by Mary Bowers
Ed had stayed behind to pay the bill (Orwell had walked out the door without even thinking of it), and Bernie and Pixie had gone to the Ladies’ room. When we heard them coming out of Karma Café and heading toward us, Orwell quietly asked me, “How much of what happened do you find you are able to accept?”
I looked at him. He had hit the nail on the head. It wasn’t what had happened; it was accepting what had happened that was hard. “Some days are better than others.”
He nodded. “I used to be like that. It’s easier when you get over it and just swallow things whole.”
Chapter 10
Back at the conference, things were percolating along nicely. Nobody seemed to have missed us, but I noticed a ripple of sideways, almost shy glances at Orwell as we came in. The crowd parted before him and he went into the room grandly, a small man with a big presence.
Ed saw Sparky hanging around Purity’s Crystals and Potions booth near the entrance and tacked in his direction.
“Where’s Vanessa?” Ed asked.
“Who cares? Listen, Ed, what gives with the Pixie chick? Is she like the new Vanessa? Or what?”
I had been following Orwell into the hall, but at the mention of Pixie I veered back to Ed and Sparky. I didn’t care where Vanessa was, but I’d gotten more and more curious about “the Pixie chick.”
Ed, as usual, knew everything. He’d been one of the people who’d planned the conference: he had the registration forms.
“Her real name is Linda Potts. You know Orwell. He has fascinations. Last time around it was Vanessa. Now it’s Linda Potts, only he calls her Pixie. Gotta admit it, she looks like one, and Orwell loves the sound of ‘Pixie Potts.’ He laughs every time he says it.” He shrugged.
“She’s a groupie,” Sparky said flatly.
“Whatever. She doesn’t look like she’s going to have the organizational skills that Vanessa has, and as for writing a book about him . . . .”
Sparky nodded wisely. “So she’s not particularly useful and she’s no threat to Vanessa, which explains why she’s still around. Vanessa would’ve gotten rid of her by now otherwise. She’s an add-on, not a replacement.”
“She’s a little gold-digger, like they all are,” a voice from the sky said ominously. We all looked up and saw Gavin Lovelace looming over us.
“I thought she was your friend,” I blurted. “Orwell said so.”
He made a sour face. “Hardly.”
I guess my distaste for the way he was acting showed in my face, because he added, “Don’t get me wrong. Orwell’s not lecherous. He’s just easily distracted. And he likes to think we’re just a happy little family. Any conflicts between us go right over his head. He ignores the way Vanessa treats everybody, because he simply doesn’t want to deal with it. He idealizes people – for a while. When he first met Vanessa, he told her she reminded him of a water sprite. That’s why she got the spiked-out haircut. Ridiculous. And at her age. She must be close to seventy.”
“She’s 63,” I said, just because I happened to know. If she’d been Michael’s prom date, she was the same age as he.
“She looks older,” Gavin said.
“You were Orwell’s right hand before Vanessa showed up, weren’t you Gavin?” Sparky asked, looking innocent.
“I single-handedly inaugurated The Questian Society. Without me, none of you would’ve ever heard of him. I’m his manager.”
“He says he doesn’t have a manager and doesn’t need one,” Ed said.
“When did he say that?”
“Just now, at the coffee shop down the road. We took a little break together.”
Gavin stared at Ed, then looked at me. “Orwell wanted cake,” I told him.
“I brought a cake for him! I told him that. I always see that he has his little reward after he’s done some work. It’s a layer cake, chocolate with buttercream frosting, just the way he likes it. I picked it up from that bakery you recommended, Ed, and it’s around here somewhere. I gave it to Pixie and told her to take care of it.”
“I’m sure he’ll enjoy your cake later,” I said. “Karma Café didn’t have layer cake, so he had to settle for a cinnamon roll.”
Gavin wasn’t mollified. “He should never have left the building. He’s needed here. I can’t find Vanessa, and The Questian Society’s booth hasn’t been set up yet. Nothing’s been done. Things are in a mess, and he goes traipsing off for a cinnamon roll!”
“Vanessa hasn’t set up the booth yet?” Ed asked, snapping back into his role as event coordinator. “Really! Do I have to do everything myself? Where is she? I need to talk to her anyway.”
“I can’t find her,” Gavin said. “I’ve been looking for her for over an hour. The Questian materials are still in boxes in the back of the van. I’d set the damned booth up myself, but Orwell thinks Vanessa has an artistic touch. Artistic my ass! I always used to do it myself, back in the old days, when it was just Orwell and me. This all would have been done by now and running smoothly if she wasn’t involved. Now look at it! Orwell wandering off by himself, and nothing’s been done at all to get the booth set up.”
“Really?” I looked around. “Pixie said the last time she saw Vanessa she was setting the booth up and was working hard. And getting cranky.”
“Well, nobody’s touched those boxes. The table we’ve been assigned is completely bare. And forget about setting up a computer so we can display our website and add to our mailing list! We’ve got nothing! Vanessa said she’d bring the laptop, but where the hell is she? I’ve been trying to wing it. Everybody here got the vendor layout and they know where the Questian booth is. I finally broke open a box of pamphlets with my bare hands and I’ve been taking down e-mail addresses on a plain sheet of paper. We look like amateurs. Our presence is pathetic, and it’s all Vanessa’s fault. Wait till I find her!”
“This is ridiculous,” Ed said. “I’ll go make an announcement.” He turned and walked toward the lectern.
“Just where did Pixie come from?” I asked Gavin.
“She worked in a bakery near Orwell’s New York apartment. He liked their cakes. Maybe he got the idea she was baking them herself. I don’t know. She delivered orders to the apartment, and Orwell took a liking to her. He always tried to get her to stay a while when she made a delivery, and gradually she became a part of the group.”
“Does she do anything practical?”
“You mean like cooking or cleaning or answering the phone? No. Maybe I should start giving her something to do, because she looks like she’s going to be around a while. At least she’s not as hard to control as Vanessa, and she keeps Orwell amused. Maybe that’s practical enough. After Vanessa swooped down on us like a bird of prey, Pixie’s a relief. Who knows? Maybe now that he’s got another playmate, Orwell will see Vanessa for what she is and dump her.”
“Does he dump people?” I simply couldn’t picture him doing that.
“He gets me to do it,” he said with a sour smile. He turned and stalked off.
Ed’s voice suddenly came over the speaker system, saying, “Will Vanessa Court please come to the front of the room? Vanessa Court. Are you here? Please come to the front of the room, I need to talk to you. Thank you.”
He turned the microphone off and looked around hopefully.
I didn’t particularly want to see Vanessa again myself, so I decided to go over and tell Ed good-bye before she showed up. But before I could move, somebody touched me from behind. I turned around and there was the last person I expected to see: Michael.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, after throwing my arms around him. I guess I was more enthusiastic than usual, because he was a pillar of normalcy in a Tolkeinian forest.
“I’ve been here for hours. Where have you been?”
“What do you mean, you’ve been here for hours?”
“I came to hear that guy, Orwell Quest.”
“Oh. I’m sorry you missed it. It started at noon. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Sure
. I was here at noon. I came in just as Ed took the podium. I saw you talking to Vanessa at the front of the room and, uh, you know . . . .”
“You chickened out, huh?” I lifted an eyebrow at him, but I really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get tangled up in that.
“Oh, I just decided I’d hang back for a minute. Then Vanessa came down the aisle and gave me a wink and a wave but kept on walking like she was on a mission. I watched her, and she unlocked a door at the back of the room, went in and closed the door behind her, so I figured she was working. You took a seat in the front row where I figured the seats were reserved, so I sat down in the back and enjoyed the show.” He grinned. “Nobody knew where Orwell Quest was when Ed went up to introduce him, did they?”
“Did it show?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head. “Poor Ed. You gotta admit it, he’s got courage getting up in front of all those people without knowing what was going to happen.”
“Well, it all worked out. I enjoyed the speeches.”
“You did?”
“I’m not saying I understood the speeches. I did enjoy them, though. Then afterwards everybody got up at once and the crowd got so dense I couldn’t find you. I went outside a little while ago and your car was gone and you weren’t answering your cell phone, so I figured you’d left.”
“Darn! I silenced my phone when the speeches started and forgot to turn the volume up again.” I got my phone out and took care of it, but that horse had already left the barn.
“I figured that’s what happened. It’s all right. I’ve never been at one of these things before, and it’s been interesting, but I finally gave up on finding you and was about to leave. I was just taking a look around for Vanessa when Ed made his announcement and I saw you walking towards the front of the room.”
“Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry we left you behind. Orwell wanted cake.”
“Orwell wanted what?”
“Cake. It’s kind of a thing with him. I took him down to Karma Café. We just got back. If I’d known you were here, I’d have taken you along. It was pretty interesting. I think I get the man now, but I’m not sure I can repeat the whole conversation for you. It kind of ranged around. It’s been a strange day,” I added vaguely. “I’m guessing you couldn’t find Vanessa either.”
“I never did see her again after the speeches. So Ed’s got everybody looking for her?”
“Yes. That should flush her out. Darn! Where on earth can she be?”
Ed came up beside me, said hello to Michael and turned right back to me. “I can’t waste any more time looking for her. I’ve got a workshop to conduct on how to expose phony mediums without causing psychological damage to the sitters. It’s become an issue. These days, people want to be sensitive. The old days when Houdini sprang up, tore his disguise off and announced that the medium was a fake are over, thank goodness. I’m calling the class, ‘The Respectful Exposer.’ If Vanessa turns up, tell her to get busy on The Questian Society’s booth and I’ll look for her there later.”
I tried to tell him that I was leaving but he didn’t give me the chance. He just turned and stalked off.
“Come on,” Michael said. “I want to show you something. You won’t believe the Rare Earths booth. Ten thousand little bottles with labels like ‘Powdered Newt, young’ and ‘Powdered Newt, old.’ Seriously!”
“I guess if you’re going to do a potion at all, you may as well do it right,” I said. “Let’s go. I think I’m out of griffin eyeballs.”
Suddenly, ParaCon was fun. At least until somebody finally thought of looking for Vanessa in the kitchen.
Chapter 11
Once Michael and I started browsing around at the booths, we got interested, got to talking to people, had a few laughs, then took a peek into the Activities Lounge. We ended up observing an impromptu demonstration by some guy who could throw playing cards so hard they’d stick into things (Styrofoam cups, the old cork-tile dropped ceiling, an apple).
A nice, dapper-looking elderly fellow was relaxing in a corner, where a coffee cart plus a few tables had constituted a café, and as we wandered by he began a conversation with us, warning us right up front that he was a skeptic. For about fifteen minutes, we had a hilarious conversation with him about the eccentrics all around us. Only when he began to expand on the mass-migration our ancestors had made to Earth from Mars when the atmosphere of that planet had been stripped away by solar wind did we decide to end the conversation and get out of there.
“Fact, I assure you,” he said blandly as we got up to go. By then he’d noticed our bobble-head nods and widening eyes. “Read NASA’s report of November 5 of last year. Charged particles are shooting away from the sun at a rate of a million miles per hour. Think of it! Our Martian ancestors certainly did. It’s just a shame we’ve lost the process of cold fusion propulsion –“
We smiled and backed out of the lounge.
The first person I recognized when we got into the throng in the main hall was Bernie, taking a rest in one of the folding chairs, which she’d placed so she had a good view of the “Sparky and the Gang” booth. They seemed to be taking challenge questions. A large crowd was gathered around the booth, and a lively back-and-forth was going on, but only Sparky was front and center. He was giving long, complicated answers, drawing diagrams and occasionally constructing something out of small parts with the air of a conjurer. Phineas and Ricky pretty much stayed in the background, smiling, looking good and laughing at Sparky’s jokes. At one point, Sparky referred a question on the philosopher’s stone to Phineas.
Ed passed by, keeping a proprietor’s eye on the doings. For once, things were running smoothly, and I gave him a great big grin. As soon as Phineas was finished bloviating about the philosopher’s stone, I was surprised to see Purity come forward with a question.
“What does one do to appease the Wee Folk when they have been frightened?” She asked it in a baby-faced, steely-eyed manner, if you can imagine that. Then she stood there looking like she’d just challenged him to a fistfight.
There was immediate silence from the crowd. Some of them looked bewildered, some of them looked worried, and here and there somebody smirked. Sparky was one of those who smirked. In response, he gestured broadly behind himself, saying, “I’ll refer that to one of my esteemed colleagues, Ricky Larson. It’s a pastime of his. Make no mistake, we are scientists. But Ricky has always been fascinated by folkways, haven’t you Ricky?”
By then, Ricky had taken his place front and center, and he looked pleased to have the spotlight for once. “Well, Sparky, I know you’re a visual person, always puzzling things together until everything fits in neatly. But one of these days, my friend, you’re going to have to admit that there are forces in this world beyond the nuts and bolts and electrical power sources you’re always dealing with. Wee Folk?” he said, turning his attention to Purity with the full force of his physical beauty. He had that trick of focusing in on just one person so they felt like the only person in the world.
I looked at her to see if she was succumbing. I’d seen her go brain dead in the presence of a handsome man before. It was obvious to me that since the time she’d dragged in to conduct the workshop, she had done some primping. I could see the shine of her pink lip gloss from fifteen feet away, and her hair looked different somehow – smoother, and a little higher in the crown. I got a sinking feeling. If she was falling for Ricky, she was back on that lonesome road to heartbreak.
“Wee Folk,” she said decisively. “Pixies. Fairies. Elves.”
“That’s quite a mix! Any one of the above, or all of them together?”
She lowered her voice, but was still clearly audible. “The little ones of Tropical Breeze. How do we reassure them that peace will reign in the night, after what’s been happening?”
People gazed around with puzzled looks, but nobody laughed. If anything, several people looked as if they’d just been informed a tornado was coming. I sincerely hoped Ricky wouldn’t mock h
er. I’ve had my innings with Purity, and she has a silliness that grates on me, but one thing I know for sure: she’s completely sincere about her beliefs. From the looks on their faces, quite a few of those standing around her were taking her very seriously.
The obvious question was “What’s been happening?” but Ricky didn’t ask it. Instead, he was gazing at her earnestly, nodding, as if he knew all about it and was just as concerned as she. In a theatrically modulated voice, he said, “They are wiser than we. They understand. Trust them. They know that no one can guarantee peace. But they endure. They always have.”
She seemed startled by this. After staring at him for a moment, she said, “That’s very wise. Still, one mustn’t abuse their innocence.”
“Never.”
“I intend to see that they are protected.”
Sparky, not used to playing second banana and hyperactive by nature, had been twitching around behind Ricky the whole time. Abruptly he retook center stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your own Purity LeStrange! Florida’s most famous spirit medium. Book your séances with her at the Crystals and Potions booth, over by the front door.”
Most of the crowd hadn’t recognized her, in person, but they recognized her name. They stretched their necks to stare as she pirouetted and walked away, offended by Sparky’s carnival patter. Her booth was at the same side of the room as Sparky’s but at the other end of the line, and she walked toward it with her head in the air. Two or three stray people broke away from the crowd and tried to catch up with her. Ricky subsided quietly into the background and looked thoughtful.
I nudged Michael and told him I wanted to get off my feet. “Let’s go sit down by Bernie.”
We pushed through the crowd, and Michael turned two more chairs around and set them close to Bernie’s.
“It’s like being trapped in a movie,” she said, as soon as we were settled next to her.
I looked around and saw a young man made up as an old man, wearing a hooded cloak and wielding a gnarly walking stick. Wizard, I guess. Nostradamus was there too, taking a break in a chair on the far side of Sparky’s booth, fanning himself with his velvet cap. Witches of several varieties (old-lady-who-lives-in-the-woods, S&M, rock diva) were wandering around.