“He seems like a nice kid. Don’t worry so much.”
He looked up at me. “Easy for you to say. You were never a teenage boy.”
Not wanting to explore that notion any further, I grabbed my coat and left for Patty’s.
Patty’s house was a ranch-style, three-bedroom house, the smallest home in her neighborhood. Tacked to her front door was a hand-painted paper marionette wearing a leprechaun outfit. That reminded me. It was time to throw out the jack-o’-lantern on our back porch. I studied the little paper dude as I rang the doorbell. In typical Perfect-Patty style, the leprechaun’s face had been hand-painted, and the paper had been molded so that he was somewhat three-dimensional. His clothes, from argyles to bow tie, were made from fabric. The red tresses poking out from below his little green hat appeared to be real. Patty’s daughter, Kelly, had red hair. Maybe she’d had a haircut recently.
To my surprise the door was swept open not by Patty, but by Chad Martinez, a divorced father who had taken to volunteering for all sorts of PTA fund-raising campaigns and committees, ever since Patty had become president. He was a dark, tall, muscular man with a square jaw and deep-set eyes, and a mustache squared off at the ends to look a little too Hitler-like for my tastes. He gave me a sheepish smile and said, “Chad Martinez. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Molly Masters.”
“Ah. Right. Come in, Milly.”
“Molly.” I removed my coat, which he immediately collected from me.
“I’ll put your coat in the spare bedroom. Patty’s in the kitchen.” Apparently he had no problem remembering that her name was Patty, not Pitty.
“She made such delicious hors d’oeuvres . . . pastries stuffed with corned beef . . . that I ate most of them. She’s just getting a second batch out of the oven now.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He nodded and headed down the hallway, carrying my coat.
Although I recognized a few faces in the small gathering, I headed straight to Susan Embrick. She was a little older than I, in her mid-forties, with short, jet-black-dyed hair. She was standing a short distance from Mr. Alberti, a teacher at the high school, who was the only person so far that Stephanie would not have considered part of the “PTA board.”
Susan blew on the surface of the liquid in her coffee cup, then I winced as she took what appeared to be a gulp of the very hot liquid. She smiled when she spotted me approaching.
“How are you, Susan?”
“Fine, Molly. How about you?” She ran a trembling hand through her hair. She always seemed to have a slight case of the shakes. She had four children, ranging in age from seven to seventeen. That would make anyone’s hands tremble.
“I’m fine.” Okay, we’d said something pleasant to each other; time to broach the subject matter so pressingly on my mind. “Our teenagers are on a date tonight.”
“Yes, I know. Adam told me he has a nice evening planned. He’s had quite the crush on your daughter for some time now.”
“Oh? For how long? Karen doesn’t volunteer much information to me, now that she’s in high school.”
“Really? Adam tells me absolutely everything.” She crossed her eyes to let me know that she was joking. She took another gulp of coffee. “I threaten to withhold his allowance each week till he opens up with at least one tidbit of personal information.”
“Did he tell you I called you back this morning?”
She grimaced and said irritably, “No. That would require his remembering that there are other people . . .” She let her voice fade. “This isn’t the right time to point out my son’s typical shortcomings. He’s a wonderful young man, Molly, and I hear nothing but good things about your daughter, so they’ll make a terrific couple.”
Oh, God. My little girl, one half of a high school couple! Why couldn’t she be a late-bloomer like her mother? My stomach churning, I reached for a less-upsetting topic. “What’s this emergency meeting about?”
“That’s why I called you last night, to see if you knew what was going on. Stephanie had phoned me a while earlier, saying that Patty had ‘done something unconscionable’ and videotaped us, but wouldn’t tell me anything more.”
“Hmm. She told me that the PTA’s privacy had been violated. Which must mean that Patty videotaped our meetings, for some reason. But they’re public, anyway, so I don’t see why that would be all that upsetting.”
“It’s puzzling, all right.” She glanced at her watch. “And now Stephanie is being passive-aggressively late to arrive.”
“As opposed to my being coincidentally late to anything that Stephanie hosts.”
Susan smirked. “Well, that’s different. Stephanie deserves it.”
“Deserves what?” Patty asked, appearing behind us with a steaming plate of puff pastries. Before Susan could answer, Patty smiled at me. “Molly, I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.” She indicated her appetizers with a tilt of her head. “Try one of these pasties. Tell me what you think.”
I’d thought “pasties” were those half-dollar-sized stickers that strippers wore to “cover” themselves; must be a dual definition because baked goods would never do the trick. Not even if the baked items were sticky buns. “Okay, but I’ve got to warn you, I’m not a big fan of corned beef.”
“Fair enough. We’ll trade warnings. Mine is to be careful. The cheese-and-beef innards are hot.”
I bit into one of the flaky little treats and was rewarded with a wonderful blend of flavors, so much so that I didn’t mind that, as forewarned, the insides seared my mouth a little. “Yum! Patty, this is delicious! Where did you get the recipe?”
“It’s my own spur-of-the-moment concoction.”
“Have you had any of these, Susan?” I asked.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
Patty chuckled and said teasingly, “You are not.”
“During Lent I am. I gave up meat.”
“I guess your giving up booze doesn’t count,” Patty said.
Though Patty’s voice had been completely casual, Susan stiffened and gave her a hateful glare. Surprised, I did a double take, not understanding the significance of the remark. Despite her moniker, Patty was, of course, not perfect, but I’d never heard her say anything hurtful before. Yet she’d obviously injured Susan’s feelings just now.
“Here, let me help,” Chad said to Patty from across the room. He took the tray from her. “Don’t worry. As long as I keep both hands on the plate, I won’t be able to eat them all myself.”
“Thank you, Chad,” Patty said. “Molly, could you come help me bring out one of the bowls of popcorn?”
“I’d be happy to,” I said, following her into the kitchen, but casting a longing look at the pasties. Counting the yet-to-arrive Stephanie and, surely, Jane Daly, who never missed a PTA meeting and was an arts-and-crafts guru and self-appointed decorating-committee goddess, there would be seven of us non–Lenten vegetarians versus two dozen pasties. No way would they last until I had the chance to return.
I grabbed one of the two large bowls of popcorn from the kitchen counter. “The popcorn’s got green sprinkles on it,” I couldn’t help but note with a smile.
“That’s the salt. Hang on a moment. I think I’d better sprinkle a little more on before you take it out.” Patty grabbed a shaker of bright green salt and started an elaborate procedure of tossing and sprinkling. “Green salt was the only way I could think to make popcorn seasonal.”
“Seasonal seasoning,” I mused. Looking into Patty’s blue eyes, I asked, “Do you mind telling me why we’re here tonight?”
Patty frowned. “It’s going to be movie night, I’m afraid. Hence the popcorn. Stephanie Saunders objected greatly to the tape that the kids in Kevin Alberti’s government class produced.”
That explained why he was here tonight. “They finally got their camera? I’m glad to hear it.” They’d lobbied the Carlton PTA for funds to pay for a video camera for months now.
“According to Steph
anie, if you still are glad after you see the tape, that will make one of us. Well, two, counting me. I happen to support freedom of speech, regardless of whether or not it makes people uncomfortable. Stephanie complains that she wasn’t portrayed in the best possible light.”
I scoffed. “I’ve known Stephanie Saunders for years. Chances are that’s nobody’s fault but her own.”
Patty raised her eyebrows and shrugged, and I reminded myself that Patty did not partake in gossip, which I, sorry to say, was very capable of lowering myself to. In fact sometimes I was a regular hot dog: doing so with relish. I winced at my own unspoken pun, chalking it up to an occupational hazard.
“I wasn’t about to censor the kids, so I have no idea what they actually filmed. I haven’t even seen their recording myself.”
“That’s surprising,” Stephanie said, suddenly behind us, still in her coat. “Because the students themselves tell quite a different story regarding your level of involvement, Patty.”
“Do they?” Patty said, her voice and facial expression inscrutable. She said, “Excuse me,” and left the room.
“Popcorn, Stephanie?” I asked, holding the bowl in front of her.
My offer was met with a chilly glare. Stephanie said quietly, “Trust me, Molly. Once everyone sees this tape, Patty will lose the nickname Perfect Patty. Permanently.”
Chapter 3
Rated PG-13 for Violence
Despite Stephanie’s statement, I couldn’t help but assume Patty was in the right. Over time, Patty could wear down one’s ego a bit, but the fact that other people even had egos, not to mention feelings, had no relevance to Stephanie whatsoever.
When we returned to the living room, Susan was parting the Liberty print curtains to look out the front window. “Here comes Jane, so everyone’s here.”
“Wonderful.” Patty attempted to carry a couple of chairs from the dining table, but Chad immediately rushed over and brought them in for her. I sat down in one, and Patty took the other. A wave of disappointment crossed Chad’s features. He returned alone to the love seat.
The doorbell rang and Jane Daly let herself in, eyeing the decoration on the door at great length. She was a short woman with dirty blond hair. Her face seemed to be naturally set into a scowl. Tonight she was wearing a red stocking cap that accentuated her gnomelike appearance. She finally pulled her eyes away from the door to take in all of us in the living room. “Sorry I’m late. I haven’t missed anything, have I?”
“No, not at all,” Patty said.
Jane took off her hat and shut the door, casting another long look at the paper decoration in the process. “How did you make that leprechaun? Is that real hair?”
“Yes, Kelly did that herself. She had a haircut recently, and she taped her locks to the hat.”
“That’s just so very clever.” Jane looked at a second cardboard doll, leaning against the side of the television. This one had plain, colored-in hair. “Good thing you didn’t put actual hair on every single leprechaun. Your daughter would be bald.”
Patty laughed. “That’s why she’s wearing a baseball cap these days.”
“Really?” Jane asked, taking a seat next to Chad.
“Of course not. I’m joking. Since you asked, I made the template for the leprechaun from a—”
“Interesting as all of this leprechaun talk is,” Stephanie interrupted from her stance in the center of the living room, “I’d like to get to the purpose of our being here tonight, if I might.”
“Go right ahead, Stephanie,” Patty said.
“I got your VCR ready to go, like you asked, Patty,” Chad said, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. The man couldn’t be more obvious about his affection for her if he wore a heart-shaped pendant around his neck with both of their initials on it.
After removing a videotape from her purse, Stephanie gestured at Mr. Alberti, a large, bald man who seemed to be crammed next to the arm of the sofa to avoid getting too personal with Emily Crown beside him. She was Patty’s closest friend. To hear her tell it, she was on a perpetual diet, but in my opinion she epitomized the phrase “pleasingly plump.”
Stephanie cleared her throat. “I’m sure most of you know Kevin Alberti, a history and government teacher at Carlton. He was kind enough to give me this tape last night, after I belatedly”—she narrowed her eyes at Patty— “learned of its existence. As you’ll soon see for yourself, the students used the ruse of claiming that they needed money for a video camera while secretly filming us in action.”
“Wait. You mean, they had access to a video camera all along?” Jane asked.
Stephanie ignored Jane’s question and handed the tape to Chad. “Start this up.” After voicing her command, she strode to the back of the room and stood with arms crossed near the door. Was she anticipating a need to block the exit?
Chad, meanwhile, looked over at Patty, making it obvious that he would take orders from her alone. She gave him a little nod. He loaded the tape in the slot, turned on the television, and pressed the play button.
The opening shots were credits that listed each of the four girls who had been lobbying us for money to purchase a video camera this year, then showed them mugging for the camera. This took an inordinate amount of time, and they were suffering from a bad case of the giggles. We could wind up as PTA bored members, after all.
Next came a shaky view of Stephanie heading toward the camera on what I recognized as the sidewalk in front of Carlton Central School. The date readout on the bottom corner of the screen showed that this was filmed last September, six months ago. Just as Stephanie started to open the door to the lobby of the elementary school, a girl not shown by the camera asked, “Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Saunders?”
Onscreen, Stephanie paused and turned toward the voice, but the camera was significantly below her gaze. The girl must have been carrying the camera inside her purse or knapsack. “Yes, hello.” She stared for a long moment, then asked, “Are you a friend of my daughter’s?”
“Not really. I mean, I knew her well enough to say hi to her, you know? But she was already a senior when I was a freshman. You’re the president of the PTA, right?”
She smiled broadly. “Yes, I”—her smile faded—“or rather, no, but I was until recently. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yeah, um, I’m in Mr. Alberti’s government class? And we need to get five hundred dollars from the PTA? So that we can buy a video camera? It’s for, like, filming projects and things?”
It was clear from Stephanie’s frozen expression that her patience was already wearing thin. “I see. Well, have your teacher put that on his wish list for the school, and we’ll—”
“We want to keep him out of it. See, that’s part of the learning process? For the government class?”
Stephanie started to turn away, waving her manicured fingers in the air in a gesture of dismissal. “In that case, you can talk to our treasurer, Susan Embrick. She can have you fill out the forms. Then you can come to the next meeting and plead your case.”
“Is that all there is to it? We’ll be able to get money for a new camera?”
Though Stephanie answered, “Yes,” the girl kept asking questions. Stephanie gave increasingly snarky answers until finally she growled, “ Save it for Ms. Embrick!” and shut the door in the camera girl’s face.
The theme song from Jaws began to play, then a voice-over said, “And thus our story begins.”
Though I could see why Stephanie would find this an unpleasant episode to have been captured on film, so far it was hardly grounds for an emergency meeting, let alone threats to Patty’s well-being.
“Stay in your seats, boys and girls,” Stephanie said as if anticipating this reaction. “It gets worse.”
The next few minutes showed a series of vignettes featuring all four girls, at different times, trying to get the paperwork handled so that they could get on the agenda at the next meeting. They were bounced between Susan and Chad, getting misinformed by both. Susan, espec
ially, came off as both addled and irritable, but overall, this was merely a valuable lesson to high schoolers about dealing with any kind of a bureaucracy, the Carlton PTA being no exception.
Next came scenes of our monthly PTA meetings, shown in chronological order. The time of day was on prominent display, and the editing demonstrated how endlessly Emily Crown could drone on. I glanced at her, and her hands were now over her lips. I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but her attention was focused on the screen. Although she could go toe-to-toe with me in terms of talking too much—and likely win the contest—she was likable and energetic.
My attention abruptly returned to the screen when the camera’s microphone caught some unseen woman with a nasal voice saying, “How dare these amoral people show their faces at school, let alone call themselves PTA officers? Do they think they . . .” The voice faded as, apparently, the woman and whomever she was speaking to left the room. The camera, however, remained in place, aimed at the podium where Patty, Stephanie, Susan, and I were chatting, which we sometimes do after meetings.
“Who was that?” Susan asked, interrupting what was being said on tape. “What the hell did she mean, calling us ‘amoral’?”
Mr. Alberti answered, “My students said it was some woman grumbling, but that the camera was unmanned at the time.”
“Maybe she misspoke,” I said. “Maybe she thought the meeting went on for so long that she meant to say ‘immemorial.’ ”
No one laughed. Chad muttered something about “replay” and hit the rewind button. We watched again, but the wording did not change, and the adjective was definitely “amoral.”
My mind wandered as I tried in vain to think of why any of us on the board could be accused of lacking morals. But once again, an image on the screen quickly recaptured my attention. The camera had caught Patty in a haughty sneer as she turned to leave the podium. That one glimpse of Patty’s facial expression startled me, because it was so unlike her typical public persona. The girls stopped Patty and complained. Once again all equanimity, Patty replied, “I’m sorry. This is the first time I’ve heard anything about your wanting to purchase a video camera.”
Death of a PTA Goddess Page 3