Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss (4 page)

“Naturally,” Scott agreed. “You can have a contractor come out anytime. Kane’s already moved all his father’s things into storage so it’ll be easy to check out all the floors and walls.”

“He’s already moved everything out?” I asked. “That was fast.”

“Kane’s efficient. But before you call a contractor you should take another look at the place. Make sure you really want it.”

Scott said the last words suggestively, implying that I might want more than just real estate from him. I didn’t. But I’ll admit I was pleased to know he still desired me. It put me in a position of power, and with Scott it was always important to keep the upper hand. “When can I look at it again?”

Scott glanced at his watch. “What are you doing right now?”

After saying my goodbyes to Dena I got in my car and followed Scott to Ashbury Heights. Well,
follow
isn’t really the right word because Scott got a significant early lead on me thanks to his Tango. It was the same electric vehicle George Clooney drove. Scott said he got it last Christmas—it was Venus’s version of a stocking stuffer. Apparently Venus’s parents owned and ran Organically Yours, the food product line that sold energy bars and whole grain cereals all over the country. That bit of information explained their entire relationship to me. Scott was a gold digger and Venus was his sugar-mommy. They were a perfect match.

So by the time I got to the house Scott had already parked and was presumably inside. I pulled my car into the driveway and climbed the steps. My hand was shaking with excitement as I pushed on the front door that was already open a crack. The place no longer smelled of Pine-Sol. The floral couch and overstuffed armchairs were gone and the beautiful mahogany bookcases were empty. It took me a moment to adjust to the change. I hadn’t liked the furniture, but I didn’t realize how much it had detracted from the strength of the architecture. The vaulted ceilings felt higher now and the wide, dark wood staircase had a boldness of design that I hadn’t noticed before. In fact the whole house felt bolder…no,
bold
was the wrong word. Power. That was better. The house seemed to have a power all its own. Yet its power had a magnanimous quality. The ambiance of the room seemed to embrace me and despite what I had found upstairs only weeks earlier, the place made me feel safe. I almost believed that the house was going to take care of me—like a father.

Suddenly I was struck with a sense of déjà vu. I had been here, not weeks before, but years before; before I had ever heard of Oscar or even Scott.

But that was impossible. My mind had to be playing tricks on me. Yet the sense of déjà vu didn’t go away and oddly enough made me want the house more than ever. It was calling to me.

And then I heard the footsteps of my father. He was walking through the dining room toward the living room. But that, too, was impossible. I turned my head in the direction of the sound.

It definitely wasn’t my father. Scott was standing next to a guy with an army-camouflage T-shirt and brownish-red hair cut close to his scalp. He was wearing rubber-soled sneakers, which explained why I had only heard the one set of footsteps.

“Sophie, this is Kane,” Scott said, patting the man on the back.

I smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“And I didn’t know
you
were going to be here,” he said. “Seems fate wanted us to meet. More proof that this is all meant to be, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” I struggled to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I was one of those people who firmly believed in coincidences.

I started to pull my hand away, but Kane held on to it firmly. His expression had become serious and I found myself unable to break eye contact. “Do you feel anything?”

“Umm…the palm of your hand?” I said, unsure if he was playing some kind of game with me.

Something crossed Kane’s face. I couldn’t read the emotion, but I had a feeling it wasn’t a good one. But before I had a chance to come up with a better answer he released me and eased his mouth into a lazy grin. “Guess my parents aren’t around right now. But they’ll make an appearance soon. I’m sure of it.”

“Right, well, if I see them I’ll be sure to let you know,” I assured him.

“So there you have it,” Scott said with what seemed to be forced enthusiasm. “Sophie’s the person you should sell to. Not only is she a believer, but she’s willing to notify you if she makes contact.”

What the hell was he talking about? But one look from Scott told me that if I wanted the house I’d be wise to play along—at least for a while. I swallowed and stepped around them into the formal dining room. “This really is a great property.” I flicked on the light switch and watched the chandelier illuminate.

“You still want it?” Scott asked hopefully.

“I’m going to do a walk-through,” I said absently as I furnished the room in my mind. “But yeah, I want it. I’ll have a contractor out here in the next few days.”

Kane walked over to one of the windows and peered out into the street. “You should move in soon, before escrow closes.”

I did a quick double take. “Um, wouldn’t that sort of complicate things?”

“I have a sense about you, Sophie,” Kane said. “I do
think
you’ll treat this house with the care it deserves. I just have to be sure of that.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, suddenly uncertain, “What
are
you suggesting, Kane?”

“Just one more stipulation written into the escrow agreement. Nothing major, but I think it would be a good idea if you stayed here during that month that we wait for escrow to close. If you don’t treat the house with respect I’d like to have the option to back out of the arrangement.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it before slamming the back of my hand against Scott’s arm. “You knew about this, didn’t you! You just brought me here to fuck with me!”

I whirled around and started for the door. Scott reached out and held me back and I made a halfhearted attempt to pull away, but I was afraid that if I put too much effort into fighting him I wouldn’t have enough strength left to hold back the tears. So I just stood there, stoically facing the door.

“Sophie,” Scott said urgently, “no one is fucking with you…not that I wouldn’t like—”

“Don’t even start!” I snapped.

“Right, what I meant was that everyone here is serious about the sale,
right, Kane?
” he said, pronouncing his question like a warning. “You don’t expect Sophie to agree to move in here and go through all the trouble and stress of escrow knowing that you could call the whole thing off and throw her out at any moment for something as ambiguous as her not
respecting
the place. That would be crazy and we all know you’re not crazy. You’re a businessman. A reasonable businessman.”

I heard the house exhale in a roar as hot air rushed through the vents. Central heating. Was there anything that this place didn’t have? I imagined myself standing up against those vents on the coldest of days, letting the air press against my feet and ankles until they prickled from the heat. Somehow I had to make this work.

“I’m sorry you think I’m being unreasonable,” Kane said, seemingly nonplussed. “I certainly don’t want you to think I’m not earnest in my intent to sell to you. How about this, we’ll let an attorney find a word that’s more to your liking than
respecting.
I’ll pay for all the utilities during that month…in fact, why don’t we cut escrow in half and make it two weeks. And we’ll put in a clause stating that if I do put an end to our deal before escrow closes I’ll have to pay you…how about twenty grand? That should cover the rent for your apartment for almost a year, right?”

Now I did turn around, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember how to speak.

Scott had no such problem. “Yeah,” he said, his voice an octave higher than normal, “that’ll work.”

Kane beamed. “Great! Then get the contractor out here so you can start moving in.”

“I feel there has to be a catch,” I choked out.

Kane laughed. It was the least contagious laugh in the world. “Sophie,” he said, “I may be a bit different, but I’m not so peculiar that I relish the idea of giving huge amounts of money away at the drop of a hat. If I thought there was a good chance that I would need to pay you the $20,000 I wouldn’t be making the offer. But this was once my mother’s house. It was her dream home. I just need to be assured that whoever ends up here will love it the way she did and not just flip it the moment the market improves. Can you understand that?”

No. I didn’t understand anything about Kane. But how could I say no to this? “When’s the first Specter Society meeting?” I asked.

Kane’s grin widened. “In three weeks,” Kane said. “Why don’t we have it here? It could be your first social gathering in your new home.” Kane ran his hands along the wall with the gentleness that one usually reserves for a lover. “It would be a great way for you to introduce yourself to all the members…and to anything else that might make an appearance.”

Any
thing
else. I understood his meaning, but it didn’t bother me. It was, after all, the most conventional thing he had said in the five minutes I had known him. “I’m going to want my own lawyer to go through this escrow agreement with a fine-toothed comb,” I said.

“Of course, Sophie,” Kane said. “Whatever it takes to get you to trust me.”

I tried not to smile. I’d sooner trust my ex-husband. But if a lawyer gave me a thumbs-up it really was a spectacular deal. If I could get a contractor and a lawyer to work with me right away, I might be able to start the escrow process in about two weeks, which meant that in four weeks I would either get a fantastic house well below market or I would get $20,000.

What did I have to lose?

4

Dinner parties would be so much more fun if you were allowed to actually
throw
your dinner at the guests!

—
The Lighter Side of Death

I DIDN’T WASTE A MOMENT. I HAD A CONTRACTOR COME OUT TO THE HOUSE
and a lawyer storm Scott’s office. And as soon as I was told that both the house and the escrow agreement were in good condition I signed on the dotted line. I had moved over the furniture from my apartment, and although many of the pieces didn’t really suit the new space at least they were mine. In a fit of optimism, I had put the bulk of my belongings in boxes and brought them over, as well.

During the first week of escrow Kane had come over for a visit, and while he seemed slightly disappointed that I hadn’t heard any thumps in the night, he did praise the passion I had for the house. I was just one week away from officially owning my own home, and now I was preparing to pay for it. Not with money, but with a combination of time and lies; time that I would spend at my first Specter Society meeting and lies that I would tell to convince my guests and fellow members that I desired their company. Scott had explained to me that if I wanted escrow to go through I had to pretend to believe in ghosts and the mystical power of the séances that supposedly called them to this world. It was a stupid but acceptable compromise of my integrity.

Of course the gathering required some planning and for that I had called in the big guns—or to be more accurate,
the
big gun, my sister and special-event-coordinator-extraordinaire, Leah. At my request she had spent most of the afternoon (and the better part of the past week) setting up for the séance I would be holding that evening. All my unpacked boxes had been moved into the bedrooms and the garage and there was a rented round table in the middle of the living room covered with a white linen tablecloth. In its center were three thick beeswax candles that Leah had strong-armed me into buying despite their ridiculously high price point. And in front of ten antique wood dining chairs there were metal place-card holders molded into the shape of fallen leaves. Many of the names they held were foreign to me and the few that I knew—Venus, Scott and Kane—didn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy. Enrico was the only person I was looking forward to meeting. I had spoken to him on the phone several times in the last few days, and now Leah and I were waiting for him to arrive before the others, with trays of delicacies that would undoubtedly make the rest of the evening a bit more tolerable.

Mr. Katz let out a mew of protest as Leah removed him from one of the chairs and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

“Hey, be careful with my baby,” I admonished.

“The only baby here is sitting on the couch,” she said distractedly as she rearranged the candles one more time, pulling at their wicks until they stood up like little soldiers trying to impress a drill sergeant. Of course she was referring to her two-year-old son, Jack, who was at that moment quietly watching her every move. It was unclear to me if his gaze was one of admiration or calculation. His pudgy little hands looked innocent enough while they rested on his lap, but they had often been used as the instruments of destruction and torture, like the time he had tried to clean my cat with Clorox or when he pulled out a fistful of hair from his swim instructor’s chest.

“It’s a shame I can’t stay for the actual event,” Leah said, although we both knew she was grateful for the exclusion. Scott had explained that the number of people in attendance had to be an even number and if Leah took part in the proceedings there would be eleven of us. Leah couldn’t have handled the quiet meditative atmosphere of a séance anyway. We were both sure that spirits could not be summoned, which meant that any communication with the dead would be imaginary. The imaginings of other people cannot be monitored or predicted and Leah didn’t like events that she couldn’t control.

“At least you’ll get to taste the appetizers. Enrico promised me he’d make enough so that you could bring a few home with you.”

“Sweet of him.” She glanced at the metal hands of my walnut-finished clock and the smooth skin between her eyebrows wrinkled in disapproval. “He should have been here by now. We want to make sure that we have time to clean up after any last-minute preparations before the guests arrive. Nothing undermines a party as quickly as a messy kitchen.”

Clearly the parties Leah attended were a lot tamer than the ones I went to. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” I said sweetly.

“Mmm, well, since we can’t do anything else until he arrives, let me take this moment to give you your housewarming gift.”

“Housewarming gift?” I repeated. Visions of Pottery Barn throw pillows danced in my head.

She grinned and crossed to the large UPS box she had placed on my window seat. Full of props and decorative items upon her arrival, I had assumed it was now empty. But from it she pulled out a carefully wrapped large rectangular gift.

The paper was a pale gold and gleamed in the dwindling light coming from the window. I found a weak spot and pierced the paper with my fingernail then tore into the wrapping. Shreds of gold fell to the floor like oversize confetti.

And when the covering was gone I was left with a black-and-white photograph of myself as a little girl. My hair was the same unruly challenge it was now and my features hadn’t changed much, but the eyes of the child-me lacked the cynical skepticism that I had cultivated over the years. It was me in my own age of innocence. My arms were wrapped around the neck of the man who gave me that hair. His own curls were cut short and a cluster of them embraced his chin in a well-trimmed beard.

“Thank you. I forgot about this picture,” I whispered, although this very photo had graced our mother’s dresser for at least ten years. “I’ll have to find a good place for it.” I turned it over and touched the cool black metal that held the photo in place. A silver wire stretched from one side to the other, waiting to be draped over a nail.

“There, over the side table with the other pictures,” Leah said without hesitation.

I looked at the newly mounted images on the wall. There was a small picture of a blue jay swooping down to snatch a peanut out of my friend Mary Ann’s hand. Next to that a framed newspaper article, the first critical review my work had ever received. I had highlighted the words
highly enjoyable
and then blacked out
but at times trite.
Then the nighttime picture Dena had taken of our friend Marcus, his hand extended up into the air so that it looked like he held the moon in the sky. There was also a picture of Leah holding Jack shortly after his birth. In that picture my mother bent over the swaddled infant, her lips shaped into an exaggerated kiss. But all these people were alive. Even the review referred to a book that I still had access to. What I held in my hand was a tribute to a man who was gone. It felt like the Sophie-child in the picture was laughing at me, saying, “Remember this? Remember what it was like to touch him? Remember what it was like to feel safe?”

I did remember, and it made me heart-achingly sad and I had no desire to hang my grief on my living-room wall.

Leah waited a respectable amount of time for me to come up with an excuse for why the picture shouldn’t be placed with the others before taking it from me and holding it up above the fireplace. “Fine, we’ll put it here. He’s been gone for twelve years, Sophie. It’s time you said goodbye to the man and hello to your memories. Besides,” she glanced at the staircase and pressed her full lips together as if working out some complicated equation, “he belongs here. I don’t know why, but it just feels like some part of him should be here.”

“Some part of him?” I repeated. “That sounds like the premise of some part of a poltergeist movie.”

“Not literally a part of his body, but this.” She pressed the picture against the wall and admired it. “This belongs here.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about. Give me a hammer and a couple of nails.”

“I only have one left,” I said. “Wait ’til I go to the hardware store later this week. You know how hard it is to hang a picture straight with just one nail.”

“Well, we’ll just have to try to make it work. Bring me the one nail.”

I suppressed a couple of swear words and reluctantly brought her what she asked for. I turned away as the hammer struck the nail and reached for my cell phone. Leah was right about one thing; Enrico should have been here by now. He picked up on the second ring.

“Yes?”

It took me a second to respond. Enrico had always been warm on the phone and the question he had used to replace a greeting jarred me. “Enrico?”

“Yes?” he said again, this time with even less patience. Behind me Leah was banging the hammer in a quick but steady rhythm.

“Um, it’s Sophie Katz. I was just wondering if you were on your way?”

“What? Is it so late? I did not realize.” I could hear his irritation, but whether it was directed at me, himself or something else was anybody’s guess.

“Sooo, are you? On your way, I mean?” I didn’t want to be pushy, but he was only one of nine people coming over and the only food I had in the house was made by Kellogg’s.

“Yes, I come. Things have happened that are not so good, but still, I come.”

The pounding of the hammer stopped and I turned to see Leah’s handiwork. The frame was crooked, not horribly, but enough that anyone looking at it would note the imperfection. Last time I had spoken to Enrico his English had been similarly imperfect, but now it was considerably worse. Was he drunk? Tired? Or were the “things that had happened” so disconcerting that he had literally forgotten how to speak English? “Enrico, is everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay. Today I am…how do you say…I am haunted. Yes, this is right, I am being haunted by the past.” His voice sounded weak and far away. He must have been speaking into the phone, but I had a feeling that he was really talking to himself.

“Uh-huh…so when you say haunted, do you mean that something you’ve done has come back to haunt you? Or do you mean that you’ve been visited by Casper or one of his not-so-friendly associates?”

“Casper? The cartoon character? Are you mocking me?”

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “That was insensitive.”

“What—? But…you fucking bitch!”

“
Excuse me?
That was totally uncalled for!” I waited for Enrico to explain himself, but instead he must have thrown the phone down on the ground. I heard it clatter against a hard surface and in the background I thought I heard another noise—a squawking, like the sound of a distressed bird. “Enrico?” I yelled. “Are you still there? You owe me an apology!”

But he said nothing. I heard another squawk, a loud thump and then the line went dead. “He hung up on me!” I snapped.

“Well, what did you expect?” Leah shrugged and adjusted the frame once again. It was still crooked, but now it leaned toward the left rather than the right. “I heard your end of the conversation, Sophie. You were flippant with him.”

“I was trying to engage him in friendly banter! And he didn’t just hang up on me, he also called me a fucking bitch!”

“That’s extreme,” she admitted. “But…well, he is a chef. You know how they are—artistic temperaments and all.”

“So what are you saying? That it’s okay to call women you’ve never met before bitches as long as you can make a good pâté?”

“No, of course not, but—Where’s Jack?” We both looked at the empty couch. I immediately scanned the room for Mr. Katz and sighed in relief when I spotted him on the window seat. At that moment Jack came toddling out of the bathroom, buoyant and seemingly unharmed. “Mommy, Mommy! Auntie Sophie has sandbox and she hides chocolate in it!”

“A sandbox?” Leah threw me a questioning look.

“Um, noooo, but I do keep Mr. Katz’s litter box in there.”

Jack’s mouth spread out into what might actually have been a shit-eating grin.

“Call poison control!” Leah snapped.

“But there’s nothing in his teeth,” I pointed out.

“I save it,” Jack explained, still beaming. “See, I save for dessert.” His little fist removed and offered a cat turd to Leah, who stumbled back, aghast.

“Put it back,” she screeched, “before you get some kind of weird cat disease!” She grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the bathroom, screaming something incomprehensible about antibacterial soap. I went to the doorway and watched her scrub his hands as he struggled to free himself.

“What if Enrico doesn’t show up?” I asked.

“Waiters on Wheels,” Leah said, too busy to look at me while she spoke. “Call and have them deliver appetizers from Sassi. But call him back first and try to smooth things over. Apologize to him for being insolent.”

“Are you kidding me? He called me a fucking bitch!”

Jack giggled and jumped up and down. “Auntie Sophie has potty mouth!”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Well, I’m not the one who tried to eat out of a litter box.”

“That’s it, we’re leaving.” Leah swooped Jack up in her arms and headed for the door, pausing briefly to retrieve her jacket and purse from my coatrack.

“Don’t go,” I pleaded. “If Enrico doesn’t come there will only be nine of us and we need ten. You could be part of this.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Why don’t you call Mary Ann, I’m sure she’ll come.”

“Mary Ann’s in Italy. She scored a killer assistant makeup artist job for Milan’s Fashion week and when she’s done with that she’s going to take a few extra weeks to do some Cathedral hopping around Europe. You, on the other hand, are right here. Come on, Leah, it could be fun.”

“Sophie, I love you, but I absolutely refuse to make merry with a bunch of people at a séance.”

“Fine, but if they call up the ghost of Emily Post you’ll be sorry!”

“Emily Post isn’t dead,” Leah yelled over her shoulder as she walked out.