Alcyone, Chapter Twelve: Juliana Checks In

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Twelve

Scootie drummed the eraser-tip of his pencil over the top of his computer, eyeing his office clock, thinking about his boss. Garth pretty much let his workers run the place. This could well be a formula for disaster, except that Garth had a nose for solid, self-motivating employees. He rewarded himself by spending long hours behind his office doors, doing God-knows-what.

           

Sadly, this air of non-existence also came into play when one of his employees was backed to the wall by a monied trustee. The man had no fight in him whatsoever, so you were generally left to slay the dragons yourself.

           

Scootie looked up to find his last five minutes gone, then strung a few mental hand grenades across his chest and headed out. He entered the hallway to find himself elbow-to-elbow with the fantasy figure herself.

           

“What ho, Juliana.”

           

“Ay begorrah, Scootie.” Juliana smiled and adjusted the shoulder pad of her jacket, two inches short of a zoot suit. “How goes it?”

           

“The biggest hell week in Fetzle history,” he said. Scootie tapped on Garth’s door, waited for his mumbled “Come in,” then held the door for his chairlady. Juliana made her greetings with Garth as Scootie laid back at the entrance. He was quickly joined by Jackie Simmer.

           

“Checking out those gams?” she whispered.

           

“Black stockings drive me nuts,” he whispered back. He lifted two folding chairs from the back wall and set them before Garth’s desk.

           

“Good morning, Garth.”

           

“Good morning, Scootie. Good morning, Jackie.”

           

“Mornin’, boss man.”

           

Garth gave Juliana a meek smile. “She likes to call me that.”

           

“Got a reputation to uphold,” said Jackie, pulling a pen from her embroidered gambler’s vest. “I’m the closest thing we got to a ethnic employee.”

           

“We do need to get some minority staff members,” said Garth.

           

“Make it easier to get grants,” said Jackie. She slapped her knees with both hands. “H-well. Whatta we got this mornin’, boss lady?”

           

“Ticket sales,” said Juliana. “Virginia and I are getting concerned.”

           

“Hmm, yes,” said Garth, hastening to agree. “That is a concern.”

           

“Seems to me Scootie kinda predicted this,” said Jackie. “Ain’t that so, S.J.?”

           

“I did anticipate it. That doesn’t mean I’m happy with it. There are a few things we need to do to get out the vote, so to speak.”

           

“Such as?” said Juliana.

           

“I’m trying to get a news crew to the airport for Stephen’s arrival, but of course television’s always a gamble. One good toxic spill and we’re out of luck. We’re due for a cover story in the Sentinel Friday. We can throw in a few more radio plugs. I can even get a rush discount on that – they like to fill up the holes the day before broadcast.”

           

“Well, Virginia couldn’t be here,” said Juliana. “But I did promise to bring up ticket giveaways again. She really does think it could create some last-minute excitement, and I’m beginning to agree with her.”

           

“Is there any reason we couldn’t do that, Scootie?” Good ol’ Garth, lips to the rear. “I would think our radio friends would be happy to help us.”

           

Scootie paused for a moment, pretending to give the idea full consideration.

           

“As I mentioned before, I have nothing against giveaways per se. In fact, I use them all the time. The problem is more of a long-term one. If we decide – as I have heard – to make the gala an annual event, we don’t want to give any indication that this first one is giving us trouble. Raising an audience for a first-time event – even one with Stephen Swan – is problematic. People haven’t been there before, they’re unfamiliar with the process – they don’t know exactly what they‘re being offered. I’d prefer to see us show a little patience with this. We’ve planted a lot of seeds out there; let’s give them a chance to sprout.”

           

Juliana smiled knowingly, the look of someone who is impressed but not convinced. “I retract the idea. For now. But I reserve the right to bring it up later – and I’m warning you, Virginia is very fond of this notion, and may necessitate a lengthier persuasion.”

           

“As long as I don’t have to kiss her,” said Scootie, and winked.

           

Juliana laughed. Jackie yawned. And Garth, as usual, had no idea what they were talking about.

Even after lunch with Laura Benedetti, a workshop with the decorations committee and a visit to Jackie and the sound techs, Juliana was questioning her judgement. That Scootie is so smart and handsome, she thought. I wonder if I’m too easy on him.

           

Climbing the path up Blaze Hill, Juliana found a wall of fog retreating from the coastline, opening a banner of blue behind her house. She also found Scott’s Porsche. Well, what the hell...

           

She was waved inside by the tang of garlic, which could only mean one thing. She snuck to the kitchen and found Scott at the stove, jabbing at a skilletful of his trademark garlic-friend chicken. She padded behind him and slipped a hand along the back of his neck.

           

“What’s cookin’, sexy man?”

           

“Some people would say you shouldn’t sneak up on a person holding a pan of hot grease.”

           

“So whatcha doin’ home so early?”

           

“I was finished with everything I had to do, so I thought I’d do something I wanted to do – make dinner for my wife.”

           

“What can I do to encourage this behavior.”

           

Scott turned and gave her a kiss. “Go get some Chardonnay.”

“Honey, you should forget this banking crap and open a chicken stand.” Juliana took her last bite and washed it down with her wine, relishing the charred sweetness.

           

“Rumor has it, it’s the real reason you married me.”

           

“Good a reason as any. Want some coffee?”

           

“Sure,” said Scott, still operating on a breast. “I put a batch on the timer. Should be done.”

           

Juliana walked to the kitchen, humming a tune from her high school musical. She returned with a question.

           

“Scott, I don’t mean to sound like a suspicious housewife, but why are you being so good to me? I already agreed to marry you.”

           

Scott smiled and rubbed a hand over his six-o’clock shadow. “The church! The photographer, the tuxedos! Is that what that was about?”

           

“Yep, that was it,” she said. “So why the big show.”

           

“Because I love you,” said Scott. “And... I want to be good to you when I’m around, because there will be times, later on, when I might have to be... away.”

           

Juliana heard the sentence in reverse, beginning with the word “away.” She repeated it for good measure.

           

“Yes. Away,” said Scott. He was sitting perfectly still, like a man bracing himself for a tsunami.

           

“When are you going... away?” she asked.

           

Scott lifted his eyes and tried to let out all the blue, anything to distract her from the next word. “Tomorrow.”

           

Juliana’s face began to flush. With great effort, she held down her voice.

           

“Tomorrow? You’re going away, tomorrow?”

           

Scott unhinged his spine and spilled forth. “It’s the Quebec contract, honey. With the change of government, it’s falling apart, and unless I get up there and put a tack in it, it’s going to go straight down the tubes.”

           

Juliana turned her back to him and caught the battlements of Fetzle out the front window. There was one more thing she needed to know.

           

“How long have you known about this?”

           

“A couple of weeks, honey, but...”

           

That was it. She spun back around. “A couple of weeks? A couple of weeks?!” She placed her hands on the table for balance. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

           

“I was waiting for the right time. I didn’t want to upset you.”

           

Juliana waited a moment and it all came clear. “You were buttering me up,” she said. “You were going to skip out on the single most important thing I have ever done, and every sweet thing you’ve done for the last two weeks has been a... a strategy. A public relations campaign.”

           

“I wish I could get out of it, but it’s a desp...”

           

“If it was so goddamn desperate, why did you know about it two weeks ago? You son of a bitch! I put my heart and soul into this thing and all you care about is how to break it to me like I’m some kind of... wifey! Down there in that mansion, I’m important, damn you. Down there, I call the shots, I’m the one who’s admired, and respected, and I thought you were man enough to just for once let me be the most important person in this house! I...”

           

Juliana felt suddenly, desperately alone. She wiped at her tears and spun toward the living room, looking for her purse. Scott ran after her and tried to take her by the shoulders. She pushed him away with a stare.

           

“I thought you knew me better. I thought we were partners.”

           

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

           

“Away,” she said. “I’m going away.”

           

Juliana ran to her car, got in and sped off down the face of Blaze Hill. Scott could do nothing but watch, because he knew, no matter how much he loved his wife, he had to go to Canada.

            Geoffrey Urban returned to his apartment with a puzzled expression, wiping his forehead with a Brazilian bandana. Scootie let out a trail of smoke and gave him a puzzled look right back.

           

“Strange,” said Geoffrey. “Very strange.”

           

“What?”

           

Geoffrey folded the bandana and stuck it in his pocket. “Juliana Kross just checked in.”

 


Photo by MJV

Alcyone, Chapter Eleven: Crude to be Kind

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Eleven

Jackie Simmer sat at her desk, trying to poke loopholes in a contract for the Great Falls Children’s Theater. But she felt an ill-defined, alien presence trying to work its way through her blinders. It started out as the steady whirr-click of the copier in the next room, but now had been joined by an oldies radio station and some kind of percussion section. She gave up on her contract and went to investigate.

           

She found Scootie rambling around the copy room with a pair of ball-point pens, striking various inanimate objects to the rhythm of the copier. He failed to notice Jackie until the copier clicked off at 99.

           

“Scootie, what the hell’re you doin’?”

           

“An incredible bit of chance,” said Scootie, not the least embarrassed. “You know that rhythm the copier falls into, sort of a 6/8? Well, this old Eagles song came on the radio, and the beat lined up perfectly with the click of the copier, and stayed there for forty copies! The song was 4/4, so the copier was pulling the equivalent of triplets out of a duple meter. Can you imagine?”

           

“Yes, Scootie,” she deadpanned. “I know exactly what you’re talkin’ about. Speakin’ of entertainment, are we on for theater tonight?”

           

“Sure. And dinner beforehand. My treat.”

           

“Oh-ho! Someone do well on his annual report?”

           

“Yes,” said Scootie. “But that’s not the reason.”

           

“So why?”

           

“Because you’re a good friend. And you deserve a free dinner.”

           

“Reason enough,” said Jackie, and smiled.

“Mother! What’s the deal with all the faxes?”

           

“Sorry, dear. I’m trying out a new model. How’d they turn out?”

           

“Well, fine, but now I’ve got twelve sheets of useless paper on my floor.”

           

“So let me take you to the opera tonight.”

           

“Really?”

           

“Lucia di Lammermoor. At West Bay.”

           

“I’d love to! I haven’t seen an opera in months.”

           

“No other plans tonight?”

           

“No, no. Scott’s rounding out a proposal with his VPs.”

           

“Is he being a bad boy again?”

           

“No. Actually he’s been here the past five evenings.”

           

“That’s wonderful, Jewel! I knew Scott would come through. Why don’t you pick me up at six and I’ll take you to dinner?”

           

“Sure.”

           

“Oh, and honey? Could you send me a fax? I want to see how this puppy receives.”

           

“Yes, Mother. Bye.” Juliana hung up, picked up the New York Times crossword puzzle, and sent it through.

“Scootie! This place is so cute.” It was a tiny cafe in Monterey, La Collonodia, a blend of Mexican architecture and Italian cuisine. They sat at a window with iron S-curve gratings, gazing over the cherry-light tourist traps of Cannery Row.

           

“And here’s the best part,” said Scootie. He reached for a clay box next to his silverware.

           

“Crayons!” said Jackie.

           

“What do you think?” Scootie reached for the red and swiped it across the tablecloth.

           

“Scootie! What’re you...?” Jackie felt the tablecloth and realized it was a actually a kind of textured paper. “Gee. Ya got purple?”

           

Scootie made an arrow toward his stomach and wrote “Insert Food Here.” Jackie piled up irregular triangles of lavender. Then Scootie started a chance poem, beginning with the phrase “immaculate corndog,” which emanated from the next table. “So,” he said. “How’s Tex?”

           

“Rex,” Jackie scolded. “Tex is Rex’s brother.”

           

“My apologies.”

           

“And Rex is just fine. He’s been back from Montana three weeks now, and I been spendin’ my weekends with him and pappy in Salinas. Sweet old man, name of Roy, very sick but a will of iron. But Rex, oh... Scootie, it’s like some kind of dream with that man. Last Saturday, he took me out on the back forty for a campout. It was so warm we just laid our sleeping bags out in the open, and we had a big ol’ campfire goin’, and you could hear some cows lowin’ over the hills. And then we went on this trail, pitch dark, just a sliver of moon, and he pointed out all the constellations. He knows about fifty of ‘em. Not to jinx myself, Scootie, but after years of saddle bars and urban cowsluts, I just mighta found the real deal.”

           

Scootie smiled. “Don’t think we’re going to let you run off to Montana, young lady. We’ll chain you to your desk.”

           

“The way this Swan thing is goin’, they might not want me around anymore.”

           

“It’ll be fine.”

           

“But the ticket sales are so slow.”

           

“Remember that seminar I went to in Berkeley? Whole roomful of PR flacks, and every one of them said they had trouble with slow sales for benefits. You just have to wait them out.”

           

“Yeah, okay,” said Jackie. “But watch yer butt. These goddamn trustees are all very happy to take responsibility – until things go down the shitter. Then they’ll be scarce as live possums on the interstate.”

           

The waiter arrived with their coffees, plus a ceramic cow, the kind that dispenses cream through a hole in its mouth.

           

“Oh!” said Jackie. “Watch me make a little coffee nebula.” She stirred her coffee to a whirlpool pace, then tried to pour in an even flow of cream. But she tipped the cow too fast, and it splashed over, ruining the effect. Jackie set it down and studied the spillage.

           

“The problem is,” she said, “this cow does not vomit correctly.”

           

“Jackie! That’s genius!” said Scootie, and started scribbling.

“Mother. This soprano. What an ungodly pure tone.”

           

“Good actress, too. Let’s sit over here.” She settled on a circular bench surrounding a spread of white roses. Juliana studied the theater’s facade, adorned with small iron balconies and decorative tiles.

           

“I haven’t been here in so long,” she said.

           

“Not since ‘Philadelphia Story,’” said Margaret. “You did a better Hepburn than Hepburn.”

           

“Nevah,” said Juliana, in character. “I simply shan’t be compared to my heroine.”

           

Margaret was distracted, digging through her purse. She let out a gasp of dicsovery and extracted a small leather notebook, then flipped through the pages and handed Juliana a ragged piece of paper.

           

“The program! Mother, how sweet of you. God, has it been fifteen years?”

           

“I keep it there as a good luck charm. You see, daughter, no one in the history of your family tree has ever displayed a gram of performing talent. And then you came along and – Shazam! I suspect you’re not even ours. I think you hatched from an egg. And then it was Bam! off to college, and right when you got back Whammo! Scott Kross, descending from the heavens to take you away. But for this... one... performance” - she tapped a finger on the program - “I was the world’s proudest stage mother.”

           

“Oh, Mother, pish-posh – or whatever it is we rich people are supposed to say. Being your daughter will always be my starring role.”

           

“Jewel, you always know what to say.” She tapped her plastic champagne glass to hers and laughed at the lack of sound. “So. How is the handsome stud?”

           

“Quite reformed. I have to give him credit. He’s been awfully sweet. He took me out for dinner and dancing in The City last weekend, and every day since he’s brought me some small memento. Yesterday it was pralines from New Orleans, personally delivered by his finance officer. It’s almost as if he’s... courting me.”

           

“Lucky girl.”

           

“Yes. But I can still find faults.”

           

Margaret chuckled. “That’s marriage all around. So what is it?”

           

Juliana stretched her swan’s neck and ran a hand over her hair.

           

“Control. These sweet little scenes only happen when Scott initiates them. I’d like a chance to be the aggressor.”

           

Margaret let out a staccato laugh. “Welcome to the fifties, sweetie. That’s all we had back then. Even later, when I took over the company. Everybody thought I was some radical feminist. Hell, I just wanted to keep doing what I enjoyed doing.”

           

“You’re the pioneer, Mother. Oh, I don’t know what I’m complaining about, anyway. I get to throw my weight around at Fetzle, and after the Junior League visited that homeless shelter last week, I ought to be ashamed of myself for complaining about anything at all. On the outside of things, Scott and I have the most glorious marriage I know.”

           

“Uh-oh, there go the lights. We’d best get back in. But tell me, Jewel, have you found anyone to flirt with?”

           

Juliana rose from the bench and threw her coat around her shoulders. “Really, Mother, I don’t know why you want to corrupt me. You know what happens to flirtatious women in the opera. They end up stabbing their husbands, going mad and then committing suicide.”

           

“Yes, Jewel. But they do it with such style.”

           

Juliana tossed her empty glass into a trash can. “And anyway, I do have someone to flirt with.”

           

“Really?”

           

“Yes. And I won’t tell you one thing further.”

           

“Daughter, you are absolutely no fun.”

Jackie and Scootie ended up at a pizza parlor at UC Santa Cruz, listening to an avant-garde jazz-rock ensemble called the Slugtones. The trombone player jabbered his way through a violent solo as his banjo player backed him up with power chords. The placed was stacked with yakking undergrads, and the two noticeably older patrons had to nearly kiss each other’s ears to have a conversation.

           

“They’re just wild, Scootie!”

           

“They’re great!” Scootie answered.

           

“So what did you think of the play!?” yelled Jackie.

           

“Comparatively speaking, it was very quiet!”

           

The band took a sudden cutoff, leaving the word “Quiet!” hanging in the air. Several of the undergrads stared at them

           

“Scootie, darlin’, I think that’s our pizza on the counter. Much as I’m enjoyin’ the tunes, what say we head outside where we can speak like normal people?”

           

“Check, boss.” Scootie headed for the counter. Outside, it was remarkably peaceful. They sat at a picnic table peering over the broad grass hills to the lights of Santa Cruz.

           

“Ah, this is better,” said Jackie, freeing up a slice. “Now. What did you think?”

           

“Well, I love the odd instrumentation, but as for the format...”

           

“Scootie! The play!”

           

“Oh. Right.” He chewed before answering. “I liked it. I think he paced out the visual hints just right.”

           

“But the twist,” said Jackie. “I don’t know. A little too Twilight Zone for me.”

           

“Maybe. But theater’s all manipulation, isn’t it? In fact, in one sense, they didn’t go far enough. I hate this thing about the actors greeting everybody in the lobby.”

           

“Yeah. I saw Death of a Salesman this one time. Beautiful finish – they put a small spotlight on the grave while all the other actors slowly walked off. Didn’t even tak an applause. Then we walk into the lobby and there’s Willie Loman, back from the dead, gabbing with his real estate agent.”

           

“Yeesh.”

           

Jackie watched the flash circling out from Lighthouse Point. It made her think of Rex, but then everything made her think of Rex, because she was seing him tomorrow night – and she’d better change the subject before she started obsessing.

           

“So how’s ol’ Juliana Kross-the-Street?”

           

Scootie took his best shot at bristling. “Jackie. There’s nothing there. Juliana is a married woman who seems very happy with her husband. I’ll tell you this much, however. I do enjoy working with her. She’s a kind, clear-minded woman.”

           

“With a tight little butt that I’d kill for,” said Jackie.

           

Scootie wiped a napkin across his mouth and said, “I’d say Rex likes your ass just fine, my dear.”

           

“Scootie! That’s the kindest, most crude thing you’ve ever told me.”

           

“You’re welcome.”

Juliana arrived home to a dark front porch, a candlelit kitchen, and her husband on the couch, wearing nothing but a towel and a Clark Gable smile.

           

“Scott! What’re you up to?”

           

“Strip down to your skivvies, my dear. We have company.”

           

Well, thought Juliana. This is new. She placed a hand on Scott’s chest and kissed him, summing up all questions in one word: “Darling?”

           

“Their names are Ivan and Margo. They’re massage therapists. They’re going to rub our bodies until we turn to Jell-O. And then...”

           

Juliana reached under Scott’s towel to fondle his smooth little behind. “And then?”

           

“And then, we will be left to our own devices.”

           

Juliana kissed his knee and unbuttoned her blouse.

Photo by MJV

Alcyone, Chapter Ten: Therapeutic Adultery

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Ten

“Why so late, Cindy?”

           

“You’ll see.”

           

“Some of us have to work in the morning.”

           

“Hah! I happen to know you Fetzle types drag in at all hours of the morning.”

           

“And how would you know that?”

           

Cindy smiled and drew a finger along her telescope.

           

“No!”

           

“There’s a stand of eucalyptus along my south ridge,” she said, waving a finger at the dark hills. “If you focus through a twenty-foot gap in the center, you can see the front drive and employee parking lot.”

           

“There are laws about this kind of thing, Mrs. Parker.”

           

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about that two-hour lunch you took Monday. Meanwhile, tonight’s subject is work-related, anyhow, because it’s Cygnus.”

           

“The Swan.”

           

“As in...”

           

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

           

“Anyway, we had to wait this long till our subject cleared the north hills. He’s more of a summer bird. Now, grab yourself a beverage while I line ‘er up.”

           

Scootie twisted the cap of Cindy’s Thermos and poured out its dark, fragrant liquid.

           

“Say, this is different.”

           

“Mulled wine,” said Cindy. “I thought it would be a nice change. Ready?”

           

Scootie sat on their stargazing bench and crossed his legs. Cindy put a hand to her forehead, sorting her presentation.

           

“Okay. Cygnus is a constellation of nine primary stars, mostly seen along the Milky Way in summer. The stars that outline the wide wings, stubby tail and long neck of a swan in flight also resemble a cross, often referred to as the Northern Cross.

“There are several Greek myths surrounding Cygnus, but here’s my favorite. Cygnus was a musician-king who had a friend names Phaethon, son of the sun-god Apollo. Phaethon talked his dad into giving him the keys to the chariot one day, and – as teenagers are wont to do – lost control of the horses, wreaking havoc across the sky. Zeus was watching all this and, fearing for the safety of Heaven and Earth, zapped the kid with a lightning bolt, killing him instantly. Phaethon’s charred body fell into the river Eridanus, and Cygnus plunged in afterward, diving again and again in a desperate attempt to pull his friend from the water.

           

“The grief-stricken father, Apollo, was very touched by this, and it occurred to him that Cygnus looked like a swan searching for food. He rewarded the young man’s devotion by turning him into a swan and immortalizing him in the stars. It’s also said that Cygnus’s wails of mourning, as he searched for his friend, inspired the legend that swans sing songs before they die, giving birth to the expression ‘swan song.’”

           

“Beautiful,” said Scootie.

           

“Yes,” said Cindy. “Very sad and sweet. Now here, take my binoculars and check out the beak of the swan, which appears to be a single star of three-point-one magnitude.”

           

“Got it.”

           

“No keep an eye on that while I nudge ol’ Lenny... Okay. Now give me the binoculars and take a gander.”

           

“Wrong species,” said Scootie. He rubbed his eyes and lowered them to the viewer. He saw not one star but two, one large and golden, the other smaller and blue.

           

“That’s Albireo,” said Cindy. “A double star: an amber of magnitude three-point-two, and a blue-green of five-point-three.”

           

“Two-thirds of a traffic light,” said Scootie. “And a lovely couple.” He looked for a while longer, studying the way the two stars intermingled their lights, then ceded the ‘scope to his teacher.

           

Cindy leaned over with her expert squint and gave Albireo another look. “Oh yeah, I forgot,” she said. “Cygnus also represents Zeus in disguise, on the way to one of his adulterous affairs.”

           

Scootie was getting a refill from Cindy’s Thermos. “Zat so?”

           

Cindy turned from the telescope. “Seems that Zeus had the hots for a nymph named Nemesis. She kept rebuffing him, so he pretended to be a swan escaping from an eagle, and she offered him sanctuary. Only after she fell asleep with the swan in her lap did she discover her mistake. Poor Nemesis eventually produced an egg, of all things, and out of the egg hatched Helen of Troy.”

           

“The duckling who launched a thousand ships,” said Scootie.

           

“Hey, I don’t write this stuff,” said Cindy. She returned to the telescope while Scootie followed the flight of Cygnus along the coastal hills, envisioning Helen pecking her perfect nose through the shell.

           

“Have you ever had an affair, Cindy?”

           

Cindy straightened up from the eyepiece, not sure how to take this sudden bluntness. She sensed the sincerity of the question, however, and straddled the stargazing bench, placing her palms flat on its surface.          “Once. It was an odd thing. George and I married awfully young, and about four years along we were both having our doubts. I think we felt like we had given away our lives too early. We sort of had a mutual vacation that got out of hand. George started spending a lot of nights with his surfing buddies, drinking a lot of beer, and I buried myself in my job. I was a loan officer at a bank in Capitola, looking to get into management. At least, that’s what I told myself. A career can be a very enticing thing.

           

“I was also feeling very unattractive. I had gained a lot of weight, and the way we lost our romance for each other, it was like a small death, this heavy thing we dragged around but never talked about.

           

“Then the bank hired a college student named Ted. Ted and I became instant companions. From the moment I met him, I felt like I could tell him anything. One day we were having lunch, and I was ocmplaining about me and George, and how I didn’t feel wanted, and Ted suggested we go to his apartment after work and, you know, have a session.

           

“That might seem crude, but that was the kind of friends we were – we could say things like that. At first I agreed, but as the day wore on, I realized I was making a mistake. When I met Ted at his apartment, he said he was having second thoughts, too, so we didn’t do it.

           

“But you know – it was almost as if he had slept with me, anyway. Just the thought that this beautiful, sweet man had wanted me, it sent my chemicals whirling, made me feel young and horny and desirable. And it didn’t detract from our friendship at all – in fact, quite the opposite. We continued our little counseling sessions until I gathered enough strength to take on my problems. I fought George tooth-and-nail until he joined A.A. and went with me to a counselor. Within a year, I had saved my marriage and started to fall in love with him all over again.

           

“A little later, I took Ted out to lunch on his birthday. I told him how much I appreciated his hours and hours of listening and putting up with my complaints, and then I had a startling idea. ‘Ted,’ I told him. ‘Do you think we owe something to ourselves?’ He had no idea what I was talking about. Then I said, ‘Let’s go to your apartment right now.’

           

“No!” said Scootie.

           

“Yes,” said Cindy, her eyes wide with scandal. “That was the only time I cheated on my husband – to reward myself for saving my marriage.”

           

“Therapeutic adultery,” said Scootie. “Have you ever told George?”

           

“I think... it would lose a little in the translation. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve ever told.”

           

“It goes no further,” Scootie promised.

           

“I know. That’s why I told you.”

           

“So where’s Ted now?”

           

“He’s in the state assembly, representing Soledad. He’s also Joshua’s godfather.”

           

“No!”

           

“Yes.”

Photo by MJV

Alcyone, Chapter Nine: Demented Honeybee

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Nine

Scootie was no easily fazed, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure the greeting kisses of Virginia Mendheart. Perhaps the problem was background. From an impoverished childhood in Altoona, Pennsylvania to director of the Prologue Life Insurance Company, Virginia had run the gamut of greetings: the hearty backslap, the awkward half-wave of the pre-feminist, male-female introduction, and the firm handshake of the business world. No she was stuck between the cheek-to-cheek air kiss of high society and the lip-on-lip Eurosmack of the artsy elite.

           

Thus, once a week, Scootie would approach her like a linebacker trying to guess run or pass. Sometimes he would go for the cheek, only to have Virginia kiss him in the ear. Other times, he went for the lips, and she would step back, pursing her lips as though she had bitten into a lemon.

           

He was happy, then, when Juliana arrived first, in a linen shirt vest and palazzo pants. He was happy, too, that they had dropped their initial, uncomfortable flirtations and settled into a friendly working relationship.

           

“Good morning, Scootie. Virginia will be a little late. Any coffee in here?”

           

“Coffee is everywhere at Fetzle. There on that concrete monstrosity in the corner.”

           

“Geez! How did they get that thing in here?”            

 “The Hallis High football team.”

           

“Really?” She sipped too quickly and had to let the coffee cool on her tongue. “Is it that valuable?”

           

“Turn-of-the-century. Taken from an original at Versailles. We wanted nothing but human hands on it.”

           

“Gracious!” Juliana sat in a wicker chair and laid folders across the table like playing cards.

           

“Juliana,” said Scootie. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. When Virginia greets people, is it better to...”

           

“Virginia! You’re here. Marvelous!”

           

Virginia burst through the door in a black lace blouse, black pants and a yellow-and-black checked blazer. She looked like a demented honeybee. Juliana rose to meet her with the half-hug and air kiss.

“Darling, how are you?” asked Virginia. “I love that outfit, so... Saudia Arabia. Hi, Scootie.”

           

Scootie rose to greet Virginia just as Juliana had, but was greeted by two extended hands. What next?

           

“Scootie, don’t waltz with me, dear. Give me a kiss.”

           

Scootie placed a light smack on her lips and retreated to his chair.

           

“These young men!” she said to Juliana. “So difficult to train.”

           

Juliana gave Scootie an appraising look, as though she had just discovered him there. “Yes, you do.”

           

Scootie was anxious to get down to business. He pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and passed them out.

           

“Well,” said Juliana. “What goodies are these?”

           

“Our Stephen Swan marketing strategy,” he answered. “Or at least, my best guess. We’ve never done anything like this before, but fortunately I had some help from your friend Kathleen in San Francisco. I’ve got all the specifics on these papers, but if you want I can run down the major themes.

           

“Mostly this: with a name like Stephen’s, nothing too fancy is needed. I’ve covered the locals with the Half Moon Bay and Santa Cruz dailies, extended it to Monterey with a classical radio station, and I’m hitting the Bay Area in general with an ad in the Chronicle pink section.”

           

“What about the freebies?” asked Virginia. “Tell us about the freebies.”

           

“Articles from the papers are a cinch – local boy makes good, etc. The Chron might be a push, because they get big names every week. But I’d bet on San Jose.”

           

“Good,” said Juliana. “What about radio and TV?”

           

“That’s a little tougher. We won’t have access to Mister Swan till pretty late in the game, so interviews might be a problem. We should, however, get a few PSAs from our regular radio stations...”

           

“PSAs?” asked Virginia.

           

“Public Service Announcements.”

           

“Oh.”

           

“I’m also working on spots at the cable stations, and we might get coverage from KKOW in Salinas, but I’m not sure about the big stations over the hill. Not enough in the way of visuals.”

           

“Could we get one of them to use excerpts from Stephen’s films?” asked Juliana.

           

“That’s a good angle,” said Scootie. “Maybe that classic movie host from KKPT. In any case, for specifics, you can see the dates and airtimes on page...”

           

Virginia slapped both hands on the table. “Giveaways!”

           

“Giveaways?” said Scootie.

           

“Yes!” said Virginia. “My nephew runs a theater in San Carlos, and he gives tickets to radio stations so they can do on-air giveaways.”

           

Scootie smelled trouble. “Well, yes... I do that with some of the regular stuff here at Fetzle. But for a fundraiser? You’ve got people paying a hundred dollars for these tickets. What would they think if they found out we were giving out freebies?”

           

Virginia’s eyes shrank back to normal size. “Oh. Well... it was a good thought.”

           

“Yes, it was,” said Scootie, but he could see the gears still clicking away in her head.

           

The meeting ran another hour. Virginia headed off for a meeting in Pacifica, leaving Juliana gazing out the solarium windows as Scootie finished his notes. Afterward, he walked her out the front of the mansion.

           

“Don’t you usually hike down that back trail of yours?”

           

“Not today,” she replied. “I’m meeting Scott for dinner in The City.”

           

“Special occasion?”

           

“Nope. My husband is in a generous mood lately.”

           

“Ah.” They descended the front steps and crossed to her car in the employee parking lot.

           

“By the way,” said Juliana. “Stephen’s agent wrote to say that... This is a little hard to explain. Apparently, Mr. Swan has developed certain eccentricities that require the presence of a calm, capable backstage assistant. I immediately thought of you.”

           

“I’m honored,” said Scootie. “Did he give you any particulars as to these... eccentricities?”

           

“Not a one,” said Juliana, biting her lip. “I hope it’s nothing involving malt liguor and chainsaws. But I’m sure you can handle it. I’d bet you could handle just about anything.”

           

Scootie laughed. “Now that you mention it, there is one thing. How the hell does one go about greeting Virginia? She throws a new trick every time I see her.”

           

“Ah,” said Juliana, smiling. “That is tricky.” She placed her hands on his shoulder and nudged him into position. “I’ll be Virginia. First off, I’ll pretend to be vaguely British.”

           

“You’ve noticed that, too.”

           

“Quite. Now, it’s a very subtle thing, but it’s all in the face and hands. If I come at you like this, with my arms in front of me, palms facing in, with a gleeful, friendly expression, give me a gentle hug – no squeezing – and kiss the air somewhere near my cheek. Oh, and be sure to commit to the left or right – otherwise we might lose teeth.” She approached him as described, and he placed a kiss one inch from her left cheek.

           

“Lovely,” said Juliana. “Now I will come at you, arms forward – but this time, palms facing up – fingers curled slightly inward, and on my face I will wear a look of sultry determination, like Blanche Dubois on a bad hair day. In this case, you should take my hands, hold them for one beat (as we say in the theater), then kiss me, firmly yet briefly, on the lips. And remember, it’s not that I want to be desired, it’s more that I want to be found acceptable of kissing. It’s an older-female thing.”

           

Juliana backed up a step, setting herself into the appropriate posture, then made her approach. Scootie followed her instructions, not quite processing the action until their lips were detached, and Juliana was still holding his hands.

           

“Well,” she said. “Perhaps not so long on the kiss.”

Photo by MJV