The Lyre and the Lambs

by Sydney Avey

“Marjorie, hi! I’m so glad to see you.” I toss my words over Carlo’s bony shoulder like he isn’t even there. Marjorie elbows her way around him, shouts at Petey to shut up, and rolls up in front of me like a tank. Marjorie rarely leaves the house. Sometimes I see her out in the yard knocking the heads off flowers with a blast from the hose, but I’ve never noticed her leave in the car, with or without Carlo.

  I babble on about the party while she wipes her hand on her apron and reaches out a meaty arm for my last invitation. Carlo stands behind her, rising up on his toes, trying to see around her. She shifts her rump and catches him in the hip, throwing him off balance.

  “Go inside Carlo. I got a sauce on the stove that’s going to burn if you don’t stir it.” Then she looks at me with the most beautiful smile of pure delight I’ve ever seen.

  “Dee, I’d love to come to your shindig. Carlo will be there too, the old rascal, whether he wants to or not. Just make sure you don’t offer him too much liquor. If he asks for grappa, tell him you don’t got any, okay?”

  I tell this story over and over at the dinner table. If he asks for grappa, tell him you don’t got any: this becomes our new catch-phrase.

  R

  After the first killing frost, we are experiencing an Indian summer. This means we can set up tables on the patio and the children can play in the backyard. What started as a simple open house from six to eight o’clock has become a scripted production. Father Mike and his merry band of boisterous boys will arrive at four-thirty and hold their meeting in the living room. The kitchen crew, Valerie, Andy, and I, will be in the family room assembling the snacks on the counter and setting up the bar cart. The stage crew, Roger, will be out on the patio stringing lights and running cables to every available outlet.

  Danny and David have assembled a combo for the occasion. The Tanakas have graciously lent us Ursula for the evening to help serve the food. They experiment with different outfits in Sophie’s room trying to decide what look to go for, French maid or hipster chick.

  At four-thirty on the dot, Father Mike rolls in with a dozen young men. Laura trails behind with half a dozen young ladies. Someone forgot to tell me that part of the plan. David drags some folding chairs into the atrium so the girls can have some privacy for their meeting. Sophie comes out when she hears the girls and it’s hugs all around until she excuses herself to go back and finish preparations with Ursula.

  The meetings break up at five-thirty. Some of the kids wander out on the patio to watch the combo set up. Others grab sodas from the kitchen and head down to the deck over the creek. Above the deck, delicate paper lanterns dangle in the pepper tree alongside the rose-colored berries that hang heavy among a lacy weep of bright green leaves. I go stand in the middle of the lawn to breathe in the old tree’s pungent fragrance and look back toward the house. It is alive with light and laughter. I hope this is what our guests will see.

  Kay and Gunther are first to arrive. Lukas, bless his heart, has organized a dodge ball game in the street. As the other guests arrive, he peels the children away from their parents and assigns them to a team. For the next two hours, I flit bee-like from one conversation to another. Valerie sits on the patio surrounded by neighborhood women. They compare delivery room stories and debate the merits of disposable diapers. Sophie and Ursula step their way through the clusters of people like graceful flamingos. They have chosen little black cocktail frocks dressed down with ballet flats. Food disappears from the trays they circulate faster than the men can leave their wives’ sides to gather around the girls.

  Carlo has Roger cornered at the bar cart. He lectures on crab grass while knocking back whiskey on the rocks. Gunther plants himself on a diamond stepping stone and delivers a history lesson on the development of the neighborhood: from the early days when Jesuits planned to build a University where the golf course now stands; through the sleepy days when small houses filled up on Memorial Day and emptied back into the city on Labor Day; to the present day expressway that bisects the neighborhood and cuts off our access to local businesses. At some point Walter joins him to field questions about traffic light timing. I don’t remember inviting Walter.

  From the deck below, the young people send emissaries up to the patio to mingle dutifully. They answer questions about their career plans and listen to advice on subjects that range from which colleges they should consider to how they should handle the military draft. Whenever I hear that subject come up, I direct one of the girls into the fray with a fresh plate of food.

  I asked the boys not to start the music until people have had a chance to visit, but now the first hour has passed and the food is running out. I give David the signal that he can start. They begin with an acoustic set of popular tunes, and then they tune their electric guitars and go all out. By eight o’clock, most of the neighbors have set their glasses down and tapped our shoulders to say their thank yous. Only Yoshi Tanaka remains, in deep conversation with David about the device he saw the boys testing to adjust their sound.

  Mike and Laura join us while we start cleaning up in the kitchen.

  “I think you could call this evening a success.” Mike yawns and pats Laura’s hand.

  “Everyone seemed to have had a good time.” Valerie catches Mike’s yawn.

  “Even creepy Carlo,” Sophie punches Roger’s shoulder, “your new best friend.”

  “And what about Marjorie? When I lived on this street before, I never saw her. Tonight she was the belle of the ball; well, except for you two.” I poke Sophie and Ursula drops a curtsy.

  There will be more discussion tomorrow, I’m sure. I’m done for tonight. We walk Mike and Laura to the door.

  “Can I come over tomorrow after church and help you finish the clean up?” Laura asks. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  The Clouds Gather

  The Clouds Gather

  Roger and I oversleep and miss church. A blue jay wakes me with his raspy screeching complaints. I, on the other hand, have nothing to complain about. I look over and see Roger, awake and lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. I roll over close to him and he cradles me under his arm.

  “Nice party?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But?”

  “Did you get down to the deck where the kids were hanging out?”

  “I never got that far, why?”

  “Scott was down there.”

  I sit up in bed and switch the light on. “Are you sure?”

  “I saw him from a distance, but I’m pretty sure it was him. I never saw him come through the door, or come around the side of the house.”

  “Maybe he came with Walter. That was a surprise, wasn’t it?”

  “If he came with Walter, he didn’t leave with Walter.”

  “Those two don’t seem to get on very well together.”

  We sit in silence and I play back all the interactions I saw last night. “So, he must have stayed down by the creek. I certainly never saw him talk to our kids. They were on the patio all night, as far as I know.”

  Roger throws back the covers, swinging his feet over to the rug. I shudder at the sudden burst of cold air.

  “Oh, sorry.” He tosses me my robe. “Danny told him to stay away.”

  “He did?”

  “Danny thinks Scott is forcing attention on Sophie that she doesn’t want.”

  “Danny told you that?”

  Our conversation is interrupted when I hear a ruckus in the yard. Roger and I tie our robes tightly around us and go to the patio door. Garbage spreads from one end of the lawn to the other.

  Valerie comes in with Boofus. “Raccoon! We forgot to bring the garbage cans in last night.”

  I forget about our conversation until later in the morning, after the mess is cleaned up and everyone has gone out to breakfast. I begged off, saying I wanted a quiet morning to read.

  Sophie is still asleep in her room. Now that I have some uninterrupted time, I mull over what Kay said and what Roger told me this morning. I
have to do something. I dress quickly and make a show out of opening the garage door. I back my car out, hoping I won’t wake Sophie but that I will catch the attention of anyone who might be watching, waiting for us all to leave. I back out of the driveway into the street and drive away. I park the car at the train depot and walk back to the house, thinking that this is a crazy thing to do; but I have to do something. As I round the corner to the lane, I look up the street. There it is, Scott’s blue van.

  Scott better be in that van. If he’s in the house, he’s a dead man. I try to remember where Roger has hidden his revolver. I decide I don’t need it. If he is in the house I will tear him apart with my bare hands. I’m walking fast now. Passing the driveway, I notice that I forgot to close the garage door. That means that Scott could have walked right into the house; we’re terrible about locking the door that leads from the garage into the kitchen.

  Even though I can’t see anyone through the front windshield, I march to the driver’s side and pound hard on the sliding door that has no window. I pound so hard, it rocks the van. Slowly, the door slides back. Scott climbs out of the back of the van and stands in front of me.

  “Scott.” Relief pours through me. I have no words. For a moment, I feel ridiculous, and then I remember what Kay told me. “Scott, are you spying on Sophie?”

  Scott looks pale, thinner than I’ve ever seen him. His eyes try to find a place to go. “Nuh...no! I’m waiting for her to come out.”

  “Scott. Sophie doesn’t want to see you. She’s told you that.” That’s a guess. “And Danny has told you to stay away from her. What you are doing has a name. It’s called harassment.”

  “I’m not doing anything to her. I’m just waiting for her to come out of the house so I can talk to her.”

  “Well, don’t.” I point across the street to the Dolds’ house and see the curtain drop back into place. “You’ve caught the attention of the neighbors. I don’t want to see or hear that you’ve been parked here ever again.”

  “Okay.”

  I back up to give him room to climb into the driver’s seat, and he drives off. Seconds later, Laura pulls her car into the driveway.

  R

  “Was that Scott I just saw drive away?” Laura practically jumps out of car.

  “That was Scott.”

  “Okay, we have to talk. Are we alone?”

  “Everyone has gone to breakfast except Sophie. She’s still asleep in the house. Take me to the train depot to get my car and then we’ll talk.”

  A short time later, we enter the kitchen through the garage. The house is quiet. Boofus stumps in from the atrium, his nails clicking on the linoleum floor. One good thing about a hound, his nose knows who you are before you come into view so he doesn’t bark. I pat him on the head and give him a treat and he goes back to his blanket.

  Behind the closed door of my studio, Laura tells me a story so painful I wish I didn’t have to listen. The night Sophie never came home, Scott somehow intercepted her. Sophie was too upset to explain how he managed to grab her, but she told Laura that Scott drove her up into the hills off Skyline Boulevard. What happened there, Laura isn’t sure. Whatever he did scared Sophie and caused her to feel sick and ashamed.

  “Did he rape her?” I try to make sense of what Laura is telling me.

  “Dee, I don’t know how far he went. She absolutely did not want to give me details. It’s safe to say he went far enough to upset her.”

  “Upset her? She’s been a mess!”

  Laura reaches for my hand. “But she’s starting to come out of it. I really don’t think it was rape. More likely he intimidated her.”

  “How?”

  “He put her in a situation and he took advantage of her. There are ways of forcing attention that make a girl feel just as bad as if she had been raped. Most girls have been in those situations. We just don’t talk about it.”

  “But she talked to you about it.”

  “She needed someone neutral to hear what happened, someone who wouldn’t overreact.”

  “You mean someone who wouldn’t send a posse after Scott, to shoot the little bastard?”

  Laura shakes her head at me. “Girls always blame themselves when something like this happens. Sophie needs to forgive herself for being conned, even though it was in no way her fault. She needs to get her nerve back. We’re having lots of armor of God discussions in our group. Sophie is a real encourager to the girls. They look up to her.”

  “So, why are you telling me this now?”

  “Sophie asked me not to tell you. She wants to deal with this herself. When I thought Scott was just a normal jerk, I figured she could probably handle it. But the more I thought about it, those nails on the driveway? He didn’t take advantage of a situation, he created one. And last night, I saw him sneak up from the creek and hide himself in the crowd. That tells me he has no intention of respecting the rules you gave him. I think you have to tell Roger.”

  Trouble

  Trouble

  Laura and I have moved to the dining room and are still talking when Sophie wanders into the kitchen to pour herself a bowl of cereal.

  “I missed breakfast with the family, but it sure felt good to sleep in; I won’t be able to do that next week.” She gives us a mischievous grin.

  “Why is that?” Laura raises her eyebrows.

  “Well,” she draws the word out as if it were a bucket of spring water from a new cistern. “Tomorrow I start my new job as administrative assistant to the head of the dance department at Foothill. Isn’t that great?” She pulls up a second bucket. “And, I get free dance classes. It’s a part-time job so I’ll still have time to help Valerie, but isn’t that great news?”

  “Yes!” Thank you, Jesus. If Sophie is busy at school that’s less opportunity for Scott to hound her. We shouldn’t have to live like this.

  Laura bites her lip and gives me a look that says mum’s the word on Scott’s latest caper. She gives Sophie’s shoulders a congratulatory hug.

  It is Sunday night before I have an opportunity to tell Roger what took place this morning and what Laura told me.

  “We have to do something to keep him away. We can’t live like this, never knowing when he’s going to show up or what he’s going to do.”

  The effort to stay calm all day has exhausted me. Roger hears me out. He looks like John Wayne, standing pokerfaced, arms folded across his chest. I’m almost waiting for him to say, “Now don’t you worry, little lady,” but that’s not what he says.

  “This is serious, Dee. I think we need to talk to Andy. There may be some legal steps we can take.”

  “I hate to take his attention away from Valerie when she’s so close to having the baby.”

  “Okay then, we could talk to Walter first. If he were willing to get some help for Scott, maybe there would be no need to involve the law.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “Scott’s got more than one problem, Dee. I don’t think the lying and sneaking around are all drug-related. One minute he’s full of confidence and easy charm and the next minute he’s a completely different person. He’s like a dog that seeks your company and then bites your hand when you offer it. He’s a sad case, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t care about his problems; we need to keep him away. He needs to be locked up.”

  “I will make sure the family is protected. Just give me a few days to think this through.”

  Like every other time we have come up to this fence, we back away. Valerie and Sophie engage me in elaborate decorating for Halloween. They want tiers of grinning pumpkins flickering warm welcomes to all the tiny travelers they expect on Halloween night. I don’t think the trick-or-treaters will pass us by this year.

  Ever since the party, we’ve had children playing in the street in front of our house. They ring the doorbell and ask if Boofus can come out and play. Boofus loves children, so we let him practice his chase games. Poor Petey is beside himself. He’s been poorly trained, so he can’t
be off his restraint. Marjorie comes outside when she hears the children and stands in the street with us to watch them play. She tells us stories about her own children, grown up and moved away now. Carlo stands inside the house, glaring out the kitchen window. There seems to have been a changing of the guard at the Santorini house. It’s as if Marj has been holding a deposit of words for a decade. Now she’s ready to pay dividends. Her stories are hilarious.

  We eat early on Halloween night and then man our stations. Danny has gone over to the Tanaka’s to pass out candy with Ursula so that Yoshi and Naoko can take Simon through the neighborhood. Danny is dressed like handsome Dr. Kildare and Ursula is, of course, his sexy nurse.

  Roger and Andy lurk near the front door dressed like astronauts, scary only because they are both so tall. Andy gets a lot of laughs from the parents. Snakeskin cowboy boots stick out prominently from under his too-short silver suit.

  It’s up to us three Mouseketeers to keep the candy flowing. We wear the requisite uniform, turtleneck tee shirts, pleated skirts and mouse ears, but Valerie has printed silly names on the shirts, Soapy, Dinky and Preggers.

  When the waves of toddlers begin to trickle off, we remember Marjorie’s warning. Keep the light on and the bowl filled for the teenagers who wait until the little kids are in bed to have their fun. Sure enough, the candynappers get taller, louder, and scarier; monsters and ghouls, ghosts and goblins, snarky witches who sift through the candy bowl trolling for chocolates, and rude jailbirds who rattle their chains at Boofus. Puffy is hiding under our bed, but Boof thinks this is great fun.

  Around ten o’clock we’re pretty sure we’ve heard the doorbell ring for the last time. We sit in the living room for a while, trying to come down from a sugar-buzz, comparing notes on the cutest costumes. Simon Tanaka dressed as Rocky the Squirrel gets my vote.

  At eleven o’clock, a bright moon travels through a cloudy sky sending fractures of light streaking through the trees. I pull out an extra quilt and spread it on the bed and we sink into our pillows. We are almost asleep when we hear a clamor outside, banging and barking, then a loud crack, then silence.