by Mary Daheim
Marva Lou waved a plump hand. “Oh, pay no notice to Billy. He likes to think he’s a cowboy. You got to see him do tricks with his lasso.”
The Iowa guests returned to the living room. Joe, however, went out into the cul-de-sac. Judith had a feeling he was going to speak to Billy about discharging firearms in an urban setting.
Judith turned her attention back to the registration form. “Fill this out, and I’ll give you your keys,” she said to Marva Lou. “One is to your room, the other is to the front door. We lock up at ten every night. When my husband gets back, I’ll have him move your luggage upstairs.”
“That’s real nice of him,” Marva Lou said, scribbling down the required guest information. “I sure hope you enjoy having Billy around. Isn’t he a hoot?”
“I haven’t met him,” Judith said, watching Marva Lou sign the registration with a flourish. “He and…his wife are gone quite a lot.”
Marva Lou nodded, as Judith handed her the keys. “Sounds right to me. Billy never was one to stay put. Restless, that’s Billy. Frankie’s just the opposite. Hard to get him out of the house. Funny how kids in the same family turn out so different. The roving kind, the stay-at-homes, and the in-betweens. My own sister’s another gadabout. A good thing she went to work for Amtrak. After fifteen years, you’d figure she’d have her fill of traveling, but she still loves it.” Marva Lou paused, frowning. “We wouldn’t have made this trip if it wasn’t for…” She paused again. “Well, let’s say family matters. I suppose I ought to go freshen up. Or at least comb my hair.” She patted her short, honey-colored curls. “I’ll bet the party’s already started.”
“Both parties,” Judith said, glancing at her watch. It was twenty minutes to seven. “Our Block Watch is having its annual get-together. It’s a citywide event.”
Marva Lou nodded. “We have those in Oklahoma. A good idea.” She clasped the B&B keys in her hand. “I’ll go up to the room now. See you at the party. Or parties.”
As Marva Lou disappeared up the stairs, Joe returned. “My first meeting with Billy Buss was a bust. He didn’t appreciate my words of wisdom about shooting off a gun on Heraldsgate Hill.”
“I assume he didn’t do that in Florida,” Judith remarked. “Maybe it would be different in the wide-open spaces of Oklahoma.” She started down the entry hall. “I’m going to take Mother to the Block Watch party. She’s probably chomping at the bit. I’m almost fifteen minutes late.”
“Skip it,” Joe called after her. “She’s already there.”
Judith turned around. “She is?”
“Vivian came to escort her,” Joe said wryly. “Your mother’s at the Buss party.”
Judith sighed. “Oh, well. I suppose that’s okay. It’s awkward, though. I refuse to abandon our neighbors. I’ll stay on the potluck side of the cul-de-sac.” Seeing a faintly sheepish expression on Joe’s face, she took a couple of steps toward him. “Well? What about you?”
Joe grimaced. “I thought I’d do both.”
Judith glared at him. “Have fun. You and Mother make a cute couple.” She continued on through the dining room to the kitchen.
Joe didn’t follow her. Five minutes later, carrying her big glass bowl of three-bean salad through the front door, she spotted him on Vivian’s side of the cul-de-sac, talking to one of the two men who appeared to be waiters. At least two dozen people Judith didn’t recognize were gathered around Herself’s lavish buffet and equally opulent bar.
“I’ve never seen so many bags of ice in my life,” Arlene remarked as Judith set the salad bowl on the trestle table. “It’s going to melt all over the place. How much are they going to drink? And who are they?”
“Hangers-on,” Judith replied bitterly. “Probably some of the barflies Vivian knew in the old days. I’d have assumed most of them had been permanently pickled by now.”
“They’re certainly not from around here,” Arlene huffed. “Except,” she added, lowering her voice, “for your husband.”
“Don’t rub it in,” Judith shot back. “He probably knows some of those creeps from the cop bars. That’s how he met Vivian. She was the lounge singer in a seedy dive downtown.”
Arlene looked sympathetic. “A moment’s madness,” she murmured. “And years of sorrow.” She paused as Joe slapped one of the waiters on the back and broke into an uncharacteristically boisterous laugh. “Or maybe not,” Arlene said under her breath.
Judith turned her back on Herself’s gathering. “Remind me to kill Joe when he gets over here.”
Arlene brightened. “Would you like help? I can practice on Carl.”
Judith shuddered. “I shouldn’t have said that. About killing Joe. Just saying that out loud scares me.”
“Yes,” Arlene said, putting a hand on Judith’s arm. “You do seem to attract dead people. That is, people who—”
She was interrupted by the sudden sound of a snare drum. A half-dozen musicians had set up on the bandstand across the cul-de-sac. Ragtime music blared from speakers, almost deafening Judith. “Oh, no!” she cried, putting her fingers in her ears. “This is awful!”
“Worse than that,” Arlene shouted. “Here come some of your B&B guests.”
The couple who had been startled by the gunshot and two young women from Boston stood on Hillside Manor’s front steps, staring in surprise at the commotion. The lean and lanky Iowa husband spotted Judith and marched in her direction.
“Is this your evening entertainment?” he demanded, his florid face almost purple. “You didn’t mention that in your brochure.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Judith declared. “I’m angry, too.”
The man from Iowa jerked a thumb in the direction of Herself’s gathering. “Then why is the man I thought was your husband dancing with that blond hussy in the silver dress?”
Judith stared. Sure enough, Joe and Vivian were doing a foxtrot to the music. Several others had joined in. Gertrude sat in her motorized wheelchair, tapping her foot in time to the beat.
“I apologize,” Judith finally said, shoulders slumping. “Let me treat you and your wife to dinner. I have some gift certificates inside.”
She hurried back into the house, the man and his wife—as well as the two Bostonians—following. She unlocked the drawer of the small desk in the entry hall and removed a hundred-dollar gift certificate for the Manhattan Grill Steak House. Aware that the two young women were about to pounce, she took out a second gift card, this one for Ugeto’s, an upscale Italian restaurant. The foursome grudgingly thanked her and withdrew to the living room just as the two older couples traveling together from Bakersfield, California, came down the stairs.
“Here,” she said, grabbing the only remaining pair of certificates, which were for Papaya Pete’s expensive Polynesian eatery in one of the city’s big hotels. “Enjoy.”
Judith retreated into the kitchen, where the music was muted. Her nerves were frazzled. Impulsively, she took a bottle of Glenlivet from the top kitchen shelf and poured a generous inch into a glass. Adding ice, she sipped deeply, savoring the liquor’s golden glow. The whisky was from the Scottish Highlands, brought back by Judith and Joe when they returned in March from their stay at a castle on the North Sea.
She was swirling the drink in her hands when the last of her guests—newlyweds from Anchorage—poked their heads in the kitchen.
“Hey,” said the red-haired bride whose first name Judith recalled as Ashley, “what’s going on outside?”
Judith kept both hands on the cocktail glass, preferring not to let her guests think she stood around the kitchen getting snockered. “The neighbors are having a Block Watch potluck,” she explained. “But some people who recently moved here are giving their own party as well. I’m sorry about the noise. Look,” she went on, hoping to forestall another complaint, “I keep restaurant gift certificates on hand for certain kinds of emergencies, such as visitors who lose their travelers’ checks or credit cards. I’ve run out, but if you want to enjoy a pleasant, quiet din
ner, go ahead and I’ll credit your bill here for the cost of your evening out.”
Ashley looked at her fair-haired groom. “Dare we?” she said.
“It’s not a dare,” Judith began. “I’m perfectly willing to—”
“No, no,” the young man broke in. “We were wondering if we could join that party with the band. They sound like they’re having fun.”
“Be my guest,” Judith responded. “I mean…well, you already are. But I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Buss won’t mind one bit.”
Ashley clapped. “Let’s go, Jake! A live band! Way cool!”
The couple hurried off through the dining room. Judith finished her drink and reluctantly went back outside.
At least a dozen Dooleys had arrived. The matriarch, Corinne, was setting out homemade pies. Judith was about to commend her for baking in such warm weather, but Rochelle Porter intervened, shouting to make herself heard above the band’s rendition of “Caramba, It’s the Samba!”
“I hate that kind of music,” Rochelle declared, wincing. She removed her half-glasses to stare across the cul-de-sac. “Where’s that black sedan? It was parked where the bar’s set up.”
“What sedan?” Judith asked in a loud voice.
Rochelle put her glasses back on. “Ham said it was the same car he saw the other night, and probably the same man who went around the back of the house and then left.” She shrugged. “Maybe he was delivering something for this shindig. I hear there’s going to be a big announcement after the band takes a break.”
“Hopefully,” Judith said, “it’ll be soon.”
Jeanne Ericson poked Judith in the arm. “We have noise ordinances in this city,” she shouted. “Can’t we report this?”
Seeing Joe doing the samba with Marva Lou Buss, Judith grimaced. “It depends on the time of day, I think, like after ten at night. Let’s wait. I wouldn’t want to see my husband busted by one of his former cop buddies.”
Jeanne followed Judith’s gaze. “Oh. I keep forgetting—Joe used to be married to Whatever-Her-Name-Is-Now. Sorry.”
“So am I,” Judith murmured, feeling a headache coming on. “Excuse me, I’m going to get some aspirin.”
Rochelle and Jeanne both nodded. The samba ended, providing a moment of relative quiet. But as Judith went up Hillside Manor’s front steps, she saw Herself appear on the bandstand.
“Don’t forget,” Vivian said into the microphone that was pinned to the deep vee of her cleavage, “our big news is coming up in just a few minutes. Meanwhile, I’m going to serenade you with one of my old favorites, ‘I Ain’t Got Nobody.’” She swiveled her hips and patted her bosom. “Not true, of course. As my darling Billy Boy will tell you, I still have plenty of body.” Her guests broke into gusts of laughter and scattered applause. Judith felt like throwing up.
“How much,” Jeanne Ericson murmured, “of that body is plastic?”
Rochelle snickered. “I may have too much body, but it’s all mine.”
“Only my hip is artificial,” Judith asserted. “I can’t stand listening to this.” She fled into the house as Herself began to sing.
Downing two aspirin, she leaned against the kitchen counter, wondering if she could endure going back outside. Hunger pangs were gnawing at her stomach. The neighbors always provided delicious food, though it suddenly occurred to Judith that they’d all miss Miko Swanson’s Japanese delicacies this time around. They’d also miss the older woman’s gentle kindness. At least, Judith thought with a pang, Mrs. Swanson had been spared the raucous party in the cul-de-sac.
Finally, a few minutes before eight o’clock, she worked up the courage to rejoin the Block Watch potluck. The aspirin was easing her headache, though she was still annoyed with both Joe and Gertrude for blatantly joining Herself’s shindig.
To Judith’s relief, the music had stopped. The bandstand had been vacated. Joe had been talking to an older man who looked vaguely familiar and might have been one of the cop-bar habitués, judging from his somewhat drunken gestures. Judith watched her husband leave the Buss celebration and walk across the cul-de-sac to join Gabe Porter, Hamish Stein, and one of the Dooleys’ grown daughters. The newlyweds from Anchorage remained on the other side of the cul-de-sac, engaged in an animated conversation with one of the waiters.
Judith ignored Joe. She filled a paper plate with pastrami, Russian rye bread, macaroni salad, and several of Gabe’s vegetables with sides of Rochelle’s creamy herbed dip and Naomi’s zesty horseradish.
Arlene sidled up to Judith. “If you want to give Joe a few good whacks, I’ve got my wooden spoon in the potato salad.”
Judith sighed. “Why can’t men understand what upsets women?”
“Probably because they’re men,” Arlene said. “There’s not much we can do about that. Unfortunately.”
Judith took a bite of the pastrami, which was excellent. She was about to taste Jeanne’s macaroni salad when Herself again ascended the bandstand to the accompaniment of a drum roll. Conversations died away; guests on both sides of the cul-de-sac stopped in their tracks; only Sweetums seemed uninterested, prowling toward the Rankerses’ hedge, possibly in search of Tulip.
“Old friends, new friends, buddies, and neighbors,” Vivian began, “this might as well be New Year’s Eve. This is the start of a new era, looking forward to the future. We know you’ll want to join us as we ring out the old and bring in the new.”
“What’s she talking about?” Jeanne whispered to Judith.
“I’ve no idea,” Judith replied. “She doesn’t seem drunk. But she probably is.”
“…Good enough for the last century, but not for this one,” Herself continued, though Judith had missed the first part of the sentence. “Most of you know we recently purchased the house next door on the corner.” She raised a languid arm in the direction of Mrs. Swanson’s bungalow. “That little house and the one I already own are outmoded on Heraldsgate Hill. They’re the past, we’re the future. Right after Labor Day, both of these little cracker boxes will be razed…” She paused and beamed at her audience. “And in their place, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, will stand a six-story, twelve-unit, glorious, beautiful, stunning condominium!”
“My God!” Jeanne gasped.
“Lordy, Lordy,” Rochelle muttered.
“Mad as a hatter,” Arlene declared angrily. “Where’s my wooden spoon? I’m going to beat some sense into that woman!”
“So,” Herself went on as her guests applauded enthusiastically, “hop on the Twenty-first Century Express for the ride of your life!” The band began to play; Vivian chimed in with a lusty, if rusty, version of “Chattanooga Choo Choo.”
The neighbors had begun talking at once. Judith marched up to Joe, who appeared to be under attack from Ted Ericson and three of the Dooleys.
“Did you know about this?” Judith demanded of her husband, dispensing with good manners for interrupting an irate Ted.
“Hell, no!” Joe retorted. “That’s just what I was trying to tell—”
A commotion broke out by the bandstand. Arlene hadn’t been kidding. She was trying to get at Vivian, wielding her wooden spoon as if it were a mace. Billy Buss was trying to restrain her. The band kept playing, but Herself stopped singing and stepped backward, falling into the bass drum.
Billy’s muscle finally overcame Arlene’s rage. She shrieked as he hauled her away from the bandstand, where the musicians had abruptly stopped the music while the drummer helped Vivian stand up. Halfway across the cul-de-sac, Billy released Arlene. Still clutching the wooden spoon, she whacked her enemy on the head. He reeled slightly just as Carl Rankers hurried to the site of the melee.
“Don’t,” the usually unflappable Carl warned Billy, “ever lay a hand on my wife again! If my darling wants to whack somebody with her spoon, let her do it. That spoon belonged to her grandmother, and it’s whacked plenty of people better than you in the last hundred years!”
Billy shot Carl a menacing look. Frankie Buss put a hand on his brother�
�s shoulder. “C’mon, Billy, have another drink.”
Judith glared at Joe. “And you told me to stop looking for trouble! Now what have you got to say for yourself about Herself?”
“Okay, okay,” Joe said, holding his hands in front of him as if he expected either his wife or Arlene to go on the attack. “But how the hell would I know Vivian intended to build a condo?”
“You might’ve guessed she’d do something disruptive,” Judith asserted. “I just had that feeling—” She stopped, seeing Gertrude hurtling across the cul-de-sac in her wheelchair. “Mother? Have you defected from the enemy camp?” Judith asked.
Gertrude ignored her daughter, heading for Arlene. “You okay, kiddo?” Judith heard her mother ask.
“Oh, great!” Clapping her hands to her temples, Judith whirled around—and bumped into Naomi Stein. “Sorry,” she apologized. “My mother must be having a loyalty crisis. All her sympathy is for Arlene, but being so ornery, she likes Vivian, too. I’m the one left out in the cold. Or the heat, in this case. Oh, damn, I’m going inside to mope!”
“Poor you!” Naomi exclaimed, but her sympathy was lost on Judith, who fled toward the B&B. Shutting the front door to muffle the noise from outside, she went into the living room, grabbed the phone from the cherrywood table, and called her cousin on the other side of the hill.
“We just got back from our Block Watch party,” Renie said, answering on the second ring and sounding chipper. “They ate all of my chickens. How’d your potluck turn out?”
“A disaster,” Judith said, collapsing onto one of the matching sofas. “You won’t believe what I’m going to tell you.”
Five minutes later, Renie got a word in edgewise. “But I do believe it,” she insisted. “It’s just the kind of stunt Herself would pull. Maybe she can’t carry it off. Zoning and permits and all that stuff. I’m not sure their property is zoned for multifamily dwellings.”