Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 1 - Combust the Sun (8 page)

In
thirty minutes I was wearing a designer tux-suit and an excruciatingly painful
pair of spike heels, obviously created by an Italian gay guy who could have
found comfort in a straitjacket.

"So
how do I look, Elmo?" He let out a long appreciative sigh and flopped onto
the floor. "Well, thanks, but then you're prejudiced." I stroked his
soft head.

It
was only a five-minute ride to the club where a huge banner hung over the
entrance announcing Lu and Ben, Lovers for 42 Years! Mother whispered,
"Couldn't they have just said married for forty-two years? That's bad
enough."

Inside,
beyond the cavernous entry hall and south to the ballroom, Aunt Jen, the
tallest person in our family, billowed toward me in a bright pink flowered
dress made of so much fabric, Christo could have used it to wrap an island.
"Happy anniversary, Ben and Lu," she gushed.

"Teeeeeeeeee!"
She grabbed me with her beefy arms and yanked my head into her gargantuan pink
bosom, burying me in a veritable sea of bad perfume. Her breasts chafed my
cheeks as I struggled to free myself, and the giant pink helium balloons
overhead squeaked up against one another in accompaniment.
Aunt Jen is
simply too large to be straight,
I thought.

Straight
ahead was the buffet line the length of a landing field that was nearly
collapsing under the weight of roast beef and fresh shrimp.

"A
live band!" I exclaimed.

"Semi-live,"
Aunt Jen quipped. "Most of them can barely move, much less play." A
gray tidal wave, arms outstretched, rolled toward Mom and Dad to hug them and
then tottered out onto the parquet dance floor, taking advantage of their arm
position and their own forward motion.

I
stood back to avoid being squashed and to savor this moment, looking at my
parents. They'd made it through the death of my brother, through my dad's
drinking, through Mom's brief flirtation with another man, through a
five-hundred-year flood, a bankruptcy, my dad's heart attacks, and damned near
everything else that could happen to two people in forty-two years, and they
were still here, their arms around one another.

A
hand touched my arm and I turned to find Callie standing beside me.
Of
course, she'd be invited to the party,
I thought.

"Very
sweet, aren't they?" she said, and I loved the tenderness in her voice.

She
looked exquisite in her cream silk pants and high heels and the little jeweled
Eisenhower jacket, her hair gorgeous, her makeup perfect, and that air of
purity and kindness that emanated from her. Suddenly, I wanted to spend the
next forty-two years with her.

As
my mind registered that thought, I felt an electrical charge go through me as
if I were trying to shock myself into reality.

What
in hell am I thinking! Well, it's obvious. I'm vulnerable because I haven't
been in a relationship for a while, and now I'm watching my parents grow old,
and I'm thinking I should settle down, and that's exactly how people end up
with the wrong mate. By acting like chimps in heat!

"I'm
sorry about this afternoon," I
said.

"What
happened to your hand?" She reached for my bruised palm and I felt my
knees buckling from the pure pleasure of her touch and my body turning into a
chimp.

"I
hit the guy who was following me. You know, I could use some help with the
desserts," I lied and signaled her to follow me through the banquet hall,
into the bar, and deeper into the wine cellar, where I shut the door and pulled
her gently into me and kissed her.

"What
are you doing?" she asked nervously.

I
wasn't the kind of woman who would ever risk being caught in a wine closet at
her parents' anniversary bash, but I was so physically obsessed with Callie
that I had lost all sense of propriety and certainly any fear of being caught.

"Let
me do it again and see if you can figure it out." I kissed her again. The
electrical current between us could have served as the backup generator for New
York City.

"So
you no longer think I'm trying to kill you?"

"Being
without you is killing me." I slid her loose knit top down over her small,
white shoulders and slid my hands up under it, kissing her shoulders and
holding her soft breasts—breasts so soft they were almost sedating. The world
slowed. I floated in some ether state, adrift in a wet sea of my own imagining.

The
door rattled. I jumped back, and Callie snapped her shirt up over her shoulders
as the bartender entered. "Hello," he said, amused.

"My
parents' anniversary, and we were looking for something really special..."

"Looks
to me like you found it," he said, eyeing Callie.

"Maybe
an Ice wine, 1997 Reserve, by any chance?" I tried to maintain a shred of
decency.

"No,"
he said as we exited.

Giggling
like two teenagers, we made our way back to the ballroom, where across the sea
of revelers, Ely Mason, a silver-haired oilman who had to be at least
eighty-five, was tapping the microphone and preparing a toast. "Is this
thing on?"

"I
think I should drive back to L.A. with you." Callie leaned into me and
spoke softly. "Looking at your progressed chart and your transits, it
would be a good idea to have a traveling companion if you're going
cross-country during this planetary phase. Your mother agrees with me."

Drive
back to L.A. with me. What does that mean? She would drive back with me and
then fly home? Or drive back with me and be a houseguest? Or drive back with me
and live with me?
I got more nervous
as I thought about the old joke: What do lesbians take on a second date? A
U-haul!

"What
do you think?" Callie interrupted my thinking.

"I
think I'll be safer...if I don't have to worry about your safety and I can just
take care of myself," I said. "And why are you consulting my mother
about me?"

"She's
my friend, and we both care about you."

Ely's
voice blared across the room. Tap, tap, tap. He slapped the mike as if he'd
just delivered it and he was trying to get it to breathe. "Can you hear
me?" Suddenly the mike let out a long, high-pitched electronic squeal.

Callie
took my hand, without regard to who might see us, and for the first time in my
life, I didn't mind if someone saw me holding hands with a woman.

"I
think you need me," she said.

"I
definitely need you," I replied.

"As
a traveling companion." Her voice held a smile.

"Callie,
I'm being tracked by very dangerous people. You are a huge distraction, and
lack of focus could get us both killed. I won't risk your life. When this is
over, I would love to—"

"Have
a safe trip." She pivoted and walked away. Her leaving left the room dark,
as if someone had turned off all the klieg lights. For me, the party was over.
I remembered my dad saying something once about little women being dynamite in
small packages.
Note to self: Callie Rivers has a very short fuse. No wonder
she lives alone. This is one difficult woman.

Before
going to bed, I rang Cedars to inquire about Barrett. The nurse on duty said
she was improving, so I went to sleep feeling better on at least one front.

Several
hours later, I was dreaming that I was about to be shot when the phone rang
beside my bed, frightening me and leaving me gasping for air. I picked up the
receiver, still panting. The phone went dead. I looked at the clock. It was
three in the morning. Callie was the only person I knew who kept late hours, so
I dialed her number, asking if she'd just phoned me.

"I
thought we'd said our goodbyes." Her voice was seductive. "No, I
didn't phone you," she said, and hung up in that abrupt way she had of
ending conversations.

I
rang Callie back, exasperated over my own lack of resolve when it came to this
woman. "We leave for L.A. Friday at eight a.m. There's room for one
suitcase. I am not real cheery in the mornings, and I hope you like a steady
diet of swirling dog hair."

"I'm
already packed. Good night." She hung up on me. I was going to have to
talk to her about that. People should mutually agree the conversation is over.
I flopped back on the bed, jostling Elmo, who was resting on the foot of it.

"I
know I should have checked with you first, Elmo. I don't know what got into
me," I admitted apologetically. "Something about her gets me. She's
sort of unpredictable and wild, and she looks fabulous and she smells great.
Same reasons you pick a girl." Elmo let out a loud sigh of annoyance, and
we both settled down to try to get some sleep.

If I
were to mark an event that changed my life, I would have to highlight this one
in Day-Glo yellow. I had just agreed to drive fourteen hundred miles with a
cranky basset, a crazy psychic, and several guys who were trying to kill me.

I busied
myself with the Jeep, masking my sadness over leaving by feigning concern over
tire pressure and battery fluid levels, only giving my parents a quick kiss at
the last moment as I hurriedly backed out of the driveway. Mom smiled broadly
and waved energetically as if to assure me she'd always be standing on that
porch for me. Dad seemed less certain.

In
the rearview mirror, I could see Mom walking back inside the house, but my
dad's lone figure stood in the front yard, waiting until I was completely out
of sight. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

I
reached Riverside Drive and Callie's condo, where she was patiently waiting out
in front of the gleaming twenty-story building wearing white Reeboks, a white
T-shirt, a tiny pair of blue jeans, and a big smile. The radio was playing and
a country singer was admitting that she knows what crazy means—seeing her guy
in a pair of jeans. I could relate. I was blown away and insane over the way
Callie Rivers looked in her jeans. I was just short of howling like Elmo. I was
going to be in a car for two days with this woman, and it made my heart race like
a NASCAR engine.
I
may be in danger of some sort of sexual blowout,
I
thought.

She
glanced down at my tennis shoes, so beaten up that the brand name was
indiscernible, and said, "I want to buy you some cute tennis shoes,
Teague," and I knew that all my casual clothes were in danger of debuting
at Goodwill.

I
caught sight of her three metallic silver suitcases lined up on the curb. I
reminded her that we'd agreed on one suitcase.

"We
didn't agree. You informed me that one was all I was allowed. I'm very high
maintenance, Teague."

"You're
right." I shrugged. "How could anyone possibly look like you look,
out of one suitcase?" I began shifting everything around inside the Jeep,
scrunching Elmo up to steal a few more feet. The third suitcase had to be
bungee-corded to the roof rack. I was panting when it was all over. Callie took
this time to introduce herself to Elmo.

"He's
huge and he's so beautiful!" she said, stroking his long white frame with
its big black and tan spots. Elmo happily banged his tail against the back
door. Callie disappeared around the car to locate her makeup mirror, giving me
time to talk to Elmo, who was making tight circles and fretting over his loss
of personal space.

"Be
nice to her, she's from another planet," I told him.

Callie
returned with a box of chocolate doughnuts and a thermos of coffee, climbed
into the passenger seat, and said she thought this might cheer me up.

"They're
homemade," she said. "I made them last night."

I
was happily amazed. I didn't know anyone who knew how to make doughnuts, much
less chocolate doughnuts, which happened to be my favorites. I bit into one. It
was without a doubt the best doughnut I'd ever eaten. The coffee she poured me
was black and strong, just like I liked it. I was beginning to relax and told
her that taking her on as a traveling companion was proving to be an excellent
decision on my part. I was glad I'd thought of it.

"You're
a woman of great insight," she said sweetly. I checked her eyes for
sarcasm. Callie Rivers had apparently had a sarcasm bypass. How could that be?
No one could live on this planet and not use sarcasm to defuse life's basic
asininities.
How will we ever communicate?
As if in response, she handed
me a second doughnut, and I ate it immediately, giving Elmo the last bite.

"Chocolate's
bad for dogs," Callie said.

"It's
okay. Elmo's not a dog." I grinned, and Elmo nodded on cue, making Callie
laugh.

"Sorry,
Elmo." Callie patted him. "Case of mistaken identity."

"So
do you have clients who'll miss you while you're gone?" I asked.

"A
few," she replied enigmatically.

"And
you live entirely alone.. .no pets, no lover?"

"I'm
able to live with my choices. I just remind myself that we experience greater
growth through wrong choices than through right ones, and if the wrong choices
help us grow, then how can they really be wrong?"