The Fire Night Ball (16 page)

On the road, Marlena stopped twice more before arriving at Drake’s Roost. Once was to vomit at the side of the road. Her second stop was at a party supply shop.

She turned into a gravel parking spot just past a signboard along the road that said “Costumes For Any Occasion.”

Her idea for a ruse had come straight from Cassandra’s story.

Cassandra had taken her Indian maid’s place at a Thanksgiving Day pageant staged in 1900. She'd attended in disguise after applying brown makeup, donning buckskin clothing, and covering her red-gold hair with a braided black wig. She wanted to get into the Brighton ranch, where she wasn’t welcome, having been vying with Miss Brighton over Curly Drake. All this, to sneak a peek at Nicholas Brighton, the returned native son who'd made a name for himself in San Francisco.

Taking a page from her talented ancestor’s exploits, Marlena figured to get through the door at Drake’s Roost disguised as a hotel employee, Jane Dovetail, the Native-American housekeeping manager.

Swooshing her hair under the wig and pulling down the braids of the wig in back, Marlena asked the shop clerk if there was makeup to go with the costume.

“Oh, yes, right here,” he said. “Sacajawea is a favorite with the schoolgirls at the Brighton Charter School. They present a Christmas pageant every year. Ma’am, are you going to wear it now?" He looked at her curiously.

"Oh, yes. I'm the entertainment at my daughter's seventh birthday party."

The next thing she had to do was get past the butler. She drove up the long driveway to Drake's Roost with her wig on straight and her heart in her mouth. Anticipating Harry’s amusement when he got a load of her costume, she giggled.

This bold gambit might be my best move ever.

“Your name, pleath, Mith?” asked the rotund butler with the shaved head, giving her a leisurely once-over. A white turban was perched atop his shaved head and a red sash was loosely wound around his white caftan, which bulged over his paunch. Diamond studs much larger than her own glittered in both ears. “Jonas” was tattooed on his forearm.

Name? Her mind swirled through its database.

"Nevada Carson,” she said promptly. Nevada Carson was Cassandra Vye's stage name in California. With it, she’d amassed a personal fortune, then given it all away in her dead husband's name.

“It’s a matter of some urgency that I see Mr. Drake. There’s a serious problem at the hotel,” she added briskly.

“Oh my,” sighed the butler. “Wait here. I’ll thee what
her
wants to do.”

Her?

For the first time since pouncing on this bold, creative idea, Marlena felt a wave of panic, breaking out into a cold sweat. She hadn't counted on Lila being at home. Carlotta had plainly said Lila was flying to Palm Springs for a pre-holiday spa treatment.

Before she had time to gather her wits and flee, there was Lila herself, floating down the long hallway, a white, diaphanous gown trailing behind her. She wore her glossy black hair in a long coil down her back. On her neck was an Elsa Peretti heart necklace.

Marlena blanched, recognizing the necklace as the same piece she and Harry had looked at together at South Coast Plaza. She felt lightheaded, as though the marble floor had been jerked out from under her.

But setting Marlena even more off balance, was Lila’s stunning appearance. She had never set eyes on her before, and Harry carried no pictures of her. Why, his wife was a knockout, with a magnetism immediately felt. Here was a fact even more dazzling and peculiar: Lila was a dead ringer for an elegant, half-nude lady in a painting Marlena had spent many hours gazing upon as a child.

Lila might have been the model for Grandpa Bellum’s controversial possession, a framed painting he’d stubbornly insisted on hanging in the parlor, right over his couch, when he came home from the Italian campaign after WWI. The likeness made Marlena feel weak in the knees.

Family lore had it that upon the lady’s first appearance in their home, Granny had declared one of them must exit, permanently. But Grandpa had prevailed in the disagreement by saying the lady was the image of Granny when she was a “young slip of a thing."

Marlena herself had not been able to see a resemblance, other than the hair length. Granny's was also very long, down to her waist, but she pinned it up every morning into a steel-grey bun.

But Faith judged the painting as being neither decent nor allowable in a good Catholic home. She’d told Marlena it was a mortal sin even to look at it. Therefore Marlena looked at it every chance she got.

The gilding had worn away from the frame, leaving black paint exposed on the border, with the remaining gold flecked and scant. The tall, willowy lady was in profile and wore a long, trailing gown, diaphanous as a cobweb over the breasts, so one rosy nipple was visible. She was standing on tiptoe, her arms stretched out and holding aloft an ornate bowl filled with white roses. Her glossy black hair cascaded from the back of her head in a long coil that almost touched the marble floor. She posed, chin up, as though making an offering -- perhaps to a far-off deity, or, more likely, Marlena thought, a lazy courtier lounging behind the draperies that bounded the icy room. The coldness of the surroundings was underlined by a sinister mountainous landscape beyond three curved casement windows. The final touch of exoticism--a pair of snow leopards– crouched on the pearly marble floor, inches away from the lady’s delicate, bare toes....

“What’s this all about, Miss Carson?” said Lila.

Marlena was feeling dazed and confused, not only because of the subterfuge but also because her memory made it impossible to control her erotic reactions to Lila.

“Sorry to disturb, m-m-ma’am,” Marlena stuttered. “There’s an emergency at the hotel. I was sent with a message for Mr. Drake by Mr. Simmons. May I see him, please?”

There, finally, she'd spit it out.

Lila regarded her curiously. “Doesn’t Mr. Simmons know how to use a phone?”

“The phone lines are down. I mean, they've been cut.”

“Really? That’s odd, because I was just on the phone with Carlotta, not a half hour ago. Harry’s not here. So you’ve wasted your trek up our treacherous hill, I'm afraid."

A wave of nausea swept over her, and Marlena feared she might fall down.

"So, what's the trouble this time?" Lila yawned. "Did a customer cut off a finger and leave it in the custard to set up a lawsuit?”

“Oh no, ma’am. Nothing like that. Four girls under my charge have staged a sit-down over wages.”

“Oh, is that all?" Lila sniffed. "Sitting down on the job. Well, that’s what they’re good at, isn’t it? Isn't sitting a way of life for you people?”

Marlena felt a flash of anger on behalf of the underpaid Native-American employees, all dishwashers and maids. Now she regretted not having come up with a different story, one that wouldn't have made the hardworking women targets of this spoiled woman's scorn.

Then an amazing thing happened. Lila burst into tinkling laughter. Marlena was suddenly reminded of her little friend June, who had thought everything painful in life was funny. June also thought everything oblong on the teacher's blackboard looked like a penis.

"Why, you should see your face, hon. I was only pulling your chain. Fact is, I'm on the side of those girls. Harry treats his employees like shit. Serves him right if they close him down at the holidays. Power to the people!"

She was gazing at Marlena with ever-increasing curiosity. And once again, Marlena was being dragged into the past, willy-nilly, by her eidetic memory.

The lips that spoke the words were pouty, as June’s had been, and like June's, they were begging to be kissed. However, June’s were pink rosebuds, while Lila’s lips were stained darkly scarlet. Marlena’s childhood friend June Thompson had taught her the pleasure to be had from stroking the soft place between her legs. Like Lila, June had pale skin and long, glossy black hair. They'd shocked the teacher by composing an illustrated story about a school employee they had a hopeless crush on; it was entitled "The Janitor's Thing."

Lila was staring at Marlena. It was impossible for Marlena not to stare back at her, though doing so was totally out of character.

“It's been a hard week for Harry, hasn’t it? First the weird thing at the bar and now a labor dispute.”

“May I ask when Mr. Drake is expected back home?” asked the formerly intrepid intruder in a meek voice.

That gold heart, she thought miserably, was like a signboard of Lila's ownership rights to Harry. For the first time in their long affair, Marlena felt the baseness in her position; she tingled with shame.

“Why, I believe he was only picking up some papers. I’m expecting him back home shortly. But if what you say is true, then he probably won't show up for hours.”

Lila came closer to Marlena and peered at her intently. Marlena dropped her eyes.

“So, you've made your trip through the ice for nothing, hon. You probably passed him on the road. What a shame.”

“Well then, I’ll be going back. Sorry to disturb.”

“You know, you have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen on a Native American. What’s your name, again, girlie?”

“Nevada Carson.”

“Pretty name, too. I've been meaning to hire some of your people to entertain my guests. Ritual dancing, that sort of thing. Do you know of anyone I could contact?”

“No, I don’t, ma’am. I’ve never lived on the reservation.”

“Yes, well, you don’t have the look of them, that’s for sure. You remind me of my sister.”

Again, her eyes swept over Marlena’s face and figure. A look of suspicion crossed her eyes, but then they glazed over again, and Lila resumed her air of supreme indifference.

What she had to do was hold on tight, Marlena thought fervently.

Just hold on tight and get the hell out of here.

The butler now came forward. He opened the door with a flourish. Simultaneously, the Wyoming wind hit him, almost bowling him over. In trying to right himself, he stumbled against Marlena, who was already pushing her way out.

“Oh God, mith, I’m tho thorry!”

A flashy ring on one of Alexander's plump fingers had got entangled in one of Marlena’s long fake braids. When he pulled away, attempting to extricate the ring, the wig came off the right side of her head.

Out tumbled long, floating feathers of red-gold hair. They seemed to hover in the air. Marlena gasped. Then she cowered, trying to hide behind the butler’s bulk.

Lila Drake stood akimbo, frowning, hands on hips. “Let’s cut through the crap. I know who you are. What in hell are you doing here, Marlena Bellum?”

What dignified recovery was possible? Marlena laughed ruefully and pulled off the wig entirely, tossing back her curls.

“I came to talk to Harry. That’s all.”

“Must be important. Seems like you were willing to make quite the fool of yourself to get to him.”

Lila was pacing along the foyer in rapid strides. Reluctantly, Marlena had to admire the power and grace in every step. She looked like a movie queen of old, with the litheness of a Joan Crawford and the sultriness of a Bette Davis.
She could pass easily for my age. She's delectable
.

Lila whirled around to face Marlena, whose cheeks were burning hot.

“Not as Johnny on the spot as he used to be, is he?”

Marlena's eyes flashed, dropped away, then came back up. They stared at each other. Finally, Lila broke the silence.

“Where do we go from here?”

“I’ll take my leave now. My apologies, Mrs. Drake. Most embarrassing. Goodbye.”

“Not so fast,” said Lila. “What were you coming to tell Harry? Why the getup?”

Marlena held out the wig as though it were a piece of evidence in a court of law.

“This,” she whispered with all the strength she could muster, “is a costume for a party I’m going to. I’m sorry to be…I know it looks…weird.”

Lila shook her head. “Couldn’t be anything at the hotel would be so important to undertake anything so daring. What possessed you? Must be personal.”

Marlena’s mind was racing; her heart was pounding in her throat. What to say?

After a second of silence, she came up with a dodge.

"Isn't everything personal?"

Lila shrugged.

“My mother’s in town, and there's family business we must attend to. When you came out instead of Harry, I panicked. In point of fact, there’s no labor trouble at the hotel, and the phone lines aren't cut. It’s just that ...well, there are some important events in the community I won’t be covering for Harry as I….I usually do. I wanted to ask him personally for an extended leave of absence.”

She was barely aware of what she'd said by way of an excuse. From the expression on Lila’s face, it didn't appear to be passing muster. In her own head, though, something she'd just said was ringing true.

Yes, she did want an extended leave of absence from her duties at the hotel, where all she did was wait for Harry!

“Yeah, you cover for him all right.” Lila laughed. “You’ve made yourself into quite the little love slave. But it hasn’t done you one bit of good, has it? What do you have to show for it, girlie?”

“I prefer not to discuss my private life. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Ha! That’s a good one!” Lila swept back her glossy black hair from one side of her face. The motion pulled up onto her delicate neck-bones the gold necklace that was supposed to have been Marlena’s. Again she felt its talismanic power, and she felt her heart sink lower.

“So, what’s with the getup? Is this supposed to be trick or treat? Now, tell the truth, Bellum.”

At that moment, Marlena felt an urge to confess all, but overpowering her urge was an automatic gag reflex.

She tossed her cookies in a jerky stream of pure, projectile vomiting, directly onto the Oriental carpet, six inches from Lila’s feet.

Fuck!

She spit.

There was a long silence. The only sound was the butler talking to himself as he scrambled down the hallway enroute to the kitchen for a mop.

“You’d better sit down for a minute, hon,” said Lila quietly. “You don’t look so good.”

She put an arm around Marlena's shoulders, which were shaking hard, as though she were in shock.

“I’m fine…I do apologize. Do you have a rag? Let me clean this up before I go." She was wiping furiously at her chin with a trembling hand.

“Please, don’t look at me!” Marlena moaned.

“Alexander will be back in a minute, and he’ll take care of everything. Just sit.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want him to….”

“No sweat. He used to be a nurse.”

“Please, just let me go.”

Marlena made it to the door, but she wasn’t strong enough to prevail against the wind. She got it open only halfway, and then collapsed. Lila sprang forward and helped her up.

“Take it easy. What's the rush? I'm not gonna bite. Follow me, this way.”

Lila was supporting Marlena with one arm and leading her into the largest reception room she'd ever seen.

Under its domed ceiling of painted cherubs, there were two white grand pianos, surrounded by plush seating. At one end of the cavernous room was an alabaster bar that rivaled B.L.Zebub in size, though not in character.

Pushing Marlena into an armchair, Lila gingerly removed her guest's jacket, which was covered with vomit. She tossed it onto a table.

“There, that’s better. I have to say it. You totally remind me of my kid sister. She’s got that long, frizzy mop of reddish-gold hair like you do, only Marty’s eyes aren't colored that mermaid shade you've got-- hers are boiled green. She’s a wiccan, so she claims. One Halloween she dressed up as Lady Godiva and rode through Harvard Square. God, how I miss her.”

Lila sighed.

“I miss everything, living in this godforsaken place. Why do I stay? Why do you? Is it because of Harry? I heard you have a good job in San Francisco and used to have a perfectly good husband."

Marlena tried to stand.

"Sit down," Lila commanded. "Listen, kid, I'm not your enemy. Let’s say we call a truce. After today, if you want, we can go back to ignoring each other. But you’re not leaving here today until I’m sure you won’t die on the road."

Marlena slumped back in the chair. “Is that what passes for noblesse oblige in your set, Mrs. Drake?”

Lila brushed off the remark. “You grew up here, didn’t you? I heard your grandmother was one of the Scattergoods.”

Marlena nodded, too weary to resist her antagonist's questioning.

“When I was eight, we moved East, where my mother’s family lived,” she said drowsily.

“Pity you didn’t stay in the East. Oh, I don’t mean because of Harry. If it hadn’t of been you, it would have been someone else. All I meant was, a girl with so much on the ball like yourself, your talents are wasted here. There’s so much more to do in Boston, New York, or Miami, the theater and the ballet, all the parties before and after.”

“I never saw the ballet,” said Marlena. “We lived in the suburbs of Cleveland, in Parma.”

“Oh, dear, how terrible for you.” Lila laughed again, but it was without malice. “Poor baby. And then the big, bad wolf came along, smiling with all his big white teeth. Harry made it seem the world was his oyster, and you bit."

Marlena was wiped her face; she was silent, but she was listening.

"Honey, I've got news for you. There are no pearls to be found in this mausoleum. Let me tell you a few other things. Those fancy connections, the partnerships with moguls of industry? They came through my family, not his. Harry’s your classic big fish in a small pond, BFSP, and a snake."

Marlena glared at Lila helplessly, but it was impossible to come to her lover's defense.

"I hope you don’t imagine you’ve been the only one he’s consoled himself with, hon, when I couldn’t stand it and went off to do my own thing. There were three before you came along. Two others that I know of in the past six months. But you’ve hung in there like snot; I’ll give you that much.”

“May I go now please?”

She felt indignant and dizzy.
And also turned on by the enemy.