A glowing smile lit her face. “That’s right.”
“It’s been a long time since I saw you in films,” he told her. “I followed your career with some interest.”
I could not have imagined those words issuing from Simon Ark’s mouth. Much as I wanted to hear the remainder of their conversation, I was summoned away by the door chimes. Wayne and Kate Brady had arrived. “Well,” he said, seeing me. “So long as I’m not the only man I guess I’ll stay awhile.” Wayne was a real estate executive, and was still going off to work every day even though he was old enough to retire. His wife Kate had problems with her night vision, but otherwise she seemed in perfect health.
Simon had arrived at seven-thirty and forty-five minutes later all eleven women were crowded into our family room. I shut the kitchen door and opened a couple of beers for Wayne and me. “Wasn’t there supposed to be another speaker?” he asked. “Someone about death?”
“I guess she’s not here yet.”
We listened to Shelly introduce Simon Ark as a well-known writer and student of the occult, her voice carrying clearly through the kitchen door. When Simon himself spoke, his voice did not carry as well. Finally, annoyed at my own curiosity, I opened the door a crack so we could overhear his words.
“...and it is not death we fear,” he was telling them, “but the act of dying, often accompanied by pain and suffering. But I am here to talk to you about life, some form of eternal life, perhaps. I leave it to the next speaker to enlighten you about death. Before I continue, are there any questions thus far?”
Someone had raised her hand, and I peeked into the family room to see that it was Grace Merrit. “Professor Ark,” she began.
He immediately corrected her. “Not Professor, I fear, though I have studied at some of the world’s leading universities. What is your question?”
Before she could ask it the door chimes sounded again. Shelly rose to answer them and I heard her gasp as she opened the door. I walked through the hallway to see what was wrong. Shelly had backed away, hugging the wall, as a robed and cowled figure, all in black, entered the house carrying a long scythe whose blade appeared tipped with blood. “Sorry if I frightened you,” a female voice said as she pushed back the cowl to reveal an attractive dark-haired woman in her early twenties. “I’m Mandy Snider. I wear this costume to get people in the proper mood for my talk.”
“You’re Death!” Shelly said, as if that explained everything.
“Well, yes. Miss Death. I should have warned you about the costume in advance. Boy, that’s some curving road you’ve got out there. I almost went over the edge in the dark!”
Wayne Brady had followed me from the kitchen. “What is this?” he asked, prepared to do battle.
I explained it was just part of the show. “Are the Quilters meetings always like this?” I asked my wife.
She chuckled. “Usually they’re quite dull.”
“I can’t wait to see Simon’s face when Death walks into the room.”
“Do you think it’s wise?” she asked, suddenly alarmed. “He might do something violent.”
“I doubt that,” I replied, though I wasn’t completely sure.
We listened while Simon completed his talk. To me it seemed scholarly and a bit dull, but the women applauded. Then Shelly came on to announce the arrival of their second speaker, billed as Miss Death.
The women gasped as the robed and cowled figure appeared in the doorway, and even Simon seemed a bit startled. He strode forward with a hand outstretched and for a moment I thought he was trying to ward off this evil creature. Then I realized he was offering to shake hands. Miss Death seemed surprised by the gesture and had to switch the bloody scythe to her left hand.
“My name is Ark, Simon Ark. I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
“I... I’m Miss Death.” She seemed so nervous that she pushed back the cowl again and added, “Mandy Snider.”
The Quilters seated around the room gave some polite applause and the young woman launched into her talk. “I hope I didn’t frighten any of you with my costume. No one likes to be confronted by death, whatever her age.” She laid down the bloody scythe with a nervous laugh.
I wondered how long she’d been doing this particular bit. Her nervousness surprised me. I retreated into the kitchen with Simon and Wayne Brady, and Shelly followed along to arrange the little buffet supper that had become the club’s tradition. “Was Miss Death your idea?” I asked. “She looks like she’s barely out of school.”
“Actually, Mona Emberry saw an ad in the classifieds. Mandy’s not very good, is she?”
I opened the door a bit and listened. She was standing in the center of the room, having removed the black robe to reveal jeans and a faded T-shirt from UCLA, not at all in keeping with her character. “...it is the beauty of youth we all pay for,” she was saying. “Beauty at any cost. We never think about dying.”
Grace Merrit, the former film star, was next into the kitchen. “That young woman is not for the Quilters. She should be speaking to her college sorority!”
“I’m sorry, Grace,” my wife told her. “She sounded more mature on the telephone.”
“What are we paying these performers?” she asked with a sweeping gesture that took in Simon Ark.
“Fifty dollars for Miss Death.”
“I am performing free of charge,” Simon informed her with exaggerated dignity. “But it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Merrit. As I said earlier, I have long admired your work in the cinema and elsewhere.”
She studied him with hard eyes. “There was no elsewhere, Mr. Ark. I made seventeen pictures in the nineteen forties and that was the end of it, unless you mean my two television appearances in the early fifties.”
“I was referring to a group known then as the Faraway Quilters. All women, I believe, like the Quilters of today.”
She turned away. “I know nothing of that.”
“The group disbanded when the House Un-American Activities Committee began its investigation of the motion-picture industry. Though I doubt that the Faraway Quilters was any sort of Communist front organization.”
“We played cards,” she told us. “There were a dozen young film stars and we played cards and gossiped about the business.”
The scattered applause from the family room told me that Miss Death had finished her presentation. Kate Brady came out to join her husband. “Well, at least Simon Ark was entertaining.”
“See, Simon, you have a fan,” I told him.
Shelly was busy herding the rest of them into the kitchen for the buffet. “Supper is served!” she announced. “Grab a plate.”
“Did we decide on next month’s meeting?” Mona Emberry asked.
Kate Brady spoke up. “It’s at my house. That way Wayne won’t have to drive me anywhere.”
“What about a speaker?” Shelly inquired. “Or should we just gab?”
Grace Merrit was about to offer her opinion on that, but their youthful speaker, Miss Death, entered with a flourish. “I’m so glad that’s over! I hope I wasn’t too nervous.”
“Perhaps you’re in the wrong line of work,” Grace suggested.
Shelly tried to smooth things over. “Here, Mandy. Have some food.”
“Thanks, but I couldn’t. Just something to drink and I’ll be on my way. A beer if you have one.”
Shelly took one from the refrigerator and opened it while Wayne Brady handed her a glass. She gave Mandy an envelope for her talk, which the young woman accepted with thanks. She removed the bill and slipped it into her wallet, asking, “Which one is Grace Merrit, the actress?”
“That’s me,” Grace said, none too happy about it.
“My grandmother knew you.”