Opal Fires

by Lynda Trent

  unpleasant scene. He backtracked and left his shoes at the door.

  Regina lit a long black cigarette and let the smoke curl out of her nostrils. She had almost perfected the art of French inhaling and was eager to try it out on an appreciative observer one more interesting than Howard. She considered this to be the epitome of sensuality. The smoke wafted from her red lips to her nostrils. Perfect, she thought.

  “Regina?” Howard asked from the doorway of her bedroom.

  She glared at him and turned back to her mirror. “What?” Catching his reflection in the glass, she turned around. “Why in God’s name are you standing them in your stocking feet?”

  Self-consciously, Howard looked down at his offending members. “I, uh, left my shoes at the door so I wouldn’t track mud in. It was a hard rain,” he finished lamely.

  “Well, you look ridiculous. Go put on your slippers.” She stroked bright blue eyeshadow onto her half-closed lids.

  “Are you going out?” he asked.

  “Yes. I have plans for the evening.” She stood up and moved into the middle of her mauve and ivory bedroom, her silvery satin robe clinging to every curve of her body. Pretending to have forgotten her husband was there, Regina loosened the tie belt and slipped the robe from her shoulders. She tossed it onto the expensive satin bedspread, which wasn’t as new as she would have preferred. She stood naked before him.

  Regina kept her body under a tight rein. She dieted and exercised rigorously in an effort to shed her encroaching years. The result was a too slim, rather muscular body, with more angles than curves. To Regina, it was beautiful.

  To Howard, who hadn’t been allowed within six feet of her bed for months, it was overwhelmingly desirable. He stood gaping at her, the burning sensation deep within him growing steadily.

  Regina turned arrogantly, as if she had just realized he was still there. “Well?” she asked coldly.

  Howard swallowed and ran his tongue around his lips. “I… I just wondered if you were… going out.”

  “Well, now you know.” Regina dismissed him with a toss of her head.

  “Will you be late?” Howard persisted, watching hungrily as she stepped into a pair of silk panties and hooked her bra.

  “Probably.”

  He took a deep breath and plunged on. “Where are you going?”

  Regina turned and glared stonily at him. “I don’t have to account to you for my every move. I’m going out. That’s all. Out.” She pulled her slip carefully down over her head so as not to muss her hair or makeup.

  “I know. It’s just that, well, you are my wife and”

  “Will you quit badgering me?” Regina exploded. “Just go away and leave me in peace!” She stormed toward him, ready to shove him from her room had he not retreated, and slammed the door in his face.

  Several minutes later, when she came out into the hall, the door to his bedroom was closed, and she saw no reason to bother saying goodby. Although the weather wasn’t cold enough for her to need a heavy wrap, she pulled her coat from the hall closet and shrugged into it. It was a dress-length silver mink, the color that made her hair appear to be pale gold. She had fallen in love with it when she’d seen it in the showroom of Neiman’s. She preferred shopping in Dallas, as did everyone with any taste at all in her opinion. Eventually, she supposed, Howard would finish paying for the coat. As his wife, she saw no reason to use her own money to clothe herself: After all, he had agreed to the premarital contract that kept their monies separate.

  She saw the trace of muddy footprints on the carpet and frowned. How could she ever hope to have a nice home with such a clod for a husband? When she’d agreed to marry him, she’d had no idea he’d continue to be such a bore. He was either too stubborn or too stupid to change, and she was heartily tired of the project.

  Again the thought she had toyed with for months crept into her mind. Why not divorce him and be rid of him? Thoughtfully, she stepped out into the night.

  The parking lot of the Rio Palm Isle was filled as usual, and she could hear strains of dance music. She hoped she wasn’t early.

  Inside stale smoke filled the air. Regina could see the dancers only vaguely through the darkened haze. With a practiced shrug of her narrow shoulders, she slipped out of her mink. Her dress was a shimmering pink confection with a jabot ruffling down the front. A narrow belt molded the dress to her waist and accentuated the slight curve of her boyish hips. She wove through the maze of cocktail tables until she saw the person she had come to meet. With a regal air that of a queen who is determined to mix with the peasants though she is dying of boredom she edged toward him through the other people.

  “Hello,” she said in her sultriest voice. “Have you been waiting long?”

  Neal Thorndyke looked up from his drink and smiled at Regina admiringly. “Not too long. But I never mind waiting for you. My goodness, you do look lovely tonight. Is the dress new?”

  Regina shrugged desultorily. “Yes. I found it in a boutique in Longview. I thought it would be rather amusing.” It had cost more than Howard’s automobile dealership had brought in that month.

  She lowered herself gracefully into the chair Neal held for her and surveyed the bar as she took a cigarette out of her gold case. “There’s quite a crowd tonight.”

  “Yes, the band is good. Would you like to dance?”

  “No, not now.” She knew from experience that Neal Thorndyke was a terrible dancer and made even the most accomplished partner appear to be awkward. “Perhaps later.” She let the smoke slide from her lips to be inhaled through her nose. Neal looked as captivated as she had hoped he would.

  “Did you have trouble getting out tonight?” Neal asked.

  “Trouble, from Howard? Of course not. What could he do?”

  “He could get pretty angry if he knew about us. Maybe we should be more circumspect.”

  Regina laughed. “Surely you’re not worried about Howard! He’s too big a fool to notice us, even if we were flaunting ourselves under his very nose. And too cowardly to do anything about it if he did suspect anything.” She crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

  Neal smirked, but then appeared thoughtful. “I just don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

  “Are you getting tired of me?” she teased confidently as she rubbed her foot against his ankle.

  “You know better than that.”

  She smiled and let their knees touch beneath the table. “Why don’t we go some place where it’s quieter? Like your place.” She leaned forward and gazed at him seductively.

  Neal grinned in anticipation. Regina might look like an ice queen, but he well knew she was almost insatiable in bed. “Let’s go.” He tossed some money on the table to pay for their drinks.

  Trailing her coat over her shoulder and Neal behind her, Regina threaded her way to the door. Neither of them noticed the portly man who watched them from the shadows beyond the bar.

  Hours later, Regina let herself into her dark house as she hummed a tune under her breath. Her hair was even more tangled from Neal’s lovemaking than it had been from the beautician’s fingers, and her original lipstick had been left on his sheets. As she was crossing the living room, the lights suddenly snapped on. She whirled around to see Howard sitting in a chair and holding a glass of bourbon while he stared at her.

  “My God, what are you trying to do? Scare me to death?” she said huffily, trying to hide her panic.

  He surveyed her pallid skin, which looked loose and worn from lovemaking, and the faint smudges of mascara beneath her eyes. Still he sat without speaking.

  Regina tried to calm herself. After all, it was only Howard. “I didn’t expect you to wait up for me. I happened to run into an old friend from college and”

  “I already know where you’ve been,” Howard interrupted. His voice sounded dead, totally unlike the thunder that showed in his small eyes.

  Regina swallowed. “I have no idea what you’ve heard, but”

  “No more lies!” he i
nterrupted again. “I told you I know where you’ve been. And who he is!” Howard trembled with agitation. “I’ve overlooked your flirtations. Your sly innuendoes. But, by God, I’m not overlooking this!” His voice echoed in the stillness of the house.

  Regina lifted her chin haughtily. “I want a divorce.”

  “You’ve got it! I’ll file tomorrow!”

  “I also want you out of my house!”

  Howard gestured toward three suitcases she hadn’t noticed, and heaved his large body out of the chair. “I’ve been packed for hours. Damn it, Regina, if you had to make a fool of me, did you have to pick one of my friends?” Without waiting for her answer, he picked up his luggage and left, slamming the door behind him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Thorndyke,” Clare said across the expanse of the banker’s slate-topped desk.

  “What do you want? Your payment isn’t due for another…” he glanced at his desk calendar, “week. And, incidentally, there is no need to deliver it to me personally each time. One of my tellers can handle that.”

  “I know,” she said with a maddening smile. “But this way, you know for a fact that I’ve paid. There can be no possible mistake. However, I’m not here for that today. I have a business proposition for you.”

  “Oh? What might that be?” He glanced down at the papers in front of him, pointedly ignoring her.

  Clare made no sign that she was upset by his rudeness. “I want to drill an oil well.”

  Neal looked up sharply. “What’s that?”

  “As you may know, Huntly Oil has leased a portion of my land for a deep well. I want to drill one on the other part.”

  “You don’t just get up one day and decide to strike oil,” Thorndyke said derisively. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Other people do.”

  “You can’t afford it,” he pointed out bluntly.

  “That’s why I’m here. I want to get a loan for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. As collateral I’ll put up the equity in my house and the surface and mineral rights to my land, as well as the Huntly Oil lease.”

  Neal carefully laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “It takes a lot more money than that for a well.”

  “I know. I’ve already secured the backing I need.” Clare spoke confidently and tried to keep her hands from trembling. “Ryan Hastings, who is a geologist for Huntly, will wildcat it.”

  Thorndyke began to consider her words carefully. “I’ve heard of him.” He wondered if she was foolish enough to be as calm as she looked. If she was bluffing, she was a better gambler than her late husband had been a fact Thorndyke knew from the many poker games where Elliot had lost heavily to him. “Why have you come to me? Our relationship is not what one would call congenial.”

  Clare’s eyes met his unflinchingly. “We don’t have any relationship, Mr. Thorndyke. But you already know my financial situation. No one else does. If I go to another bank, word may spread that I need money. Naturally, I don’t want that to be common knowledge. The payoff from this oil well will put me back on my feet financially.”

  Making a steeple of his fingertips, Neal Thorndyke studied her. There were two deep exploration wells being drilled in the area, neither of which appeared even close to being promising. Even though the pool of oil in the Woodbine sand below Kilgore had become virtually depleted, several companies had drilled deeper wells, as deep as fourteen thousand feet, with no success. He smiled. “I’d be glad to loan you the money. After all, my bank is here to aid the community. I’ll have the papers drawn up immediately. Of course, I’ll need the title to your house and property, along with a copy of the lease with Huntly Oil.”

  Clare nodded, wondering why she felt no surge of relief. Had she overstepped?

  “I’ll make you the loan for a period of nine months that’s the length of time customary for this sort of business venture and give it to you at the prime rate of interest.”

  “All right. I have some errands to run. I’ll come by later and sign the papers.”

  As she got up to leave, Thorndyke said with a smug vindictiveness, “I’ve always liked that land. It would make a good housing development. If, of course, the well is dry.”

  Clare looked for a long time into his eyes, then left without answering.

  Regina lay beside her kidney-shaped pool, soaking up the lad warm days of sun. Soon fall would arrive, and her tan would have to wait until another year. Unless she went away for the winter. But that would put her out of circulation for months, and after a divorce the conservative town matrons might be resentful of her when she returned. Also, it would mean leaving Neal unattended. Someone might move in on her territory during her absence.

  She shooed away a pestering fly and readjusted the scarf that protected her hair from the sun. If she married Neal, would she be harnessed to the town as she had been with Howard? But, if she didn’t marry Neal, would she find another husband? Kilgore’s selection of eligible males was small, but she knew that her family and her wealth gave her an advantage here. In a larger town, the women she’d be competing with would be richer and probably younger. Regina was all too aware that the next month would bring her another birthday.

  And then there was this nonsense with Howard. He wanted to split their property fifty-fifty, and she had no intention of agreeing to such a ridiculous demand. To make it even more ludicrous, he’d suggested the day before last that they should go to a marriage counselor and try to patch up their marriage. She had laughed and hung up on him. It would be just like Howard to drag his feet, she thought. If he figured he could get her to agree to his terms or to let him come back to her, he’d string out the legalities forever.

  Resolutely, Regina got up and patted the moisture from her lotion-greased skin. She had no intention of dancing to Howard’s tune, not when Mexican divorces were so easily obtained. As she went inside to call the airline, she planned the “coming out” party she’d give on her return.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clare leaned on the rough wooden fence that had long since weathered to a silvery gray and watched the men working in what had once been her father’s cow lot. They were slowly but efficiently erecting the oil derrick as if the huge steel beams were pieces of a giant child’s construction kit. Already the wooden platform with its massive supporting timbers was in place and gleaming palely in the sunlight. On a flatbed truck nearby, she saw the red and yellow machinery that would be installed beneath the platform. Quite a few changes had taken place in the old cow lot since her visit to the bank a month earlier. It no longer looked like the same place.

  Ryan was busy consulting his head driller, Joe Talmidge, about some technical installations, and had not yet acknowledged Clare’s presence. She supposed Ryan was angry because she had avoided him for the entire week he had been in town. But she was finding herself becoming far too emotionally involved with him, and she had hoped that refusing to him would help her regain her objectivity. It hadn’t.

  Joe Talmidge was not a large man, but he was thick with muscles. He was probably well into his forties or even older, but he looked as tough as granite. Although he was tanned to a leathery brown on his hands, neck and lower face, his hard hat’s brim had left a clean line above which his forehead was pale white. Clare had noticed this when she met him half an hour earlier, and it had reminded her of her father he had had just such a tan from the straw hat he wore. Clare guessed that Joe, like her father, would never dream of going outside bareheaded or shiftless.

  That was the real distinction between a new hand and one with experience. The skeletal crew Joe had brought with him from Louisiana all wore metal hats and longsleeved shirts; the college boys Joe had hired locally wore their hats only when necessary and had left their shirts in their cars. Already their skin was reddening in the sun and they looked far hotter and more fired than the older men whose sweat-dampened clothing provided them with a natural cooling.

  Clare turned away from the activity and looked at the farm
buildings. Directly behind her was an ancient barn, with remnants of rusted equipment beneath its lean-to shed. There, sunlight filtered in streams through the unrepaired roof and lit the dimness so she could see. The square opening of the doors on each end of the barn made it more like a tunnel than a cave. Memories compelled her to go inside.

  She saw her father’s battered wagon and the row of dusty cubicles where her mother’s hens had laid their eggs. The straw inside the cubicles was moldy now, and from the tufts of fur she saw, Clare concluded that the nests’ new tenants were barn mice. On the other side of the shadowy barn were three enclosed stalls, each with a feed trough and hay bin with access to the loft above. A water bucket still stood in the corner of one stall, but its bottom had long since rusted out. Pushing aside an age-stiffened harness covered with cobwebs, Clare left the barn and walked across the yard to the house.

  Her childhood home consisted of two small buildings joined by an open-ended, covered porch in the style known as a dog-run house. All the walls had windows to catch the slightest breeze; and the porch, which formed a breezeway by design, provided a cool haven even on the hottest summer days. Clare and her doll had lived out many adventures on the back corner of the porch, where a huge chinaberry tree made a brilliant yellow canopy.

  She pushed the cracked china doorknob and stepped into the side that had been the living room and kitchen. A chipped, porcelain-topped table, now spotted with rust marks, sat against the far wall beside the free-standing sink of galvanized tin. A Mexican lantern hung like a scrap of rusted lace on the wall. Beside the door, an old rocker, worn and aged to the color of soft earth, waited in the gray shadows for someone who would never return. Clare touched the slatted back lovingly and recalled the woman who had last used it, and the marvelous world of fairy tales that had been told in tune to its now-silenced creaking.

  This was Clare’s heritage. Not the sweeping azalea-lined curve of the Marshall mansion’s drive, nor the glassed-in portico overlooking a pool designed to look like a lagoon, but this. A tin-roofed house that was hot in the summer, cold in the winter and very, very damp in the rain. “That icy finger of fear touched her again.