by James Ross
Tyler Cy placed his lips in a circular form and blew slight air out of the opening. He didn’t dare say a word. Not even a simple “sorry” would suffice.
“Now, do you know where you’re going?”
“The Little Chapel of the Fountains.” He knew a simple answer to a simple question was better than trying to find out what crawled up her ass. It was way too early in the late afternoon to start counting the minutes to the end of the night.
“If you hurry we’ll get there on time.”
Tyler Cy glanced at the clock on the console. It read 5:08. “The service started at five.”
“You know these things never start on time. Get a move on it. We don’t want to be too late.” A drag, an inhale, a slight turn of the head, and then a steady stream of smoke toward the closed passenger window followed. Shari returned her attention to the mirror.
Tyler Cy made a left at a stop sign.
“Where are you going?”
“To the church.”
“This isn’t the way.”
“It’s the way I’ve always gone.”
“If you go straight at that intersection you take a left about a mile down the road. It’s quicker.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Like one minute is going to get us there on time.”
“Dammit, Tyler Cy! We’re in a hurry aren’t we?”
He couldn’t hold it any longer. “I’ve only been on every road in this city at one time or another.”
Shari stewed. She knew who paid the bills. She clenched her teeth and then returned to the mirror. The shimmer went to work. “Well, if we’re late, it’s your fault.”
Chapter Four
Cars lined the street as Tyler Cy approached the Little Chapel of the Fountains. Parking was impossible at the small cathedral. He pulled onto the asphalt pavement and traveled down every aisle.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to find a place to park.”
“Can’t you see the lot is full?”
“I was hoping against hope.”
“Why don’t you drop me off by the door?”
After a sideways glance to the passenger seat he rounded a corner just as the church bells clamored. The double doors to the front of the cathedral flew open. A smiling bride and groom burst into the late afternoon sunshine.
“Is this where you want me to drop you off, Woobie?”
“Don’t be such a smart ass.” Shari looked as the wedding party and guests followed out the door. “If you hadn’t of taken the wrong way,” she sighed. “It’s just as well. We wouldn’t have been able to find a seat. I didn’t want to go anyway.”
“Mrs. Hedrick will be disappointed.”
“Who gives a shit about her and her precious daughter? It’s just a missed opportunity to be seen.”
Chapter Five
The drive to Olde Blueblood Country Club was less than ten minutes. The wealth in the western suburbs of St. Louis was evident as Tyler Cy wound his way delicately over two-lane blacktop roads with no shoulder. He knew not to go over 35 miles per hour. The municipality cops were notorious for sticking it to the drivers of the luxury sedans.
Two brick pillars marked the entrance to Olde Blueblood. The insignia on the sign reminded one of the history of golf. It had a European flavor—Scottish in particular. Absolute royalty. A shield was divided into quadrants. An O was in the top left. In the upper right, a B made its home. The letter C was placed in each lower quadrant. Leaves from a wreath trailed along the left side. An old wooden driver stood on the right.
Definitely blue blood. The place reeked of old-time St. Louis wealth. The entry road onto the property ran 1.3 miles. Older model homes that had been constructed during the 1904 World’s Fair lined the street. Some of the dilapidated ones had been purchased as tear-downs; the remaining acreage now the site of more up-to-date multi-million dollar mansions.
Driving down the road, Tyler Cy wondered when hunters in royal attire would gallop by on horseback in hot pursuit of a fox. He smiled to himself. They had made it. His hard work had paid dividends. A member sponsored him after many of the older members had died. The club had been looking for a younger membership. They sought the self-made entrepreneur that could bring new money to the club. His real estate success had qualified him for elite status.
It didn’t matter that he was predominantly bald. A two inch strip of hair grew above his ears and in back. The belly fat jiggled too; a result of too many power lunches and little exercise. What really counted was the fact that he had assets—real property assets—along with high-rent tenants, excellent credit, favorable relationships with bankers, and a likeable personality. Plus he was born with the salesman’s perseverance. And, of course, the piece of eye candy on his arm would rival any in town. It was just a shame that he hadn’t aged as well as she had. Usually it was the other way around.
He had the opportunity to daydream. Shari was busy texting Lord only knew. He glanced at the ashes ready to fall off of her Marlboro Light. The ashtray was open with butts and ashes spilling out onto the carpet below. If he looked hard enough he could see a film of tar and nicotine on the inside of the windows. What a filthy habit. He wondered if she was aware of how nasty her presence became when she lit up. Her rationale was that it kept food out of her mouth and her waistline slim. Now if that wasn’t a twist of fate. Pollute your lungs so that your waist could stay in shape.
Tyler Cy rounded a bend in the road. He passed underneath an ancient oak with a perfect shape, half of its branches sprawling well over the center line. He made a mental note to thank the grounds crew for their perfect maintenance of that legendary landmark.
Then there it was. The majestic county club that looked like a medieval castle situated in a grove of trees and surrounded by swaying oaks. To their complement, membership kept the front unimpeded. A circle drive and parking lot took up that space. The trees were more to the sides and rear of the structure. In an attempt to modernize the landscaping, islands in the parking lot grew large lots of pampas grass. There wasn’t a weed on the property. The trimming was flawless, the maintenance impeccable.
“What are you doing?” The voice from the passenger seat asked as Tyler Cy pulled into a parking spot. “I’m not walking from here.” She glared at him. “Drop me off at the door.”
The car backed out of the space. Tyler Cy drove less than thirty yards and pulled up next to the curb. Shari lowered the visor, opened the mirror, and primped for the third time since she got into the car. When done she reached over, grabbed her cigarette, took a heavy drag, and ground the butt into the ash tray. Next she turned her attention to her purse. “Where did it go?”
“What?”
“The card I got for them.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll put my business card on the package.”
“That’s so tacky.”
“It will work in a pinch.”
Shari shook her head with frustration. “I don’t understand how men think.” She opened the door, got out, straightened her dress, and then opened the back door. She bent over and scooted the wedding present toward her. “There it is! It was underneath the package.”
“Good. Now we’ll have some class.”
“One of us will anyway.” As she backed out of the back seat she raised her head too quickly and bumped the edge of the steel frame where the door closed. “Dammit, Tyler Cy! Why didn’t you get it for me instead of watching me struggle?”
He had no answer. A few guys at the door were enjoying the view of Shari’s rear. He had an inner chuckle at their reaction.
“Is that all you have to say?” She reached back, grabbed the top of her head and winced. “How’s my hair look?”
“It’s just fine, Woobie.”
“Stop that!” She sighed as she put the package on the top of the roof. After closing the rear door Shari opened the front door and peered in. She yanked down the visor, flipped open the mirror, examined her hair, and then slammed everything back into place.
As she backed out of the front seat she raised her head too quickly and banged her head on the ceiling of the car. “Ouch! Dammit!” She slammed the door.
Tyler Cy started to inch away. “Wait!” The car stopped. Shari reached for the wedding present that was on top of the car. “That’s all we need, a thousand chunks of crystal scattered on the lot. What kind of a dumb shit are you?” She raised the wrapped crystal in the air and turned to the front door.
Sheer elegance is the only way to describe the interior of Olde Blueblood Country Club. Shari felt it the minute she stepped into the foyer. Even though the exterior was dated with the original stonework, the interior had been gutted several years prior. The best furnishings and most up-to-date decorating that money could buy took center stage.
Rather than wait for Tyler Cy, Shari noticed that the Hedrick wedding party was gathering in the Ben Hogan Room. She quickly made her way to that wing of the club and placed the wedding gift and card on a table covered by a white cloth. In no time she worked her way to the bar and ordered her favorite: vodka tonic with a splash of Grand Marnier and a double twist. A Marlboro Light occupied her mouth.
Soon thereafter Tyler Cy made his entrance. He was popular. His personality worked the room. As Shari sipped on her second drink, Tyler Cy shook hands and shared one-liners while Shari chain-smoked.
Each table was numbered. A list of names informed who sat at what table. “That’s a good idea,” Shari whispered to her husband. “I’m here to see what works and what doesn’t. We have Kara’s wedding coming up.”
The bride and groom arrived several minutes after the wedding party. They had taken time before the ceremony for pictures. A party pic man snapped informal shots as the two-man combo played mood music for the dinner crowd.
By the time the announcer called for table 10 Shari had finished her third drink. She knew what Tyler Cy expected. Her drink limit had been reached. The cigarette was mashed into the ashtray.
“I love the buffet line concept,” Shari cooed to Tyler Cy as they assumed their place in line. “Nina said that was the best way to please everyone. Serve sirloin, chicken, fish or pork. Let the guests decide on the spot.
Tyler Cy nodded. His daughter’s wedding, over a year away, wasn’t a priority yet.
Shari reached for a plate, examined it, discovered a pinhead sized scrap and placed it off to the side. “I can’t believe they don’t do a better job, especially for something like this. The Hedrick’s are members you know.” She picked up a set of tongs and picked at the lettuce. “There’s brown on some of it,” she whispered to her husband as she examined six leaves of lettuce and settled on one. Then she started the routine again before settling on five pieces of perfect lettuce.
The people in line behind them grew restless.
Shari attacked the broccoli next. One floret after another was discarded as she picked her way through the serving dish. Twice she selected a floret and placed it on her plate only to remove it seconds later when a more perfect floret became her choice.
“Come on, lady,” a voice behind her grunted.
She picked her way through the roasted asparagus, new potatoes, grilled sesame Parmesan zucchini, and baked squash chips. If one spear was good the next one was better. She searched each hot plate for the single most perfect zucchini cut and seasoned chip.
For the main course, Shari had to choose between the Cajun seasoned pork tenderloin, grilled salmon with toasted pine nuts, chicken Marsala topped with sautéed mushrooms or sliced peppercorn sirloin with a side of horseradish. Pick. Pick. Pick. Select a piece. Look at both sides. Place it back. Finally, she settled on the salmon. “Isn’t this beautiful?” She held it up to Tyler Cy’s face. “See how the grille marks are perfectly placed on each side?”
“Woobie, you know how to pick em.”
She held her plate up for Tyler Cy to see. “Everything looks so perfect.”
“Are they taking pictures at the end of the line for Menu Beautiful?”
Another voice followed. “Does it matter? In a few minutes it will be chewed, mixed together, and look like crap tomorrow.” The youngsters had grown impatient. The selected veggies were cold and people behind her were eating by hand. The line had grown to over thirty guests.
“Lady, do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Moving along a little faster.”
“Everything looks so good.”
“Lord knows you looked at every piece.”
And so it was the rest of the night. Shari shook her assets with the younger strangers and enjoyed flirting and dancing. Tyler Cy approved, watched her moves out of one eye and talked business.
Much later Shari picked through the strawberries one by one as the dessert line grew. She would have moved to coffee after that but it wasn’t to her liking. She wanted a White Chocolate Mocha Latte. Tyler Cy promised to stop at Starbucks on the way home.
Chapter Six
Monday mornings at Olde Blueblood were reserved for the ladies—for bridge, not golf that is. They met weekly at ten o’clock in the Babe Didrikson Zaharis room. From Texas, Babe originally played baseball and then switched to golf at a later age. During the post-World War II years she won 41 tournaments and dominated the ladies’ professional tour.
So while the greens keepers and maintenance staff toiled on the course, the women enjoyed coffee and brunch. Shari Daniels-Donnelly was one of twenty-four that made the club a weekly social stop. Their ages ranged from the late thirties to the mid-eighties, and the elder participants were razor sharp.
“Where is Agnes today?” Gertie Moore began. The gossip started.
“She hurt her back planting tulips.”
“How can that be?”
“She was on her hands and knees for a long time and it locked up.”
“That can happen.” Shari was anxious to jump into the conversation. “I hurt mine swinging a golf club. The pain shot up my back. I could barely move for two weeks.”
“When will she be back out?”
“It will be a while.”
“She can’t sit up very long.”
“When I hurt mine I had to go to the doctor. He sent me to a massage therapist. He couldn’t fix the problem. Then they sent me to Boston. The weather sucked. It was already warm here and they had a late snow storm. I got snowed in and the…”
“Not even to play bridge?”
“No. If she gets two hands in that’s all she can take.”
“Poor thing. We know how she looks forward to playing.”
“The guy up there couldn’t do a thing for me either,” Shari interrupted. The lack of attention in her direction was agonizing. “I came back here and they ran an MRI and more tests. I think the final diagnosis was a pinched nerve. They had to give me muscle relaxers.” She rolled her eyes. “Ooooooh they were heaven. I got hooked on them. But they finally solved the problem.”
“Is anyone helping her?”
“I call to check on her every day.”
“She’s on her back.”
“That was all I could do it seemed like,” Shari added. “I needed help to get up. I couldn’t walk. It hurt to slip on shoes and getting dressed was an all-day adventure. And then Tyler Cy was nagging at me all the time to quit whining. He’s such an ass. If he ever got hurt as bad as I was he would have been more sympathetic.”
The ladies had heard Shari’s self-centered voice before. It was time to change the subject. “Did you go to April Hedrick’s wedding on Saturday?” Mona Johnson asked Shari. “I think that Winifred aged a decade planning for it.”
“Tyler Cy didn’t get to the church on time so we missed the wedding,” Shari said. “I told him where it was but he wouldn’t listen to me. He went a different way and we pulled into the lot just as the bride and groom were walking out.”
“The church was beautiful,” Nora Wilkes replied.
“Oh, did you make it?”
“Yes. It was so quaint. A young boy played an acoustic guitar and a girl sang a d
uet with him.” Nora sipped her coffee. “It was kinda folksy.” She placed the cup in a saucer. “The bride was beautiful and the groom was so handsome.”
“I saw them both at the reception. I wanted to see the church so bad. I can’t believe Tyler Cy. Sometimes he just doesn’t think. He was watching the golf tournament on TV and didn’t get ready in time. Then when he was running late he tried to take a shortcut and, well, I didn’t get to even go inside. I wanted to get in to see the interior. I have to help Kara plan her wedding, you know.”
“It’s a small sanctuary. I bet it didn’t seat over about 150 people.”
“That won’t be big enough for Kara’s wedding. I think that we’re going to invite at least three hundred on each side.” Shari reached into her purse, dug around, found a pack of cigarettes and lit up a smoke. “It’s a charming site but we’d have to set up a circus tent to accommodate all of our guests.”
“It’s not for you. It has a personal feel to it—very private and intimate.”
Mona chimed in. “It sounds like you want an extravaganza that is going to make the society pages and have a list of Who’s Who.”
Shari smiled. “I believe that bigger is better.” She smiled as Raul walked into the room carrying specialty menus. Dressed in black tuxedo trousers, a long white dress shirt, cumber bun and suspenders, he got the attention of the room. And when he flashed a flawless smile a few of the ladies almost fainted.
At age thirty-five, Raul Mendez was in the prime of his life. With jet black hair combed straight back, bronze skin, a 32-inch waist, and a killer smile he could schmooze his way into most any female bedroom in the suburbs of St. Louis. “Oh my gawd,” Mona whispered to the other three at her table. “Why couldn’t I be forty years younger?”
“We’d be bitter enemies,” Nora replied covering her mouth with her napkin. “We’d be in a fierce battle for his attention. Look at him.” She let out a sigh. The older ladies giggled like grade school girls.
Raul stopped at the first table, shared conversation and hearty belly laughs. “How are my bombons today?”