“She’s not my mother.”
“She may not be ours either,” Cordelia said. “We have no proof. Anyway, she’d just as soon not be.”
“She hates us,” Juliet explained. “We don’t mind. We hate her back. She hates you, too, but you can’t hate her back because you’re a lady and ladies never get to do anything they want to.”
Both girls thought this was extremely funny. Cordelia screamed with laughter and Juliet’s face turned bright pink and she had to wipe her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her wool sweater, which was very absorbent and ideal for the purpose.
Miranda stood quietly, her only sign of emotion a deepening of the lines around her mouth. “You are attracting attention. I want it stopped immediately or I’ll report every word of this conversation to your mother. Now run along and start your shopping and I’ll meet you at Peterson’s in the shoe department in half an hour. I have to go and check how much damage was done to the car.”
Cordelia had the last word. “Not enough.”
Miranda watched them walk briskly down the street arm in arm and still laughing. Then she turned back to Aragon. “I told you I’ve been living strangely. This is it. I’m supposed to teach the girls etiquette and the social graces. As you must have observed, I’m not a very good teacher.”
“They’re not very good students,” Aragon said. “Hang in there anyway.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Not now. But perhaps eventually...”
“Eventually sounds so far in the future. I’m not sure I can wait.”
He didn’t ask about Grady and she didn’t volunteer any information. Grady seemed as far in the past as “eventually” seemed in the future.
A few weeks later, returning to his office after lunch, he found a message on his desk from Ellen Brewster asking him to drop by the Penguin Club on a personal matter. He went as soon as he’d finished work for the day.
It was five thirty, cold and overcast, as it often was in May. The club had made the transition from fall to spring with only minor adjustments — a fresh coat of paint on the walls, a change of greenery in the redwood planters, different pads on the chairs and chaises, and a new lifeguard, a short, stocky young man with a blanket draped over his head and shoulders. He appeared ready and willing to save lives, but the pool was unoccupied.
The seasonal changes in Ellen were more obvious. She had shorter hair, curled and frosted at the tips, and she wore oversized sunglasses and lipstick so glossy it made her mouth look like wet vinyl. He wondered about the sunglasses. There hadn’t been any sun for a week.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, sounding glad. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Fine.”
“Let’s go in the snack bar. No one will be there at this time of day.”
She was almost right. The only customer was an old man with a copy of Fortune open on the table in front of him. His eyes were closed and his chin rested on his collarbone. He was either asleep or dead; no one seemed interested in finding out which.
A fat pink-cheeked blonde stood behind the counter filing her nails. She gave Ellen a bored look.
“The snack bar’s closed. I’m just waiting for my ride.”
“Isn’t there some coffee left?”
“It’s stale.”
“We’ll take it.”
“You’ll have to pour it yourself and drink it black. I’m off duty and we’re out of cream.”
The verbal exchange or the sudden honking of an automobile horn outside the rear door had wakened the old man.
“What’s happening around here? Can’t a man read in peace?”
“It’s time to go home, Mr. Van Eyck,” Ellen said. “The snack bar is closed.”
“No, it’s not. I’m here.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t see any Closed sign posted on the door.”
“I’m posting it in a minute.”
“What about that fellow with you? Wait till Henderson hears about this, you sneaking young men into the snack bar after hours.”
“Mr. Aragon is my lawyer.”
“Have you done something illegal?”
“Not yet,” Ellen said. “But I’m thinking of committing a murder.”
“Think again. You’d never get away with it. You lack the finesse, the savoir-faire, and you have childish fits of temper.”
“Please go home, Mr. Van Eyck.”
“If you insist. Though I resent being evicted in order that you may conduct a rendezvous with a young man who doesn’t look any more like a lawyer than I do. Where did he go to law school?”
“Hastings,” Aragon said.
“Never heard of it.” Van Eyck picked up his magazine and left. In spite of his shuffling gait and a pronounced list to starboard he moved with considerable speed.
Aragon tasted the coffee. The fat blonde had been right. It was stale and bitter and lukewarm. He couldn’t do anything about the age and temperature but he added a pinch of salt to take away the bitterness.
“I can get you a year’s honorary membership in the club,” Ellen said.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“I can’t afford to pay you and it wouldn’t be fair for me to ask your advice for nothing.”
“This coffee ought to cover two cents’ worth. Ask ahead.”
“I had a letter from Grady yesterday.”
“Where is he?”
“Las Vegas.” She took off her sunglasses and he saw why she’d worn them in the first place. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen. “He wants to come back here.”
“It’s a free country. He doesn’t need your permission or mine.”
“No, but he needs money and a job, so it’s not all that free, is it...? Here, I’d like you to read it.”
She took a small envelope from her pocket and handed it to Aragon. It had been postmarked five days previously in Las Vegas and in the upper left corner was the address of a motel chain that showed porn films. Grady might have worked there, stayed there, or simply borrowed its writing paper.
Dear Ellen
I guess you heard about me and Mrs. Shaw and all that water under the bridge. I hope she’s doing OK with no hard feelings etcetra.
I ran into lousy luck which put me in bad with some of the pit bosses and I would like to get out of this freaky place. I feel bad vibes coming at me. What I really wish is I had my old job back. Is there any chance of getting a break from Mr. Henderson. If you think so would you send me an application form to fill out right away. Thanks, you are a real peach.
“‘Mrs. Shaw and all that water under the bridge,’” Aragon repeated. “Grady has such a sensitive nature.”
“He feels guilty, I’m sure he does. It’s just — he doesn’t express himself on paper very well.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think that’s rather a cute way of saying he ran off in her thirty-thousand-dollar car and left her broke in a foreign country.”
She rubbed the sunglasses up and down the lapel of her jacket a few times before putting them back on. It was either a stall or an attempt to clear up the view she had through them.
“That’s what I need your advice about. Suppose he comes back to Santa Felicia. Whether or not he gets a job at the club, Miranda is bound to find out about it. Can she prosecute him?”
“Without knowing all the details of the case, I’d say she could at least sue him for the return of the car.”
“He probably doesn’t have it anymore.”
“Then she can be a good sport and forgive and forget,” Aragon said. “If I were Grady, though, I wouldn’t depend on Miranda being a good sport. She’s not built for it.”
“Could she have him put in jail?”