“So you see,” she said, obviously continuing a line of thought clearly started inside the bus, “we truly mean it when we say we don’t want anything to change in the town’s appearance. With the exception of the music hall, of course, and we’re only doing that in order to reassure Mr. Armstrong nothing will go wrong during the media premiere. A number of very important people will be here that day and Mr. Armstrong is the nervous type. He likes to have all the angles worked out ahead of time. He doesn’t appreciate surprises.” She flashed a smile. “This town is perfect as it is! Why would you want to change it?”
A murmur cascaded through the group, which stopped only when Pete, his grip tightening on Karen’s arm, shouted, “Exactly! Why change it? These folks don’t care a fig about Twilight. All they wanna do is use it for their pree-miere! They’re comin’ here, tellin’ you this ’n that, makin’ all kinds of promises, lettin’ you think we’ll get rich, and they don’t mean a word they say. So why listen to ‘em? Why not tell ’em to get lost...like Augusta would?” Pete thrust Karen forward. “If you don’t believe me, ask this little lady. She’ll tell you true enough what Augusta’d say!”
All eyes fixed on Karen. Most in puzzlement, a few in slow recognition. The outsiders looked at her with suspicion.
“Karen?” Bette Danson ventured. She, like everyone else, was dressed in her best, not her typical jeans and T-shirt.
It had been ten years since Bette and Karen had met during Karen’s last visit to Twilight. She’d come along with her parents on the promise that they’d stop by the little town while in transit to the funeral of a colleague in El Paso. They’d had car trouble, though, and because of the press of time were forced to cut their stay to barely a half hour. As they were about to leave Bette had rushed over to greet Karen effusively, then waved goodbye, arm in arm with Augusta, from in front of the antique shop.
In her late fifties, Bette still had the same bright red hair and wiry frame of her youth. She moved with purpose toward Karen, not stopping until she was directly in front of her. Then she, too, paused to look her up and down.
Karen waited. Her return to Twilight seemed to have come at a bad time. She wondered why Bette and John hadn’t warned her.
Her old friend’s aloofness quickly melted and she was enveloped in a warm embrace.
Pete growled with disapproval.
“Oh, hush, you ol’ fool!” Bette chided.
“I’m not an ol’ fool!” Pete retorted. “I’m the only one who knows enough to understand what’s goin’ on around here! And you’ll all be sorry if you don’t listen!” His last warning drew groans from the crowd, as if they’d heard it all before and were tired of the repetition.
The blonde hurried over. “And who is this?” she asked. “A member of the town we’ve somehow missed?” She extended a beautifully cared-for hand. “My name is Melanie Taylor. I’m special assistant to Mr. Raymond Armstrong of Cryer Studios in Hollywood. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. And you’re—”
“It’s none of your damned business who she is!” Pete snarled.
“She’s Karen Latham, Augusta Latham-Lamb’s niece,” Bette said.
Melanie Taylor had a quick mind. “Augusta Latham-Lamb, the antiques dealer I spoke with several months ago and who’s since passed away. On behalf of Cryer Studios, let me extend our heartfelt sympathy, Ms. Latham. Your aunt was a very special person. She didn’t miss a trick, did she? Which must have come in handy in her chosen field.”
“She knew exactly what you are!” Pete exploded, lunging forward.
John Danson and Joe Peterson caught Pete before he could get near the studio representative. Gently but firmly, they spirited him down the street.
“All right! All right!” he cried, shaking them off after a point. “That’s enough! I’m not about to hang around where I’m not wanted! But you mark my word,” he shouted to the others. “You better listen to what that little gal over there has to say. She’s got more of Augusta in her than she knows. Always has had. She’ll tell you straight. She’ll—” His words became indecipherable as he turned to stomp away.
“My goodness,” Melanie Taylor said with a laugh, sharing a slightly derisive look with her Hollywood companions. “He’s quite a character, isn’t he? So very...colorful. Just what we need, if only he’d stop making such a fuss.”
John Danson came to stand beside his wife. Tall, with thinning gray hair, he managed to look dignified in a dark suit, which it was apparent he wasn’t at all at ease wearing. “We apologize for the outburst, Miss Taylor...Melanie,” he corrected quickly at her waggled finger. “Pete’s just...bein’ Pete.” His gaze settled on Karen and he widened his apology. “Not a very happy welcome for you, either, huh, Karen? Gettin’ plunked down in the middle of all this. Just the luck of the draw, I s’pose.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Karen murmured, offering a flickering smile. She still didn’t know what was going on here but was even less anxious to find out. Pete seemed to think she could work some kind of miracle, while the others were under the spell of this “movie person,” to paraphrase Pete.
She was starting to wonder how she could sidestep the moment, when Melanie Taylor again took charge. “Now, to continue,” the representative said, her earrings swinging as she rejoined the others, “I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement. If only we...”
John trotted ahead to open the saloon doors, and the woman expertly herded everyone inside. Everyone except Bette, who remained at Karen’s side.
Bette smiled slightly. “Sometimes I wish this new movie had never been made. All it’s done is get people riled.”
“What new movie?” Karen asked.
“You mean you don’t know? John and I thought maybe that was the real reason you were coming back. Cryer Studios has remade Justice at Sundown. Not around here, thank goodness. Someplace out in Arizona, where, I’m told, the townfolk had their lives turned upside down for a good six months. We’re just up for the movie’s pre-premiere. That Raymond Armstrong person Melanie keeps referring to thinks it would be a grand idea to have the movie’s first showing in the actual location where the story took place. Not the real premiere, mind you. They’ll have that out in California a week or two later. No, this is a special one—a junket, I think they call it—for the press. To help publicize the picture, whip up interest.”
Karen frowned. “So why does Pete—”
Bette’s gesture was exasperated. “Who knows?”
“If it’s not a good idea, the town could refuse.”
“Try telling that to John and Joe and Isaac and Hank, not to mention Rhonda and Mary and Carmelita and Pepper! John wants it so much he stays awake nights planning all the things he can do to turn it into something even bigger!”
“Pete’s the only person against it?”
“Besides me. And I’m not that against it. I just want the hubbub to be over.”
“Pete said something about TV?”
Bette rolled her eyes. “That’s something else John’s gone and done. He’s invited a TV crew here, too, to film everything that goes on. I never knew I was married to such a mover and shaker.”
“John?” Karen repeated, smiling. John Danson had always been a quiet, easygoing type of person. A hard worker, but very much at his own pace.
“The man has scraps of paper with ideas scribbled on them all over the place. That’s what Melanie Taylor’s working so hard to head off. The townfolk, with John leading them, really want to do this thing up. John lived near Virginia City out in Nevada when he was a youngster, and he’d like Twilight to bring in tourists the same way. He wants to spruce the place up, open some old buildings and turn them into museums and restaurants and such like...and the movie people don’t want him to touch anything. I keep telling him ‘They want it just the way it is, John,’ but will he listen? He even thinks he can get them to contribute to the cause!”
“But would Twilight be Twilight with hordes of tourists coming through?”
“They’re not thinking about that. All they can see is ways of making this movie thing profitable. You should hear ’em talk.”
They turned to follow the others inside. “And Aunt Augusta knew about this before she died?” Karen asked.
“Sure she did,” Bette said.
“Which side was she on?”
“She never said.”
Ragtime music flowed from the player piano as drinks were handed out all around. A product of the past century, the Lady Slipper Saloon was dominated by a beautifully crafted bar that stretched the length of the room. With the rich patina of wood lovingly cared for through the years and ornate scroll carvings spiraling up the sides, it had a look seldom duplicated in the modern world. The remaining walls of the saloon were cluttered with framed photographs mottled by age, signs advertising old-time consumer products, numerous sets of deer antlers, a stuffed coyote and a collection of branding irons. An array of tables and chairs invited patrons to linger.
John had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and was pulling beer from old-fashioned taps. Foam ran over the top and down the sides as he filled one large mug after another.
“Karen?” A shy touch on Karen’s arm drew her attention. Carmelita Lopez stood across from her—a little older, a little wider, but just as sweet and unassuming.
“Carmelita!” Karen cried. “How are you? I’m so happy to see you again!”
Carmelita’s dark eyes glowed as she pulled away from a hug and said in her soft Tex-Mex accent, “We knew you were coming but not when. I’m not sure I would have known you, if Bette hadn’t said your name. You’ve grown so...and are so beautiful!” She brought forward the pretty young woman Karen had seen getting out of the bus. “This is my Juanita! You remember little Juanita? She used to follow you around, making a terrible pest.”
Karen blinked. The last time she’d seen Juanita, the girl had been four or five to Karen’s thirteen. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Juanita was now a grown woman of nineteen or twenty. But like Carmelita’s memories of her, Karen’s memories of Juanita had received a jolt.
“And this,” Carmelita went on, reaching around Juanita to bring forward someone else, “is her husband, Diego, and their baby, Jesse.”
The three made a striking picture, Diego with the sleeping babe in arms and Juanita standing by him, fiercely proud.
“Hello,” Karen said, still reeling from the shock of time’s passage.
A smile glimmered shyly in Diego’s dark eyes. But as it spread to his mouth, his strong, handsome Aztec features were diminished by the disclosure of several missing teeth. His smile lasted only a second.
Juanita edged closer, protective of her young husband. “Diego is muy macho,” she declared.
“I’m sure he is,” Karen murmured. Then, bending over the infant, she said, “Jesse? Is that his name?”
Juanita nodded, her gaze steady.
Did she remember the times Karen had evaded playing with her, feeling the wide chasm of their years? Juanita had been next thing to an infant as far as she, a newly minted teenager, had been concerned. Someone to entertain and be entertained by on occasion, but not all the time, as the little girl seemed to want. Karen’s last summer in Twilight had been blighted by Juanita’s persistent pursuit.
“He’s very handsome,” Karen said. “Like his father,” she added, and smiled warmly at them all.
“Yes,” Juanita agreed softly, “he is.” She clasped Karen’s hand and squeezed it lightly, as if signaling her willingness for a new beginning.
Mary O’Conner barged over, interrupting them. As usual, she swept aside anyone in her way without a thought as to how they might feel about it.
“Karen!” she boomed above the saloon noise. “Good to have you here! Almost but not quite the same as having Augusta back! Lordy, we do miss that woman. You gonna be around long? It’ll be great to see the rooms above the antique shop lit up at night again!” All the while she was talking, Mary O’Conner pumped Karen’s hand. She was a large woman, bold of body and spirit. But for someone who gave such an outward display of force, Karen had long ago learned that Mary had an extremely soft center, particularly where it concerned her son, Benny.
Karen’s gaze wandered over to where Benny sat at the player piano, working the foot pedals. Benny was physically in his forties—a fully adult man—but mentally he wasn’t much more than eight. He was quiet and kept mostly to himself while helping his mother with her pottery making.
“I plan to stay a week,” Karen said, her attention returning to Mary.
Mary grinned. “Might turn out to be a tad longer than that! I don’t envy you what you have ahead. But then you love old things, just like your aunt did. So you probably won’t mind.”
Before Karen could question her meaning, Mary sailed on to another port, accosting Isaac Jacobs as he sat alone at a table.
Rhonda Peterson and Pepper Douglas hurried over to Karen to say hello, welcoming her back into the fold, while their husbands huddled with John at the bar.
“We’ve been havin’ such an excitin’ time!” Pepper Douglas exclaimed, her silver blond hair caught in an elaborate single plat from the crown of her head to her waist. She was the only woman to have maintained her usual look for the dinner, but since that was a flamboyant cowgirl chic, she fit right in. Pepper had been a rodeo barrel racer in her younger days, and her husband, Hank, had been a bronc rider. That was, until Hank got hurt worse than usual and they’d been forced to retire. They turned up in Twilight a few years after Karen began her summer vacations there. Pepper was fun to be around, the complete opposite to Hank’s more dour demeanor. “Only you should’ve come in time to go to dinner with us,” Pepper said. “Melanie and her friends took us to one of the swankiest places. There was fountains and waterfalls and plants like in a jungle, only behind glass—”
“It’s called an atrium,” Rhonda Peterson supplied.
“Whatever! It was beautiful! And the food... mmm! A little bit of heaven, that’s what Hank said. And I agree.” Then, with her green eyes dancing, she confided, “And you shoulda seen the waiters! Cutest little things! It’s a good thing ol’ Hank has had his brand on me for so long. Otherwise, I might’ve been tempted to stray!”
“You could get a ticket straight to hell for sayin’ something like that, Pepper Douglas,” Rhonda scolded.
“What makes you think I haven’t already picked one up?” Pepper retorted.
“A waiter? Or a ticket? I’m gettin’ confused!”
The two women laughed together in easy friendship, their merriment stopping only when Melanie Taylor, having been assisted onto a chair so everyone in the room could see her, called for quiet.
Melanie preened for a moment before saying, “Now, do we finally have an agreement? You promise not to make any change in the town’s appearance before the preview, and we promise to place an agreed-upon sum in a special account, which will be used for whatever purpose the town deems worthy. No strings attached.”
“We’d like that in writin’, please,” Hank Douglas drawled.
“That could take a while,” Melanie said.
“Time’s not our problem, ma’am,” Hank returned.
Melanie didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “Look! This is a good deal! I don’t understand why, when you want what we want, we can’t work something out!”
“Are you afraid to put it in writing?” Mary O’Conner challenged, taking up the cause.
“It’s not that.” Melanie looked for help from her two slick companions. She stooped while one whispered something in her ear, then smiled brightly as she straightened. “There’s no reason why we can’t draw up a preliminary agreement. Would that be satisfactory?”
The room erupted, many voices giving opinions at the same time. Karen looked at Bette, who jerked her head toward the door.
Karen quickly followed her outside.
“I can’t take much more of this,” Bette said tightly as she leaned back against the mercantile’s
front door.
“Sounds like the studio is trying to get away without paying,” Karen said.
“Now, don’t you start!” Bette snapped, before quickly apologizing, “I’m sorry. My nerves are starting to go. This back-and-forth business has been dragging on for too long. Whether the town should let the studio hold the preview here, whether or not we should try to make them pay for the privilege, what—if they agree to pay—we should do. with the money, how we can turn it into more.” She sighed deeply.
“And people think living in a tiny place like this is simple,” Karen said sympathetically.
“That’s the thing,” Bette said. “It used to be! That’s what I liked about it.”
Karen thought about Rachel, whose quick response would’ve been that nothing in life is ever simple. Which reminded her of her promise to Martin. “Oh, Bette! Could I use your phone? I told someone I’d call to let him know I got here safely.”
“Sounds serious,” Bette said.
Karen shrugged.
“Come on.” Bette straightened. “We’ll go around back so we won’t have to wade through that mob again. And while you’re making your call, I’ll root around to find where John put Augusta’s key. We locked everything up knowing we’d be away for the day. If we could’ve counted on Pete, we’d’ve left it open, but you know him. The man gets a wild hair idea to leave and he’s gone in a second.”
Karen followed Bette along the sidewalk, then down a familiar alleyway, until soon they were at the rear of the buildings. The noise from the saloon was more muted here, allowing the peace that came from living in such splendid isolation to settle back in place.
It was easy, from this vantage point, to understand Bette’s and Pete’s reluctance to see Twilight change, but Karen couldn’t help wondering about her aunt. If she was still alive, would Augusta have approved the majority’s plan? Or would she, like Pete, have fought openly against it?
Karen didn’t know. She was just glad she wouldn’t be here long enough to have to choose a side.
CHAPTER THREE
Twilight, Texas Page 3