Deaths of Jocasta (9 page)

I left the porch, walking out onto the starlit lawn. I thought about being supremely childish and climbing the magnolia tree to spend the rest of the evening there. But a couple was entwined at the bottom of it and they didn’t sound like they would appreciate being disturbed.

Cordelia has found a new blond twerp. You will survive, Micky, I told myself. And I would. I just didn’t want to stand around tonight watching her and her runt.

I roamed among the trees and shadows of the yard. I sighted Rosie and Melanie sneaking off to their cabin. Don’t worry, I thought indulgently, I’ll cover for you. Hello, young lovers, wherever you are.

I wandered over to the gazebo, wondering who I would find entwined there. Maybe Torbin and Andy, I maliciously hoped. But it was deserted, no deserving couples to intrude on. I entered, walking to the far side, then sat down on the railing, leaning my back against a supporting column. I looked over the lawn to the deepening darkness that led into the forest.

I heard a board creek behind me, someone coming up the steps. I turned to look. A tall woman in white. I almost fell off the railing.

“Are you all right?” Cordelia said, seeing me off balance, trying not to fall into the azalea bushes below.

“Yeah, fine,” I answered, grabbing at the column to stop my slide bush-ward. “Not my night for balance,” I said, as I fumbled to get my rear end safely reseated on the railing. “So, how are you?” I winced at the falsely bright tone in my voice, but at least I was sitting upright again.

“Pretty good. How’s your leg holding out?”

“It’s fine.”

She was carrying a bottle of champagne, which she set down. I was desperately trying to think of something to say, or better, some way to leave.

“Is it just coincidence that you always seem to be leaving a room whenever I enter it?”

“Has to be,” I mumbled, abashed at having been so clumsy.

“Of course,” she said, looking at me, her eyes clear and direct. We both knew I was lying. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I replied automatically.

“No, really,” she countered.

I didn’t know what to say, her directness caught me off guard. I sat, holding on to the railing tightly, wanting to go to her and put my arms around her.

“Uh…I’m…” I didn’t know. The silence hung. “I did leave the room. I didn’t know what to say to you,” I admitted.

“Well, I guess I can understand that,” she replied, turning away from me, slumping slightly from the sting my admission had to give.

I stood up, took a step to her, then faltered, unsure of what I wanted, afraid of what she wanted.

“It’s okay,” she said, her back still to me. “You have every right to avoid me.”

“I don’t…I’m not avoiding…Things get complicated, don’t they?” I finished lamely.

“I had hoped we could be friends.”

“We can. If you want.”

“I do want.” And she turned back to me, the half-smile again on her face.

“Good,” I responded.

“Champagne? I brought a bottle out here with me,” she offered.

“No, thanks.”

“Mind if I do?”

“Of course not. I’ve heard via Elly that you’ve had a long week.”

“Sometimes they all seem long,” she answered, then took a swig straight out of the bottle. “Not the best way to drink champagne.”

Another pause. She spoke first.

“I enjoyed watching you dance with Emma.”

“Thanks,” I replied, then to avoid another silence, “How do you know her? Emma, I mean.”

“All the grand old families know one another. Some social requirement or the other. I believe Grandfather Holloway was in the same fraternity as Emma’s father. I came out here when I was eighteen and sort of beginning to figure things out. I had always been fascinated by Miss Auerbach. Then Grandfather told me not to be seen with her anymore. No explanation. But I knew.”

“And you haven’t been out here since then,” I said, a statement, not a question.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been here every year since I turned eighteen. I would have noticed you.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Not kind. Observant.”

“Thank you,” she said, flustered by my compliment. She took another drink of champagne.

God, you’re beautiful, I thought, the soft lights reflecting off the white she was wearing, making her eyes a deep and mysterious blue. But we were only friends and I was afraid to say it.

“What was Danny talking about?” she abruptly asked. “In college.”

“Oh, that,” I replied, embarrassed. “Youthful indiscretions.”

“Why didn’t I have a youth like that?” she said, the slight smile playing on her lips. “Good old Cordelia. Always discreet. Doomed to discretion.”

“Don’t say that,” I replied to the disparaging tone in her voice.

“Dance with me,” she said suddenly. Then, “Will you?” as if afraid of refusal. “I’ve always wanted to whirl across the ballroom floor like I saw you doing earlier.”

I took a tentative step toward her.

“Didn’t you dance with Alex?” I asked to cover the silence.

“Oh, Alex. I’ve known Alex forever. I think we were born in the same hospital. No, that’s probably apocryphal. But definitely grade school. Besides that, Alex isn’t…” and she stopped.

“Isn’t?”

“Tall, dark, and…handsome,” she said, looking at me, then quickly away.

I took another step toward her.

“You’re very kind,” I said.

“Not kind. Observant,” she answered.

She stepped in to me, putting one hand tentatively on my shoulder.

I put my hand on her waist.

“Wait,” she said, pulling away. “Let me get rid of this.” She put the champagne bottle down a few feet away. Then she came back, putting her hand on my shoulder with the same tentativeness, as if I might break or back away at any moment.

I took her left hand in mine.

“I’ll have to hum,” I said. “Can you stand it?”

“If you can stand my dancing.”

“Fair enough.”

I started softly singing the only waltz that came to mind. I wasn’t even sure what it was.

“I know why I’ve never spun around a ballroom,” she said after our first few awkward steps. “I’m not a very good dancer.” She stumbled, as if to prove her point. “Particularly when I’ve had too much champagne,” she added. “I don’t think I’m sober.” She stopped. “It’s okay. I need a few more lessons. Or something.” She started to pull away.

No, don’t, I wanted to yell. Don’t move away from me, don’t shatter this slight embrace.

“Don’t give up yet,” I said, not releasing her, keeping her in our tentative waltz, pulling her a little off balance so she couldn’t let go of me. She faltered again, but this time held on to me. We had stopped dancing, but she didn’t move away.

“I know I’m clumsy, but I’m not usually this bad,” she said, leaning her head against my shoulder. “The champagne.”

I heard voices from the lawn.

“People will talk,” I said, aware that we were visible, my white shirt, her white outfit, framed by the white columns of the gazebo. “I’m used to it. People always talk about me. But you might not want…” I trailed off.
Your blonde to see us like this.
“To be so indiscreet.”

“I don’t think,” she replied, “that I’ve ever done anything indiscreet in my life. Maybe I want to be the one they talk about tomorrow. I want them to say, wasn’t that Cordelia James with that tall, dark woman out in the gazebo?”

“No, it was only Micky Knight,” I answered, to keep talking, because if I stopped talking I would…I wouldn’t stop. Cordelia wasn’t sober. What she wanted now, she would regret in the morning. “Anyone can have her,” I added, a hint of rue creeping in.

“Don’t say that.”

“Ask Danny. She’ll tell you. Anyone. Don’t ruin your reputation with a…slut.”

“The slut and the wallflower. What a combination.” Then she looked at me, lifting her head away from my shoulder, her arms lightened their embrace, ready to pull back. “Don’t degrade yourself this way. Just say no. That’s all you need to do.”

She pulled away, not really moving, but retreating into herself. Her eyes grayer, less open. I tightened my embrace, wanting to bring her back, but not knowing how to both have her and not take advantage of a warm spring night and good champagne.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “I’ve done this before. Don’t take me seriously. I said I was going to get drunk tonight and I’ve succeeded.” This time she did physically pull away.

“I do…” I began, but was interrupted. Rudely.

A cry for help somewhere across the lawn. A guest has seen a garter snake, I thought disgustedly.

“Shit,” I cursed.

The cry for help was repeated. I toyed with leaving it to Rosie, then remembered that she might be even more entangled than I was. At least I still had my clothes on.

“Duty calls, I gather,” Cordelia said.

“Duty annoys,” I replied, incensed at duty’s timing. But Emma wouldn’t appreciate it if someone were really in trouble and I didn’t bother to check it out. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll find you later,” I called as I ran down the gazebo steps. “Sorry,” I repeated. I was sorry. We had almost…I didn’t even know.

“It’s okay,” her voice drifted after me. “Some people are born to be wild, some are born to run, and some of us are born to be discreet.”

I started running across the lawn, thinking more about what was behind me than what was in front.

The cries were coming from somewhere around the main cluster of cottages. Probably just a damn garter snake or a toad on someone’s pillow, I snorted. I couldn’t imagine anything seriously wrong out here.

I trotted over to the group of people clumped outside the yellow cottage. “What’s going on here?” I asked, acting calm and official. After all, I was the only person who knew I was wet between the legs.

“Some animal’s in there,” the upset woman exclaimed.

“It looked like a porcupine,” someone else said. “I got a glimpse of it.”

Everyone looked at me, then at the door behind which this vicious creature lurked. How had I gotten into this, I wondered, not particularly wishing to entangle myself with an enraged pin cushion.

With extreme bravery, I marched up to the door. That’s as far as bravery got me. I cautiously opened it and poked my head in. Nothing in the living room that I could see. I entered, watching intently for any quivering quills. No movement, nothing. I looked in the kitchenette. Nothing pounced from the cupboards. Taking a broom with me, I started for the bedrooms. At least this cabin only had two.

The first one was animal-less. I even poked the broom handle under the bed to make sure.

“You need help?” Joanne called, entering the cabin.

“You look dressed for a porcupine hunt,” I responded.

“Is that what this is?”

“Maybe. Maybe someone’s imagination.”

I went into the second bedroom. I didn’t want Joanne to see a big butch like me hesitating in the doorway, scared of a little porcupine. I couldn’t see anything. With the disgusted feeling that I was definitely on a wild porcupine hunt, I knelt down and took a quick look under the bed.

Two animal eyes stared out at me, then winked out. I heard the soft skitter of clawed feet across the wooden floor heading for…

I jumped back, of course, crashing into Joanne’s legs. Some big butch.

“In a hurry?” she asked, looking down at me.

“There’s a porcupine coming after us,” I rationalized.

“That’s not a porcupine, that’s a possum,” she said, looking at the creature that had fled out from the opposite side of the bed. “I don’t know who’s more scared, it or you.”

“Easy for you to say,” I answered, getting up. “I was between you and whatever it is.”

“Right.”

“Stay there, in the door,” I replied, regaining my composure. “I’ll open the window and chase Ms. Opossum through it.”

“What an ingenious plan.”

I ignored her and shoved the window open. Then, with my trusty broom at my side, I went on an opossum roundup. Ms. Opossum, evidently unaware of how close at hand freedom was, went back under the bed. I got down on my side and attempted to gently prod her to liberty with the broom handle. She bared her teeth at me.

“Joanne? Can opossums get rabies?” suddenly occurred to me.

“Uh-huh. There’s an epidemic going on right now. Also be aware that rabid opossums inevitably go after the tallest person in the area.”

I looked back at Ms. Opossum. She didn’t look rabid. But then what did rabid look like?

“Good thing I’m on the floor. That makes you the tallest thing in the room,” I responded.

“Want me to flush her out?”

I swung the broom a few more times, unwilling to admit defeat. Ms. Opossum moved out of range of the broom handle.

“Be my guest,” I finally said, getting up and proffering the broom to Joanne.