“Right now, let’s go get you a drink,” Les offered, clapping Mitch on the back.
“Will you join us?” Mitch asked Teddy.
“I’m fine right here, thanks. Any requests?”
“No Billy Joel?”
“No problem,” Teddy responded, chuckling.
“The family ne’er-do-well,” Les explained under his breath as he and Mitch moved back toward the entry hall. “Real, real sad case. Still lives with his mother in an apartment in Forest Hills. Never got married. Loses every dime he makes playing high-stakes poker. It was Norma’s idea to throw some work his way this weekend. She’s always felt sorry for him, I think. Aaron can’t stand him. Although, near as I can tell, Aaron can’t stand any of his relatives. Remarkably enough, the feeling is entirely mutual.”
Les was steering him toward the taproom when a rather pillowy woman in her sixties came bustling out of a service door and very nearly collided with them.
“Ah, here she is now,” Les said with a jovial laugh. “Mitch, have you met my lovely wife, Norma?”
“No, he has not,” Norma said briskly, swiping a loose strand of gray hair from her eyes. “A pleasure, Mitch. I’m sorry if I seem to be run ragged. It’s only because it so happens I am.”
Ada Geiger’s daughter spoke in a clipped, precise manner. And she most definitely had an English accent, which made sense since she would have been a little girl when Ada and Luther fled there in the fifties. Norma was plump, heavy-bosomed and rather slump-shouldered. She had soft, dark eyes and a kindly face, a face that once might have been very smooth and lovely, Mitch felt. Right now she just seemed worn and tired. There was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, and her breathing seemed quite labored. Mitch could actually hear the air bellowing in and out of her lungs. She practically sounded like Choo-Choo Cholly trying to chug its way up a hill. Norma wore her gray hair cropped at the chin. She had on a dark blue cardigan sweater over a light blue turtleneck, blue slacks and red kitchen clogs.
“There will be a huge kitchen staff arriving tomorrow,” Norma explained to him. “But tonight, there is no one. Unless, of course, one counts Jory. As I do. She’s a gem. I’d be lost without her. I am accustomed to the grind, naturally. But it’s always just a bit harder when one’s mother is around. Especially my mother. She’s having a nap right now. She tires easily. Where’s Des? She is coming, isn’t she?”
“She’ll be along soon,” Mitch assured her.
Back in the Sunset Lounge, Teddy segued from “Stardust” into a heartfelt rendition of “More Than You Know.”
Norma seemed to melt as soon as she heard it, a fond, faraway smile creasing her face.
“Are you okay, dear?” Les asked, peering at her.
“Why, yes,” she replied, coloring. “Fine. I’ve just always loved this song.”
An efficient young woman with curly ginger-colored hair came barging through the service door. “We can plate the main course whenever you’re ready, Norma,” she announced.
“I’m afraid we’re still minus one, dear,” Norma told her.
“No problem. I can keep it warm.” She gave Mitch a quick, bright smile and said, “You must be our movie critic. I’m Jory Hearn. Welcome to the castle.”
Jase’s big sister was in her late twenties and not conventionally pretty. Jory had a bit too much bulldog in her chin, and her nose was a good deal broader and flatter than the beauty magazines would have liked. But she had creamy, lovely skin, an inviting rosebud of a mouth and an eager vitality that was very appealing. Jory was by no means a frail little thing. She was about five feet nine, big-boned and ripely, head-turningly zaftig. Her curves were hard to miss even in her sober dining hall uniform of black vest, white blouse and black slacks.
She was also available. Very available. Her eyes gleamed at Mitch invitingly.
“I just met your brother outside,” he said to her. “He seemed real nice.
Jory and Norma exchanged a confused look before Jory said, “Jase spoke to you?”
“He seemed a little quiet at first, but once we got going about the castle, he was very talkative.”
“Normally, our guests can’t get one single word out of him,” Les said. “They think he’s a mute. The little kids even call him Igor.”
“He’s a good, hard-working boy,” Norma spoke up. “And he takes wonderful care of this place. He’s just a bit delicate, poor thing.”
“Our mother died in childbirth,” Jory explained to Mitch. “And Jeremy died three days later.”
“Jeremy?”
“Our brother. Jase’s twin.”
“That must have been very hard for you,” Mitch said to her quietly.
“It’s still hard, sometimes,” Jory admitted, swallowing.
“Well, he sure seems to love this place.”
“Believe me, Mitch, we both do,” Jory assured him. “It’s round-the-clock hard work, but it’s rewarding. And it’s home. The drinks are in the taproom. May I pour you something?”
“No need to worry about me. I’ll manage.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” she fired back, showing him her dimples before she headed back to the kitchen, her hips moving with just a little extra oomph. Definitely for Mitch’s benefit. Although, as she passed on through the staff door, he couldn’t help notice that Les was missing none of the show.
If Norma was aware of this, she didn’t let on. Just said, “I’m still relatively new here myself. My brother, Herbert, ran the castle until 1993, when he was killed by a drunk driver. I had recently lost Paul. Aaron was off in Washington. I was lonely, lost, too much time on my hands. And so I took the plunge. And then one weekend Les showed up here as a guest…”
“And I never left,” he said happily, squeezing her hand. “I know a good thing when I see it.”
“Mind you, it’s a small miracle that this place has survived at all,” Norma said. “When Grandpa Moses died back in 1948, he left the castle to his dear protegee, Astrid, for as long as she lived. Which turned out to be until 1980, as it happens.”
“I didn’t realize Astrid stayed on here for so many years,” Mitch said.
“Local legend has it that she still haunts the place,” Les revealed in a low, guarded voice. “That is, if you can dismiss it as a legend. Strange noises have been heard in the night, Mitch.”
“You’ve actually heard them?”
“Oh, heck no,” Les said, winking at him. “But we hold a seance for her every Halloween. Our guests get a real kick out of it. A couple of young actresses from Yale Drama School come up for the occasion. One plays Astrid, the other summons her.”
“The sad reality is that poor Astrid became quite decrepit in her later years,” Norma said. “And the castle fell into terrible disrepair. Plumbing, wiring, everything. Herbert went to the bank, hat in hand, and restored it from top to bottom as an inn. He got Choo-Choo Cholly up and running again. He also arranged for some three thousand acres of grounds to be donated to the state in exchange for historic landmark status. If he hadn’t, well, the property taxes would totally cripple us.”
“And, hey, some years we actually break even,” Les said gamely. “Well, almost.”
“Such a far, far cry from the castle’s glory days,” Norma said nostalgically. “Grandpa Moses was quite the theatrical impresario. And Astrid, his greatest stage discovery, blossomed into the reigning society hostess of her day. There were truly remarkable weekend parties up here, Mitch. San Simeon East, Dorothy Parker famously dubbed it. The Marx Brothers stayed here. Lunt and Fontanne, Mae West, Cole Porter, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. They all had grand, giddy fun at Astrid’s. She was a great lady. After Grandpa passed away, she converted the place into a private club for his Wall Street friends. They used to motor up from the city to hunt and fish and-”
“Jesus Christ, Norma, what a load of simpering, G-rated crap!” a voice erupted from somewhere upstairs. It was an elderly woman’s voice, raspy but strong. It was Ada Geiger’s voice. Evidently, she’d been eavesdropping on Norma ‘s historical retelling. Evidently, there was not a thing wrong with her hearing. “Moses Geiger was a goddamned bootlegger and racketeer!” the ninety-four-year-old director thundered as she descended the hand-carved staircase, tall, regal and so remarkably light on her feet that she seemed to waft. “Astrid was his succulent lemon tart on the side, and she turned this underheated pile of rocks into the fanciest cathouse in New England. What is this, Norma, kiddie hour?”