The Lyre and the Lambs

by Sydney Avey

  “Ouch!”

  “Hey!” Danny moves Sophie aside with one hand and gives Scott’s shoulder a rough push with the other.

  I rise from where I’ve been watching this drama unfold. With a sharp-edged trowel in my hand, I start toward the garage. I’m seething at Scott’s rough treatment of my niece, but Sophie shakes her hair out and laughs.

  “Boys, boys...” Scott steps back and Danny lets his fist relax. Sophie turns her attention to David. “So if Danny is the marketing director for this enterprise, what job do you have in mind for me?”

  Thank you, Jesus. I relax my grip on the trowel and pivot back to the pile of rhizomes I’ve collected for transplanting. Obviously my little tribe of transplants in the garage are managing just fine without my interference. I suppose any girl who has grown up in a ballet studio must know how to deal with overblown egos and petty jealousies.

  David snaps his finger. “I’ve got it. We’ll teach you how to play the guitar. You can demo our product at trade shows.”

  Danny picks up this idea and runs with it. “You’ll be our poster girl. You’ll be in all our ads, drawing attention to our product.”

  “Does this thing have a name?” Scott is trying to worm his way back into the trio’s good graces.

  “Not yet,” they say in unison.

  R

  Mike shows up early this evening for his session with the boys. I want to talk to him, but the house is getting so crowded it’s hard to find a private corner. The young people are in the kitchen cooking dinner. Well, Sophie is cooking and the boys are watching, jumping up to fetch things when she barks orders. Scott has invited himself to the party.

  I pour two glasses of iced tea, hand one to Mike and we walk out on the patio and across the lawn. The new deck is finished. We sit under the bay laurel on redwood chairs. In addition to chairs she has placed where we can relax and watch the creek, Valerie has furnished the expansive deck with tables and benches. At the end of the semester, she’s planning a luncheon for her top-performing students, the ones she wants to encourage to continue their language studies. Valerie never does anything halfway. Despite her intention to cut back on her hours, she is being considered for head of the Foreign Languages Department.

  My muscles are sore from squatting in the flowerbed this afternoon, sawing apart the thick, tuberous iris roots. I sip my tea and try to form my thoughts into a question.

  “You are worried about Scott hanging around so much, aren’t you.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “That kid worries me, too. There is something that’s just not right about him.”

  “It can’t be easy for him having a father like Walter.”

  “Walter’s a tough nut, that’s for sure, but I think it’s more than that.”

  “I think he’s using drugs, Mike.”

  “Oh, I know he is.”

  “I don’t want him around the kids, especially Sophie.”

  “Your kids have pretty good instincts, Dee.”

  “You don’t think he’s dangerous?”

  “I didn’t say that. I meant I don’t think your kids are likely to buy drugs from him. They’re too smart to do that. They have too much going for them.”

  “Scott’s a drug dealer?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Well we can’t have him around here, then. What do we do?”

  “I’ve been thinking maybe I need to find somewhere else to meet with the boys. I thought that meeting in a neighborhood would have a stabilizing influence, but I don’t want to expose your family to something unpleasant. I was hoping that Scott would benefit from the group, but I’m afraid he’s just using us as a cover. I can’t let that continue.”

  The patio door opens and Mike’s boys begin to trickle out. Goldie comes galloping behind them; she jumps joyously at a Frisbee flying through the air, back and forth over her head. Laura must be in the kitchen fixing snacks.

  “Don’t worry Dee, we’ll figure something out.”

  The T-Group session starts and I’m settling down at the kitchen table to catch up with Laura when the phone rings. It’s Walter, requesting a meeting with us. His tone is cool and officious.

  “What’s this about, Walter?”

  “Mrs. Russell, the level of complaints I receive about the activities at the Glass House has risen sharply in the past month. I want to sit down with you people and see what we can do before someone loses their head and tosses a match into a puddle of gasoline.”

  I feel my body stiffen. The image of my mother’s house burning in the night sky sears my eyes. I can hardly keep hold of the telephone receiver for the weakness that travels down my arms, causing my hands to tremble.

  By all reports, the fire was caused by bad wiring, a well-known problem with the little craftsman bungalows that had been hastily built. There was no animosity in the neighborhood then. But there had been a moment when arson was considered, and I will never forget how sick I felt. That’s how I’m feeling now, but I won’t let Walter know that.

  “Don’t you think that’s a rather poor choice of words, Walter?”

  “Of course. You’re right. That’s not at all what I meant.”

  I let silence hang in the air. Then Walter takes a different approach. “Dee, just to let you know, Carlo and Gunther wanted to be at this meeting, but I said no. I know they are a bad combination. Gunther is pompous and Carlo is childish. They feed each other, like Laurel and Hardy.”

  Only not as funny.

  “We are in total agreement about that, Walter.”

  “Instead, I’ve invited Kay and the Jacksons to join us and represent your neighbors. I find Kay to be fair-minded and Ivy and Jerry have been in the neighborhood for a long time. They get along with everyone.”

  No wonder Walter keeps getting re-elected. He really knows how to play both sides of the fence. I should just let this lie, but it’s too tempting. “How about we include Detective Ramos? He knows the neighborhood very well also.”

  Walter goes silent. I wonder if we’ve lost our connection. Then he comes back with what he intends to be his last word. “There’s no need to bring the police in on this. It’s just a friendly discussion.”

  It didn’t sound so friendly at the beginning, but I let it go now. He and his posse will be by tomorrow before dinner. That’s not fair. Although I trust the Jacksons to be neutral and Kay not to dominate the conversation, I determine that whether Walter likes it or not, at least Father Mike will be part of this discussion.

  PART II—The Apple of Discord

  PART II

  The Apple of Discord

  Changing Times

  Changing Times

  We gather in the living room at five o’clock for the big meeting. The timing strikes me as judicious. At some point, people will get hungry and go home for dinner. I’m not offering anybody anything. We’ve decide that Andy will be our spokesperson. His trial experience will serve us well, because that’s how I feel: like we’re on trial.

  Valerie called from her office at the college to say she was running late. We don’t want to involve the kids, so we sent them up the street to Laura’s house to help her pack boxes. Her house has sold to a young couple. Husband is a physician and wife is a stay-at-home mom. That should make everyone in the neighborhood happy.

  The doorbell bleats promptly at five and Roger ushers in our inquisitors. I try to tone down my defensiveness with a pleasant nod to Walter and a warm welcome to Kay, Ivy and Jerry. Kay has no cookies for us this evening. Walter gives handshakes all around.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here, Father Mike. It’s really not necessary.”

  Mike’s lively eyes squint in concentration to mask the humor he seems to find in every situation.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to miss this. I feel like I’m part of the family. They have welcomed me and the boys I mentor into their lovely home. In fact, if you don’t mind,” Mike nods for Walter to take a seat and looks over at Andy, “I’d like to start
us out with a prayer. It might be a good idea to ask God to bless our conversation and move us toward some productive resolutions. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Sure, sure, Father, you do that.” Walter makes a point of looking at his solid gold Swiss Piguet. How does he afford that on a councilman’s salary? Some councilmen have day jobs, but not Walter.

  I look over to Andy to see if he’s concerned that Father Mike might take over and run this meeting, but his face has no expression. Mike prays a short invocation and then opens his hand toward Andy.

  “First, let me apologize for Valerie’s absence. She’s still at work. She’ll be joining us shortly.”

  “I suppose that will be okay. May I assume, then, that you speak for Valerie? She is the titled owner of the house.”

  “Is that an issue?” I am going to have a hard time keeping my mouth shut.

  Walter continues to look at Andy. He flips open a leather portfolio embossed with the city seal and consults a yellow pad of blue-lined paper. Dense handwriting covers the paper. He prints uniform letters, all in caps, etched into the paper in a bold hand that allows for no slant. Bean counter.

  “I’ve made a summary of all the complaints I’ve received in the last month.”

  “Do you have copies for us?” Andy holds out his hand, palm upwards. It is fun to watch him in action.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Jerry and Ivy are sitting forward on the couch next to Walter. Ivy touches Walter’s sleeve.

  “Walter, I think it would be nice if you gave Andy a copy of your complaints. That way they would have a list to work through. We should all have a copy of your list, don’t you think?”

  If I didn’t know Ivy better, I’d think she was baiting Walter, but I know her to be sincere.

  “Good idea, Ivy,” I say. “Since Walter is unprepared, I’ll get some paper and pencils for everyone so we can take notes.”

  As I head into my studio for supplies, Andy shoots me a warning look. Roger folds his hand behind his head and tries to contain his amusement.

  “Fine, fine.” Walter consults his watch again.

  I return with paper, pencils and magazines for people to balance on their laps while they write, and Walter begins.

  “I’ve talked to you folks about the traffic problem your meetings cause, so I won’t go into that again. The number of cars parked in front your house and up and down the street are down a little, but it’s still seven or eight cars taking up space, so your neighbors’ guests have nowhere to park on the evenings you throw your parties.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but Walter heads me off. “Hey, somebody brings cake, I call it a party.”

  “Let’s just call it a social hour,” Kay says in an effort to keep things on track.

  “Let’s call it what it is,” I jump in again. “Father Mike is mentoring a group of young men. It’s called a sensitivity group.”

  “Well, they need to be more sensitive to the number of parking spaces they take up, and the noise they make coming and going, and the trash they drop in the street.”

  Andy holds up a hand.

  “Father Mike, can you ask the boys to keep the noise down, and be careful not to drop cans or bottles on the street?” Mike nods and Andy continues. “As you know, councilman, parking on a residential street is first come, first served. There is no law that limits the number of cars that can park on the street, except in the early morning on garbage collection days and for a period of time that exceeds seven consecutive days.” Andy has done his homework.

  “That might change, but let’s move on.” Walter looks back at his long list. “Then there is the matter of the unlicensed businesses you are running out of this house.”

  I look at Andy and mouth, what is he talking about?

  Walter points a finger at Andy. “Counselor, you are operating a law practice in your home.” He points at me. “Mrs. Russell, there is no record you have ever applied for a business license for the art dealership you are running here.” I open my mouth to protest but he fingers Roger next. “And it’s gotten back to me that your son is building products in your garage that he intends to sell. That’s a manufacturing operation.”

  Walter is really on a roll now. He sits up straight and lectures us. “You people can’t just build this big house, move all kinds of people into it that aren’t related, and treat it like it’s an office building. And you can’t run a boarding house in this neighborhood either.”

  Surprisingly, it is Kay who comes to our defense. “Actually, Walter, the kids are Roger and Dee’s relatives.”

  Andy has had enough.

  “Actually, Walter, it doesn’t matter who the kids are. They are our guests. We’re not charging them rent. Your characterization of our home as a boarding house is inflammatory. It might even qualify as slander.”

  Roger speaks up in the even tone he uses when he’s being candid. “Walter, this is a witch hunt.”

  Kay, Jerry and Ivy say nothing, leaving Walter hanging. This is not turning out the way Walter had hoped, but he pushes forward.

  “Your neighbors have asked me to bring up two more points with you.” He swivels his head from the Jacksons over to Kay, trying to pull them in, but we all know it’s not these neighbors who are causing the trouble. The Jacksons are peacemakers. Kay, I now realize, is trying to cover for the jerk she married.

  “I’ve had complaints about drug use at this house, and indecent exposure.”

  Valerie chooses this moment to cross through the atrium into the living room. She sets down her brief case and starts to laugh.

  “Oh Walter, what are you talking about? We are very aware that there are angles that let people see into the house because of the glass. We all pull the shades when we are dressing or undressing so Carlo can’t get his jollies.”

  Kay giggles. Ivy looks shocked. Jerry squirms. Walter sputters.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. That young girl who lives here sunbathes nude right out in the open.”

  Valerie cocks her head at Walter. “If Sophie unties the back of her bikini top when she’s in the lounge chair on the patio, the only way Carlo could see that is through the hole he’s cut in the hedge.”

  Andy stands up and goes over to give Valerie a kiss on the cheek. “Glad you could join us, sweetie.”

  Then he cups his hand over his chin, rubs the five o’clock shadow on his handsome face, and regards Walter. “Peeping Tom is usually a misdemeanor, but in some cases it can be a crime.”

  I see that we are coming to the end of this discussion. We don’t seem to have accomplished a thing with this exercise. The accusation of drug use troubles me, though. This doesn’t seem to be the time to tell Walter that if there are any drugs being used at the Glass House, the user is his son.

  R

  The kids come home for dinner, and Scott is with them. As he enters the living room, he gives his father a cold stare. If Walter notices, he doesn’t give any indication.

  “I’d offer you a ride home, Scott, but I have another meeting to go to.” Apparently, Scott has lost his driver’s license. These days, he arrives on foot.

  “That’s okay, Dad.” Scott emphasizes the word Dad as if there were a question about his paternity. “I’m staying for dinner. Sophie invited me.” Scott gives me his most charming smile. “Have you got room for one more, Mrs. Russell?”

  Standing behind Scott, Sophie gives me a fish-mouth, did not! look.

  Who elected me the decision maker on what goes on in this house? My annoyance over this meeting triggers some uncharitable thoughts. Valerie is the homeowner, but she is quite content to let me handle the day-to-day business of running the household. Did she install us in this house so I could be the majordomo, and Roger could be the maintenance man? Now that I think of it, he was the one who suggested that the Ibarras might need some help getting established. I thought I’d be working on my collages, with only brief interruptions to weigh in on a plan or give advice.
A tug on my elbow breaks a train of thought that is gathering steam in my head. Ivy stands beside me looking concerned.

  “What do you think, Dee?”

  “About what?”

  “Do you think we accomplished anything?”

  “Oh I don’t know, Ivy. I managed to keep from heading to the kitchen for the cutlery. That’s something.”

  “Dee, you are so funny. I think your sense of humor is going to save the day.”

  That is an odd remark. While the kids are rustling around in the refrigerator, pulling out casserole dishes to warm up, I draw Ivy away from our departing guests. Jerry notices and calls to Ivy that he is heading home. They seem to have an easy relationship.

  “Can we talk in my studio for a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  My studio is not a place I usually bring people. I keep one folding chair leaning against the wall for the rare occasion when I do open the door to a visitor. I set up the chair for Ivy and reach for a chair pad on the counter to cushion her from contact with the cold metal. Then I perch myself on my drafting chair. This causes me to hover above Ivy, like a beady-eyed hawk. Sliding down from this high place, I shove a pile of art papers off a low stool and sit with my elbows propped on my knees, chin resting on my hands.

  “Ivy, what do you think is really going on here?”

  Ivy isn’t one who needs to choose her words. “Dee, after your mother’s house burned down, this lot sat empty for years. During that time, rumors circulated about who actually owned the lot and what plans they had to sell or rebuild. Did you know that Carlo was interested in buying the lot? He and Marjorie wanted to move her sister in next door to them after she lost her husband. So, there’s that.”

  “That’s why Carlo has a vendetta against us? He wanted to buy the property?”

  “That’s just one piece of the pie. Gunther applied for an owner builder permit to add a second story to his house. It was turned down shortly before construction on the Glass House began.”

  “Turned down? Why?”

  “My guess is because he drew up the plans himself. Your architect is well known at city hall. Valerie was able to hire the best.”