by Joan Hess
After a few low mutters, he replaced the receiver and went across the room to offer his hand to Luanne. “You must be Luanne Bradshaw, the pageant director. I’m Steve Stevenson, your obedient and devoted servant for the next two days. Your wish shall be my command.”
Luanne finally managed to stop blinking long enough to agree that she was who he’d suspected, and with visible reluctance put her hand back on the crossbar of her crutch. “It’s terribly nice of you to help again this year,” she said as she made her way to the chair behind the desk. “I realize you’re busy with the legislature and your upcoming election.”
Once she was seated, he sat down next to me. “I’m busy, but I always make time for my district and those events that make it so special and dear to me. It gives me an excuse to get away from stuffy politicians and meet the people. I had a fantastic time at the pageant last year, and really enjoyed getting to know all those bright, pretty, talented girls. I’ve already done exceptionally well this time, haven’t I?”
We were discussing his luck in meeting the two of us when it occurred to me that fifteen minutes had come and gone about fifteen minutes ago. I stood up and mentioned the schedule. After a promise to come back for a chat with Luanne, Steve opened the door for me and we headed down the corridor to the auditorium. He was regaling me with the highlights of the previous year’s pageant when Eunice Allingham came through the arched doorway and almost stumbled into me.
“We are waiting, Mrs. Malloy,” she began, then stopped as she saw my companion. “You! How dare you!”
Steve adroitly stepped behind me. “Eunice, how nice to see you again this year. Still keeping your finger in the pageant pie, I see.”
“How dare you!” she repeated, advancing until she was breathing on my ear. “After all you’ve done, you have the gall to come back? I’d have thought you’d have had the decency to stay away this year.”
“We both know I had nothing to do with what happened because of last year’s pageant. Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” he said in my other ear.
“Hardly, Mr. Stevenson. Hardly.”
It was interesting, but it was doing detrimental things to my long-term hearing and causing condensation on my ear lobes. I sidestepped from between the two of them. “Then you’ve met?”
While I waited for a response from either of them, Cyndi Jay came out into the corridor. “Eunice, we’re running late and I—” Her mouth dropped open as she caught sight of Steve. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. Her eyes rolled upward and she crumpled onto the carpet at my feet.
All in all, it was most interesting. Yes, indeed.
FOUR
Eunice squatted down and began to rub Cyndi’s wrist and slap her face with more enthusiasm than some of us might have considered necessary—or even prudent. Steve hastily announced he wanted to meet this year’s lovely contestants, and hustled through the doorway before I could agree that it seemed the politic thing to do. After all, if politicians weren’t politic, who was?
Cyndi’s eyes fluttered open. Eunice slapped her once more, just to be on the safe side, I supposed, then helped the girl to her feet. “Well,” she said in a low, angry voice, “I told you this would happen. I’d like to think you learned your lesson, but this swooning act was hardly a good omen, was it?”
Cyndi glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, then hung her head as if she were a naughty puppy who’d dirtied the carpet for not the first time. “You’re right, Eunice. I promised you I’d never see him again, and I haven’t. It’s just that all those nasty threats and attempts to hurt me have made me nervous. Seeing Senator Stevenson startled me, that’s all.” She touched her temples with delicately sculptured pink fingernails. “I’ve just been a wreck these last two days, but I swear I’ll settle down.”
“I should hope so,” Eunice muttered. “God knows I’ve put enough time and money into you. But you’re the one who’ll carry us to the top, all the way to the Big One in Atlantic City. I have great expectations, Cyndi, great expectations. I’m going to be right beside you every step of the way, and be watching proudly when they sing, ‘There She Is, Miss America.’” Eunice sang the words in a trembling voice, apparently close to tears.
“I know,” Cyndi said, nodding earnestly and a little misty herself. “And you’ve been really, really wonderful, Eunice. I mean, you’ve been like a mom to me.”
It was all so touching that I went into the auditorium. Steve was on the stage, surrounded by the girls and, based on the volume of their squeals, doing an admirable job amusing them. Mac stood to one side, watching impassively. I spotted two ghostly, pubescent forms flitting in the last row of the seats, but I ignored them and went to my post in the middle of the front row.
I clapped my hands and, when I had their reluctant attention, said, “We must get started immediately. The schedule’s tight and we’re already more than half an hour late. You girls do want to have time to repair your hair before your first meeting with the judges, don’t you?”
They deserted their idol and scuttled offstage. Steve dimpled down at me. “You’ve got quite a flair for this sort of thing, Claire. Can I lure you to the capital to terrify my staff?”
There were ghostly giggles in the distance behind me. “No thank you,” I said, refusing to turn my head. “Are you ready to begin? Mac, are you ready to do the lights? Who’s going to operate the curtain? What about the audio equipment?”
Mac came down to the edge of the stage. “Those are excellent questions, if I do say so myself. I’m going up to the light booth. Who is going to operate the curtain and the audio equipment?”
“Whoever you’ve hired,” I suggested faintly.
“Hey, I just own the building. I agreed to run the lights, mostly because the equipment’s too expensive to trust to some moronic high school boy with zits on his palms. I didn’t agree to open a temporary employment agency.”
I flipped through the notebook but did not find a list of backstage crew. “I guess Luanne was planning to get around to it yesterday. Is there any way you can do the lights and also—”
“Nope.” He put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle a now-familiar tune. And very melodically for such an uncooperative grouch.
Steve shot me another dimple. “When my aide gets back, he can help. It may not be until late in the afternoon, though. I’m sure my wife would enjoy helping, but she couldn’t find a sitter for the day. Sorry.”
I bowed to the inevitable. “There are two girls skulking in the back of the auditorium,” I said to Mac. “Rout them from their hiding place and show them what to do. You do not need to be gentle with them, nor do you need to show them any patience or understanding. For some inexplicable reason, they are not getting their just desserts.”
I saw a twinkle in Mac’s eye as he nodded and went toward the back of the auditorium. I flapped my notebook at Steve. “Let’s get the damn show on the road,” I said eloquently.
Eons later Steve and I went back to the office. I was not a pretty picture: my face was pink, my hair ruffled, my eyes dazed, my hands quivering. The notebook was misshapen and tattered from the torture it had received in my lap. Steve settled me on the couch and solicitously offered to bring me a cup of water.
Luanne’s pencil clattered on the desktop. “Shall I ask how it went?” she said.
“There are a few problems,” Steve said, wincing, “but I’m sure we’ll pull it together by tonight. The girls were jittery and the new crew members need practice on some of the technical aspects. A couple of hitches in the talent numbers. A little disorganization during the swimsuit and evening-gown presentations.” His fingers tightened on my shoulder for a moment. “It’ll be fine tonight. It really will.”
Luanne stared at me as if I’d been diagnosed with some fatal tropical disease that would implode me within a matter of seconds. “Dare I ask how the opening number went?”
“Don’t ask,” I said. “Unless you can book the Guernsey Sisters by eight o’clock tonight.”<
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Eunice came through the door and positioned herself in front of the desk, offering some of us a view of her indignant derriere. “I’ve been told you have some experience in the operation of a pageant. It is obvious it is currently in the hands of an amateur. Cyndi’s more endangered by those hopelessly clumsy girls than she is from some kindergarten child with a tube of lipstick. If she ends up with a scab on her knee, I simply won’t be able to have her at the Miss Starley City pageant next week. I realize that it’s a minor pageant, but she needs all the experience she can get for the Big One.”
Luanne seemed bewildered, so I graciously hummed a few bars of the pageant theme song. Eunice spun around and noticed Steve, who was trying very hard to pass for a throw pillow. “And, you,” she added with a frigid smile, “you were directly responsible for the disaster at the Miss Stump County pageant, along with the poor gal’s collapse this morning. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you wrote on her mirror.”
“I was not directly responsible,” Steve said petulantly.
“Well, directly or indirectly, you—”
“Everybody hush,” Luanne interrupted, using her pencil for a gavel. “I will admit I’m temporarily disabled, but I am not someone’s dotty old great-aunt in the attic. Someone tell me what’s going on!”
Eunice and Steve both looked at me, but I held up my hands and shook my head. “Not me, guys. I only know bits and pieces of what’s going on, and they make little or no sense. I suggest we begin with an historical perspective. Eunice can explain Steve’s direct responsibility. He can then offer rebuttal for indirect responsibility. I’ll do the lipstick.”
Luanne blinked at me. “Lipstick?”
“Out of perspective,” I said, waggling a finger at her.
Eunice took centerstage. “That man was a judge at last year’s pageant. Although he is supposed to be a pillar of society and set a good example for the youth of our state, he allowed his aide to become both emotionally and physically involved with poor little Cyndi, who was quite naive in these matters. The boy sent her gifts, called night and day, took her to parties where alcohol and drugs were in use, and even lured her out of the state on some flimsy pretext. She was so exhausted and bewildered by his attentions that she didn’t make the finals of the Miss Stump County and in fact missed two perfectly good pageants in the southeastern part of the state.”
Steve tried a dimple, but Eunice froze it off quicker than a dermatologist dealing with a wart. Shrugging, he said, “They’re modern kids. Warren was absolutely smitten with the girl, and I’m his boss—not his father. Come on, Eunice, what he does on his own time is his own business.”
“What about the trip to Hollywood?” Eunice demanded. “She and that boy flew on your charter, and you paid for their hotel room. She came back to Farberville with all sorts of wild ideas about a movie career. Luckily, I was able to reason with her; otherwise, she’d have thrown a black negligee in a bag and tried to hitchhike back out to that immoral place.”
“Cyndi was invited to go as a guest of the state film commission. They always take some of the talent to prove we’re not all inarticulate, lice-ridden hillbillies.” Steve squared his shoulders. “And I ordered separate rooms for them, Eunice. In fact, my room was between theirs, although I can’t swear there wasn’t a bit of tiptoeing after midnight. They’re normal, healthy kids.”
“Cyndi is in no way a normal, healthy kid,” Eunice said, squaring her shoulders too. “She is an attractive, vivacious, self-disciplined, determined girl who has a chance to win the Big One—if she works on it. She’ll have scholarships, a new wardrobe and accessories, a new car, a kitchen full of appliances, an opportunity to travel all over the country and appear on prime-time television. If I handle her carefully, she should have several hundred thousand in the bank when she gives up her crown. I will not have her chances ruined by your hormone-heavy aide. Last time you refused to do anything more than smirk, but this time you’d better keep him away from her unless the both of you intend to destroy her career over my dead body!”
I wanted to stand up and sing a refrain or two of you-know-what. Instead, I stood up and mentioned that it was almost time for the luncheon. Eunice snorted a farewell and stalked out the door, leaving a wake of righteousness behind her. Steve started to follow, but I caught his arm.
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “do you have the same aide who … who was madly in love with Cyndi Jay?”
“Yeah,” he said dimplessly.
Once he left, I told Luanne about the message on Cyndi’s mirror. She was properly appalled, but neither of us could think of a reason why any of those in the theater would make a threat or attempt to bean Miss Thurberfest with a bag.
Luanne stood up and, with a glum smile, said, “There’s nothing we can do, so we’ll have to hope Eunice sticks to Cyndi through the finals tomorrow night. At that point Cyndi will become a mortal once more. We’d better head for the luncheon.”
“I said earlier that I ought to discuss this with Peter. I’ll walk to Sally’s with you, then go on to the Book Depot and call him. Maybe he can get away for lunch.”
“Do you honestly believe I cannot see right through this civic-minded sham of yours? You aren’t frantic to talk to Peter about some silly little words on a mirror. You saw the menu.”
I laughed gaily. “I may have glanced at the menu in my official capacity, but I don’t even remember what’s on it. Besides, Sally is reputed to be a veritable culinary wizard with tofu and vegetables. I happen to be concerned about the events of the last two days, and am willing to make a minor sacrifice in order to ensure Cyndi’s longevity and eventual triumph at the Big One.”
“Bullshit.”
“Goodness gracious, Luanne, I hope you don’t use that sort of language in front of the gals. They’re much too wholesome to be exposed to profanity. They would be shocked and dismayed. Their ears might fall off right into the tofu lasagna.”
“You’re stalling, perhaps with the wild notion that I’ll forget this vile display of treachery and let you escape the luncheon. Ho, ho, and get your purse.” She took a step, then grimaced and closed her eyes for a second. “My ankle’s getting worse. It feels as if it’s the size of a late-summer zucchini. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of the afternoon, much less the first round tonight.”
I studied her, not sure whether she was in pain or pulling my leg via her ankle. Her face had an unhealthy transparent quality and her skin seemed tightly stretched across her ( unruly) cheekbones. Dark smudges below her eyes might have come from mascara, but I doubted it. “You look like hell. When you were at the hospital, did you talk to the doctor about your general health?”
“Mac took me to the emergency room. Some twenty-year-old boy pretending to be a grown-up doctor said three or four words to me, fondled my ankle, and then waved me off to the X-ray room. A sweet little student nurse assured me that we had a severe sprain instead of a nasty old break, and proceeded to wrap our ankle in fifty feet of elastic tape, for which I expect to be billed by the inch. But thanks for the compliment.”
“You really don’t look good,” I persisted. “Don’t you think you ought to talk to a grandfatherly general practitioner about it? I’ll hunt one up and drive you to his office right now.”
“For a lecture on sleep and a prescription for vitamins? No, I simply need to elevate my ankle and forget about the half-million telephone calls I didn’t get to this morning. The florist has come out of his coma and swears he knows exactly what to do. I arranged for someone to fetch the two other judges and deliver them to Sally’s cafe. I’ve got ushers and concession workers. The press is arranged. However, that’s the tip of a very large iceberg, and I haven’t talked to the football coach about the escorts, the electrician about the television cables, the trophy store, the parade coordinator, the—”
“Stop this before I go leap off the stage. Get your list of calls that need to be made and I’ll drive you home. I’ll even fix yo
u a nice sandwich and a cup of tea, then settle you in bed with the telephone. You can stay there until the last moment before kickoff time tonight.”
“One of us has to be at the luncheon to introduce the dignitaries and the contestants, see that everyone sits in his or her assigned place, make sure no one chokes on tofu, and keep Sally out of the way.”
“Then we’d better hurry,” I said. Or snapped.
I told her to wait at the theater while I fetched my car. The lobby was quiet and I heard no squeals from the auditorium, which I cleverly deduced meant that either Eunice or Steve ( but not both) had herded the girls on to the luncheon. Caron and Inez had crept away, no doubt to discuss with much adolescent outrage the manner in which Mac had instructed them. It had been the only bright spot in a very gloomy two hours.
A news van was parked in front of Sally’s cafe, and a crowd milled nearby. Praying Cyndi Jay had not found a threat written in alfalfa sprouts, I broke into a trot. Once I reached the bystanders, I wiggled my way through. A woman in a suit held a microphone under Steve Stevenson’s dimples. A man with a camera balanced on his shoulder moved in to capture every nuance.
“Then despite the results of the latest poll, you expect to have no problem in the primary, Senator?” the reporter demanded, clearly willing to risk everything in the name of the public’s right to know.
“The primary will be a critical test of my candidacy. My opponent is a good man, but I think my record speaks for itself,” Steve said into the camera. He did not, however, allow his record to get in a word edgewise. “As a senator, I’ve fought for a strong, no-frills educational system. I’ve helped our area industries receive tax breaks so that they can employ more workers and boost the economy. I’ve introduced bills to assist the elderly and disabled. As attorney general, I can assure you that I shall demand an immediate investigation into the trucking industry in this area, and continue to—”