“It’s New Year’s Day. Want to make a bet?”
“How much?”
“One hundred dollars.”
“Betty!”
“I bet you one hundred dollars that a man does come into your life before December thirty-first. Deal?”
“Easiest one hundred dollars I’ll ever make.” Sister laughed as she pulled into the stable yard.
In the stable, the two women checked their horses. Having left the breakfast early, Sari and Jennifer had gotten all the chores done. The radio hummed, on low for the horses. The news was reported on the hour.
“Hey, did you hear that?” Betty, standing next to the radio, called over to Sister, who was checking water buckets.
“Not paying attention.”
“The first guy, the one they found dead the night of the twenty-seventh, Saturday? Well, he was full of alcohol to the gills, but hemlock as well.”
“What?” Sister paused for a moment.
“He drank hemlock, just like Socrates.”
“On purpose?” Sister was incredulous.
“And this morning they found another one frozen down at the train station. Dead.”
The two women looked at each other. Sister said,“What on earth is going on?”
CHAPTER 7
Clay and Isabelle Berry loved to entertain. Their modern house, built on a ridge, enjoyed sweeping views of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Because each of their rooms opened into other rooms or onto a patio, people rarely became bottled up in narrow door openings at their parties.
The floors, polished and gleaming, were hard walnut, stained black. Izzy, as Isabelle preferred to be called since she was named after her mother, Big Isabelle, fell under the spell of minimalism. Every piece of furniture in the house had been built to fit that house. Each piece, a warm beige, complemented the lighter beige walls.
The occasion for this party, January 2, Friday, was Izzy’s thirty-eighth birthday. A few guests, possessed of remarkable stamina, hadn’t stopped drinking since New Year’s Eve.
Tedi, scotch and water in hand, whispered to Sister that these were blonde colors. As Izzy was a determined blonde, she shone to great effect.
The kitchen, stainless steel, gleamed. Overhead pin-pricks of high-intensity light shone down on guests.
The downstairs boasted a regulation-size pool table, itself starkly modern.
Donnie Sweigert, along with three other men, manned the two bars, one in the living room, one downstairs.
A flat-screen TV, built into the wall of the library, glowed. The one in the poolroom did likewise. Both TVs had men and women watching snatches of football reportage. They’d get a pigskin fix, then quickly rejoin the party, only to return periodically or ask another sports fan what he or she thought about the countdown to the Super Bowl.
Sister and Tedi both stared as a commentator narrated clips from the most recent pro football games. The playoffs kept excitement mounting across America.
“Do you think these men are mutants?” Tedi asked.
“How?”
“Look at their necks.” Tedi clinked the cubes in her glass as a close-up of a well-paid fullback beamed from the wall.
Wearing a fabulous electric blue dress, Sister stared.“And that’s just someone for the backfield. Imagine what the defensive guard looks like.”
Clay, who was moving by, a drink held over his head thanks to the press of people, overheard.
“Better nutrition, better dentistry. Remember, a lot of bacteria come in through the mouth. Better workouts, better methods for reducing injuries or healing them when they occur. Better drugs.”
Tedi smiled at her attractive host.“When you played football in high school, you made All State, Clay, and you never looked like that. You had a good college career, too.”
Clay, middle linebacker for the local high school, had been outstanding at the position. He’d won a scholarship to Wake Forest and been a star.
He laughed.“Tedi, you’re very kind. Think how long ago that was. I’ll be forty-four this year. I don’t think I would do half so well at Wake now as I did then. It’s a different game. The training alone is so different.”
“But you never looked like a bull on two legs.”
“Steroids.” He shrugged genially. “Just wasn’t much of an option then. Even if I had taken them, I was too small to make it to the pros. I don’t mind. I came home, built a business, and discovered golf.”
Sister touched his arm.“What is it they say about golf: a good walk ruined?”
He laughed.“The devil plays golf. He’ll give you just enough great drives, good putts, to keep you coming back.”
“So pretty out there, a verdant paradise.” Tedi adored golf, carried a respectable twelve handicap.
“Clay!” Izzy called from the living room.
“The birthday girl.” Clay smiled. “Good hunt yesterday, Sister. Despite the weather, we’re having a terrific season.”
“Thank you, Clay.” She was glad to hear the praise as he left to join Izzy, who was surrounded by women from her college sorority.
Kappa Kappa Gamma songs filled the house.
“Janie, were you in a sorority?” Tedi asked. “I don’t remember. They didn’t have them at Sweet Briar, did they? Didn’t have them at Holyoke.” Tedi didn’t wait for her question to be answered since they both realized Tedi figured out the answer for herself. “Loved Holyoke. Loved it. But you know, I missed you so much. Think of the fun we would have had if we’d gone to the same school.”
“We’d have gotten ourselves thrown out.” Sister grinned.
“Well—true.” Tedi tipped back her head and laughed. “And I never would have met Edward. Imagine going all the way to Massachusetts to meet your future husband, himself a Virginian, who had gone all the way to Amherst. Course I was wretched when neither Nola nor Sybil elected to go to Holyoke. Still can’t believe they did that.”
“That’s the thing about children. Damn if they don’t turn out to have minds of their own.”
The corners of Tedi’s mouth curled up for an instant. “Shocking. But really, Janie, University of Colorado for Nola, and then Sybil, well, she did go to Radcliffe. She applied herself, probably to make up for Nola. God, how many schools did that kid roar through? I miss her. Even now.” Tedi stopped for a moment. “Stop me. Really, what is it about a new year? One casts one’s mind over the years, but the past is the past. You can’t change a thing about it.”
“Historical revisionists certainly are trying.”
“Yes, well, that’s not exactly about the past. That’s about a bid for political power now. Rubbish. Every single bit of it.” Tedi knocked back her scotch. “Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long. I’ve seen it all, done it all, and now am colossally bored by the ignorance and pretensions of the generations behind us. If anything, Nola and Sybil’s generation is tedious, hypocritical, and lacking in fire.”
“Tedi, they’ve only known peace and plenty. That’s like a hound who has only slept on the porch. If they have to run, they’ll be slow at first, but I promise you, they’ll run.”
“You’re always hopeful.”
“I’m an American. They’re Americans. When the you-know-what hits the fan, we do what has to be done, and it doesn’t matter when or where we were born. Doesn’t matter what color we are, what religion or none, what sex or how about having sex. Anyway, you get my drift.”
“I do. I’m still cynical.” She turned her head. “And speaking of that generation, here comes an extremely handsome member of it.” She smiled, holding out her hand as Walter took it, pressing it to his lips, then leaned over to kiss Sister’s cheek.
“You two look radiant.” Walter knew how to talk to women; beautiful would have been very nice but radiant showed imagination. “Sister, that color brings out your eyes.” He stopped, then lowered his voice. “Can’t get out of this.” He smiled big as a dark, intense, attractive man, early forties at most, pushed over to him. “Mrs. Bancroft, Mrs. Arnold, allow me to introduce Dr. Dalton Hill from Toronto. He’s come up from Williamsburg, where he gave a lecture this morning.”