Venus Envy (11 page)

“Yeah, I’ve got that part.” Frazier smiled at her energetic aunt. “Gee, I’m glad to see you. Mom’s being radioactive. Big surprise. She didn’t show Dad the letter I sent him and she’s getting hysterical about me talking to him about … The Subject.”

“I can well imagine what the gracious and socially correct Elizabeth Redington is doing. Your mother and I took one look at each other forty years ago, and what can I say? Hate at first sight. Except hate’s too strong a word. Antipathy. I wouldn’t pay her no more mind than a goat barking.”

“It’s so quiet. Have you noticed? All I hear is our breathing and the crunch, crunch underfoot.” Frazier
looked around as if to remember every detail of this day, of this walk. “Ru, what am I going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you upset with me?” Frazier’s heart fluttered.

“Me? I should hope to holler. No.” She scooped up a big handful of snow and packed it into a ball. Up ahead loomed a stone wall and Ruru threw and hit it. “I just want you to be happy. I don’t much care how or with whom, and I suppose I can become accustomed to a woman in your life if it’s the right woman. I can’t see that it’s such a big deal.”

“Don’t hold your breath. There isn’t going to be any right woman.”

“Don’t get tragic.” Ruru punched Frazier. “Love has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it. Anyway, that’s not the issue right now. The issue is what’s Libby up to and if you can endure the social fallout without sending someone to the dentist. You’ve been hanging around with the wrong crowd anyway. This is a perfect chance to ditch them.”

“You never said anything before.”

“Why? It was none of my business. I hope they bought paintings from you.”

“Some did. Most were tight as ticks unless they were buying cocaine.”

“Fast crowd. Hope you—”

“I’m not the type.”

“No, guess not.”

The red schoolhouse came into view. With its long windows reflecting the light, the table and chairs outside were transformed into shapes out of dreams.

“I think I would have been happier going to a school like this than St. Luke’s,” Frazier commented as they climbed the huge stone steps. They peeked in the windows. The old-fashioned desks with wrought iron on
the sides sat neatly in rows. A gigantic black potbellied stove commanded the middle of the room, and the blackboards—real blackboards, not green—covered the east wall. Drawings were displayed above the blackboards.

“Your Uncle Paul used to say that the curse of being rich was that you had to live with rich people.”

“Do you think Daddy feels that way?”

“Honey, your daddy surrendered so many decades ago he forgot who he is and what he came from.”

“At least he’s not a snob.”

“Just a fish out of water.” Ruru put her hand over her eyes. “Look.” She pointed west. “More snow.”

“You’re right. Let’s head back.”

The first flakes of the new storm fluttered down as Frazier and Ruru stepped into the mud room, stamping their feet.

Ruru made fried-egg sandwiches with pickles, lettuce, and mayonnaise as Frazier bent over a saucepan of mulled wine. They chatted and enjoyed their visit with each other.

After lunch, sitting before the fireplace, Curry in Ruru’s lap and Basil in Frazier’s, they laughed about Yancey Weems’s fear of being sued.

“Did a brush with death sweeten life?” Ruru asked. The firelight softened the wrinkles in her face, making her appear years younger than she was.

“Uh—yes. But you know, the strangest things rivet you. I kept thinking how beautiful the paper was that I was using, and how balanced the pen. Every object appeared larger to me somehow. Mostly I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. There’s so much I want to do and see. And I want to play. Really play.”

“You’ve kept your nose to the grindstone, that’s a fact.
I suspect those balls and social extravaganzas didn’t qualify as play.”

“Harder work than running the gallery. You know, though”—Frazier leaned toward Ru—“I wish I didn’t know I could die. I wish none of us knew that. What it really does is make you a victim, a mark for any phony promising an afterlife. If we didn’t know we could die I think we’d enjoy the moment we were in a hell of a lot more. Believe in Me and thou shalt have everlasting life. Of course, people want to believe that. The fear of dying is a whip, a goad, a lash, and oh, how the preachers and pastors and priests and holy toads have used it. I want to live, Auntie Ruru, like I never wanted to live before and I sure as shit don’t want to die. I don’t even want to think about it but I do anyway.”

Ruru stroked the dog, then spoke. “I never thought of it that way. I was grateful for my faith when Paul died. Not that I imagine him cavorting in clouds, wings on his back and a harp in his hands. Paul with a harp! He was tone deaf.” She laughed. “But faith—not the church, mind you, but faith. I drew sustenance.”

“What if it’s not true? What if there isn’t a God or heaven? What if Jesus wasn’t a savior but a Jewish rabbi?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Huh?”

“What matters is that we live with some decency and respect for one another. You don’t have to believe a thing but you can’t get in the way of my believing.”

“Right.”

“Then don’t trouble yourself. The Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? I hate it when you get cryptic.”

“It only means that one must suffer, lose faith, bump into walls, whatever. Your faith will come. It’s not
rational. It comes from the heart, and dogma is irrelevant. What church you attend doesn’t mean diddleysquat. It’s what you feel, and if you feel it, you have everything.”

“This is too mystical for me. And I’m not making fun.” Frazier meant that.

“I know.”

Frazier, a devilish twinkle in her eye, said, “What makes you so smart?”

“These wrinkles. No other way, kid, no other way.”

“Well, any other philosophic gem you’d like to bestow upon me as I begin my journey?”

“Yes. Seriousness is the refuge of the shallow.”

With that they both laughed and returned to delicious gossip.

B
Y MONDAY THE MAIN AND SECONDARY ROADS WERE PLOWED
, and the weather, so typical for March, blossomed into a gorgeous fifty-degree day. The sound of running water gurgled through downspouts, culverts, and street grates.

Outside the large plate-glass window at Terese Collier’s beauty salon, A Cut Above, unopened daffodils brazenly swayed in the melting snow. If Terese lived in New York or L.A. she could have rolled in the money. She was a wizard with a pair of scissors.

Frazier stopped in early to thank Terese again and get a light trim. The manicurist, Jennifer, a vision in pink, and Malibu, Terese’s young assistant, all cheered at Frazier’s recovery. Jennifer and Malibu were, however, a trifle weird. Malibu looked at Frazier with a searching eye. The manicurist ritually soaked Frazier’s hands in paraffin but the usual snap to the patter was gone. They fell back on that conversational soporific, the weather.

After her fingernails gleamed to perfection, Frazier relaxed in the barber’s chair. She made a mental note to find one and put it in her library. Auction season would begin in six weeks and if one was patient, bargains could be found. Even if a person paid the full price for pie safes, cobbler’s benches, old harnesses and tools, it was worth it to be part of the auction excitement.

The snip of the scissors lulled Frazier. A thought popped into her head. “Terese, has Ann come in?”

“She came in to cancel on Saturday.”

Frazier knew they knew. That reply scratched Ann off the list of suspects. “When was Mother in?” Not that Libby would have breathed a word.

“Mizz Armstrong had the works, uh, Wednesday, I believe. Looked good too. Then Thursday morning before the storm kicked up bad, Malibu gave Laura a facial. She had mud on her face, oowee.” Terese shook her head. “Ready to kill Carter.”

“So what else is new?” Frazier was getting the picture.

“Out most of the night before. He said he was at Buddy’s and the snow started and he couldn’t get home. Except that it wasn’t that bad and he drives that four-wheel-drive truck. She’s hopping. You know how she gets.”

“Do I ever. If she’s miserable she’s going to make sure the rest of us are miserable too.” Well, Laura had certainly found the way to stick it to Frazier.

“Don’t see why she don’t divorce that man, even if he is your brother.”

“I wouldn’t want to be married to him.”

Malibu smirked. “Laura says you wouldn’t want to be married to anybody.”

Terese tapped her comb on the counter. “You can shut your mouth, Missy.”

“Well, that’s what she said.”

“Laura can be”—Terese paused—“stressed out.”

“Laura is turning into my mother is what you want to say. Nothing’s ever done on time, nothing’s good enough or thoughtful enough. She didn’t used to be that way. You know, it’s not just Carter who has his flaws. If I were married to Laura, I’d stay away from home too. She hangs out with Mother all the time. They do Garden Club and Bridge Club and Tyson’s Corner for those shopping fits. They’re like twins. Mother tells me day in and day out how lucky Carter is and how Laura is like her own daughter—which means, of course, that her own daughter is a disappointment.”

“Least she doesn’t drink.” Terese measured Frazier’s ends against a ruler, ever the perfectionist. “Mine gets mean as snakeshit when she drinks. Sent Daddy to E.R. once. Brained him with a number seven iron skillet and we thought he was gone.”

“You’re right there. Libby prefers the death of a thousand cuts.”

“How’s that?” Terese asked as Malibu edged closer.

“In China a criminal would be laid out so all the villagers and peasants could walk by and cut his body, a slice here and a slice there. A person could live in agony for days until he finally died.”

“Frazier, do you think your momma is that mean?” Malibu adored dirt.

“Not every day. She has to be truly inspired for the death of a thousand cuts.” Frazier kept her head still while Terese clicked the scissors.

“That stay in the hospital must have done something to you,” Malibu observed. “I don’t remember you ever being so … uh, forthright.”

“Exactly.” Frazier proved Malibu’s point. “Now what do you want to say to me about getting married, Malibu? I’d hate for you to get your knickers in a twist because
you don’t know something or because you think you do.”

“Uh, well.” Malibu faltered.

“It’s none of your business, Missy, and why you listen to what Laura Armstrong tells you, or half the sniping, unhappy broads that come in here, is beyond me.” Terese let fly. “Go on in the back and mix up some shampoo. Frazier needs peace and quiet after what she’s been through.”

Malibu, stung, flounced out.

“Now she’ll take it out on you.”

“And she can find herself a new job if she does. Every day I get men and women knocking on my door, begging for work.”

Frazier’s face clouded over. “So do I, Terese. I hate to turn them away.”

“Sleeping down on the Mall now and in the winter, too, and Frazier, it’s not just the drunks anymore. I thought big cities had these problems, not us.”

“And Congress will raise taxes again and further drive down the productive people. I hate every lying scumbag by the Potomac.” Frazier paused. “I’m not a very political person but it’s gotten so bad these last couple of years that even I notice and I’m … mad. Really mad.”

“Amen, sister. Do you know—of course you do—I spend three days each month trying to keep up with the paperwork, the worker’s comp, the withholding, the payroll taxes, and I can’t hire a bookkeeper to do it. I simply can’t afford that and truthfully, I can’t afford the time. Change is gonna come. Uh-huh.”

“Will it be in time, though?”

“Yes.” Terese’s voice was firm. “You can jerk around the American people for years, decades maybe, but sooner or later people do wake up and when they do, watch out, baby, ’cause heads’re gonna roll.”

Frazier whispered, “Terese, speaking of heads rolling,
Laura shot off her mouth and said I was gay, didn’t she?”

Terese’s hand paused over Frazier’s golden head. “Why would I listen to anything that comes out of that bitch’s mouth?”

“Better fasten my seat belt.”

“Nobody’s going to believe her. Don’t give it a second thought.”

“Except that it’s true.” Frazier broke into a cold sweat and she hated herself for being afraid.

“No lie?” Terese was curious, not judgmental.

“No lie. I haven’t done much about it. I mean, I’m not running the girls.”

“You know my Uncle Jake was that way. Sweet man. Honey, I don’t care.”

“So far you and my Auntie Ruru are the only ones who don’t and if Laura’s out flapping her gums it will be to Richmond and back before the weekend. Actually, Mandy doesn’t give a fig, either.”

“You’re gonna find out who your friends are,” Terese flatly stated.

“I appreciate you having this conversation with me.”

“Know what I think?” Terese closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “I think the guilty dog barks first. Laura knows better. First off, if it gets back to Libby that she’s telling tales, there goes that beautiful friendship.”

Frazier interrupted. “Laura will pin the blame on someone else, or other people. Mother will believe her. Mother believes everything that comes out of Laura’s Elizabeth Arden hot-pink mouth.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you put this in your pipe and smoke it: what does Laura have to gain? Wouldn’t it be wiser to be quiet?”

“She’s jealous. Always has been.”

“I know, I know, but still, the guilty dog barks first.”

“Terese, what do you know that I don’t?”

“Nothing, but I know people.”

By the time Frazier reached work she was ready to kill Laura, but that would have been too easy. The first thing she did was pick up the phone and order an expensive pool table from Richmond. Mandy couldn’t believe Frazier was doing that but she thought it was pretty funny. Frazier had said she always wanted a pool table but would never get one because she thought that’s what dykes did—hang around bars and shoot pool. So what. She wanted one. Then she told Mandy what Terese had said, that Malibu was a turd, and how furious she was.