The door was unlocked and all the lights were blazing away. Caron sat cross-legged on the floor, a calendar spread in front of her. She poised a pencil above it, saying, “Okay, I’ll put Merissa down for Thursday morning, but Ashley can’t do it that afternoon.” She glanced up at Inez, who sat on the couch amid a great flutter of pages torn from a notepad.
“If Tara switches to Saturday,” Inez said with a frown, “then Ashley can have Friday afternoon. But that means we’ll have to juggle the schedule for the rest of the weekend.”
“Hi, girls,” I said cautiously. “Are you planning an invasion? If so, you ought to call CNN and give them some warning. And remember, I don’t want to see any nuclear weapons on my credit-card bill.”
Caron crossed out an entry before scowling at me. “We are arranging the schedule for about a dozen My Beautiful Self analyses, Mother It’s very complex, and would be a whole lot easier without interruptions. Look, Inez, some of them may have to change their plans. I Cannot Accommodate every last person who has a dentist appointment or wants to go to the mall.”
Inez peered at one slip, then another, her face wrinkling with dismay until she resembled a distressed Pekinese. “But if Charlene has to baby-sit all afternoon Friday…
“She can find a substitute!” Caron banged down the pencil and stalked into the kitchen. “You want a soda?”
I considered asking Inez about the sudden demand for Caron’s expertise, but I was afraid I’d hear an answer that would result in indigestion and insomnia. It was well past three o’clock. I went to bed, a pillow over my head to drown out the sporadic outbursts from the boardroom of Caron Malloy, Inc.
The following morning I dallied over the morning paper and several cups of tea, hoping to hear the sound of Ed Whitbred’s motorcycle so that we could discuss Arnie’s unseemly appearance. It was remotely possible that I was hoping-but with less sanguinity-that Lieutenant Rosen might have seen a report of the most current nonsense at the Kappa Theta Eta house and feel motivated to call for details.
When the telephone finally rang, I carefully put down my cup and blotted my lip with a napkin before I picked up the receiver. “Yes?” I responded melodiously.
“Is Caron there?” said an unmelodious and much younger female voice.
“She’s asleep, and I have no idea when she’ll rouse herself. If you like, I can take a message.”
There was a distinct sniffle, then the voice said, “You tell her that my dad’s a lawyer, and he says what she’s doing is blackmail or extortion or something like that, and she’ll be in really big trouble if she keeps this up.”
“Who is this? What are you talking about?”
“Just give her the message.”
I couldn’t persuade my hand to record a single word of the alarming conversation with the latest anonymous caller My telephone was becoming a veritable pipeline that spewed out threats and dire warnings. I went to Caron’s room and shook her shoulder, but all I received in response to my questions was a grumpy, mumbled admonishment to leave her alone. Her co-conspirator kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and although I suspected she was emulating an arboreal American marsupial (more specifically, a Thdelphis virginiana), I returned to the kitchen, gulped down an aspirin with a mouthful of tepid tea, and left them to be dragged away to a juvenile detention facility by someone with more persistence than I.
Once at the Book Depot, I took out a piece of paper and amused myself making yet more notes of noticeably little help. I made one list of potential blackmailers, grimly adding Caron Malloy, and a second of potential blackmailees. Everyone who qualified for neither list went into a jumble at the bottom of the page, and I was trying to devise categories for them when the door opened.
For her morning outing, Eleanor Vanderson had chosen a robin’s-egg-blue seersucker suit with a crisp white blouse. Her accessories included a white belt and pumps, a swirly blue-and-purple scarf draped artfully around her neck, a slender silver watch, and a white straw purse. Clearly, she was in harmony with her palette and destined for chicken salad and bridge. Others of us, having chosen frayed denim shorts and one of Caron’s old gym-class T-shirts, accessorized with a cheap watch and a tarnished wedding ring, also cheap, felt destined for nothing more dainty than a hamburger and a diet soda. However burdened as I was with the knowledge of her husband’s dirty little secrets, I deserved no better.
“Oh, Claire,” she said as she came to the counter and squeezed my hand, “you must be ready to bulldoze down the sorority house-and I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you’d already arranged it. It’s been one nightmare after another for you, hasn’t it? The screams, the purported prowlers, that dreadful accident in the alley, that pledge pestering you with her calls, and now this incident last night!”
I eased my hand out of reach and folded my arms to cover my incriminating lists (which, regrettably, incriminated only me). “It’s not been an auspicious beginning for the summer,” I said, aware that I was mirroring her superficial smile and speaking with an identical undertone of sisterly sympathy. They were finally getting to me, I thought with an edge of hysteria as we continued to twinkle at each other. I’d seen the chapter room. I’d seen the ritual closet. I’d toured the house and eaten their spaghetti. I was becoming Kappa Theta Eta-ized, and before long I would crave pink cashmere. The bookstore would be home to a fluffy white cat. I would become increasingly distraught that Caron had not selected a silver pattern shortly after her birth. Had Eleanor clutched my hand with the secret handshake? Were her lips puckered just a bit? Would I need gum augmentation?
She must have sensed that I was not a sane woman, in that she retreated a few steps and gazed thoughtfully at the store. “This is so charming, Claire. I can’t think why I’ve never been here before, but I certainly will make a point of coming by in the future. I love the way you’ve arranged all this to create a warm, cozy feeling.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” she continued, “but it’s very painful for me and I’m hoping we might find a place with complete privacy, a place where we won’t be disturbed.”
“This may be it. No one has set foot in here all morning, and I have no reason to believe anyone will in the foreseeable future.”
“I’m so sorry to hear business is slow, but surely things will pick up before too long. Would it be inconvenient if we sat in your office?” She gave me the look of a poster child from a Third World country.
I led her to the office, took a dozen books off the chair and dumped them in a corner, squinted unhappily at the blackened crust in the coffee pot, and finally settled behind the desk to regard her over a stack of invoices, a cup filled with stubby pencils, several self-help books on the gentle art of organization, and a scattering of dried roaches.
“This is so difficult.” Eleanor took a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the corner of her eye. “After the party ended last night, I asked John what you two had been discussing out by the pool. Initially, he refused to tell me, but I persisted, and this morning, while I was driving him to the airport, he finally related the gist of it. Oh, Claire, I can imagine how you must have felt as he told you those… repulsive stories, but surely you realize what they were.”
“Surely,” I said obediently, if also blankly.
“I suggested he cancel his trip to Las Vegas, but he became so upset that I reluctantly kissed him goodbye and let him go. I’ve already spoken to his physician, and the very first thing we’ll do when John returns is schedule a complete evaluation of his medication.” She dabbed the other eye, then gave me a brave, quivery smile. “I’m so glad you understand, Claire. These last few years have been a living hell for me, and sometimes I wonder if that’s why I’ve immersed myself in the sorority. My grandmother never tired of reminding me that the best cure for personal troubles is a worthwhile charity in need of a chairperson.”