Back Talk (17 page)

“Of course. Kids are so cute,” Hilton said, watching out the reception area window as Tiger Lily and her mother made their way to the elevator. The way Sarah Carthart looked at the daughter made Hilton’s heart hurt. Her mother had looked at her that way. She still remembered how it felt to be so unconditionally loved. The last time her mother held her hand was on the beach that fateful day. Hilton sighed heavily.

Anne touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go shopping.” They turned around to bid the others goodbye. Jessie was rubbing Veronica’s shoulders as she finished up the day’s paperwork and Dave was now showing Liz, Melissa, and Gwin more control room wizardry.

“We reconvene at one-thirty, correct?” Veronica said. “We still have to decorate and get the pumpkins carved. I wish I’d had more advanced notice of this soiree, but I think we can still pull it off in grand style.”

“You did just meet Jessie yesterday,” Anne reminded her.

“I know but some things are meant to be,” Veronica said, looking goo-goo-eyed at Jessie.

“I think I’m going to be ill,” Anne said.

Hilton gave her a little shove. “Come on, this is good for her. If she’s in love she’s a lot less of a pain in the ass as a producer.”

“You do have a point there,” Anne said. They headed for the elevators.

They got back to the house at one-thirty after having made great time at Fred Meyers gathering up a shopping cart full of candy, decorations and six pumpkins. They chose the biggest pumpkin they could find for Veronica. “Let’s see the maestro carve a swan or something out of this,” Anne said, lugging it to the front 123

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porch. She set it next to the bale of straw sitting there. “What the hell?”

“I’m sure Veronica is inside sewing a scarecrow to go with,”

Hilton said.

Anne screamed, “Ouch!” as the big pumpkin rolled onto her thumb.

“Are you all right?” Hilton asked.

“Yes, I just bumped it.”

They got the rest of the stuff out of the car and made trips to the foyer where they stashed it all. Shannon was sniffing the bale of straw and then apparently decided it would make a good bed.

She climbed on top of it and resumed her napping. Anne scratched her ears and then followed Hilton into the house where someone was screeching in pain. Hilton could only imagine.

“I have to pee,” Anne said, looking around. Hilton pointed to the first-floor toilet that had now officially been repaired. Jessie had dealt with the plumber that morning.

“I’ll go see what the ruckus is about,” Hilton said. She left the front door cracked so Shannon could come in when she was finished pretending she was a farm dog. She found Jessie leaning over the sink with her hair under the faucet. She was screaming as Liz told her to stay still. “What the hell is going on?”

“Jessie’s got corn syrup in her hair and I’m trying to get it out,”

Liz said.

“How did that happen?” Hilton asked. She looked around the kitchen at the huge bowl of colored popcorn balls, decorated sugar cookies and three boxes filled with what looked like craft supplies.

Jessie pulled her head out of the sink. “I was cleaning up the pan with the corn syrup in it and I got an itch.”

“Which she scratched with her sticky hand and what do you know it’s stuck in her hair,” Liz added.

Hilton chuckled.

“I want to get it out before Veronica comes down. I don’t want her to think I’m a dweeb,” Jessie said, pulling at the blob of syrup still stuck in her hair.

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“Where is Veronica?” Hilton asked.

“She’s upstairs in Gran’s old sewing room making a skirt for her witch’s costume. She wants to be scary when she hands out the candy,” Jessie replied.

“She’s making a skirt,” Hilton said incredulously.

Anne came in the kitchen. “Why do you have a bunch of sheets soaking in black dye in the bathtub?”

“What?” Hilton said.

“Veronica is dyeing them black so we can cut designs in them.

You hang them up and the design utilizes inside lights,” Liz replied.

“Ouch!” Jessie said as Liz attempted to pull the corn syrup out of her hair.

“What’s that?” Anne said, leaning in to take a closer look.

“Corn syrup,” Jessie replied.

“You’re going to have to cut it out,” Anne said.

“Really?” Jessie’s eyes got big.

“I could probably do it,” Anne said.

“You cut hair?” Hilton asked.

“Well, I do a little trimming on my own.”

“I always wondered how your hair looked so perfect all the time,” Hilton said.

“It’s maintenance,” Anne said, touching the bottom of her curly locks. “Come on, let’s get this out of Jessie’s hair before Martha Stewart on steroids gets wind of it.”

“Let’s hit the library. She won’t look for us there. Liz, you run defense. Do we even have scissors?” Hilton asked. She eyed the craft boxes. “We do now,” she said, plucking out a pair of orange-handled scissors.

“I think I’m having a panic attack,” Liz said. She sat down at the kitchen table.

“Why?” Jessie asked, still pulling at her hair.

“I’m supposed to be cutting out these designs for the pumpkin carving. Then I’ve got to find that old black kettle that’s somewhere in the depths of the garage and get some dry ice. I have to 125

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go to work at three and pick Melissa up at six-thirty and get back here to finish helping,” Liz said, draping her head in her hands.

“I’ll find the pot and get the dry ice. You sit here and cut out the designs. Have a cup of tea and go to work,” Hilton instructed.

“And we’ll deal with Veronica,” Anne piped in.

Hilton led them to the library. For the first time in her life she was embarrassed at the state of the place. It was far more tattered than the living room ever had been. The old brown and gold brocade couch and matching chairs were tattered and the Mexican blankets bought from the flea market to cover up the worn furniture could definitely use a washing. Shannon slept on the couch a lot and it was covered with white fur. The old oak and glass bookcases had held up somewhat, but the books lay in messy stacks as if someone had carelessly rooted through them.

Anne didn’t appear to notice. “Jessie, sit on the ottoman and we’ll get you all fixed up.”

“Hey, Jessie, why don’t you work on fixing this room up as well,” Hilton suggested.

“Really?” Jessie said. She sat up straight as Anne surveyed her head.

“Yeah, you did a great job on the living room.”

“This room has great lines. What with the oak paneling and the big windows it could be a real showplace,” Anne said. She clipped out the corn syrup.

“I’ll call the accountant and tell him what we’re up to,” Hilton said.

“Okay, it’s going to be shorter,” Anne said. “But it’s the only way I can even it out.”

“Can you take some off the top?” Jessie asked.

“Jessie, she’s not a real hair stylist,” Hilton said. She sat on the couch. Shannon must have heard them because she came inside and jumped on the couch next to her.

“I think I can do that,” Anne said, standing back and then coming in and making a few snips here and there.

“Speaking of haircuts, I know someone who’s going to the groomer this week,” Hilton said. Shannon barked.

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“Is that as bad as going to the vet?” Anne asked. She clipped a little more off the top of Jessie’s head.

“Not quite. The groomer is mobile so she comes to the house.

Shannon doesn’t get as upset and she gets a lot of treats.”

“Did you want a little trim?” Anne asked.

“What do you have in mind?” Hilton asked.

“Well, I was thinking about taking off a couple of inches. That would get rid of all your split ends and encourage healthy growth.”

“Do it. She did a great job on my hair,” Jessie said, admiring her hair in the oval beveled mirror that hung over the fireplace mantel.

Hilton took a handful of hair and studied the ends. It was badly damaged. “All right.”

“Come sit on the ottoman.” Anne combed out the snarls and then began to cut.

“There you are!” Veronica said as she entered the den.

“Where’s Liz?” Hilton asked. Anne was putting the final touches on her trim job.

“She had to go to work.”

Hilton glanced down at her Swiss Army watch, thinking sure she did. It was only five after two and her shift didn’t start until three.

“You look great!” Jessie said.

“Why, thank you,” Veronica said, swirling around to better show off her ensemble.

“I can’t believe you just whipped up a skirt,” Anne said. She was still seriously studying Hilton’s hair.

“Oh, it was easy. I took some old sheets, dyed them black, which takes no time at all and then dried them. Hilton, you really need a new dryer. That thing is archaic. Then I sewed a hem and a waistband. Your grandmother’s sewing machine, however, is top of the line. I fed some elastic through the waistband. And there you have it. Wear a long sleeved black sweater, buy an inexpensive witch’s hat and off you go.”

Hilton felt exposed, like she was on display. She was glad that she had company because being so close to Anne sometimes made her kind of giddy. She swore Anne’s cologne sent her endorphins into overdrive.

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Anne stood back. “I think it’s even.”

“Thank you,” Hilton said. She got up and surveyed herself in the mirror over the fireplace. Her hair did look better.

“Veronica, I seriously think you could give Martha Stewart a run for her money. Your talents are being wasted as a radio show producer.”

Veronica was still and quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Anne.

You’re the first person who has ever really appreciated my home-making talents.”

“You do totally rock,” Jessie said.

“Well, that’s enough about me. Let’s get to decorating,”

Veronica said.

Hilton stifled a groan. Anne touched her hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, like having your toenails removed.”

Later that evening as they all lay around the living room on pillows and afghans watching
Tales from the Crypt
on DVD, Hilton thought the afternoon and evening had been more fun than she imagined possible. It was certainly better than last year when the entire evening had been spent doing Ecstasy and finding Nat in the arms of a woman dressed as a belly dancer.

This year was wholesome in comparison. Veronica and Anne handed out candy. The carved pumpkins turned out to be amazingly creative. The black cauldron spewing froth and the decorations in the windows made the old Victorian house look downright scary.

Veronica had allowed them to order takeout Chinese instead of whipping up something herself, so after the trick-or-treaters were gone they had time to relax. Hilton lay next to Anne on a blanket.

They propped up pillows against the couch and covered up with a throw. The night was chilly. Hilton felt Anne’s thigh next to hers and she couldn’t help thinking if this was her life she would die happy.

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The following Saturday Hilton, Jessie and Liz sat on the sand at the beach staring at the small shrine Hilton had built for the occasion. She lit three votive candles, one for the past, one for the present and one for the future. She put a picture of her mother in the middle of them and then lay a giant sunflower at its base.

Sunflowers were her mother’s favorite flower. The picture was Hilton’s favorite. It was one of her mother as a young woman perched on a bicycle, her legs spread wide and a girlish grin on her face.

Hilton lay back on the old quilt and stared up at the sky. The November gloom was settling in. The city would be monochro-matic for the next few months ahead. Maybe this year she’d really go to Mexico and get some sun like she promised herself every year. It always seemed something would come up or she’d find an excuse not to go. She imagined herself lying on the beach, wearing only a sarong. Every part of her would be brown and she’d buy a 129

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bunch of cheap silver bracelets because they always looked good against tanned skin. She wondered if her mother ever felt like running away to somewhere warm and simple, somewhere away from Percy.

“Hilton?” Jessie said, breaking Hilton’s ruminations.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes and sat up.

“How come he always sits up there in his big fat limo and never talks to you?”

Jessie was referring to her father, Percy Withers, who sat in the back of his black limo in the parking lot of the beach each year on this day. It was the only time she saw him, or rather, felt his presence. She couldn’t actually see him behind the tinted windows of the backseat, but his driver always waved so she’d know it was Percy. His driver seemed a decent man. Sometimes he’d get out of the limo and have a cigarette. Percy would stay as long as she did.

She would leave with her friends and the limo would drive off.

“There’s a few reasons, I think.” She shrugged. “Guilt, shame and greed.”

“Guilt for letting your mom die, shame because he didn’t save her, but I don’t get the third one,” Jessie said, eyeing the limo.

Percy’s driver was leaning on the side of the limo smoking. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt.

“Greed can be something more than money. He wants it all. He wants her memory, her death, her child, and he wants to suck the life out of all of them,” Hilton replied.

Liz took Hilton’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Did you invite Anne?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you would,” Liz said.

“How did you know?”

“Because she’s close to you now. It’s all right, Hilton. Our little family could stand some expansion.”

Hilton smiled.

Just then Anne came down the path to the beach that over-looked Puget Sound. She was carrying a bag from Pike’s Street 130

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