by Marta Acosta
“Young Lady, how can you say such things! I want nothing more than to see you happily married to the man you love. That’s why I’m here.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“I swear on my parents’ watery graves.”
“Cornelia, if you make any attempt to get at Oswald, I will make your life a living hell,” I said. That business concluded, I said, “So, how’ve you been?”
“Wonderful. I just spent a few days with Ian and Ilena,” she said. “Isn’t she incredible? They make the perfect couple.”
Ilena would have told her about meeting me, I suppose. “She’s very striking,” I said. I hated asking Cornelia for a favor, but I blamed myself for this situation-well, myself, Toodles’s illness, overbooked hotels, and Oswald’s own jealousy. “I’d appreciate your not discussing your brother in front of Oswald. He has this attitude…”
“That Ian still fancies you?” She laughed. “Oswald wouldn’t worry if he’d seen Ilena. After all, she’s a plastic surgeon’s ideal, isn’t she? Long legs, perfect features, platinum hair, so stunning and thin.”
I’d been reassured and insulted so prettily that I couldn’t complain. “Why don’t you tell me about the ceremony? As you might have heard, I’ve had some bad experiences with the old rituals.”
“Yes, it was all the talk at one of the Nixons’ croquet parties.” She poured more blood into her drink, tasted it, and made a face. Cornelia looked down on animal blood, but it was the staple that most vamps used, and ours was especially good. “I’m here now because it’s best to start on the folk costumes now so there’s no rush. The ceremony itself is the old mumbo jumbo. You’re such a smart girl, you’ll have no problem memorizing it quickly. It’s a lovely ritual, quite innocent and romantic.”
Cornelia could be an amusing companion, if you had a liking for amoral, promiscuous, and adventurous Eurotrashy types, which I apparently did. “I’m fairly sure we have different definitions of innocent,” I said, but couldn’t help smiling.
“Possibly. I called Pepper on the way up and told him we’d meet in a little while. He said he would be enchanted to see us again.”
I doubted that Ernest “Pepper” Culpepper, biker and former purveyor of home-crafted pharmaceuticals, had ever used the word “enchanted” in his life. I’d met Pepper on Cornelia’s last visit, and we’d kept in touch. “I’m rather surprised that you remember him.”
“I always remember delightful people.”
While I really liked Pepper, Oswald discouraged me from visiting the biker’s favorite watering hole alone. But I wouldn’t be alone if I went with Cornelia. “Sure, we could go hang with him.”
A visit with Pepper required a different ensemble. I changed into jeans, a vintage CBGB T-shirt, and red heels. I clasped wide silver bracelets on my wrists, made my hair big with a generous amount of product, and drew on dark eyeliner. Glancing in the mirror, I thought I looked great. I looked like myself.
Because Cornelia wasn’t Ian’s biological sister, she didn’t have his (and my) resistance to booze. “I’ll drive,” I said. “Alcohol doesn’t really affect me.”
“You got that from Ian?” she said. When I nodded she added, “How sad. It’s one of life’s pleasures.” She handed me the keys.
I drove north, to the small town of Lower Sky. Pepper was leaning against the wall of his favorite hangout, swigging from a longneck bottle of beer. He wore his usual costume: black jeans, a Harley T-shirt, and a black leather vest. He was wearing his beard in three braids with beads at the end. He gave us an infectious gap-toothed grin when we walked up the sidewalk, and then he swept us up in his beefy arms.
We exchanged greetings and grabs. He went for a clutch of my bottom, and I felt up his biceps. “Nice guns. You working out, Pepper?”
“Yeah, there’s a new gym in town. Me and the boys all got memberships.”
“You must be a vision in Lycra workout clothes,” I said.
He snorted a laugh and led us inside the honky-tonk. Pretty soon everyone was buying rounds for everyone else. The waitress said, “Long time no see, sugar. Where’s your man?”
She meant Ian, but I said, “They’re all around, hon,” which made Pepper laugh.
A few of the guys got handsy, but Pepper would thwack them on the shoulder and they’d lay off. It saved me the trouble of walloping one and then explaining my ungirlish strength.
“Whatchu been doing, Milagro?” Pepper asked. “You too good for us these days?”
This was a complex question about socioeconomics and ethics that I could not answer succinctly, so I didn’t. “You know I always enjoy your company.”
“Pepper, your beard is absolutely wonderful,” Cornelia said. “Will you take me for a spin on your hog?”
“You betcha. Let’s down a couple drinks first.”
Time flies by when you’re hanging out with bikers shooting pool, drinking Wild Turkey, and playing Southern rock on the jukebox. I had joined in a chorus of “Sweet Home Alabama” when I heard my phone ringing.
It was Oswald. “Where are you?”
“Hi, Oz. We’re with Pepper.”
Cornelia took the phone from me. “Darling, I can’t wait to see you. Milagro and I will leave right away!”
We really would have, but navigating our exit was somehow delayed. As Pepper was finally walking out with us, he said to Cornelia, “When am I gonna see you again? And your bro?”
“You’ll see us at Milagro’s wedding. You’ve got to promise to save me a dance.”
Pepper tilted his head, setting the braids of his beard swinging. “You getting hitched?” he asked me.
“I’m making an honest man out of Oswald.”
“Glad you’re not trying to do that with me!” Pepper said. “So it’s Oswald you settled on? Send the invitation here.”
“I’ll do that,” I said.
When we finally got in the car and I was driving home, Cornelia leaned back in her seat and said, “I’m glad I was wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you’d become a dull little Country Mouse.”
I felt the stab. “Who told you that?”
“Why else would you register for gifts at that dusty old department store? Not that there’s anything wrong with that-the Grant family has always been very upstanding and respectable. They’d appreciate your new maturity.”
“The gift registration was for Oswald’s relatives, and there’s nothing wrong with growing up.”
“There’s a difference between growing up and giving up, Young Lady.” Instead of elaborating, she began talking about the wedding ceremony. “The Council will appoint someone to perform the service. There’s a sweet young fellow who applied to officiate ceremonies, but he’s having problems with the language.”
“I always thought it sounded like a robot chewing metal,” I said, trying not to think of the way the words had sounded when Ian spoke them to me. “Can’t we have it in English?”
“You can ask Sam to submit a request for you, but you may want to appear more accommodating.”
“Reciprocity would be nice. The Council treats me like I’ve got cooties.”
When I explained the curse of cooties to Cornelia, she started laughing. I knew she was a terrible person, so why did I have fun with her? I remembered Ms. Smith’s description of her as a child, and I felt a wave of empathy for the scared little girl she’d once been.
Oswald was sitting on the terrace as we drove up. He looked annoyed. Cornelia got out of the car and dashed into his arms, crying, “Oswald, you sexy creature!” and he broke into a smile.
They did the kiss-kiss thing, and then she held him at arm’s length. “Darling, you get better looking every time I see you.”
“And you look beautiful, as always,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you, though.”
“I asked the Council not to say anything, because I wanted to surprise you.” Cornelia and Oswald shared an old-friend-well-met smile that made me all too
aware that they’d known each other long before I’d met them. Cornelia was always flirtatious. I didn’t mind it around Pepper, and now I tried to control my suspicions as I edged up next to Oswald.
I slipped my arm around his waist and said, “I’m sorry we’re late, Oz. We were hanging with Pepper and…”
Oswald didn’t stop smiling, but his expression shifted fractionally in disapproval.
Who was he to judge Pepper, just because of Pepper’s more freewheeling, frequently criminal lifestyle? I pulled my arm back.
“The food’s staying warm in the oven,” Oswald said. “Why don’t we eat?”
He’d picked up food from the posh deli near his clinic: chicken in a tomato-caper sauce, smoked red pepper soup, a salad, and a berry tart. Now I felt bad that he’d rushed from work to the market and hurried home while we were learning to shoot dice and screaming, “Mama needs a new push-up bra!”
I asked, “Cornelia, have you been seeing anyone?”
“No one special,” she said with a sideways glance at Oswald. “Most men seem so…so very ordinary. Even our kind have lost touch with their instincts.” She sounded almost wistful, but it lasted only a moment. “Oh, la! The country air makes me so sentimental.”
“You wouldn’t want all men as ‘instinctual’ as Pepper anyway,” I said.
“Don’t be so sure,” she said.
Oswald said, “That bar isn’t a very safe place for women by themselves.”
“How sweet of you to be so protective of us,” Cornelia said, “especially since I know that Milagro can take care of herself so terribly well.”
“That’s not a reason to go looking for trouble,” Oswald replied.
“Then we won’t,” she said. “Oswald, when I was in Gstaad, several of my friends were raving about your work. Tell me everything you’ve been doing.”
Oswald was happy to do so in great detail. Cornelia asked questions so informed they seemed to indicate personal experience with cosmetic procedures. Not that you could tell with vamps, who aged well and healed smoothly.
I saw Oz’s happy face and wished I could be more interested in his profession. Unfortunately I associated it with my mother Regina. I tried to listen now, but found my mind wandering. I was thinking about the next chapter of Don Pedro’s story when I heard a series of short, sharp barks.
It had gotten late and I’d missed my run. “Excuse me,” I said, standing up. There was an extra piece of chicken I could take to Pal.
“One of your many dogs?” Cornelia asked.
“Somebody else’s dog,” I said. “But he comes round in the evening.”
“He’s not a dog,” Oswald said. “I’m fairly certain that it’s an Eastern timber wolf.”
Cornelia turned to me. “Really? May I see him?”
“Come on.” I picked up the chicken breast, getting sauce all over my fingers. Cornelia hadn’t a spot or smudge on her white clothes.
We all went out the front door and I called, “Here, boy.” I scanned the fields and a moment later I saw him loping toward us. He stopped about twenty feet away, looking wary. “Come,” I said, and I moved toward him, holding the chicken aloft. “Got a treat for you.”
He approached slowly, keeping watch of my companions.
“Milagro,” Oswald said, but then Pal gingerly took the chicken from my fingers. He swallowed the meat in about one bite and then carefully licked the sauce from my fingers.
“See, he’s a good fellow.” I scratched the area between his ears. He took another look at us and loped toward the cover of trees.
“A magnificent creature,” Cornelia said. “I can’t remember the last time I had wolf’s blood, Oswald. Can you?”
“I’d rather have his than the other way around.”
“Neither of those situations is going to happen,” I snapped. “Pal is better behaved than most people I know.”
Oswald said, “Sure, if you’re talking about people like Pepper’s crowd. But I’m the one who’s legally and morally responsible for everything that goes on here, and I don’t like you encouraging that animal to come around.”
I was furious that he didn’t trust my judgment. “So my human friends aren’t good enough, and neither are my canine friends! I didn’t realize that I’d become incapable of making my own decisions.” I walked angrily into the house, seeing Cornelia’s amused expression, and I shouted over my shoulder, “And in conclusion, you can go to hell, Oswald.”
While I was putting away the food and dishes from dinner with much banging and stomping, I realized that this was perhaps not the best display of marital compatibility we could have set forth. Well, I couldn’t help that Oswald was behaving like a complete jackass.
I kept expecting him to come into the kitchen and apologize. But he hadn’t by the time I’d cleaned everything. I glanced at the clock. Where were he and Cornelia? They hadn’t come back into the house and they weren’t on the terrace.
I stepped outside and looked toward the barn. Lights glowed there. They’d gone for a nightcap in the tasting room. Why did I feel excluded when I was the one who’d stomped off?
I spent a few hours reading and writing, expecting them to return at any moment. I felt foolish and worried despite the fact that Oswald hadn’t shown any inappropriate interest in Cornelia.
I closed the door to my bedroom and called Winnie, Sam’s wife. Sam answered groggily. “What is it, Young Lady?”
“I need to talk to Winnie.”
“She’s sleeping. Can I help?”
Sam wasn’t exactly the sort of person I naturally confided in, but he was trustworthy and smart. “The Council appointed Cornelia Ducharme as the wedding consultant. She’s here now.”
“Oh,” he said. It was a weighty “oh.” He’d had his own close encounter with the she-devil.
“‘Oh’ exactly. Sam, could the Council have done this just to break us up?”
He chuckled. “I can’t see the Council entrusting Cornelia to do anything like that,” he said. “She’s actually a good fit for the job. It’s not a big commitment, but requires someone who’s social and comfortable with all branches of the family.”
“Why would she even want this job?”
“Maybe she wanted some independence. The position has an expense account and great perks.” In the background, the baby began crying. “I’ve got to go,” Sam said. “I’m still negotiating with the Council about the loyalty oath, and if you can give Cornelia a chance, things will go smoother.”
After we said good-bye, I cogitated on Cornelia’s situation. Perhaps she, like Nancy, was trying to do something with her talents, such as they were.
My pledge to give Cornelia a chance was tested later that night when I heard the low murmur of her and Oswald’s voices and laughter as they came in the house. Their footsteps faded as they went down the hall toward the stairway and then up to bed.
twelve
half-baked and fully cooked
O swald looked as innocent as a bunny the next morning. But while bunnies appear innocent, their reproduction patterns belie fluffy purity. He had already made coffee when I got up and went into the kitchen. He gave me a sideways glance and said, “Are you over your tantrum?”
“I don’t have tantrums,” I said. “I occasionally express outrage at injustice.”
He had the nerve to smirk as he handed me my coffee. I went to the table and saw a book there. There was a photo of a wolf on the cover. “I was wrong,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”
“That creature is not an Eastern timber wolf. It’s a Mackenzie Valley wolf.” He came to the table and flipped the book open to a bookmark.
There was a picture of a wolf that looked exactly like Pal. “There is a vague resemblance,” I admitted. “Something of a similarity around the muzzle perhaps.”
“A vague resemblance?”
“A strongly vague resemblance. Which is nothing at all in the general scheme of the animal world. Dogs and wolves
are practically the same genetically.”
“Small alterations in genes can result in drastic differences in character and behavior.”
“I’m aware of that. And your point is?”
He gave me a hard look.
“All right, all right,” I said. “But he’s been around all this time and nothing has happened.” I moved closer to Oswald, running my hand over his yummy firm thigh. “Oswald…”
“Good morning!” Cornelia walked into the kitchen wearing a slinky black nightgown with a matching robe that wafted back as she walked. The word “negligee” came to mind.
Oswald took my hand, which was moving northward, and held it. “Morning, Cornelia. Sleep well?”
“Like the dead.” She looked around the room, her eyes falling on the coffeepot as if it had personally disappointed her.
“I could fire up the espresso maker,” Oswald said when he noticed her expression. “Or would you like orange juice?” He went to the fridge and took out a pitcher of blood orange juice.
“Juice only.” She shook her head at the muffins I took from the cupboard.
“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked.
She sipped her juice before answering. “We went over the plans and requirements with Ernesto last night. He has the arch and platform from Sam and Winnie’s wedding in storage, and he’ll give them a new coat of paint.”
“Is there anything that I can do?” I asked.
“Of course!” Cornelia said. “You’ll be sewing the traditional marriage costumes, the bride and groom’s tunics.”
I tried to catch Oswald’s eye, but he was suddenly fascinated with the scenery outside the window. Turning to Cornelia, I said, “I don’t sew. I can sew on a button, but that’s about it.” My few needle skills were learned from my abuela, who had shown me how to hem dishcloths and darn socks. My mother Regina always threw away anything that was imperfect in her eyes, yet another reason she had frequently forgotten to pick me up from the library.