Without another word Robby held the door open and motioned us inside. He slammed the door behind us and clomped up the stairs, leaving us standing in the foyer.
“He’s actually good looking,” Charli whispered, “and what a body! But, really, I can’t imagine what he and Dicey have in common. What do they talk about?”
I plopped Jaelyn down on the floor and gave Charli the ‘you must be the dumbest woman on the face of the earth’ look, the one I usually reserve for Giselle.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked. “Think about it for a minute. I doubt that talking plays much of a role in their relationship.”
When the light finally dawned Charli stuck her hand over her mouth to squelch a giggle. “Oh,” she said, “I guess that was a pretty stupid thing to say.”
“Stupid,” I said. “Now that’s an understatement.”
Charli socked me in the arm. “Shh, they’ll hear us.” She stopped Jaelyn from pulling an expensive vase off of an antique table.
It was the first time I’d ever been inside Dicey’s home, which was beautifully decorated. An impressive painting of a bright Italian street café over her living room sofa caught my eye.
“Wow, nice painting,” I said.
“It’s by a painter out of Alabama, Tommy Mathis,” Charli said. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
Before I could answer loud voices blasted down the stairs.
“No,” Dicey shouted. “I just gave you five hundred yesterday. What the hell did you spend it on?”
I couldn’t make out Robby’s answer. “What should we do?” I whispered to Charli.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Maybe we should just leave and come back later.”
I scooped up Jaelyn and opened the front door.
“Well for goodness sake, Charlene,” Dicey said from the top of the stairs. She pronounced Charli’s name with a Sh sound instead of the Ch. “Robby didn’t leave y’all standing here in the foyer, did he?”
“That’s all right,” Charli said. “It wasn’t but for a minute. Listen, if this is a bad time we can come back later.”
Dicey forced a forty-watt smile. “Why of course not, sugah. This isn’t a bad time at all. Gracious me. I hope you forgive me for being so rude. Why don’t we go back to the study and have us a cup of coffee?” She continued to babble as she waved us down a small hallway.
Her study was decked out in a deep shade of red and was lined with bookshelves. A plush sofa and leather wingback chair cozied up to the huge stone fireplace, a match to the one in Charli’s family room. Another beautiful painting hung over the fireplace and the whole room glowed with richness and good taste.
We were just settling in with cups of fragrant cinnamon coffee when Robby popped his head around the doorway. “Going out,” he announced. “Back around two.”
Dicey eyed him sharply. “Don’t forget to pick up the tux,” she said. “And have the car washed, please.”
He was long gone. Dicey jumped up. “Excuse me,” she said to Charli and me, and then went out the door. “Robby, wait,” she whined.
Charli and I exchanged a look. Things were obviously not well in paradise. I felt sad and sorry for Dicey.
Her face was mottled when she finally came back in a few minutes later. “So,” she said, tossing another bright, but obviously fake, smile our way, “tell me what delicious plans you have for our tiresome threesome.”
Charli filled her in on all the plans we’d made and outlined what we needed her to do. Dicey clapped her hands together and cackled. “Charlene, you are a genius. This will absolutely drive them off their rocker. Frank won’t know what hit him.” She popped to her feet. “Well, what y’all waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road.”
We divided up the neighborhood, each one of us taking a third of the houses and by noon I was about halfway through my list. One last stop, then I was absolutely going to have to take a break. My feet were killing me and my shoulder was aching from pulling the wagon.
I guess I could have waited until after lunch to do the last house, but it was Kyle Zagle’s, and he was in his driveway washing his BMW. His shorts showed off his tush quite nicely and since he wasn’t wearing a shirt, there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to do a little ogling. After all, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
“Hi there,” I said as I came up behind him.
I almost gasped when he turned around. He looked so good that I found myself almost envious of that dad gummed Giselle. This bad karma thing was really starting to suck.
He tossed the towel into his bucket and ran a wet hand through his hair. “Hey, Ms. Sheffield. Nice to see you again. Pretty day, isn’t it?” He reached into the bucket, wrung out the rag, and stretched up to wash the top of the car, giving me a really nice view of his abs. I was close to hyperventilating.
“Beautiful. And please, call me Marty.”
“Will do. And I’m Kyle. Say, I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday. I tried to talk Giselle out of putting it on the news, but, well, I don’t seem to have much in the way of influence over her."
“What do you see in her anyway?” Oops. Did I really say that out loud? How come there’s never a time travel machine around when you need one?
He snorted. “Giselle? And me? You think she’s my… Oh man, that’s a good one.” He laughed so hard I thought he was going to choke.
“She’s not your, I mean, the two of you aren’t, well, you know,” I stumbled around and finally managed to sputter out a word, “dating. Y’all aren’t a couple?”
He was still laughing, one of those deep belly laughs that bring tears to your eyes and leave you weak. “No. Not a chance,” he said between guffaws.
“But Charli said… she said that… she thought… oh, never mind. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
He wiped his eyes and chuckled a couple more times. “Not at all. Listen, don’t worry about it. And as for Charli, well, I expect she probably thought that because Giselle’s been over here a lot. It’s a long story, but basically, I met Giselle right after I moved here. We sort of became friends and she’s been helping me get my place decorated. She’s really quite talented, you know.”
“Ah. I see.” I was gonna kill Charli. How could she have been such a ditz?
“So, what’s up with that?” He indicated the wagon I was pulling.
I explained to him my mission, told him how Charli was trying to take over ONAG. He was gung ho to sign the petition and throw his support to Charli. “Those folks running that group definitely need to get a life. Tell Charli to give me a call if she needs any other help.”
“I will. Thanks so much. I know Charli will be thrilled to find out that you’re on her side,” I said.
“Don’t mention it. I’m glad she’s doing this. Say, Marty, I have to go to this dinner thing tonight. For the Glenvar Valley Economic Development Consortium. I know it’s short notice, but would you like to go with me?”
I tried to keep cool and not come across like a dingbat. “I’d love to.”
“Great. It’s at the country club, starts at eight. Some folks will be all gussied up, tuxes, formals, stuff like that, but I’m just going to wear a business suit. You don’t have to go all out if you don’t want to. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
Well poop. I knew there had to be a catch. The only ‘fancy’ clothes I owned were two extremely tacky bridesmaid dresses that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Picture Little Bo Peep in chartreuse taffeta or lemon chiffon and you’ll get the idea. Maybe Charli could help.
“How about I just come over here,” I said, giving my apartment a mental once-over. Samantha Stevens would have been hard pressed to clean the place up before seven-thirty, and she had that nose-wiggling thing going for her. “That way you won’t have to go out of your way to pick me up.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
We grinned at each other for a few seconds, then Charli hollered for me to come an
d eat. “Better run,” I said. “See you at seven-thirty.”
Charli, Dicey, and Jaelyn were in Charli’s sunny kitchen eating tuna salad sandwiches made with, ugh, fat-free mayo, on sugar-free whole wheat bread, and drinking iced tea. Charli and Dicey were giddy with excitement.
“No one has turned us down!” Charli said. “Everyone in the neighborhood is as upset with those guys as we are.”
No one had turned me down either. I told them about my morning and about my date with Kyle Zagle.
“What am I going to wear?” I bellyached while Charli stuck spinach leaves on the sandwich she was preparing for me. “I don’t have anything appropriate and no way can I buy something. I’m flat broke.”
“You’re welcome to look in my closet,” Charli said, “but I’m afraid my stuff will all be too small.” She had a point. Charli wears about a size two and I’m a five/six. I picked the spinach leaves off the sandwich and spread a glob of margarine on the bread.
Dicey eyed me critically. “I have just the thing, Marty. Come on down to my house after lunch and we’ll get you all fixed up.”
After we’d rinsed the dishes and fed them to the dishwasher, I went to Dicey’s to see what she had in mind for me. I wasn’t optimistic. I knew the sort of clothes that Dicey wore and they were designed to show off her figure. And she had a whole lot more figure than me.
Her house was quiet; apparently Robby hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone off to yet. We went up the stairs to her bedroom, a lush, romantic wonderland. Not at all what I’d expected. I guess I’d been picturing a sex parlor, you know, waterbed, mirrored ceiling, that sort of thing.
Instead the room was gorgeous, a pencil post bed with mosquito netting draped over it, wonderful tropical colors on the walls and rug, it looked like something you see on an ad for Jamaica or some other island paradise. Dicey went straight to the huge walk-in closet and rummaged around.
“Aha! Here it is,” she said. “Yes, this will be just perfect on you.”
The dress she handed me was a deep rose color, short, cut low in the back, and it fit like a dream. I had to admit it looked spectacular on me. The shoes she’d brought out fit too. “This is so great, Dicey. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You look wonderful. Why don’t you just keep it? I never liked that color on me.”
“No, I couldn’t,” I said.
“But of course you can.” She eyed me critically. “Something’s missing.” She opened a jewelry box and fished around. “Here. This will be perfect.” She held up a huge single black pearl on a gold rope.
“Dicey, it’s beautiful, and perfect. But I’d better not. I’d be scared to death that I’d lose it or something.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said. “I trust you. And besides, so what if you lose it. It’s only stuff. It can be replaced.”
“You are just too much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I admired myself in the floor length mirror again and caught a glance at the bedroom clock. “Uh oh. I better get my stuff back on and get rolling. Charli’s going to shoot me.”
We hung the dress back on the padded hanger and I took it over to Charli’s house before I headed out to finish up my neighborhood rounds. By four o’clock, as I wound my way back to Charli’s house, I knew we had ONAG beat: The Oaks at Stableford Manor was a veritable sea of pink plastic flamingos. Every yard in the neighborhood except Art Danner’s, Sam English’s, and Frank Billingham’s sported at least one of Charli’s little beasties.
6
The Glenvar country club parking lot was packed to the gills. Kyle, obviously a first class gentleman, (and, I might add, looking fine in a charcoal business suit) pulled up under the portico to the entrance and let me out so I wouldn’t have to totter through the parking lot in the high heels that Dicey had supplied me with.
I was very grateful to him for not making me trek for miles because high heels are definitely not part of my normal wardrobe. In fact, this was only the second pair I’d ever worn in my entire life, the first pair being the ones I had to wear when I was a bridesmaid for Charli’s wedding.
Before I waddled across the street to Kyle’s, I spent approximately forty-five minutes stumbling around Charli’s house in the flimsy sandals. The kids thought it was a real hoot to watch Aunt Marty almost break her ankle. At one point, I was ready to give up and put on my trusty Filas. Charli hid them from me, though, so I had to keep wearing the heels. I finally felt confident that I could manage to actually walk in the beastly things, but if anyone even mentioned dancing, well, let’s put it this way, those folks on Dancing With the Stars weren’t going to lose any sleep worrying about me stealing their jobs.
While I was waiting for Kyle to park the car, I planted myself on the green and yellow floral print sofa in the foyer of the old brick mansion that serves as the clubhouse. People streamed past me, mostly women in fancy dresses and men in tuxedos with vaguely familiar faces.
Two women that I’d never seen before said hello to me, asked about my folks, and prattled on and on about how ‘grown up’ I looked. I managed to resist the urge to make a smart alecky remark back. Mom would have been so proud.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Kyle made it back from whatever planet he’d had to park on. He pushed through the door and I have to admit, he looked so attractive that I had to restrain myself to keep from bouncing with joy. Of course, that would have been next to impossible in the torture-devices-masquerading-as-shoes that were strapped to my unhappy feet.
Kyle hoisted me up from the sofa and we tromped off down the hallway toward the ballroom. Kyle suddenly stopped short and I almost tripped, but he managed to keep us both off the floor. “Sorry about that. It was my fault,” he lied. “That man over there, the short guy in the tux, is waving at us. Do you know him?”
I jerked my head in the direction he was pointing. It was Sam English, standing next to Art Danner. Sam waved again and headed toward us, leaving Art all alone and seeming extremely awkward in his gray suit with the too-short sleeves.
I wanted to run and hide from Sam, but seeing as to how I’d left my sneakers at Charli’s house, I was forced to stay rooted. I gripped Kyle’s arm and pretended to be happy to see Sam. It’s not that I disliked him or anything; it’s more that he was just so strange. A fussy little man, he was dark-haired, had a handsome face, and was always extremely well-dressed, but there was this weird vibe that he gave off. He made me feel really uncomfortable.
“Martina, darling! You look simply stunning! Absolutely breathtakingly lovely this evening. That dress is simply to die for. Don’t tell me, it just has to be a Colletta, doesn’t it?” He stood about two inches from my face, gushing over me in that odd accent he used. It isn’t British, Italian, or French, but a sort of conglomeration of all three. In short, it sounded fake. He took my hand and kissed it. Slobbered on it, actually.
I wanted to run into the bathroom to wash my hand, but I managed to get a grip on myself. “Hello, Sam. And thank you. Sam, this is Kyle Zagle. Kyle, Sam English. Sam’s an antique dealer. Kyle is…” I didn’t know what Kyle was.
Kyle grasped Sam’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam. Antiques. How fascinating. Do you have a shop here in Glenvar?”
Sam launched into a description of his business, telling Kyle about his ‘darling’ little shop and inviting him to stop by ‘just anytime’. His shop was way out in the country, basically in the boondocks. It was in an old farm house, and chock full of dusty used furniture and tchotchkes- over-priced junk, if you ask me, - but Charli and Mom adored it.
“Martina, darling, I have the most delightfully wonderful news.” Sam stared googly-eyed straight at my left breast as he talked. I almost lifted his head up to point out my face. One thing for sure, there was no wondering what he and Art Danner had in common. Although Sam seemed much more impressed with my bod than Art had been.
“Just simply marvelous,” he said, his eyes never once straying from my chest. “I picked up a fabulous Stickl
ey chair that your mother would just die for. Tell her she simply must come in and see it tomorrow. I just know she’s going to be absolutely mad for it. Why, there’s Dicetta and Roberto! I simply must run! I must tête-à-tête with Dicetta about the absolutely delicious armoire I snatched up on my last trip to Sotheby’s. Wonderful to meet you, Kyle, simply delightful. Do take care of our lovely Martina, she’s absolutely divine!”
And with that he was gone. I mumbled something about the ladies room to Kyle and teetered off down the hall to sanitize my hand. When I returned, Kyle was talking to Dicey, who looked stunning in a bright red slip dress that barely covered her curves.
“Wow, Dicey, that’s some dress,” I said. “You look, as Sam would say, deliciously divine.”
She and Kyle both laughed, hers a loud cackle, his a happy booming bass.
“Why, thank you, Marty. Not too shabby for an old broad, even if I do say so myself. And, by the way, I return the compliment,” Dicey replied.
“Well, ladies, I hate to interrupt this, especially since I’m with the two most beautiful women in the whole place,” Kyle said, “but we’d better go inside before they start without us.“
We made our way to the ballroom and scouted out our table. It was about halfway back and on the left. Robby and Sam English were already sitting, Sam sipping a white wine, Robby guzzling a Bud. Kyle held my chair out for me and I sat down. There were three empty seats between Sam and me. I wondered who else was at our table, figuring that it was probably going to be friends of Sam’s, maybe Art Danner or Sam’s on-again, off-again, lady friend, Kay Cee. I didn’t ask, though, just in case Sam and Kay Cee were off-again. I knew from past experience that if they were I’d spend the rest of the night listening to all the boring details of their latest fight.
“Well, well, well, ain’t this just a effing cozy little group,” a familiar, (painfully familiar) voice boomed in my ear. Chairs were scraped out and my former boss, Herb, the worst station manager in the history of radio, (of course he kept his job when the station changed hands) plopped down next to Sam, who was across the table from me.
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