The collar bolt wasn’t loosening up easily, and Robert suspected it was soldered on. He tightened the pipe wrench and began to apply more pressure. He didn’t want to bust the sleeves. He thought it was just beginning to loosen, when Nora exploded into the bedroom, shouting, “Robert? Robert! Where are you? Are you here?”
“Yes, Nora, I’m in the bathroom,” he blurted, cringing with expectation of the tongue lashing he was about to receive. “What is it?” he piped from underneath the sink. “Is everything all right … dear?” (adding the dear defensively at the last second).
“Yes, at least I think so,” and seeing Rob squatting like an Indian, Nora sighed, “oh Robert, not my good organic towels … ” Robert aggressively failed to hear her, so long practiced was he at ignoring certain intonations of his wife, especially when he’d already elected an irreversible action. Still, her disapproval was like acid on his skin. But she was too excited about her news to linger over the towels for long in any event.
“Robert, did you notice anything unusual about Mark at lunch?”
“Unusual?” he inquired, still twisting at the collar bolt with his hand, “where’s my wrench?” he muttered to himself, “I just had it a second ago … ”
“Robert!” she said, noticing the wrench’s form beneath the towel, fetched it out, and passed it to him. Robert would have looked about him for ten minutes before thinking to lift the towel.
“Well, dear, did you notice anything at lunch?” Exasperated, she continued, “Mark could hardly take his eyes off of Jane throughout the whole of lunch, dear. I think they might be serious.”
Robert bumped his head, turning to look at Nora. “Ouch!” he said, rubbing his head, “You don’t say?” As the smart left, he looked at his wife, marveling at her and not for the first time in their long marriage. “How do you know these things, love? Are you part satellite dish or something?” he asked returning his attention to the sink. “So, tell me everything!”
Nora plunked down on the bathroom floor and told Robert all that she observed.
• • •
Jane worked off the rich Beef Wellington and Nora’s generous pour of McAllan with the afternoon barn chores. After her three P.M. lesson, she decided to work Dividend, a beautiful gray Irish Draught/Thoroughbred cross that Nora had acquired for Mark. Mark named him but had done little else with him, so at five years, the horse was still green. He was a large-boned, heavy hunter, standing seventeen hands, and had the personality of a kitten. He needed only exposure to educate him, and Jane had been taking him out in the fields and down to Lamington Road to accustom him to traffic. At the farm, she and Mac had him walking over mattresses and tarps, tires, and anything she could find that initially caused Dividend to blow cautiously through his nostrils, but then settle down and accept what she presented to him.
Her goal was to make him bombproof. Dividend did not spook easily — he was generally calm in his nature. But Jane saw an opportunity to make him into a wise horse — a horse that knew how to master his own fear when it arose. That kind of horse was not an easy find. And with his good looks, size, and innate gentleness, adding courage would make him priceless. Jane had high hopes of seeing this horse in Olympic competition one day.
As she walked him out after his training back to the barn, she saw Ben waiting at the entrance. Och, at least he doesn’t have flowers, Jane observed with relief.
“Hey, Ben, did I forget something?” she asked. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
Ben toed his foot in the gravel and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and said with chagrin, “I came to ask your advice about this masquerade party.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “You don’t want to dress up. What is it with you guys? None of you wants to dress up for Halloween.”
“Geez, Jane, it’s not very … manly,” Ben stammered awkwardly.
“But it will be so much fun, Ben. So, you need help with a costume?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to look ridiculous. And nothing too showy — absolutely no leotards.”
“I guess Grape from the Fruit-of-the-Loom is out, then,” Jane laughed.
She removed the tack from Dividend and checked his chest for heat. Satisfied that he was completely cool, she put him in his stall and threw him some hay and checked his water bucket. She would turn him out later. “Let’s go to the house and consult with the experts,” Jane offered, “Abby and Rachel are better at this sort of thing than I am.”
“But aren’t you dressing up?” Ben asked.
“Yes, but Mark is having his friend, Phoebe, fix us up. She’s a designer and stylist who makes costumes on Broadway. So, I don’t have to be creative at all. Matter of fact, I’m not sure what I’m going as myself, yet.” As they walked toward Jane’s house, the dogs roused themselves to follow. They nosed at Jane’s hands briefly, and she made them stay on the porch off the kitchen.
Rachel and Abby were watching TV in the den, when Jane called out, “Rachel, Abby, come meet Ben!”
Rachel and Abby scurried to the kitchen where Jane presented them. “Ben, these are my best friends, Rachel and Abby,” and gesturing toward Ben, “Ben is our farm veterinarian, but for your purposes, he’s a guy who needs a Halloween costume.”
Rachel and Abby sized him up, turned him around, took his cap off his head, and muttered and conferred with each other. They finally settled on John Wayne as The Quiet Man, although Ben didn’t think anyone would get the reference.
“It is a reach,” Abby agreed. “But, if we Irish you up too much, people will be asking you where the lucky charms are.”
Jane suggested Ben stay for dinner, if he liked, and began rummaging through the fridge. “Ben, do you like meatloaf? Abby makes the very best meatloaf ever.”
“Yes, it’s a simple dish,” she averred, “but I make it well — it’s all in the onions.”
“C’mon, Abby, you know you’ve got a few secret ingredients,” Rachel said more to Ben than to Abby.
“Do tell, Miss Abby, my bachelor’s cooking could use a good simple recipe,” Ben said.
“Well, it’s the spices — fennel, turmeric, and cumin, onions, and — don’t laugh — cranberries. Sometimes I chop green olives in there as well.”
“Yah, all’s fair in love and meatloaf, I hear.” Jane said, smiling toward Abby. “Would you like some wine, Ben? I happened to have picked up a very nice Merlot.”
Jane observed Ben and her friends in easy conversation and took the opportunity to reappraise him. She wondered if that kind of spontaneous sizzle she felt for Mark could be manufactured over time for Ben. He was, after all, so appropriate for her, and he fit in well with her friends. He had such easy-going and unassuming manners. Like Mark, Ben was a man she could be proud of. And, perhaps Ben had the greater claim as his living directly eased suffering. Mark’s generous charity work, though, had the broader impact. As she observed Abby interacting with Ben, she saw her friend’s eyes widen ever so slightly, her color rise, and when Abby laughed … well, Jane knew that laugh. Abby was clearly interested in Ben, and Jane found that she did not mind in the least.
• • •
Jane excused herself from her company for a few minutes to check horses for the night. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, throwing her jacket on, “I just want to shut the barn up for the night.” As she walked the short distance from her house to the barn, she ran into Mark, out for an evening constitutional, who offered to check the barn with her and close it up for the night.
“We’re just about to have dinner, Mark, would you like to join us?” she offered.
“Ordinarily, I would love to, but Dad’s expecting me to go over some documents with him tonight.”
As they entered the barn, they heard the dreadful sounds of a cast horse, stuck in its stall and thrashing to get up. Horses infrequentl
y get cast, but it is traumatizing to observe them panicking and kicking as they try to right themselves. Sometimes, a cast horse will injure itself badly. And Jane panicked at the sound of a struggling horse. She’d only seen a few cast horses when she was young, and only knew they were dangerous to even try to help, especially if you didn’t know what you were about.
As they jogged the aisle to find which of the horses had gotten cast, Jane was particularly upset to find that it was Dividend. Mark immediately flung the stall door open and did the only right thing one could do in that situation. He grabbed a wad of mane at Dividend’s poll and pulled his head back. Jane followed Mark into the stall, and Dividend, well acquainted with her voice, calmed down, allowing himself to be dragged off the wall inch by inch. Once they sufficiently angled him, they got out of his way so he could right himself and stand. Crisis averted.
“Thank you, Mark,” Jane exhaled with relief. “I have never really known what to do with a cast horse — I’ve seen people get hurt before trying to help.”
“The trick is to stay at their head, out of the way of flailing hooves. And, of course, you have to stay calm or it just makes the horse panic more.”
“You’re actually quite a horseman, Mark. I’m impressed.”
“I told you, I have mad skills with horses,” he laughed, “ — always have. Let’s just take him out and walk him up the aisle — just to be sure he’s not lame.”
Mark walked Dividend up and down the aisle for Jane, who ran her hand over the horse’s legs to be reassured he had not injured himself. As they put him away, Mark took the opportunity to say, “Jane, I’m so glad you came to the farm. Are you happy here?”
“Incredibly, Mark.”
“I don’t want to complicate things, but I want to get to know you better. I want to spend time with you, Jane.”
Jane was about to melt and give her assent to Mark when Ben appeared, “Hi — I just came out to see if you were okay — Abby says dinner’s ready.”
“Oh, Ben, yes, one of the horses got cast. Thank God, Mark was here. I’ll be right in, thanks.”
As Ben left, Jane turned to Mark, “I’m not going to lie, Mark — I am attracted to you, too — a lot. But it does complicate things here for me. Can we take it slow?”
Chapter Sixteen
With the party just a day away, Phoebe was busy at Hannon Farm ensuring Mark, Jane and Mark’s parents were comfortably and stylishly costumed. They were in Mark’s bedroom suite, which consisted of a large sleeping area, which opened to an equally large sitting-office area, with a bar at one end, and a large dressing room and bath at the other.
Phoebe sighed, “Honestly, Mark, you’re impossible. Why do you even pretend to wear a costume? Why don’t you just pull a random gray suit out of your closet and go as a stuffy investment lawyer?”
“Now that’s a costume I’ve never seen him wear,” remarked Jane.
“I just don’t want to dress like a Renaissance fair guy — absolutely no leotards. I know you brought me something masculine and not too ostentatious, Phoebe, so let’s see it.”
“Funny, your father said the same thing when I suggested Robin Hood to him. ‘No tights!’ Well, I could put your father in a gray suit and you in a tuxedo — you could be Q and Bond.”
“Bond, James Bond.” Mark recited, “I like it. And I have a tuxedo that fits, I think. And Jane, you could be Pussy Galore,” he said just to watch her blush.
At that suggestion, Jane emitted a sound — something between a cough, a laugh, and a snort. Had it extended beyond a second, Mark would have dialed 911.
“Right,” Mark said, “well, how about Dracula? I’m sure the black cape is iconic enough. Do you happen to have one in your trunk, Phoebe?”
“As a matter of fact, I do — it’s from the Phantom of the Opera — and it’s exquisitely tailored with a deep red lining. A little makeup and badaboom!” Phoebe hauled out the cape and tossed it around his shoulders. “Perfect,” she said. “Black pants, white shirt, a little food coloring on the collar, and you’re all set. Zinc oxide and rouge optional.”
“Very optional,” Mark countered. “So what did you pull together for my parents?”
“Your dad is going to be dressed as Sherlock Holmes or perhaps Henry Higgins — it’s basically the same look. I’m leaning toward Henry Higgins because your mother refuses to be Watson, but likes the idea of being Eliza Doolittle. She’s trying on costumes, now.” Phoebe turned to Jane and said, “So, Jane, how do you see yourself this Halloween?”
“In anything but boots and britches or khakis.”
“I think I’ve got just the thing,” she said, rummaging through her trunk of costumes, “very sophisticated, designed by master couturier Donatella Versace, and knocked off by Target.” She pulled out an exquisite strapless maroon silk dress with a broad slit that went up the side and continued in a curve across the back. “It’s half a dress, really, held in place by seamless beige mesh,” Phoebe continued, “I hope you know, Jane, not just anyone can wear this costume, but it’ll look fabulous on you — you don’t have an ounce of fat.”
“Uh … ” Jane stammered, “it looks like a sock. Where’s the dress?”
“It’s stretchy and ultra sexy, but it’s carefully cut and structured to conceal all the vitals, and it’s got these clever clasps to release it,” Phoebe reassured her. “Try it on. It’s gonna look great, and for modesty purposes, you can toss this black mesh drape over it. It teases the eye.”
“To what, fall out of the socket?” Mark laughed, “C’mon, give it a whirl, Jane. You’re among friends.”
“You can be Mark’s lady vampire friend — Contessa De Muerte, Queen of the Damned. The color actually matches the lining of the cape. Here ya go,” Phoebe said, handing her the ensemble.
Jane took the costume, more a hint of a dress than an actual garment, into Mark’s dressing room to try it on. Unclasped, it was surprisingly easy to slip into. It was also surprisingly comfortable, but then she remembered that these were not ordinary costumes, but professionally made costumes for the stage. She supposed they had to be somewhat comfortable for the actors to move in.
Jane was not a snoop, but she couldn’t help looking around Mark’s huge bath — adjacent to the dressing room that boasted an entire wall of mirrors. She wondered if Mark had made that design call, and quickly shredded the idea. Must have been Nora. The countertops were a dark chocolate-flecked granite, the twin sinks were large sunken stainless steel bowls. The walls were a burnt umber, and the tiling a natural warm beige. But for the dressy wall of mirrors, it was very masculine.
Jane maneuvered the skin-tight dress around, ensuring that the beige path didn’t reveal her forensic evidence. The miracle of spandex gave enough to fit snuggly, sans muffining. But there was no way she’d take off the mesh overtop.
She shyly re-entered the bedroom clutching the straplessness of the gown, as if her breasts might fly out, shouting, “Surprise!” at any moment. The gown was positively German engineered, however. It fit like a coat of baby oil. But she knew enough of physics to worry that it would slip downward over time, which she told Phoebe.
“Not a chance,” Phoebe assured her, and pulled out a roll of double-sided sticky tape. “First, it fits you perfectly. It’s constructed to stay up, no matter how you move. And if you’re really worried, use this, but I guarantee you won’t need it,” she added as she tossed the tape to Jane. “Voila: Queen of the Damned.”
“As long as I’m not Queen of the Damned hooters,” Jane muttered.
“Oh, here is the finishing touch — you simply must have black hair with this costume — this wig will put you totally in character. You’ll need to get some super red lipstick; I’ve got some in here somewhere along with some stick-on red nails,” she chirped, rummaging through her bag. “Here they are, you like?”
“I like. A lo
t,” Mark said. “Jane, you look dangerous in that costume. Phoebe, I really appreciate your bringing the costumes out, especially Jane’s. Not too sure about the wig, though.”
“Not a problem, Mark. I owe you for the silk thing.” To Jane, she advised, “Don’t let Mark talk you out of the wig, Jane, it’s a costume — not real life.” She briskly checked her watch, “I’ve got to dash back to the city soon. I’m just going to check on your mother before I leave. But, I’ll see you both tomorrow night.”
Jane returned to the bath to change back into her farm clothes while Phoebe quickly stuffed her bag with various items she’d taken out of it and chatted amiably with Mark. Phoebe had no sooner breezed out of the room, when Jane returned. “Oh no — is Phoebe gone, already?” she asked, “The mesh is stuck on one of the clasps. I can’t reach it — I don’t want to damage the costume. I can’t imagine how it got stuck,” she said.
“Yah, she just left. Here, let me see,” Mark offered. He gently loosened the mesh from the clasp and pulled it off her shoulders. At the touch of his hands, Jane felt a warm wave move through her. She felt her womb leap into her belly and her face flush. Her eyes lost focus. She turned to face him and breathed in his irresistible woodsy leafy scent, as if he’d spent his days chopping firewood and making fires. She could feel his palpable desire envelope her, as his hands gradually and gently moved from her shoulders down her arms and around her waist. They stood still, as time stood still. She trembled as she met Mark’s smoldering gaze. Then he gently wrapped his arms about her, drawing her past the few inches that had separated them, and kissed her deeply, breaking only briefly to shrug off the Dracula cape.
Heart to Heart Page 158