The Ayatollah's Money

by Richard Dorrance

  Chapter 20 – Hanging out with Gwen and Shimmey

  When Laleh came back from a trip around the block with the dog, Roger fixed her eggs and potatoes and another cup of coffee. She felt better after eating and getting some exercise, and was ready for whatever Gwen threw her way, except maybe the gun thing. She was having second thoughts about guns, and decided she needed to know more about why Gwen owned multiple guns before she learned how to shoot one. Maybe she should start this whole Charleston thing slowly. She said, “The neighborhood is beautiful, and so quiet for being in the middle of a city. It’s not like where I used to live. Everyone there likes to blow their car horns at each other all day long.”

  Roger asked, “How long did you live in Tehran?” She had opened that conversational door, so a question was appropriate.

  “My whole life. I’m thirty-five, and London was the first time I ever left.”

  “Is that common, to not travel?”

  “It used to be very common. Now not so much. But that’s the way it is in my family. The women don’t do a whole lot. My brothers travel some for business. None of my family ever has been out of the Middle East. Never to the West. I’m the first.”

  Gwen said, “If you don’t consider Tehran your home anymore, where is your home?”

  Laleh didn’t answer. She just ate some more eggs, which Roger had scrambled with onions and red bell peppers. Gwen asked, “What would you like to do today?”

  “Is drinking wine with lunch really out?” she asked. Gwen nodded. “Well then, I don’t know. I could take the dog for another walk. Or maybe take a walk with Shim. I don’t want to bother you.”

  Roger said, “Shim probably is working on his book, being very dedicated and serious about his writing.” The dog, who was lying on the floor and happy to have his masters back home, raised his head at this statement, and thought, ‘He is?’

  Gwen also questioned Roger’s statement, thinking that Shim might very well choose to take a walk with Laleh rather than sweat it out over the computer keyboard. He had published half a dozen romantic comedies which had sold moderately well, but Gwen knew where his priorities lay, and a woman who looked like Laleh was right down that track. Gwen said, “Come on, I need some exercise after sitting in that plane and in the airports all day yesterday. And we need some time alone together. Let’s take a walk along The Battery and then up King Street. We’ll stop by Shim’s apartment on our way home, see what he’s doing for dinner.”

  “Is wine out for dinner, too?”

  “Fraid so, hon. We need to dry out for a few days. Then we can get back to it. Let’s go.” As they headed for the door Gwen yelled back into the kitchen, “That goes for you too, Roger. Stay out of the wine cellar.”

  As they walked along The Battery, Gwen gave Laleh a geography lesson about Charleston harbor. Across there is James Island, this is the tip of the peninsula, way out there in the water, with the flags flying, is famous Fort Sumter. Laleh said, “What’s it famous for?”

  “It’s the place where our Civil War started.”

  “When was that?”

  “1861-1865.”

  “Who won?”

  “Well, that’s complicated. I can tell you more about that some other time, but the outcome was that we stayed together as one country rather that breaking into two countries.” They walked farther around the tip, where Gwen pointed out a huge cubicle house built halfway out a long dock that stretched into the harbor. “We know the person that owns that place. It’s beautiful inside, with an incredible view of the harbor. I haven’t been inside in a couple of years.”

  “Is he a good friend?”

  “No, more like a business associate now. We see each other once in a while. At one time he wasn’t our friend at all; the opposite really. Then we got involved together on a project in which we had a common interest, so we spent a lot of time together. But when that was over, we went our separate ways.” Gwen didn’t go into the details of their association with Pmirhs Stirg, which over a period of a few years had ranged from implacable enemies to project teammates. She didn’t mention to Laleh that Stirg was one reason why she owned multiple guns, was fastidious about keeping them clean, and keeping herself and Roger in top handgun operating condition, mentally and physically. You never know when an association as volatile as theirs might just go south again.

  They walked up King Street where Gwen showed Laleh the Charleston Library Society, the second oldest library in America, and then the place where the street changed width. She told her the story of the 1865 fire that had swept across the peninsula. The street was narrow where the fire had not burned the buildings, and was wider where the buildings had been destroyed. When they rebuilt the buildings they had widened the street by a few feet. After a couple of hours of strolling and shopping, Gwen took her into The Hall, on John Street just off King. She unlocked the stage entry door down the alley, which led into the backstage area where the offices were, turned on the lights, and led her out onto the stage. Laleh faced the 800 seats and the banks of lights on the gantries overhead. She’d never been on a stage before.

  Gwen rolled a couple of chairs out from the wings, and they sat down. “Roger and I spent a lot of time in here a year ago, and a lot of time in here a year before that. Every day for months on end.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The first time we produced a ballet. Do you know who Igor Stravinsky was?” Laleh shook her head, no. “How about Pete Townshend and The Who?”

  She shook her head again, and said, “The who?” Gwen let that pass.

  “How about Catherine Deneuve, the French actress, and Mikhail Baryshnikov, the dancer?”

  Laleh wasn’t much up on western art and culture, but she said, “I know who George Bush is. Or was.” Gwen let that pass too.

  “That’s ok. All those people were part of the ballet. It was hard work, but an incredible experience. Wild. The second time we worked here was not too long ago, and that time we produced a rock opera. Do you know Paul McCartney?”

  This time she nodded, yes, and said, “I love his voice.”

  “He was part of that show, along with another great singer, Renee Fleming. I’ll play her Dark Hope CD when we get home. She’s the greatest. Every time Roger hears her sing, he says he wants a divorce so he can go chase her and see if she’ll have him.” Laleh knew Gwen was joking. She’d never been around two people more in love than the Junes.

  “Are you going to do another production soon?”

  “We don’t go looking for work like that. Both of those fell out of the sky on us, and both were unbelievable experiences; the greatest things I’ve ever done, really.” Gwen didn’t include on that list the episode of stealing artifacts from the warehouses of the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia, and smuggling them back to Charleston, but she could have. That was right up there with the musical productions in the excitement department. She said, “If something like that came our way again, I’d do it. That is, if Roger wanted to. I wouldn’t do it without him.” Laleh didn’t think Gwen would do anything without him. Then Gwen said, “Let’s go see what Shim’s up to.”

  They walked to his condo near Waterfront Park, which was where he had invested the earnings from his books. It was small but classy, and in a great part of town. Gwen banged on the door and yelled, “Everyone up and get dressed. Vice squad.”

  As Shim answered the door he turned and yelled towards his living room, “Hey, everyone back in the bedroom, and take your clothes with you. I’ll handle this.” He turned and smiled at Gwen, then noticed Laleh behind her, and wished he hadn’t said such a dumb thing. Gwen could joke around, and always got away with it, but he didn’t have that gift. He didn’t know Laleh’s sense of humor. The women entered, and Shim said to Laleh, “Just joking around. Sorry.”

  She said, “Can’t I meet your friends, just as they are?”

  Gwen winked at Shim and s
aid, “What’s that tell you?”

  Shimmey wasn’t sure, because being a writer, he wasn’t very sophisticated about a lot of things. But if Gwen thought something was good, and she did here with whatever was going on over his head, that was all right with him. He said, “It’s five o’clock. Can I get you a glass of wine or a cocktail?”

  “Not for me thanks,” said Gwen. I’m on the wagon for a few days. She may want something.”

  Laleh did want something, another Sidecar, especially because Shim was present, but she remembered something Gwen said about alcoholism, and said, “Not for me either. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Gwen went out on the balcony and looked at the harbor, while Shim showed Laleh his place. The three sat on the balcony, all of them wishing they were drinking alcohol of some kind. Shim got up and brought back a pitcher of sweet iced tea and a bowl of cashews, and Laleh told Shim what she had seen of the town. After half an hour Gwen looked at her watch and said, “Roger’s taking me out to dinner. We’re not back into the cooking thing yet. See you two tomorrow,” got up, and left. She didn’t wink at either one of them, but telepathically said to both of them, “Have fun.”

  Laleh sipped at her tea, wishing it was green tea, like she drank back home, ate a few cashews, then said, “You have any champagne?” Shim went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of nonvintage Moutard rose. Laleh drank the first glass in three sips, savored the rich pinot noir flavors, and said, “Praise be to Allah. That is good stuff.”

  Shim finished his, refilled their glasses, got an ice bucket from the kitchen, sat down, and said, “So you’re Islamic.” He felt ok saying this, even though it was personal, because she had opened the topic for conversation.

  “I was raised in Islam. My whole family is religious, but....it never grabbed me the way it grabbed them. I’ve been a skeptic my whole life. How about you?”

  “Methodist. Sunday school and church every week from age eight to eighteen. All that exposure, and it never grabbed me either. You know Methodism?” Laleh shook her head, no. “It’s a pretty mild religion. Not a lot of fanatics, none that I know of.” As soon as he said this he was sorry for using the word fanatic. He looked at her to see how badly he might have offended her. Stupid. Why could he not filter his words like most people do? He said, “Sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.”

  “You mean about religious fanaticism? That’s ok. That’s one reason I’m not religious; I don’t like that stuff at all, and we have a lot of it in Iran. Not everyone, or even most people, but still a lot. I think all those people are crazy, whether they’re Muslims or Jews or Christians or Hindus.” She paused and sipped, then said, “You have some fanatics here, don’t you. They’re all over the world, right?”

  “We do. We have faith healers who don’t take their kids to the doctor when they’re sick, believing God will cure the kid. And we have lots of preachers who run huge conglomerate churches with thousands of congregants who donate millions of dollars to the preachers, and in return the preachers tell them they should take the stuff in the Bible literally, and then they will do really well when they die, as opposed to nonbelievers, who are going to have a rough time of it. That’s fanaticism. And we have other varieties, too. We have religious people who don’t use electricity.”

  At this, Laleh’s mouth opened, even though there were half chewed cashew nuts in it. “These people don’t use electricity, even when it’s available to them? It’s there, and they don’t use it?” Shim nodded. She realized her mouth was open, closed it, took a sip of the Moutard, and said, “That is fanatical. I had no idea you had stuff like that. It’s not like suicide bombers, but still.”

  The champagne was working on Shim and he thought, this woman is pretty cool. It was working on Laleh, too, because she was thinking, this guy is nice. Cute and nice. Not a devil; at least I don’t think so. Shim went to the kitchen and brought back a plate of cold salmon, some soda crackers, a bowl of Greek olives, and a small dish of homemade mayonnaise. They ate their dinner and watched the College of Charleston sailing club go through some race maneuvers out in the harbor around Castle Pinckney. Laleh finished eating, put her feet up on the balcony railing, and looked at the empty bottle of champagne in the ice bucket. Shim got the message and went to the kitchen, this time returning with a bottle of Krug. He couldn’t afford to splurge on great wine at every meal the way the Junes did, but when it comes to Champagne, he does. And then, there was his new friend to take into consideration. She smiled at him, and thought, what’s wrong with a little alcoholism. This is fun.