All Your Pretty Dreams

by Lise McClendon

  What the hell was she talking about? She was babbling, drunk. He took a step back. He felt lightheaded. How had Kiki Calhoun come into play? His girlfriend? Where had she got that idea? Isabel swayed, her chest heaving with emotion.

  He squinted at her. “You’ve had a little too much champagne.”

  “Right.” She turned towards the house. Jonny caught up with her, holding her around the waist. She kept her hands off him this time, flailing to keep her balance as she limped along. They reached the back steps and she pulled away, hissing, “I can do it myself.”

  He got her sitting in the kitchen, causing a little commotion among the staff. An older woman in a gray dress and white apron hovered over Isabel. Bright blood filled Isabel’s shoe, sticky and wet. As he knelt down, peeling off a soggy bandage, a shortish man in a black suit appeared and demanded to know what was going on.

  “I stepped on some glass by the pool, Daddy. I dropped a champagne flute. Two, actually. I hope they weren’t Granny’s crystal.”

  Blood was flowing freely again. The woman said something in Spanish, threw up her hands and ran off. Jonny examined the cuts. “We got the bleeding stopped. They broke open walking back.”

  “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  Isabel sat slumped against the table, head in one hand. “This is Jon, Daddy. This is my father, Max.”

  Jonny wiped his hand with the towel the housekeeper brought and stood up. “Jonathan Knobel.” He could feel the man looking at the blood on his pants and hands, sizing him up. He automatically smoothed the front of his black t-shirt. What happened to his jacket?

  “Max Yancey. You’re the one who drove Isabel back from Minnesota.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Call me Max. Thanks for that. We would very much have missed her otherwise.”

  “I was pretty desperate to get out of town myself.”

  “Is that so.” Max frowned at him. “Isabel, what do you need for your foot?”

  Jonny said, “Some disinfectant. And if you have any bigger bandages.”

  Max told Solana to get them. “You’re a doctor?”

  “No, ah— just first aid.”

  “So you’re an EMT?”

  “A draftsman. In Minneapolis.”

  Daria burst in and gave a squawk. Jonny set back to work cleaning up Isabel’s foot, disinfecting the cuts, and reapplying bandages. The audience kept growing. He felt self-conscious. This was her grandfather’s funeral. He hadn’t been invited. A wisecracking teenager appeared, then his mother, then somebody’s brother, then Isabel’s mother.

  The mother looked Jonny over through squinty eyes heavy with makeup. “We appreciate your driving her back,” she said without feeling. Or maybe that was her feeling voice. She was brittle-looking with thin lips. Her dark brown eyes though were warm like Isabel’s. She wore a tight black dress and high heels.

  “Jonny is a musician,” Daria exclaimed. He sunk back to one knee to examine Isabel’s foot again. “He plays a mean accordion. Had us all jumping around, doing the polka.”

  The air seemed to leave the room. Even the dishwashing paused. Good old oompah, always the conversation starter. Jonny bowed his head and examined his palms. What a long, strange trip it’s been. But really, what had he thought, except getting out of Red Vine? It’s not like he planned on kneeling at the foot of a Bee Queen in a Winnetka mansion, surrounded by rich folk.

  “He’s very good. The best I ever heard.” Isabel wiggled her toes. He glanced up, puzzled but grateful. The accordionist needs all the admirers he can get. But didn’t she hate the squeeze box? He let her foot slip from his hands. That kiss, the way she felt against him, all flashed through his mind. She was smiling now, like she’d forgotten what she said. What did she mean about Kiki? He looked into her eyes, trying to figure her out.

  “How amusing for you.” Isabel’s mother arched an eyebrow. “You make a living at that?”

  “Just a hobby, ma’am.” She wouldn’t like ‘ma’am,’ he knew, rubbing a spot of blood on his thumb.

  “Well, thank you for— whatever it is you’ve done for Isabel.” She turned to leave then stopped. “Where will you be staying tonight?”

  “Here,” Isabel and Daria said at the same time. Daria continued: “He can use the guest room.”

  “Lulu and Chuck are staying over.” Edie looked down at Jonny again, still kneeling like a peasant. The mother’s voice could make you take up poverty work.

  “The pool house then. Nobody’s staying there, are they?” Isabel said.

  “Excellent idea,” Max said quickly, giving a satisfied grin. Isabel’s eyes were closed and her mouth was open as if she’d fallen asleep.

  “The pool house is free,” Edie pronounced.

  Chapter 16

  Isabel woke up gasping, throat dry as dust. She sat up, orienting herself to her childhood room. Edie had redecorated it since she left home, at least twice. Soothing taupe, she called this version, with a touch of wildest Africa. Zebra pillows. Fabulous.

  Swinging her legs to the floor her foot throbbed. What was she wearing? A Cubs t-shirt from somewhere. The foot was still very tender. What an idiot she’d been last night. She hopped to the window. The moon shone in squares on her bare legs. Downstairs the clock struck four times.

  In the backyard the rose garden was lit by moonlight. Edie and Margaret had one thing in common, a love of roses. Edie of course had a fulltime gardener. And she didn’t use chemicals. She listened to Isabel on that subject. Or she’d discovered being “green” was a new trend among do-nothing socialites.

  Someone was out there, between the cars. Isabel used the leopard print slipper chair to hop to the other window. In the shadows Jonny put his head into his car and pulled out boxes. He walked to the garage and stacked suitcases, clothes, files.

  He was leaving. His hair looked blue the way it had that first night she saw him in Red Vine, outside the motel. Of course he was leaving. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the kiss. Did she say something about Monica? Oh, God. A fuzzy memory— he had kissed her back, hadn’t he? But kissing meant nothing when you’ve tried to drown yourself in champagne.

  He was sneaking away in the middle of the night so he didn’t have to face her in the morning. Didn’t have to lie to her face and say lovely to meet your charming family. Especially lovely to see your shit-faced self.

  Isabel pressed her forehead against the glass. She would never see him again. She flattened both hands against the window. Why couldn’t she be back in Red Vine, with him, with the whole summer ahead?

  Get serious. You scare men off.

  She told herself to grow up then limped down the hall to the bathroom. With cold water on her face and down her throat, she felt almost normal. Voices floated up the stairs. She slumped down on the top step, bumping down the stairs on her bottom until she could see into the living room.

  Edie sat by the fireplace, a red blanket tucked around her in the white armchair. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her face was wet and her mascara smeared. Aunt Lulu sat on the sofa, also wrapped in a blanket, also looking teary. She was talking to Edie, her voice soothing and low.

  Remember when Mother took us . . . He tried but … Your wedding… That time we… Venice. . . Daria was born…

  Edie’s shoulders shook as she sobbed.

  When Isabel appeared in the kitchen in the morning, showered and feeling, well, not as bad as expected, she found Daria and a dark-haired man in a short-sleeved shirt drinking coffee. They were holding hands across the table. Isabel ignored them, pouring herself coffee and drinking a good slug of it, letting the caffeine do its job. Behind her they whispered, heads together, while she limped to the refrigerator. Orange juice was calling.

  Daria hooted. “What are you doing? Quit sneaking around and get over here.”

  Isabel gulped her juice. Unless she’d moved on already, this must be the guy Daria was obsessing about. He was good-looking, with an open face and a wide smile. Not a b
ad catch, assuming he made enough money to keep Big Sister in the style to which she was accustomed.

  “This is Will,” Daria said. Will Franklin stood up and gave her a sisterly hug. He smelled like doughnuts. Surprised, Isabel almost fell over on her bad foot. “Sit down, Iz. She cut her foot last night. It was a wild party, for a funeral.”

  Will held Isabel’s elbow as she hopped to a chair. Very gallant. Isabel gave her sister a what-have-we-here look. Will retrieved her coffee cup. “Were you here last night?” she asked him.

  “I got in too late. San Francisco, business stuff.”

  “He’s an architect, I told you,” Daria said. To Will she explained, “There were tons of people here. The whole funeral thing was very last minute. Edie had everything planned for weeks and she just wanted to get it done. He’d been sick for so long.”

  Isabel remembered last night, the sisters talking and crying together. There was so much about her mother that was a mystery. For the first time Isabel felt sorry for Edie. Not just because she was sad and grieving but because she kept it all inside, locked away, except apparently from her sister.

  Will took Daria’s hand again and squeezed it. Isabel felt embarrassed, for herself and for her sister who usually disparaged romantic gestures. Maybe she’d been cured of that. They were gazing into each other’s eyes. Christ. She was in love! And so, apparently, was he! Right here, over the fruit bowl.

  Isabel stood up. “Gotta go nurse the hangover. Nice to meet you, Will. I’m sure I’ll see you at some other funeral.”

  She had stepped into the back hall when Daria skidded up, catching her arm. “What’s the deal with Polka Boy?” she whispered.

  “What’s the deal with Will?”

  “Shhhh.” Daria pushed her toward the stairs. “Isn’t he adorable?”

  “Stunningly. When’s the date?”

  “Oh, stop. But wait till you hear this. Edie came into the kitchen this morning, looking terrible by the way, like she’d been up all night. No makeup, hair all stringy, I couldn’t believe it. I haven’t seen her without makeup in twenty years. Will’s met her of course. We all had lunch last week. So, I’m thinking, he’s going to freak when he sees her without the mask. And what does he do? He’s very polite, offers a ‘good morning and my condolences’ then he takes Edie in his arms and just holds her. For like two minutes!”

  “And she let him?”

  “Yes! She was stiff then she just melted. She was like a child in his big warm hug. He totally snuggled her.”

  “Wow. He sounds like the one.”

  “Oh, la.” Daria smiled coquettishly then her eyes widened. “Did you hear that skank showed up with her mother?”

  “Who?”

  “Monica Calhoun. She was in the living room while you were getting your foot patched up by Jonny Applebee.”

  “No.”

  “Oh yeah, with her mother. They arrived just as people were clearing out. They were all googly-eyed, like they’d never seen a house that was professionally decorated. Edie almost sprung a leak. After Max took you upstairs, I told Jonny she was here. So he goes out and chats up Monica, all smiles and hugs. Like he liked her or something.”

  Isabel slumped onto a dining chair. Monica Calhoun, again. “What was she doing here?”

  “I know, it’s like everywhere we go— there she is. I guess her mother worked for Egon back, like, fifteen years ago.”

  “Did you know that?”

  She shrugged. “He had lots of companies. So she was his secretary. Fine, but she didn’t have to drag along Monica. That bitch was wearing a dress cut up to here and Jimmy Choo’s. Trolling at a funeral! Disgusting.” She shuddered. “I have to get back to Will. Oh. Jonny came in to say goodbye but you weren’t up yet. I gave him some coffee for the road.”

  “When?”

  “Hours ago. I was up because Will came over.” Daria ruffled her hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Wish me luck,” she whispered.

  In the rose garden Edie wore a big hat and garden gloves. Wielding a pair of clippers, her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Isabel stepped outside, limping on her bad foot on the flagstone path. What would her mother do if she gave her a hug like Will had? It was too scary to think about. Mist floated on the grass.

  “How’s the foot?” Edie asked.

  Isabel blinked, surprised at the gesture of concern. “Sore but okay.”

  Edie returned to the flowers. “Your friend left your things by the garage. Move them immediately. They’re blocking the door.”

  ——

  Jonny pumped gas into the Fairlane at a truck stop and checked his wallet. Isabel had never given him that gas money but it didn’t matter. He’d spent almost nothing in Red Vine, and was still getting paid. What worried him were lawyer’s fees. He wished he didn’t have to go back. But he had things to pick up, including the accordion, and people to say goodbye to. It added two hours to his trip but there wasn’t any choice.

  He was surprised to see Kiki Calhoun at the Yancey’s last night. A friendly face in that decidedly unfriendly house, that must be why he agreed to meet her this morning for coffee. She was fun to talk to, full of catty comments about upper-crust Chicago. They met at a Starbuck’s in a strip mall near the freeway. He read the Tribune until she arrived, half an hour late.

  “What a kick to find you there last night,” she said with milk foam on her lip. She wore running shoes, and shorts that showed off her tanned, athletic legs. “I can’t believe you drove Isabel all the way here. I hope you got hazard pay. Why did you volunteer?”

  “Her car wouldn’t start.”

  “You are too nice. Her daddy would have sent a plane. Anyway, cheers to you. It must have been exciting.”

  “She slept most of the way.”

  “There’s a blessing. So what did you think of the Yancey fam?”

  In the morning sun her need for gossip seemed not fun anymore, even ugly. “Where’s your shadow?”

  “Frances? At Mother’s. We drove up yesterday.” She leaned in, smiling. “The Yancey’s place is gi-normous. They have staff, of course. Seven or eight, I heard. At least.”

  “It’s big. But tasteful.”

  “Come on. You can do better than that.” She squeezed his knee playfully. Last weekend he had listened willingly to her tales. Now her edge seemed spiteful. Was she jealous of the Yancey’s? He decided it was time to get a scone. When he returned she looked at him sideways. “You’re into that banker’s show-palace style. All cold marble and spotless upholstery unsullied by the travails of human suffering?”

  “I don’t have to live there.”

  He didn’t even know Isabel was rich until a week before. It was a bit of a shock. He’d never known anybody seriously rich. All his acquaintances, his colleagues at work, were middle class. Some of the architects lived in fancy houses, but they were cool modern ones they designed themselves. What had Isabel called her house? The poster child of the bored and wealthy. Kiki seemed to agree on the subject of soulless interiors. She kept going on about it.

  A pretty girl, yes, but with a dark side. He noticed now how she talked out of one side of her mouth like a cigar-chomping politician. Her eyes were a little too close together. She harped about the Yancey’s long after Jonny lost interest. She dissected every shoe and earring, knew the brand of Italian leather chairs, identified the painting over the buffet from a River North gallery, discovered a wine spill on the carpet, and condemned the shortage of forks.

  Kiki had more opinions than Isabel. He hadn’t thought that was possible.

  “I know you agree with me,” she said, draining her latte. “Men just never notice things like sterling versus stainless.”

  “It was a funeral.”

  “Exactly! Why did they feel they had to put on a show? Nobody really cares about these things at such a sad time. The poor old man. They say he was out of his gourd but clinging to the tentacles of power. Wouldn’t retire. My mother worked for him for five years and he was so good to he
r. So generous. Christmas bonuses and all that.”

  “So the family isn’t all bad.”

  “Egon was a gem. The others— well. I’m too polite to say.”

  After forty-five minutes of rich-bashing he’d had enough. On the highway he worried he hadn’t gotten all the blood wiped up from the Mexican tile on the pool house floor. He imagined Mrs. Yancey yelling at Isabel about the mess. Did she yell? Mostly she seemed to smolder, if ice cubes could smolder. He’d spent half an hour with a sponge, trying to find all the blood spots and slivers of glass.

  Ten o’clock and just leaving the suburbs. Was Isabel up? He had debated about the note. He pressed harder on the gas pedal. Forget about the summer. He had to get this life of his back in the fast lane. Enough time in the roundabout. The Fairlane roared past a minivan full of kids in soccer uniforms.

  Why had he written her that note? Idiot.

  Chapter 17

  Isabel searched the pool house for a sign of him. The cups were drying in the sink, the trash taken out, the blood washed away. She sighed and sat down at the table. It was no good. She closed her eyes, trying not to daydream about him. The knock on the patio door woke her up. Howard, the gardener and driver.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” he said, poking his head inside. Howard had worked for the family for years, longer even than Solana. “I moved your boxes and cases up to your room.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Howard. I’m perfectly capable of moving my stuff.”

  “Had to get the car out. No problem, Miss Isabel.”

  She hated it when he called her ‘Miss.’ Like they owned the plantation. But it was a habit he refused to break.

  “Thank you, Howard. You’re the best.”

  What did she have to do today? Odd to have nothing planned, no work, no one asking for advice or complaining about the food. The students were back with their families, traveling home. She missed them. How odd. They had been like a family in Red Vine, a vocal, partying, rambunctious sort of family. As much as they annoyed her, she liked them. Silly girls and nerdy boys. They had been— oh, man. They had been fun.