Crimson and Clover (4 page)

“Alabama. That’s in the south, so I’m used to the heat. Aha!” She held up two Cokes. “I’m afraid they’re warm, though.”

“That’s all right. Anything remotely wet would taste divine right now.” Maureen took the bottle Katie opened and took a seat in one of the white kitchen chairs, watching with interest as Katie unpacked the results of her afternoon’s shopping, including a plate, cup and flatware, curtains, and bedding. When she pulled a red can of Folger’s from one of the bags, Maureen leaned forward. “And what’s that, then?”

“Coffee,” Katie breathed. “Real coffee. I’ve been subsisting on that vile instant stuff since I got here, so I made sure to hunt down the real deal as soon as I could.”

“I’ve only had coffee my granny makes, and hers is instant. Is there a difference?” Maureen eyed the red can with the skepticism of a racetrack agent looking at a phony twenty.

“Huge,” Katie said fervently. “Like the difference between The Supremes and Janis Joplin.”

Maureen laughed. “That is huge. One day when it’s not so hot I’ll come have a cuppa with you.”

“Mi coffee es su coffee.” Katie grinned.

“I must say, you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Maureen took a swig from the bottle, her gaze still roaming Katie’s face. “I love that shade of jade green.”

“Wow, thanks.” Katie felt her ears grow hot. “They’re just like my dad’s were.”

“Were?” Maureen pounced on the word. “What happened?”

“He died. He had a heart attack.” Katie ran her finger around the rim of her Coke bottle. “The day after Christmas.”

“Oh, Katie. I’m sorry.” Maureen’s soft pink lips turned down in a sympathetic frown. “Where’s your mum, then?”

Katie shook her head. “She died when I was eight.”

“Wow. So, how old are you now?” Maureen held up her hand. “Stop me if I’m being a nosy parker.”

“You’re fine.” Katie laughed. “I’m eighteen. How ’bout you?”

“Nineteen.” Maureen took a hank of Katie’s long dark hair between two fingers and rubbed. “Did your dad give you this gorgeous hair, too?”

“No, that’s from my mother.”

“I’m so envious,” Maureen sighed. “Look how long it is; down to your hips! I wish I hadn’t cut mine.”

“I love your hair,” Katie protested. “It’s so mod and happening. I wish I had the courage to do something like that with mine.”

“Don’t you dare! I will personally have you committed if you try such a thing. Yours is lovely and suits you perfectly.” Maureen smiled and lounged back as if the chair she sat in was a velvet-covered chaise and not a plain wooden one that came as a set with the table. “So, has Adam said anything to you about when Jay’s coming back?”

“Jay Carey?” Katie abandoned her purchases and sat down with a set of sheets in her hand, her interest piqued. “No, why?”

“Well, I’ve heard they’re looking to ask Nicky Majors to join their new band, and I really want to meet that bloke.” Maureen closed her eyes and shivered. “He’s so beautiful.”

“Wait; their new band?” Katie felt a wave of irritation at Adam’s stubborn determination to avoid all mention of Jay Carey. “Adam didn’t tell me he’s starting a band with Jay.”

“Oh, yeah! It’s all over the streets.” Maureen leaned forward and lowered her voice as if she was imparting sensitive government secrets. “Seems Jay’s fed up with Marty Harrison and Keith Powell, and is keen to start a new band with Adam as lead singer. Adam’s mate, Stuart, is going to be in it, too. And like I said, I hear they want Nicky Majors to play bass, and George Richards from Hot Pink Elephant to be their drummer. Is that not far out?”

Though Katie had never heard of Nicky or George, the news was still exciting. “So Jay’s breaking up Wonderkind. Man, that takes some balls. They’re about the hottest thing out there right now. What did you mean when you asked when is Jay coming back? Back from where?”

“From the States.” Maureen raised the bottle to her lips and took a quick drink. “Wonderkind’s on tour, but I’d have thought it would be over by now.”

“That figures. I finally move to England and my favorite band is touring America. Wow.” Katie digested this news before turning a speculative eye on Maureen. “Do you know Jay?”

“I’ve met him a time or two when he came round to Adam and Stuart’s. Why?”

“It’s just that I’d really love to meet him. I think he’s incredible.”

“Oho!” Maureen grinned. “I’m sure you could get Adam to introduce you.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Katie sighed, knowing that was the last thing Adam would ever do. “See, Adam and I have … well, we’ve gotten it on a couple of times and now he seems to think he owns me.”

“Yeah.” Maureen grimaced in sympathy. “He tends to do that.”

“Really?” Katie pursed her lips and considered the new information. “I’m glad to know it’s not just me, then. I was afraid I was putting out the wrong vibes. But anyway, I made the mistake of telling him I really dig Jay Carey, and now he gets uptight even when I play Jay’s music.”

“So you’re not Adam’s girl?”

“No!” Katie shook her head. “I’ve only been here … My God, has it only been a week? That’s hardly enough time to get over jetlag, much less get into a heavy scene with anyone.”

Maureen’s eyes lit up. “Okay, here’s the plan, then. I’ll introduce you to Jay. If you hit it off, then you’re sure to meet Nicky. Then you introduce him to me.” A devilish grin made her dimples dance, giving her the appearance of an angel contemplating a serious indiscretion. “Is it a deal?”

Katie grinned back and stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

With the care of one handling dangerous explosives, Katie bent over the fabric in her lap and concentrated on taking small, even stitches the way Maureen had shown her.

“Am I doing this right?”

Maureen stopped in the act of poking a strand of black thread through the eye of a needle and leaned forward to check Katie’s progress. “Perfect. Stop worrying, Katie; you’re doing fine.”

“I just don’t want to mess it up. You know I’ve never sewn anything before. Ouch!” A tiny drop of blood blossomed on her forefinger where the needle had punctured the skin. She put the injured digit in her mouth and narrowed her eyes at Maureen.

“Don’t you dare get blood on that beige satin,” Maureen warned with a complete lack of concern over the wound. “It probably won’t show, but we don’t want to take any chances as short as this dress is going to be. I swear, Katie, it’ll barely clear your arse.”

Katie examined her finger, but saw no blood. “I know, but that’s how short I want it.” With a sigh, she resumed stitching. “Can’t we just hem this on your sewing machine?”

“I’ve already told you we can’t.” Maureen picked up the mass of black lace in her lap and started attaching a long, belled sleeve. “Look, if you’re going to design groovy clothes like this dress, you have to know how to construct them.”

“I don’t know if ‘design’ is the right word,” Katie hedged. “I just saw the material and knew what I wanted made out of it. You’re the one who sketched it out and made the pattern.”

“Mechanics.” Maureen shrugged. “The idea was yours. And I must say I wish I’d thought of it first. That beige satin under this black overlay? Genius. When you wear it you’ll look like you’re starkers under the lace. People are going to flip out when they see you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t sell yourself short. I’m pretty sure people flip out over your clothes all the time.” Katie glanced around Maureen’s second bedroom that served as a sewing room. The beautiful clothes Maureen had designed and made crowded the room along with bolts of fabric, spools of thread, and the long table upon which the sewing machine resided. “I don’t know how you come up with the ideas for all of this.”

“I just get it in my head, like you did with this dress. Once I do, I have to sew them to make sure they look good. Then I sell them.”

Katie watched Maureen’s nimble fingers work the lace. “It can’t be as easy as you’re making it out to be. I mean, that lace must be a bitch to work with.”

Maureen grinned without taking her eyes off her work. “Some fabrics are easier than others, true. But the hardest ones usually turn out the most far-out clothes.” She glanced up and narrowed her eyes at Katie’s motionless hands. “Now get back to work. If you want to wear this dress at your housewarming, that lining’s got to be hemmed.”

“I know. I just hope I don’t screw it up too badly.” She plied the needle to the fabric with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “About this housewarming; what kinds of drinks and things should I get?”

“Don’t get too fancy,” Maureen advised. “Stick to things that come in a bottle.”

“Budweiser for Stuart,” Katie interjected with a snicker.

“If you can find it.” Maureen laughed under her breath. “He’s been here long enough to know better, but he just won’t give up trying to find American beer.”

“Oh, I’ll find some. Or I’ll serve him some iced tea.”

“Cor love a duck.” Maureen shuddered. “The two of you are beyond disgusting drinking that swill.”

Katie giggled, having gotten the reaction she wanted. She and Adam’s flatmate had formed an instant bond and delighted in perplexing their British friends with frequent Americanisms. Despite Stuart Brady’s unfortunate passion for the New York Yankees — a mortal sin in Katie’s opinion — the two of them fell into a friendship as deep as if they’d known each other from birth. Katie had always wanted a brother, and was delighted to have Stuart fill that position.

“Okay, then,” Katie relented. “Iced tea aside, how much stuff should I get? And don’t we need something to eat?”

“I wouldn’t get more than crisps and maybe some biscuits,” Maureen recommended. “Don’t spend all your money, though, because I’ve spread the word that it’s a bring-your-own type of thing.”

“I don’t mind.” Katie felt her cheeks grow warm. “I have enough bread to get enough.”

“I mean it, Katie. You don’t have a job and I don’t want you spending all your savings on this.” Maureen put down the dress and leaned forward. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but do you want me to help you find something? I’ve heard Finches is looking for a barmaid.”

Though she’d gotten similar offers of help with employment from Adam and Stuart, she’d never taken them up on it. Maureen was another matter. Katie didn’t want to explain her financial situation to anyone, but she knew from their short acquaintance that Maureen wouldn’t let it go.

“I have enough bread. Really.” Hoping that was enough, she glanced up at her friend only to see a determined look that portended a barrage of questions. Better to answer them before they were asked. “Okay, I don’t go around telling people this, but I got a lot of money when my dad died.”

“How much is a lot?” Maureen slipped the question in as Katie paused for breath.

“More than enough.” She kept her eyes on her sewing. “He owned this company called Mackenzie-Scott, Inc. His name was Mackenzie,” she added upon hearing Maureen drawing breath for another question. “I don’t know a lot about it, but I know he started it just after the First World War. I think it started out with manufacturing, but it ended up with a whole lot more, like publishing and imports and stuff.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it ended up big, and he sold it when he turned sixty-five for a whole lot of dough. And since I was his only child, I got it all when he died.” She blew out her breath in a relieved sigh, happy to have the explanation over.

“Wow. What’s that feel like?” Maureen’s voice held only curiosity.

“I don’t know. This may sound terrible, but I usually don’t think about it unless someone asks.” She fixed Maureen with a serious look. “I really don’t want anyone else to know, okay? It kind of freaks people out when they find out about it.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” Maureen frowned over a difficult stitch. “It’s funny, though; you don’t seem like someone with a large amount of money.”

Katie’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “How so?”

Maureen shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just reckoned rich people had really fussy furniture and big cars. But your stuff is comfy, and you take the tube everywhere, and you live here instead of a des res.”

“A what?” Katie asked, distracted by the unfamiliar term.

“Desirable residence,” Maureen clarified. “Like in St. John’s Wood or Mayfair. But here you are in Ladbroke Grove.”

“I just … I feel comfortable here. I was afraid it would be like the Haight, but it’s so much better.”

“Better how? I heard Haight-Ashbury was all full of peace, love and flowers.”

An indelicate snort indicated Katie’s opinion of her former residence. “Ha. That might have been the original intent, but it sure as hell didn’t work out. I mean, the people there are just as uptight and judgmental as the people they say they’re trying to avoid. They go on and on about how the establishment stifles people, but they’ve got their own little establishment going on.”

“Really?” Maureen gave up the pretense of sewing and listened with interest.

“Yeah. If you don’t think like them in things like politics and religion and music and society, then you’re an outcast. It really bummed me out when I realized they don’t really accept anyone, just the ones who agree with them.”

“Is that why you left?” Maureen asked softly. “What happened?”

“Nah, it’s in the past. It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

“You can tell me if you want. You can trust me not to judge you, or to go babbling it around.”

Katie dropped the satin lining in her lap and sighed. She figured if she was going to unburden herself, she might as well go all the way. Too, she did trust Maureen, and it was nice to have someone listen.

“Okay, the thing is, I was pretty much the worst hippie ever. No, I mean it. When I got out there I did all the things I thought I was supposed to do, but I just couldn’t get into it.”

Maureen’s lips quivered with amusement. “Was there an agenda?”

“You know what I mean.” Katie waved aside Maureen’s question. “The whole sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll revolutionary thing. But I hated the drugs except for pot. I can’t stand feeling so out of control. And the revolutionary thing … ” She heaved an annoyed sigh. “Apparently you can’t be a revolutionary if you come from money and aren’t ashamed of it.”

“Ashamed? Why were you supposed to be ashamed?”