"Pretty much," Kelly answered.
"Sounds like a nice lady," Alex went on. "I'd like to meet her sometime. Maybe at the wedding."
Jeremy shook his head. "I doubt that. Marjorie doesn't like weddings. She says marriage is a barbaric holdover from the Middle Ages that turns women into slaves and men into tyrants." Jeremy delivered that last sentence in a brusque voice that mimicked Marjorie Connors' clipped delivery perfectly. Both Kelly and I laughed. Maybe Jeremy was an actor after all.
For a change, since Alex alone of the three of us had never met Marjorie Connors, she was the one left out of the joke.
Jeremy glanced down at his watch. "Sorry to rush. I've got a cast call pretty soon. If we don't leave now, I won't have time to take Kelly home and bring the others into town."
"I take it you operate the Live Oak Taxi?" I asked.
He grinned. "Like Kelly said, it helps pay the rent." He started to fumble gamely for his bill-fold, but I told him to forget it, that I was buying. They left a few minutes later, even though it was just barely twelve-thirty. Alex and I lingered at the table. It was hot in the restaurant, and I switched from coffee to iced tea.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Of them?" Alex shrugged. "They're sweet. And very much in love."
She sat there stirring sugar into her iced tea in an artless, casual gesture. Watching her, I was surprised by how much I liked it; by how much I liked her. It was as if she had somehow tiptoed around the defenses and crept into my heart through a back entrance I didn't know existed.
"Could I ask you a personal question, Ms. Downey?" I asked.
"Shoot," she said.
"Let me lay it out for you this way, ma'am. Here we are having lunch with my daughter and the young twerp who is all set to marry her without so much as a by-your-leave. In the middle of this highly pressurized lunch, you come right out and ask if they've invited Karen to the wedding. Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining, but would you mind telling me why you did that?"
She looked up at me and smiled, her deep blue eyes flashing in merriment. "You really don't know?"
"Haven't a clue."
"Karen's Kelly's mother, right?"
"Right."
"She's also your ex-wife. Divorces notwithstanding, mothers expect to go to their daughters' weddings. Period."
"So?"
"So, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not interested in a one-night stand or even a several-month stand with you, Mr. J.P. Beaumont. I'm not that kind of girl. I like you a lot, but if there's ever going to be anything permanent between us, then we'd better make damn sure that if we're invited to Kelly and Jeremy's wedding, Karen and Dave Livingston are, too."
Just like that, I got the picture. Talk about a slow learner! So when we went to see The Majestic Kid that afternoon, I sat up and paid attention, and not just because my future son-in-law was playing a lead role. I figured since this was a play about a girl who kept bailing her boyfriend out of the drink, then I needed to take lessons.
During intermission, Alex excused herself. I thought she was going to the rest room. Instead, she must have used a phone. When she sat back down beside me, she squeezed my arm.
"It worked," she said. "I checked with Kelly. She and Jeremy talked it over on the way home. Karen and Dave are invited to the wedding after all."
"Hot damn!" I breathed. By then I understood Karen's presence at the wedding was in my own best interest.
"Well," she hedged. "It's not all smooth sailing."
"Why not? What do you mean?"
"They want you to make the phone call."
"Me!" I choked. "I have to do all the dirty work?"
Alex smiled and nodded. "I told Kelly you wouldn't mind at all. That's what fathers are for. We'll call Karen as soon as the play is over and before we meet Dinky for dinner."
I watched the second act of The Majestic Kid, but I can't say I enjoyed it very much. Alex, of course, savored every minute of it. Why wouldn't she? She didn't know Karen Moffit Beaumont Livingston. I did.
Expecting the immediate outbreak of World War III, I wasn't willing to use a public pay phone to call Rancho Cucamonga. After the play, we took the Porsche, drove to a shady parking place near a park, and called on my cellular phone. I did try Dave's number at work but ended up with voice mail. Taking a deep breath, I dialed the Livingstons' home number.
I hoped Dave would answer, but of course he didn't. "Hello, Karen," I said. "it's Beau."
Her guard came up just like that. "What do you want?"
Karen didn't used to be that defensive, and I don't blame her, not anymore. It's a perfectly understandable device to keep from being hurt again. Since she wasn't that way back in the old days when we were first married, I have to accept some of the responsibility for how she is now. Being married to an alcoholic isn't a bed of roses, so I'm willing to shoulder some of the blame. Some, but not all.
"I've found Kelly," I heard myself blabbing into the phone. "She's in Ashland, Oregon, and she's okay… No, she's fine, really. Karen, listen to me. No, I'm telling you, she's all right."
Karen was crying into the receiver so hard I wasn't sure if she heard a word I said. I looked over at Alex for help and encouragement. She nodded, urging me forward, but she didn't offer any other help. In this deal, I was strictly on my own.
I forged ahead. "Karen," I said reasonably, "calm down and listen. This is important. Kelly is getting married on Monday. Tomorrow. I'm calling to see if there's any way you and Dave and Scott can make it up here on such short notice."
The words had the same effect as a bucket of cold water. "Married?" Karen sputtered. "She can't do that."
"Yes, she can."
"Who's she marrying?"
"A boy named Jeremy Cartwright."
"When?"
"I already told you. The wedding's set for two-thirty tomorrow afternoon here in Ashland, Oregon." I paused and took a deep breath before I said the rest. "Kelly's pregnant, Karen."
I held the phone away from my ear during the angry tirade that followed, but sooner than I would have expected, Karen grew oddly silent.
"Look," I said. "I know this hurts like hell, but you'll have to decide whether or not you want to be part of it."
Seven hundred and fifty miles away, the telephone receiver clattered noisily onto a tabletop in Rancho Cucamonga. That in itself was a pretty definitive answer. I figured it was a final one, but a moment later Dave Livingston came on the phone.
"Thanks for saving my ass and not letting her know I called you," he said. "I'll handle things on this end. Where can I call you once she comes around?"
"You think she will?"
"Yeah," Dave said. "I'm sure of it."
I looked down at the phone in my hand. There really wasn't any place for him to return a call. Alex and I had play tickets for the Elizabethan. I had no intention of spending the remainder of the afternoon and evening in the car waiting for the telephone to ring.
"Call my home number in Seattle," I said. "Leave a message for Ralph Ames."
"Who's he?"
"My attorney. If you have trouble with airline connections or anything like that, call Ralph and let him go to work on it. He'll sort it out."
"You have an attorney who handles airline arrangements?" Dave asked. "It must be nice."
"He's a friend," I explained. "Call him if you need help."
I hung up and looked at Alex. "Way to go," she said.
Then I dialed my home number in Seattle. Ralph still wasn't there, but he would be soon. He'd pitch in and do whatever needed doing. I left a message. Maybe voice mail isn't all bad. After that, I put down the phone and turned to Alex. "Okay. I've done my duty. Now what?"
She glanced at her watch. "We've just got time to meet Dinky for dinner."
"Where?"
"It's a surprise."
"Great. I love surprises." I turned the key. "Which way?"