clyde Wilkerson? But he’s married!” I almost swerved onto the shoulder of the road. I quickly adjusted the wheel.
“He wasn’t married a few years back.”
“But he’s seventy if he’s a day!” I just couldn’t imagine Auntie with someone who looked ready for the country club’s smoking room. Clyde always wore a suit, and while he was a stately gentleman, carrying a silver-handled cane with him everywhere he went, he seemed to have as much in common with Auntie as a bull did with a zebra.
“Imp, never judge a book by its cover,” she said. “Clyde may look the conservative financier, but trust me, he’s got a wild streak, and he doesn’t appreciate women who sit around gossiping about the neighbors or whining about how they need a new fur coat. The man has a mind like a fox, and . . .” She paused, then plunged ahead. “And Clyde Wilkerson was one of the best lovers I ever had.”
I swallowed, trying not to look shocked. Auntie and I were frank about a lot of things, but this side of her life had always seemed sacrosanct. In fact, I’d seldom connected the term love life with thoughts of Aunt Florence.
“Why did you split up, then?” I asked.
“Because, at my age there’s more to life than sex, and while we had lovely times together, the man wanted to marry me. He wanted a wife, and I had no intention of walking down the aisle with him. So he married Ruth Gorsky instead, and I sincerely hope they’re happy.”
When I thought about Ruth Wilkerson, I doubted that Clyde was all too happy. Ruth might have been an on-the-button lady at one point, but her main focuses now seemed to be shopping, lunching with the ladies, and finding a wife for her son, whom I’d met once. He was the type of man who went out of his way to insult people. I shuddered, thinking Auntie had definitely gotten the better part of the deal.
As we wound through the slick streets leading to downtown Gull Harbor, I began to run through my tasks for the day. I completely missed the turn onto Island Drive and would probably have kept right on going if Auntie hadn’t cleared her throat and pointed out that we had overshot the mark. Feeling sheepish, I rounded the block and pulled into a parking spot across the street from the store. We hopped out of the car and waved to Marianne, of Marianne’s Closet, and bustled across the street, holding our purses over our heads to stave off the driving rain.
The shop was jumping. Tawny already looked frazzled, and Seth was a flurry of scissors, combs, hair spray, and mousse. I had no more than shrugged out of my leather jacket when my first appointment appeared, and we were off for the day.
Ronnie Jenks wanted something lovely, something that would match her peach-colored gown for the Thanksgiving Gala. As I blended together the musk and vanilla oils, adding a few drops of clove as a top note, I tried to shut out the drone of noise that filtered through the shop. The buzz was incredible, and I began to realize that not only had we rebuilt our customer base after Bebe’s sabotage, we’d increased it threefold.
Ronnie loved the oil, and I wrote out an invoice and checked her off in my appointment book. Julia Wheeler was due in about fifteen minutes. I had time to run back to talk to Auntie for a moment. She was between facials, and I caught her washing her hands at the sink in the back of the spa area.
“Auntie, we need to get some help in here. Tawny’s run ragged out there, and if I were her, I’d demand an assistant or I’d quit.” I glanced back at the register where there was a line of at least seven people. “We need two registers going during the Christmas rush.”
Auntie blinked. She peered around the corner, then blithely smiled. “Good catch, Persia. Why don’t you take a moment and run back to the office. Call Trevor and see if he knows anybody who needs a temporary job. We’ll pay ten dollars an hour, full-time through Christmas. We might want to consider keeping them on if business continues to pick up like it has been.” Her next appointment showed up as I jogged down the hall to the office.
A quick call to Trevor turned up zilch, but then an inspiration hit me, and I punched in Killian’s number. He answered almost immediately.
“Listen,” I said in a rush. “We need extra help down here on the register. What’s the name of that girl who was the receptionist for you at Donna Prima? Do you know if she’s still looking for work?”
“Betsy Sue, and yes, she’s still looking for work. Both she and her boyfriend Julius will be coming back to work for me if I can get this new undertaking started in the next few months. Want her number?”
“Yeah,” I said, readying a pen and Post-it note. Betsy Sue and Julius made one of the most unlikely couples I’d met. She was a perky cheerleader type, and he was the geeky young scientist, but they loved each other deeply.
“It’s 555-7700. She can use the work, I’ll tell you that. They’re expecting.”
“A baby?” I sat down, staring at the number. “How far along is she?”
“Only a few months. They wanted to get married right after she found out, but she can’t get AFDC if they are married, and right now with being out of work and on what little unemployment she gets . . . it’s just not feasible without the state stepping in to help.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I’ll call her right away.” I put in a quick call to Betsy Sue, who almost started crying when I offered her the job. “This is temporary, Betsy, but who knows . . . we may be able to work it into something more, though I can’t make any promises. At the least, it should tide you over
until Killian gets his business up and going again. Can you start Monday?”
She eagerly accepted, and when I returned to the main store, I felt like I’d just bailed her out of a sinking ship. I informed Tawny and Auntie to expect another hand come Monday, for which Tawny flashed me a brilliant smile, and then I dove into the next fragrance appointment, wondering just how busy we were going to get during the coming season.
Around two PM, Tawny frantically motioned to me. As I approached the counter, she asked the next customer in line if she’d mind waiting “just one second,” then nodded me away from where the line of shoppers could hear us. As I followed her, I wondered what the hell was up.
“What is it?” I asked, glancing back at my station. “I’ve got one last appointment—who’s waiting on me—and then I’ll give you a hand until we shut the doors at four.”
“Thanks, but Persia, we have a bigger problem than that. Lisa’s vanished. She left a note that I didn’t find until I escorted her next appointment back to get a makeover.” Tawny handed me a piece of stationery.
I stared at it for a moment before taking it and unfolding the paper. As I read it, a headache a mile wide stabbed me between the eyes. Seven simple lines, but it meant at least three dissatisfied customers and one very irate store owner: me. Two, when Auntie found out.
Persia, I had to take off for the rest of the afternoon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, but I knew you’d be upset. Please believe me, this is very important and relates to what we were talking about at the pool yesterday. Don’t be mad, please. I wouldn’t put you on the spot if I didn’t have a really good reason. See you tonight, and I hope to have good news to tell you then! Lisa T.
“Damn it, what the hell was she thinking? How many appointments does she have left for the afternoon?” I crumpled the note in my hand, furious.
Tawny paled. “Four. One at two, one at two thirty, one at three, and one at three thirty. What should I tell her two o’clock?”
Frazzled, I ran my hand across my forehead. “Shit, I don’t know. Ask her if she’d mind waiting for a moment. Get her some tea and a cookie, and tell her we’ll be about fifteen minutes late.”
We didn’t have time to call in anybody else. I was going to have to wing this mess myself. “I used to give makeovers when I worked the counter at Sashay in Seattle. It’s been awhile, but hell, I’m good with makeup. I should be able to cover for her. I’ll finish up with my appointment as soon as possible and then start taking Lisa’s clients. You be sure to leave a note that I took care of those clients. I feel very sorry for Lisa and her situation, but nobody puts us in a tight spot like this.”
I started to return to my fragrance appointment, then paused. “Listen, since we’re running late, inform each makeover that there will be a fifteen-to twenty-minute delay. Make sure the coffee, tea, and cookies are good to go.”
Looking relieved, Tawny whirled around and hurried back to the counter to implement my orders. I leaned against the wall, feeling overwhelmed. We’d been unprepared for the crisis. Auntie and I were going to have to discuss backups and the work schedule. I didn’t want anything like this happening again. It made for unhappy customers and an even more unhappy Persia.
Chapter Four
Auntie called me into her room to help her with her dress, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened the door. No mu’umu’us, no floppy pink straw hat. In fact, I barely recognized her, and it took me a good five minutes to close the door behind me.
“Auntie, I’ve never seen you look so beautiful,” I whispered. “Where on earth did you get that dress?”
As she turned around, I found myself sliding onto the bench that sat at the foot of her bed. My aunt was stout—well—more than stout. And short. And usually she looked like an escapee from some tropical island. But tonight she was stunning.
Auntie was dressed in a flowing teal skirt set in chiffon that sparkled with shimmering beads. The hem of her skirt flowed out in an A-line, grazing the bottom of her knees. I was amazed to see how good her legs looked. She was wearing kitten heels—black pumps—and a diamond pendant set in gold rested against the blouson top that she had belted with a simple patent leather black belt. Her hair, normally worn in a braid that trailed down her back, had been coiled in an elegant chignon and was set off with a festive comb decorated with glittery autumn leaves and red berries.
“Auntie,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away. “You . . . I’ve never seen you like this.” I knew she dressed up for the Chamber of Commerce meetings she went to, but nothing like this. No, since I’d been a child it had been a steady barrage of mu’umu’us and straw hats.
She smiled, her lips a rusty bronze that mirrored the colors of her barrette. “Well, it is the Gala. You weren’t here for last year’s event, so you didn’t see me then, either. I was the belle of the ball.” With a twinkle in her eyes, she added, “Well, maybe not, but I knocked ’em dead.”
I nodded dumbly, still too shocked to speak. After a moment, I cleared my throat and said, “You’re beautiful, Auntie. Always . . . but tonight . . .”
“Maybe you’d be a dear and zip me up in back? I can’t quite reach the zipper,” she said. I stepped around behind her and drew the fastener closed, thinking that if Auntie wanted to, she could give any of the town matrons a run for their money. Not only did she have brains and heart, but she could put on a damned good show when she wanted to.
“I’d better finish dressing,” I said, wanting to stay and chat. She shooed me out of the room though, and I dashed up to my suite. I’d already taken my shower, so I slid into the skintight gold dress and finally managed to get the mesh bustline settled in the right place. I usually wore my hair up, but tonight I decided to leave it down in a tumble of curls. As I added a simple gold chain and a pair of amethyst chandelier earrings, I thought again about Auntie.
If she wanted to, she could probably be married within the month to any man she set her sights on, but she chose to remain single and enjoy life on her own terms. I only hoped to remain as firm in my own resolve, to never settle, never compromise away what I wanted. Auntie wasn’t afraid to face the future on her own terms, and I wouldn’t be either.
I added a velvet cloak to my outfit and cautiously descended the stairs. My heels were thin—delicately so—and I didn’t want to take a tumble that would land me in the hospital instead of on the dance floor. Auntie was waiting below, wrapped in a sable coat. Killian and Kane were both in the living room, Kane in a black suit that looked a few years out of date but still dapper, and Killian was dressed in full tux and tails, including top hat. I tucked the strap of my evening bag over my shoulder and looped my arm through Killian’s.
“Ready?” I asked. He nodded. Kane took Auntie’s arm, and we left for the Gala, Auntie and Kane in his car, and Killian and me in Killian’s Jag.
Oh, the joys of small town island life. Everybody who had enough money to spare for tickets had come out in full force, and the social circles had already formed by the time we walked through the door.
The Gala was held at the Gull Harbor Club Noir, a large multicultural center that hosted dances, plays, art exhibits, and other such events. The lights were shimmering out of the two-story building, which had been built with a Bavarian facade. Snowflake cutouts of dark wood framed the lower level, and row after row of dark beams rested against tan walls, forming a crosshatch design that made your eyes go wonky if you looked at it too long.
The entire roof had been strung with icicle lights that cascaded in long, draping chains. Atop the roof, a brilliant star of twinkling lights emblazoned the sky. The brilliance continued with a large blue spruce that graced the rounded driveway where the valet parking awaited. Alight in a blinding array of multicolored bulbs, the tree was surrounded by illuminated candy canes that cordoned off the grass, guiding guests along the path to the door of the club. There, two men dressed in red tuxedos waited to open the doors for the dancers.
Music echoed from within, and for once
there were no requisite retro disco numbers playing. As we swept past the doormen, I found my foot tapping and realized that I was actually looking forward to the evening. Killian had proven to be as good on the dance floor as he was in bed, and my body longed for movement. His hand on my lower back, propelling me forward, only made my desire stronger. Before the night was out, I had the feeling my urge to dance would be turning into a different—though related—urge.
The interior of Club Noir had been transformed from its usual urban grunge décor to a vision in gold. Soft lighting shed a decidedly bronzed cast over the guests, and the dance floor was spotlighted in a shimmer of red, bronze, and orange. My dress would be absolutely stunning, I thought, feeling a little wiggle of joy. A DJ was set up on one side of the dance floor, and I recognized him as one of Killian’s friends. We gave him a little wave, and he winked at us.
At the far end of the room there was a long buffet table, and with my heightened sense of smell, I caught a whiff of roast turkey and prime rib. My stomach rumbled, but I told it to wait. No way could I eat a good meal in this dress and then hope to dance. I’d opt for a plate later on.
A lounge and dining area offered dancers a place to rest their tired feet and eat. Over the whole Gala, bouncing against the top of the twenty-foot ceiling, loomed giant balloons of turkeys, pilgrims, and Indians, watching over the party, surreal sentinels that I would only expect to find in a town like Gull Harbor.
And speaking of . . . Gull Harbor’s elite had gathered near the lounge—old money, draped in paste copies of their very-real jewels that resided within dark vaults in the bowels of the banks. Then came our circle—the business folk, respected members of the Chamber of Commerce who weren’t upper-crust enough to join the elite, yet not considered beneath an air-kissed hello. The techies and their wives—mostly moneyed—formed their own little clique, and they mingled with the artists—moneyed or not.