On Archimedes Street (27 page)

“No squeezing is necessary.” She emerged with a long black skirt and a jacket.

“Try this on.”

Say-Say took the proffered garments and disappeared into Paule’s dressing room. “Oh, Paule. It fits like a glove! It’s soigné!” She stepped out of the dressing room with a look of wonder on her face. “How…?”

Paule was rubbing her hands in glee. “I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time!”

“But how?”

“Silly. We share a dressmaker. Claudine and I confabulated behind your back.”

“But does it suit me? It’s cut so low!”

“It shows everything it should. It’s a take on a tuxedo. See the grosgrain on the lapels? And down the sides of the skirt? As for low-cut, yes, to frame the lavaliere. But I also had her make”—she darted into the closet—“this white satin blouse. It’s low-cut just like the jacket,” Paule helped Say-Say out of her jacket and into the blouse, “but it creates a reverse frame of sorts for the lapels.” Paule turned Say-Say to face her antique cheval mirror, and together they looked at Say-Say’s reflection. Paule frowned in concentration. “Do you like it with the blouse or without?”

“Oh, with, definitely. I feel so chic!”

“As for shoes….”

“You didn’t buy me shoes!”

“Well of course I did, darling. I’ve been plotting this for a long time. Black patent or purple peau de soie….”

“Patent in the evening?”

“Rules are meant to be broken. I thought that we could continue riffing on the tuxedo theme if we wanted.” Paule scooped the shoes out of their boxes and offered Say-Say a choice.

“I can’t decide!” Say-Say was almost squealing in glee.

“Then I will. Purple it is. Regal. Not too ‘matchy.’”

“You’re such an angel to do this for me!”

“Just a quick makeup refresher”—Paule now wrapped Say-Say up in a protective smock— “and we’re done.”

Paule, usually so measured and serene, darted feverishly around Say-Say and her vanity table to redo Say-Say’s pancaked face. “You wear too much makeup. It’s a crime. Skin like this you don’t hide.” As she wiped off the cold cream and applied moisturizer, she said, “There are conditions, you know. First, you mustn’t tell Achille that—”

“Achille!” In her excitement, Say-Say had not thought about what he would say. Surely he would notice the lavaliere, the unexpected clothes. “He’ll wonder—”

“Of course he’ll wonder. That’s the whole point. I’m doing this for Achille as much as I am for you. So that he’ll remember what a treasure he married. And to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Pretend that I’m getting things from another man?”

“No. Achille is too cunning to fall for that.”

“What then?”

“From another woman.”

Say-Say looked at Paule in astonishment. “Paule, you’re… you’re not telling me that….”

“Of course not, silly. But we’ll pretend.” Paule was working now on the eye shadow, a dusky brown for allure. “You must be very secretive. When he asks where you got the things, be evasive.” She applied carmine with a lip pencil, feathering the strokes toward the center, graduating them so the center was lighter. “Say you sold some of your jewelry. Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Paule thought of the gaudy, massive jewelry Achille gave Say-Say.

“Why can’t we invent a suitor?”

Paule was working on the brows now. They were naturally well shaped and needed just some pencil. “Because Achille knows how to compete with men and win. Let’s give him a rival he can’t compete with—a woman. A powerful woman, richer than he is.”

She stood back and surveyed her handiwork. “There! I declare myself most satisfied with my efforts. Look at yourself, Say-Say.”

She removed the smock and gave a little twirl. The fabric of the skirt undulated expensively. She put her hands on her hips, leaned back, and twirled again. Her heart gave a little twirl.

“Soon, next week maybe, we must get caught in the act, but we have to work it so that Achille doesn’t think we have seen him spying on us.”

“What act do we get caught in?”

“Kissing should do. We’ll kiss near a window, perhaps, when he’s conveniently in his study.”

“Will that be enough?”

“Yes, combined with the evidence of the jewels—you’ll have to borrow a few—and the clothes. But one thing, Say-Say, dear.”

“Yes?”

“You must try not to giggle when we kiss. I’ll try too.”

On her way down to go to her house next door, Say-Say ran into Frenchy. “Hello, good-looking! Look how handsome you’re getting.” She gave him an affectionate kiss on the temple, enveloping him in a cloud of Arpeggio perfume.

“Hello, Mrs. Abbott.”

Frenchy smelled a rat. This did not look like anything Say-Say Abbott would wear. This had Maman written all over it. He recognized that lavaliere. And Say-Say seemed to be walking on air.

He watched her make her way to the house next door. Then he saw Achille Abbott step out of his front door just as Say-Say was about to climb the steps to the wide porch. The surprise—no, the shock—on his face was easy to read.

A mystery. Frenchy loved a mystery.

Peering through her window at this meeting, Paule Saint-Paix smiled.

H
E
STEPPED
into the bathroom just as Elwood was about to get in the shower and closed the door behind him. He put the lid to the toilet down.

“Here. Come here.”

Elwood gave a shrug of mock exasperation, but he went.

Special Ed grabbed a leg and lifted it. “Put this foot up on the seat.”

Elwood was grinning now. “Wacha want?”

“Chant. Move your hips.”

“Er…. Kay…. Where the
A
went?” Elwood boomed and shimmied. “It went up north to the pole and it stop by Sanna—”

“No, not that one. The acka-backa one. With the B-U-T part.”

“Oh. Wit’
dat
pawt, eh?” The lopsided grin made its appearance. “You gotta doity mine.”

“Yes, I do. Chant it low, just for me. Don’t forget to sway your hips.”

Elwood did. Special Ed knelt. The balls swayed across his nose. Wailin’ Elwood hissed sharply right after the words “You. Can. Kiss. My. Acka….”

Ten minutes later, Special Ed was on his back in Wailin’ Elwood’s bed. His legs were on Elwood’s shoulders at last, and Elwood was suited up. He’d waited a long time for this.

Elwood worked up a generous gob of spit. It hit the mark dead center, of course. Special Ed gave a little jump as it did.

He grinned up at the lean, muscled man. He met the eyes, just of slightly different colors. Took in the patch of white on the otherwise chestnut curls, the chestnut trail down his broad chest, the arms with their farmer’s tan. He feared he would come right away, as soon as he put it in, but that didn’t matter. He’d be good for a second round.

“You gonna slime my gumbo?”

Elwood frowned in confusion.

“Nah. I gonna fuck yo’ ass,” he said.

Chapter 38

S
HE
WATCHED
them surreptitiously as they mounted their bikes and headed for the ferry. They wouldn’t be back until midafternoon. Just to be safe, she waited an hour and a half, in case they had forgotten something and came back for it. Then she grabbed one of the new cloth grocery bags Gaia had miraculously procured in a short two weeks. They bore the legend: “LaNasa’s—Keeping the Green in Greengrocer since 1937.” She hurriedly stuffed items into it. At first, she hadn’t trusted in her surmise, but the evidence had been mounting. She had to find out.

“Armida! I back in a hour. Hol’ down the fort. Put Eunice on the vegables—don’t let her nowhere near a regista. An’ Clyde on the stockin’. Oh—and the waterless urinal people might be comin’. Don’t let dem bring dat thing t’rough the front door for the customers to see!” Gaia had assured her it was sanitary, but she still had her doubts.

The heels—she’d been making more of an effort with her appearance lately—made their distinctive step-step-slide-step tattoo on the banquette. The LaNasa green bag was brimming over.

She knew exactly where they hid the spare key. She reached for it, opened the door to their shotgun, and quickly replaced the key. Once inside, she drew the shades in the living room and went about her errand.

In the adjoining shotgun, Rita and Honoria were discussing attire for the bride and maid of honor.

“Let’s invite the least amount of ridicule that we can. Knee-length, both of us. Can you imagine long gowns?” Both women tittered.

Honoria held out her coffee cup for a refill. “Thank God, no classes today. I can wallow in idleness all day.”

Rita wandered into her bedroom and returned to the kitchen holding a dress on its hanger. She twirled it to show both back and front to Honoria.

“Black? You can’t wear black to your own wedding!”

“But I look best in black.”

“And I look best in white, but I wouldn’t dream of wearing it to a wedding!”

“Oh, you are so convention-bound!”

“
Me
? I’m not the one who is getting married in front of a Baptist preacher, waiting for the wedding night, making decisions about the processional and recessional music.”

“I know.” Rita’s shoulders slumped. “You’ve got to understand that Doodie is very traditional—”

A loud crash from next door interrupted Rita’s lamentation.

“Mother Cabrini!” they heard a familiar voice shout. “Help me!”

They were up and out in a second, their spryness belying their ages. Rita reached for the key in its hidey-hole.

All the shades were drawn in the living room. Rita hit the light switch. “LaNasa!” they cried in outraged unison.

Lotte was splayed on the floor, looking dazed. She offered two words of explanation. “I trip.”
Damn heels.
Then three more. “Hit my head.”

“On what?” Honoria, physiologist, frowned worriedly.

“Corner of the desk.” Lotte rubbed her temple.

“Rita—go get your penlight.” Rita retreated next door for the penlight she kept on her keychain—it came in handy when she and Honoria went out to dine. The lights in restaurants these days were so dim, how did they expect anyone to read the menu? Meanwhile, Honoria helped Lotte up and shepherded her to a kitchen chair. When Rita returned, Honoria peered with the penlight into Lotte’s pupils.

“You’ll be fine,” she said drily.

“Well, is she well enough to explain why she is breaking and entering into my tenants’ apartment, invading their privacy?”

Beginning to recover, Lotte recognized the diciness of her situation. “Lemme explain.”

“Please do,” said Rita icily.

“Well, at foist I t’ought dey twins.” Rita snorted. “Den I realize dey not twins, but brudders.”

“And how does that justify your breaking into their house?”

“I nebber broke in. Use the key.”

“But
why
?” asked Honoria in frustration.

“Bin seein’ things.
Hearin’
things.” Then Lotte whispered reverently, “I think dey havin’… 
relations
.”

“Why?” asked both women, excitedly. Maybe their matchmaking had worked!

Then Honoria remembered herself and said, “And why is that any of your business? We’re in the twenty-first century, after all.”

“’Cuz dey
brudders
! Dat wrong, ain’t it? An’ ’cuz, you know, I always t’ought of dem as
mine
.”

Rita and Honoria exchanged glances. Each knew the other was guilty of the same sentiment.

“LaNasa, don’t be making yourself ridiculous, chasing after young men.”

Lotte drew her bosom up and her shoulders back. The bump on her head was forgotten. “I nebber chase after
no
man. Quite the
oppasite
, in fack. An’ if I ebber did decide to get togedder wit’ a man, it
soitanly
wouldn’t be wit’ no man twenty-five years younger dan me!”

“Thirty,” said Rita.

Lotte glared.

“But what did you hope to achieve by sneaking in here?”

“To fine out, wunst and for all.”

“How?” in unison, again.

“Got dis black light….”

“The Stink Detective!” said Honoria.

“Yes,” said Lotte, eagerly. She withdrew the gadget from the LaNasa greengrocer bag, along with the instruction booklet. She pointed to a blob on the booklet. “Dis here? Dat
semen
! The pink wagon come tomorra. Figger I shine it on the sheets before the laundress come. See if dey sleepin’ in the same bed, if any semen on the mattress! An’ not on the udder mattress,” she whispered.

“But young men….”

“Know all ’bout dat. But if alla the semen on
one
mattress…,” she hinted darkly.

Rita and Honoria exchanged glances again. Finally, Rita said, “Honoria, let’s stop being hypocrites and pillorying LaNasa for wanting to know what we want to know too.”

The three looked at each other. There was a brief pause. Then they all sprang into action.

They entered Flip’s room first. The bed was perfectly made. The three women worked speedily, wordlessly intuiting the role each should play. Honoria drew the blinds. Rita scrunched to plug in the detector. Lotte shone it over the bed. “Les’ not waste our time here,” Lotte cried out.

Dutch’s room was a horse of a different color. The bed was rumpled. Lotte drew the sheets back gingerly, using only her fingertips. The violet light of the Stink Detective revealed glowing continents on the sea of the mattress. They consulted the booklet. Not saliva, blood, urine, or feces. Lotte gave a triumphant scowl as she replaced the sheet.

Animated, the three scurried to the bathroom and flipped open the top of the laundry hamper. Honoria sped to the kitchen to find a pair of tongs while Rita plugged in the detector. Lotte directed the beam of the black light, and the story was told. Almost every brief, every sock, every T-shirt gave off an eerie, ectoplasmic glow.

Lotte looked at them victoriously. “Tol’ you! Lawd! It a
ocean
of the stuff. Dey mus’ be at it night an’ day!” Honoria and Rita exchanged smug, satisfied looks.

It was then they heard the
scritch-scratch
of a key in the lock. The three froze.