Scandal (13 page)

Len was fingering a dark blue cotton with a random pattern of all-over sports equipment:
footballs, baseballs, basketballs.

"Is that what you're looking for?"

"Almost, but not quite." He moved down the aisle to lightweight corduroy of autumn
orange, with a repeat pattern of a football sailing between goal posts. "Ah, this is it. Bright enough
for him to not lose it in the Laundromat. If he ever washes it." He took the bolt to the counter and
said to the clerk, "May I leave this here until I'm done looking?"

The clerk, as too many women seemed to do, responded as if he'd personally offered her
something. "Certainly. No trouble at all. I'll make a special pile here." She smiled at him. "That your
'Bird out there?"

"Sure is."

"1967?"

"You know your 'Birds."

"The doors tipped me off. My dad had a Thunderbird, a '57, red. Red outside and red and
white inside. A convertible with short fins and porthole windows. The hardtop came off. Just two
doors so we kids didn't often get to ride in it. He and Mom would whiz away in that thing. You buy it
new?" She looked to be about thirty and it was clear that she wasn't flirting with him but with his
car.

His lips closed in annoyance before he said, "Almost. That okay with you?"

"Sure, just meant you've taken real good care of it." She smoothed his feathers with another
smile. "She doesn't look like she's had a bunch of owners."

She came from behind the counter and went over to Magda and Sam, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a beach pattern. To back a quilt we're working on. Hey, Annie. Come see
what's here."

I pulled myself away from Oriental prints with cranes on them.

"Magda, I had no idea. This is like a gallery."

"Don't get hung up there. You need to concentrate. Those Orientals are beautiful but won't
work with what you're doing. See this sandy design with little shells in it?"

I was near dizzy with the patterns and designs on the fabric bolts all over the store.
"Magda, this could make me crazy."

"Focus here. Imagine it flipped back against the front. Will it complement? Clash? Not go at
all? I don't know what you want. I can just give you my advice. And then you won't know if it really
works until it's done."

I agreed with the sand and shells. She put it on the counter, next to Len's bolt.

"Now, I think that you're rather scarce on tools. Is that right?"

"Tools? For sewing? I have scissors and thread. What else do I need?"

"What kind of scissors?"

"Sewing scissors. They're good ones, inherited from Aunt Sophie with her sewing
stuff."

"We'll get you some rotary scissors. You could borrow mine but you'll be needing them
later."

"Rotary scissors? What in the heck are those?"

She directed me to a rack and selected an oblong case: "These." She handed the case to
me.

"What later?"

"You'll be making other things." The clerk led us over to a table with an assortment of tools.
Magda picked up a packet of long pins with flat, bright yellow heads and threw them in a basket.
Added a saucer-like dish. "Great pin holder. It's magnetic. Keeps your pins from scattering to hell
and gone when the cat jumps in the middle of them."

From a rack she pulled some flat, rectangular, plastic things. "Rulers." They didn't look like
rulers to me--different lengths and widths, see-through green with black markings on them. "You'll
need a couple of these. Ah, mats." She added a hard rubber mat marked with a grid. It looked to be
about thirty inches square.

"Now wait a minute. My aunt didn't need all this to make a quilt."

"You will be glad for each and every one of these things before we're done. Time savers.
Table savers. This mat here is going to serve you in so many ways. You'll wonder how you ever
worked without it."

"I get along."

She moved to the thread rack. "Some Invisible Thread. That's always handy."

I walked over and snatched it out of her hand. "'Invisible Thread'? I think not. This must be
the joke section."

She laughed at me, but then frowned. "Oh, ye of little faith."

"Looks like fishing line to me. Why not just stop at the tackle shop and save some
money?"

Len came over and lifted the spool from my fingers. "Ah, my sweet one, you have much to
learn. Magda's right, these tools will make sewing fun. And the precision you will gain from these
rulers and the mat make it worth your money. The rotary scissors will halve your cutting time." He
picked up the oblong case that I'd put on my pile, and opened it to show me a sharp, round blade
attached to a hard plastic handle. "Be extra careful with these. They're as sharp as an X-Acto knife."
He closed the case and dropped it back in the basket.

Sam came over. "Are we about through here? I could go out and sit in your toy." He gave
Len a look.

The clerk said, "Ready?" She checked out my purchases, then went to attend to the bolts
with Magda. She cut the length Magda asked for. When she picked up Len's bright autumn orange
with footballs, she said, "If you ever want to get rid of that old car out there, I'd take it off your
hands. You could buy something more to your style, racier, like a Mustang."

"You gonna pay me $30,000 for the 'Bird?"

"Naw. Not today. It's fun to see it, though. Reminds me of my younger days. Please stop in
next time you are driving by. We'll see if a bundle of cash has dropped in my lap by then."

I stepped up and took his arm. Whether she was flirting with him or the car, I'd had enough
of it. "We'll do that. In case we need any more fabric."

She pulled up the bolt, turning it to an angle easier to cut from, then let it fall to the table
with a harder
thunk
than need be. "Whatever."

Magda was looking at me with a wry grin.

Sam said, "I think you've got everything you need. You've got all your tools, right?"

Embarrassed at my snappishness, I picked up my bag and said, "I'll see you in the car." My
face was flaming.

Len handed me the keys.

I wasted no time going through the door. In the splendor of the T-Bird's black leather
interior I thought about the scene I'd just caused. Couldn't blame the clerk, she was just responding
to Len.

By the time they came out I was calmed down. I needed to get a grip on these feelings that
swept through me whenever a woman flirted with Len. It wasn't his fault. Or was it?

We made it to Magda's in good time. Len carried Sam's toolbox into the garage. Magda had
settled Sam into her guest room when we came in to say goodbye. "You sure you won't stay for
dinner? I've got some stew I pulled out this morning from the freezer."

Len set down Sam's suitcase. "Thanks, Magda, but we've got dinner all planned. Annie's
cooking for me and I'll help her."

"Always nice to work together," said Sam. "We'll see ya early tomorrow then, Annie?"

Before I could answer, Len said, "We'll be here as early as you need us. About ten?"

Magda was at the closet, sliding stored clothes aside to give Sam room. "Sure. I'll let you
know if I need you any earlier. I 'spect I'll be seeing the police, and then I have some other details
that must be attended to. Thanks for bringing Sam. You two have a good dinner."

We tried.

He started teasing the moment he opened the car door for me. "Finally, I'm going to give
you the ride you've been asking for." He leaned down to kiss my cheek.

I turned so his lips met mine, in a quick pass. Smiling, he pulled back to shut the door.

I leaned across and lifted the inside handle to let him in his door.

"Thanks. I like that."

"You're welcome," I said. "We've been in the car seems like all day. I'm ready to be
home."

"Me too." He buckled up, and then reached across to run his right hand over my hair,
drifting down to stroke the side of my face. "You are a beauty, you know that?"

"Not so much that anyone's noticed," I said, and to myself,
Not
for quite some
time.
But I didn't want to be thinking of Roger now. I put my hand over Len's, bringing me back
to the present. "Thank you." I kissed the back of his hand. "You'd best be getting us on our way, and
pay attention to the road. I don't want my last ride to be in this old thing," I said, teasing him with
the memory of the fabric clerk's attention.

The ride home was easy with good traffic, soft afternoon light and the music of our youth,
coming from the car's ancient eight-track player. Len had a box of tracks that he'd picked up at flea
markets, so Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan and Mason Williams accompanied our trip in the powder
blue Thunderbird. We laughed, hummed and sang together, something we used to do.

When he'd parked at my house, he took the sack from the trunk that had the bottle of
sparkling cider. "Chill this please."

Once in the house I was tempted to give in to Len and just throw dinner to the winds while
we explored our mutual desires in the bedroom. But my caution button was still flashing. When I
put on an apron, he insisted on tying the strings. Seemed there was nothing this boy couldn't make
a move out of.

In the kitchen I peeled his hands off me while I was bringing salad fixings and steak from
the fridge. "Hey," I said, to keep him busy with something besides me, as interesting as that was. "A
fire would be nice tonight. Help take the chill off the house. Could you do that?"

"I don't feel any chill," he whispered as he closed in behind me while I was chopping lettuce
for the salad. His voice rose as I pulled away from him to pitch the lettuce into my mrytlewood salad
bowl. "But I do wonder if you want to be cutting lettuce with a knife. It needs to be torn, by
hand."

"You'll find firewood in the garage. Sam and I put it up while he was here. Go on." I pointed
him towards the door. "If you want dinner, get out of my kitchen and attend to warming the
house."

"Okay, milady." With his hands raised in surrender, he backed out of the kitchen. "I will
warm your house."

"Then we'll eat."

"With dessert to follow?"

"Depends on how you warm the house."

I finished chopping the head lettuce, cut up veggies and threw them together with some
variety lettuce that Roger had called frou-frou. I wondered if maybe I should have left it out, it
seemed everything had a memory...but life, even about lettuce, must go on. I added kalamata olives,
and reached for the blue cheese, but thought better of it. What if Len didn't like blue cheese? Cutting
off several generous pieces, I put them in a bowl with a sliced apple.

On the stove I had asparagus ready to steam, and potatoes baking in the oven. After
greasing the cast-iron skillet and leaving the steak on the counter beside the pan, I checked to see
where Prince Charming was. He can be a bad cat when raw meat is left unguarded. I looked in the
garage, where Len was still chopping kindling.

"How's it going there?" I suggested he probably had enough to get a fire going. "I'm just
waiting on you getting it started before I put on the steaks."

"Okay." A bit curt. Perhaps he was not used to working for his dinner.

I didn't see the cat. Back upstairs I set the table. Before long Len came up with a box of
wood. The dining area was open to the living room so I could see him working on the fire. He soon
had a nice blaze going. He followed me into the kitchen, washed his hands. "What can I do to
help?"

I put the steaks in the pan to brown and pointed to the salad bowl. "To the table, and light
the candles, please." When he returned, I flipped the steaks, and pointed to the tray that held the
baked potatoes I'd pulled from the oven and turned up the stove temp. He came back just as I was
taking the frying pan from the stove.

"Wow, that's a bit raw even for me."

"Hold your fire, soldier. I'm just part way through here." He was starting to annoy me with
his comments. I opened the oven door and set the frying pan with the steaks inside. "Do you want
yours rare?"

"Yes, please. You're doing something different?"

"My usual way, maybe new to you."

"Sure, boss." He was smiling, but not with quite the energy he'd had before. Was I about to
screw this up? I just couldn't stand a man criticizing me in my own kitchen.

"Please bring back the plates, okay?"

He brought them to me. "You going to heat these up?"

"Sorry, no time." I pulled the pan from the oven, speared his steak and slapped it on his
plate, and put mine back in the oven. I handed him the plate and the bottle of sparkling cider, "Take
this in and open it please. I'll be right in."

I pulled out my steak, took it to the table, and took off my apron.

I'd set the table so that we could sit side by side. He rose from his chair and pulled out
mine, helping me to scoot it in when I sat down, a maneuver that had always made me nervous.
With him it was an easy move. He filled our glasses and took his chair.

He leaned over to nibble my ear. "Finally. I thought you'd never sit down. I was thinking I
was going to eat solitary, just like I do at home." He put on a cute pout.

I leaned over and kissed it away. I could feel a fire building in myself.

He lifted his glass and said, "To a lovely woman, a wonderful meal, and the mysteries of the
evening."

I lifted mine, clicking the crystal, and sipped at the cool cider. Earlier I'd told him that I'd
given up alcohol in any form many years ago.

"Even wine?" He'd been amazed.

"Especially wine." I had no intentions of telling him, yet, of my misadventures with spirits. I
didn't think he would understand. If he thought wine wasn't alcohol, he didn't know much about
the field in which I worked. If he ever asked, I'd be glad to flood him with information, but for now,
that wasn't the focus of the renewal of our relationship. Let sleeping dogs lie.