Knock Before You Enter

by D. A. Bale

  Addie leaned over and kissed the top of Janine’s head then tenderly cupped a cheek with her aged palm. I felt like an intruder on an intimate and benevolent setting between grandmother and granddaughter before Addie stood before me. Or really, more below me.

  “And I have you to thank for bringing this shortsightedness to my attention, Victoria. Thank you.”

  Wrinkled fingers touched my cheek and then she was gone, leaving me staring after Janine in stunned silence – for just a second.

  “Does this mean what I think it means?” I asked.

  A big smile stretched across my bestie’s face before she leapt up and pirouetted into my arms for a hug.

  “Yes! Grandma-ma has assured me I will have a place in the company, come Hell or high water.” Janine pulled away, her eyes shining. “Her words, not mine.”

  “That’s great.” I hesitated. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  That stopped her. “Why on earth would I be mad at you?”

  “Well, you didn’t say much after dinner and went up to your room and all. I was afraid you might be upset with me for interfering.”

  She huffed. “It was your so-called interference that opened my grandmother’s eyes to my situation…or lack thereof. Now because of you, I’ll have a chance to work alongside my father and secure my position within the family namesake.”

  We plopped down on Lou’s settee with big sighs. If this house wasn’t a dry zone, I’d propose a toast right then and there.

  “So what do you think you’ll do with your new position?” I asked instead.

  “Oh, there’s so much to consider. I’m not exactly sure which department I’ll start with.”

  “And you’ve got enough degrees to fit in most anywhere.”

  “I know, right?” Janine squealed. “And soon I’ll have a doctorate, which will open up even more possibilities.”

  “With music history?” I questioned.

  “Hey, don’t rain on my newfound parade.”

  I laughed. “You’ll never be able to accuse me of that. Ooo! What do you think George is gonna say?”

  “Do you think I care right now?”

  “You’ve gotta let me be there when you tell him.”

  “Deal.” Janine bubbled with eagerness. “The anticipation is making me giddy with the potential of all the things I can do for the company.”

  “You’re gonna have tons of options to choose from.” I yawned. “And a good night’s sleep will help you put it all in perspective.”

  “Who can sleep with all this excitement? Besides, we’ve got an assignment to take care of tonight.”

  I groaned, sleep calling my name and then being unceremoniously silenced. “Which is?”

  A ring of skeleton keys jangled in my face. “Visiting the attic.”

  ***

  The mansion’s top floor housed a smorgasbord of the past. The servants’ stairwell sat tucked behind a hidden panel at the end of the main hallway along the rear of the house. The second floor landing led down directly to the kitchen or up to the third floor series of bedrooms that once lodged the household slaves and, after the Civil War, the live-in servants. This kept them from being seen traipsing about the mansion while they attended to their duties.

  The enormous open space a few steps up from the bedrooms was where the household staff had worked when they weren’t needed by the inhabitants, sewing and mending gowns, polishing the family silver, and in many cases, caring for the young ones.

  But all we discovered when Janine and I went up was dust, dust, and more dust coating the old furniture, trunks, and boxes. I flicked the light switch and a couple of hanging bare bulbs illuminated the space – sorta.

  “Hello,” I called into the dusky gloom. “Anyone here?”

  “If someone answers,” Janine whispered, “I’m gonna pee my pants.”

  “You and me both, sister.”

  Janine traced a finger through a dust layer then sneezed. “Doesn’t look like Sibby’s made it up here to clean since she was hired.”

  I blew off the nameplate of an old trunk. “I’ll bet it’s been a bit longer than that. Doubt if anyone’s been up here to clean since before your Grandpa Lou died.”

  “True. Oh my goodness, look at that beautiful chaise over there.” Janine wriggled her way over to a piece of furniture with elaborate scrolled woodwork and button-tufted cushions in a blue so pale it appeared almost silver. “It’s made of rosewood instead of mahogany, a very American idea in the mid-eighteen hundreds.”

  “I’m surprised Addie doesn’t keep that in her sitting room.”

  “Hmm.” Janine brushed off the cushions amid a cloud of dust. “The silk is rather faded and pilling in spots, but this could easily be refaced. The woodwork is magnificent.”

  An idea took root in my gray matter, but before I could voice it, Janine groaned.

  “But this piece behind it is just plain ghastly.”

  “What is it?” I asked, making my way to her.

  A cast iron coffee table with four dogs comprising the base at each corner reared its ugly head.

  Get it? Dog heads?

  Oh, forget it.

  “Coalbrokedale Company,” she recited, poking her head down and shining the flashlight underneath the monstrosity. “They were known for rather eclectic furniture from about the same time as this chaise.”

  “I’d rather have the chaise…as is.”

  “Me too,” Janine affirmed. “This is a very masculine piece, probably kept in the study by one of my greats.”

  “Until the next one came along and carted it up here.”

  “Most likely,” she giggled, glancing around at various trunks and buried treasures, her face alight with the hunt and discovery of precious – and not-so-precious – heirlooms.

  We oohed and aahed over a trunk with old dresses and nearly piddled our pants when confronted by a dressmaker’s form. I hoped it wouldn’t grow arms and grab me from behind.

  The more we explored, the deeper into the darkness we plowed. Gee, a body could get lost in this space. Not a pleasant thought in a murky attic. Late at night. All alone.

  Well, I guess we had each other, so that last part didn’t count. But I really wanted to finish up here and get back to counting ex-boyfr – er, ex-guy friends.

  “I hate to interrupt your family heirloom reunion, but what did Addie actually send us up here to look for?” I prodded.

  “Oh yeah, surveys.”

  That stopped me. “As in ground surveys?”

  “Actually they’re called topographic surveys, or more commonly a boundary survey.”

  “Like I said.”

  Janine tossed me a smirk. “She said there’s an old cabinet up here where Grandpa-pa kept much older documents that he no longer needed stashed in his office downstairs.”

  I ducked inside a massive armoire I hoped wouldn’t lead to some sort of fantasy land of darkness and demons. Dusty and musty old attics late at night never worked out well for the protagonist in the movies. After spending the afternoon traipsing around a graveyard, I was having visions of ghastly ghostly apparitions peeking out from the collection of antiques.

  Okay, maybe it was time to lay off watching so many horror movies.

  The flash of light out of the rear octagon window didn’t help matters. “Did you see that?” I croaked.

  Janine worked her way over to stare out across the backyard. “I think that was lightning off in the distance. Perhaps the weather is set to change tonight.”

  That modified my visions toward cooler temperatures, cuddling under the covers – and Zeke Taylor.

  Hmm. Not the person I expected to be canoodling under the covers with anytime soon. At least not right after breaking up with Radioman.

  Don’t you dare tell Janine I thought that.

  “Does the window open?” I asked, fanning myself with stuffy air to tame the flames that rose with entangled thoughts brought on by too little sleep.

  Janine struggled with
the uncooperative window until the casing offered up an unearthly squeal of protest at our intrusion. A blast of wind thundered through the opening, and I stood in front of it to soak up all of the humidity it offered.

  Well, at least now the attic had some air movement. Better than nothing.

  “I have a question,” Janine said, looking at herself in an antique cheval mirror off in the corner.

  “Shoot,” I said, staying near the window.

  “What do you think of Lucas?”

  Tough question – especially since I didn’t trust him. “He’s nice looking,” I ventured. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know…he’s cute. Smart. There’s that dimple that pokes out when he grins.”

  “Janine De’Laruse, are you crushing on him?”

  The blush said it all. “He’s such a gentleman. And Mom seems to like him.”

  “As if that’s a requirement,” I muttered.

  She sighed as she tucked a blond strand behind her ear. “It makes things a lot easier when family approves…at least from what I’ve witnessed.”

  She had a point. “But is that a good enough reason to go out with someone? I mean, do you actually like Lucas or are you just trying to get your mother off your back?”

  A shrug this time. “It wouldn’t hurt to get to know him a little better.”

  “I’d think about this one pretty hard, Janine. You live in Dallas. He lives here…or at least claims he does.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t you get the impression he’s hiding something? Maybe a lot of somethings?”

  Yeah, like the fact he carries a gun, might be FBI, CIA, or have ties to the Russian Mafia.

  Oh, Lord! Please don’t let it be mafia. Or drugs. Or former gang leaders turned goods distributor.

  Long story.

  “Regardless,” she said with a toss of her hair. “Do you think I could attract someone like Lucas?”

  “Sweetie, you could attract a whole mob of gentlemen any day of the week.” Though mob might not’ve been the best way to phrase that.

  “Hey, I think this is what Grandma-ma was talking about.”

  She threaded through the keyring, trying a couple in the lock of a gigantic old credenza before finding success, while I stuck my head out the window to enjoy the breeze. Lightning again flashed in the distance before a low-throated rumble followed on its tail. However, instead of dying out, the rumble increased, followed by a pop then a thunk like knuckles on my apartment door. The next light that flashed swept the ground off toward where Janine had shared her history lesson earlier.

  “Janine,” I whispered.

  Nothing.

  It took me a half second to realize my bestie couldn’t hear me because half my upper body hung out the window. I peeked around the sash.

  “Janine, I think there’s something…er, someone…um, I heard a noise out there.”

  I wasn’t about to admit to fear of phantoms, spooks, or specters. Maybe the popping sound was merely a blown transformer, shorted out by the approaching storm or a squirrel too curious for its own good, the poor thing. But if that were the case, the house would’ve been cast into darkness.

  The dim attic lights flickered. My stomach dropped toward my nether regions. I opened my mouth, but all that came out this time was a tiny squeak followed by a cough that had me crossing my legs. I considered crossing my chest too just in case the Catholics were right. We were in Louisiana, after all.

  “Hmm?” Janine was buried in the drawers, occupied with her own search and completely ignoring the fact that we were about to become demon dust. “Ah, I think these are the ones we’ll need.”

  Good, ‘cause this brave Texas cowgirl needed a bathroom stat – or not, if we stayed up here any longer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My initial inklings of the new day portended a pleasurable perception of more temperate climes than the muggy machinations of the last few days. The promise of a wet day whispered on the breeze and the rain patter through the window. But what was that saying about first impressions?

  Well, there’re too many to count – but in this case I think the one about initial impressions being unreliable fit best.

  The first hints of the weather change tickled my nose with a slight chill and the scent of ozone in the air – and this time, it wasn’t from my furry feline’s flicking tail. Slinky lay bundled beneath the down comforter I’d pulled up to my chin sometime during the night, spooning me in place of my missing lover.

  Awareness hit me with another realization – I didn’t really miss having Radioman curled around me.

  On that unhappy note, I headed into the shower for a hose down. Just as I wrung a watery stream from my hair onto Slinky’s tongue, a familiar tone grated somewhere outside my bedroom door, setting my teeth on edge and promising indigestion bordering on ulcerated proportions the next few days – and I wasn’t just talking about mine.

  The bathroom tiles trembled and the cherub moldings in my bedroom dropped feathers in fear. My father, AKA the sperm donor, has a voice that carries through walls – be it wood, stone, or reinforced rebar concrete thick enough to rival Fort Knox. Mom says he’s got one of those voices that carries. Personally, I think the man just likes to hear himself talk. More like he’s going deaf and refuses to admit it.

  I’m just grateful I haven’t had to put up with it much for the last several years since I fled the family flock. If not for Janine’s sake, I’d have been willing to go the remainder of my life without close proximity to that voice, even though I swear I’ve heard the curses carried on the wind during a good ol’ Texas thunderstorm.

  Oh, the things we put ourselves through for friends.

  I tossed aside the towel and slipped on my robe. Figured I’d better get this over with now instead of later while I still had funky morning breath as a protective barrier.

  Mom and Dad stood arguing at the end of the hall, Mom in hushed tones while Dad raised holy hell – not that Hell is holy, mind you. According to most theologians, it probably wasn’t the most pleasant of vacation spots, especially for a heat-sensitive gal like me.

  But I digress.

  “How’s it hanging, Frankie?” I asked in my most antagonizing tone.

  It’s kinda become our thing when we have to be around each other these days, seeing who gets the one up on the other. Messed up I know, but this was a battle he’d started long ago with the way he’d treated Mom and me – and I no longer waited on defense for the next attack, instead going on offense from the get-go.

  He turned his stubby cue ball my way and tried to pierce me with his dark-eyed stare. Tried being the operative word. Those daggers generally bounce off my shield these days – especially when I send a few of my own his way.

  “It’s about time you rose, daughter,” he sneered. “We arrived from Houston hours ago, so eleven o’clock is pushing it even for you. After all, the early bird gets the worm.”

  I shrugged. “Sure it does, if you’re into gnawing on slimy things. Personally, I prefer something with a little more flavor that’s easier on the stomach… and won’t trigger the gag reflex.”

  Dad attempted a flanking maneuver, also known as a passive-aggressive guilt chaser. “Thomas and I completed nearly a full day’s business on the flight alone while you were sleeping it off.”

  I crossed my arms and propped a shoulder against the wall with a lazy yawn. “I’ve been told I do some of my best work at night.”

  Mom coughed. Was that a smile she tried to hide?

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said, heading my way for a hug. “Yes, Adelaide informed us at breakfast that you and Janine were up quite late, searching out something for her in the attic.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “That place is a wealth of De’Laruse family history, Mom. You’d have a field day with all of the antiques up there.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yep, and I found something else that gave me an ide
a I’d like to talk to you about.” I glanced over her shoulder. “Later.”

  “Good.” Mom cast a head tilt Dad’s way. “That’ll give you two something to occupy your time on this dreary day while we’re out and about.”

  My brows involuntarily jerked skyward. “Going somewhere?”

  “Thomas and your father have some business to take care of down in New Orleans.” Business. Always business. “Charlotte and I thought we’d accompany them and do some Christmas shopping.”

  I think I was beginning to see the method behind my mother’s shopping madness. It gave her something to occupy the too-much-time on her hands. Hey, if it kept the sperm donor and me from spending the day butting heads in front of an audience, I was all for it. Now if only…

  “What about George? Is he going too?”

  Mom shook her head. “Charlotte had Pierre take him over to the boutique to see Alphonse about a nip and tuck in his tuxedo.”

  More like letting out a few seams to keep ‘em from crying come Saturday night. With the way that boy had been shoveling in the grub this week, they probably should’ve waited until Friday for his final fitting. Or Saturday morning. Better yet, sew in some stretch panels – or loan him Janine’s Spanx. They were unnecessary on her thin frame anyway.

  “Is Addie going?” I asked.

  “No. She didn’t sleep well last night, so she’s staying home. It’s best she doesn’t overdo it at her age.”

  “And yet she could still beat me in a game of tennis, I’m sure.”

  Mom laughed then kissed me on the cheek before offering a nose wrinkle. “How about you brush your teeth and join us for lunch before we leave?”

  Another meal. At this rate, it wasn’t gonna be just George who needed stretch panels sewn into his clothes by Saturday.

  I’d barely returned to my room to change when a sharp rap clattered against my bedroom door. Definitely not Mom ‘cause her knocks always sounded more delicate. No doubt the sperm donor had returned for round two. I retied my robe then wrenched the door open.

  Call me shocked to see Addie in the hall. “Don’t you find it strange to knock on the doors in your own home?”