The Merchant of Menace jj-10 Read online

  “No, the courses aren't hard at all. In fact, some are a lot easier than high school. It's just 'cause they're so boring. I want to be really, really interested in something. I want to be like John, spouting about double helixes because I think they're so neat I can't keep it to myself."

  “But Mike, you're interested in — and knowledgeable about — a lot of things."

  “Uh-huh. Too many. I'm pretty good at sports, but I don't have dreams about making touchdowns. I can play a couple instruments, but I'm not good enough to make it my life's work. I know all the grammar rules and have big chunks of Macbeth memorized, but you can't make a living with that stuff. Besides, I don't want to.”

  Jane dumped the broccoli flowerettes into a bowl and started peeling the stalks and cutting them into slices. "Okay, I'm getting the picture. Yesterday I was asking Shelley for advice and she said she'd like to be the wise woman and give it to me, but had none. I feel sort of the same way. But I do have a few suggestions.”

  “Yeah?"

  “First, get the grades in the dumb courses u "Yeah, I know that. I will. Piece of cake, really."

  “Second, get it out of your head that you have to decide right now what you're going to be for the rest of your life. You've got at least two years before you have to even pick a major — and even then you can change it. Third, go get the college catalog. I saw a copy in your room when I was cleaning it up after Thanksgiving."

  “Why the catalog?"

  “Because I want you to go through it and mark the weirdest courses you can find and take at least two of them every semester. If they're upper level and you can't actually enroll for credit, at least you can audit them. It doesn't matter if your first two years of required courses take two and a half or three years. There's enough money in the trust I set up for you with your dad's life insurance money to spring for an extra year if you want.”

  Mike went upstairs with what Jane imagined was a little bit of a spring in his step. He returned to the kitchen with the catalog open. He was laughing to himself.

  “Here's a good one. 'The History of Armor: From Leather to Kevlar.' "

  “Sign up for it," Jane said, dumping the broccoli stems in the pot of water that was now at the boil.

  “Omigawd!" Mike exclaimed. "How aboutthis one: 'Mortuary Science: Chemistry, Cosmetics, and Counseling.' I can't believe it."

  “I sure hope that's not something you'd take and want to blab about at home. Although it would probably go over great in a dorm.”

  Mike found courses in gender bias in the military, an art class called "Color and Psychology," a history class titled "Catherine the Great: Was She?", a course in flower arranging ("Flower arranging?" Jane exclaimed. "Are there parents actually paying for their kids to take that?"), and several revolting-sounding premed courses.

  “Mom, you're great!" Mike finally said. "Even if I don't take any of this stuff, you've sure made me feel a lot better." He bounced off to his room, still flipping through the course catalog.

  Am I great? Jane wondered. No, probably not. But she was doing her best and if her best was just making her son feel better about himself, that wasn't too shabby an accomplishment. And who could tell — it might turn out that Mike would actually want to be a mortician, or an armor-maker.

  She tossed the broccoli flowerettes into the steamer sitting over the boiling stems and started the white sauce.

  Seven

  Jane went on checking off items on her oh-so‑ efficient list. By three o'clock she was feeling that hosting the caroling party was no big deal and with a little organizational effort, she could entertain more often. Possibly quite spectacularly.

  She managed to put out of her mind the many other times she'd believed herself to be highly organized only to discover that she'd omitted some vital consideration. Once, with a houseful of people, several of whom had occasion to use the bathroom, she'd run out of toilet paper. Another time she prepared to start the coffee for a party as the first guest arrived and realized the coffee can contained only a few disgusting crumbs. On both these occasions Shelley had bailed her out.

  But this time, she truly believed she was prepared for anything that could happen.

  She was wrong.

  At quarter after three, Mel called. "I've just picked my mom up from the airport and she's dying to meet you," he said. "Is this a good time?”

  Jane had never really wanted to meet Mel's mother. He always spoke of her very fondly and Jane could find no specific fault with what she'd heard about Addie VanDyne. It just amounted to a vague uneasiness.

  But she said, "It's a perfect time. I don't have to put the potato casseroles in until—" She consulted her list. " — five-fifteen.”

  This didn't make much sense to Mel, but he didn't question her. "I think we may have a slight problem," he said. "I'll tell you about it when we get there.”

  In her current cocky mood, the concept of a slight problem didn't trouble Jane. She was Woman, she could cope. Little problems were mere trivialities: She quickly threw together a big green salad. This was marked as a four o'clock job, but it probably wouldn't wilt too badly if done a bit early. She glanced out the window while tearing lettuce and noticed that it had begun to snow again. Big, fluffy white flakes that were quickly covering the ground, but melting on the street. If it didn't get a lot colder and glaze over, the snow would be nice, adding a very traditional Christmas touch to the party.

  She refreshed her hair and makeup, changed into a fresh blouse and slacks because she'd inexplicably gotten tomato juice and seeds all over herself. They ought to be here any minute, she thought as she sat down in the living room to wait, idly flipping through a holiday crafts magazine while she tried to remember what she knew about Mel's family and why she had a sense that she and Addie weren't going to be on exactly the same wavelength. Mel didn't talk about his relations very often. His father had died young and his mother, if Jane was remembering right, had started an escort service in Atlanta. Not that kind of escort service, he'd hastily explained. A real one, driving visiting celebrities and rich business types around town. Ted Turner's television network had been God's gift to her. She invested in a limo and did the driving herself at first, then as she became more successful, she purchased more cars and hired drivers. She had eventually expanded the service to a number of Southern cities, franchising the business and traveling frequently to keep a close eye on the efficiency, courtesy, and driving skills of the drivers and the manner in which the home offices were run.

  An admirable woman, Jane had thought. But now that she was about to meet Mel's mother, she had a few uncomfortable second thoughts. Jane herself had been widowed with young children and hadn't done anything nearly so impressive or financially aggressive. Thanks to life and mortgage insurance, and her own and her late husband's investment in his family's small chain of pharmacies, the profit from which hadn't died with him, she'd been able to be a stay-at-home, full-time mother. She had no regrets. Raising her children was a job that was both challenging and important to her and she felt she'd done it fairly well so far.

  And her contribution to the outside world was substantial as well. She volunteered for a great many worthwhile endeavors. Once a week she drove a group of blind children to their special school that had no bus service. She served, albeit unwillingly, on the PTA board and had often allowed herself to be dragooned into being a room mother. She worked for her church and several charities and had served on the fundraising committees for a number of civic groups. But all of that might well appear pretty inconsequential to a woman who had started a highly successful business from scratch.

  She heard Mel's red MG pull into the driveway — she had to get that pothole at the end of it fixed soon or his little car would disappear into it someday. She had visions of firemen lowering rope ladders into the hole. She opened the front door to greet them.

  The snow was getting heavier and Mel introduced his mother while they crowded into the house, shaking snowflakes from hair and shoul
ders. "Mom, this is Jane Jeffry. Jane, my mother, Addie VanDyne.”

  Jane was stunned. The woman hardly looked more than a couple years older than Jane herself. She had masses of curly dark hair; a valentine-shaped face without a single wrinkle that Jane could see; small, sparkling white teeth and big china-blue eyes. She was — well, there was no other word cute, in a very expensive, sophisticated way. She wore a black cashmere coat, black patent boots, and the same elegant black gloves Jane had wanted to get Shelley for Christmas but simply couldn't afford. As Addie Van-Dyne shed her coat, she revealed a slubbed silk princess-line suit that precisely matched her eyes and did wonders for her perfect figure. She even had a dimple, just like Mel's, which en‑ hanced the impression that she might just be a slightly older sister instead of his mother.

  Jane wanted to run away and burn her own khaki slacks and plaid shirt.

  She hung up their coats and indicated they were to make themselves comfortable in the living room. As she closed the closet door, she noticed there was an unfamiliar suitcase sitting in the hall. Mel must have brought it in. Dear God, Addie VanDyne hadn't brought them presents, had she? This possibility had never crossed Jane's mind. She'd prepared for the visit with a nice bottle of perfume and an elegant little atomizer in an Erte-like design which was wrapped in fancy red foil for Mel's mother, but that was all.

  Jane had coffee and tea ready to put into the antique, but somewhat shabby, slightly dented silver service that had been a wedding present from her grandmother, and she'd arranged a plate of cookies — good ones, not the deformed elves. She filled the tray and took it into the living room.

  “I thought you might like a little snack after your trip, Mrs. VanDyne. We're having quite a big dinner later.”

  She expected Mel's mom to insist on being called Addie, but instead she said, "How thoughtful, Mrs. Jeffry." Was there a little emphasis on the "Mrs." or did Jane only imagine it?

  Jane asked a few inane questions about Mrs. VanDyne's flight to which she got pleasant, innocuous replies. Mel tried to help. "Mom, tell Jane about the man with the dog in a carrier," he said rather desperately.

  Mrs. VanDyne waved this away. "It wasn't that interesting, dear." She glanced around the room. "What a very nice little house you have, Mrs. Jeffry. I suppose these holiday decorations have some family significance.”

  In other words, they look like shit but must mean something to me, otherwise I wouldn't let them see the light of day, Jane thought. No, don't get off on the wrong foot, she warned herself.

  She nodded and turned to Mel. "You mentioned a little problem on the phone?" she asked meaningfully.

  “My furnace has gone out and it's pretty arctic in my apartment," he said. "Mom had a bout of pneumonia last year and really can't take the cold…”

  Jane saw what was coming and mentally crossed her fingers that she was wrong.

  “I wondered if maybe she could camp out here with you until it's fixed," he said.

  Jane realized she should have tried serious prayer instead of superstition.

  “Mel, dear," Mrs. VanDyne said, "I told you I'd be happy to stay in a hotel."

  “Morn, you're always complaining about how much you hate staying in hotels, since you have to do it so much of the time. Jane's got a guest room and it would only be for one night. I'm sure Jane wouldn't mind. And it would give you. two a chance to get to know each other better.”

  He was smiling as if this were a great idea they'd both welcome.

  Jane was running through several appealing choices of how to kill him. What nerve, dumping his mother on her without warning and right in front of the woman. And he looked so damned cheerful, as if he really believed what he was saying. And the thing was, he probably did.

  “I'd be glad to have you stay here," Jane said, giving Mel an "I'll Get Even with You If It Takes the Rest of My Life" look.

  “Oh, I couldn't impose on you.”

  In that case, why had she let Mel bring her suitcase in, Jane wondered. "It wouldn't be the slightest imposition… Addie." If the woman was going to stay here, she was going to be called by her first name, Jane decided.

  “Well, thank you. . Jane. If you're quite sure?”

  Mel beamed. Jane wanted to smack him. Thank goodness she'd given the guest room, which was hardly more than a good-sized closet and usually full of craft junk, a thorough cleaning. Or maybe not. Addie wouldn't have been quite so inclined to stay if she'd had to wrestle with measuring tapes, an ironing board, quilting pins, and the sewing machine to get to the bed. And sharing a bathroom with all three kids wasn't going to be a lot of fun for her either.

  Maybe I'm misjudging her, Jane thought, trying to be both fair and noble. Maybe Mel's right and we'll get to be friends by being thrown together this way. Probably not, but anything was possible.

  “Mel, if you want to take Addie and her suitcase upstairs, I need to make a quick phone call and get some things into the oven.”

  As they went up the stairs, Jane raced for thephone and dialed Shelley. "Disaster," she said softly when Shelley answered. "Mel's dumped his mother on me. To stay at my house until his furnace is fixed!"

  “He didn't!" Shelley exclaimed.

  “I can't have her underfoot while I'm throwing this dinner together. Please come divert her for a little while."

  “Give me five minutes to stuff the hams into the oven and I'll be there.”

  Jane had just hung up the phone when Mel came into the kitchen. "Mom's changing her clothes. I've got to go back to my apartment and wait for the furnace people," he said. "I hope you don't mind keeping Mom overnight, Janey."

  “I wouldn't have minded a private warning," Jane said frankly. "I don't really have much free time to entertain her."

  “Oh, she won't need entertaining. She's really self-sufficient. And she's a great cook. Maybe she can help you with dinner."

  “I don't need help, Mel. I'm a good cook, too."

  “I know you are." He paused, jingling his car keys. "Janey, you're not pissed off, are you?"

  “Aren't I?" Jane asked, heading for the garage to bring in the scalloped potato casseroles.

  When she came back into the kitchen, he was looking contrite. "I'm sorry. I got rattled and didn't think. I should have asked you first, but I didn't know I'd need to ask at all until we got to my apartment and it was freezing cold. She really did have a bad time with the pneumonia last year and—"

  “I know, Mel." She remembered when he went to visit his ailing mother. Jane had pictured Addie VanDyne as a little old lady with white hair and a frail, almost-ready-for-the-nursing-home constitution. That had obviously been a stupid assumption. Jane's own mother was older than Mel's and she was fit and sleek as a racehorse.

  “Listen, Janey. I'll take her to a hotel. I'll tell her… something."

  “You'd have to tell a whopping great lie that she'd know was one," Jane said, sliding the casserole into the oven — which she now realized she'd forgotten to preheat. "I'm not going to throw your mother out. It's okay. It's a done deal. And, as you say, it's just for one night."

  “You really don't want her here, do you? You don't like her?”

  He sounded so astonished at the very concept that Jane could think of nothing to say except, "I'm sure I'll like her a lot, Mel. We don't even know each other yet. Now, get out of my way. I have a ton of stuff to do before the party. You are coming, aren't you?"

  “The minute the furnace repair person leaves," he said, looking cheerful again.

  Jane heard Addie coming down the stairs a few minutes after Mel left. Jane had assumed that Addie had changed into more comfortable sitting-around-the-house clothing although it was too much to hope she'd opt for a sweatsuit.

  Addie swished into the kitchen wearing a cherry red outfit that Jane could only think of as "lounging pajamas." There was a lovely self-stripe to the fabric, which draped beautifully, and Addie had added a necklace and earringsof silver and Christmas tree — green stones that Jane feared were real emeralds.


  “How can I help, Jane dear?"

  “You could start by loaning me your wardrobe," Jane said.

  “What?"

  “Just a joke," Jane said.

  Eight

  Shelley came to her rescue in fine form, engag ing Addie in light, impersonal conversation so that Jane could finish dinner preparations. Every now and then Shelley would toss Jane a question. An easy one, like "Do you need any help?" or "How's it going?" To which Jane could reply brightly, "Not a bit," or "It's coming right along on schedule.”

  As six o'clock approached, the time the carolers were to assemble, several neighbors dropped in with contributions. Sharon Wilhite made a couple trips, bringing four very expensive-looking wine bottles and a box full of plastic wineglasses. "Hope you don't mind them being plastic," Sharon said.

  “Is there anyone on earth with thirty real ones sitting around?" Jane asked. "Plastic is great."

  “I hear Lance King's invited to the party," Sharon said.

  “And he's been uninvited," Jane said bluntly. "Sorry, maybe you're a fan of his."

  “Fan? No way. He was born obnoxious. I often wonder… oh, well, never mind.”

  This was the sort of conversational gambit Jane would normally have pursued avidly, but was too busy at the moment. She'd ask Sharon about it later. If she could remember.

  Julie Newton brought snack mix and, to Jane's surprise, had the native wit to bring along little matched bowls the shape of Christmas trees to set around the house on various flat surfaces. Little Pet Dwyer turned up with a pan of fudge she'd made herself. It looked like a big mud pie with green sprinkles, but the women all complimented her skills effusively.

  “Are you and your dad singing with the group before you come here for dinner?" Jane asked.

  “No, Daddy has to work at home tonight. But he said I could come if someone would walk me home by eight-thirty. He's putting together a web page that has a lot of graphics to load."

  “I'm sure Todd will be happy to walk you home, Pet," Jane told her. "Be sure your father knows he's welcome to drop by if he gets a chance to take a break. Lots of good food here."