The Curse of the Holy Pail #2 (41 page)

He shook his head slowly. "I should have told them I was a widower. Or at least taken off my ring."

"Why?" I asked. "It's no one's business who you are." I guided him over to the registration table, where more former classmates waited to hand us our name tags. "Besides," I told him with a grin, "I always wanted a bad rep. Maybe I'll finally get one."

My official boyfriend, Greg Stevens, was supposed to accompany me to the reunion. But a few days ago, he woke up with a cold that turned nastier with each day. Greg's illness gave me mixed feelings. On one hand, I was worried about him being ill. But on the other, it gave me an excuse not to attend the reunion. Why he had to be his usual gallant self and insist on my going anyway, I'll never know. He had suggested that I take Zee, but instead, at the last moment, I changed my mind and had asked Dev Frye to be my escort. There was no way in hell I was going to go to this clambake alone or without a proper date.

Dev and I made our way into the main seating area and snagged ourselves a couple of chairs at one of the tables set for ten. Several chairs had been tilted so that their backs rested on the table, letting all newcomers know they were already taken. After tilting our own chairs, Dev disappeared into the crowd to wrangle us a couple of drinks while I blazed a trail to the ladies' room.

I had checked my black eye-not a bad cover-up job, if I do say so-and was reapplying a fresh coat of lipstick when Johnette Spencer, now Morales, came into the large restroom. She looked quickly down when she saw me and started for a stall, but stopped short before entering. She just stood there, frozen. I watched her slim back reflected in the mirror in front of me. It seemed like she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how to go about it.

As teenagers, we had been good friends, and I had spent a lot of time with her. Many afternoons after school we had studied together at her house while her mother, in true June Cleaver form, plied us with Cokes and snacks. When I was sixteen, my own mother abandoned me and disappeared, and I went to live with my father and stepmother. Johnette and I had become especially close during that turbulent time in my life. It bothered me now that a possible misunderstanding had tainted what should have been a happy renewal of friendship. It bothered me that she had been so quick to judge. And it bothered me that I had been so quick to cut her off about the prom. After all, our senior prom had been a happy night for many people. I just wasn't one of them.

Without preamble, I explained Dev. "Dev's a recent widower. His wife died of cancer."

Johnette glanced quickly over her shoulder, catching my eye in the mirror. "Oh," she said softly. "I'm sorry. About his wife, I mean.

She turned her face back to the stall, but instead of entering, abruptly turned on her heel like a soldier doing an about-face.

"Odelia," she began, still speaking softly. "I'm also sorry that I was so rude out there. And I'm very sorry I brought up the prom." She took a couple of steps toward me. I glanced down and noticed that she was wringing her hands slightly. "I really am so very glad to see you"

"It's okay, Johnette," I told her. "I'm very happy to see you, too. And the prom is ancient history. Really." Before another heartbeat passed, I took a step toward her and reached out my arms for a hug. Not so much because I wanted to, but because instinct told me she needed a hug-badly. And she did. She fell into my arms, burying her small frame into my ample bulk. I could feel her shoulders slightly shaking. When we parted, I saw that she was weeping.

"It's okay, Johnette," I told her again. "Really. No harm done."

"It's not that, Odelia," she said before starting to cry in earnest.

There was a small sitting area just inside the ladies' room door with a small padded bench. Grabbing some tissues from a dispenser, I handed them to Johnette and steered her toward the bench.

"What's the matter, Johnette?"

She looked down at the tissue that was quickly being mangled in her grasp. I had one arm around her shoulders and could feel her take a deep, lung-expanding breath before answering.

"Victor's having an affair."

Now it was my turn to give a soft "Oh"

"That's why I was so upset when I saw you with that man. I thought he was married and you were cheating with him." She looked up at me. "Stupid, isn't it? You having a fling with a married man?"

Her remark confused me. I didn't know whether she thought that highly of my ethics or if she thought I couldn't find a man with whom to have an affair. But this wasn't about me.

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Are you sure Victor's having an affair?"

She nodded. "I followed him one afternoon. He was supposed to be playing golf, but instead he went to some woman's house." She started weeping again. "Oh, Odelia, she was very young. And very pretty." She blew her nose. "I saw them embrace."

I found myself speechless, not a natural state for me. I continued to squeeze my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Occasionally, a woman would come into the restroom, glance our way, and keep going toward the stall area. In due time, Johnette stopped crying, blew her nose, and straightened her shoulders.

"You go ahead, Odelia," she told me, taking one of my hands and giving it a little squeeze. "You go on out there and keep that nice man company. I'll be along very shortly."

"You sure?" I asked skeptically.

She nodded. "I'm just going to freshen up before going out myself."

Still not convinced she should be left alone, I did as she asked and started to leave the bathroom, only to be stopped by bony fingers clutching my arm.

"Please don't tell anyone about this, Odelia. I don't want anyone's pity."

Assuring her of my discretion, I said, "I'm sure you and Victor can work this out. You've been together a long time."

"Yes," Johnette said, contorting her thin lips into a forced smile. "I'm sure it'll be all right in time. Lots of men have a mid-life crisis and return to the nest once it's out of their system." She looked to me to validate the statement.

"So I've heard," I responded automatically, all the while thinking that if Greg ever cheated on me, he'd be going from paraplegic to quadriplegic in no time flat.

Back again in the main ballroom, I made my way to our table to find Dev and Victor deep in sports talk. The Moraleses were going to join us at our table, Dev informed me. I smiled tightly at the alleged cheater as I took the seat Dev offered. A much younger woman, huh? The cheating would have been bad enough, but as a middle-aged woman, I took it somewhat personally that he might be straying with a newer and shinier model.

I was telling the men that Johnette would be along shortly when movement caught my eye. Approaching our table was Donny Oliver. Grr.

"Hey, Vic, great to see you," Donny boomed as he made his way to Victor's side. The two men shook hands as Victor beamed with delight. He looked ready to abandon everything and follow Donny into the jaws of hell. With Donny was another former football player whose face was familiar but remained nameless to me. Victor shook his hand, too.

Then Donny saw me.

"What?" he said, looking at me in exaggerated surprise. "This can't be Odelia-Odelia Grey."

In high school, Donny Oliver had been a commanding sight. Ruggedly handsome with wavy brown hair, a dimpled chin, and deep-set, dark eyes, he stood just over six feet tall with a trim, hard body and wide shoulders. He didn't look all that different now, except that his dark hair was laced with gray at the temples and his face was marked with slight lines around his eyes and mouth. A boozy smell emanated from him. Yep, just like in high school.

Memories as rancid as week-old tuna invaded my brain and anger gurgled inside me. I felt ready to blow, like a shaken soft drink. Let it go, Odelia, I cautioned myself. Control. Control. Control. You can do it.

"Hello, Donny," I said through teeth clenched hard enough to worry me about cracking a crown.

Donny looked at me with amusement, then opened his arms wide. "Ah, come on, Odelia. Give your old friend a hug."

I glanced at Victor, who was looking embarrassed, then at Dev, who was looking both puzzled and concerned. I searched my brain for something glib and funny to say, something that would ease my tension and put Donny in his place.

"Eat shit and die, Donny." The comment may not have been original, but it was heartfelt.

He laughed. So did the guy with him. They were the only two amused. On my other side, I felt Dev start to rise.

"Is Tommy Bledsoe with you tonight?" Donny asked as he looked around. He turned to the guy with him. "How about it, Steve? Wouldn't that be perfect? Odelia, Bledsoe, and this damn sea hunt shit, together again. Now that would be a reunion." They both laughed.

I said nothing. Dev stood up, but Donny took no notice.

"Come on, Odelia," Donny said, still with his arms spread. "Give me some of that heavyweight lovin' like you used to."

"Leave her alone, Donny."

It was a woman's voice. I turned to see Sally Kipman standing near the table with her hands on her hips, looking rather formidable. Johnette stood behind her, doing a great imitation of a frightened rabbit. I could have sworn I even saw her long, bony nose twitch. Geez, could this get any worse?

I continued my quest for the very elusive self-control. My jaw, still clenched, was starting to ache. What I really wanted to do was to push Donny's head into one of the nearby fish tanks until it became one of the bubbling tank ornaments alongside the toy pirate ship. Without much effort, I could picture little multi-colored fish swimming in and out of his nose. Entertaining this thought, I could feel control within my grasp.

"Yes, leave the lady alone." This command came from Dev as he moved to stand by my chair in front of Donny.

"Who the hell are you?" Donny asked Dev. I was pleased to see Donny flinch at Dev's size. My jaw relaxed a tad at the sight.

"Detective Devin Frye of the Newport Beach Police. And this lady's date."

"Let's get out of here, Donny," his buddy said, putting a hand on his arm. Suddenly, I remembered his name-Steve Davis.

Donny looked down at me, then up at Dev, seeming to make up his mind about something. He turned to Victor. "Come on, Vic, let's go get a beer."

Victor looked at the people gathered around the table, including his wife. "Sorry, Donny, have to pass."

Donny looked surprised at Victor's insubordination.

"Leave it alone, Donny," Steve said, trying to steer him away from the table.

After glancing once more at me, then at Dev, Donny Oliver strode away. In seconds, he was shaking hands and slapping backs in another crowd of people.

"Some people just never grow up," Johnette said. She moved to Victor's side. Her husband slipped a protective arm around her waist.

Dev sat back down in his chair and looked at me. "Okay, now are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

I didn't look at him when I answered. "Maybe someday."

"Sally's going to join us," chirped Johnette, trying to move the mood of the table along to happier thoughts.

Oh boy, I thought. Although, I reminded myself quickly, Sally did just come to my assistance with Donny.

"Hello, Odelia," Sally said as she took a chair across from me and Dev. "Nice to see you again." Her voice was clear but clipped.

In high school, Sally Kipman and I got on each other's nerves on a daily basis. Thinking back, I can't remember why. Maybe it was because our personalities mixed like oil and water. Or maybe it was because we were too much alike.

Sally Kipman transferred to our school after her mother and father divorced and her mother relocated the two of them to Southern California from New Jersey. Sally wasn't happy to be in California and even less happy to find herself from a broken home, a status that was still fairly new in the late 1960s.

Until Sally came on the scene in our sophomore year, I was one of the only kids in school whose parents were divorced. While I retreated into boxes of cookies, Sally took a different approach in expressing her emotions. She was surly and belligerent to everyone, including teachers, and quick to start a fight. She quickly embraced youthful rebelliousness and her right to freedom of speech, no matter what was said or who got hurt by her machine-gun tongue. Like Johnette and me, Sally was a loner. At first, we invited her to have lunch with us. But she responded to our invitations with such verbal abuse, we finally stopped asking.

For reasons unknown, Sally's hackles would rise whenever she saw me. And, I must admit, the feeling was mutual. In our junior year, she told everyone I was fat because I was pregnant. I retaliated by telling everyone Sally was a lesbian. Shortly after that, after two weeks of detention and an order from Mrs. Zolnekoff, the school principal, we called an uneasy truce and made it to graduation without assaulting each other.

I looked across the table at Sally Kipman. Like Donny, she still looked very much as she had thirty years ago. Maybe mean people don't age. Maybe all their natural vileness acts like embalming fluid. It seemed like a plausible explanation to me.

As in high school, Sally's body was tall, slim, and athletic. Her hair was dark blond and cropped short in a becoming, tousled cut. She wore no makeup that I could see, and never did that I could remember. She was tan and fit and very attractive in a no-frills way. She no longer had an air of pent-up anger, but still definitely one of no-nonsense. Seeing me looking at her, she flashed me a non-hostile lukewarm smile and I returned it. It looked like the truce would hold.

With Donny staying on the other side of the room, no doubt avoiding Dev like he was my personal junkyard dog, the reunion turned out to be much better than I had expected. Meaning, I actually had fun once my jaw unlocked. During a lovely dinner, the people around the table caught up on each other's lives and passed around photos of children and grandchildren. I was the only one at the table who didn't have either. Even Sally Kipman had a grown daughter and one young grandson. I showed a photo of Greg and one of Seamus, my ill-tempered, antisocial, champagne-colored cat.