“I don’t understand. Why do you think that talking to Mr. Chatterton will help the Gas House Café?”
“My, you’re stupid. That’s not the point. We’re not doing this to save the coffeehouse. That dive was doomed long before it opened. We’re doing this because they hate us, and because we need to redeem ourselves. Didn’t you see the commotion we caused? A party would be the perfect reparation for our sins. How can you be so beautiful and so stupid? I’m giving you the opportunity to vindicate yourself, dopey.”
Josie glanced at Lina, asking for help.
“I told you not to listen,” Lina slurped from her float.
“Oh, come on!” Richard snapped. “You two are the craziest pair of merry-do foxes after a single drink and the most boring Bible-puncher church ladies when sober. No more sugar for you!” he pulled Lina’s drink away. “We’ll do as I say because I say so and that’s it. You owe me,” he pointed a threatening finger to Josie. “If it wasn’t for me you would be rotting in jail. Think of all the salacious men that would be raping you inside the slammer. And you belong to me,” he pointed to Lina. “When I say jump, I want people to start screaming for mercy. Now, let’s go.” He stood up. “I asked Jeremy to double park and I can’t stand that bitch when he starts going on about getting a ticket. I’ll see you Sunday, doll. Call me with the details, and you better be ready—Ma’am.” Richard adjusted his hat and bobbed his head to the little woman, who had just come back outside with another float.
The little woman responded to the gesture with a wince, as if dreading that the millionaire was going to hit her. Richard smiled and walked away.
Lina exchanged with Josie one of those snooty looks of exasperation teenagers tend to exchange with their friends whenever their parents are being ludicrous. She took a last sip from her float and, without saying good-bye to either Josie or her little friend, followed Richard.
“I didn’t ask for a full day off,” Josie said to her little friend, after a minute of silence. “It’s almost one now. I think I’m going to be in trouble.”
She kept sipping her drink, however, without showing any urgency to leave the place. When her glass was empty, she took the float that Lina had left, poured half of it into her own glass, and offered the rest to her little landlady.
The poor little woman was in such state of shock that she hadn’t yet taken a seat.
Josie’s friend looked a lot like her long-gone godfather.
20
In which we are hosts to a conscience-awareness meeting
The idea of having to host a conscience-awareness meeting in her landladies’ living room gave Josie the jitters. How would she manage to hide it from her landladies? She hadn’t paid her rent in almost six weeks now; if they caught her letting strangers into their house, they wouldn’t be too forgiving.
She could barely sleep that night. The next day she was so tired, she had to call in sick.
“I think I’m going to lose my job,” she confided to her little friend when she came up to serve her some tea.
Richard was right, however. A meeting would be an excellent way to redeem herself with Russell. It was the opportunity that she so desperately needed. It all had gone so terribly wrong at the hearing. She had to have it. Still, the idea of staging it behind her landladies’ backs distressed her terribly. She didn’t know the first thing about organizing a party. Who would take care of the music? Who would prepare the drinks? What would she serve? And, most importantly, how would she get Russell to attend? She couldn’t simply call and invite him; it would make her look desperate. This meeting, she realized, would be the most difficult task she had ever undertaken. And she thought that helping with the inventory of the men’s department had been tough! Man, this would definitely be ten or twenty times worse, if not more. And with such a short notice!
She had to call Richard. She couldn’t do it. Although, to be completely honest with herself, the idea of having a party was as exciting to Josie as it was frightening, not only because it meant a chance to make atonement and reconnect with her one true love, but because she had always dreamed of being a host. Her landladies had a book full of Jell-O recipes that she’d love to try. And she had her eyes on this set of red kitchen mitts and a pastel blue apron with a motif of pink flowers that she had seen at Sears… She could make a roast! She imagined herself in a navy blue dress, coming out of the kitchen, wearing that apron, holding a tray. Wouldn’t that be so swell? Oh, she had to go ahead with that party, regardless of the consequences!
Once the decision was made, she felt not only much less stressed and much less self-conscious about the whole incident at the hearing, but enlivened.
She began by confirming the guest list the next day. Her first call was to Mr. Chatterton, who accepted gladly. The number of hearings could extend through the rest of the summer before the police filed a recommendation, he explained, and meetings like the one Josie was trying to organize could make all the difference.
“We’ll save the Gas House,” Josie replied. “You’ll see.”
George and Noelia were next. They accepted too. For some strange reason, unbeknownst to Josie, that fatty girl liked her.
Now she just had to get Russell.
There was no easy way. Thus, after too much thinking, she wrote him a serious, business-like letter, inviting him to participate in what she recognized as a mutual concern (this time, she was careful not to add any hearts to the signature), then walked to his old place on Mildred Avenue to deliver it personally. The black girl who had lost her child the night that Josie had been attacked opened the door. From her, Josie found out that she and John were now married, and that Russell had become a resident of the Grand Hotel.
“But how can he afford to live in a hotel?” Josie asked with stupefaction.
“I dunno,” Cora responded with a shrug.
“Well, if you see him,” Josie continued. “Don’t tell him I stopped by.”
Cora nodded and Josie left, letter in hand. She would go to the Grand Hotel, if it was necessary. Although—what if he was living there with someone else? Did Eva live there too? No. But now that she thought about it, perhaps she needed to invite Eva: if she could persuade her to go, Russell would go, too, Josie reasoned coldly, and once he was at her place, a second would be enough to make him see which of the two was the best woman.
That’s what she needed to do. Instead of attacking her, she needed to prove to that awful Polish whore that she was a good person. That she could be generous, and a terrific host, given the opportunity, and that what belonged to her was hers, and not to be shared. If she got that blue apron, Eva would realize immediately she had lost.
But what if Eva didn’t want to go?
She went back to Russell’s old place and invited Cora and her husband to the meeting.
“But with one condition,” she said. “You have to invite Eva, too. And she has to bring Russell. If Eva and Russell don’t come, I won’t let you two in.”
Eva got the message and called Josie that same evening.
“I will be happy to go to your party,” she said.
“Will you bring Russell, too?” Josie asked excitedly, immediately regretting the not-too-nonchalant tone that she gave to her question.
“I got your request,” Eva responded. She sounded amused. “Yes, I’ll make sure he goes too.”
“You will?” Josie asked. “Thank you! Can’t wait to see you both.”
“Neither can I,” Eva laughed. “It will be fun.”
That had been so easy! That stupid Jewish whore sure was naive. To believe that she, Josie García, of all people, would want to be friends with her.
Now the apron. She tried it on at the store, expecting to look like a model from Homemaker. She realized that pastel blue wasn’t the best color for her skin tone.
“It would look better on someone with lighter skin,” a cowork
er said.
Like Eva, Josie thought with anger.
She had no idea how to make a roast, anyway. So, no mitts and no apron. And they were too bulky to hide in her purse.
She called Richard and told him that Mr. Chatterton was in but that she—and for this she cried—had absolutely no idea of what to serve, so they had to cancel.
After a silence long enough to make Josie believe that the call had been disconnected, Richard responded: “I said I would pay for it.”
“But I don’t know how to cook!”
“I’ll send Lina first with the wine and hors d’oeuvres.”
Problem solved.
Men are terribly stupid and so easy to manipulate, Josie thought, drying her tears.
At the end, organizing the meeting proved to be a lot easier than she had expected. Noelia promised to deliver the rest of the invitations; George would bring music; Richard would send the food, and her little landlady would clean the house, as she did every Sunday morning, no need to worry about that. The only thing left for Josie to do was to choose what to wear and how to do her hair. And of course, to make sure that her landladies stayed out of the house long enough after mass for the meeting to take place, but she decided not to worry about that for at least a few days. She would think of something at the last minute. She had been lucky with everything else, why would Fortuna suddenly abandon her?
It was far more important to decide what to wear. She had lost too much time considering the apron when what she needed was a new dress. The pink one with the faux fur neckline, perhaps? She had to get it before someone else got their hands on it. But with what shoes? And the hair? She could ask her little landlady to help her with her hair, couldn’t she?
Josie looked down at the little woman, presently mopping the kitchen floor on her knees. Sometimes she wished that she and her little landlady were friends. That little old lady seemed to be the only person that didn’t judge her. She wished she could tell her about the party. She could use her help serving the drinks. If only she were a little less old and a little less ugly.
“This weekend it will be four weeks since your visit to the cemetery.” Turned into a brown spider, President Buer crawled up his mistress’ neck. “Friday you work all day, and you told Mrs. Bell you’d be at her place on Saturday morning. That leaves Sunday as your last day to commit a crime, otherwise, you’ll have to wait an entire month before the moon phase is again conducive. Have you decided how are you going to kill her?”
The little woman bobbed her head up and down. She had an idea.
The demon bit her. “God, you are delicious!”
The little witch winced with pain. She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to wipe off the arachnid.
“Your blood has such a flavorful, bittersweet taste. Who would have thought that an old hag like yourself could taste so good?”
She had a plan. She just hoped she had the guts to execute it. The drunken surge of dauntlessness from the previous month was gone.
On Sunday, a little before twelve, Richard’s chauffeur dropped Lina at Josie’s place with two crates of wine, sandwiches, and a few trays of quiches and miniature tarts ready to be put inside the oven. The girls took the food upstairs, to Josie’s bedroom, ready to bring the goods down again once the three sisters left for the midday mass.
Josie sat in front of her vanity mirror.
“Would you rat up my hair while we wait?” She offered Lina a round brush and a can of hairspray. Richard’s off-putting fiancée could be just as good help as her little landlady. “I want it especially tall for this meeting.”
Lina took the brush and the can of hairspray and started working on Josie’s hair rather unenthusiastically.
“Tell me, Lina,” began Josie, using the casual, sweet-sounding tone with which an intriguer begins all of her schemes, “are you and Richard in love?”
“Madly,” Lina responded with a disgruntled moan.
“Where did you two meet?” Josie asked next.
“In Hollywood.”
“How?”
Lina sighed. “I was working as a B-girl. Waiting tables, trying to survive. He posted an ad pretending to be a movie producer. I was chosen among twenty-some candidates, he told me.”
“He ran an audition?”
“Sick, isn’t it?” Lina smiled.
“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Josie responded. She looked at her rather flat hair and extended her hands, asking for the brush and the spray can. Lina complied gladly. “It sounds just like Richard. I met him at the Sears in Santa Monica—that’s where I work. He kept insisting that we should go out on a date, but I said no.”
She waited for Lina’s reply but no word was forthcoming. Freed from the task of doing Josie’s hair, Richard’s fiancée was now busy looking around Josie’s bedroom.
“So you’re an actress?” Josie asked.
“I am, yes,” Lina responded. She walked to Josie’s open armoire and riffled through her clothes. She pulled out a sweater, looked at it disdainfully, and then put it back. “Have you met Carol?” she asked Josie.
“Richard’s ex-wife? Over the phone. Have you?”
“Yep,” Lina replied. “She’s often at Richard’s house. She’s a nutcase.”
“Richard’s a nutcase,” Josie tittered.
“You think he is?” Lina sniggered. She had found a black-haired wig atop the cabinet.
“Oh, I like the cat,” Josie responded. “Don’t take me wrong. He makes me laugh. I just wouldn’t—you know—date him. Nothing wrong with the fact that you do, but he’s—you know—not exactly my type.”
“He’s very generous.” Lina reached for the wig.
“How generous?” Josie turned around.
“Room and board, plus a hundred and fifty dollars a week for expenses.” She tried on the wig. “And I get to use Jeremy whenever I want…”
“A hundred a fifty!” Josie exclaimed, her mouth agape.
“Yep. That’s almost eight thousand a year.” Lina grinned at her own image in the cabinet mirror. “He promised to raise it to twelve thousand after the wedding.” She looked at Josie with her green feline eyes. “We’ll be sisters,” she said, patting the back of the wig.
Josie turned back to her mirror.
“No wonder you’re dating that old coot. I’m so jealous.”
“He’s making me sign a prenuptial, though.” Lina continued browsing through Josie’s wardrobe. “Mrs. Coenegrachts insisted.”
“Who’s that?”
“The housekeeper,” Lina responded. She pulled out a dress and checked the price tag, still on. “She’s like a Nazi.” She put the dress back in. “I don’t care. She’s cool, I guess. She reminds me of my grandmother. She and Carol don’t get along, though. They fight all the time. I just keep my mouth shut. Not my problem.”
Josie opened her mouth, meaning to respond with some clever comment, but nothing came to her mind. She knew nothing about Richard’s women. Eight thousand a year! She was so jealous. She returned to her hair.
Lina sat on the bed.
Josie kept an eye on her through the mirror. She wondered if she and Richard had sex.
“Are you planning to have children?” she asked.
Lina sniggered. “Richard doesn’t like children.”
“But what about you?” Josie grinned. “Wouldn’t you want to have a little Richie running around the house?”
Lina didn’t care to respond. She leered at Josie and then took another glance around the room, as if the walls had more interesting things to say than her host.
The gesture irritated Josie. She hated when people acted as if she only asked stupid questions. Who did Lina think she was? If anything, Richard was Josie’s leftovers. If it wasn’t because she had rejected him in the first place, that feral cow with ears like space saucers would still be se
lling tickets, serving tables, cleaning bathrooms, or whatever she used to do before she met Richard, and she, Josie, would be the one getting one-fifty a week.
“I’m thirsty,” Lina ventured, rising up from the bed.
Through the mirror, Josie gave Lina a glacial look. Then she admired the height of her curls. For not having had any real help, her hair looked terrific.
“Should we open a bottle?” Lina asked.
“Yes,” Josie responded, still admiring herself. “I’ll go get two cups.”
She applied some perfume and hopped out of the bedroom.
She was looking for two matching glasses in the kitchen when she saw a man in a gray suit peering into the house through one of the front windows. Thinking he must have been her first guest, Josie rushed to open the door.
“Hello,” she said, in a diffident tone. “It is still a little bit early.”
She had left the kitchen door opened but neither one noticed the little woman crossing the backyard with a mattock and then creeping up the exterior staircase to Josie’s bedroom.
“I beg your pardon, miss.” The man smiled. “Early for what?”
He had the sultry look of an Angeleno, but he spoke with the sweetness of a man from the Midwest.
“For the—conscience-awareness meeting?” Josie stuttered. She had just recognized the man as the one standing by the phone the night she had been arrested. She looked over her shoulder, afraid that her landladies could listen.
“I’m afraid I’m not here for a meeting, Miss—García, if I’m correct?”
Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle Page 31