She extended her hand, and Aaron, barely over his initial shock, lifted his quickly to take it.
“Welcome, Aaron. I finally get to meet you. I’m so sorry about your medical problem. How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine. I haven’t regained my full memory yet, but we’re hopeful,” he said, glancing at Megan.
“I know you will be just fine,” Mrs. Masters said. “You’re under the care of a wonderful doctor.” Her voice was soft and youthful. There was great aura of energy about her.
“Yes, thank you for that,” he said.
“I’m glad I could do something, even in a small way.”
She turned to Megan. “Did everything go well today with the offices and rental?”
“Yes, thank you for your help with that, too.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Mrs. Masters said. “I’m so happy you’ve made this decision, Aaron. I’ll introduce you to a builder who wants to get together with you as soon as possible. But first, let me introduce you to everyone. Your doctor is here,” she told him, “so you can ask any questions without fear of cost. That’s why I invite doctors and lawyers to my dinner parties. To take advantage of them,” she said, leaning in toward him, a wry, impish smile on her face.
Aaron’s eyes went from her lips down to her neck and then her bubbled bosom before he turned quickly to Megan and laughed.
“Great,” he said. “What a beautiful home you have. I was surprised to find such an authentic Greek revival in the North.”
“Thank you. I never believed in that idea that you must conform your styles and tastes to where you happen to be living at the time. Style and taste should be part of you, something you can take anywhere. I’d build this house in the Southwest if I lived there. Or even in Wyoming,” she added with a defiant flick of her hand, “and risk being called out of touch or something. I’m sure a man of your creative insight understands,” she added and slipped her arm under his left arm. “Shall we share him, Megan?”
“Reluctantly, yes, Mrs. Masters.”
They both laughed. He smiled at their foolery andthought, just as with her girlfriends, Megan and Mrs. Masters behaved like teenagers.
She and Megan then led him to the drawing room, where fourteen other guests were gathered sipping champagne and eating from a variety of hors d’oeuvres being brought around on silver trays by three waitresses. A bartender made drinks behind a charcoal gray slate bar to the right. A variety of liquors and wines were displayed on glass shelves above which were recessed lights. The room’s general lighting came from a half dozen gas harps with antique opalescent swirl shades.
Aaron looked everywhere, overwhelmed by the opulence. The style and taste Mrs. Masters referred to before wasn’t exactly in evidence, however. The room was too eclectic; it looked like it had been adorned by a half a dozen different decorators, all in competition with each other. Scattered about were pieces of African art, small statues of African men and women as well as wild animals, but there were Italian and French and Austrian artifacts as well, including Viennese glasses, Renaissance goblets, and Roman vases. While one wall had a few nineteenth-century European artists displayed, on another wall were placed selections of Oriental art, and in the far corner on a black marble pedestal was a three-foot statue of Neptune and a snake.
The furniture was just as eclectic, a mixture of woods and stone, French Provencal chairs, Colonial, some modern pieces, clean sharp wood cuts, cubes, as well as what Aaron recognized as Scandinavian tables and chairs. There were two Persian area rugs, but infront of the large, fieldstone fireplace was what looked like a white bear rug.
“A little something for everyone,” Mrs. Masters remarked, seeing the look on his face. “I’ve collected over the years from different places I’ve lived in, and I don’t see any reason to give away or sell any of it. Everything you see, believe it or not, has some sentimental meaning. Gifts from admirers, trophies from various journeys.”
Aaron nodded.
He wanted to suggest that in a house this size you could probably organize the different styles in different rooms rather than throw everything together like this, but he didn’t think it was his place even so much as to sound critical.
“I love it,” Megan said. “I hate sameness.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Masters agreed. She clapped her hands together. Everyone stopped talking and looked their way. “Please let me introduce our guests of honor tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Clifford, our most recent new family.”
There was applause.
“And to start the evening off with a pleasant surprise, I would like to announce the creation of Aaron Clifford Architectural Services, 213 Corin Avenue, Driftwood, Connecticut.”
The applause was louder and longer.
“Let me get you two some champagne before you are accosted by everyone,” Mrs. Masters said and led them to the bar. “Ule, two champagnes, please.”
The bartender set out the glasses obediently and quickly filled them both. Aaron’s attention went tothe man’s dark eyes. They looked vacant, almost artificial glass orbs. He barely looked at the person he was serving and moved with a robotic methodical rhythm.
“Thank you,” Megan said. She took hers and turned just as Laurie approached them. Aaron thought she looked sexier than the first time he met her. Her dress was as tight as Megan’s, but hers was almost translucent to the point where he could clearly see her nipples as well as the aureolas around each.
“Hi, Aaron. Remember me?” she joked.
“Laurie provides our sense of humor,” Mrs. Masters said a little sharply.
Laurie laughed. “He knows I’m teasing, don’t you, Aaron?”
“I know I’ve seen you before,” he joked, “but I’m not sure just where.”
They all laughed.
“Megan said you had a witty sense of humor,” Mrs. Masters said.
He glanced at Megan, who was beaming with pride, and then he sipped his champagne and gazed around. The men were all in suits, all looking very distinguished. Megan’s other two friends, Terri and Debbie, waved. They, too, looked especially alluring, Debbie wearing a dress with a deep V-neck, very revealing, and Terri with a light, off-the shoulder lace garment that looked like it might just fall away if she was a bit too active.
In fact, as he studied the other women, he realized they all had very sexy figures and pretty faces. Even Dr. Longstreet looked enticing in her spaghettispaghettistrapped black gown, her small bosom boosted by one of those so-called wonder bras.
“Let me start the individual introductions,” Mrs. Masters said and led them toward the first two couples. “Aaron and Megan, I’d like you to meet our present mayor and his wife, Mayor Ron Allan and Charlene,” she began.
“Welcome to our little community,” Ron Allan said, shaking Aaron’s hand. “From what I’ve heard about you two already, I know you’ll be a great added asset.”
“Thank you,” Aaron said.
“I hope you’ll have time for our Woman’s Auxiliary, Megan,” Charlene Allan said. She looked as if she was in her late forties with just the smallest indication of the onset of crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes.
“Of course I will,” Megan replied.
Aaron raised his eyebrows.
“We both believe it’s important to give to your community, don’t we, Aaron?”
“Oh, sure,” he said.
“Sometimes our husbands have to take on a little more domestic responsibility to enable us women to do our good work,” Charlene emphasized. “I’m sure you won’t mind.”
“Whatever we’re able to do, we’ll do,” he said.
“Precisely,” Charlene Allan replied.
Aaron felt as if he had just signed up to be scout master or something.
“Whatever you were told before about American society, my boy, forget it,” the mayor said. “Women have been running things around here ever since Eve decided to move her and Adam out of Paradise.”
“Why, Ron, I thought you told
me Driftwoodwasparadise,” Mrs. Masters quipped.
“Well, it is. Right,” he said, nodding. He looked confused for a moment and then sipped some champagne. “Right,” he muttered.
“I do look forward to seeing you next Wednesday, Megan,” Charlene Allan said as they moved to the next couple.
“This is Harlan Noel and his wife Patricia. Harlan is one of the major builders in our area, and he’s thinking of building our first mall, right, Harlan?”
“Absolutely. I’m putting the financing together as we speak,” the tall, lanky dark-brown-haired man said. He stood at least six feet four and had a lean face with a long nose. Aaron actually thought he was rather unattractive and wondered if it was simply his money or some unapparent great personality traits that had attracted the beautiful lithe blonde to him. His wife Patricia looked as if she had just stepped off a runway, modeling the latest designer fashions from Italy. “We’ve got to talk very soon,” he told Aaron.
“Just give him a chance to set up his office,” Mrs. Masters said.
“No problem. When Mrs. Masters recommends someone, I listen,” he told Aaron.
“Thank you,” Aaron said, bedazzled. How did anyone know the quality of his work? He wasn’t even sure of it himself.
“Oh, Dr. Longstreet,” Mrs. Masters said. “How does your patient look tonight?”
Dr. Longstreet stepped toward them.
“You look well rested, Mr. Clifford. Everything all right?”
“I feel okay, but I’m not there yet,” Aaron said. “Those wild images—”
“Just be patient and be sure to follow the drug therapy,” she advised quickly, looking as if she wanted him to keep his symptoms to himself.
“See,” Mrs. Masters told him. “In her office, that’s about two-hundred and fifty dollars.”
Dr. Longstreet laughed. “Not quite,” she said, “but not that far off, either. You’ll be fine,” she reassured Aaron with a soft patting on his hand, and then turned back to the stout dark-haired man with whom she had been conversing. He nodded at them and raised his glass.
“That’s Renaldo Wells, a very sharp and aggressive tax attorney. Doctors and tax attorneys seem to have a synergistic relationship in this society, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Masters added with a laugh. “However, beware of Renaldo. He’s a lady’s man. . . . Actually,” she added in a whisper, “the new Lady Chatterly’s lover, if you get my meaning.”
“I’ll keep him out of our garden,” Aaron said, and Mrs. Masters laughed harder and pressed herself tighter to him.
“I do love your husband, Megan, and I see what you mean about his witty sense of humor. You’re going to just love it here, Aaron. I promise,” she said.
“Hi,” Debbie said. “Aaron, I’d like you to meet my husband, Morgan.” She tugged a slim man with thinning dark hair forward, and he held out his small, soft hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Aaron. Debbie was saying all sorts of nice things about you earlier.”
Aaron shook his hand, which felt like a limp paw. Morgan was a good two inches shorter than Debbie, and Aaron immediately envisioned him overwhelmed by his athletic and far more energetic-looking wife. He wondered what drew these two together and thought here was another couple that was puzzling.
“Morgan is a brilliant accountant, Aaron,” Mrs. Masters said. “He figures out the angles for all of us and keeps the IRS away.”
“I see,” Aaron said.
“I never ask anyone to put on a shoe that doesn’t fit,” Morgan quickly inserted.
“Hi!” Terri Richards cried. She had her arm wrapped around her husband’s. He was a tall blond with the sort of blue eyes that made Paul Newman a dream for camera operators in movies. There were tiny freckles on his cheeks, which added to his youngboy look.
“You’ve met Terri, now meet the best dentist in Driftwood, Dr. Leonard Richards.”
“Pleased to meet you and welcome to Driftwood,” Leonard Richards said.
“Thank you.”
“Leonard keeps us all smiling brightly,” Mrs. Masters said.
“I’ve got good material to work with,” Leonard said, nodding. “You golf?”
“No,” Aaron said.
“Aaron’s never had time for anything but work before this,” Megan said. “But now that he’s cut outthat stupid commuting, he’ll have more time for pleasurable things.”
“Good. When our wives untie us, we can get together on weekends over at the Driftwood Lodge and play a round, maybe.”
“I’ve never played,” Aaron repeated.
“It won’t take you long to learn,” Megan said.
“No,” Morgan Asher parroted. “It didn’t take me long, not that I’m any good.”
“You don’t have to be good at golf. That’s what makes it good,” Leonard Richards said.
Everyone but Aaron laughed.
I don’t start out to do something if I know I’m going to be a failure at it, he thought and wondered from what cache of memories that one emerged. Would there be more thoughts completing a selfimage? Soon, he hoped.
Mrs. Masters decided to whisk him along for more introductions, more champagne and hors d’oeuvres before dinner was announced.
The party paraded behind her and Aaron and Megan to the dining room, or, as Aaron thought the moment he saw it, the dining hall.
“I was wondering how you could feed so many at a dinner party,” he remarked when he gazed at the palace-sized, rich dark walnut table. Three enormous silver-plated brass chandeliers with crystal swags hung above it. The bulbs were turned down so that soft light flowed over the beautifully adorned table with its Japanese China. The Royal Satsuma Nippon Plates had a white background with shades of gray and tan separated by gold lines. Hand-painted on the plateswere three different pictures, all with ladies with fans in various poses and all featuring a red bridge or fence with red cross.
Aaron saw there were name tags in front of the settings and that he was sitting to the right of Mrs. Masters with Megan on her left. Charlene Allan, the mayor’s wife, was on his right and the mayor was on Megan’s left.
On both walls of the dining room were hung floating mirrors the length of the room. It made it possible for everyone to see anyone on his or her right or left as well as the guests in front of him or her, but the mirrors also reflected the images across from each, and that gave the room and its inhabitants a depth that made it seem as if they were all extended back to infinity. The depth grew deeper and deeper for Aaron after another champagne toast and a few glasses of a wonderful French Merlot.
It was a seven-course meal with the sherbet pause to cleanse the palate. A half dozen waiters and waitresses served the guests while a young woman with long, flowing light brown hair played a harp in the far right corner.
Shortly after the main course of succulent duck l’orange, Aaron took a breath, sipped some more wine, and sat back just to listen to some of the conversations. The women were all charming and witty. Laurie peppered her remarks with frequent sexual innuendos that made some of the men blush. Rendaldo Wells sat between her and Dr. Longstreet, but Laurie seemed to be dominating him. Terri and Debbie continually chastised her, which only seemed to give Laurie moreencouragement. Aaron couldn’t help but burst out in a laugh occasionally himself, each time drawing the amused attention of Mrs. Masters, who sat forward, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and even pride like some guru who had trained her apprentices well.
The men tried to talk about the economy, the opportunities for the community, politics, but if Laurie didn’t find some way to lighten their conversation with her teasing, one of the other women either belittled the comments or made the men seem like the ones wasting time on idle talk. Gradually Aaron began to realize that the men were fading, becoming obedient little boys as the dinner continued.
Just before the table was cleared for their dessert and coffee, Aaron closed his eyes because a tiny, lightning flash of pain crossed them. For a moment it actually took his breath away. No one seemed to n
otice. He was grateful for that, but when he lifted his gaze from the table and looked into the mirror, he saw a shocking scene. All the men were large boars in suits and ties. He, too, was a gross pig, only his hands were still human hands instead of hooves. The women were grotesque old hags, except for Megan, who looked strangely familiar. She was the woman he had seen emerge in a flash after he and Megan had made love on the new office floor, a blonde, with hair down to her shoulders, her eyes a hazel brown and her chin cleft.
He turned toward Mrs. Masters, but instead of seeing her, he saw Mrs. Domfort.
He gasped and accidently knocked over his glass of wine. Mrs. Allan leaped back with a cry as the winesplattered onto the beige bodice of her dress. Instantly the grotesque images disappeared and Mrs. Masters was no longer Mrs. Domfort.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” he cried.
“That’s all right,” Mrs. Masters said. “Melina,” she called to one of the waitresses. “Take Mrs. Allan to the powder room and help her get those stains out immediately.”
The waitress moved to Mrs. Allan’s side.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said again as Mrs. Allan rose.
“It’s all right,” she replied and glared at her husband, who sat shocked. “Usually, it’s Ron who does something stupid.”
Her husband blushed and Aaron felt terrible for him. Why pick on him? It was my fault, he thought.
Mrs. Masters laughed, and everyone but Aaron joined her, even the mayor who was literally laughing at himself.
In moments the waitresses had cleaned up the mess, and the waiter was pouring Aaron another glass of wine.
“I think I’ve had enough, thank you,” he told him.
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