by Tim Tingle
Their meetings at out-of-the-way hotels was always a worry to Leon, because he knew that eventually, because he was a high profile judge, someone was going to recognize him, and the scandalous affair would be all over the news. That was why he encouraged Miranda to buy the new house on the Warrior River near Kellerman, because it was conveniently right door to his house, yet isolated by thick trees and bushes on all sides. They could literally carry on their sexual adventures right next door to his wife, and she would never suspected a thing.
So at his urging, she bought the house, and they began regular meetings at Miranda’s house, right under the nose of his wife. This went on for several weeks, before Mrs. Rosewood left on her three week European cruise. As soon as his wife was out of the way however, Leon insisted that Miranda and he have a wild night at his house. To Leon, there was something dangerous and exciting about doing it with Miranda right there, in his wife’s very own bed, that turned him on even more. Unfortunately, the excitement was too much for him to handle, and he dropped dead from a heart attack, which left Miranda in a very embarrassing situation. A situation in which there was only one person she could turn to. Using just her big toe, she called Travis. She shook her head in disbelief over what had happened the past few weeks. This whole mess was her fault, and unfortunately, was just another tragic chapter of her pathetic life.
But it wasn’t over yet.
In addition to cleaning the Judge’s house, she probably needed to do a clean sweep of her own house too, to be sure there was nothing incriminating left there. Especially in the bedroom and bathroom. That would be her project for today, to clean her house in minute detail, removing every fingerprint, and every hair left by the Judge. (Later she would be glad she did, because she would find a pair of his underwear under the bed.) At the end of the day, she would rest assured that there would be nothing incriminating found at her house.
And tonight, Wednesday night, she would recruit Lennie to go with her to the Judge’s house, to tidy things up one final time there, and allow Lennie to plant his fingerprints everywhere.
And then tomorrow she could put on her happy face, and would begin to fill her pool with water, and go buy party supplies for Saturday’s pool party. Cake, drinks, and all the usual party things, to gloss over the fact that she had a dead body under her pool.
35
Travis found no one at the hotel, so he took his subway pass, and went to Trafalgar Square, to meet Drew, Audrey, and some of the others for lunch, as they had previously agreed. He rode the escalator to the surface at Trafalgar Station, and immediately became alarmed by the commotion going on at the surface.
It was a surreal vision of utter chaos. People were yelling and scrambling everywhere. At first, he thought there had just been a bombing, because the pavement was scattered with debris, and smoke was rising from several places in the square. It caused him to stop in his tracks on the steps, to survey the disaster. But the other subway riders who were coming up out of the tunnel with him, seemed to hardly notice the melee. They swirled around him, some bumping into him, and issuing a polite ‘pardon me’, or ‘excuse me, sir’, as they indifferently emerged in the square, and dispersed in various directions, as though this chaos was perfectly normal. To keep from blocking the steps, Travis went with the flow, and emerged from the tunnel, and stood bewildered, watching the insanity.
There were police here, but the Bobbies stood back against the buildings with their hands folded behind them, as they watched the chaos, not attempting to help, or interfere with the surging crowds of shouting people. It was like a riot, but not quite. It was a riot that seemed to be propelled, not by anger, but by defiant jubilation. In the middle of the square, was the giant fountain pool, and teenagers were all in the pool, playing in the water, climbing up on the statues. The giant bronze lions, which the square was known for, peered out majestically over the crowds, but had lost some of their dignity, because they had giant rolls of smoking paper in their mouths, to simulate cigarettes perhaps. Young people rode the backs of the Lions, also smoking cigarettes. The revelers who brushed past him were smiling and happy. One young man stopped and asked if he wanted a drag off his joint.
“No thank you! But tell me, what’s going on here?”
“Are you kidding me? This is Wednesday!” the young man said, as he moved on with the surging crowd. What did the fact that it was Wednesday have to do with it? Did this happen here every Wednesday?
The sweet smell of smoke filled the air. Suddenly Travis realized that these were not cigarettes that everyone was smoking. They were joints of marijuana. As though to reinforce this sudden revelation, a group of thirty-something year old men came by him carrying a sign that read: ‘Legalize Pot NOW!’ So that was it, a marijuana legalization rally. Now it started to make sense.
A passing clown, complete with painted face, green hair and red nose, was smoking a joint as big as a cigar. He reached in his shirt pocket and drew out a small un-lit joint and handed it to Travis. “Have one on me, my friend!” A second clown, one with purple hair, stopped and asked, “Need a light?”
“No thanks. I’ll save this for later!”
“As you will.”
Now that he knew what this was, a rally instead of a riot, he felt better about mingling in the square. A man walking on stilts, in a costume that made him look ten feet tall strode past him, also smoking a joint. In fact, everyone here was toking on joints, now that he noticed it.
He wondered of Drew and the rest of his group was here as well. If they were, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. When they agreed to meet here, none of them knew about this rally. All he could do was walk around among the crowd and look for them. He saw some strange sights as he walked around, and the longer he walked, the funnier things got, as his head began to buzz. He knew it was the second-hand smoke he was breathing, but it wasn’t altogether an unpleasant feeling. The longer he walked, the more pleasant it got. Even the row of Bobbies lining the sidewalk were smiling. The police presence was entirely unnecessary. If there is one thing that could never turn violent, it’s a pot legalization rally, if there is enough product being smoked. Travis looked at the joint in his fingers. Maybe he should light it up too, just to contribute to the overall well being of the society as a whole. He could see why some people liked this stuff.
“Hey Dad!” He felt someone grab his shoulder. It was Drew.
“Hey, son! I was just looking for you. Hello Audrey. Y’all been here long?”
“Yeah, long enough! I feel like I’m floating, Dad!”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. But remember, Drew. Just say ‘no’ to drugs!”
“What’s that in your hand, Mr. Lee?” Audrey and Drew both snickered.
“Just say no, Dad?”
“I did say no! When asked if I wanted a light, I did say no! No need to light this one, when the whole square is already smoking!”
“I’ve got a whole pocket full. Everyone that sees us without a joint, gives us one.”
“Well, just be sure you don’t take them back home, or you might get arrested.”
“Okay!”
“Who else from our group is here?”
“Just us, I think.”
“Good. Your grandmother doesn’t need to know we were here. Where do you want to eat? I have the munchies.”
“I saw a McDonald’s down the street.”
“Good enough. I’ve not been impressed with British food so far. McDonald’s it is.”
* * *
Janice was allowed to go home Tuesday evening, after being questioned for the second time by the Arlington County police. This second questioning had been more of an interrogation than the first one, because she had to refute statements made earlier by Penelope, which were simply not true. Her lawyer, Saul Lugman, had calmed her down before the interrogation, by telling her what to expect, and h
ow she should respond to every question. And if the answer to a question seemed to be incriminating, Lugman told her that he would be right there to jump in and clarify the question, or caution her not to answer.
But she had done very well. She kept her composure, and truthfully answered their every question with clarity, and in a way that persuaded them that she was telling the truth. So after 45 minutes of hard, pointed questions, she was told that she was free to go, but she was reminded that she should not leave the state, in case they had more questions later. As they left the building, she asked, “So, how did I do, Saul?”
“You did great, Janice. I didn’t have to jump in a single time. Usually these clowns will ask their questions in a very insulting way, to try to up-set you, and get you to say things that you might not ought to say, but they were very civil today. I think it was because they could sense that you were telling them the truth.”
“Or, it could be that they knew I had a really good lawyer with me, and they knew better than to say anything too up-setting to me.”
“Nah! I’m not that good a lawyer! I think they knew you were telling the truth.”
“Either way, thank you very much for being there! I think I would have freaked out, if you had not been there to keep me calm.”
“Hey, that’s my job. But you are very welcome. Now, most likely they will call you in again, for more specific questions, should they have any. If they do, don’t panic. Just tell them that you want your lawyer present, and we will do this little gig again. There’s nothing to it. If you are innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”
That was the previous evening. Wednesday morning she was once again humming as she prepared breakfast for her family. Rebecca was glad to see her back in high spirits.
“You must have straightened the police out this time, Janice?”
“Yes, they asked be all kinds of things about my involvement with Penelope, and went into great detail about what I saw, and what I did, but everything must have added up to them, because they thanked me for my cooperation. None of the boys suspected that I was gone with the police, did they?”
“No, I told them exactly what you told me to tell them.”
“Good. If this all blows over, then Travis won’t even have to know it happened.”
“So you are trying to keep Dad from knowing about it at all?”
“Yes, I am. If he finds out I helped Penelope again, after the way she did me the first time, he will have my hide!”
“She is charged with murder! You’ll have to testify at her trial. He is going to know about it sooner or later!”
“Yes, and I would rather it be later! Knowing him, I will have something to hold over his head by then!”
“Janice, I know you and Dad love one another, but you have the strangest ways of getting along!”
“I know, but it seems to work for us. Remember that we are a seasoned husband and wife. We have seen a whole lot of B.S. flow under our proverbial bridge. We are professionals. When you get married, please don’t try this at home in your marriage!”
“So you are giving me a marriage disclaimer?”
“Yes, I guess I am. Remember, no representation is made that the B.S. that goes on in this marriage is any greater than the B.S. that goes on in any other marriage, or that the shenanigans that seem to work for this marriage, will work for you! Every marriage has unique problems, and must be dealt with in their own unique ways.”
“Okay, I’ll try to remember that. So you are counting on Dad to get into some kind of trouble in England, so you can use that to balance out what you did?”
“That’s right. I know Travis well enough to know that he will be apologizing for something when he gets back. That’s when I’ll tell him about me helping Penelope, and there won’t be much he can say. It balances out most of the time.”
“It’s amazing that you know him that well.”
“It comes with time. But in the short time you have known him, you should know that too.”
“Yeah, you’re right! He will get into some kind of trouble. Oh, while I am thinking about it, Miranda called yesterday evening while you were gone. She invited us all over to her house this Saturday. She just had a new pool put in, and is having a pool party.”
“That was nice of her. Did you tell her Travis would not be here Saturday?”
“Yes, I think she already knew that. She is wanting a lot of kids there to have fun, and break in her pool. I told her I would be there, and I would pass the invitation on to you and the boys.”
“It sounds like something good to do on Saturday, unless something else comes up. Did you get her phone number?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call her later today.”
* * *
Back in England, Travis spent the afternoon with the group, as they went on a walking tour up and down the Themes River, getting up-close and personal with London Bridge, Big Ben, and the British Parliament building. The Tower, where the royal jewels were kept, and they finished off by visiting Buckingham Palace, where everyone hoped to get a glimpse of the Queen. However, Travis could say he had already met the Queen. As the afternoon stretched into evening, Travis told his Mom that he had a dinner appointment with his publisher, Aaron Bagley, at which, he would try to secure a deal on his second novel, and perhaps even an agreement on a renewal for ‘The Relic’. When she heard this, Lois insisted that he not be late for the meeting.
At exactly 6 p.m., a car sent by Mr. Bagley picked Travis up in front of his hotel, and took him to a fine restaurant where Mr. Bagley himself was waiting. He stood up to greet Travis, and invited him to sit down and order a drink. Mr. Bagley was about 6’2”, totally bald, with a large, well manicured mustache.
“Finally we meet, Mr. Lee! Let me apologize for not being able to be at your first two book signings. Prior commitments, you know.”
“No problem, Mr. Bagley.” He sat down a bag he had brought with him.
“Please, call me Aaron!”
“And you can call me Travis.”
“I hope my daughter has treated you well since your arrival. We like to take very good care of our #1 best-selling author!”
“She has been very hospitable.”
“Good! Let me first of all, welcome you to Britain, and wish you a pleasant stay. Secondly, let me apologize for the unfortunate circumstances with regard to your first book, and the lack of royalties you are receiving. It is absolutely horrible to me, that your contract was written in such a way!”
“Well, I am the one who read and signed the contract, so there is no one to blame but myself.”
The waiter brought their drinks, and quickly left.
“Let me say this, Travis, if I were to become your primary publisher, I would be perfectly willing to work out a deal with you. And that deal could include royalties on all future sales of ‘The Relic’, if we can secure a contract with you on your second novel, ‘Behind The Green Door’. Angel tells me that in her estimation, it could easily surpass your first novel in sales, building on the success of ‘The Relic’.
“Yes, she said she was blown away by the story. I think it is pretty good myself.”
“You seem to be a very prolific writer. I know that you are a full time coal miner, but if you were a full time writer, how often to you think you could turn out a high quality novel like your first two?”
“I don’t know, Aaron, but just between you and me, I have six completed novels, including the two you know of, plus about twenty more in various stages of completion. And I was able to do this much writing part time. I have no idea what I could turn out as a full time writer. In fact, I might not be able to write at all if I tried to do it full time. I have a comfortable little niche in my life in which I am able to create. If that niche becomes a gaping canyon, my creativity could just dry up. It�
�s like, the less time I have to devote to creativity, the more I try to get out of it. Who knows? All I know for sure, is that I can probably turn out one good novel a year as a part time writer.”
“That is amazing. I have never heard of creativity defined in such a way. The fact that you could write better if you have less time.”
“I don’t know that to be the case, because I have never had a full day to devote to my writing. You see, even when I have an off day from work, I have six children, so there are demands on my time from them as well. I peck out a page or two per day, and that seems to be my ‘niche’.”
“Well, you seem to get the most out of every minute.”
“Yes, I literally have to. So, I suppose what you are wondering is, if you make a commitment to me, to be my primary publisher, can I deliver finished manuscripts to you on a regular basis as a writer?”
“Yes, that is basically what I was getting at.”
“Knowing that I have a publisher ready to take my every work, I could easily turn out a finished manuscript every eight to twelve months, at my present rate of production. Now for my question, . . . would you be willing to accept all of my works, sight unseen?”
“If all of your works are as well written, and as intriguing as your first two manuscripts, the answer is yes. However, as a publisher, I would retain the right to refuse any manuscript you present to me, should it not fit our guidelines, or not be quite up to speed. I can’t give you a blank check, in other words.”