“Don’t tell me,” said Adele. “I’ve just lost Joan Rasmussen as co-chair.”
“Trust me,” I said, “you’re better off.” I began to search through the refrigerator for the food I’d prepared yesterday for the western barbecue. When I emerged with the last of the platters, Adele was taking another pill. Reluctantly, it seemed to me.
“Goldy,” she said finally, “I know you have a lot on your mind. But I just feel so frustrated trying to raise funds in this town. In Washington we worked hard on it!” She gestured with her teacup. “There were committees for charity balls, fashion shows, luncheons, everything! Everyone worked! The headmaster said the alums would be supportive. They haven’t been. Neither have the parents. I’m at a loss.”
I put the platters down and sat next to her. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I know you have other things to worry about, dear. I know you’re upset about this Miller fellow, and of course there’s Arch and your business. It’s just that when I set my mind to something, I do it. I know people here have money! But do you think I can get them to work on this committee during June, July, and August? No. The only person who’ll do any work is Joan Rasmussen, and she beats people over the head. It’s the wrong time of year, the headmaster says. It’s hard to get people to work now. But why?” She shook her head and sipped from her cup.
“Oh, my dear Adele,” I said with a smile. “It’s because the residents have to work on their Colorado Summer Merit Badges.”
She choked on the tea. “Their what?”
I got a cup, poured myself some of the pale brown liquid, and settled back beside her. “Here’s how it works. You’ve got money and you live in Colorado. Every summer vacation, you’re duty-bound to work on your badges. Sometimes they come with a star.”
“I beg your pardon? These are actual things?”
I shook my head. “Of course not, although sometimes you get a T-shirt.” When she still looked puzzled, I explained: “Coloradans are going to recite their summer achievements to you as soon as they see you in the fall. You say, How was your summer? They roll their eyes. Well! First we hiked ten of the state’s fourteeners. Hiking merit badge. Only earned for hiking repeatedly at fourteen thousand feet above sea level. Then we climbed the Flatirons, about lost two of the kids when we were rap-peling down! Rock-climbing merit badge. Then we back-packed into the most remote area of Rocky Mountain National Park. Camping merit badge. When we got back we ran a 10K road race over by Vail and did the 60K bike race over the Rockies. Running and biking badges, the latter with a star.”
She grinned. “What about bird-watching? Or . . . or . . . fishing?”
“Well,” I said huffily, “I haven’t gotten there yet. Of course, the only merit badge you can get in fishing is for fly-fishing. Only a novice uses bait.”
“So that’s why I can’t get anyone to work on a committee. I thought the parents and alums might be on vacation, but then I see them in town.”
“Dear Adele. You haven’t asked them about their summer! Just listening to them would make you need a muscle relaxant.”
Adele smoothed her lips with her finger. Finally she said, “I’ve got it!” She was beaming. “A bird-watching fund-raiser picnic. Catered by guess who. We set it up for this Saturday, say it was an impromptu sort of affair.”
I groaned. “You’re not serious.”
“Could you work it into your catering schedule? Figure on tripling the cost of your supplies. Then I’ll double that and give half to the school. Could you?”
I looked at the yellow kitchen tiles and calculated. I still had to come up with the final payment on my security system. Arch’s summer-school costs had put a painful dent in my budget. And this job would be exceptionally profitable. I said, “Sure.”
“It’s the perfect thing! You’ll make money, the school will make money, we can invite Julian and Arch and the Harringtons and all kinds of people! It’ll be a smash hit. Oh, Goldy, you’re wonderful! I never would have thought of it if you hadn’t told me about the badges.” She put her finger to her lip again, a bad sign. “And about Joan. She just needs to be coddled.”
Right. Rasmussen the Egg. More like hard-boiled, I’d say.
“Brought along, you know.” As usual, I didn’t. “I suppose I should invite her over for lunch today.”
I had been trying to give her comfort. Be a soul friend, the way I was with her sister, Marla. Suddenly, everything was backfiring.
Adele continued, “Could you just do a little soup and salad? Please? I know you need to get your van, but Bo and I can get it for you.” Her hazel eyes implored me.
Okay, I’d screwed up with the Rasmussen woman. Here was Adele, new to the community, walking with a cane, trying to make friends, using her time and money to be helpful when she couldn’t get people to raise money in the summer, and her employee had just blown off the co-chair. Well, I needed to.
I swallowed and said, “Sure. Lunch is no problem. Rolls and fruit salad with Goldilocks’ Gourmet Spinach Soup?” She nodded. Good, I’d brought a container of frozen soup from my house. “I can have it done before I leave for the picnic.”
Adele smiled in relief. Then she rose like a queen and picked up the phone to call Joan Rasmussen about lunch and the birding expedition. Rasmussen must have thought it was a good idea, because then Adele called Bo on the intercom and asked him to call his golfing friend whose wife was in the Audubon Society. Then with a wink she took the van keys I gave her and tap-stepped her way out of the kitchen.
Adele was like and unlike Marla, I reflected as I stirred molasses into the bubbling pot of baked beans. Like Marla in being used to wealth and the power it confers. Unlike Marla in that Adele never discussed her back problems, she just poured the pain into energy for good deeds. If Marla was in pain, she made sure that it was news for the entire county. And to Marla, good deeds were for the Rockefellers.
Arch reappeared at the kitchen doorway.
“Mom,” he announced, “I need two hundred dollars for a silk cape and top hat.” He grinned.
“Excuse me?”
“I can ask Dad if it’s too much for you.”
“Arch, don’t. You know he’ll say no, that it should come out of the child-support money. Come on, hon. Can’t you do without it?”
He looked at me, a child’s freckled face wrinkled in adultlike dismay. “Well, I have to have them for the magic show,” he insisted. “Maybe Dad will get them since I talked him into paying for the other stuff.”
“What other stuff? Like that newspaper?”
Arch ducked into his bag and brought out a pair of handcuffs and a set of Chinese manacles. This latter I recognized as his favorite trick from our visits to magic shows when he was little. He couldn’t seem to decide between the two tricks. Finally he held up the handcuffs with his eyebrows raised.
“Lock these behind me, please.”
This was turning into a busy morning. But I acquiesced.
There was a pause as he leaned forward slightly. Then he triumphantly brought up his hands and the cuffs.
“How did you do that?”
“A magician never tells, Mom. Anyway, wait until you see me do it under water.”
“Under water! You can hardly do the doggie paddle. And remember the doctor said you should be extra careful because of that bronchitis and asthma you had in February—”
GOLDILOCKS’ GOURMET SPINACH SOUP
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
¼ A pound fresh mushrooms, washed, dried, trimmed, and diced
1 scallion, chopped