Toad in the Hole (6 page)

“That’s the strange part. Our wallets, travelers’ checks, and cash, GG’s rings—none of that was taken.”

“Maybe they got spooked by housekeeping,” GG said.

A squeeze pinched the topside of my elbow.

“What?” I mouthed.

Travis cupped his hands in prayer position then slowly opened them.

GG stubbed her cigarette out in the door handle ashtray and gave us a strained smile.

I knew he was waiting for me to mention the inscription, but I hesitated. Life had a way of presenting options. Some people call them pathways, whereas others refer to certain moments as crossroads. Sitting on the leather seat, buckled in between two of my favorite people, my mind congealed like a lava lamp, bubbling up thoughts that floated in the confines of my head. Sometimes the goop merged with other goop transforming my focus and sparking ideas. Despite being disappointed with Travis for not realizing how much he wanted to be with me as more than a friend, he still ranked on my best-liked, most-interesting human being list.

In a different category, the one that fell under assigned family members, GG was at the top. If she knew about the etching, then there was a lot more to this oyster brooch than my grandmother told me, and chances were I’d be miffed big time. On the other hand, maybe she didn’t know. Maybe no one besides Stone, Travis, and I knew about it. And if that was the case, then it was best to keep my trap shut until I figured out the engravings significance.

“Gee,” Travis said. “That oyster brooch sure attracts attention. Do you think there’s more to it?”

GG tilted her head.

Callahan exited the M4 and a road sign read
Windsor
. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the way he had driven and all the time he’d spent inspecting the mirrors gave me a sense that it would’ve been hard for anyone to follow us here.

Travis was persistent and I resorted to using the old diversionary tactic. “Windsor? As in the castle? We’re not staying with…?” I asked.

“Not this visit,” GG chuckled.

Veering off an artery of a roundabout, Callahan sped down a narrow lane. “It’s just ahead.”

A crescent moon shone on a country lane that twisted around a park-like setting. A flash of gold streaked across the road and Callahan slammed on the brakes.

Stretching his hands to the dashboard, Edmond looked to Callahan who sputtered, “Blimey.”

We all stared as a man in glitzy swim trunks and a bleach blond wig accompanied a girl in red pigtails. The two tottered across the lawn, sloshing beer from their pint glasses.

“Are you sure you made the right turn?” I asked.

Edmond let out a snort and quickly hid it behind a cough.

GG patted Callahan’s shoulders. “Oakley Court is just ahead. Mind the blind corners. The pre-partiers are getting started before the midnight showing.”

Switching on the high beams, Callahan crept along until the driveway dead-ended in front of a Victorian Gothic country house. Moonbeams glistened on ivy that rose to leering stone gargoyles on their lookout stoops. Callahan cut the engine under the portico entrance where a group of loosely-clothed guests, wearing an assortment of lace thigh-highs, garter belts, and bustiers dawdled past the stately castle entrance before turning a corner pathway lined with boxwood topiaries.

Travis rolled his window down all the way. “What kind of hotel is this?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave the safety of the car.

Callahan hopped out and opened GG’s door. Resting her hand on top of the doorframe she stepped back to look at the stone shadows cast on the landscape and dimly-lit lead glass on a first floor conservatory. “It’s been twenty years since I’ve been here.”

“Shall I check us in?” Edmond asked.

“They know we’re coming. Callahan confirmed everything.”

When I stepped outside the air smelled of salty earth. Edmond disappeared up a small flight of stone steps, while Callahan began to pile our luggage on the curbside.

A PTT—Parental Telepathy Transmission—ticked across the Atlantic and I knew this place would not meet my father’s approval. “A castle with gargoyles and people dressed for a burlesque show. Where are we?” I asked.

Quite pleased, GG rattled, “The Oakley Court. It’s passed through a handful of owners, and became most famous for being used as the set of
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
movie.”

“So that was the Creation character in gold shorts?” Travis mused.

GG waved a hand. “I believe so.”

“Are they filming a sequel?” I asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. Our stay coincides with the annual convention. They have a screen out back, and die-hard fans in full costume role-play along with the film. I thought you two would get a kick out of the festivities. We were lucky enough that some guests cancelled their reservations at the last minute and I was able to move our travel plans up a day. Have you seen the movie?” GG asked.

Travis stuttered, “Um, I may have.”

I slid out of the car and worked a kink out of my neck. “Horror’s really not my thing.”

“It’s Sci Fi. After tonight you may change your mind,” GG said.

Having traipsed across miles of London tourist attractions, dodging Ahmed, and navigating the underground, I wasn’t at my best. Inhaling deeply, I tilted my chin up. “The air smells fishy.”

My grandmother slid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “The Oakley Court rests on the bank of the River Thames.”

Returning with room keys, Edmond passed a set to me and another to Travis. Mine said three hundred ten and Travis’s, I noticed, was three hundred twelve.
If my dad were here, he’d have put us in separate buildings.

“If you two are hungry, they’re serving a buffet in the banquet hall,” Edmond said.

“Will you two join us?” I asked.

Edmond’s eyes met GG’s. “We’ll be down for a pint.”

“What about our bags?”

“Callahan will see that they are placed in your rooms.” GG seemed distracted and I guessed the break-in rattled her more than she’d let on. “I have a few phone calls to make. I want to check in with your father, let him know we’ve settled into another hotel.”

GG’s glance caught mine and lingered for a beat. I knew she’d forgo telling Dad that our rooms had been ransacked and whoever did it was probably looking for the brooch. He wasn’t a fan of her having gifted me a fine piece of jewelry crafted by one of the oldest London jewelers. If he knew that our hotel rooms had been broken into, he’d fly over here and personally haul our tushies back home.

Inside the lobby, a mahogany staircase with intricately carved banisters and green floral carpeted steps lay just beyond an alcove with a corner desk concierge and a check-in station. This hotel was more like a house—a big one.

“We’ll set off to Asprey Jewelers tomorrow morning at nine,” GG said before moving off toward our rooms.

I looped my arm into Travis’s. “I’m starved, what about you?”

He scowled and spoke from a corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Moving down an oak-paneled corridor, we passed what could only be a member of the band Kiss, in fishnet stockings and leather. The generous amounts of hair on his chest and back made me think he was of Italian heritage. While I gawked, Travis reached out a hand. “Dr. Frank N. Furter, well done.”

In passing, Frank N. Furter slapped Travis’s back. “Thanks, Mate.”

“You know him?”

“Not personally, just his character. And quit changing the subject.”

“Wait a minute, it was you that changed the subject and for the record, you said you may have seen Rocky Horror. How do you know the characters if you can’t exactly remember seeing the film?”

“And you said you were going to tell GG about the engraving. Why are you being so secretive about it?”

“It’s Callahan. I didn’t feel comfortable saying that the abdicated king may have engraved a love note on the inside of the oyster for Wallis Simpson.”

“Why not?”

“That’s just not the kind of information you go spouting off. It was a big to-do back then. Bigger than Madonna singing
Like a Virgin
down a Venice canal. And since I don’t really know for sure, I just think it’s best to wait until after the appointment at Asprey. Let the experts tell us whether or not a king commissioned the engraving.”

We stepped into a hunter green carpeted dining room. Round tables were fashioned into the corners and a buffet was set in front of floor-to-ceiling glass windows. As far as I could tell, it was adult Halloween outside with a disturbing number of men in European-cut, sparkling spandex swim trunks.

After giving the attendant our room numbers, we helped ourselves to warm plates.

“Avoidance isn’t going to make this one go away!”

I was discovering that Travis could be a nag
.

“I’m not avoiding conflict. I’m just derailing unnecessary drama.”

With a hand on a wooden handle of a stainless steel buffet pan, Travis read a card, “Bangers.”

“And mash,” I read from the neighboring serving pan.

Filling his plate, Travis stopped pestering and dropped the inquisition. I’d have to remember that food quieted his grumbly mood. A handsome escort, hot meal, warm beer, and watching scantily-clad characters playing along with a movie didn’t seem such a bad way to spend the night.

NOTE TO SELF

Oyster brooch is officially on my nerves. It’s putting a wedge between Travis and me. Won’t be shocked or disappointed if the “Walzy” inscription is a bunch of nothing.

Travis’s dimples are swoon-worthy.

M
idnight
V
iewing

T
he rain had stopped and the storm clouds scattered. Sweet smoke that wasn’t tobacco wafted above my head, and a light harmony of cricket chirping hummed between movie lines. Slouched in a blue and white striped folding deck chair, I untied the tennis shoes I’d snatched out of a suitcase, and rested my red-leather stained bare feet in the soggy grass blades. I’d trashed one pair of shoes today, and was damned if I was going to ruin another cute pair.

In the car ride when Travis said he “May have seen”
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
, he’d been bullshitting. I watched him mouth the words, “I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey.” He’d been lip-syncing from the moment we sat down. The man had every line memorized.

“Some things in life: wine, cheese, classic movies, get better with age,” he said.

I wasn’t captured by the story the first and only time I saw it back in high school. Ten minutes in, I realized I didn’t like it any better the second time around. The only thing the film had going for it this time was the setting around me: a towering castle on the bank of the River Thames with a dock and a handful of boats that bobbed under streaks of moonlight.

Curly red wig hair cascaded down the back of girl in front of me. My knee clunked into Travis’s. “Who’s she supposed to be?”

His eyes never left the billboard-size screen. “Magenta, she’s from Planet Transsexual.”

Magenta–the girl seated in front of me, not on the screen–curled her serpent tongue into the mouth of a guy wearing a tool belt. With a tilt of her head, she winked at Travis. “What is she making-out with?” I asked.

“That’s Riff-Raff, her brother.”

“Eugh,” I said, louder than I meant.

Breaking from the lip lock, Magenta poked her face between chair backs. A cloud of fermented beer puffed from her mouth to my face as she slurred. “Give yourself over to absolute pleasure. Swim the warm waters of the sins of the flesh—erotic nightmares beyond any measure, and sensual daydreams to treasure forever,” then made a weak attempt to throw her half pint toward my face.

There were two things going for me. One, the Magenta-wannabe was directionally challenged and she hooked her arm. Two, I have more than average experience with drunken types and reflexively rolled off the low slung chair, away from her.

“Damn, Girl,” Travis shouted when he noticed my knees resting around my neck.

A big girl in brunette ponytails I hadn’t noticed before sat a few feet away from me, and the wayward beer meant for me splattered her lap. At least I thought it was a “her” until I spied generous clumps of Magnum P.I. chest hair below a beard shadow and heard him shout a deep, “Bollocks.”

Reality bit. A romantic night with Travis was not going to happen, and in this crowd, losing him to a cross-dresser seemed highly probable. And that was something my ego might not survive.

The crowd gave a loud scream.

Travis helped me back into my chair.

“What’s going on?” I asked, feigning interest in the flick.

Magenta kept glancing back at me.

“Dr. Frank N. Furter just killed Eddie,” he said.

I wasn’t buzzed and realized there was not an adequate amount of intoxication that would lead me on a path to find this riveting. A delayed row between the pint-thrower and pint-catcher began to ensue. It started slowly with one-word insults then began to escalate. Rolling to my knees, I slid my hands into my shoes and started to crawl out of the intoxicated crowd until a hand grabbed my ankle. “Rachael, where are you going?”

“For a cigarette.”

“You can smoke here.”

“It’ll taste better by the river,” I said, and tugged my foot from his grasp. Scurrying to my feet, I told myself I was overtired and probably had had too much together time with Travis.

Away from the glare of the big screen, there was a gravel path next to the Thames riverbank and a few benches framed the ground where lawn met gravel. Unfortunately each one I passed was occupied and I glimpsed naked contortions that had to be painful when executed on a park bench. Focusing on the river, I tapped a Pall Mall and matches from my jacket pocket.

Maybe inviting Travis on this trip was a dufus move. I mean, what did I think, that spending weeks traipsing through England would bring us together? The perked up.
Yeah Rachael, that’s exactly what you thought.
Travis was Travis. Cute, funny, he did have a fixation on bones and burials, but ignoring that, I liked being around him.